#and then they end up completely out of control

[slvttyplum]

sukuna won't stop talking during sex.

at first it was cute, endearing; you enjoyed it, but each time you were close to finishing, his never-ending words that slipped through your ears made you lose your edge.

right there, right there, keep going...

fuck.

one last thrust, and he turned on his back, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath, turning to look at you rolling your eyes while you turned to your side, grabbing your phone and laying on your back.

"what's your fucking problem?" sukuna sitting up against the headboard, his face in a scowl.

"what's my fucking problem? i can't fucking nut; that's my fucking problem." muttering to yourself as you flip over to your side, sukuna flipping you right back over, climbing on top of you, his weight resting on your legs

"what? since when? you finish every single time." a pout resting on his lips as he looked at you, scanning over your face then your chest, the realization setting in.

you stay quiet, rolling your eyes. it wasn't every time when you didn't finish, but it was every time where you did, a couple of minutes going by before you spoke.

"you just talk a lot, but that's something that can be fixed." a grin on your lips as you push him off of you.

a few minutes later, he was laid under you, with a piece of tape over his mouth. lining his dick with your entrance and slowly sliding down, your eyes fluttering as he fills you out.

your hands were placed firmly on his chest, holding most of your weight as your hips came down with full force, pleasure surging through you just the way you wanted it to, almost losing yourself.

sukuna's eyes watering, his hands on your hips and his nails digging into your flesh, his body shaking, trying to control how good he was feeling.

the more you moved up and down on him, the more annoyed he got. you felt so fucking good, the way you moved turned him on so much that it got him angry. this is what he was missing?

his moans muffled against the tape, tears falling down the corner of his eyes as his grip on your hips got tighter, his dick twitching inside of you, a long, drawn-out, muffled moan as his grip on you loosened.

it went on like this for an hour, his ego shattering completely each time you slid down on his dick.

still riding out your orgasm as he stares at you, his body still reacting to how good you felt, his vision blurry from tears, but he could still see that smile on your face.

you quickly rip off the tape, his dick still inside of you.

"see what happens when you shut the fuck up?" his face twisting into a scowl, gripping your hips again, a yelp escaping your lips as his hips buck into you.

"watch your mouth." his face softening as he feels you gripping against him. maybe he could benefit from not talking once in a while.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control. 

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself. 

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board. 

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first. 

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt. 

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable? 

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious. 

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again. 

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word. 

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in. 

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday. 

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public. 

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question. 

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.” 

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side. 

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face. 

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together. 

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now. 

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer. 

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-“

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away. 

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last. 

Nothing good ever does for him. 

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can’t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it. 

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps. 

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy. 

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving. 

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why. 

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you. 

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.

[heyysteven]

Cat and Mouse

Summary: The one where the salesman has feelings and doesn't know what to do about them, until he does.

Pairing: The salesman x reader

Warnings: Death, stalking, the salesman being the salesman .

“Attention please, the train from Busan is arriving shortly.”

Glancing at the station clock, he shut the week old newspaper and straightened his spine. He had been carrying the same edition he bought the first time he accidently bumped into you. It had unknowingly become his evening ritual; to sit and wait on the bench facing the train at platform number six.

At exactly ten minutes to four your train arrives at the platform and in exactly three minutes you walk past him. Every day since that fateful meeting he waits for you at the exact same spot. He wasn’t quite sure why he did so. Maybe in hopes that perhaps one day you would recognize him too. Though if you were to remember him, you would have noticed by now. It was near impossible to miss a man like him.

He sits and waits for the sweet scent that lingers after you. He waits for the soft chime from your anklet that rings as you walk your commute and faints into silence.

The salesman believed himself to be a man of strength. One who could easily fight off any urges for addictions. One who could puppet his way out of any situation no matter how challenging they got. He had always believed himself to be the one in charge, in complete control regardless of the outcome.

And yet there he was. Sitting aimlessly in a place he hates, reading about affairs he couldn’t care less about. All for the attention of a person he couldn’t get. It wasn’t like he didn’t try defying these emotions. But almost every time he wound up waiting at the same exact bench. Like the dog salivating at the sound of the bell.

If anyone were to see him right now, they would call him out for what he was.

A sad pathetically desperate loser. That’s what he was and that’s what he was doing wasn’t he? Playing this strange unnamed game and losing.

Something clicked inside him at that thought. He decided he couldn’t let this continue longer.

In that moment the salesman realized what he had to do.

He had only made a living out of it after all.  

Standing up he fixed the crisp fabric of his gray suit. The footfall of his squeaky polished shoe following as he trailed your usual path.

He already knew where you were going next.

The bold red letters of the supermarket blinked to life as he crossed the fairly crowded street. As the sun slowly set, cold breeze replaced the burning summer humidity that prickled sweat since dawn.

The salesman walked casually, in absolute no hurry as he strode behind a group of old ladies, who were headed inside the store. After reaching your station you would walk inside this supermarket, where they sold mini sized packets of cat food and feed it to the one stray cat wandering beside the alley adjacent to the store. In all these days he observed that you liked to browse the aisle one by one, even if you always ended up buying the same items.

He concluded that you liked doing monotonous chores; that having to do the same things for the rest of your life didn’t scare you. He wondered what you would think of the life he lived. Would it scare you or maybe perhaps you would understand him and why he did what he did.

Like clockwork he went inside and scanned the fluorescently lit store for any signs of you. The cold air blasting from the conditioner hit on his hair as he walked past the frozen items aisle. Walking through, he picked up a loaf of packaged bread and a carton of milk so as to not be caught wandering aimless.

He didn’t resist his smile that grew slowly as he found you.

There you were, right by the aisle full of cat food. Your head hung low as your studied the contents of the packet and though you faced the opposite direction he somehow knew that your eyebrows were furrowed in complete focus. Only you could be worried about the food ingredients for a stray cat.

When he had followed you the first time he wasn’t too surprised to see you feed the bony orange cat, because of course you fed that thing. Warmth raced down his body at the memory of that day. He remembered how lovingly your fingers had caressed its body, how you whispered sweet nothings, how the little cat so eager to trust you, devoured everything you fed it.

The sight had oddly irked him. He didn’t like the fact that a stray cat of all creatures had experienced your touch and words before he could have it. He missed an embrace he never even felt before.

He had thought about it more often than he would admit. He often wondered what having you close by would look like. Would you stain his pillows with your perfume? Would you look at him and smile if he made you happy? Would you let him dangle your feet on his shoulder as he devoured you? Would you wipe the blood off his face every time he came home bloody?

A triumph feeling spread through him the more he thought about it. He didn’t have to wonder about these things anymore. Because he knew what he had to do. He knew he was going to have you soon one way or another.

When you walked out the supermarket he didn’t follow you.

His eyes though, stalked you out until you reached the alley in search for the stupid excuse of a pet. As if sensing your presence the cat emerged from under the old rusting scraps of what used to be a parked car and stopped a few feet away. Coming to your feet it purred as it rubbed its head against your legs. The salesman almost rolled his eyes.

Ripping the packet open, you reached down and scratched him under his chin, talking about your day in glorious detail like the cat could ever comprehend anything you said. You adored the cat as he lapped up every single chunk layed for him. If it was up to you, you would have taken the cat home long ago but your landlord had a strict no pets policy so instead you came here every day.

You scratched his chin one more time before you forced yourself up and walked deeper in the alley to reach home.

The salesman made his move just as you left.  

His steps slowed as he approached the cat, hued under the orange glow of the street lamp. Bending to crouch, he placed his suitcase beside him and studied the cat as it continued to licked itself, as if he couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge the presence of the salesman to stop filthing its tongue.

He smiled almost wickedly as he asked, “Would you like to play a game?”

It devastated him to kill that cat.

It really did. Its screeches were loud and scratches painfully sharp but after hitting the brick third time it finally gave out. For a bony cat it had surprisingly a lot of blood in it. Pulling out a kerchief from his pocket he cleaned his fingers and swept his hair down. He didn’t like killing an animal who couldn’t speak for itself, but he knew he had to do it.

He knew he had to win again.

---------------------------------------------------------

If there was one thing you could complain about endlessly it would be about earpods. You’re constantly worried about one of them falling and frankly the audio quality isn’t exactly better. The elders were right; there is no need to create solutions for problems that didn’t exist. If it weren’t for your sister gifting them to you, you’d be happily and proudly walking around with your wired earphones but instead you walked around with these excuse of a device.

“Good afternoon gorgeous!” you greeted your favorite cashier as you entered the superstore.

“You shouldn’t lie to an old lady like me.” She countered and immediately pretended to wave off your conpliment. But you knew she secretly enjoyed being called different versions of beautiful every day.

Placing a hand on your chest you feigned hurt as you said, “I would never lie to you!”

She just giggled as you walked further in and browsed through the aisles. You picked up fresh corns for dinner and went to grab dinner for the little whiskers.

You were dumbfounded when saw the completely empty rack that is usually filled with ten different variations of cat food.

When you enquired about it at the counter the old lady just shrugged. “It was strange but a man came in and asked for every single packet we had and left with them.”

“He took all the packs? What kind of pet is he sheltering?”

