#and repeating the same word over and over is a good way for me to start calling U that tbh 🤣

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 7

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes!, there’s some slight smut…  but nothing too graphic (ion rly write smut haha), angst and comfort, this chapter’s brought to you by: a bunch of sad songs on repeat! A/N: 7k+ words what the fuck!!  (this might actually be one of my favorite chapters. :’))

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7

“You don’t have a favorite color.”

“I… don’t, no.”

“But you’re quite partial to green.”

“I guess so—?”

“You’ve worn the same green shirt to bed thrice this week,” he notes lightly, pertaining to your Loki: Master of Mischief tee. The corners of his mouth pull into a faint, knowing smile. “It suits you, by the way.”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you glance at him, narrowing your eyes in slight embarrassment. “It’s a perfectly comfy shirt,” you reply, a defensive edge to your tone. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” he agrees reassuringly. “Just making an observation.”

“What, are you keeping a dossier on me now?”

Sylus gives a noncommittal hum, but offers nothing more in response. He keeps watch on you from his usual spot in the corner between the monitor and the CPU box, chin resting on an open palm. His gaze betrays hints of smugness to it.

You eye him weirdly. With a huff, you turn back to your typing.

–

You’re cooking dinner—with Sylus supervising the entire thing like your very own personal sous chef. Something that has now been the norm for you two, since your–banging!–success with the tofu dish. 

And for tonight’s menu: Butter noodles. Simple, foolproof, straightforward. 

"Simple" is… well, it’s not entirely inaccurate. But the way that the boiling water hisses angrily through the small lid hole wavers the already shaky foundation of your developing culinary confidence. 

(Just a little bit! You’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.) 

A faint burning scent clings to the air; you forgot to stir the garlic early on, and now it looks dangerously close to a char. You rescue it just in time, cursing under your breath. Your sous chef, of course, catches everything. Even your nervousness.

“You know,” Sylus chimes in, watching the wooden spatula tremble in your hand. “This is quite the step up from your usual instant noodle packets. You should be proud of yourself, sweetie.”

“Gee, thanks. Really complex work for an extra half-hour of cooking time,” Your words are snide, but he doesn’t miss the way your grip on the spatula tightens ever-so-slightly. Steadies. 

The smell stabilizes. You add half a stick of butter, squashing it to a melt, and he lets the subject drop—for now.

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister,” you answer distractedly, stirring the sauce and trying to scrape the edges of the sauté pan without having it splatter from the inside.

“How much older?”

“Uh—six years,” you reply, reaching for a pinch of salt. “She's got a family. Two kids. Another on the way.”

“Hm. You two are close?”

You pause, the question landing softly in the haze of rising steam. “I mean. S’ alright, I guess. We catch up over the phone sometimes.”

“Ah. Good.”

“... Yeah.” 

You catch a glance of his expression in your peripheral, looking thoughtful. 

_

It’s a recent development, his curiosity. Sporadic at first, like light rain on a windshield—little questions scattered here and there, easy to brush off. But over the past week, it’s grown into something more unrelenting. It’s almost as if you two were playing a round of twenty questions, only it’s just you in the hot seat being interrogated. 

There’s also that habit of his to take it one step further. Hedging his questions strategically, acting like he already knows the little factoid he wanted to ask and just needs you to confirm it. 

You don’t really get the logic behind it, but hey, who are you to judge? Everybody has their quirks. Even someone of his caliber, apparently.

… God forbid he gets blindsided by something he’s genuinely surprised to know about you, though. 

“You know how to play the violin.”

You pause the video you’re watching on your laptop at its five minute mark to stare at Sylus through your phone screen. He sounds… terse? Like you’d intentionally kept this a secret from him.

“Wha—yes, I know how to play the violin,” you huff, incredulous by the show of attitude. “What’s up with all these weird questions?”

“You’ve given me explicit permission to ask them. Level the playing field,” he reminds you, eyes slightly accusatory. “What else are you keeping from me?”

You groan, collapsing onto your back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “Do you wanna know my time of birth too?”

“Born at exactly twelve twenty-eight PM,” Sylus recites without missing a beat, his voice bored and unimpressed. “I saw it on your Co-Star app, sweetie.”

You freeze.

“…”

“That’s creepy,” you tell him, tone disapproving, giving him a scolding poke on the nose. 

“Call it thorough research,” he counters smoothly, rolling his eyes at your feeble attack. “After all, a stubborn kitten’s been slacking on her side of the deal.”

_

The questions are, for the most part, harmless in nature. Anchored firmly in the mundane. He doesn’t stray too far from what’s comfortable, or what he deems safe to ask. And yet you can sense it beneath the surface: the burning curiosity. To know more of you, to take what he could—piece by piece, until he’s unraveled the puzzle of you entirely. 

And you don’t get it. His world—filled with endless adventure, lore, and literal fucking superpowers—surely has to be more exciting than anything you’ve got to offer. What’s your life compared to that? 

You said as much to him, mostly as an offhand comment. Although it did feel slightly more earnest when you put it into words, compared to how it sounded in your head. 

“Honestly, Sy-Sy. Life here’s really not that interesting compared to all the stuff going on over there,” you told him matter-of-factly, in the middle of collecting your daily rewards. “You don’t have to keep this up, you know.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a moment. The easy nonchalance he wore so well shifted into something more reserved, almost somber. He didn’t challenge what you said, nor did he affirm anything—you're met with silence, loaded with thoughts unspoken. 

“Don’t presume things on your own, little dove,” he said after a while, his voice low, a gentle reprimand. 

Before you could even process what he meant by that, he smoothly changed the subject, his tone reverting back to his usual effortless calm as if to ease the weight of your words. “Now then, let’s circle back—what were you saying earlier? You almost drowned in a lake when you were eight? Because of a dare you made with your sister?”

And that was the end of it.

You tell yourself it’s exhausting—the way he keeps digging, prodding, asking questions like you’re worth the level of fascination he’s making you out to be. But there’s also the truth, hidden and tucked beneath your half-hearted protests, slowly unfurling. A part of you—cautiously hopeful, dreadfully fragile—that preens under the weight of his scrutiny. 

So you let him press further; let him sift through twenty plus years of tiny, unremarkable fragments of your life like a beachcomber seeking treasures amongst the tide. And in return, he gives you his full attention, undivided and unyielding, as if your answers are the only ones that matter.

––––

He tells you there’s a new tête-à-tête feature in the game, so you check it out—not without giving him a slightly suspicious look. 

“A microphone feature?” You snort, leveling him with a half-amused glare. “You already hear me talk all the time.”

Sylus blinks at you, his face a guilefully-crafted mask of innocence. “I’m just giving you the option, sweetie. You know, in case you’d like to put our conversations ‘on record.’”

“Treat you like some kind of… quasi-therapist or something? An online confessional?” You give him the stink eye. “Is that what you’re angling for now?”

He shrugs. “If it helps.”

_

You had no intention of using the tête-à-tête “feature” you’ve been so graciously offered, quickly dismissing it as just another one of his tactics to show off his capacity to manipulate the game’s code, or something along those lines. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. 

But then, midnight comes on a deceptively ordinary Friday, and it’s suffused with an all-too familiar feeling of utter emptiness that drowns you. You’re crumpled on the toilet seat like chewed-up gum, knees pulled to your chest—the day’s wounds still festering. It's not anything new, but it leaves you feeling like shit all the same. 

Yet another overtime shift. Yet another argument with your mom, over fuck all you know that you’re too damn old for, but still, still, finds its way to cut deep. Over and over, and over again. 

Your phone’s blank screen stares back at you, just as mute and useless as the rest of the night. And you—

“Sweetie?” 

You can’t speak. Not yet. But you don’t have to. One look at the exhaustion on your face is enough for Sylus to know exactly what you need.

Your mouth trembles open, then shuts again. He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for you to make the first move. To start whenever you’re ready. 

After a long moment, you finally exhale a shaky breath. That’s when you catch his gaze; fixed, patient, almost... encouraging. It’s a subtle invitation, urging you to take the plunge, to make use of him to an extent only he can provide–the only one he could offer to you at this time–

So, you talk. Tentatively at first, the words slipping out like droplets from your leaking sink faucet. But once the dam breaks, you can't stop. 

It spills out. Every frustration, every ache, every moment that feels too much to carry for one person, especially for someone like you, and he… he just—

listens. 

-

-

-

You feel drained. Every ounce of energy wrung out of you after unloading the day’s weight to your unexpected confidant.

“That helped, didn’t it?”

If it were anyone else—or if you didn’t know Sylus the way you do now—you’d only catch the smug notes in his voice. The teasing lilt and the airy pretense of someone trying to ease the heaviness out of the room.

But you do hear it. Beneath the surface, woven so subtly into the words… something vulnerable. 

You hear the unspoken question behind it: he’s genuinely asking if it helped. If his presence, however small or inconsequential it might seem, was enough to pull you back ashore.

I helped.

Tell me I did.

“You did, Sy.” Your grin is tired, grateful, and a little lopsided. But it’s real. “Thank you.”

For a moment—just a split of a second—the red in his eyes betrays something achingly raw.

“Anytime, darling,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, like it’s carrying more than the words themselves. “I mean it.”

And like a beacon of light slicing through the storm-tossed seas of your mind, you realize that he truly does.

____

You start giving Sylus the reins to select the music, trusting his taste enough to let him DJ for you. He picks the soundtrack for everything—cooking, errands, long rides—filling the silence with something that he knows the both of you would like. 

The playlists grow. From one, to two, to almost an entire collection of carefully curated tracks to suit the mood and vibe of the day. He takes it seriously—so seriously that you can’t resist sneaking in a Megan Thee Stallion track onto his precious “Slow Evenings” playlist.

He finds it hilarious. Hilarious enough to loop Kitty Kat for all sixty-five minutes of your commute back home.

You laugh despite yourself. It’s exactly the type of shit you know he’d pull as petty retribution, already intimately familiar with his brand of humor. And if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine him beside you, sharing an earbud, smirking as he revels in your exasperation.

____

One night, you notice a weariness in his eyes. It’s an odd enough thing to see that it leads to a discussion on what he’s been up to as the shadowy leader of a notorious faction, deep in a lawless part of his universe.

“Just an operative gone wrong, sweetie,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a temple as though trying to physically push the stress away. “It happens.”

You press him on the details of the botched deal—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you is excited to live vicariously through the tale. But it’s not about you this time, you remind yourself. So you listen as Sylus indulges every question you throw at him, giving you the play-by-play: what the deal was for (special, hard-to-get protocores), where the trade-off occurred (west of Charon), and how it all went sideways (he knew it was a set-up the moment he walked into the venue).

You don’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this, but you want to try.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you joke, “Can you imagine clumsy, ol’ me there? I’d be dead before I even make it inside.”

Sylus freezes, his expression going still. Unreadable.

“No, you won’t.” He says in response to the second part of what you just said, his tone brooking no doubt. He says it with such intense conviction that you almost believe this exact hypothetical has already crossed his mind—more than once.

I won’t let you.

Before you can even think of what to say, he adds, quieter this time, but no less convinced: “And yes—I can.”

It’s a direct answer to your question, and it makes the words die in your throat. His voice is softer now too, but there’s no mistaking his tone. It has the same conviction from before, and it hits you that he’s had time to ruminate on this thought—more times than he’d care to admit.

And I do. You have no idea.

____

There’s another shift in the dynamic of your, well, relationship.

“Did you hear what I said, poppet?”

You snap back to meet his inquiring gaze, unwavering as always.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” You ask, the apology clear in your eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head in amusement—always patient, never annoyed—at your inattentiveness. “What’s on your mind, my sweet?”

Well. That.

Lately, Sylus has gotten into the habit of using possessive pronouns like they’re nothing. There’s also a notable increase on the variation of pet names too, each one more layered than the last.

It’s a little excessive, honestly. Like he’s trying to compensate for something—or maybe he sees it as just another natural step in whatever’s going on between you two. You’re still not sure what exactly goes in his head. He’s always been an enigma to you.

And yet, you never put a stop to it. How could you?

Little dove. Sweet girl. My darling.

When it comes off his lips like sunkist honey—each one brings a jolt straight to your heart. 

You're quite partial to one in particular. 

My love.

____

“Oh, my love,” Sylus tuts, feigning concern. “You’ve snoozed that alarm five times already.”

You groan, hitting the snooze button again—number six now—burying your face in your arms on the desk. 

____

You’re attending a despedida party for a friend who’s flying abroad to study (For a PhD in Biomedical Science! You couldn’t be more proud.) and the venue’s going to be at The Penthouse, somewhere fancy up north. It even has an infinity pool on deck, something the celebrant dropped into the group chat with far too much enthusiasm.

So, earlier today, you’d ventured out to buy something nice for yourself. Nicer than what you have in the closet, which isn’t much of a stretch. Something different than your usual rotation of plaids and band shirts—not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just… you. Comfortable. Predictable. Not exactly the dress code for a rooftop soirée.

Now, you’re back home from a successful (!) trip to the mall, bags in hand: a small gift for your friend on one arm and a much larger shopping bag on the other. 

You set the gift gently on the coffee table. Then, you head to the bathroom, the grosgrain ribbon of a paper tote held tight in your fist. 

The pretty fabric caught your eye almost immediately, the moment you saw the garment; its sheen almost like woven liquid in the light. It felt like a risk, even on the rack. But under the unforgiving glare of your bathroom bulb? 

Well, now, it’s looking less of a “bold choice,” and more along the lines of: “damn, what were you thinking?”

It’s not that big of a deal or anything. You like feeling pretty. But at the same time, you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that you’re anything above average to look at, even on the nicest occasions. 

It’s something you’ve grown used to, a definitive truth ingrained deep in your bones. You know this—like you know gravity tethers you to the ground, even when you’d rather be carried by the wind. You’ve gone through more than a decade to accept it as just another fact of life, to make peace with the reflection staring back at you from the bathroom mirror. 

Even if it means you’ll never be on the receiving end of ‘interested’ glances from strangers on the street. Or that you’ve never known the feeling of someone doing a double take when they see you at your best, all dolled-up. More than once, you’ve sat across from dates whose eyes wandered—toward some other, someone better-looking, in restaurants, at parks, even outside the movies. Everywhere past your direction. 

But that’s okay. You’re used to it, the same way you’ve grown used to everything else.

And still, there’s that impulse—a sudden need for someone else’s opinion. Someone close. Someone that matters. 

There’s a pang of fear you can’t quite shake. You hear the small voice from the deep recesses of your mind, whispering to you that it’s one of your worse ideas. That you’ll fall short of any and all expectations, and that it’ll hurt more this time around. You’ll hear the polite, “you look nice” and you’re gonna have to live with the quiet certainty that you don’t, not really, and that you’ll never quite measure up to what he’s used to seeing. To her—

You swallow hard. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not outwardly, at least.

And if he did… Well.

“I bought something,” you say as an opener, the words tumbling out in a rush as soon as you get a glimpse of his form on the screen. You’re rocking back on your heel, a little awkward as you stand there in front of your small vanity table even with your phone laid flat, front camera pointing upwards. “You remember the going-away party I’ll be attending two days from now, right?”

“Of course, the one for your secondary school batchmate.” Sylus replies easily, voice reverberating through the tinny speakers. Even at an angle, you can see the confused tilt of his head. “Is it on the ceiling, sweetie? What am I looking at, exactly?”

“No, smartass. I—” You press your lips together, eyes flitting upward, as if courage might be dangling from the ceiling in question.

Fuck, this is a bad idea. I can’t do this.

“It’s–I bought something for myself. I mean, I bought her a gift too, obviously. But I also bought an outfit. For the party.” 

There. 

He blinks, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. Realization dawns on his face, a knowing smile beginning to form. His voice dips, a teasing edge to it as he purrs, “Oh? Well then, save me from the suspense, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m getting to it, okay?” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, nerves flaring hot. You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop. “I’m just… Don’t be—ugh, just don’t make a big deal out of this, alright?” 

You keep your eyes off the screen, unable to face him directly.

But when he speaks, his tone carries only a quiet understanding of your struggle.

Of course he understands. He always does.

He speaks; and it’s slow and measured—as if he’s coaxing a terrified, cornered animal out of hiding. 

“Show me.” Trust me.

And so with a heavy exhale through the nose, you flip the front camera towards your direction, revealing the bare expanse of gooseflesh skin—

… And the flimsy one-piece that clings to your body like wet plastic. 

It dips low between the valley of your breasts and stops short just halfway up your thigh. The material is a gauzy organza; see-through and light, in seafoam green. Barely leaving anything to the imagination as it reveals the dusky coral swimsuit from underneath the fabric and the hot flush that spreads across your chest like wildfire. Your fists clench and unclench behind your back – hiding the physical manifestation of your rising anxiety – while you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

There's a deafening silence. 

The knots in your stomach grow tighter, creeping its way past your lungs. Your fingers tremble as cold sweat breaks out across your skin, chilling you from the inside. You feel horribly exposed. So exposed it’s almost unbearable. 

And you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Your thoughts stumble, desperate to cling to anything solid, and a faint memory surfaces—a passage from an org pamphlet you’ve skimmed through back in college, something that has to do with “self-perception.”

The flesh does not define you. 

Your body is but a facet of who you are. You are as inconsequential as the earth beneath your feet, and as important as stardust in the universe.

A low, guttural sound cuts through the stillness, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

You—

“Look at me.”

A searing heat laces the cadence of his voice. It sounds restless—like a flame unchecked, rapidly growing into a raging inferno. Stifling in the way it pulls the air from your lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Your primordial instinct is to flee. But right at that very moment, you're no different from a paralyzed insect caught in an inescapable web with the way you’re stood frozen in place. Every instinct to run is smothered by the mere inflection in his voice. 

—are all. And that is all there is to be. 

“My sweet little dove,” it’s almost a croon, the way the words curl around you like wisps of smoke. Sickly saccharine… downright serpentine. “Won’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

And like a marionette on a string, you obey. 

-

Time seems to stop to a standstill the moment your eyes meet his. 

Sylus’ gaze sinks into you. Loaded. Heavy. A crazed glint, almost—to it. Even to someone like you who's embarrassingly clueless about the nuances of attraction and wholly inexperienced in its depths can see it as plain as day.

Carnal desire. In its purest form. 

Sylus looks at you as though you’re something to be coveted. Devoured. 

A small, fearful noise slips past your lips, and the twin crimson flames burn brighter.

“You’d like to know what I think?”

Yes.

No?

He sees the war in your eyes, and a throaty chuckle escapes him—raw and breathy. “Maybe so?”

You give him the tiniest nod, and the grin on his face sharpens into something wanton, something far more licentious. It slinks in like a fever, stirring something deep within you. Something as old as time.

Sylus opens his mouth. 

You brace yourself for the inevitable.

-

-

-

A ring slices through the room like a hot knife. Just like that, you can breathe again. 

____

Your saving grace comes in the form of a phone call that grounds you back to reality.

It’s a friend, one of the party guests, asking for directions to the venue. You’re listening with one ear on the receiver, answering each question robotically—your voice a controlled calm on the surface, a stark contrast to the thoughts running amok inside your head. 

The words blur into background noise, muffled and distant, like a TV commercial playing on low volume in another room.

The moment you hang up, a suffocating hush swallows the room whole. You’re left alone with nothing but heat kindling low in your gut. The ghost of the heavy exchange from earlier stays with you, thrumming beneath your skin, hot and pulsating. 

You don’t know what to do with yourself. The abrupt suddenness of it all gnaws at you, its weight driving you toward an early retreat—maybe a long night’s rest will do wonders and help you get your shit together, who knows. 

You slip between the sheets... but not before retrieving your, ah, trusty little companion from its hiding spot in the bedside drawer.

You didn’t want to assume… You don’t want to expect anything from him, but you have needs. 

God, but you do.

Your body feels like flint struck against steel, sparked ablaze by just a handful of words. Words weaved into a vivid imagery from the mouth of your… friend?? 

(Something more?) 

The uncertainty wrecks you, every nerve alight with tension. And yet it’s the same uncertainty that roots you there. Hesitating. 

So. You lie back, pushing the sheets away from your fevered skin, and just—lay there. Staring at the ceiling. The plaster cracks form maps you trace with your eyes, as if searching for answers in their tangled routes. You count your breaths, one after the other, as though the repetition could calm your racing heartbeat. 

It feels ridiculous, almost. You’re a grown adult, acting like a teenager with a demented crush. It’s more than that, though—it’s deeper, messier, and completely illogical. 

But it’s not something you can figure out tonight, not in this state. So you stop trying. 

Instead, you switch on your little toy, open an incognito browser, and let yourself succumb to what your body’s been screaming at you for the past fucking hour. 