The prospect of walking home and not feeding your cat did upset you a little. You should have just bought the backup brand yesterday. With the brown bag on one hand you left the store.

Just as you were about to turn left for the alley, you caught sight of man. Well dressed in an expensive looking suit, with suitcase in one hand and a heap of cat food piled in a little mountain structure to his other. He was leaning against the wall of the building opposite the store, so smug and sure like he owned the entire place. His arms were crossed into each other as his suitcase hanged casually.

You had so many questions. What is he doing in a place like this? What is he going to do with that huge pile? Why is he just standing there? With a man as strange as him, you thought nothing could be too strange of an ask. You thought that maybe you could pay him a reasonable amount and buy some for yourself.

There is no harm in trying right? The worse he could say was no.

So with confident steps you walked up to him. You summoned the most inviting smile you could asked, “Excuse me, hello! I couldn’t help but notice the heap you have gathered there. If its not too much trouble could you possibly sell me one of those packets? I will pay you the full price I'm not looking for any discounts I swear.”

The man simply took two steps closer and towered in front of you. His tall frame casted a shadow that seemed to have drowned you entirely. Now that he stood to his height you couldn’t help but feel unsure of your decision. Maybe talking to strangers unprompted was not a good idea after all.

His entire presence felt alarming. The smart thing would be to just walk away but for some reason you didn’t feel like running at all.

He tilted his head as you felt him analyze you. “And what if I don’t want to sell it for money?” he said finally.

At your puzzled expression he clarified, “What if I demand something other than money? Will you be just as willing to give it to me?”

Your heart raced at his words. He probably didn’t mean for them to sound as instigating as they did. Maybe in another world where you were just a little braver you would have even used this as an opportunity to flirt with him. He was devastatingly attractive. The kind you see on billboards, the kind who seemed to be used to stomping on every woman’s feelings. But this was the real version of you who wasn't brave enough for any of that.

Not wanting to get into any trouble you said, “I’m sorry if that was a weird ask from me, I should just leave-”

“Would you like to play a game?” He asked and simply smiled like that smile didn’t jolt electricity inside you, like this wasn’t the most absurd conversation you’ve had in your entire life.

You knew you shouldn’t but you couldn’t help but ask, “What kind of game?”

The salesman finally had his little mouse right where he wanted her.

[murdrdocs]

arthur hits it from the back :P MDNI 18+ w/ ARTHUR MORGAN

you know arthur, very well at that. you know the feeling of his rough hands as they hold you still by your hips, you know the sound of his moans and groans, you know the thickness of his cock as it glides in you—the weight of him nestled completely inside of you.

but when you're fucking him like this, on your knees and taking him from the back, everything has an element of unknown added to it.

you've surrendered to him. the only control you have over this scenario is in your occasional movements of fucking yourself back onto him, a futile attempt to get even more of what you're already getting. a clear display of greed.

each time you would even try it with him, he's shutting that shit down. pulling you right back against him the first time, ass to his pelvis, and shallow fucking you as he completely restricts your movement. the second time pushing you down onto the bed using the weight of his hips, draping himself over your body and sandwiching you between two unmovable layers as he told you that you did this to yourself, sweetheart.

there's so much to this that's driving you crazy, and you know you'll continue to think about this night long after it's over.

you'll be plagued with thoughts not only concerning his control over the situation, but concerning the way he feels like a stranger at times. not being able to see him when your face is stuck in the sheets, you're forced to use your other senses to gather your bearings. listening to his cock working in and out of you with aid from your arousal. feeling him in you as he fucks you, feeling the hair on his thighs rub against the back of your legs, feeling the hair at the base of his cock tickle your ass when he shallowly massages his cock into you.

unable to see him, you clench your eyes shut and try to imagine what he looks like. remembering the sun-induced flush on his cheeks and how it'll be emphasized now, highlighting the barely visible freckles he sports. remembering the little indent right beneath the tip of his nose. struggling to recall how his eyebrows pinch together and his mouth goes slack when he's all up in your guts.

but even when he feels foreign, so much about him—and all of this—is rooted in familiarity. how his hands gravitate to pressing his thumbs into your lower back, right on either side of your spine, like opposite ends of a magnet. how he'll run a big hand down the center of your back, spreading his hand out around the base of your neck, cooing at you the entire time.

"that's my girl ... mhm, just like that for me, sweetheart. shit, wish you could see yourself through my eyes."

a few times you do try to turn around and get a look at him, but the position is too damning. aside from the fact that arthur won’t let you get a look in unless he really wants you to, with your ass in the air and your chest and face in the sheets, craning your head to the side is too much trouble than it's worth, especially when the alternative—remaining face down ass up—is too good to make it stop.

you do get lucky once though, when arthur’s voice begins to strain and his hips become sloppier, he urges you to look back at him. he pulls you up with a hand against your sternum until your back is to his chest, and with your head resting on his shoulder, you turn your gaze and lock eyes with him. only a moment later does he slip his fingers down to your bud and pulls you over the edge, and right after that he frees his cock from the confines of your cunt and jerks himself to completion over your stomach, using your eyes and your arousal coating the sensitive skin to finish himself off.

[echo-riot]

Random sevika thoughts/headcanons NSFW

Once Sevika…

• Bent you over her poker table at the Leaky Drop, clearing the cards and chips with one sweep of her arm. She didn’t care who was around; she wanted to make sure everyone knew you were hers.

• Caught you teasing her in public by being overly flirty with someone else. The second you were alone, she had you pinned to the wall, growling in your ear about how you’d pay for that later.

• Kept you in bed all day, completely ignoring work because she couldn’t get enough of you. Every time you tried to leave, she’d pull you back, muttering something about how she wasn’t done with you yet.

• Left marks all over your neck and chest, smirking every time you winced at the sight of them in the mirror. “You wanted to play games, huh? Now wear them with pride.”

• Whispered filthy promises in your ear during a slow dance, her hand slipping lower and lower on your back as the night went on.

• Left you dripping and unsatisfied on purpose, just to punish you for not listening to her earlier. She told you not to wear that dress out, and now she’s going to make you pay for it.

• Made you hold onto her biceps while she completely wrecked you, her smirk growing wider every time you squeezed harder. “C���mon, sweetheart, you can handle more than that.”

• Pulled you into her lap during a poker game, forcing you to sit still while she played. Every now and then, she’d lean down to murmur in your ear, making your cheeks flush as you struggled to keep it together.

• Ruined you so thoroughly that you were too weak to stand afterward. She carried you to bed, lit a cigar, and smirked as she watched you try to catch your breath.

Sevika would…

• Make you apologize for being a brat by kissing her knuckles or her neck, her smug grin letting you know she wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

• Punish you by teasing you with her strap until you were trembling, but never letting you have it until you begged properly.

• Growl in your ear while she’s fucking you, her voice low and rough as she tells you exactly how good you feel.

• Keep you on edge for hours, only letting you finish when she was completely satisfied with how desperate you’d become.

• Look at you like you’re the most delicious thing in the world whenever you wear her favorite outfit, knowing damn well she’s going to tear it off you later.

• Drag her metal arm up your inner thigh, letting the cool touch send shivers through you as she grinned at your reaction.

• Take her time teasing you, kissing every inch of your skin until you were trembling and begging her to stop torturing you. She loves drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible.

• Call you out for trying to act tough in the bedroom. “You think you’re in charge now? Cute. Let’s see how long that lasts.” Spoiler: not long.

• Use her size to completely overwhelm you, pinning you down with one arm while the other worked you over mercilessly.

• Keep her hand on your throat, not enough to hurt but just enough to remind you who’s in control.

• Grab your chin mid-argument and kiss you just to shut you up. She knows you’re mad, but she can’t resist that fire in your eyes, and it’s her favorite way to end any fight.

• Make you beg for her, dragging every whimper and plea out of you before she finally gives you what you want. She loves the power she holds over you in those moments.

• Tie your wrists together with whatever’s nearby—her bandages, a belt, or even her tie—just to keep you from touching her when she’s in a teasing mood.

• Make you wear her shirt and nothing else when you’re lounging around at home. Seeing you wrapped up in her scent gets her every time.

[sccrim]

SLEEPOVER !

warning : ( smut w plot , teasing , unprotected pnv , hair pulling , oral , ass slapping , degrading / praising , demanding , creampies )

you and sarah are best friends. you guys decided to have a sleepover since rafe wasn’t going to be home for the night. so at least you thought.

tags : @rissouu

you and sarah had just got done watching a movie. well— you finished it. sarah fell asleep 15 minutes before the movie ended. you grabbed the empty popcorn bag and cups— heading downstairs to clean everything up. you didn’t have to but you weren’t comfortable with leaving the place dirty.

after finishing, you decided to sit on the chair by the island table getting lost away to tiktok. you could have went back upstairs but you didn’t want to wake sarah up. maybe you should have though — when you heard the sound of someone trying to open the front door. your heart beating faster than normal. grabbing a knife and walking towards the door just to see the door knob turn. before you could even lift the knife up, you saw it was rafe.

"holy fuck, you scared me." taking a deep breath in and walking back to the kitchen. rafe not saying a word just staring at your ass switching back and forth. you had completely forgot you were in your underwear. "didn’t mean to scare you." he finally opened up. "it’s cool. thought you were staying at toppers." you placed the knife back. "i was but then ruthie came and i knew he was gonna wanna fuck her so i left."

"she didn’t bring a friend? y'know a two man." you laughed. "you thought i wouldn’t be home so you decide to walk around in your underwear?" you felt your face turn red. embarrassed at the fact that rafe just saw your pink lace underwear. "okay, embarrassing but yes." you kinda laughed to hold in the pain. "cute."

"sarah sleeping?"

"yeah, why?"

"just asking."

rafe bit the inside of his cheek, admiring your body. the way your tits sit so perfect in that tank top. your nipples piercing through. "hello, eyes up here." you didn’t mind the man staring but you couldn’t let him know that. "right— sorry. don’t want your boyfriend to get mad." rafe laughed. rafe could give two fucks if you had a boyfriend or not. he’ll still stare.

"oh yeah we broke up."

"whys that?"

"he cheated."

the silence filled the room up. "he cheated? on you?" he finally broke the silence. "yeah— but it’s okay. was gonna break up with him anyway." rafes face kind of lit up in excitement. "awh, what’s that?" trying to sound concerned, knowing damn well he wanted to rip your shirt and underwear off. "don’t wanna talk about it." you didn’t want to tell him the only reason you were gonna break up with your ex was because you had been having thoughts about someone else.

about a month ago, you were having dirty thoughts of rafe fucking the shit out of you. you wanted this man bad. you wanted him to rough you up to where you cried. as crazy as that sounds, it sounded perfect to you. "well, i should go to sleep now before sarah wakes up." you smiled at him. you began to walk but before you knew rafe picked you up, placing you on the cold island table.

"you know you look beautiful when the moon shines on your eyes." he lifted up your chin with his finger. "rafe—" you looked into his eyes. "hm?" he began kissing your neck. "i should go." you whispered. you didn’t want to go but you were nervous. this is rafe. rafe cameron. the rudest boy of outerbanks. this was your best friends brother!

"you want me to stop?" he started rubbing the outside of your underwear. he side smirked feeling that you were already wet for the man. "tell me to stop then." him teasing you. you wanted to tell him but all came out was— "fuck me."

"sorry what?"

"please fuck me."

"begging already?"

"not yet princess."

rafe unbuttoning his shorts. "get on your knees." he demanded. this is what you wanted. you wanted this man to control you. you jumped off the island table and got on your knees. you pulled down his boxers, already to see his dick rock solid. before he could even say something, his dick was already in your mouth. rafe moaned of pleasure. looking down at you, getting harder and turned on. he grabbed your hair and began to move your head deeper to his dick.

"fuck." he whispered. you began touching yourself hearing rafe moan out how good he was feeling. he pulls his dick out from your mouth and taps his dick on your lips, causing you to open your mouth again for him to slip it back in. "such a good fucking slut."

rafe picked you up and turned you around. you leaning on the kitchen counter. pulling your hair as he slipped his dick in you. "so fucking tight." he whispered in your ear as he began thrusting in you. "faster rafe." you whispered causing him to grab your hips and slam into you, going faster. both of you guys trying to catch your breaths. "shut up before sarah hears you." he slapped your ass.

"p-please don’t stop." you stuttered. "does your boyfriend make you feel this good." he asked. you nodding your head no. "speak up." his voice deepened. "no." rafe leaning his head up. "good."

rafe pulled out and before you could turn around, you just felt his tongue on your clit. "r-" he started moving his tongue in a circulating movement. "don’t stop." you whispered, moving your hips in the same movement he is moving his tongue. rafe jerking off at the same time. he didn’t want you to cum just yet. he was waiting for the moment he would cum too.

"oh god. don’t fucking stop." you repeated. you knew you were about to get to your climax. "i’m about to cum." rafe hurried and began to thrusted in you again. "don’t cum until i tell you too." he demanded. going fasted and deeper in you. rafe moaning knowing he was about to cum too. "fuck don’t cum yet princess, i’m almost there." he grabbed your hip tightly, leaving imprints of his hands there.

"okay cum for me." both of you guys moaning. rafe still thrusting from pleasure. "fuck." he whispered after finishing. rafe took his shirt off and cleaned you up with it. "you didn’t have to use your shirt. i know you love that shirt."

"it’s all good. i loved the fuck better." you guys both laughing. "this ass is mine now by the way." he slapped your ass one more time. "depends." you kissed your teeth. "what’s that supposed to mean."

"keep fucking me like that, then it’s all yours."

ps. shout out to the weeknd for his music bc i probably wouldn’t have made it this long and detailed w/o his music BAHAH.

 sccrim — all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost , translate , or plagiarise my content.

[bwv572]

The wikipedia article for dead internet theory is one of the best examples I've seen of just how retarded wikipedia has become. The entire article was created just to dismiss the concept as a conspiracy theory. This is the opening sentence:

The dead Internet theory is an online conspiracy theory that asserts, due to a coordinated and intentional effort, the Internet now consists mainly of bot activity and automatically generated content manipulated by algorithmic curation to control the population and minimize organic human activity.[1][2][3][4][5] 

And you might think to yourself, wait, there's nothing about this phenomenon that requires a conspiracy. That bots would eventually outnumber humans is the inevitable product of 30+ years of bot and AI development, helped by the fact that just one person can run 100+ bots. We all know bot farms exist and that states have their hand in AI development, but just as many bots are run by normal people, and no amount of this is actually coordinated for some larger explicitly stated end: it's actually complete chaos with no end goal, with individual actors working for fun, for research, or for whatever other benefit, with no real concern for how their botting affects other networks or "civilians".

And the talk page thought of all these points. The editors responded to the above objection with "we have reliable sources that call it a conspiracy theory. Check those citations".

The more obvious position, the one actually used by the people who came up with the term to begin with, wouldn't have ever stated itself as "not a conspiracy", because no conspiracy was even being alleged, thus no "reliable sources" can be cited with the explicit claim "the following theory is not intended to be a conspiracy theory"

The kicker is that you click the reliable sources they quote, and the first one never alleges a conspiracy to begin with, it posits that it is a "speculation about the future of the internet". The second article calls it a "conspiracy theory", but in the colloquial sense of an "out there idea", which is a usage I have always hated. For instance, people call "bigfoot" a conspiracy theory - a conspiracy is a secret coordinated plan to commit a crime - that some big humanoid animal lives in the woods is not a plan to commit a crime. The "conspiracy theory" that "the moon isn't real" isn't a plan to commit a crime. These are just memes.

But, a "reliable source" written by a millennial woman used the term as a meme and now wikipedia cites it as an actual conspiracy and you're not allowed to change that framing unless you join a wikipedia council and vote to completely overhaul the editorial framing of this article.

There are much worse instances of this, but this is a good example of how retarded this all is because you don't really need a position on the article to understand that you don't need to frame it in that way for any of the information in the article to make sense.

[lizzybeeee]

Personal take: One of the weirdest things Veilguard did, outright baffling, in fact, is how it feels like they reset the status quo of the world to Origins - even further back, if anything.

The game avoids (at all costs) meaningfully delving into exploring what these events/lore reveals mean to the world and characters at large. But the entire time I was thinking: holy shit this is bad.

What happens in game has very, very bad implications for the rest of Thedas and how they're going to look at groups like the Elves and Mages. I'm looking at this from the perspective of someone whose played all three previous games, not from the perspective of datv which really brushes over all moral complexity and sociopolitical issues. Of course, it's just my interpretation but its based off what happened in previous games.

Elves

The Elvish Gods of legend came back, blighted, and ended up wiping out the majority of the South - I find it hard to believe that the elves would not be 'roped in' as being responsible somehow.

Elves could sneeze in a previous game and people would blame them for causing a plague and purge the alienage -> life is shit for an elf and the events of datv would have absolutely made life a thousand times worse.

Would there be purges of alienages? Are there groups like the chavaliers or mobs of humans going about an killing elves because 'It's your Gods. It's your fault.'

Obviously, it isn't. But there are plenty of examples in Thedas' history of people acting rashly/cruelly out of terror and anger - and it's the most vulnerable people, like the Elves and Mages, who are targeted.

The Dalish Elves, what remains of them, would likely be perceived as 'Blight/Old God worshipers' - people would chase them off for the 'crime' of living too close to them in the woods in DAO.

Terrified, angry people would not care if the Dalish said they had nothing to do with what's happening - there would be bloodshed.

If anything improved for the elves from the time of Origins -> Mahariel, Tabris, Lavellan, or Briala...it's likely back to ground one as the best possible outcome, and closer to the Exalted March on the Dales at it's worst.

Mages

Mages could, potentially, have been living a life of unprecedented acceptance if Leliana was Divine -> along come the Evanuris, mages, who are allied with the Venatori who are causing devastation in Orlais and the Free Marches specifically.

Missive - Message from the Front -> The Tide Turns "The Venatori and the Orlesian royal armies clash daily in Orlais. Val Royeaux is now under control of the rebels, and from there the Venatori launch attacks as far east as Kirkwall."