You feel… You feel weird about using anything Sylus-related to get yourself off. That’s not to say you haven’t, before, back when he was just another eye candy from a measly mobile game. When it was just another infatuation. 

But now? Now it feels all levels of wrong, like you’re toeing some invisible line. Worse, it feels like you’re exploiting something fragile, testing the limits of a bond already stretched thin.

So, any content related to that man stays off the fap fodder. You’re not that far gone. You think. 

Instead, you scroll through your bookmarks tab, a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you let the hard vibrations of your trusty rabbit glide from inside your thighs, up… up to your warm center, in between the juncture of your legs.

You pause on a Toji smut fic—one amongst, uhh, dozens in your folder. It’s not the same, you know this, but you’re settling for the next best thing in your current circumstance. 

Since what you really want, who you’d rather much have, isn’t—

…

Your phone glitches. 

The Chrome app crashes.

And what do you think you’re doing?

Your heart stutters a beat, and you stop breathing. 

You can’t answer. The words don’t come. But he doesn’t wait for you to try.

Put on your headphones.

You’re done with that. Tonight, tomorrow, any other night. Do you understand me?

The uncharacteristic curtness of the message sends a jolt through you, and a blush overtakes your entire body. You hesitate, just for a second.

Now.

You scramble to obey, fumbling for your earbuds, slipping them on with shaking hands. 

The moment the bluetooth connects, the game boots up on its own—straight to an irate Sylus, looking royally pissed-off. 

“Sy-Sy—” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t—”

"Oh, so back to Sy-Sy now, are we?"

The mocking lilt in his voice cuts sharper than the glare he fixes on your dimly lit face. Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you entirely. 

You want to explain, to defend yourself. To…

“I see what you read. What you watch,” he begins, voice cutting and mean. “In the dead of night, when you think you’re alone. When you think it’s safe. That no one hears the sweet moans spill so sinfully from your lips.”

His words pierce through the air like an arrow; you feel his overwhelming presence take over, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, every exhale grazing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs, the ambiguity in his tone somehow making it worse. “I hear everything. I know everything about you, kitten.”

A shiver races down your spine, your body betraying you as he speaks.

“What makes you tick,” he continues, his voice a sinister caress. “What leaves you writhing, desperate for more. The way your breathing quickens… the way your body trembles under the weight of your own pleasure.”

You’re struggling now—each breath harder to catch than the last.

“And the way that pretty little mouth of yours falls open in a silent gasp, right after you come undone.”

His words are a noose, tightening with every syllable. Your head spins as the air seems to grow heavier, saturated with the tension between you.

“But it’s never for me, is it?”

“I—I’m sorry… I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume?” His voice darkens, any hint of softness replaced with something colder, harsher. “Again with your presumptions.”

He leans closer, his tone dropping to a command that leaves no room for doubt. “From now on, the only thing you’ll need to believe is when I tell you you’re mine.”

You blink at him dumbly. His grin turns into something wicked—caustic and biting—as he cocks his head. Derisive.  

“Do you understand?”

Your head bobs in a weak, reflexive nod.

“Words, poppet.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” His tone shifts, smooth like languid amber, yet no less imposing. “Now, my love,” he coos, savoring the way your eyes tear up with desperation, “show me how you touch yourself.”

____

“Shi–iit,” he hisses. “This wet already?” 

You attempt to close your legs, shame rising like a tide, but freeze halfway when Sylus lets out a low, warning growl.

“Try that, and we’ll stop,” he warns. “I won’t repeat myself twice, pet.”

The weight of his words pins you in place, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone gentler—coaxing. “It’s just me.”

His gaze burns into you, relentless, but something tender bleeds into it. 

The glow of the screen casts shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, the upward tick of his mouth a dangerous contradiction—part teasing, part command. His sanguine eyes gleam with a mix of hunger and control, a look that leaves no room for hesitation.

You give in.

Your body relaxes under the weight of his stare, the fight draining from your limbs. It’s not submission—it’s surrender, pure and unfiltered, the kind that leaves you bare and vulnerable.

Sylus watches you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not soft, not kind, but triumphant—like a predator relishing the moment its prey stops running.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tongue like honey. “That’s better.”

____

Sade’s Smooth Operator starts to play in the background as you catch your breath.

You let out a tired giggle, swiping a hand down your sweat-drenched face, earbuds still in place. “Ugh—don’t piss me off.”

You hear a resounding chuckle. 

Gently, he asks, “Alright, little dove?” There’s a beat of hesitation before he adds, quieter now, “Did I go too far?”

You curl onto your side, phone clutched in your hand like a prayer. Sylus’ gaze peers back at you through the screen, a dangerously soft expression on his face that you don’t want to identify. 

“It's perfect, Sy,” you say, your grin tender and bittersweet, heart full of something you won't name.

____

It’s one in the morning. The dim glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face, spilling into the darkened room, casting shadows along the wall. You lean back against it, the end credits of Everything Everywhere All At Once rolling quietly in the background.

 

Silence settles between you and Sylus like a warm blanket.

“Do you think it’s… like that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to shatter the stillness of the moment. “All versions of ourselves colliding and coexisting at the same time?”

The question hangs there; he doesn’t rush an answer, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s choosing not to. 

When he finally speaks, it’s with the same quiet restraint, his voice threading softly through the air. 

“I’d like to think that in this vast expanse of the universe, there’s something for you and me.”

There’s a trace of something dreadfully optimistic in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten. You blink a few times, glancing upwards. 

The moment lingers, delicate in its quietness, until you instinctively reach for your phone. A quick swipe reveals a new addition to your shared playlist.

This Is A Life by Son Lux and Mitski.

A small, genuine smile tugs at your lips as you press play. The haunting strains of the song pour into the room, filling the spaces words can’t seem to touch.

“Sneaky,” you murmur, your gaze sliding back to Sylus’ face on the screen. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile.

“Thought it fit the mood,” he says simply.

And it does. The music sweeps over you, soft and wistful, like the moment itself.

____

The balcony feels like a lifeboat drifting away from the chaos inside. The music, the chatter, the endless parade of tequila shots—it all fades to a dull hum as you step into the cool night air. 

Out here, the world feels wider, the sky a little darker, and you can breathe without choking on the weight of the party.

She’s already there, of course. The friend of a friend. An acquaintance by definition, but someone who feels more of a comrade in these fleeting moments away from the crowd. You’ve seen her like this most times—leaning on the railing, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its faint ember glowing against the night. You don’t need an invitation to approach her.

“You mind if I bum one?”

She shrugs, silently offering the box to you. You take one.

“Fun party, huh?” you comment after two puffs, the lit end of the stick briefly catching the glow of the skyline. Your voice is loaded with the kind of irony only shared by those watching the world from the outside in.

“It always is with them around,” she snorts, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. Her voice carries the warmth of familiarity, from an observation you’ve both shared before. 

You exhale a soft laugh, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the city below.

The silence that follows isn’t just companionable—it’s necessary. A pause to recalibrate, to let the noise, and the lights, and the weight of too many people melt away. Neither of you feels the need to fill it. Words would only dilute the reprieve.

And then, unexpectedly:

“You look happy.”

The words land like a stone dropping into still water, rippling through the quiet. You glance at her, startled by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her tone suggests she’s already drawn her own conclusions.  

“You ‘ave someone?”

You weren’t ready for that. You blink at her, surprised she’s noticed anything about you—surprised, too, that it’s written plainly enough for anyone to notice.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, looking away. The admission feels strange in its simplicity. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles at that—easy but genuine, as if your happiness has spilled over and warmed her, too. “That’s good.” 

There’s sincerity in her voice, unfiltered and direct, as she adds, “You look happier.”

You don’t reply, but her words settle somewhere deep, in the quiet places you thought were hidden. 

And for once, you don’t mind being seen.

____

The party has left you drunker than you’ve been in ages. 

As soon as the celebrant spots the two of you in the corner looking like a sad pair of eyesores, she quickly remedies it with copious amounts of Stone-Cold Stingers. You try to protest, but in the end, it’s futile against the cacophony of cheers and the face of societal peer pressure. 

So now you stagger inside the condo building, looking every bit like a drowned rat dragged in from the storm. A weary guard from reception following closely behind, his patience visibly fraying as you giggle your way toward the elevator.

“‘m fine!” you insist, words slurring together as you attempt to shoo him off with a lazy wave. To emphasize your point, you pinch your fingers together, holding them inches apart. “Just this much to drink, see?”

He doesn’t respond, his expression coming across resigned and frustrated. You can almost hear the thought running through his mind: I don’t get paid enough for this. 

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally relents, letting you totter into the elevator alone.

UG… P… 4…. 5…… Oh! Here you are. 

Rivulets of water drip down from your rain-soaked hair, trailing icy paths down your neck as you stagger down the narrow hallway. Your vision blurs, making everything double—no, triple—as you fumble your way to the left, stopping in front of the door of 601—wait, no, 603. 

You squint hard at the numbers, your head throbbing with the effort, but the stinging in your eyes and the stubborn clumping of your lashes make it way harder for you to make sense of it all. 

Your waterlogged clutch feels heavier than it should, and your trembling fingers struggle to find the zipper pull that’s somehow become the bane of your existence. You huff, muttering incoherently to yourself, your throat tight and raw as a burning lump starts to rise. An annoyingly persistent buzzing from inside your bag adds to your mounting frustration.

With an angry yank, you finally manage to tear the bag open, water splashing off it in tiny droplets. 

“Aha!” you exclaim, though the triumph is short-lived as your hands shake even harder when you pull out your phone. It’s the source of the buzzing apparently, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 

You try to unlock it—once, twice, three times—nearly getting locked out before the numbers finally click.

The notifications hit you like the mars lights of a freight train. Texts. Lots of them. You scroll through clumsily, the device slipping slightly from your grip as you snort gracelessly.

Sylus. Of course.

The words on the screen blur and twist, but you don’t need clarity to know the progression of each message—ranging from mild curiosity, to slight worry, to exasperatedly concerned. 

The syllables of his pet name echo faintly in your muddled head, a small, fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on your chest. Sy-Sy. Sy-Sy. Sy-Syyyyy—

Synchronous with your erratic breathing, you dig through your bag with a heavy hand, each failed attempt sends you spiraling lower.

Another ping jolts you from your drunken haze: 

How are you feeling? Did you just get back?

“I can’t—I can’t find my damn keys!” 

The words slips out as a frustrated cry.

Inner pocket, left side. Answer me, sweetheart.

His words flash across the screen just as your fumbling fingers find the keys exactly where he said they’d be. 

A tear burns a path down your cheek as you let out a half-hearted chuckle, mumbling, “Can I even function without you?” 

How long has it been since you could manage something like this on your own? Has he become an extension of your mind?

The door’s stubborn resistance only adds to your unraveling. After several failed attempts—your fingers too wound up to grip the key properly—you finally twist the lock and push it open, stumbling inside, into the darkness. 

“I’m a mess, Sylus,” you whisper, voice thick with tears as your head spins, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

The world feels heavy and muffled, like you’re trapped behind a fogged window. You know you’re a sight to behold—shoeless, drunk, drenched like some stray that wandered too far into the rain.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his voice warm and steady, cutting through the quiet void of the room. It takes a second for the words to sink in, for your scattered mind to piece together that, somehow, you’ve already opened the game in the middle of all your fumbling. Automatic. Like second nature.

You stare at him, trembling and pitiful, like a kid lost in a crowd. Your bottom lip quivers, and you hate how small you feel under his gaze.

You see concern pooling in the depths of Sylus’ eyes. That and something… desperate.

You sniff, rubbing at your wet cheeks with pruning fingers, clinging to humor like a lifeline. "Don’t you do anything else?” you mumble, your voice fraying at the edges. “Like... live your own life or something? You spend so much time with me...” You force out a weak laugh, bitter and jagged. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Your laugh cracks halfway through, more like a sob than anything. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic. 

And yet, you can’t stop. Even if it stings your throat.

Sylus’ response comes, and his voice is solid—unwavering. He doesn’t flinch like you do. “I don’t get sick of you, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

Something in you cracks, spilling over. “I really like you,” you murmur, voice steeped with emotion. “You’re the brightest light in my life. You’re… you’re everything.”

A flash of lightning cuts through the room, illuminating your tear-stained face.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sylus calls out your name.

It’s quiet, reverent, and it feels like a tether pulling you back from the brink.

You crumple down the floor, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing holding you together. In the silence that follows, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of his presence on the other end of the line.

“I’m here,” he tells you softly. “I’ve got you.”

____

This is a life

(Every possibility)

Free from destiny 

(I choose you, and you choose me) 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @nicora04 @blueberrysquire @love-anteros @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie (i spend so much time cross-checking the tags this is tiring lmao)

[oneoftheextras]

down a peg | j.t

masterlist | tip for the author?

paring: sub!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: jayce's ego has gotten the better of him, so you come up with a way to put him in his place

words: 7k (happy holidays ig)

warnings: +18, smut, pegging, eventual sub!jayce, dom!reader, male whimpering and begging, two tops fighting for power, hair pulling.

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

Jayce Talis was the man of process. He was smart, caring, egotistical and most definitely in need of humbling.

He walked around the lab like he owned it, making so much noise with his fancy shoes and his constant monologuing.

His long muscular legs striding across the room to pick up pages of work that wasn’t his, just so he could be involved and comment on it.

He drove you and Viktor crazy on most days.

When he became counsellor his head grew so large that you were surprised he could fit through the doorframe.

In reality, he was harmless. Both you and Viktor knew that he cared about the two of you more than anything, but his new title gave him a false sense of bravado that you didn’t like.

The afternoon that Jayce accidentally slipped a ‘That’s an order’ to you, was the afternoon that began his downfall.

If the raised eyebrow and displeased look you shared with Viktor wasn’t enough to let Jayce know he’d gone too far, the sarcastic “Yes, Counsellor Talis,” from you, and the mocking “Anything you say, Counsellor Talis!” from Viktor should’ve been.

After Jayce left the lab, you and Viktor decided enough was enough.

“He’s got a good heart, but we need to do something about his ego,” Viktor had casually mentioned, unintentionally lighting the catalyst of your scheme.

You huffed, signalling your agreement and began reorganising the papers Jayce had messed up earlier, “What can we do? He’s the golden boy!” you feigned excitement.

“He just needs reminding of where he came from. Taken down a few pegs,” Viktor was concentrating on tinkering with something to calm his frustrations.

Wiping a dirty, ink covered hand over your forehead, you thought about his words and a sly smile formed on your lips.

“Say that again?” you turned your body from your work to face Viktor, “What? Remind him where he came from?” he was still concentrating on his gadget.

You shuffled your chair closer, “No, the other bit,” there was mischief in your voice.

At your sudden proximity to him, Viktor turned to face you, the magnifying glass in his goggles making his eye look funny.

“Take him down a few pegs?” he repeated himself, eyebrows slightly knitted with confusion, but they eventually relaxed at the realisation hit him.

He chuckled a little, but when you didn’t laugh with him he stopped, “You cannot be serious?” he gave you a surprised expression.

“I’m very serious,” you confirmed that his train of thought and yours were on the same tracks. "How?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

You grabbed some clean paper and a pencil, "Give me 10 minutes," you turned back to your desk and started scribbling.

It took you a little bit longer than the 10 minutes you had promised, but your design was done.

Handing it to Viktor, you held your breath, waiting for his feedback the same way you did the first time you showed him one of your ideas. "It is a little crude, don't you think?" he turned the paper ninety degrees to observe it at a different angle.

"I think it would be impossible to not make it crude, considering what it is," you put your hand on the back of his chair and lowered your head to study your drawing again.

Viktor leaned his head to the side and sighed as if to say that you were right. "It is simplistic, yet... beautiful," he complimented and your chest swelled with pride.

"Manageable?" you queried, that was the main concern of yours. "Oh, of course," Viktor put the page down on the desk in front of him, "Easily so," he confirmed and you smiled.

The clock showed 9:41pm, "Let's get started then," you picked up the paper and walked over to the shelves of resources you shared. "What? Right now?" Viktor was surprised at your eagerness.

"Might as well," you shrugged, putting what you'd need into a box under your arm, "A little hasty, no?" he'd stood from his desk and taken a few steps towards you with his cane.

He watched you pick and choose which materials you wanted and which you didn't. "No time like the present," you chuckled as you put the last piece into your box and headed for the workbench.

"Do you really want to deal with him for another day?" you raised an eyebrow, and the way that Viktor glanced to the ground and back up at you was all the assurance you needed.

In no time, Viktor had joined you at the workbench and the two of you got to work.

After a few hours, the main parts were basically done. There were a few modifications you'd needed to make along the way, but Viktor was good at problem solving on the fly.

He stretched his back and paused for a moment to watch you work. "One query I do have..." Viktor started and you hummed in a response for him to continue.

"Once it's made, how are you going to... you know?" it was as though vocalising the words was too embarrassing for him, but you didn't interject. "Execute your plan?" he finally asked.

In honesty, the realisation of what your scheme entailed hadn't fully set in just yet.

"I have some ideas," you shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, but your heart raced at the thought.

As if talking about him had summoned him, the door to the lab swung open. You and Viktor let out a small gasp, but you immediately grabbed a sheet and threw it over the workbench.

"Have either of you seen my-" Jayce had started to say, but stopped when he saw you both by the workbench, "-What's going on?" he interrupted his original question.

You walked out from behind the table and instead leaned on it, trying to body block anything you hadn't managed to cover.

"What were you looking for?" you tried to steer him back to his first thought. "My forging gloves- are you working on something?" he stepped forward and leaned to the side to try to see behind you.

"No!", "Yes!", you and Viktor spoke at the same time. You mentally cursed yourself for not preparing something for this exact scenario.

"We are-" you spoke quickly and loudly to indicate to Viktor that you would handle it, "-But it's not ready yet,". Jayce didn't even look at you, he had excitement and annoyance in his eyes that trailed the table.

"Without me? Let me see!" Jayce almost-whined, you could hear the small fraction of hurt in his voice.

Taking a silent and quick inhale, you knew what you had to do.

As Jayce continued to walk towards the table, you stepped forward to intercept him, your chest no more than an inch from his.

"Jayce..." you lowered your voice slightly and spoke with a soft and enticing cadence. The room fell silent, and Jayce blinked a few times as he glanced down to you, he'd never heard you sound like that.

He opened his mouth to say something but his jaw slowly closed again when your and gently trailed up the front of his shirt to play with his tie.

"I was wondering if I could borrow your soldering iron?" the tone of your voice and the words you were saying couldn't have been more contrasting.

You slipped your fingers under his tie and you could feel the warmth of his chest and the beating of his heart against your knuckles.

"Y-Yeah, sure," he cleared his throat after his words came out slightly shaky.

Running your thumb over the expensive red silk of his tie and smiling sweetly at him, you looked up at him with the best 'fuck me' eyes you could muster, and lightly pulled on the fabric.

His eyelids fluttered as his blinking sped up. In all the years the three of you had known each other, you'd never acted this way with him.

"Great, where is it?" you spoke even quieter than before so he really needed to focus on your words, so all of his attention was on you, "Forge," was all he could say.

You hummed to indicate you were happy with his response and let go of his tie, smoothing your hand down the front of his chest as if you were making in presentable again.

"Off you go then," you tapped his chest twice before stepping backwards to signal that he could leave. "Right, okay," he nodded and cleared his throat again, almost snapping out of the trance you'd put him in.

He nodded again to Viktor to say goodbye and promptly turned around and strode out of the lab.

As you spun back around to face Viktor, his jaw was being collected off of the floor, "Wha-Huh? How did you do that??".

You shrugged and smirked confidently, "I said I had some ideas,", Viktor was also as lost for words as Jayce was, "We don't have time for that, come on!" you laughed and gestured for Viktor to take the sheet off.

Conscious that Jayce wouldn't take too long returning from the forge, the two of you worked double time. The only thing that was left to do was connect the most important part.

"What're you going to use for the..." Viktor tried to make hand gestures instead of saying the word, and you saved him the embarrassment, "I have something already don't worry," somehow all shame had been lost the longer you worked on this.

He shook his head to erase the thought from his brain.

“I don’t mean, like, mine!” you tried to quickly backtrack, “I’ve made a prototype of something previously,” your hand gestures became more elaborate the more you tried to explain.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Viktor shook his head quicker than before, “I don’t need to know!” he protested but he was smiling, still finding the humorous side.

You spared him any further details and tapped the table as though audibly providing the full stop to your sentence.

The silence that followed was awkward and somewhat tense.

"Are you really going to do it?", Viktor was the first one to break the quiet between you. At first the whole scenario was kind of funny, but now that you'd actually made it, the seriousness of your plan was starting to rear it's head.