The original magisters (evanuris) wielding the Blight and Old Gods 2.0 x2.

Any templars who remained, who had the old mindset and outlook of how mages should be treated, absolutely would be pointing at the venatori and saying "we warned you what would happen without the Order."

Normal people wouldn't give a shit that it's only a 'few' mages -> their entire home is gone, their families are dead, and the people responsible are wielding magic.

Fear of magic would likely be at an all time high - If the Order doesn't exist people would likely be demanding for them to come back.

The mages - whatever goodwill they earned - are likely being faced with suspicion and terror because this is proof of what magic can do in the hands of power-hungry douchebags.

Maybe they help to fight and people don't get so suspicious of them - who knows! This game doesn't want to address the previous games so it's in limbo.

Spirits

Other people have done great posts about how the spirits were completely tossed aside in this game. Three games worth of humanizing spirits, with Justice and Cole, only to go back on it with Solas reinforcing the Veil and...maintaining the status quo?

He so earnestly discussed with us his perspective on spirits and how they're just as 'real' as those on this side of the Veil - we saw it with Cole firsthand. But I guess they can all chill in the Fade till Solas dies or whatever.

I'd argue that the elves and mages are in an even worse position than they were in Origins. It's just not fulfilling, to me at least, to see the World I got so invested in just regress to the status quo after three games of challenging it. For it to not be meaningfully discussed or spoken about in-game, just brushed aside...I may not have liked the decision to do this but it could have been interesting (at least) if they actually discussed it.

Also, people don't just 'band together' because of the Blight - Origins showed us very well that in times of strife and pressure peoples petty/deeply ingrained beliefs, prejudices, and values come to the forefront. Alistair's comment about “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together" -> was him being snarky about how everybody as Ostagar was on the verge of throwing hands with each other. They were united in cause not in belief - the cause being to eradicate the darkspawn.

It's just so grim, and with how they handled sociopolitical issues and moral complexity in datv (not at all) I have no hope that they'll be able to address this at all, if they even bother to and don't just...ignore it, I guess.

Maybe this is what the devs meant when they said that the 'tone' was similar to Origins - just straight up erasing whatever strides was made in the previous games and setting it back to square one lmao

[slytherin-princess-x]

Why aren’t we more

Angst, ends up with fluff

Theodore nott x reader

I stared at Theo, my heart pounding in my chest. The tension in the air was palpable, charged with unresolved anger and something else, something I’d been trying to ignore. We were supposed to be studying for their Potions exam, a last-minute review that had turned into a heated argument over some trivial comment he had made about my study habits. But then, in a moment of sheer madness, he had kissed me—softly at first, and then with a desperation that had taken her completely by surprise.

Now, my lips buzzed with the remnants of that unexpected kiss, and the anger I felt was mixed with a confusing sense of betrayal, a feeling that I didn't want to confront. I crossed her arms tightly across her chest, trying to create a barrier between them.

“If you do that again, I’ll throw you out the fucking window, you—what are you doing?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. The audacity of him after everything felt unbearable.

Theodore stood there, a lopsided grin on his face, as if the kiss had only deepened the amusement in his grey eyes. He stepped back slightly and looked toward the window, which was barely a crack open, allowing a slight breeze to flutter through the curtains.

“Checking how high the drop is, see if it’s worth it,” he replied, his tone light and teasing, as though he was discussing the merits of a new broomstick rather than the risk of him being thrown out of a three-story window.

I couldn’t help but just stare at him, mouth agape, unsure whether to be infuriated or intrigued. “You think this is a joke?” I snapped, feeling a heat rise to my cheeks. “You kiss me in the middle of an argument, and you act like you’re going to just shrug it off?”

Theodore’s grin faded slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I thought... I thought it might clear the air, you know?”

“Clear the air?” I repeated incredulously, my heart racing at the idea that he thought a kiss could somehow fix everything. “You can’t just kiss someone because you feel like it and expect it to make things better. That’s not how this works!”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer again. “Isn’t it? I mean, there’s definitely a tension between us, and you can’t tell me you didn’t feel something just now.”

I opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. It was true; maybe I had felt something. The kiss had ignited a spark inside me, one I had been trying to snuff out ever since we met. Our bickering, our banter, all the moments of shared laughter and late-night conversations had woven a complicated tapestry of emotions that neither of us wanted to confront.

“You think I want to feel this way?” I asked, exasperated, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. “You think I wanted this to happen? You and I are—”

“Complicated,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly serious. “Yeah, I get that. But I can’t pretend I don’t want you. I can’t just ignore the fact that I kissed you because I’ve wanted to for ages.”

My heart raced, caught between disbelief and a thrill I couldn’t quite suppress. “Theodore,” I started, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can’t just say that and think it’ll make everything okay. We have a friendship—”

“Do we?” He leaned closer, his eyes boring into mine, and for a moment, making me forget everything else. The tension between us crackled like electricity. “Or is it just this façade we keep up to avoid acknowledging what’s right in front of us?”

“Do we?” He leaned closer, his eyes boring into hers, and for a moment, Y/N forgot everything else. The tension between them crackled like electricity. “Or is it just this façade we keep up to avoid acknowledging what’s right in front of us?”

I opened her mouth again to respond, but no words came. Instead, I felt a deep, unsettling truth settling in my stomach: he was right. The friendship we had built was layered with unspoken words and what-ifs that hovered between us like an unsheathed sword.

“Listen,” I said finally, taking a step back to put distance between us. “I don’t know what this is—what you want—but throwing ourselves into something without thinking isn’t the answer either.”

He let out a small, frustrated huff, running a hand through his dark hair. “I’m not asking for us to jump into anything. I just... I want to know if there’s something here to explore. I don’t want to just be friends anymore.”

I looked away, trying to process the weight of his confession. The last thing I wanted was to ruin our friendship, yet the longing that swirled within me was undeniable. I could feel the heat of his gaze, the way it tugged at my resolve.

“Are you really willing to risk our friendship for a chance at something more?” My voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice steady. “Maybe it’s worth the risk.”

The vulnerability in his eyes caught me off guard, and I felt my heart flutter in my chest. Could I take that leap? Was it really worth the risk of losing everything we had?

“Just promise me something,” I meet his gaze. “If we do this, we do it together. No half-measures.”

Theodore stepped closer, a smile breaking across his face that lit up his features. “Deal.”

And in that moment, I felt the walls I had built around my heart begin to crumble. The drop outside didn’t seem so frightening anymore. Instead, it felt like the start of something new, something worth the leap.

Taglist: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 7/?)

A blade is a mirror of control — sharp, unyielding, and always two-edged. No matter how tightly you hold it, it can just as easily turn against you, leaving you bleeding from your own grasp.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 8,3K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, oral sex (m!receiving), deep throat, a little bit of female domination, cowgirl position, unprotected sex, creampie, use of the title "sir" in a sexual context, knife play (no penetration with the knife handle if you're expecting it not yet at least), vaginal fingering, possessive behavior, you are a prostitute, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 6

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silco's head fell back against the chair, his eyes fluttering shut as she worked her magic on him. He could feel every suckle, every flick and swirl of her tongue as she took him deep into her throat. The sensation was exquisite, the wet heat enveloping his aching length driving him wild with lust. His hands tightened in her hair, his fingers tangling in the silky strands as he guided her movements, urging her to take him deeper.. He loved the way her lips stretched around him, the way her throat constricted as she swallowed around his girth.

Fuck, he had forgotten how good she was at it. Too good. He could feel himself already getting close, could feel the telltale tightness in his balls that signaled his impending release. But he didn't want this to end, not yet. He wanted to lose himself in her mouth, to forget about everything except the feeling of her hot, wet mouth wrapped around him.

He knew he should be focusing on his work, on the mountain of paperwork that always seemed to pile up on his desk. But how could he concentrate when he had a goddess on her knees before him, worshipping him with her mouth? He couldn't, and he didn't want to. Let the work wait. Right now, all that mattered was the feeling of her mouth on his cock, and the way she seemed to crave his pleasure as much as he craved her.

He let out a low groan, his hips lifting off the chair as he pushed himself deeper into her throat. He could feel her taking him, could feel her relaxing her muscles to accept his length. He knew he was being rough, knew he was gripping her hair almost hard enough to hurt, but he couldn't help it. He was lost in a haze of pleasure, and she was the cause of it.

He could feel her taking him deeper, inch by inch. His chest heaving with each labored breath as he fought to maintain control. He looked down at her, taking in the sight of her lips stretched obscenely around his thick length, her cheeks hollowed as she sucked him. It was a vision of pure debauchery, one that made his blood burn hotter in his veins. "Fuck..." he growled, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take it all, dove. I know you can handle it."

Silco pushed her head down further slowly, helping her with the task she seemed so focused on completing. He could feel the head of his cock kissing the entrance to her throat, and he shuddered at the sensation. She was so tight, so hot and wet and perfect. He wanted to bury himself inside her completely.