You picked at a piece of the wooden workbench that had began to splinter, nervousness running through your veins.

"What if he doesn't want me, and I make it weird?" you ask Viktor quietly, your voice showing an insecurity he'd never seen you have.

It was impossible for you to make eye contact with him after saying something like that, but the reality that you were about to attempt to seduce and sleep with, not only a friend, but your business partner.

"What if I try this and I ruin everything we've built together?" you still avoided looking at Viktor. Afraid that his expression would provide you with the answer you were dreading.

He exhaled sharply and he called your name with a soft and comforting tone, only then did you find the courage to meet his eye.

"We have known each other for a very long time, yes?" you nodded instead of verbally replying to his question, "In all that time you have never noticed the way Jayce looks at you,".

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. An exasperated one at that.

"The way he looks at me?" you pointed at yourself and it was your turn to look surprised. Viktor let out a 'Pfft' noise, "Please-" he raised an eyebrow, "Do you think he acts like that-" he gestured to the space where the two of you had been earlier, "-with everyone?".

The cogs in your brain were barely turning, all their power used on your creation that was laid out on the workbench in front of you.

"I guess not," you relented any further protests, and glanced towards the clock, 1:27am.

Viktor followed where your vision had landed and stood from his stool clearly noting how late it had become, "Right, I am going to my bedroom... which is on the other side of the building...".

He said the last part with faux innocence, but his smile gave away the context to his words.

"I need to get the thing from my room anyway, so I'll walk with you,".

Jayce grumbled to himself as he made his way back to the lab. The hallways were a ghost town at this time of night so he had nothing other than his own thoughts to accompany him.

Despite the never ending to-do-list that was handed to him over the last few hours, his mind kept drifting back to the interaction he'd had with you in the lab.

He had never seen you act like that. Why did it make him stumble over his words? How did he crumble so quickly under your touch?

He was perplexed at the involuntary actions of his own body; frustrated and annoyed at himself for following your instructions so blindly, yet a part of him yearned for that feeling again.

Whilst that want was strong, he still felt as though his pride had been wounded. He'd yielded at your commands like a lap dog, and it wasn't going to happen again.

He was simply caught off guard, that was all.

Jayce's grip on the soldering iron was tight as he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the lab.

He'd entered this room a million times over the years, but he felt the rush of adrenaline surge through him as he crossed the threshold, only for it to dissipate when he realised it was empty.

The only signs of you or Viktor was your messy station, and his shoulders slumped with disappointment he didn't know he had. He glanced down at the iron in his hand, maybe he'd taken too long.

Sighing, he walked to the workbench where the two of you had been standing before and placed it down on one of the only free spaces available.

He was about to continue his evening, maybe go for a walk around the grounds or find a bar to have a quick drink in, but the sheet of fabric was too tempting.

With no one else around, who would know that he took a quick look at your project?

All hesitation he previously had was replaced with childlike excitement as he peeled back the fabric to reveal what you both had tried to hard to keep from him.

Once his eyes landed on the object, he tilted his head to the side and his eyebrows furrowed with confusion - he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at.

He picked it up by one of the leather cords and held it in his hands, his thumb running over the hollow circle in the middle that was decorated by a metal ring.

The design was very simple, but a few embellishments decorated the soft triangular fabric and the belts that were connected to it.

He turned it over in his hands but couldn't quite figure out what it was, until he saw the accompanying sketches.

When you entered the lab, you didn't see him at first as you pushed the door open with your hip, but the clanking of tools and rustling of paper made you look up.

"Oh, I- uh-" Jayce fumbled with both his words and his hands as he tried to put everything back as he'd found it. The sound of metal clattering to the floor interrupted any excuse he was going to start making.

This was probably how he had found you and Viktor a few hours prior.

"I thought you'd left," he chuckled nervously, "I did-" you pointed to the door behind you, "-But then I came back," your finger redirected to the floor in front of you.

It was painfully obvious that you'd caught him in the act, but he was trying to play it off with that dashing smile he'd give during speeches.

Unfortunately for Jayce, you weren't the average population of Piltover that were so easily won over.

"Find anything interesting?" you folded your arms over your chest, "What, I- no?" he maintained the façade, but your scolding stare told him the gig was up.

"Fine, yes, I looked," he relented, "I'm sorry if you felt like you couldn't tell me, I wouldn't have judged-" he was making less sense the more he spoke, but there was an air of something to his voice.

"-What?" you studied his hand gestures to try and figure out what he was trying to say so poorly, "I had no idea you and Viktor-", "-Me and Viktor?" you interjected with even more confusion than before.

Jayce stopped speaking for long enough to stare at you, his eyes searching yours.

"Is this not for you to use with him?" he asserted and pulled back the fabric sheet; the seriousness of his tone made you laugh. "No, it's not," you unfolded your arms and rested your hands on your hips, your bag still hanging from your shoulder.

Jayce scoffed and glanced around the room with annoyance, clearly not believing you.

"Then why were you being so secretive about it earlier?" his words were less of a question and more of an accusation.

You approached him and placed your bag on top of the assortment of papers and materials.

"Why would you not include me?" he fired another question at you before you had a chance to answer the first.

The workbench was in between you, but you could still feel the heat of his emotions from where you stood.

"Did you really think Viktor and I were together?" you leaned forward on the workbench, his scent wafting over to you the more he gestured.

It was hard not to crumble as the notes of coal smoke, cherry and leather that filled your nostrils, but you stood strong.

"I think a lot of people do," he grumbled, "The two of you spend all your time together, you're basically inseparable-"

He stepped away from the workbench and angled himself towards the door.

"-I can't talk to one of you without the other being there, it's like you're attached at the hip-", his ramblings became more emotionally charged.

Although you couldn't see his face, you finally caught what his words were laced with - envy.

"-Are you jealous?", you cut him off. He clearly wasn't expecting the accusation as he stopped mid-step and turned back to you.

"Why would I be jealous?" he tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably. His cheeks flushed a new shade of pink, and you knew your game had began.

You shrugged and leaned against the workbench, the same way you had earlier, but now it was just the two of you.

"It just sounds like you're jealous," you lowered your voice ever -so-slightly. Not as much as before, but enough that it made Jayce swallow the saliva that had caught in his throat.

Jayce's brain buffered for a moment, caught in the fog of your voice, but he quickly recomposed himself - he wasn't going to let you get the better of him again.

"I'm not," he muttered.

You shrugged and turned your back on him, reaching over to grab your creation from where Jayce had left it, you looked back at him over your shoulder as you leaned.

As predicted, his eyeline was not on your face. When he realised you were looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze.

His hands gripped at his sides as he took a few steps towards you.

Your heart leap in your chest when you saw him move, but it was short lived when he stopped, keeping an arms distance between the two of you.

"Where is Viktor anyway?" Jayce asked, avoiding your eyeline as you twisted back to face him.

You held your project in your hands but gave Jayce all your attention, "He's gone to bed," you explained, "Wont be back until the morning," you implied.

His lower lip darted in between his teeth for a second at how slowly and purposely you spoke. He could feel the suggestion in your voice as if you'd written it out in front of him.

Hesitantly, he took another step towards you and put himself within touching distance, if you wanted to.

He could feel his heart picking up speed under his ribcage. The two of you had been alone multiple times over the years, but it had never felt like this. Never felt so tempting.

He grabbed hold of the device in your hands, his middle and index finger overlapping yours sent fireworks through your body, and you knew he could feel it too.

"And this?" he was so close to you now that he only needed to whisper and you could hear him clear as day. "What about it?" you gazed up at him, trying to speak to him with your eyes, but he was focused on your hands.

"Who's it for?" he asked, and you smiled to yourself, "Me," you stated plainly, "And whoever else I want," the last part was almost inaudible, but he most-definitely heard it.

"And who do you want?" he leaned towards you, his confidence was starting to show again as his question caught you off guard. This whole time you had planned to be the one to initiate, but never actually figured out how to.

It seemed as if he was giving you the perfect opening, but now that the time was here, you found your words caught in your throat.

"Jayce..." was all you could manage, it wasn't needy or relenting, but the low and suggestive way you said his name made him act before he could think.

He forcefully stepped forward, his chest pressing against yours but the momentum not stopping until his hands - and your lower back - were firmly against the workbench.

At some point during the two or three seconds of movement, you'd let go of the strap and it was now in between Jayce's palm and the counter.

His eyes pierced into yours as he towered over you, giving you nowhere to move, but you knew this wasn't how this was going to go - no matter how much you enjoyed it.

Other than his body against yours, he hadn't actually touched you yet, and you decided that you were going to be the one to bridge that gap.

You gently placed your hand on his chest and untucked his tie from his waistcoat whilst maintaining eye contact with him.

His breath was hitting your face in hard puffs as your fingers intertwined with the soft red fabric, pulling it loose from his collar.

His eyeline dipped from yours to your lips and you knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and moved his head quickly, but your finger caught his pursed lips before they could make contact with your own.

He opened his eyes and glanced between your finger on his lips and your face, and immediately backed away.

"I'm sorry, I-" his thoughts were momentarily consumed with scolding, thinking he'd misread your messages and made a fool of himself.

To defuse the situation, you hooked your fingers into the front of his collar and pulled him back towards you, "You haven't earned that yet," you asserted.

His expression softened before returning to a sultry smile, "Earned?" he tilted his head to the side and mockingly repeated your wording.

You hummed to show your agreement as you pulled the remainder of his tie free and let it fall to the floor.

"Take this off," you lazily pinched the fabric of his waistcoat, "Then maybe you can kiss me," the command in your voice was new, even to you, but it felt comfortable.

He regarded you for a moment with his mouth slightly parted, you were sure you'd pushed him too far, but when he reached up and undid the first clasp you mentally let go of the breath you were holding.

The waistcoat slid off of his shoulders with ease, and he instantly leaned into you again, but you tutted.

"No," you pushed him away by his chest gently and tapped your finger to your chin as though you were thinking, "That too," you pointed at his shirt.

This time he didn't hesitate. He straightened his spine and shuffle backwards so you could properly see him as he undid every button.

He started at the bottom, untucking it from his pants, and slowly popping two of the buttons, one with each hand.

The first part of his skin you saw was the dark trail of hair that lead to his belly button, then his toned abdomen. He sped up when he got to his chest, his shirt fully open but still hanging from his shoulders.

He smirked as your eyes raked over his form, he was playing with you as much as you were playing with him, just in his own way.

In all the years you'd spent together, you'd never actually seen Jayce in a state of undress. Whenever he was in the forge, you were at a desk.

You nudged your head to the side, indicating for him to continue, so he did. With a shrug of his shoulders, the black fabric slid down his body effortlessly to land a few inches away from his waistcoat.

The sight of him with his torso bare almost knocked the air out of your lungs, "Pretty boy," you breathed absentmindedly.

He practically preened at the compliment and strode back to you, this time he waited before trying to kiss you again.

Your hands trailed up the front of his chest and between his pecks, it felt so different without the constraints of his shirt in the way, but you felt him shiver under your touch.

Drawing the outline of his collarbone with your fingertip, you felt his voice rumbling before you heard it.

"Can I?" he kept his composure but there was an underlying tone of pleading to his question, "You can-", the words had barely left your mouth before he'd grabbed the back of your head and encapsulated his mouth with yours.

His lips were soft and warm. At first he only pressed his lips against yours, but he quickly pulled away only to open his mouth and deepen the kiss.

The way his bottom lip dragged over yours made lightening sizzle through your body, if he wasn't already holding you up your knees would've buckled beneath you.

Your hands found their way into his hair and you returned the feverishness of his kiss.

The way you both timed your sharp inhales of breath between the milliseconds where your mouths weren't connected was nothing short of a display of years of longing.

His lips snatched every kiss from you as if he was never going to get the opportunity to do this again, stealing every inch of your mouth for himself.

He quickly and gently pressed his teeth against your bottom lip and pulled playfully, causing a quiet and unintentional moan to escape your throat.

He continued to kiss you, but you could feel the cocky smirk against your lips. He was playing your game and you were losing.

You realised how much you'd leaned into his touch, how his strong hands had moulded you to where he wanted you. You needed to regain control.

Sharply, you tightened your grip in his hair and pulled his head backwards - a soft whimper leaving his lips, and hitting you straight in your core, giving you a small tingle.

The two of you panted as his throat was exposed to you.

You leaned in and licked up the sensitive flesh, feeling prickles of his stubble against your tongue, "I want your pants off," you spoke against his throat, before you released him.

He stumbled backwards, obviously taken off guard by you. He was sure you'd melted in his palm, but you were back to giving him orders.

When you gestured to his lower half, he quickly undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, pushing them to the floor and stepping out of them.

His underwear was slightly pulled down from the force he'd pulled his pants down with, so you could see the indents of his V line and a patch of dark hair peaking over the waistband.

You were going to tease him some more, but the clear outline of where he was straining against the fabric was too much of a temptation to wait.

"And those," you lazily gestured to his boxers as if you weren't as excited as he was. He just had the unfortunate biology of not being able to hide it.

He grumbled, but hooked his thumbs into his waistband and slowly pulled them down. Just as he was about to get to the halfway point, he put his hand into his boxers and pushed the rest of the fabric down.

Once again, he stepped out of the leg holes, but kept one hand on the base of his dick so his hand and wrist evaded it from your view.

"Let me see," you said in a gentle tone. For a moment you were unsure if he was shy, but has he slipped his shoes off with a smirk, you knew this was a man who had every confidence in his physical appearance and this was him trying to yank some control back.

"I think we need to even this out," he sauntered over to you with poise, he took hold of your collar and attempted to undo the first button, but you gripped his wrist and pulled it away.

"I think you need to remember your place," you corrected him, your index finger and thumb taking hold of his strong jaw and squeezing for a second.

You hand trailed up to the side of his face, it was gentle and a complete contrast to the way you'd just grabbed him.

Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip and he instinctively opened his mouth with a groan, allowing your thumb to slip in and hook over his teeth.

He could easily pull your hand away if he wanted, but he didn't.

"Don't you want me to touch you?" you asked with faux innocence, and he nodded with your thumb still in his mouth, "Then let me see," you continued the façade of purity.

He gazed into your eyes and you could almost see his golden irises searching for his next opportunity for the upper hand, but when he found none, he simply moved his hand.

It hadn't registered that he'd let go at first, it wasn't until his cock thumped heavily against your thigh that you realised he'd done it.

You looked down, thinking for a second that something had fallen off of the workbench behind you, but when you saw his thick member resting against your leg and stood to attention, you held back a gasp.

Of course he was big; not that you'd thought about it before.

As you wrapped your fingers around his shaft and started to slowly move your wrist, it was something that seemed obvious to you now. He was a large man, easily taller and more muscular than you, so of course you would struggle to make your fingers meet around his width.

He wanted to make a smartass comment, he'd seen the momentary surprise on your features and he wanted to capitalise on the opportunity, but the way you massaged his length left no room for anything other than strangled moans to come from him.

His hips started to move with your rhythm and his breathing got heavier, he was adamant to stay standing tall and keep eye contact with you, but he was struggling.

"I saw how much you were straining, isn't this so much better?" you purred, and he bit his lower lip with a quiet response of "Mhmm," as he fought to keep his eye contact with you.

You noticed how he was trying so hard to remain composed, so you sped up your hand. He gasped and audibly moaned; he stayed upright for another three or four seconds before he fell forward and caught himself on the workbench.

His forehead rested on your shoulder, with one hand resting on he base of your neck, and the other against the bench.

The noises that spilled from him were sinful, but you wanted more.

He got louder as his hips moved against your rhythm, and you got a brief glimpse as to what he would feel like inside you as the ridges and veins of his cock pressed against your fingers.

You pressed your legs together to try and relieve some of the tension but it was useless, feeling him grip you so tightly and breathing so heavily against you was almost too much.

The grasp you had on him loosened until you fully let go, "No, please," he protested breathlessly and looked up at you with pleading eyes.

That image of him would be ingrained into your brain forever; his hair messy, with a few strands stuck to his sweaty forehead, whilst his glossy eyes bore into you with desire and desperation.

That would've been enough to get you through any more of his egotistical demands, but you were greedy, and too turned on to stop now.

"What do you want?" you cooed at him, brushing his hair back out of his face, "I want to fuck you," he quietly confessed.

You smiled, "What was that?" you teased, wanting him to say it louder.

"Please let me fuck you," he begged, and you affectionately caressed his cheek.

You reached behind you on the workbench until your fingers found what you were looking for, and once you did, you held it up proudly.

"Not today, pretty boy," you pinched the tip of his chin with your thumb and index finger to make him look at you, "I want to fuck you instead, is that okay?" you said with as much confidence as you'd ever had in your life.

He rapidly looked between your face and the strap you were holding, before he glanced towards the floor with a blush, but nodded.

"I'm going to need to hear you," you forced his eyeline back to you again. When he didn't immediately reply, you added with sincerity, "If you don't want to, that's also okay,".

Almost as soon as you'd provided him with a proverbial 'get-out-of-jail-free card', he shook his head "No, I want to, I really want to,".

"Are you sure?" you dropped all teasing and mocking tones you'd previously had to let him know that it was okay if he wasn't certain.

"One hundred percent sure," he confirmed with a smile, his eyes blown out and filled with desire.

You pulled his face to yours and kissed him deeply, your tongue exploring his mouth for a second before gently pushing him away.

You pointed to the black leather couch in between two of the desks and started to slip off your own pants as you ungraciously stepped into the harness, relieved that he had his back turned when you stumbled on one of the belts.

Once it was on, you reached into the bag you'd left on the side and pulled out the silicone cylinder you'd made months prior, and a bottle of lube.

When Jayce sat down and saw what you were holding, his eyes went wide with curiosity, "What is that?" the blue light reflected in his eyes.

You chuckled as you approached him, "I made it for me, for the rare times I get to be alone, it's intuitive to the user. If you want it bigger it'll get bigger, if you need it smaller it'll-" you explained but he interrupted.

"You've used it on yourself?" he asked with some of his usual confidence, his dick twitching as his mind clearly ran rampant, "Yes," you said with a mocking tone as an answer to his stupid question.

He was going to continue his questioning as he reached towards your crotch, but you playfully slapped his hand away, "You can touch me when I say you can," your voice reverted back to it's commanding tone.

"But I want to make you feel good too," he laid down on his back, taking up the majority of the couch by himself, but there was a small space for you between his legs.

"It will," you reassured him and placed the device through the metal ring, reaching into your own pants to move your underwear out of the way, and pressing the hooked end of it find your own hole.

The blue light got stronger as it slipped inside you, the sudden intrusion making you moan suddenly.

Jayce watched you eagerly as his breathing sped up again, his dick bouncing against his stomach when your moans hit his ears.

Now that it was in place with the phallic part protruding from the metal ring, you drizzled some lube onto it and rubbed it in with your hand.

He wouldn't admit it, but watching you stroke the device as if you had a dick of your own was extremely hot to him.

"Ready?" you asked as you positioned yourself between his legs. He lifted his hips and nodded eagerly.

You lined the tip of the dildo up with his asshole and rubbed gently, smearing the lube against it. When the device made contact with Jayce it moulded itself to be thinner, already working as you'd designed it.

As slowly as you could, you pushed the tip into him, breaching his tight ring with ease. Jayce whimpered as his eyes rolled back into his head, you pushed in a little further and then pulled back as far as you could without it coming out of him.

"I can t-take more," he moaned, and glanced down to where your crotches were connected.

You gave him a scorning look, "That's not how you ask," you pushed into him a little bit more, letting another whimper fall from him.

Inside you, the dildo reverberated and pushed itself deeper into you, but you were able to hold back the moan.

"Please, more," he begged, fully giving into your control. He wanted to hold out a little longer but it was impossible, between your lust-filled gaze and the dildo's ridges massaging his insides, he had no chance.

Happy with his pleading, you thrusted softly forward, pressing deeper into him, "Fuck!" he moaned loudly.

His hips squirmed as he tried to fuck himself onto it more than you were giving, the dildo slowly got thicker once he'd gotten used to the sensation.

You would be merciful this time since he had adjusted so well, and thrusted at a more natural pace, the device mimicking your movements inside you.

It pounded into you with a bit more ferocity than you were giving Jayce, it already being accustom to you. Moaning, you fell forward, catching yourself on Jayce's chest.

Somehow you'd managed to keep your eyes open. Watching how his cock bounced with every thrust, you could've help but imagine what it would feel like to be riding him instead.

Your genius had become your downfall as the intuitive nature of the dildo kicked in, widening and lengthening itself to be a replica of what you were seeing.

"Oh, g-god!" you threw your head back with pleasure, the constant pounding against your g-spot, alongside the stretch of the new design was all too much, your strangled moan echoed through the room.

Jayce's eyes opened so he could see your face and he almost came on the spot. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyebrows lifted into a knot of ecstasy, his own moans and whimpers a harmony of your own.

The fire inside you was burning hotter and hotter as you struggled to keep up your pace, whilst Jayce had found the perfect rhythm to manoeuvre his hips to your own.

He begged and pleaded with you not to stop, the word "Please" becoming his new mantra.

"Can I cum?" he asked you with a broken voice, his eyes finally meeting with yours. He looked so messy, pathetic and beautiful all at once, you couldn't deny him, "Yes," you barely got out.

You were barely holding on yourself, the tingling up your spine and your muscles going solid made it almost impossible for you to move anymore, but Jayce's bouncing kept the pace going.

A string of curses fell from Jayce's mouth as he gripped the base of his cock and pumped it a few times, that was all he needed to release the spurts of cum from him.

The moans and whimpers that Jayce made was enough to throw you over the edge, your hips thrusted wildly as you clenched around the dildo, your head going dizzy with euphoria.

Jayce watched your jaw fall open and the most beautiful sounds leave your throat, he never wanted to forget them, he only wished it was him that made you sound like that.

When the cloud of ecstasy faded, you removed the device and put it in the cleaning bag you'd brought with you.

Jayce cleaned up the mess he'd made on his own abdomen whilst you pulled your pants back on, the silence wasn't uncomfortable although it was obvious that you both wanted to address what had just happened, but neither of you wanted to be the first one to speak.

You picked up his clothes and handed them to him, "I'll see you in the morning," you caressed his cheek and he leaned into your palm with a soppy smile and puppy dog eyes that could melt your heart.

Things would be different in the morning. You weren't sure by how much, or for better or worse, but you knew everything would change now.

[lilacxquartz]

in an attempt to teach you;

mr. silvair x f!reader

plot: mr. silvair who found you to be an intellectual curiosity, took it upon himself in teaching you anatomy — themes: heavily suggestive, limited dialogue, mutual pining, everything is consensual here but he’s unsettling lol — a/n: this will be continued in january :) — w.c: 1.6k • ao3 • masterlist

(header by @devotion-disorder, used with permission which inspired the fic :) pls go check out their blog <3)

The ghost apartments were far from being the safest places that you could have ended up in, but it was still early on in your exploration, too. Many uncertainties popped up along the way and ultimately, you somehow found your way back in Mr. Silvair’s care each and every single time.

Your latest ailment left your stomach in pain though, following a particularly nasty tumble in the dark. Thankfully though, Mr. Silvair was quite good at mending you, or at least in giving you a place to recover at your own pace, however, what with how you seemed to be in more distress than usual, his curiosity piqued in a different way this time.

As you curled up on the sofa, you gasped at his sudden arrival, your body flinching ever so slightly at the looming sight. Mr. Silvair then pressed up his calloused palm right against your abdomen without warning (likely to inspect it) but then in doing so, you reacted negatively to the sudden intrusion and as a result, ended up pulling away.

At first, Mr. Silvair simply just looked down at you, his thoughts unclear, and after a long enough silence had passed between the two of you, he finally tilted his head off to the side, seeming almost… confused? He tried again, asking for a word that you didn’t yet understand, maintaining some distance per your quiet request (or at least for now).

“…####?”

You blinked, your face blanking in confusion.

Mr. Silvair, ever determined to pursue any sort of curiosity didn’t waver in his conveyed approach, immediately reaching to pinch at your soft skin and when you reacted negatively—he repeated the word. He did the same to his own flesh—his nose wrinkling up when he did so as if he didn’t like the sensation—repeating the term again and again in that same quizzical tone.

Finally, you got it. He was asking if you were hurting.

“Pain?” he asked once more, the word registering at last.

You slowly nodded, thinking that he would perhaps take a step back and leave you be, but he stayed right where he was. Warily, your gaze followed his curious hands over to your stomach, asking yet even more words that you couldn’t yet comprehend.

What with the language barrier being ever frustrating, Mr. Silvair’s lips curled into a frown due to the lack of understanding alone, but ultimately, his determination didn’t falter, now seeming more motivated than ever before.

“Me,” he pointed at himself, gesturing out words that you already did know, “teach,” he added, his fingers travelling in your direction, “you,” before returning them to settle at his lips, “language?”

You nodded.

“Me, teach you…” Mr. Silvair repeated quicker that time, although allowing his words to trail off as he considered the right approach, gesturing at your general form, “…####?”

The way that he repeated the mystery word over and over left you wondering if he was asking about your general anatomy, with your suspicions were made clear when he repeated the same actions towards his own body—proving that it was just as you had initially thought.

“My… body?” you repeated, swirling a pointed finger around your physique, interpreting that perhaps, he wanted to teach you more words that related to it. Perhaps, his intentions were genuine, since you were actively in pain and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to help you recover. Still though, you held onto some retained suspicion, knowing that Mr. Silvair’s curiosity could either be a good thing or… it could be something else entirely.

Continuing onwards, Mr. Silvair carried on before any of those negative thoughts in your mind had a chance to linger. The last thing he wanted was for you to negatively react to his presence, especially so early on and so, with a flick of his wrist, he pointed towards your head, repeating a set of familiar words as his exploration gradually traveled down your body.

“Eyes? Nose? Lips?” he asked, making sure to ask words that you already knew before tracing a light touch along your neck, the sensation feeling almost tender. “...####?”

“My… neck?” you gulped, feeling your throat swallow beneath his firmly appointed digits that remained pressed against your vulnerable skin. It wasn’t exactly painful, but the pressure was tight enough to make you feel nervous.

“####?” he asked again, smoothing out a brushing touch along your shoulders, feeling a flicker of satisfaction when you understood him the way that he wanted you to.

At this point on, you were beginning to feel almost nervous as his hands kept traveling down, but also… curious. The way his fingers pinched and tugged at what you wore though, was a clear indication that he didn’t like what you had on (perhaps finding it to be an obstacle of some sort) and so you found yourself giving into his silent request. As though to play it as safely as possible, you removed the raincoat you wore, revealing your dress-clad form just beneath—the fabric slightly frayed.

Mr. Silvair’s gaze lingered somewhat, almost clinically, before moving on and repeating a few more familiar words as he swept his touch across what you both already understood between one another. He then lifted his hands ever so slightly, peppering a feather-light dab of his fingertips before tracing a line down your collarbones, feeding you an understanding of that word, before running the pad down to where your cleavage began.

Feeling your breath hitch, you weren’t sure how to respond. Usually, if a man was so brazenly forward with you—you would try to push them away, perhaps even scold them if need be—and yet, you didn’t actually dislike this development (and maybe even enjoyed it). Indeed, there was something… particular… about Mr. Silvair that left you feeling a certain way. Perhaps it was unease, but it was also something different—something intimate.

And then all of a sudden, he leaned in close, allowing for your form to be swallowed up by his looming presence. It seemed that this was technically a process that he built up to, but you were otherwise too overwhelmed and lost in your own thoughts to have ever noticed the progression. Tensing up right away, your breath hitched as he moved in closer, anticipating something—anything—you weren’t quite sure what, to finally happen.

Mr. Silvair’s execution was painstakingly slow as if reading into your body language before finalising his next move. For a moment, you weren’t at all sure what to expect, but then you felt a cold bead of something trickle down your spine as his hands fumbled with something just out of reach, leading you to understand that he dropped the zipper to your dress.

Had you not been in such a stunned silence, you would have done more to cover up your now exposed form—but you didn’t.

You simply sat still and Mr. Silvair simply just… watched, as if assessing his next move.

Taking a moment to appreciate your form, Mr. Silvair broke through the tension by approaching you, helping you shuffle out of the restrictive fabric, reading into the situation, and making sure, that you were at the very least, not opposed in the direction that this whole interaction was headed in. Forcing yourself to remain calm, you didn’t turn him away either as his hands smoothed over your bare breasts next, informing you of yet another word, and when his fingers tweezed around the stiff peaks of your nipples, another word slipped out.

Mr. Silvair then continued along this route, using your accepting silence to move lower and lower, until finally, his touch met at your stomach. He paused momentarily, noticing a deep, slightly raised bruise and for a second, a wave of concern passed through him—causing him to pause in his tracks before continuing onwards as soon as he determined it was okay to do so—wanting for the new-found intimacy between the two of you to last.

You didn’t stop him all the while—not even as his fingertips dipped lower and lower—not even as they pushed into the apex of your inner thighs. No, there was something tender about this shared moment that left you craving more of it.

And feeling as his fingers moved along and stroked along your heated sex, you couldn’t help but reactively curl your fingers into tight fists, almost straining at the implication. Your face quickly grew flushed, squeezing your legs tight much to his confusion, causing him to withdraw ever so slightly.

Mr. Silvair paused, the concern returning. “...Pain?”

However, you shook your head.

“Sad? Happy?” he continued, cycling through a whole range of emotions, trying to determine what was wrong—if anything was wrong at all.

“H-Happy,” you repeated which he seemed to understand, widening his smile as a result.

Mr. Silvair then continued on with confidence, taking hold of your hand that time around, watching as you grew all the more embarrassed from the way he pulled you closer—guiding your hand towards him in a similar way—allowing you to touch where his—his—oh!

Your eyes grew wide as he settled your touch over his length, which was initially soft, watching—feeling with you—as he quickly grew hard.

Mr. Silvair paused, his face adopting a reddish hue as he seemed to finally understand what you meant by feeling ‘happy’, his mind racing with all sorts of new ideas and curiosities alike. However, he stopped himself, choosing to at least conclude the examination, teaching you how to next address your thighs, knees and feet next, before returning to the initial issue at hand—the pain.

And once it was settled—once you were fixed, then perhaps he could explore something different with you next time.

(Something that could make you both feel ‘happy’?)

[archive-z]

curating reading lists (without social media)

a guide to finding stuff to read, for @divorceblogger. this is a guide specifically for avoiding things like goodreads/storygraph etc which aggregate books that are popular without being all that helpful for finding things on niche/specialist topics.

a bit of housekeeping before getting to the actual list-making tips:

i mostly read nonfiction targeted at both academic and popular audiences. i also read a mixture of classic lit, genre fiction, zines & conceptual/artists’ books, and playtexts & poetry. i read traditional print books, non-traditional print publications, PDF and ePub ebooks on an iPad/iPhone, and listen to audiobooks and audio dramas.

i have a infinite number of books i want to read. the discovery process of new & interesting outstrips my capacity to read them all, so i have to be extremely selective. this also means i never tolerate a book i’m not enjoying. it can have weak points, but i have to be getting something out of the experience, or else i am wasting my one wild n precious life, ya feel?

my goal is to read for quality, not for quantity. i tend to dislike a lot of online reading communities for their focus on metrics (number of books, page count, word count, etc). i bristle at tools that try to push my reading into this direction. i have a reading practice, in the same sense that one would have an artistic practice. thinking of my reading as a practice — rather than a project, a thing to be completed and checked off the checklist — helps orient me towards patterns of thinking that serve me better

i work in the arts industry, so fiction and non-fiction books are reference tools. when I finish reading a book, I put it back on the shelf, like returning a tool to the toolbox until it is time to use it again. i live in a bachelor flat, so obvs i have to resist the incessant pressures of consumerism, but it doesn’t bother me that i have not read every book that i own. they are there for when i get to them. similarly, i would not be bothered by owning a kitchen fire extinguisher that i have not used.

where do I keep my reading lists?

Obsidian: for organising to-read lists on specific topics, genres, eras, locations, etc. i repeat books across multiple lists where appropriate. i don’t keep a single master list of everything I want to read because it would simply be too unwieldy to manage. Small focused lists of no more than ~25 books on the topic are best, imo.

TinyCat: for cataloguing physical books that i own. i have a shortcut to the website on my phone so i can easily pull it up if i can’t remember what books in a series i already have. i can tag anything unread with my “antilibrary” tag. for my own amusement, i also insert library pockets and circulation cards into my books and stamp them with the date completed (using my beloved rotary date stamp). i can also stamp the date a friend who borrowed the book completed it. i like seeing the signatures add up over time.

Zotero: for academic bibliographic citations. useful habit to get into if you transcribe lots of quotes from yr readings into yr notes.

how do i develop my reading lists?

i usually develop my reading lists through a combination of concerted effort to research a topic & ambient browsing. this isn’t Abt How to rigorously conduct research though so im gonna focus more on ~letting books organically find me~

when i have a book that i enjoy, i see if the author has written any more books on topics that interest me. incredibly basic 101 advice but somehow people still miss this one.

check the bibliographies & acknowledgements. if something comes up in bibliography after bibliography, its usually a good sign its worth checking out. also, authors usually thank other authors in their acknowledgements, its a great way to start building an idea

i love when artists talk abt their influences in interviews, like this interview abt what influences and easter eggs there are in disco elysium (i screamed at the Einstürzende Neubauten reveal!!!). i love when fans come up with their own reading lists for media, like my list speculating what daniel molloy would have read and watched in 1973.

when i am travelling somewhere i try to read something related to the to place I am going. Wikipedia is a first easy point of reference to find out if yr destination is famous for being the birthplace of X poet or Y film is set there.

tertiary sources. secondary sources are about a primary source, whereas tertiary sources aim to provide an overview of the major debates in those secondary sources on a specific topic rather than to generate their own new ideas/arguments. the oxford university press “a very short introduction” series varies in quality but its often a very useful starting point.

recs from friends/gifts. my loved ones know i like books, and books are usually a cheap & easy gift for holidays & special occasions. i gift books that i want to read myself, so we can talk abt the book together.

what physical locations do I browse?

Local library, university library. You might be even be able to get a specialist library card to an archive or museum reading room. Some public libraries also have special collections like the Seattle Zine Library.

For-sale section in the local library. proceeds usually go to supporting the library

local secondhand bookshop. there are several in walking distance, i usually hit them up quarterly, especially as i gift a lot of secondhand books

local independent bookshops. several local independent bookstores host an annual bookstore crawl where if you get a stamp from all of them in one weekend u enter a draw to win $1000 gift card :)

thrift store/charity shop/antique markets. there is usually a section with books even if the main focus is clothes/furniture

book events. author talks, staged readings of new plays, poetry readings, book/lit mag launch parties, Writers Festivals, small/independent press fair, rare book fair, zine fests, international library day, conferences

bookshelves at house parties. im 100% the person checking out yr bookshelf at a house party. great place to get yr flirt on.

travel. basically any new place im going, i look-up in advance the local library, second hand bookstores, charity shops, antiques stores etc. and save them in my maps on my phone. if i can conveniently pop into one while im there, neat! i particularly like municipal libraries bc the big ones are usually architecturally interesting (like the Vancouver Public Library) and the small ones are usually really charming and full of specific local history, leaflets to interesting local stuff, etc.

what online locations do I browse?

navigating the online catalogue to yr local & academic libraries is a whole skill unto itself. i was very fortunate be born in the late 90s and to have a specific local librarian teach me boolean operators before i could tie my shoelaces, ride a bike, or, frankly, do most human being things (shoutout to Miss T yr a real one). your library very likely has something like a workshop or at the very least a help desk that can help u with this if needed.

mailing lists of small/independent presses.

publishers websites (academic and general audience).

wikipedia. u can look at the footnotes section on wikipedia. its free. its legal.

looking up university syllabi. some are on profs’ websites, some are available through the university library. there is also the Open Syllabus website which aggregates the most often mentioned books in submitted syllabi, organised by discipline or through a visual map.

what’s available on libby/borrowbox.

Archive dot org and google books/google scholar to read the previews and judge if the book is worth following up on.

i didn’t actually include any selections of my personal reading lists, but if you would like to know more you can always shoot me an ask with a specific topic in mind.

[psycheetamore]

Punish me (part 1 of 3) – learning how to succumb to Feyd-Rautha’s process of redemption

Summary: you, a young Fremen woman, have not adhered to tradition. As punishment, your tribe sends you off to seek penance with Arrakis governor Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Since his rulership started, he has been all too happy to take the role to help redeem Fremen, as it has allowed him to create a symbiosis with the local population (and also sooth his own urges). Not really knowing what to expect, but having heard some stories relayed, you decide to follow through, in the hope of being accepted by your tribe again. But the process of redemption does not go as anticipated, not being kept as a mere slave for manual work. The na-Baron has taken interest in you, and decides to see how far he can push you, break you and rebuild you to his own corrupted liking through manipulation and deprivation. Split in 3 chapters as it got too long.

Notes: I was listening to my favourite song Bestrafe Mich from Rammstein on repeat, and thought to myself ‘I need to write this story’. The content was inspired by the ‘transformative process’ of Winston Smith of 1984, the will to live from Jigsaw and the lyrics of Kerosine (please treat this as a tag/trigger warning).

Tags for this chapter – additional tags in chapters 2 and 3: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha is his own trigger warning, manipulative Feyd, talkative Feyd, dominant Feyd, physically imposing Feyd, humiliating Feyd, oral demanding Feyd (as a tool of near-daily conditioning), nutritious black cum giving/weaponizing cum Feyd, food depriving Feyd, attention depriving Feyd, drugging Feyd, dubcon/noncon Feyd, no beta we die like duke leto. The author may actually start to have regrets looking at the tags (and the tags will get worse in the 2nd chapter)– I trust I do not need to add ‘dead dove don’t eat’ with all these tags. Tbh, this is absolute fey foul filth no-one should read

Word count: 5.3k

+++

You were disposed off at the steps to the palace of Carthag, used by Harkonnen rulership. You had two options: go back to the desert, where you would need to fend for yourself for the rest of your short life, or redeem yourself by entering this building where he ruled.

Your stubbornness had brought you here. Consequences not unknown, and willingly accepted, you had decided not to slay your fellow Fremen warrior after an altercation. Tradition dictated you should have. It was a way to plenish the subterrain water storages to make Arrakis green one day. By not fulfilling your task, you robbed your people from their future. You opened the door to unnecessary fights taunting hierarchy and tradition. You forced a fellow fighter to a life in shame rather than to die in honour. Still, at this moment you did not feel regret. Not yet.

Confident you made the right decision, you needed to follow through on the aftermath and went in. How bad could it be, what the imposed governor of this planet had to offer you? Already familiar and comfortable with hardship, the worst he could do was put you at work as a slave. Work in the spice refinement factories. You have heard stories of other Fremen having undergone his treatment, coming back salvaged and redeemed. They were not taken care of that badly, with regular food, shelter and even good access to water for Fremen standards. You knew not everybody returned, some choosing to stay in the employ of the na-Baron.

Your life would never be the same again.

Stepping into the fort, you were immediately surrounded by guards. It was still not an event that occurred every day: a Fremen partisan walking into the lion’s den.

After you were frisked and deprived from your weapons, you followed their path into the belly of the building: the throne room.

In this spacious room, filled with stone materials and beige colours, sitting at the top of imposing stairs leading to a throne, the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen governed over Arrakis.

As you were pushed down with a sudden blow against the back of your knees, falling on all fours, he purred: “what brings you here, young woman?”

A deep, smoky voice. You hardly had a chance to look at him, as your head was pushed down by a guard shouting at you to avert your eyes. A voice, resonating from deep within what sounded like a powerful body, that was your first impression of him.

You gulped, followed by a blow against your shoulder from the guard for not answering quickly enough.

“Sir, I am here to repent” you answered.

Another blow on your ribs followed. “You will address the na-Baron with his correct title” the guard screamed at you.

“You are here to repent? Why?” he asked.

“I failed to follow traditions. I did not kill when required.” You reach for breath, long enough to justify a kick against your ribs. “Lord na-Baron” was what hastily left your voice.

“Hmm. Ancient, outdated traditions. But girl, if you need to kill, you need to kill” he said smoothly. He clearly enjoyed himself. “Do you want to be here?”

“Yes sir. Lord na-Baron” your answer replied, being somewhat startled by the question.

“I will offer you one chance to leave before your repentance commences. I will allow you to leave, now, with the clothes on your back and one day worth of water. You will receive your weapons and I will not hunt you down. Not before the day ends in any case. But you only get this offer now. Now, and, after your penance ends, if you survive.”

You briefly looked up, to see a pale smiling man with a tilted head. He was observing you. Looking at your reactions. Trying to read you. Trying to understand you.

“You see. You are not the first, nor the last being sent here to atone. You would not be the first to leave, nor the last, within minutes after having set foot in my house. However, you can only achieve forgiveness from your tribe through me. I am willing to offer this, which is reserved for the strongest.”