For a few long, blissful seconds, he kept her there, his cock lodged deep in her throat as he savored the feeling of her swallowing around him. He could feel her throat convulsing, could feel the way she struggled to breathe through her nose as he held her in place. Finally, just as he felt the first stirrings of his orgasm building at the base of his spine, he released her. He pulled her off his cock, his length slick with her saliva as he gasped for air. He could see the way her chest heaved, the way she panted as she tried to catch her breath.

Silco could see the way her hair was mussed, the way it fell in disarray around her face from his rough treatment. It only served to make her look even more desirable, even more beautiful. He contented himself with observing her as she stood, her movements a bit unsteady from being on her knees for so long. She reached up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a gesture that was both endearing and erotic. He could see the way her chest heaved with each breath, the way her nipples strained against the thin fabric of her top.

In one swift motion, she undid her pants and shimmied out of them, letting them drop to the floor. Silco's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her, now naked from the waist down. He could see the glisten of her arousal coating her inner thighs, the urge to touch her, to bury his head between those damn thighs, was almost overwhelming.

But then she was straddling his lap, her naked heat pressing against his aching cock, and he forgot all about his original intentions. He gripped her hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pulled her closer, grinding his length against her slick folds. He could feel the wetness of her arousal coating his shaft, the way she was already so ready for him.

"Now that's the right position." her voice came, low and slightly hoarse, tinged with an unmistakable arrogance. That damned smile of hers – sharp, teasing, and brimming with confidence – dared him to react.

Silco blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in her demeanor. His blue eye narrowed, a flicker of intrigue sparking in its depths as her hand rose, bold as ever, to grip his chin. She tilted his face upward, forcing his gaze to meet hers, mirroring the very gesture he had so often used on her. The audacity. His instinct was to retaliate, to remind her exactly who commanded this space. But instead, Silco found himself leaning into her touch, allowing the moment to play out. There was something intoxicating about it—watching her wrestle the dynamic of power away, even if only briefly. Silco had to admit there was something thrilling about seeing her like this - confident, assertive, and undeniably sexy.

She then was positioning herself above him, the head of his cock kissing her entrance, and any thoughts of laughing filled his mind. He looked up at her, taking in the determined set of her jaw, the way her eyes blazed with a hunger that matched his own. But she didn't finish the downward movement. Instead, she asked: "Will this chair hold?"

He smirked, his hand gripping her hip tighter as he encouraged her to bend down. "Oh, the chair will hold, dove. Don't you worry about that."

Silco pushed her down slowly, inch by tortuous inch, until finally he was fully sheathed inside her. He groaned at the sensation, his head falling back against the chair as he savored the feeling of her tight walls gripping him like a vice. He could feel every flutter, every clench, as her body adjusted to his size. It was pure, blissful torture, and he never wanted it to end.

Silco groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as she began to move. She rose up slowly, until only the tip of his cock remained inside her, before sinking back down just as languidly. His hands itched to simply grip her hips and dictate her movements however he saw fit, like he always did. But he held back, keeping both hands only resting on her hips to stabilize her and nothing more.

If she truly wished to continue this little charade where she believed herself in control, Silco would allow it—just this once. But only because he found himself in a rare, indulgent mood. But gods, she was torturing him. The deliberate, agonizing slowness with which she moved, sliding down in his lap with a purposefully slow rhythm before rising again, was was driving him crazy.

His hands slid up her sides, his fingers splaying across the smooth expanse of her back as he pulled her closer. He could feel the soft swell of her breasts pressing against his chest, their hardened nipples a delicious contrast to the softness of her flesh.

He wanted to rip it off that top she was wearing, to expose her completely to his hungry gaze, but he resisted the urge. For now, he contented himself with watching her, with admiring the way her body undulated above him, the way her head tilted to the side, her flushed face, and the way her mouth hung slightly open, lips parted as if caught between a breathless sigh and a moan. Her eyes were shut, though he couldn't tell if it was from exertion or pleasure. Perhaps both. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, her fingers digging into him as if she sought something solid to anchor herself. She was a vision, raw and unfiltered, her beauty so stark and unadulterated that it was almost impossible to reconcile it with the filth and grime of Zaun.

It made Silco pause for the briefest moment. How could someone like her be born of a place as harsh and unyielding as this?

He wasn't naive, nor a hypocrite. Silco loved Zaun; he believed in its potential, in its right to stand equal to or above Piltover. But he wasn't blind to its flaws. He knew Zaun for what it truly was—brutal, unrelenting, and cruel. He had built his empire atop that very decay, navigating it, controlling it, weaponizing it when needed. The city chewed people up and spat them out, leaving behind only the strongest or the most cunning to claw their way to survival. Yet here she was, a flower somehow growing in the cracks of Zaun's polluted concrete, defying the odds and thriving amidst its decay.

It almost felt sinful, what he was doing. The way his hands roamed her body, the way he coaxed her reactions with an authority he knew she would never deny him—it felt like corruption. Like he was staining something sacred.

But the moment the thought crossed his mind, Silco quashed it with a resolve as sharp as a blade.

Sin? No, he decided, leaning closer, his fingers curling possessively around her waist. What they had wasn't sin—it was inevitability. She was no fragile thing to be coddled or worshiped from afar. She was fire wrapped in silk, strength disguised as softness, and he would claim her fully, unapologetically.

If this was corruption, then so be it. Silco had long since accepted the monster he had become. She wasn't his salvation, and he certainly wasn't hers.

Silco's breath hitched as she leaned in, her forehead pressing against his own. Her eyes, those piercing, intense orbs that seemed to see straight into his very soul, stared into his own. In their depths, he saw a whirlwind of emotions, a tempest of things left unspoken and perhaps best left that way. Things he didn't want to acknowledge, didn't want to examine too closely.

His hands gripped her hips hard, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he thrust up to meet her grinding. He could feel her starting to tighten around him, her walls fluttering and clenching as her own peak approached. The sensation was too much, too intense, too... everything. With a guttural groan, Silco let go, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled himself inside her.

He pulled her down hard, burying himself to the hilt inside her spasming heat as his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave. He could feel her coming undone above him, her body shaking and shuddering as she cried out her own release. The sound of his name on her lips, raw and wanton, only served to prolong his own intense pleasure, his cock twitching and throbbing as he rode out the aftershocks of his climax.

Silco slumped back against the chair, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The chair creaked ominously beneath them, the old wood groaning in protest at the vigorous use. He couldn't help but let out a low, breathless laugh as he imagined the chair collapsing entirely, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Panting softly, Silco looked up at she with a wicked grin, his eyes glinting with renewed desire and a hint of mischief. "Much as I'd love to stay right here and ruin my office furniture with you, dove, I have a feeling we might be better off continuing this somewhere a bit more... stable." he punctuated his words with a roll of his hips, a reminder of his lingering hardness inside her. "What do you say we take this to your future room?" he raised an eyebrow suggestively. "The bed is much more accommodating."

She just nodded as she settled even further against Silco's body, her legs probably having lost the stability to move on their own. Silco then decided that for the first time since he had taken control of Zaun, he would take the day off.

[...]

It was curious how daily tasks and the constant headaches had become more tolerable since she became part of his routine. Silco found himself anticipating the end of the day with an almost imperceptible pleasure, knowing she would be there, waiting to be the relief he hadn't even realized he needed years ago. Lately, he spent more time in the room he had assigned to her than in his own. Even so, he never stayed the night.

As tempting as the idea of waking up beside her was—a scenario he imagined more often than he cared to admit—Silco understood this was a line she wasn't ready to cross yet. Sex was one thing; sharing the intimacy of a bed without the context of desire was something else entirely. He knew there were still wounds between them, not fully healed, especially when it came to Kate.

He saw the lit candle on the windowsill in the hallway leading to her room. A silent homage to the memory of the dead girl. He understood what it meant. It wasn't just grief; it was a constant reminder that, as much as she was there, she hadn't forgiven him. Not completely.

Even so, she no longer seemed to carry that murderous fervor from before. He noticed that her anger appeared in other moments, especially during their more intense encounters. She had an occasional aggression that surfaced during those times, something Silco suspected was a reflection of the conflicting emotions she harbored.

But he was patient. He knew it would take time for her to let her guard down completely, to trust him enough to allow the level of intimacy he desired. He wasn't in a rush. After all, she was under his wing now, and he had no intention of letting her slip away.

However, there were complications. There always were.

Jinx was the biggest one. Silco still hadn't decided how to keep the two of them apart in the long term. Jinx was unpredictable, showing up at his office whenever the whim struck her, without warning or ceremony. Fortunately, Sevika had been managing to contain the girl's escapades. But that was only a temporary solution. He needed a plan, something to ensure they would never cross paths. They were such distinct parts of his life that he dreaded the chaos that could arise if they collided.

And, of course, there was the financial issue. Keeping someone like her by his side wasn't cheap. Besides the allowance he planned to deposit in her name, there was his part of the contract he had to fulfill. These expenses, while manageable, required adjustments.

Fortunately, business was thriving. The Shimmer continued to generate considerable profits, especially with the growing number of dependent users. He had already made the decision to adjust prices to capitalize on this increasing demand—something that would undoubtedly ensure the necessary cash flow to support both his personal interests and his ambitions for Zaun. Moreover, The Last Drop was flourishing with the changes that Silco had implemented. 