Perhaps ten seconds past. Ten long seconds. Ten long seconds during which you were gazing into his eyes, as he was gazing into yours. Mesmerised. Something in the whole situation, in addition to your choice to seek forgiveness, triggered a masochistic interest in you.

The smile slowly left his face, as sternness entered. “I did not allow you to look up. Guard.” This invited the guard to place his knee on your back, put all his weight on your frame, causing you to fall on your belly, barely allowing you to prevent your face from hitting the stone floor.

“I see you have made your decision. Guards” he instructed, as he waived his hand to have you taken away.

Another guard joined. With both of them clamping an arm under your armpit you were dragged away.

You did not know it yet, but this was the last time in a period of three standard-months that you would see any other living person than Feyd-Rautha.

+++

As if going through a light-barren maze, you finally reached your destination. Being carried through several adjacent rooms which were fitted out opulently, with carvings of the sacred worms on the walls, you were thrown into one of the few rooms that neighboured what appeared to be a place for night rest. The click of the lock was your cue to stand up and start exploring. Even if you had submitted yourself to servitude, you would not end up a reactive victim.

Getting up on your feet, you explored your new home. It was decorated scarcely, with a small bed, a table and a chair, and an adjacent small bathroom holding only a pit to the ground covered by a box with an opening, a pipe through which sand could be taken for cleaning purposes and a pile of rags. In total perhaps 15 or 20 square meters. There was one small window, looking out on training grounds.

The table held a few bits of food, in the form of dried meats and fruits, and a small container of water. As if your presence was expected.

Hours passed.

The night fell.

You could not catch sleep, the uncertainty being unnerving.

While the moons were at their highest peak, you decided to look outside. Think about you comrades and how they were doing. Whether they were gazing at the same stars as you.

Movement caught your eye. Several stories below you, you heard fighting. It appeared to be the na-Baron in close combat with another person, but you could only ever so often catch a glimpse of your host. After the young lord was worked to the ground, it appeared the other person extended their hand to help him up. A training, not a fight. They continued till dawn.

+++

As the star had hit its highest point, you were still to encounter any other person. You had succumbed to hunger and eaten half of what was provided.

+++

Before dusk you had submitted to sleep. Still unclear on what was to come, but no longer able to fight your fatigue.

+++

In the middle of the night, you woke up. Strange sounds were coming through the door. Panting. Gasping. Growling. Flesh hitting flesh. Signs of copulation. Screeches of pain. The sounds of hands and whips forcefully hitting bodily mass.

Suddenly you heard someone plead. A woman. Begging for mercy. Naming the person for whom the supplication was attended, the na-Baron.  A simple answer followed: “no”, spoken by him, “you have lost the right for redemption”. Succeeded by a blunt sound, as if a body hit the ground.

A few minutes later a door opened, and something entered the room next to yours. He spoke: “fresh meat my darlings.”

For what seemed an eternity sloppy sounds and animalistic growls creeped through the door to hit your ears. However, you tried to block the sounds of what appeared to be feasting, you failed.

It had you frozen in your bed, not making any sound or any movement, until hours had gone by in silence and you felt safe enough to get up.

That night you decided you would do everything to live. The gruelling end that you had heard taking place would not befall you.

+++

Another day passed, food and water depleted, physical drain setting in.

The evening started to set in, as the lock turned. Your visitor would find you in the comfort of your bed, where you had laid your tired body, not being quick enough to get up on your feet.

It was the owner of this very building that came in, carrying a basket and a second chair. Solemnly he walked to the table, where he placed the basket, as you sat hurdled up, protecting your legs with your arms, making yourself small. The chair was put near the other chair, at an angle of 90 degrees.

“Come here” he said, as he started to remove the items from the basket. He did not make any attempts to close the door.

Recalling how tardiness was treated just a few days earlier, bruises on your body being proof of that, you stood up immediately and approached with cautious steps. On the table food was displayed, plates, cups to hold drinks, cutlery. He drew one of the chairs out, to invite you to take a seat.

As he pushed you seated towards the table, he settled himself as well, and started to divide the food over the two plates between both of you.

“Do you know why you are sent here?” he asked.

You looked at him, as he pushed one of the plates towards you. “Eat”. Your eyes scanned him quickly, followed by your hand moving to gather some much-needed replenishment. “After you answer my question” he said with a smirk.

Itching with hunger, you quickly explained what had happened. Your answer ended with: “it could never be as bad as living with knowing I robbed children from their parent over an irrelevant discussion that got out of hand.”

He chuckled and nodded towards the plate, allowing you to dig in.

“I will explain why I am here, now, in this very room, Fremen women. It is all about symbiosis.”

You looked up at him, questioningly, while continuing to chew.

“Symbiosis. A cooperative relationship between me and the Fremen. I do not know whether it existed when my brother was still here. If I were Fremen, I would in any case not trust him enough for it” he grinned. “I also don’t know whether it existed before him, or when the Richese were in charge. When I was holding court, on an ordinary day, the first Fremen was sent to me. I first thought it was a trap. But as I continued to torture him, I started to be convinced it was true. It makes sense, for the superstitious people you are. I had thought about it, and decided to honour the request. It is an easy task for me, and ever since, the raids on my spice production have gone down. We have reached an equilibrium.”

“Sir…”

His face started to display his menacing side.

“Lord Harkonnen…”

“Better.”

“My lord Harkonnen, if I may ask? What happened to the man?”

“Aah. Muriz. I will never forget his name” he said, his pupils dilating as he stared in the distance.

With energy starting to fuel your blood and limbs, you started to have room to be more observant. The man in front of you was wearing clothing made of a thin, flowy and black fabric, covering his entire body. A wide shirt that was tucked into high wasted trousers, that seemed to be tied together by a broad belt of the same material also holding two daggers. The broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist were accentuated. Through the tailoring of the shirt, that was tied together at the waist with hidden buttons, it gave the impression that he was even broader than he was. He had left his shirt partially unbuttoned, showing the harsh curves from his sculpted body. You had heard the stories before. What a brute his brother was, how sophisticated the man in front of you was. In intellect, in political acumen, and also in his physical state. The legs of the pants were wide, while consisting of overlaying parts - they could be mistaken for a skirt. His feet were adorned with simple indoor-shoes.

This was an outfit to relax in, despite the weapons, while still presenting himself in a thought-through manner. Quite an attractive manner, showcasing him in all his manliness, you thought. As your eyes glanced over his body, you could not help but think what he was hiding under his robes. How he looked when not covered. Whether his entire body was so pale. Whether his body was as stern and deliberate as he was in words. What you would find. Thoughts quite foreign to you. Perhaps the result on the sudden influx of fuel.

“Muriz. He was a strong man. I subjected him to quite something. I thought about what to do with him. Destroy him for pleasure, keep him for entertainment – he turned out to be a funny guy, or send him back. I decided to do the latter. I felt he had redeemed himself for the crimes he had committed. Well, in my eyes again not crimes, but silly altercations. You people know no fun. You are way too sacred about life. I allowed him to strengthen in our sickbay before sending him off. Clearly did the right thing, because ever since I have had a steady flow of guests.”

He chuckled as he thought about Muriz. Fear wrapped your mind as you started to understand the gravity of the situation. You tried to shift your focus from the thoughts that were crossing through your head: “I have never heard of Muriz. He must have been of another sietch.” His eyes flared up, easily triggered to be filled with anger. “My lord Harkonnen.”

“That is right. You will address me always with my title.” He chuckled again. “Unless I am fucking you. In such case you may also address me by my given name.”

These words got you startled. The abruptness of this comment, understated it was, yet if felt like he was inside your brain. You were still swallowing food when that happened, causing you to breath some into your lunges. A simple cough was not enough to get it out of you, but you did not want to let yourself go in front of this man. With airflow being restricted, you quickly stood up while glancing up to him with a guilty look on your eyes, and retreated to the bathroom. There you started to cough violently. But it didn’t come out. You fell to your hands and knees, as your back arched more relentlessly.

Steady arms grabbed around your midriff, easily picking you up from the floor and drawing your back against his chest while digging their way into your belly with repeated force. A few tugs were needed to have your body expel the food that would have allowed you a fairly pain-free way out of the ordeal that was to come. You would not be given such exit. You needed to deserve redemption.

Gasping for breath, he did not leave you to fall back on the ground. He supported you. Continued to hold you against him. You felt the hardness of his chest, the hardness of his abdomen, the hardness of his groin. Once that awareness hit you, you turned around and tried to get away from him. Pushing against his front, trying to find enough room to push your knee in between the both of you, but he was not having that. As if he did not register your efforts, he spoke: “such a greedy little girl. Hmm, what else would you be greedy for? What else would you be able to choke on?” he said, as he pushed hairs that covered your face to be fitted behind your ears.

A menacing look was on his face. He tilted his face and uncovered the true blackness of his teeth through a wide smile. You wanted to get away, but every time you pushed, you somehow managed to touch his warm skin, with his manhood being pushed against you harder and harder. Your breathing increased, as you wanted to avert his gaze. It was mesmerizing. One of his hands found its way towards your neck, forcing you to present it for him feast on.

For a moment the thought of compliance fell over you.

But you could not. Not with him, not here.

He must have felt your internal battle, as he picked you up with one arm and placed you on the counter in this little bathroom. His hips forcing their way in between your legs, he did what he was set to do; feast on your neck. As he lapsed his tongue, he growled: “I can taste your fear.” A moan followed. “It is precious.” He licked all across your neck, forcing you to succumb to hidden desires that had found their way up and throw your head back, exposing yourself in all your vulnerability. “You are reacting well. Better than I had anticipated. Better than the others. I had planned to take more time with these first steps. But you are adopting so good, we might as well speed up.”

“No, please” you pleaded, “don’t”, as his words had snapped you out of your debilitation.

His hand found your neck, pressing with intense strength. “What… did… I… tell… you?” he spoke, extremely slow.

Gasping for air you spit out: “lord, lord Harkonnen.”

“How much punishment and threats do you need to learn such a simple thing?” he huffed in your ear. “It seems your body responds better to what I require than your brain. Let’s see whether your mouth is more part of your body or your brain” as he let you go and took a step back.

“On your knees” his smoky voice said.

It was an order. Not a request, not a proposal. Knowing you should not keep him waiting, you anxiously got of the counter and took the position required. You did not dare to look up.

“Do I need to explain every step to you? I thought you were smarter than this” he said, with discontent in his voice. As if he meant it. As if he was genuinely disappointed. 

Before you had looked up high enough to see his eyes, yours were caught staring straight at his length. Within seconds he had uncovered himself, allowing it to spring free in all its awe. You would not have much time to gasp at its unprecedented size, its terrifying girth or its pearl colour, as he had used the opening you had involuntarily created between your lips to be able to gasp to push himself in.

You tried to temper his speed and depth by pushing against his groin, which only enticed him to go deeper.

“I will show you how you can find hidden treasures of liquid inside yourself” he moaned, as he thrashed himself repeatedly in your mouth, finding the depths of your throat. “A valuable lesson for a Fremen.”

Saliva came rising up from your throat. You wanted to swallow it, but were prevented by his cock. The same cock that was preventing you from breathing.

Just in time to save you from passing out, he removed himself sufficiently for you to recuperate.

Never did he leave you entirely though. Through the entire ordeal he filled your mouth.

“You see how much your body wants me? Wet, your mouth is so wet. I will show you another place that is wet”, as he removed himself for the first time. He kneeled in front of you, pushed his hand into your pants, into your underwear and digged straight into you. A pang of pain shot through you, causing you to release a scream.

His fingers did not leave you though, as they started to twirl around: “so wet, yet so tight. I believe I am the first to explore you. But you see, your body adapts so quickly, it is such a good student” as he finally removed his fingers with a curl. He knew what he was doing. He knew the placed he would touch inside your walls with that small little motion. He knew he was alternating pain with pleasure.

He played with the viscous liquid between his fingers in front of your eyes. “Do you see this? Your pussy is filled with it. It is preparing to have me. It wants to have me. It wants to have my cock, my sperm, my offspring. Isn’t it beautiful?”

You closed your eyes, but he was not having that. Feyd-Rautha slapped you in the face as he ordered: “answer me when I am talking to you.”

With big terrified eyes you responded: “yes, lord Harkonnen.”

“Good” as he stood up and presented himself again. “Where were we?”

Fearful of his response, you opened your mouth again to welcome this powerful man. He grabbed the back of your head and started to thrust again.

Before long he had found depths in your throat so deep that you could not even choke.

But he would not give you the grace of coming in the back of your throat. No, this man withdrew, keeping just the tip of his cock in your mouth, as he came. Every drop spilled on your tongue, filling you with his precious black liquid.

You looked up and just knew spitting it out would be a death sentence. It would have already be reason for significant backlash in your sietch, spilling liquids, but this man would be insulted to his deepest core.

So you swallowed this gift. Together with all the saliva you had produced. Liquid, even some calories and vitamins. Nothing went to waste. He did not require you to share, he benevolently gave you everything.

As he held your head in his hands, he looked down on you and seemed pleased: “I will reward your progress with lessons. Should you ever leave the warmth of my embrace, you will go back a more mature and studied person.”

He helped you to your feet and guided you back to your room.

After you joined him at the table, you wanted to take a sip from the cup in front of you. “No” he said with a dark voice. “You will taste me for the hours to come. You will learn to love it, if you don’t already do. To crave it. One of the lessons I will teach that will aid your survival.”

You could not help but wonder what the benefit was of learning something like that. How this would make you into a more mature person. How this would make you fit into your Fremen society better. But you knew better than to waste precious liquids.

“Now, eat. Replenish. You do not know when the next meal will come” he chuckled.

As you continued eating, scared for any sudden eruptions, you listened to what he had to say.

“It is all about symbiosis as I said. It helps to create stability on this planet. You wanted to salvage the parent, the children. How do you believe they now feel?”

Having switched to tiny bits of food, it was easy to swallow what was left and answer: “my lord, I would believe they feel relief. Relief that they are still together. That the children can be taken care of.”

“Hmm. How do you think your fellow warriors look upon them?”

“Lord Harkonnen, I would believe they would have otherwise pitied them. In absence of which they would feel they have gotten out with a lot of luck.”

“Considering that argumentation, why are you not hailed in by the Fremen as a benevolent saviour, but rather thrown at my mercy?”

“My lord…” you now understood what you had done, your heart dropping to your feet, all pangs of hunger suddenly disappearing. You dropped your face onto your hands and could not help but start to shiver. Crying had been something you had learned not to show, as it caused a loss of precious water. This had been your alternative.

“It is interesting how all Fremen show this emotion in a different way. None of you seem to cry. Not initially. And this is what you do. How quaint” he commented.

You did not know what to do with that comment. You decided to just keep to the position you had chosen, and silently weep in your hands.

“We as rulers need to be strict on our people. It is the only way to prevent anarchy. I rule with an iron hand on Giedi Prime, and I rule with equal sternness on this planet. Strong people require strong leadership” he explained. “Look at me” while removing one of your hands and forcing your face up. “I am disappointed you failed to see this. You failed to see the reasons behind your own traditions” he said in a humiliating way with a tilted head.

He must have seen your shame grow, your feelings of guilt, as his look started to soften. This evening had been very successful for him, starting to break you down. He stood up with a smile exposing some of his black teeth again and walked to the door, leaving the chair, the food and the drinks he had brought.

But he did not leave without a last word.

Looking at you, at the table and at you again, he said: “I know you will not abuse my trust by drinking anything before dawn.” You nodded, and he left.

Upon his departure you felt you had said a lot and your feelings had been soaring through your body. Perhaps too much. You had never been so loosed-lipped, nor full of spirit.

It was only after his departure that you noticed he had not eaten anything on his own plate. The thought rushed through your head whether you should try to throw up. On second thought you decided against it. You were already at his will. Either you would die through whatever he had contemplated for you, or you would die from hunger. But if he had not intended for you to die, throwing up could entice him to show his wrath. You came to the conclusion, for the sanity of your own mind, that he had left that food for you to eat at a later moment.

Deep inside of you, you knew that the food had been laced with something to bring you to open yourself up to him, mentally and physically. And you would continue to do so, if you wanted to survive, needing the food in front of you for that very purpose.

+++

Another day past. At the end of the day, you had consumed everything he had brought, somehow trusting he would bring you more despite the hunger that had started to set in.

And he did.

As night started to fall, the door was opened again, and the young lord stepped in. You flew up from your chair to greet him. “Good evening lord na-Baron.”

“Very good. You are learning” he complimented. “But you are not there yet entirely. The next time I enter that door, I expect you to already be kneeling.” A rush of blood flew through your body, unasked for filling your nether regions with energy. “I apologise, lord Harkonnen” as you dropped yourself to the ground.

“Very good�� he repeated. “You are not a quick learner, but you may get there. I can work with that for the time being.”

He walked to the table, placed his basket on the table and went to stand in front of you. “I have decided that from now on, every time that you want to eat, you first need to drink” as he fiddled with his trousers and presented his cock, already fully erect and menacing.

You knew what to do, as you opened your mouth and drew him in.

Famished as you were, you started sucking him as hard as your mouth would allow you to.

“Hungry girl, aren’t you? Hungry for my cock, for my black nutritious semen. I have started to condition you just fine. You should be grateful for my teachings. This is what will keep you alive.” He moaned as he grabbed your head and said: “let me help you, little Fremen student.”

Continuing to moan he released himself in your throat this time. After a couple of seconds, he moved himself to the beginning of your mouth. “Suck me dry, you should not let any drop go to waste” he suggested. A suggestion you followed. If you knew drops were left, he would not even need to ask you to collect these; you would have done so out of sheer will and need. For the first time, you touched him, held him, to pull his folds back and salvage any last bit of what he had to offer to you.

Before long he started to get hard again. You thought he wanted you to repeat, causing you to guide him deeper in. It happened automatically, you did not even think about it. But, that was not what he had planned as he removed himself from you: “you have earned your right for food. Eat. It is still warm.”

Again, the basket contained to sets of plates and cutlery. Now you were tasked to split the food. Again, he did not eat or drink anything. Again, you were not allowed to drink. Again, a conversation ensued. A conversation about your history, your upbringing.

A conversation that turned into discussing your fears, trauma’s. No-one, apart from your mother, had ever learned about your fear of water. A near-death experience when you fell in one of the wells as a toddler, had been kept buried deep inside. but here you were spilling it in great detail to your host, who seemed pleased to learn of it. Within Fremen society you had managed to avoid large bodies of water since, by referring to tradition and the fear of wasting any drop.

As he left for the night, he stood still in the door again, looking at the drinks on the table and at you again. Wanting to receive his praise again, you stated: “I will salvage your taste until dawn, my lord Harkonnen.” With a confirming nod he left and locked the door.

+++

During the day, you saw Feyd-Rautha train on the grounds again. And it felt as if it was a present given to you, for your compliance and increased understanding. For hours you looked at him, mesmerized.

+++

That night he did not visit you.

You could not catch sleep as your mind started to go in overdrive on what you should have done differently.

+++

Another day past. Another day without food, water or attention. A day laced with guilt, and fear.

+++

This night, he called on you again. Upon hearing the lock being turned, your heart jumped. You knew what you needed to do, not wanting to risk anything to be left alone for more than a day again. Hurling out of bed, on your knees, ready to receive him.

+++

[Link to chapter 2 / 3 and 3 /3 to follow - Punish Me (part 2 of 3): Feyd-Rautha’s lessons for virgins & Punish me (part 3 of 3): the story on how you became one of Feyd-Rautha’s concubines]

@kasagia - a tag as requested

[maxiwaxipads]

Romarriche - “Your company is one of a kind… I would never lie to you. I would never say a half-truth or be quiet.” “What is it in your mind, Merold?” “Hearing your voice, complaint or not—it is music to me either way.” Merold - “If there is one constant in this world… Let it be you.” “You’re the cruelest and the kindest thing that happened to me.” “…If only you continued to look at me like that.” Romarriche - “…Merold?” Merold - “But~ It’s only a minor case of bad-mood-itis.” “So Romarriche, spoil me with a spar, will you?” Romarriche - “Merold.” Romarriche - “Look at me.” Merold - “…” Romarriche - “Is something… Wrong?” Merold - “Instead of a spar…” “I might want to lie down on your lap after all.”

[gigantomachylesbian]

Guys. I did not know before now that writing could be painfully millennial in a full prose book but the pho*nix ke*per has proven me wrong and I have to complain about it in the tags

[stevethehairington]

book 5 of the year done!!!! im literally one book away from halfway to my goal and the first month of the year isn't even over yet fjsksk i am DEFINITELY going to hit it this year!

[birbfeeder2artisticboogaloo]

I'm fucking crying!!!