The weekend, however, brought no rest for Silco. He spent the entire day out, dealing with a frustrating string of problems that only seemed to pile up. Among them were the disastrous tests of the Chemtanks. The test subjects, intoxicated by Shimmer and armed with the promise of becoming living weapons, failed spectacularly. Instead of targeting their predesignated objectives, they lost complete control, destroying everything in their path.

Silco was accustomed to chaos, but this exceeded all limits. The creatures had nearly managed to destroy the security booth where he and the other barons were observing the demonstration. It was only thanks to the safety system—designed to detonate the test subjects in case of failure—that everyone emerged unscathed.

"Disappointing" would be an understatement. It was a disaster that cost dearly, not just in financial resources but also in precious liters of Shimmer. At least Renni assured him that the next prototypes would not suffer from the same flaws and would be better. Silco's response was clear: "They'd better be." He knew that subtle threats worked best.

When he finally returned to the Last Drop, the exhaustion was evident in his posture, though his expression remained impassive. Sevika was already waiting for him at the bar, as usual. He passed by her without slowing down, his attention fixed on the stairs leading to the second floor. Sevika didn't seem to mind. She simply adjusted her pace to match his, handing him a letter as they ascended.

"Marcus sent this." she began, her voice firm but unhurried. "Said he'll try to find the documents you requested. But he wanted to emphasize that the case was closed and archived. So, according to him, it can't be the same person."

Silco took the letter, opening it with a deliberate gesture. His eyes scanned the contents briefly, just enough to confirm the information.

"How long will it take him to find it?"

"Not long, probably." Sevika replied casually. "He said he'll request a meeting for it."

They reached the office, and Silco opened the door with a swift motion. The room was shrouded in dimness, illuminated only by the flickering light of a lamp on the desk. He crossed the room, tossing the letter onto the growing pile of papers.

"And her?" Silco asked without looking at Sevika. "What did she do while I was away?"

Sevika settled into the couch, pouring herself a glass of whiskey from a bottle nearby. "She spent most of the time here." she said, taking a sip before continuing. "When I came in to check, she was asleep on the couch. So I moved her to the bedroom."

Silco eased into the leather chair, the faint creak of the furniture breaking the silence in the office. He slowly turned to face the window, where the hazy view of Zaun stretched out like a decadent painting. "Did you notice anything suspicious?"

She took another sip of whiskey before responding. "Nothing specific. She didn't steal anything, I can say that much for sure. I checked her clothes. But..." Sevika paused, as if internally deliberating on how to phrase her next words without incurring Silco's wrath. "She's too passive for someone who's not here of her own free will."

Silco swiveled slightly in his chair but still didn't look at her directly. His attention remained fixed on the scene outside. "What do you mean by 'not here of her own free will'?" he didn't need to raise his voice; the cold, sharp edge of his words was reprimand enough. "She agreed to the terms of the agreement. That makes her presence here a choice."

Sevika didn't respond immediately, but her silence was as telling as any verbal reply. Silco knew she wasn't entirely satisfied with the situation. Sevika had always been distrustful—a trait he usually valued. Still, he was confident his dove wasn't foolish enough to breach the terms of the deal so carelessly. Not with so much at stake.

The office fell into an oddly uncomfortable silence, and even with his back turned, Silco could tell the other person in the room was restless.

"Are you sure it's her?" Sevika finally asked, her voice almost hesitant. She was probably wrestling internally with whether or not to question him so openly, but as his right hand, she had every right to know. "That woman?"

"I need confirmation, but all signs point to yes."

"I hope you're right." Sevika drained her glass in one swift motion and rose from the couch, pouring herself another drink before heading to the door. "I'll keep an eye on her." she added before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

The silence that followed was a relief for Silco. He closed his eyes for a moment, his head resting against the back of the chair. For the first time that day, peace seemed within reach, even if only temporarily. He knew he should be focusing on the piles of documents on the desk, on the schemes that demanded his attention, on the financial matters that needed resolution... but his mind kept drifting back to her.

There was something selfish about having her there by his side; he acknowledged that. He wanted her for reasons even he couldn't fully explain. But there was another reason, the one that had driven him to set all of this in motion. It was a risky gamble. There was a small chance that it was all a mistake, that she was just an extraordinary lookalike of the woman he had tried to locate years ago, back when Vander was still alive. But her reactions, especially during the heated argument a few days ago, were almost impossible to ignore.

And even if she wasn't the one, Silco knew he was already too invested to turn back. Regret had no place in his life.

Releasing a heavy sigh, he turned the chair toward the desk cluttered with papers, contracts, and reports. The exhaustion weighed on his shoulders like a physical burden, but he didn't let it stop him. He stood only to grab the bottle Sevika had left behind, placing it on the desk within easy reach. He knew he'd need the liquid comfort of alcohol to get through the rest of the night.

[...]

The hours blurred together. The world around him seemed to dissolve as he delved into the paperwork. The only companions were the clink of the glass against the wood and the occasional crackle of the cigar tip he lit from time to time. He was so engrossed that he barely noticed when the noise from the Last Drop gradually faded until it disappeared completely, signaling the bar's closure. The night stretched on as Silco remained isolated in his office, like a man suspended out of time. Sleepless nights were common for him, and it was shaping up to be one of those nights.

It was then he heard the nearly imperceptible click of the lock. It was a subtle sound, but enough to draw his attention, interrupting the solitude he inhabited like an old friend. Silco raised his gaze, observing over the rim of his glass as the office door slowly creaked open, revealing a figure slipping in quietly, almost like a shadow.

And there she was.

She was wearing the clothes he had purchased the day before—a simple outfit, but on her, it looked like temptation incarnate. In the dim light of the office, the shadows caressed her curves, accentuating every detail of her silhouette. She stopped by the door, leaning lazily against it. Her hands still held the doorknob behind her, while her head tilted slightly, her eyes fixed on him.

Silco, for his part, lowered his glass, resting it on the desk with a slow, deliberate motion. He didn't say anything. He simply leaned back in his chair, feeling the muscles in his back protest after being hunched over for so long. Even so, he didn't take his eyes off her.

Time seemed to stretch, making the silence tangible, almost suffocating. But Silco was in no hurry to break it. He knew the power of a well-placed pause, of a moment that lingered beyond discomfort, transforming into something almost intimate.

She, however, decided to end the standoff.

"I found it curious that you haven't come to see me until now." she said, her tone that familiar mix of playful and accusatory. "So, I wanted to make sure you weren't drooling over your oh-so-important documents."

A subtle smile appeared on Silco's lips, though it didn't quite reach genuine. "I don't plan on sleeping tonight, dove."

She moved finally, stepping away from the door and crossing the office toward the desk. Her heels clicked softly against the wooden floor, a faint sound that somehow seemed to fill the entire room. He raised an eyebrow at the footwear. Why the hell was she wearing heels at this hour of the night?

"Not planning to sleep because you've got work to do or because something else is on your mind?"

There was a clear insinuation in her question, one Silco picked up on immediately. He let out a low, humorless chuckle as he poured the last dose from the bottle. The amber liquid glimmered under the faint light, but it was no more than an empty ritual. After all these years, he knew it was nearly impossible to get drunk.

"As much as I'd never deny enjoying your company after a goddamned day like this." he said, his voice low, with a rasp of fatigue. "I'm not in the mood right now."

When he heard that, he noticed a brief glimmer of incredulity in her eyes, as if the idea of him rejecting her implied offer was impossible. It was almost comical. She stopped beside him, but to his surprise, instead of doing what she always did—sitting on his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world—she simply leaned against the desk. For a moment, Silco felt something akin to shock. He was so accustomed to accommodating her that he automatically prepared himself whenever she approached, like a conditioned reflex. However, the fact that she merely stayed there, close but not intruding, made him feel somewhat strange.

"You look tired."

Her voice pulled him from his thoughts—a soft tone, almost casual, but laden with something Silco couldn't quite discern, whether it was concern or mere observation.

"It's been a long day." he replied curtly, almost disinterested. Not because he didn't want to share, but because he saw no point in burdening her with the day's frustrations. Silco was pragmatic, and to him, there was no sense in wasting words on matters that wouldn't change anything. "And you? Why are you here at this hour?"

She leaned back slightly, settling more comfortably on the edge of the desk, practically sitting on it, her fingers idly playing with the cold surface of the wood. "I couldn't sleep." she offered no further explanation, and Silco didn't bother to press.

"So, you came looking for company or distraction?"

She averted her gaze, fixing it on the window as if the world outside might hold some answer she seemed to be seeking. "Maybe both."

It was only when she turned back to him that Silco realized how closely he had been paying attention to her. The movement was smooth, her hair falling softly over her face as though even that had been carefully choreographed. Instinctively, he raised a hand to brush the strand aside, his fingers grazing her skin lightly. She leaned into the touch almost imperceptibly, and noticing this, he allowed his hand to linger for a second longer than necessary.

Silco's gaze remained fixed on the delicate curve of her cheek, watching every subtle movement as his thumb slowly traced the line of her jaw. He felt the soft texture of her skin beneath his touch, the warmth emanating from her like a stark contrast to the roughness of his own calloused hands.