LMAO 💀💀💀💀💀💀

Please, I need Renly Beratheon, MY WIFE Yara Greyjoy, Sandor Clegane, Hodor, and Grand Maester Pycelle.

Oh Sinéad 👀💞

How dare you to CALL MY PEDRO PASCAL RICKY MARTIN!!!! LOL

lmaoo i WISH i knew who any of those ppl are 🤣

u see, back in those days, i didn't watch anything with subtitles if i thought i could understand. but it. it turns out. I CAN'T UNDERSTAND AT ALL. I JUST. I AM SO DUMB U LOT U DON'T EVEN KNOW. my dear bestie @brigwife had to SEND ME THE PHOTOS bc i wouldn't even KNOW how to find them otherwise ;A; also i didn't want to accidentally see their REAL names and ruin the integrity of my silly nicknames askljhljafsjsodajdijs i'm so fucking weird 😅

BUT I AM VERY SORRY PEDRO PASCAL. UR QUITE HANDSOME PEDRO PASCAL. i've got a feeling that his character got murdererd at some point tho, probably by zombie joe, so rip king 😔🙏

[screampied]

𝜗𝜚 BIG BOOOYS!

☆ sum. it's cuffin’ seasooon, and now you’ve got a reasooon to get…stuffed? toji, sukuna, choso, geto, nanami, gojo.

warnings. fem! reader, BIG BOYSSSS like the sza skit song, unprotected, manhandling, dad bods (toji / nanami), size kinks, tf! sukuna, boxer! geto, spīt, full nelson, mating press, dp (sukuna), overstim, dirty talk, praise, marathons, p spanks, hair pulling, breedīng, this got kinda … long LOL sry.

an. will t*mblr let me post thisss …. ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO.

“honey,” nanami warmly purrs, his body weight hovering right over yours. you’re met with the most softhearted eyes, watching cloudy puffy pants leave his mouth. you’d just rode nanami for countless hours nonstop, and with ruffled blond strands sticking to his face, he looked oh so feral for you. your eyes rover down toward his abdomen - so plump ‘n round, and you felt yourself throb the more you gawked at the vertical strip of his blond happy trail that ran down his chest. “hah- you want me to . . fold you like a chair? that sounds kind of painful, no?”

“ken, ‘s okay,” you reassure him, a hand sensually rubbing down his cushiony soft-padded abs. nanami was as soft as an oversized teddy bear, and he was always gentle with you during intimacy. you moan, feeling his split reddish tip gently smear a sloppy slope down your sopping entrance before he pauses to let you finish speaking. “y.. you can be a little rough. i can take it.”

nanami combs a hand through his hair before a coy simper tug at both corners of his thin pink lips. “okay, if that’s what my pretty wife wants- then. .” and you let off a jittery whimper once you feel his big hands start to gingerly shove both of your knees to your chest. his touch was forevermore tender, and nanami hoarsely groans as he watches your limbs gradually extend back. “i’ll . . stretch you,” he grumbles, a sandy brow of his furrowing once he starts to align his leaky cockhead once more. you’re throbbing, salivating from the mouth once the pointed crowns of your knees meet against your bare squishy breasts. leaning in, nanami’s just a few sultry centimeters apart before he sensually licks near your bottom lip. “hold onto me, sweetheart. ‘s gonna get a bit . . bumpy.”

once you’re laid flat on your back, nanami’s tubby tummy hovers over your entire frame. murky huffs of air shoot past his lips once he grabs ahold of your wobbly ankles. you’d already had your pretty laced panties shoved to the side, and oh how soaked you were. “naughty girl,” he huskily grunts, casually starting to rub his wedding ring against your folds. slow. . romantic strokes were all you felt. it lasts for a long few seconds, and he’s just smearing the frigid cold band of the ring around your bawling cunt before he finally gets to the real thing.

nanami grabs ahold of your legs—softly shoving them further into your chest. they meet against your bouncy tits and you moan, feeling the plump head of his cock greet your slobbering cunt with wet, slimy kisses of its own. the noises . . they were so damn loud, and you were already throbbing the more he teased you from just his full-sized tip alone. “ngh, ‘ken. don’t tease me. f.. fuck me,” you whine, another moan leaving from your parted lips the second he’s fully enclosed between your legs. you’re met with his rounded tummy that’s sooo perfect ‘n plump, and nanami’s just inches apart from the button of your nose. time stands still once he finishes aligning his thick cock, unhurriedly inserting himself inside.

oh fuck-

those same two words that ripped out of your whiny larynx repeated past your lips right as he started to ease his way inside. it didn’t take him long to quickly bottom out—and you were folded up like a chair. “s- sooo gorgeous for me,” he lowly groans, blond brows crimping together in needy want. your brief tightness that only lasts for a good three seconds makes nanami suck his teeth. so … damn … good, once he bottoms out all the way, you then hear the bubbly resounding ‘pop!’ that alerted you both that he was fit reaaaal nice ‘n snug. “god, the things you do to me, sweetheart.”

nanami tended to ramble mid-fuck, just spouting a bunch of nonsense against the shell of your ear. with barred, bare hands, he’s making sure your legs stay at the folded position you’re at. his cock’s just so fat though, and your eyes were almost cartoonish—widening like saucers at the precise moment he curves his way through that exact pathway of your cunt that makes you squeal. nanami’s sculptured hips drill into you ferociously, and his body that pounded on top of you after each impactful stroke was just so soft. you’d never get over it—he was like an actual plushie teddy bear.

sluggish arms of yours wrap around him, filling his entire ear canal with your continuous whimpers before he groans. “kento, fuuuckk- fuck!” you’d moan, feeling the bed frailly dip from both pounds of jerking weight.

pap after pap after pap, nanami’s stuffing you full with each mouth-watering inch, and your pussy constantly decided to torture you with its dramatic spasms and fluttering. filled to the very hilt, nanami’s making sure your insides got every single part of him.

he’s groaning, trying his hardest not to crush you with his weight. every few seconds, he’d cup your face with two sweaty palms before slowing down with a timid cunt-drunk grin. whispering out a shaky, “hah- you okay, sweetheart? ‘m not crushin’ my sweet girl, am i?” he’d lovingly caress a thumb across your face, acting as if he wasn’t currently fucking you stupid.

“ ‘m okay,” you’d breathlessly croon out in a sweet throaty tune, almost as if your sweet moans were high notes. nanami was hitting you deep, and with a sloppy pivot of his hips, the angle got even deeper. you’re filling up the four paper-thin walls of the bedroom with your trilling whines, purely engulfed by his loud manly musk. your cunt’s already starting to soak with dewy globs of your juices, even dribbling down your folds and oh it’s comin’ . .

“ken, kentoo—oooh!”

nanami felt his dick twitch inside of you at your dragged-out moan of his name.. but - it wasn’t just a moan—it was a pretty, elongated orgasm that caught you by surprise. his blushing tip was messily kissing your pulsating g-spot, circling all around it while casually feeding your grippy, wet walls. you clung onto him tight with your arms and also your insides. before you knew it though, your high was slowly but surely creepin’ up on you.

“i know- i knowww,” he murmured out of breath, and you could feel him starting to slow down. nanami’s rickety hips were passionate. they were steady, and as you were creaming down his weighty shaft, he planted a kiss on your temple. “thaaat’s it, let go. ‘m right here, kento’s here. i’ll clean you right up, sweetheart.”

his words warmed their way into the key of your heart . . slowly traveling between your legs also to make you throb. you’re whimpering the same repeated chant of his name as your arms were now wrapped around his sweat-glossed waist. nanami chuckles into your neck, and he can feel your arms pull his plump body closer. “mhmm, touch my body all you want, honey,” and you moan, feeling him release the grip on your numb legs. nanami brings his wedding ring toward your teary cunt after he pulled out, giving it one more loving rub. “ ‘m all yours,” he kisses near your lips. “always.”

✩ ˛˚ . SUKUNA RYOMEN.

“keh, you make me laugh, woman,” sukuna grouses, slouching back against his notorious throne as you straddle him. eager ‘n all, you try to align yourself and he grabs your hips firmly with a smug scoff. “you can barely handle one, what makes you think you can handle both of me, hm?”

“ ‘kuna, don’t tease me,” you huff, and he hums once he sees the frustration marinating across your face. cute, sukuna knew you didn’t like being teased but he still enjoyed getting underneath your skin. after all, you were his favorite, and maybe just for tonight . . he’d oblige with your carnal desire to get double stuffed. sukuna folds two of hefty arms behind his broad neck, his other arms occupied by gripping your waist. oh, he looked so priggish. a wolffish grin remains plastered on his lips as he watches you wrap a hand around one of his cocks. they were fuckin’ big, both stacked on top of each other and you moan. “stop lookin’ at me like that.”

sukuna snickers. “heh. my apologies, little one. i’ll look away while you struggle, i guess,” and a fang pops underneath his sinister curled lips once your wet entrances start to slowly kiss against his tips. you’re weeping wet, and you moan with your other arm abruptly tossing around his broad shoulders. you felt your heart’s irregular beats pick up whilst you’re perfectly aligned with both of his thick twinned cocks. with a squelching ‘pop!’ the first one starts to delve inside of your cunt, driving its way past the loose ring of your dripping entrance. “fuuuck, atta girl.” sukuna gravelly grunts, his smugness starting to falter just a bit. as he’s bottoming out, his grip on your hips tighten more. your warmth catches him by surprise—but once you’re taking in his second cock, he smacks together his lips in awe. pink slit brows of his form together into a vexed arch once he growls.

“ ‘s fuckin’ big,” you moan, slightly turning your head to stare at your grinding perked ass. as a few seconds pass, you’re starting to writhe your ass against his lap. successfully, both fat cocks were filled inside each of your gummy orifices. the concise feeling of tightness makes you mewl, feeling sukuna’s overgrown nails gently dig into the plush flesh of your ass cheek. “god, so full ‘kuna, fuuuuck,” you continue to babble, and you already could feel your fluttering tummy starting to giggle with hoards of impatient butterflies. you can’t help but part your lips into a cute ‘o’, nearly drooling once he spanks your ass — his way of encouraging you to ride him faster.

sukuna’s big, and it’s not even about both of his lengthy dicks anymore. he’s a demon, an unruly one that could probably crush you if he wanted. but no . . he had a soft spot for you, an even more softer spot for your sweet, weak pussy. as he sits back against the creaking throne, you gulp, taking in just how big he is compared to you. bloody, ruddy eyes bore back into you as he started to break a cold sweat. “hng, good,” he groans, and you watch as his head gradually starts to fall back.

oh- you’ve got him whipped. once you started up your rocky pace, it was game over.

each towering cock plummets into both of your holes filthy, and the repeated dampened sloshes of your cunt resounded through the walls of his echoey domain. over and over and over. your rhythm starts to get more and more hectic as you progress—and you’re whimpering, continuously feeling one of his swollen tip’s french kiss near your pretty puckering rim. the other one’s messily making out with your g-spot, rudely thrashing its way against that same pulsating target like it was a dart aiming straight for the bullseye. “o- ohhh, fuck. ‘kuna, ‘m not gonna last, ohmygodddd.”

you’re just so full…too full- and before you knew it, you could already feeling your legs preparing to violently snap.

mewling out a sweet, exaggerated ‘oh!’, you end up spraying out a pretty streaming geyser right between your legs. your glossed lips quiver as your awaited high finally comes, whining as you try to continue to swerve your weak hips in gradual arcs. it felt so so good, being plugged full with each of his girthy cocks. fuck, it felt too good that you could almost taste your sudden overwhelming releases on your tastebuds. “fuck, fuuuck,” you whine out in tiny puffs of air, glancing back through fuzzy peripherals to stare back at your ass. honed, sharp fingernails bury into the fat of your bouncy flesh and sukuna snarls at the tasteful friction. “ ‘s good, ‘kuna, ngh!”

“h- heh,” the curse jibes, but even he’s starting to slow down. as your rhythm starts to finally come to a slowing stop, you sheathe your head near his broad chest. sukuna holds you close, quietly snickering at the size difference. you—a mere human, straddling him. it was almost laughable. “you humans are so weak . . so fragile,” he huskily groans, leaning in to pierce his fangs into your neck softly. as if marking his territory, sukuna then licks a stripe up your neck. you’re still stuffed to the very brim, and that’s when he makes you sit up straight. with a disapproving tsk, sukuna crosses all of his arms with a pout like he’s judging you. “cunt’s still too weak though.”

you’re just a babbling mess, the pit of your tummy was in knots as it's still taking in both thickset cursed lengths. from your quavery thighs, it’s a shimmering sap of your precious slick that slithers down between the sprawled crevices of your legs. it’s pretty - and sukuna can’t help but swipe a fat thumb down, getting a taste all for himself. “mhm,” he brings his finger up to his wry compressed lips, savoring your fresh flavor on his spiked tongue. you’re still trying to recollect breaths when the demon softly grabs your chin, boring his cold, scarlet eyes right into yours. “open.”

an overgrown black nail gives the corner of your lips a soft tap and compliantly, you pry open your mouth. sukuna leans in before . . spat! he spits right on the flatness of your pink tongue, hearing you lewdly moan in response. with your flapping lashes nearly blinding your entire view, you could spot that same wolfish grin from an early start to creep against his lips one final time.

“how filthy. my good girl,” and you moan yet again, feeling him press a hand against your tummy — a wee reminder of how stuffed you currently were. “let’s try that again. this time though, i’ll let you ride my stomach tongue, heh.”

✩ ˛˚ . TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“kinkiest shit i’ve ever heard you say, mama,” toji guffaws as his tense shoulders bounce up and down. you couldn’t help but notice the way toji was slowly growing a dad bod, especially after the two of you had another child. he’s still in good shape—and he continued to maintain his usual workouts but fuck, you’d always fawn over his cute round tummy. he’s like a bear, shaggy, chunky, and incredibly soft. every time he’d pound on top of you, his weight would gingerly press into you, rubbing back ‘n forth against your body and you’d just wrap your arms around him. “full nelson, eh? you sure this isn’t the baby fever talkin’ again?”

“tojiii,” you pout, and you watch as he groans the moment you’re aligning yourself on his maddened cream-covered tip. it’s fat - leaking from the top with buttery white droplets of pre. toji reclines back against the couch that sucks his heavy body in as his legs start to spread. once he gets comfy, he looks at you with a sly grin while zeroing his verdant eyes all over your body. “ ‘m sure, i want it,” and you playfully start to run a palm down his bushy hairy chest, stopping at his cute rounded tummy. “want you.”

toji lets out a smoky chortle before pinching a grip near your ass. “alriiight, babygirl. but ‘m not gonna go easy. better hold on tight.”

and oh- toji and full nelson was a deadly combo within itself.

saying he had you stuffed to the max was purely an understatement. one minute you’re on his lap and the next, he’s got you pressed up against his woolly chest with his burly arms pinned up underneath your legs. he’s fucking you silly, plummeting such thick inches inside of your hungry cunt that it makes you see stars. not just stars but the whole damn galaxy. “f- fuuuck, fuck!” you’d gasp, feeling your cunt eagerly twitch at his sudden elastic-like stretch.

toji was strong, and he had no problem lifting you. each time he did, you’d bounce back on his lap, getting stuffed with even more mighty inches of his dick. it’s so wide, he’s merrily caressing through your gummy inner walls before rudely smacking his flushed crownhead against your tender needy cervix. that spot right there makes you shriek, and you can hear toji’s husky laughter from behind the shell of your ear.

“heh- yeah, baby. let me fuckin’ hear ya, take this . . hah, dick like a champ—fuuuck,” and he groans, a single smack of your ass making him briefly bite the inside of his hollow cheek. it’s a lot of weight that’s jerking back against him from you, and toji’s heaving breaths start to get heavier the more your cunt swallows him in wholly..

his virility was unmatched, and toji gave your pretty pussy addictively mean slams until it was squelching out his name. all syllables of it too—

you were loud, especially between your legs which were always toji’s favorite part. “t- tojiii,” you’d whine out his name again, continuously feeling that same caving dip arises near the middle part of your tummy. he’s in so deep, and your back remains to rub against his furry-covered chest. toji’s plump belly was so soft behind you, and the saltiness that started to coat your buds from your incoming release was almost too much to bare. “harder, f- fuck me. ooh! that spot, that f- fuckin’ sp—”

“if i wanted to hear my wife speak i’d ask her talkative pussy instead,” toji grunts, and you let off a bleating whine the second your bare wet cunt’s met with a spank. slap! and the entire sound makes your folds twitch. you moaned, desperately wanting him to do it again. not just once or twice—hell, even thrice. you ached for more of toji’s touch, and he knew that. he knew his wife. you watch as his scarred lips form into a smile, and he spanks your pussy again. “mhm, kinky girl. that turns you on, yeah? ‘course it does. bet if i fuckin’ spat on it you’d go crazy too, hm?”

“tojiii-‘m-gonna-cum,” you whimper out in a quick single second, trying to talk over his rant. you were a bobble head toy, bouncin’ up and down his fat cock. his long girthy inches had you hungry - slobbering from the mouth like a dog for more as he filled you to the very fuckin’ brim. easily, toji’s invading all through your spongy cunt with his thick thighs resting underneath you. your nails cling to his skin like velcro with your mewling whines only pitching louder. “tojiiiii, gonna cu— fuuuck!”

“yeah, i know baby,” he grunts, feeling his balls starting to tighten. toji’s head throws back at the sharp slams of your hips. each time you fall back into his vast lap, his guttural voice drops even deeper. every time it does—you end up throbbing. a cute ‘lil pulse that he always pokes fun at you for. “heh- there’s that cute throb, she’s so fuckin’ needy,” and as your pussy’s squelches cry out even louder, toji growls. “fuck. gonna milk me, s- so good, ‘s that what y’er tryna do?” and you moan, feeling the pad of his thumb ghost down your throat. “want me ‘ta make you a pretty mommy again?”

a whiny, “y-yesss,” slurs out from your glossed lips, and toji snickers. of course. you wanted him to fill you all the way up like always. plug the top until your cunt was just flooded with his hot thick ropes of cum.

and that’s just what he does—toji lets out a gruff groan once he feels himself reaching his limit. with his hips nudging quicker, he grunts at the final punctuating thrust. “f- fuck, take it then. take it like a hah- good girl,” and toji’s plush body underneath you starts to rumble. finally, your legs collapse down from the position they were in once he’s starting to paint the pasty walls of your cunt his whitish color. it’s a lot, ribbons of slick cum that splatter its way throughout the layout of your mottled-covered entrance. “shit,” he swears against your neck, growing quiet to hear the sloppy sounds.

you start to ooze between your thighs, and you moan once toji lifts your leg once more. the bush that glues against his chest hair continued to tickle against your back before you whine. “mhn, atta fuckin’ girl,” he huffs, smearing a thumb down your cunt that’s spitting out any remnants of his gooey seed. it’s hot, drooling down the cracks of your folds that he ends up giving your pussy one more final spank.

“heh, best we start thinkin’ of names again then,” and he nips a soft bite near your ear. “mommy.”

✩ ˛˚ . SATORU GOJO.

he’s the strongest, which also means the strongest in bed.

and satoru’s favorite thing to do was to have you being fucked senseless with your legs gracefully thrown over your head. you’d tease him constantly, saying how since he’s ‘the strongest’, surely, he can’t be the strongest in bed too… right?

wrong,

because that smug ‘lil grin of yours gets wiped off your face almost instantly the second he’s pushing your cute, weak legs over your shoulders. oh- he’d show just how strong he could be, especially underneath the sheets. satoru had stamina for miles, rarely running out of gas and he’d easily steal orgasm after orgasm out of you. after a plethora of pliable positions, you now found yourself laid flat on your back with your legs pinned right behind your head.

“aw! c’mooon, sweets. wanna see how flexible my wife’s pussy can get,” he hoarsely coos, and his playful demeanor slowly vanishes. satoru’s now feral - and he was always feral with you. especially whenever he was stuffed inches deep inside of your sloppy bear-hugging cunt.

you whine, staring up at the white-haired man and he’s still got his blindfold on. it’s halfway on, sexily showing a bit of his right eye as he runs a hand through his tangled frosty strands. satoru’s favorite thing was to manhandle you, toss you around the room ‘n treat your body like a rag doll.

“ ‘toru, fuuuuck,” you’d sob out, the inner pit of your tummy letting off a deep exhale once he’s buried in. the head of his dick’s now thwacking near the hilt, and you’ll never forget the feeling of his long, bulky cock sneakily massaging its way toward your gummy cervix. it’s repetitive, and you’re chewing on your inaudible whimpers at each luscious stroke he gives you. he’s an animal, and each merciless pound makes you trill out his name over ‘n over until your poor, poor vocal chords strain. “don’t stop, p- please. fuck me, fuh— fuuuck.”

“awwwh, my pretty wifey’s so talkative today, especially her too,” he whispers, and you moan once he’s practically laid flat against your bare chest. satoru snakes a hand between your legs, rubbing messy circles against your leaking pussy. a sly grin creases at each corner of his lips as he rubs near your full abdomen. satoru groans, moving his hand toward the middle part of your tummy before softly pressing down - feeling a prodding ‘lil bulge that he knew all too well. “mhm, that’s all me, baby. alllll fuckin’ me.”

your cunt was indeed loud, each sloppy thrust of satoru’s hips whacking into you at full collision makes you gush.

you couldn’t help but soak a portion of his cock with masses of your syrupy slick and it makes him hum. how cute, satoru could even feel your dripping pussy fluttering around his length. he’s thick—and more importantly, he’s fuckin’ big.

satoru’s sweating, and as he continues to hold your legs up over your head, you spot the spasming veins bulging in his arms. beefy, is the perfect word to describe him. every muscle within him flexed whilst he was pounding into you rawly, making sure your greedy cunt always remembered exactly who it belonged to. “mhm, such a pretty girl. gushin’ all on me, think i oughta train thisss—” and he pauses, giving your soddened entrance a playful pat. “—pussy jus’ a bit more, hm? could be a ‘lil stronger, especially since y’r dealin’ with me, baby,” and as he’s talking, he starts to lick near your neck. “fuuuck, ooh i love that fuckin’ grip. nasty girl. mmm, make me just as messy as you, uh huh.”

“fuh— ‘m gonna cum!” you squeak, the intense throbbing between your legs only increases whilst he’s giving you his all with his ragged strokes. into. each hit was more and more ruthless, your head’s spinning, and the beats of your heart only got quicker. you were sure that your pretty glistening slick had his entire cock to the base covered by now. needless to say, you were drenched. satoru even leans upright to your face, snickering once he feels your hands try to pull his blindfold off. “sato—ruuu, cum, ‘m gonna cum.”

“yes, princess i heard you the first time,” he coos, his tone full of smug arrogance. oh, how you wanted to wipe that cocky smirk right off his naturally glossed lips. his appetizing thrusts against you were the definition of straight insanity, and as his hips kept championing at such speedy strokes, you squealed. riiiight there, the mushroomy crown of his cock scraped against the target of your cervix and you nearly go crazy. “ooooh, there it is. there—she—fuckin’ is,” and as his voice grits lower, pausing each stroke to enunciate his sloppy hits against your cunt, it’s almost like he’s talking down to you. but in this case—satoru’s talking down to your cunt, because it’s the only thing he’s staring at.

openly, he snatches his blindfold off and his sparkly eyelashes flap thrice once he makes loving eye contact with your weeping pussy.

“mm, give it to me then, pretty girl. make a fuckin’ mess on me,” and you moan once he pulls your legs up even higher over your head. bringing his sheeny-coated lips up to your ear, he whispers hoarsely, giving your drenched cunt a doubting squeeze. “i dare ya.”

✩ ˛˚ . CHOSO KAMO.

“that?” choso’s eyes widen, hearty irises glued to your phone. you’re showing him some one-minute-long video of a woman getting passionately hammered in what you told him was ‘mating press.’ choso wasn’t new to intimacy, and whenever you recommended new positions for him to try, he’d always get excited. maybe even a bit . . aroused. “o- oh,” and his voice lowly husks, watching at the deeply intimate angles. the woman lay underneath the man and his weight pressed all on her. he was giving her deep and thorough strokes, occasionally giving her sloppy hot kisses in between. choso could feel his heart race as he started to imagine himself doing that exact position to no one other than you.

and he did, because the moment he’s cutely staring at your exposed, nude body underneath him, he can’t help but moan. you’re so pretty, and as he’s feebly trying to align himself, he whimpers.

“mngh, b- baby, ‘s this okay?” and his darkened eyes flicker toward your face. he’s leisurely placing his weight on your body, bringing your legs up to go over his shoulders. glossy, pink lips of his quiver as he feels the weeping wetness of your pussy twitch and drench around his cock. “don’t wanna hah- hurt you, tell me if ‘m too heavy, ‘kay?”

“promise, ‘cho,” you softly coo, your voice as smooth as silk. indeed choso was a tad bit heavy, especially compared to you. he was around a staggering height that’s damn near over feet of six inches tall and he was just looking at you like he was ready to pounce. a needy pout stretches across the thin corners of his lips as he moans, watching openly as your cunt starts to swallow his stoutly pinkish tip. “mmh, that’s it, baby. nice ‘n slow- whenever you’re ready.”

your voice- choso got off from it alone. every sentence that came out of your mouth had him weak. as your legs remained hauled over his droopy shoulders, he’s slowly inserting his cock into your greedy walls. seconds past and it doesn’t take long before wanton whimpers slither their way past your lips. “f- fuck, ‘s fuckin’ warm for me,” choso shudders out a breath, the feeling of your gripping cunt hugging his length tightly sends him shivers. it’s an indescribable feeling that makes his sable-colored brows curl into an arch and within just a few simple thrusts, choso loses it.

within a few rigid beginning thrusts—he gradually starts to get the hang of it. pumpin’ his lanky cock in and out of you as labored breaths snatch from his lungs, he whines yet again. this time though, it’s far louder. you’ve got to cup his face whilst he’s pounding into you rigorously. nearly crushing you with his hefty weight, choso tries to hover a bit over your wet cunt, moaning for the grip as he’s casually rocking back ‘n forth into your warm, welcoming body.

“good boy, f- fuck me, choso- riiight there, mhm!” you’d whine, feeling your eyes starting to dramatically roll and flicker from just his sheer size alone. choso’s cock had such length that it expands allll through you, reading out every area of your cunt like a map. it knows the exact layout, all the secret crevices, and angles to locate and once he reaches there . . you’re fucked.

between you and choso—you honestly don’t even know who’s louder. the moment you call him a ‘good boy’, you can almost feel him melting in your hands like putty. choso’s bumpy hips start to accelerate quicker and you whine every time you feel one of his veins pulse down his cock. “f- fuck, think ‘m gonna hah- cum jus’ from lookin’ at you,” he cutely rambles, each thrust becoming more sloppy. his hips have such power that it makes the entire bed groan out whiny creaks of its own. “you’re so pretty baby, s- so pretty with your legs all over my shoulders like this- heh.”

choso’s fucking you with his pace never slowing, trying to remember how the guy in the video did it. slow and steady, deep but thorough strokes, massage the clit . . and as he’s stretching you out with the swollen head of his cock—you let off a soft shriek. ‘pop!’ and you felt his plump shaft slip out of you immediately.

choso’s pussy-drunken grin falters as he notices his dick fell out of you- but not only that, he’s cumming for real. .

it was so sudden, and as his entire body’s spasming above you, he whimpers whilst struggling to align his milky-covered tip back between the opening of your glistening folds. “f- fuck, ‘s no fair, came too early,” he whines, and you moan once he buries his face into the crook of your neck. he’s embarrassed. your legs were still raised in the air as he’s holding them both firmly, groaning against your skin. a fresh hot batter of oozing cum leaves out of choso’s blushing slit — splattering out lewdly on your puffed pussy folds. choso’s so frustrated that he even tries fucking his cum in between your flaps with the cutest unsatisfied scowl on his lips. “s- sorry, ‘m bein’ a little messy. ‘m sorry, sorry.”

“ ‘s okay, baby,” you let off a quiet moan, your body already starting to feel numb. already, you were starting to miss the gaping outline of his cock driving through your insides but he makes it up by smacking his tip against your cunt. with a wet ‘splash!’ choso ends up smearing his sweltering hot cum all over your entrance, panting the entirety of your twitching sex right his ivory-white color. as he leans in for a kiss, choso clumsily misses your mouth with his lips pressing on your chin instead.

it’s cute, and you had to guide his face with your own hands just to have him shove his tongue into your mouth. choso’s body weight was now starting to grind against you again—but by now, he was straight up jumping you. he wants more, and you could tell as he was moaning into your mouth, grunting from his drooling cock that was rubbing up and down between your pasty entrance.

still swapping cobwebs of spit as the both of you smashed lips on each other—choso’s continues to spank his aching cockhead against your cunt whilst his lips desperately crash against yours. it turns him on, a lot more than he thought- and choso thinks he may have just found out his new favorite kink.

you.

✩ ˛˚ . SUGURU GETO.

being in a relationship with a boxer had its perks.

suguru geto—he was known for his fights, but more importantly his flexible positions. you’d always tease him about it, pokin’ fun at how you wish he’d fold you like his opponents one time for once. but oh, you’re taken aback once he takes you up on that offer.

“nuh uh, don’t tap out now, baby. let’s see that cute form,” geto grunts, pressing a wet kiss near the inside of your neck. the two of you were in his private gym, specifically his private ring where he’d always train. today though, you were needy, teasing him at how you wanted him to be put in a chokehold like he did to his opponents. but, the moment he’s got you straddling his lap as you’re cockwarming him, you’re nothing but a wet babbling mess. you moan, letting off a breathy gasp once the top part of his boxing glove rubs against your sobbing cunt. you were soaked, making a mess on the mat and a soft gasp creeps out the back of your throat once he wraps a beefy arm around your throat.

safely, geto’s got you in a firm chokehold — the exact one you’d usually see him perform on his other opponents. embarrassingly enough, your cunt twitches almost instantly, and you were trying to grind your hips back into him. “hngh, suguru- fuuuck,” you purr out, letting off a weeping mewling whimper as you felt his fat pointed dick ream a path through your insides. the entire gym was quiet. the only sounds that could’ve been heard were the wet sloshing sounds of geto’s glove gently smacking against your sprawled open pussy. psh after pshh and it only gets louder as you squirm, your thighs parting.

he’s big, manhandling you like this while you’re in a mere chokehold. once you’re starting to sloppily bounce on his lap, you can hear him hiss from the enticing friction. the electric sting of both mounds of flesh slamming on each other ends up giving you both whiplash. “h- hah, fuck, good girl. ride it—move those hips, fuck me back- mmph,” he starts to groan, the weight of your ass getting more and more impactful. geto’s meaty thighs glue against yours and you moan, feeling the curve of his cock rummaging through your squashy insides.

he’s so thick, that his plump tip runs through your tremulous walls before it frantically jackhammers its way to your cervix. letting off a squalling ‘ah!’ of a squeak, your back ends up falling into his broad chest. geto’s sweaty, bare skin rubs off against your skin and he groans. the sly dark-haired boxer wore nothing but his thinly made everlast boxing shorts. “suguruuuu,” you cutely drag out his name, moaning at the way his beefy bicep still wrapped around your neck. you’re bouncin’ up and down repeatedly and it’s almost comical at how your eyes were bulging out of their holes. your tongue was fully lolled, and you’ve never felt more stuffed. hit after hit, by this point, you were sure geto’s cock was gonna give your pretty pussy a solid, fair K.O.

but oh, geto ends up fucking you round after round - literally. he went from having you ride him to him pounding you into his squishy, red mat. your face vigorously presses into the cushion as you’re moaning, desperately whining out his name while he’s ‘practicing’ his special techniques on your cunt. the entire scene was lewd, and as you continued to whine out pathetic cacophonies of, ‘suguruuu,’ — ‘riiight there,’ — or his personal favorite, ‘ooooh, hit it there baby!’ ‘s, he’d feel his dick twitch inside you every time.

your ass raises the second he grabs ahold of your hip, and he’s madly drilling into you raw. each sloppy stroke and twist of his hips makes your toes curl and the bittersweet taste of your saliva ends up trickling down the side of your mouth, landing face-first on the vermillion-colored boxing mat. “fuckin’ shiiit, ‘m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he huffs, resting his free hand on your arched spine. so pretty - the way your ass tries to thrust back into his sharp hips was oh-so-cute. your pussy only got more sloppy, and as he’s feeling his cock preparing to release itself, you could almost hear a whimper snarl out from his throat. “ah, tell me where, f- fuck. talk to me, pretty.”

“i- insiiiide,” you squeal out with short breaths, his cock merrily kneading through your walls. it’s almost filthy at how loud your cunt was. just drooling such molasses of sheeny slick on his length, making an even bigger mess between your legs and on the fighting mat too. as he’s giving you his final, victorious thrusts that make your mouth snap open — a fairly lewd K. O., geto grunts, losing the match with his opponent being nothing more than your sweet, slippery cunt.

instantaneously, wads of thin bubbly ropes mesh with your slick juices, a pretty white ring foamin’ around his base. your release slams into you like a semi-truck, and your eyes crossed almost instantly.

with his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he’s pouring in such slimy amounts that end up tearing straight down your pulsing bare slit. geto groans, hazed and all as his darkened eyes glance at how you were perfectly arched for him. this position was perfect for you in his eyes.

ass up — face down, “goddamn,” he grumbles through pearly gritted teeth and a slack jaw. mewing satisfied coos purr out of your spit-slicked lips as you feel him plugging you up to the brim, hearing the wet plops ‘n paps of his hot, sticky cum dripping onto the mat. you only imagined what it looked like, how much of a fuckin’ mess you were. “hah- aren’t you a champ,” he pants, and you moan once geto smacks your ass.

speedily, he now makes you flip over with a swift toss of a single brawny arm before picking you up. “mmhn, sweetheart. you did ‘s good for me,” and as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, geto gives you a chaste kiss. a few loose strands of hair stick against your forehead as his tongue curls its way inside of your hot mouth before he snickers, pulling away. “ah, there’s one more position i wanna try though.”

“w- what?” you heave, pouting the second his lips depart from yours.

geto re-aligns himself between your leaking cunt that’s still profusely spurting out clods of milky clumps of his cum before he lifts you just a bit higher against his chest. “hm, oh- i just fuck you while standing up,” and you moan, wrapping your arms around his broad neck. ravened, feral eyes meet yours one more time and geto lets off a husky grunt, his boxing glove sneaking between your legs. “you’re my big girl though, yeahh?”

[rinasauruss]

closer than quiet

summary: Rafe is so tall he has to lean down to hear you better. that's it.

warnings: none, me thinks. just a suggestive line at the end ;P

word count: 590

A/N: I couldn't help myself, so I wrote this blurb! this is my first time writing Rafe, let me know what you think! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors. feedback is appreciated!

The soft hum of the waves was a steady background to the crackling of the bonfire, the flames dancing as the heat mixed with the cool bite of the night breeze. You stood near the fire, feeling the warmth spread through you, but the presence behind you was what made your skin tingle the most.

Rafe was close, an arm wrapped around your waist with a casual ease that made you feel both safe and exposed at the same time. His thumb traced slow, absent circles over your stomach, his other hand holding a beer with the same relaxed grip he used when he wasn’t thinking about much at all. Topper and Kelce were deep in conversation, their voices more distant than usual, as if the world around you had faded into something quieter. Rafe barely added to the chatter, content to stay in his own head—or maybe it was you who had his full attention. You weren’t sure, but it felt like you did.

You turned your head, looking up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You good?" You asked it quietly, as though you already knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it anyway.

Rafe didn’t immediately respond, the sound of the ocean filling the silence. Instead, he leaned down, tilting his head as if to catch the softest whisper, even though you’d only spoken in your normal tone. His presence grew even more intense with the movement, his height hovering over you, his face drawing closer in that effortless, unspoken way that made you feel smaller and more drawn in with each inch.

"Hm?" His voice was low, just above a murmur, the sound of it vibrating through your chest.

You flushed at the gesture, a subtle warmth rising in your cheeks. His closeness, his height, the way he made the space around you feel like it shrank to just the two of you—it was disarming in the best way. His breath fanned over your skin, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine, and you could almost feel the heartbeat beneath his chest as he leaned in further.

You swallowed, your voice a little shakier this time. "You doing good?" You repeated, hoping your tone sounded steady, but there was no hiding the way he affected you.

Rafe’s grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he felt the slight hitch in your breath, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer. It was as though he knew exactly how much he was making you feel.

"Yeah, m'good, baby," he hummed, his voice deepening in that way it did when he was in his element. "Just thinking."

"About?" you asked, a whisper now, almost afraid to ask but too curious to hold back.

He tilted his head again, moving in just a little further, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. The closeness, the heat of his breath, was enough to send a shiver all the way down your spine, leaving you breathless.

The moment stretched between you, charged with unspoken words and everything that lay beneath the surface. The bonfire crackled, the night air was cool, but Rafe’s presence was all you could feel now, the pull of him drawing you in further than you’d ever planned to go.

His voice was soft, smooth, laced with that teasing edge that always made your heart skip a beat. "Just thinking about how much fun I’m gonna have taking this little dress off you later."

(support banner by @cafekitsune )

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[s0dium]

I fucking hate him

A/n: One of the dialogues is lightly taken from "God of Ruin" by Rina Kentaken (plz check it out) Enjoy!!

Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: You detest Yuji's uncle, Sukuna. His demeanor is rude and abrasive, and he is undoubtedly a sadist. You don't even try to hide your disdain, but the more you try to distance yourself from him, the stronger his opposition grows. Each attempt to push him away only seems to draw him in closer, closer, ever so close.

"You're fucking insufferable," you spat, your eyes narrowing with hatred. "You're pretentious," Sukuna shot back, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth." No, you're a narcissist," you hiss" Yeah, but I turn you on," he purrs

Warning: Hate sex, rough sex, biting, fingering, edging, cowgirl, size kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight voyeurism, breeding

You remember the day you met Sukuna for the first time like it was yesterday.

It was during the somber occasion of Wasuke Itadori's funeral—Yuji's beloved grandfather. The day was draped in a heavy sorrow; after the ceremony and the lowering of the casket, you followed the Itadori family back to their home. Being practically family yourself, and living just next door, it felt natural to join them and if not grieve, support the grieving family alongside them. While everyone gathered in the garden, sharing hushed memories and quiet support, you slipped inside the house to charge your phone.

As you stepped into the room, the air felt suddenly charged, like the prelude to a storm. There in the living room, was a man, a large man, lounging on one of the sofas dressed in a black suit and tie. The first thing you notice is his striking pink hair contrasting sharply with the dark, intricate tattoos that crawl up his neck and frame his face. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fix on you the moment you enter, and his smirk is like a crack in a mask of indifference.

"You must be the famous dear friend of the family, Y/n right?" he drawls, his voice as smooth as silk and just as dangerous. "Heard a lot about you. All good things, I promise." His voice drips with sarcasm making you thickly gulp.

You hesitate by the doorway, your initial smile freezing on your lips. This was the Sukuna Ryomen? The man you'd heard only in hushed conversations between Jin and Choso, the man Yuji calls his uncle? You try to muster your composure, crossing the room to stand at a respectable distance.

"I wish I could say the same," you reply, aiming for polite but firm. Your voice wavers just slightly.

Sukuna chuckles, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. "Oh, come now. No need for such defenses. I'm not the monster they painted in their tales. Or perhaps I am, and that's what intrigues you? What do you think so far" he bends forward. "Am I intriguing?"

You bristle at his words, the arrogance dripping from each syllable like poison. "I-I dont know about that." You curse yourself at the way your voice comes out as a stutter. "I'm here out of respect for your family."

"Respect," he repeats, tasting the word as if it's something exotic. "Funny, I never put much stock in that. The old man sure tried to teach me, shame he is gone. But perhaps you'll teach me its value?"

What the hell does he mean by that?

He stands suddenly, closing the distance between you with a few measured steps. You can’t help but step back, your back hitting the wall. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating.

"Why so tense?" Sukuna teases, leaning close, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "I'm just trying to get to know you better. After all, anyone who loves my family must have some redeeming qualities, hidden though they may be. Although," he tilts his head, as if analyzing you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they just kept you around cause you're a pretty thing to look at."

You feel a flush of anger and embarrassment heating your cheeks. "I think you've gotten to know enough for one day," you snap, ducking under his arm and striding toward the door. His laughter follows you, low and mocking.

"Oh, don't be like that!" he calls out. "We're just getting started!"

It only took a minute. One minute for you to decide that you hated Sukuna with a fucking passion.

Unfortunately, the fact that Sukuna had just gotten out of jail, did nothing to hamper your hatred. It seemed like ever since he got out, he was not only determined to stick to the family, but to you, like glue.

The Friday night dinners with the Itadori family, once cherished and loved, had practically turned into a battleground. What used to be a warm gathering was now filled with endless teasing and arrogant attempts at flirting. You were even hesitant to stay over now, as you were never to sure when you’d turn a corner and there Sukuna would be with some sleazy remark about your pajamas.