For a moment, he indulged himself—letting his hand glide down, his fingers lightly brushing against her collarbone, tracing the gentle contours before pulling away and leaning back into his chair. He created distance, but not so much that he couldn't feel the residual warmth of her presence.

"A distraction, then." he murmured, his voice low and tinged with the rasp that only exhaustion or a long night could bring. Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched her intently. His eyes swept over her face, searching for answers to questions he hadn't yet formulated. "And what kind of distraction do you have in mind, dove?"

She didn't answer. Not immediately, at least. Instead, she let her gaze wander slowly over the calculated mess that was his desk. Papers, scribbled notes, the ashtray now full of ashes and extinguished cigars... and among it all, the cold glint of the dagger he had casually tossed onto the surface hours earlier. He saw her eyes linger on the blade, even as she tried not to show any interest.

He leaned forward slowly, picking up the dagger between his fingers with an almost theatrical care. It was a simple weapon, but well-crafted — a handle adorned with silver, a blade sharp enough to slice through paper with a mere touch. He held it by the hilt, turning it slightly in his hands as he weighed his own sanity.

It was an act that defied logic. Handing her a sharp object was, in any other situation, the height of recklessness. After all, this was the same woman who, besides telling him to his face that she wanted him dead, had tried to kill him twice with a determination he still wasn't sure whether he admired or feared. And yet, Silco extended the dagger toward her, gripping it by the hilt, the blade pointed at himself — an ironic gesture of trust.

"If you're going to keep staring, you might as well take it."

She hesitated only for a moment before taking the weapon, examining every detail of it. Silco watched intently as she spun the blade between her fingers with an almost unsettling precision. Her movements were fluid, far too confident for someone who, in theory, shouldn't be so accustomed to handling weapons so casually. That dagger seemed to have been made to fit her hand. And that was a detail Silco would not overlook, even though his face remained impassive, his chin resting lightly on his hand as if bored.

She knew how to handle a revolver and now a dagger.

She twirled the blade between her fingers one last time and then pointed it directly at him. Her eyes shone under the warm, yellow glow of the desk lamp, their intensity almost challenging, as if she meant to set the space between them alight. Silco didn't flinch. Instead, he arched an eyebrow, silently daring her to continue.

"You said you weren't in the mood..." she began, her voice soft but laced with an undertone that bordered on provocative. "Is there any chance I can change that?"

"You can try." he replied, his voice low and firm, though the calm tone only masked his heightened awareness. Silco knew underestimating her would be a fatal mistake. The ease with which she shifted between playful and dangerous was something he was still learning to gauge. For a fleeting moment, he considered that the same blade now spinning gracefully between her fingers could just as easily be driven into his chest before he had time to react.

Yet, as if she had read his thoughts, she twirled the blade once more but, this time, pointed it toward herself. Silco remained motionless, his eyes tracking her every move with a mix of fascination and wariness. The cold metal of the blade touched the button of the satin shirt she wore, producing a barely audible sound that, in the quiet of the room, seemed to echo like a thunderclap.

She let the sharp tip linger there for a moment before pressing it gently, slicing through the thread that held the button in place. The small object fell to the floor, and the shirt parted slightly, revealing a glimpse of skin. Silco stayed still, but his eyes betrayed a growing interest as she repeated the motion, slow and deliberate, button by button. Each cut deepened the neckline until the opening reached the valley between her breasts. She stopped there, leaving a few buttons intact, the fabric of her shirt clinging to her body in a way that seemed on purpose; the opening was enough to provoke desire, but her chest remained modestly covered by the material.

Silco tilted his head slightly, his eyes now fixed on her face. There was a barely concealed satisfaction on her lips, as if she knew she had achieved exactly what she intended.

Then she did something he did not expect. She turned the dagger in her hand, mimicking the gesture he had made minutes earlier, the point still directed at herself as she offered him the hilt. However, in her hands, the act carried a different energy—charged, almost perilous.

"Want to finish, Silco?"

Without a word, he reached out and took the dagger from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers in a fleeting moment of contact.

Silco moved, shifting until he was standing between her spread legs. He could feel the heat of her, could smell the scent of her arousal, and it made his head swim with desire. He pressed the flat of the blade against the bare skin of her chest, just above her heart. He can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat, the way her breath comes a little faster now. Fear, perhaps. But there's something else there too, a glimmer of anticipation in those eyes.

Slowly, almost torturously so, Silco began to drag the blade downwards, slicing through the remaining buttons. Each one fell away, clattering to the floor, until her shirt hung open completely. With a deft flick of his wrist, Silco used the dagger to push the garment aside, baring the creamy swell of her breasts to his hungry gaze. He could see the way her chest moved in a deep breath, the way her nipples tightened into hard, aching peaks as the cooler air caressed her skin. Silco licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry with anticipation. He could feel the heat of her, could see the way her skin flushed a pretty pink, and it made his blood burn hotter in his veins.

With the same slowness as before, he brought the tip of the dagger to the swell of her breast, tracing the delicate curve with the unerring precision of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

The blade left a faint, red line in its wake, a mark that would fade in time, but one that Silco hoped would linger in her memory. He could feel the way her skin pebbled beneath the cool touch of the metal, could hear the sharp intake of her breath as he teased her, bringing the dagger closer and closer to the straining peak of her nipple.

He could see her shiver, could feel the way her body tensed slightly at the unfamiliar sensation. But she didn't pull away, didn't tell him to stop. If anything, she seemed to lean into the touch, her breast pushing against the dagger as if craving more. Silco circled the blade around one stiff peak, not quite touching yet, just letting the tension stretch out. So, he let the flat of the blade graze against the sensitive tip, a contact firm enough to make her gasp loudly, but not enough to hurt. The cold of the dagger against her warm flesh lasted for just a second before pulling the blade away. He traced the dagger lower, following the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip. He could feel the way her body trembled beneath his touch, the growing expectation threatening to burst at any moment.

He noticed her gaze fixed on the blade as it traced its path across her quivering skin. In a fluid motion, he uses the dagger to hook under her chin, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her soft skin. He applies the slightest pressure, just enough to tilt her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. The blade pressed lightly against her skin, not hard enough to break it, but with just enough pressure to make her hyper-aware of its presence. The slightest movement and he would slit her throat.

Seeing her like this, at his mercy, was intoxicating in a way he had never experienced before.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me."

At the same time, his other hand began a slow, teasing journey up her thigh. His calloused fingers brushed against the fabric of her skirt, a fleeting, feather-light touch that made her shiver. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin material, could sense the tension coiling tighter in her muscles with each inch he climbed. His hand crept higher, the hem of her skirt riding up to reveal more and more of her creamy flesh. He could see the way her thighs clenched against his body, the way her muscles jumped beneath his touch. It made him want to push her, to press further, to see just how much he could take before she broke.

"You don't want to end up hurting yourself, do you, dove?" he murmured, his voice a low, sinful purr. "I'd hate for this little blade to slip and mar such perfect skin." he could see the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, could feel the flutter of her pulse beneath the blade. "So keep still and let me take care of you, understood?" "Yes, sir."

Silco's eyebrows arched ever so slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto her as the words slipped from her lips like a forbidden melody: "Yes, sir." The phrase was unanticipated, an anomaly in the ironclad image he held of her — defiant, sharp-tongued, fiercely independent. For a fraction of a second, he was caught off guard. But the surprise melted away almost instantly, replaced by a wave of something darker, more primal. A thrill, coiling like a snake in his chest, hissed its approval at the sound of her submission.

The title of "sir" wasn't unfamiliar to him. His subordinates used it daily, their voices tinged with fear or reverence. Yet, hearing it from her — her — was something else entirely. It wasn't born from fear, nor was it hollow obedience. It was deliberate, purposeful. And to him, it was the closest thing to perfection he'd ever heard.

Without a word, he pressed the blade more firmly into the delicate skin of her chin, the sharp point digging in just enough to draw a single, crimson bead.

"Again." he growled, his voice a low, demanding rumble. "I want to hear you say it again.

Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, one that rivaled the hunger in his own gaze. She had learned something about him in that instant, and Silco knew it. She wasn't merely yielding—she was playing his game, wielding her submission like a weapon, and she intended to use it against him. "Yes, sir." Her voice was even sweeter this time, dripping with a sultry edge his grip on the dagger handle tightened instinctively. For a moment, Silco said nothing. He didn't offer his usual sharp retort or biting praise. No, he simply let the moment stretch, savoring the way her words lingered in the room, embedding themselves into his mind like a brand. The sound of it stirred something deep within him that he hadn't anticipated.

So he decided to provide that woman with a little treat.

As Silco slid his hand higher, his fingers brushing against the bare, slick folds of her sex, he felt a jolt of surprise. He paused, his eyes widening fractionally as he realized she was bare beneath her skirt, no scrap of lace or silk separating his touch from her most intimate flesh.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes glinting with a newfound hunger as he processed this revelation. He could feel the heat of her, the slick arousal coating his fingers as he dragged them teasingly along her slit. He could sense the way her body trembled, the desperate little whimper that caught in her throat at the intimate contact.