You tried talking to the Itadori family about it, tried complaining to Jin and raise your concerns. And as receptive and understanding as they were, you knew that for them, blood was thicker than anything, and in some part, you knew that applied to you too.

Still, you persisted, even now as you sat at another Friday dinner you were determined to just enjoy yourself with the family you loved so much.

Key word, tried.

"Well, Jin, I must say, this food is... quaint.” He says through a chuckle and you have to bite the inside of your cheek from throwing a fork at him right there and then. “Did you burn it on purpose, or was that just a happy accident?"

"Dude," You breathe a sigh of relief when Choso speaks up, his voice calm but firm. "Can you go one day without being a jerk?" His eyes are fixed on Sukuna, echoing the frustration you both share about his behavior. This solidarity is one of the reasons why you feel closest to Choso in the family. His understanding and shared grievances with the insufferable man were one of the reasons why you two were best friends.

"Please, I bet this food beats anything you had in prison." You whisper under your breath, but audibly enough that others catch it when you hear Choso breathe through his nose in a laugh-like snort.

Sukuna sets down his silverware and leans forward with a grin, his eyebrows raised in amusement as he gazes across the table at you. "Oh, someone's got a sharp tongue," he remarks. "Careful, angel, you might cut yourself."

You roll your eyes and sharply cross your arms. "Funny, coming from someone who probably had to beg for scraps behind bars. Do you even know what real food tastes like?"

You don’t miss the way Yuji chokes on his pasta, stifling back laughter making you smile.

Sukuna's lips curve into a sly smirk as he locks eyes with you. "Oh trust me, I've tasted a lot of things. But I guess you wouldn't understand, being so... sheltered."

Unfazed, you shoot back with a dismissive wave of your hand, "Sheltered? Please. At least I don’t need to rely on prison slop to remind me of home."

This time, Sukuna's response is a silent, piercing stare that makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Even though you were wearing a sweater and shorts, his gaze made you feel like you were naked.

From the corner, Jin clears his throat, chuckling nervously. "Um, maybe we should all just calm down a bit—"

You cut him off, your voice firm as you defend the meal laid out before you. “No way, not when he disrespects your food, which is great, may I add.”

"Oh, I love it when you get all fired up." Sukuna's eyes glint with mischief as he watches your rising frustration. "It's adorable."

Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you stand up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a scrape. "Excuse me, I think I'm full," you declare crisply, gathering your dishes with a clatter and storming off to the kitchen to dump them in the sink. Without a backward glance, you stride toward the living room, your footsteps echoing your irritation.

"Come on, why do you always gotta be such an ass, Uncle?" Yuji mumbles, shooting a glare at Sukuna who only responds with a shrug.

As you sank into the couch cushions, you let out a deep sigh of relief, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of your favorite spot. You turned on the TV, dazedly watching whatever was on, trying to distract yourself from the day's tensions. Of course, thoughts of Sukuna kept creeping into your mind. What was his problem with you? Did the man get dropped on the head as a baby? How and the hell were he and Jin brothers?? Surely he was the result of some fucked up science experiment.

Engulfed in your thoughts, the passage of time slipped unnoticed until a shift in the couch's cushion snapped you back to reality. You turned, and -

Oh what the fuck.

Sukuna settled next to you, leaning on the armrest of the other side of the couch, a tattooed hand settled on his thigh, He had changed into a white tank top and sweatpants, and you feel your heart jump when your eyes unconsciously travel to between his leg where a slight budge pressed against the fabric. Shit. The tips of your ears turned red and you bit the inside of your cheek. That's another thing you loathed about Sukuna; how the scent of his old spice shampoo made you dizzy, how the way he towered over you made your breathing stop, how despite how fucking insufferable he was, he was so so so attractive.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you choked out, your tone edged with disbelief and irritation.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "What does it look like? Watching TV," he replied coolly, his eyes briefly scanning the screen before settling back on you. "Everyone's gone to sleep, you know."

"No, what are you doing sitting next to me?" you hissed, the proximity suddenly feeling far too close despite the physical distance. Your eyes narrowed, locking onto his vermillion eyes.

"Why you afraid I'll bite?" He says, gnashing his teeth together in a teasing display before moving closer to you. "Don't worry, I only bite when I'm asked."

"S-stop talking to me like that," you say, trying to shuffle back, but find yourself already trapped against the armrest.

"Like what?" Sukuna's voice is teasing, almost playful.

"Like I'm your toy."

He tilts his head slightly and leans forward, a smirk playing at his lips. "More like my doll."

"More like your grim reaper. I'll slice your throat if you touch me," you retort sharply, the tension between you crackling. You watch the way his eyes rake over you like a porn magazine, making you cross your arms as if to shield yourself.

He laughs, a sound rich with amusement. "You're such a menace. I want to gobble you up."

As he inches closer, the scent of his shampoo fills the air—a fragrance so intoxicating you want to bury your nose in it, yet you resist. "I'll give you indigestion, asshole," you snap, trying to maintain your composure.

"Worth it, muse," he counters smoothly, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Sure you're going to be thinking about that when I punch you in the face?"

"Oh, and make me bleed? Blood?" He licks his lips. "Yum." He feigns shock, leaning even closer. "You just keep ticking all my boxes today. Did you do your research on me?"

"Not even if you were the last man alive," you choke out, his proximity overwhelming, his face just inches from yours now. A slight move, and your noses would brush against each other.

"Last man to everyone else? No. To you? Highly likely." His whisper is a taunt, his breath a warm tease against your skin.

That's it.

As you attempt to rise from the couch, Sukuna's large hand swiftly lands on your thigh, pressing just firmly enough to guide you back down onto the cushion. You react instinctively, trying to swat his hand away, but he's quicker; he catches both of your wrists in his grasp, holding them gently yet with an unyielding firmness.

"What the hell are you doing?" you demand, your voice sharp with alarm and a flare of anger, your eyes locked intensely on his, searching for an explanation in his steady gaze.

"Jesus christ Y/n" Sukuna groans, rolling his eyes, "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” He chuckles.

Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, and get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so.

“I-fuck you” The words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and stern. You stay silent as you watch him examine your face. He leans in, close enough to kiss you, raises his right hand and runs his finger tips down your face.

"Will you bite my tongue if I kiss you?"

"Maybe"

Sukuna's mouth crashes onto yours, hard, angry, and demanding. He doesn't even give you a chance to resist, not even a breath. His lips are fierce against yours, stealing every breath you try to take. Your hands instinctively move to push him away, but instead, you find yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.

You meet his aggression with equal force, your lips moving furiously against his. His hands cup your face roughly, holding you in place as his tongue demands entry. You respond with a whine, opening up to him, your tongues tangling in a heated dance.

Every kiss is a challenge, every touch a dare. You bite his lower lip, drawing a groan from him that vibrates through you. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The intensity of the moment leaves you breathless, hot, and angry.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply as if to remind him you won't be dominated easily. He retaliates by pressing you harder against the cushions, so you have no choice but to melt into him.

In one swift motion, Sukuna pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing muscles lined with black tattoos beneath. Before you can even take a breath, he’s back, his mouth claiming yours with renewed fervor. His hands move to your shirt, fingers pulling at the fabric of your sweater. You break the kiss for a mere second as he tugs your shirt off, then he dives back in, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that makes your head spin.

His hands roam over your newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breath hitches as his fingers find the waistband of your pants. He undoes them with a practiced ease, pushing them down and leaving you in just underwear and bra, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"W-what do you think you're doing?" you stutter, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he replies, his voice low and filled with a wicked amusement.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I'm gonna fuck you." His hands slide over your hips, pulling your pants down completely, and you shiver at the sensation of his touch.

You whine when he places his knee between your legs which pushes against your clothed crotch. You involuntarily buck up your hips to try and gain more friction, making Sukuna chuckle; his shit eating grin widening.

“Needy, arent you?”

Your instinct is to tell him to fuck off, but he is already hooking a finger under your pastel pink panties; pulling the material down to reveal your cunt. You mentally curse yourself at the fact that you're already wet, a fact that will sure to swell Sukuna's ego.

Your hands fly down to hide yourself but he swats them away, giving you a glare before sliding a finger up and down your wet slit; collecting the juices before pushing a digit into your tight hole.

"S-shit." your groan, and the moment you clench around him, a sickening grin spreads across his tattooed face.

"Always knew you where gonna feel great around me."

The first curl of his fingers knocks the wind out of you, as it hits the sweet spot inside of you that you could only dream to reach on your own.

“Hah~ I cant-” You whimper, stomach clenching and legs trembling from the pleasure. You want to say you hate this, tell him to get off of you but you can't, you can't even think straight. You even push your hips out, angling them so his digits reach deeper into that sweet spot that sends tendrils of electricity through your body. But before you can fully bask in the pleasure, before you can taste your orgasm on your tongue, he pulls his fingers out.

"You think I'm gonna let you cum so early? After all the shit you have pulled?" His hand flies to your throat wrapping around it with a force that belies the strength behind it. Your breath hitches, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through your veins. His touch is firm, and commanding, but there’s an undeniable pleasure in the way his fingers tighten slightly, reminding you of the power he holds.

"Nah no way." Sukuna chuckles "Your just gonna have to suck it up."

You try to speak, but his grip tightens just enough to cut off your words, leaving you gasping. The pressure on your throat is intoxicating, a strange pleasure mingling with the discomfort. You can feel your pulse throbbing under his hand. You are so dazed that you don’t even notice he has pulled out his dick until you feel something big pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something, what, you do not know, but all of a sudden Sukuna pushes his dick into you until his hips are flushed against yours. It feels like you're being split in two, and the way his tip smushes against your cervix makes you unable to find your breath. The unfamiliar feeling has you squirming and clenching around his cock; body desperately trying to push out the foreign intrusion.  

“Shit you gotta loosen up doll, cant fuck you like this.” There were veins popping on his temple as he started to rub tight circles on your clit. Bolts of pleasure shoot up your body, and you desperately try to relax your body.

“Atta girl” He coos, withdrawing his hips before slamming into your.

The first thrust completely knocks the wind out of you. The collision with your gspot has you arching your back of the couch; eyes screwed shut and letting out a loud moan. He's girth spread you so well, so much, and the friction was so delicious, tears blotted your eyesight. Your skin is buzzing, and your entire lower half is shaking from the pleasure. Sukuna's pace is brutal, unforgiving, and he has to grab the arm rest above you with one arm to help his brutal and unforgiving pace into you.

Your mind grows hazy, lost in the sensation of how good he was fucking you, but then, without explanation, a spark of defiance ignites within you. Suddenly, you find the strength to flip him over, his dick not leaving the warmth of your cunt once and so you were effectively laying on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. With your chest flushed against his, and your ass perked up in the air, you begin to fuck yourself on his dick, raising your hips up and down his length as if he was a dildo.

"Oh thats it." Sukuna is not a whining man but here he is, his voice cracking from the feeling and sight of you riding him. "Fuck yourself on me shit shit shit."

You are practically drooling on his chest, your eyes rolling back from how good he felt against your G spot.

You let a whine when you feel yourself start to get tired so Sukuna grabs your hips and starts fucking you on his length.

Fap.Fap.Fap

"Gonna cum in you baby ok?" He murmurs into your ear and you dazedly nod.

Suddenly you feel your stomach dip and your mind go blank. Your mind feels as though it’s been dipped in pure euphoria, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, replaced by an overwhelming wave of bliss that drowns out everything else. Your body responds in kind, muscles tensing and releasing in perfect harmony with the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if every cell is vibrating with delight, your skin tingling with a heightened sensitivity that makes even the slightest touch feel like a divine caress. The heat of the sensation is intoxicating, making your limbs feel weightless as if you’re floating on a cloud of pure, unadulterated joy.

Sukuna is quick to follow, shooting ropes of thick cum that glide down his shaft onto his balls.

"See? We are practically made for each other."

[valalice]

ꨄ︎ cw. fem!reader. smut nsfw. ab grinding/riding. sevika is a tease & a little condescending & mocking. smoking ( on sevika's part ). slight praise. begging. reader calls sevika sevi.

sevika's grip on your hips steadies you. the familiar feel of her warm calloused hand on you is a stark contrast to her coolly sharp mechanical arm. "shit. y're so wet already." she acknowledged. eyes flickering between your face of pleasure, your tits, and the movement of you working yourself on her—now—glistening abs. "needed you all day. looked s'good." you mumbled. arching into sevika, hands landing on her tits to gain leverage to grind you clit against the muscle at a new angle.

"is that so?" she teases. your shut tighter and you clamp down harder on your already swollen bottom lip, determined to reach the bliss you've starved after all day. "mhm," you muffle out. your eyes startle open at an absence of a hand on you, only for sevika's large hand to be placed on the nape of your neck, a thumb stroking your cheek. there's a hungry glint in her eye and she moves her hand to the back of your neck to push you further into her, encapsulating your lips in a heated kiss.

when the two of you disconnect there's a sloppy string of saliva that connects you with her, it only pushes you over the edge more. you push yourself back up, but with her hand still on the back of your neck, she pushes you back down once more. lips just barely touching, "tell me how bad you needed me," your glossy eyes widen at her request. "and no more closing your eyes and biting your lip bullshit." her grasp on you releases and she reaches over to grab her cigar and lighter. the shift in her hips as she reaches over and the tightening of her mechanical arm still on your hip to keep you from moving too much as she moves has you clenching your cunt as the slight friction. lighting it, throwing the lighter back onto the nightstand and inhaling the smoke, her eyes momentarily before puffing out the smoke through her nose.

you're met with the comforting grey of her eyes once more. sevika corks up a brow at you. "well? get to movin' and talkin'." her words breaking you out of the trance you were under, settling back into a position, beginning to grind your slick cunt on her tummy again. "atta girl."

the smoke from sevika's cigar filling the room adds to the cloudiness of your mind, "needed y'so bad." you repeat for probably the third time this night. "how so?" brows squinting together, your mouth falling into a small "o" shape. your body becomes hotter when you realize you're already close to coming soon. "ah— like this. me on top of you." you gasp.

"hm," she grunts, taking another drag of her cigar. the puffs of smoke exits her mouth as she speaks, "'nd what's got you all worked up, doll?" you know she's teasing you, she knows damn well what's got you so horned up. but regardless you tell her. "you. y're crop top. tummy and abs." she snickers at your answer. finding the way you're panting like a dog in heat cute.

"but, i wear the same thing everyday. what's so different?"

a loud groan erupts from you. falling forward into her once more. "sevi," you whine. "i—"

"you what?"

blinking down to glare down at her where you're met with a smirk. oh. "you're playing with me."

her eyebrows lift and the smirk turns into a grin, but it's quickly replaced by her taking her cigar into her mouth. "i wanna cum. please." the squelching noises of your cunt on her abs fills the room. you're so overworked and restless to reach your high.

"i don't know—"

you cut her off, "please, please, please." moaning out, "been so good, thinkin' of you 'nd only you all day." giving her the best doe eyes you can muster up at this moment.

sevika's gaze softens before it turns away from you. stretching out her arm to bud the end of the cigar. "sit up f'me." doing as she obeys. the hand once holding the cigar falls back into its place on your hips. she grinds you down onto her abs, "fuck, sevi." your wetness making it easy for her to continue moving your hips back and forth. she thinks there's something so raw and intimate about how you surrender your body to her, your willingness to trust that she'll take care of you the way you need. it swells something within her chest, and when you look so pretty all glistening, soft, and your chest shallowly raising and falling to contain and exhale air that you so desperately need. she can't help but give into you.

"c'mon, pretty. cum for me." she coxes in a husky lull. her harsh grip on your plush hips grinding your aching puffy clit onto her muscle tips you over. with a final gasp you shutter, whining out as sevika helps you ride out your high, still manipulating your hips to move. you slump against her, falling straight into her. curving your back so you'd be able to litter sloppy lovesick kisses across her face. "alright, stop that." you allow sevika to pull you away from her face, showcasing your dopey grin, "y'know you love it." you argue, leaning back down to give her a quick peck. "not really." she grumbles. rolling your eyes at her response you teasingly pinch her nipple. a gasp comes from sevika, sheepishly you giggle at her hardening expression. sliding off of her body to lie next to her.

"don't know why you got off. you're just—" she doesn't finish her sentence. "'m gonna what?" confused, brows furrowed as you watch her face soften. following her line of site, you're met with sevika's entire abdomen covered in your slick, traveling all the down past her belly button. you swear you see a glint in her happy trail and you know it's not just sweat. "sorry."

her dark gaze snaps to you, "sorry? you're cleaning your mess up."

[cascadianights]

Do any other autistics have a blind hatred for songs that repeat too much? I'm talking, the vast majority of popular music from the 80s for example? Great beat maybe even a great chorus but p much no! Other! Words! Just repeats over and over like a brainworm waiting to happen, rendering the entire song meaningless and annoying!!!

[radiance1]

By all accounts, it shouldn't have worked.

By all bloody accounts, that should not have worked.

Constantine will repeat.

That, by all accounts, should not have worked.

The warehouse was shitty. The materials were shitty. The summoning circle was shitty. The chanting was shitty. The magic was shitty.

By all accounts, the summoning should not have worked.

So Constantine couldn't give much of a shit about really stopping it because the summoning was so shitty it shouldn't have worked by an means possible.

So what. In the ever-loving fuck. Was the Ghost King, known tyrant of the Infinite Realms. Standing in the middle of the circle and not, last he checked, imprisoned?

That was another thing that he thought would have made it fail, actually. Because the Ghost King was incapacitated, asleep, gone, unavailable, nada.

So what. The fuck. Was he doing. Here?

Constantine knew the day was going to well to stay that way but wow. The universe loves to fuck him over, apparently.

Or the Justice League in specific.

Or both.

Doesn't matter, because now he has to bullshit his way out of this or get ready to brawl for his life.

Good thing he's good at both of those things, then.

Mostly the bullshit-

"Phantom what the fuck are you doing-" Constantine wheezed out, watching one of their newest members-a ghost going by the name Phantom-fly over in front of the known tyrant and-

Oh.

Oh, holy shit this won't end well.

Ghost King.

Phantom. A ghost.

Well, shit.

This is fine. This is totally fine. He just needs to bullshit his way out of this or face two powerhouses.

This is fine.

He's done worse.

"Sup War" Phantom said, floating around the summoning circle that contained the king of all ghosts like it wasn't a problem. "Didn't expect to be seeing you here."

"Ward." The Ghost King inclined his head slightly, eyes trained on Phantom. "I would not have come here if not for Time's insistence and I have been meaning to..." The King paused, hands gripping and ungrasping the pommel of his sword. "...Check in... on you."

"Aww, were you worried about lil old meeeee?" Phantom, ever the little shit and holy shit did Constantine want to go over there and shut him up, said. Floating around until he was staring upside down in the Ghost King's face. "Didn't know you were so soft, pa."

"I am not soft." The King huffed, flame dancing at the edges of his hair. "I was merely... concerned. Over how you would be acclimating to your circumstances. This world's League of Justice covers far more than your small haunt."

"Weeeell, it's not that bad honestly." Phantom admitted. "Haven't really done anything too big yet just some smallish things here and there. So, you know." The ghost boy shrugged, swinging back in the air to turn upright and crossing his legs. "Nothing too bad."

"Good." The Ghost King nodded, shoulders slumping so slightly that if Constantine wasn't looking, he wouldn't have seen it. "That is good. Yes. Good." The King slightly cleared his throat, grasping and ungrasping the pommel of his sword.

Silence echoed in the warehouse as the King seemingly looked for words to say.

"Would you..." He cleared his throat again, squaring his shoulders and standing up straighter. "Would you like to join me and Time for a meeting? It has been some time since you had last joined us." The King shifted slightly before adding. "Of course, if you're busy you do not have too."

"Sure." Phantom said, rolling back and forth in the air as he hummed. "Been a while since we've had some family time-"

"Family time?" Constantine caught someone-who he thinks was Green Lantern-say. He was just as bewildered.

"And if Time sent you here then it must be important." Danny paused before shrugging. "Or maybe not, can never know with him. But yea, sure. I'll come."

"Wonderful." The Ghost King smiled. Smiled. At Phantom. "Then I shall. Leave. Now. To do. Things. Yes. Things." The summoning circle flashed a familiar green, the same green when the King was first being summoned. "Goodbye, ward."

"You can call me son, you know."

The King paused for a moment, blinking slowly before hesitantly nodding.

"Then goodbye. Son."

The circle flashed and just like that. The king was gone.

"Kid. What the fuck." Whoever said- okay wait no that was Constantine, him. But yea fuck it he agrees with himself. "What the fuck." He repeated.

Phantom, the brat, only gave him a shit eating grin and a peace sign before disappearing on the spot.