"My, my, what do we have here? No panties, you naughty girl." his fingers circled her clit, teasing the sensitive nub with a maddeningly light touch. "You came here expecting something like this, didn't you?"

But even as he touched her, even as he felt her respond to his cares, Silco didn't let go of his grip on the dagger. The blade remained pressed beneath her chin, a constant reminder of Silco's order, an order that she seemed to fulfill with great difficulty now.

His fingers dipped lower, teasing her entrance before sliding inside, filling her in one, smooth thrust. He could feel her walls clench around him, could sense the way her body instinctively tried to draw him deeper. His palm pressed against her mound, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit as he began to thrust, setting a deep, deliberate rhythm.

Silco noticed the way her eyelids fluttered, her gaze trying valiantly to stay locked on his own but constantly threatening to drift shut as the pleasure mounted. He could see the strain in her neck as she fought the urge to tilt her head back, to surrender to the blissful oblivion that beckoned.

He also couldn't miss the subtle, desperate undulations of her hips. Even as she tried to hold still, her body betrayed her, rocking against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. Her thighs clenched around him, the muscles trembling and fluttering as her arousal grew. The slick heat of her arousal coated his fingers, making them glide more easily through her folds with each thrust.

"Such a greedy little thing."

Watching her come undone was almost as intoxicating as experiencing it himself. Seeing the strong, fierce woman he knew her to be reduced to a quivering, desperate mess by his touch alone sent a dark thrill racing down his spine. He could feel his own arousal straining against his trousers, aching for the slick heat of her core. But he ignored it, focusing instead on the exquisite sight before him.

Silco watched her reaction intently, the way her body tensed under his touch, the sharp intake of breath that escaped her lips as his fingers curled inside her, deliberately seeking out that spot he knew would unravel her completely. A sly smile tugged at his lips as her hand shot up instinctively, grabbing his wrist—the same wrist that still held his dagger, its blade glinting faintly in the dim light of the room.

Her nails dug into his skin, sharp enough to leave small crescent moons, and Silco's grin widened. The sting of her grip was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from her body. He adjusted his hold on the dagger, his knuckles whitening momentarily, before he increased the pace of his movements, his fingers stroking her with a precision born of cruel patience. Silco had to hand it to her. She had actually been keeping her eyes locked on his until now, giving him the perfect view to watch her come undone against his fingers completely.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her body trembling as Silco recognized the telltale signs that she was on the verge of release. At the precise moment she tipped over the edge, he deftly moved the dagger away, the blade slipping from view as her body arched and she shattered against him. Her eyes fluttered shut, her face a portrait of unrestrained ecstasy, and she collapsed against his chest, her breathing ragged and uneven.

Silco didn't falter. His movements remained steady, his hand continuing its ministrations, coaxing her through the waves of her climax. Her soft, breathy moans filled the room, a symphony of vulnerability that stirred something primal within him. Only when her body began to still, her trembling subsiding into languid exhaustion, did he withdraw his fingers from her.

While she slumped against him, her cheek pressed against his chest. Silco dropped the dagger on the table before moving his hand to stroke her hair, a surprising gesture of comfort. But his other hand—oh, his other hand—he brought to his lips with deliberate intent. His tongue darted out, tasting her essence, savoring it like a rare vintage. The flavor was intoxicating, a mixture of salt and sweetness, uniquely hers. He closed his eyes momentarily, a hum of satisfaction rumbling in his throat.

She remained there, silent, for longer than Silco expected, her arms loose around him as she caught her breath. When she finally moved, it was only to lift her face and meet his gaze. Her eyes were still clouded, a reflection of the intensity of the moment before, but there was determination in her weary expression. She insisted on forcing herself to face him, as if trying to prove a strength he already knew she had.

That was when he noticed the small cut on her throat. A thin, almost insignificant line that would likely disappear by morning. Even so, Silco felt compelled to tend to the minor wound. He leaned over, grabbing a nearby handkerchief, and began wiping away the blood that stained her otherwise flawless skin. While he was focused on the task, he felt her hands, small and tentative, settle on his hips, her fingers sliding with both hesitation and intent. The touch made him pause, his gaze shifting from her throat back to her face.

"You need some relief too." she said, her voice husky, heavy with exhaustion and something more, her eyes drifting toward his groin, making her intentions clear.

Silco let out a soft sigh, shaking his head firmly but not unkindly. "Don't concern yourself, dove. You've had enough excitement for one night."

"But I want to, Silco."

With the same gentle care he'd used to clean the cut, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him again. "As you wish, then. But first, tell me: Are you alright?" the question came in a deeper tone, almost tender, yet still laced with that unwavering control Silco always exuded.

She nodded, her movements slow, as though navigating the space between exhaustion and comfort. Then she collapsed against him again, her arms wrapping around his waist in an embrace that caught him off guard. Silco was not a man accustomed to gestures of affection, but he didn't push her away. On the contrary, one of his arms encircled her shoulders, holding her there as if the moment were as rare as it was precious.

"Give me a few seconds." she murmured against his chest, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. "And we'll continue this on that couch."

Silco let out a low chuckle, a sound she likely felt more than heard. He tilted his head, his sharp gaze softening as it settled on the top of her head.

"Take all the time you need." he replied, his voice carrying an unspoken promise. "We have the whole night."

[...]

Silco woke with a dull ache radiating through his entire body, every muscle pleading for relief as he slowly pushed himself upright from the couch. His back protested as though he'd slept on the floor, and as he ran a hand over his face and through his hair, the weight of the previous night settled on him—not just in exhaustion, but in his appearance.

He caught a glance of himself in the mirror atop the nearby desk, assessing the damage. His waistcoat hung open, the buttons of his shirt misaligned, and the tie that should have been around his neck lay forgotten on the floor. His shirt, still clinging to his body, was so wrinkled it looked as though it had survived a storm. But what caught his attention most were the marks. Faint dark stains—a brazen reminder of her audacity—were etched into his neck like a deliberate challenge.

Ah, that woman.

Silco ran his tongue over his teeth, a wry smile tugging at his lips as fragments of the night before replayed in his mind. He couldn't quite pinpoint how things had escalated the way they had. The evening had started under his control, of course—it always did. Control was his domain. Yet, somewhere along the line, she had turned the tables. The desk in his office, a space usually reserved for strategy and seriousness, had become the stage for something he would never have permitted under normal circumstances. She had disarmed him—both literally and figuratively—dragging him to the couch in a whirlwind of desire and defiance.

And she made it last. Gods, how she drew it out. Silco, as assured and confident as he was, had to admit to himself that his stamina wasn't what it had been in his younger years. He'd kept pace, of course—he never backed down from a challenge. But the cost was steep. Now, every fiber of his being screamed for rest, and he couldn't decide whether to blame the intensity of the woman or the unforgiving rigidity of that wretched couch.

When he finally managed to regain some semblance of composure, his eyes swept over the room. She, as expected, was already gone, leaving no trace behind—except, perhaps, for the disheveled state she had left him in. She had probably slipped out hours ago without so much as a backward glance. Bending down, he picked up his tie, straightened his shirt as best as he could, and began adjusting his waistcoat while his mind gradually returned to the tasks he had set aside.

But now, he knew something about her—a certain inclination, her particular taste. Silco couldn't suppress a smirk. Perhaps this was something worth exploring again. He could think of a few ideas later, but for now, there was work to be done.

Throughout the morning, there was no sign of her, but that wasn't entirely unusual. She had a habit of spending her mornings holed up in her room, either sleeping or, at the very least, avoiding unnecessary interactions. However, what stirred his suspicion was something else entirely. His men were acting strange—restless, exchanging furtive glances, and clearly uncomfortable. He also noticed the absence of guards at some posts and the evident unease in those who remained. Something was wrong—he knew it.

The bad feeling reached its peak in the early afternoon when the door to his office was flung open unceremoniously.

Silco was seated in his usual chair, facing the window as he applied powder to his scarred skin—a meticulous ritual that was part of his routine. Through the reflection in the small makeup mirror he held, he caught Sevika's stern expression as she strode across the room—a mixture of urgency and something he rarely saw: genuine concern.

"I hope you have a good reason for barging into my office like this." Silco said coldly, not even bothering to look away from the mirror.

"She's gone!"

For a moment, the world seemed to go silent. The sentence reverberated in Silco's mind, carrying a weight he was unwilling to acknowledge immediately. He knew exactly who she was referring to. 

With a sharp snap, he closed the mirror abruptly, the sound reverberating in the room like a whip crack. The restrained anger in his gesture was enough to fracture the object. In one swift motion, he spun the chair around to face Sevika. His eyes widened, blazing with a mixture of shock and fury.

"SHE WHAT?"

Part 8

AUTHOR'S NOTES: After much debate with myself, I realized that I ended up creating a protagonist with small dominant traits, just like Silco. So the dom/sub dynamic becomes even more fun when there are two dominants in the relationship (obviously the protagonist switches more easily between being the sub or the dom than Silco). I intend to address other kinks eventually, so if you want to see something specific, feel free to suggest it. And what about that ending? Did you really think it would be that easy? Are you and Silco living a honeymoon? Not on my watch. I like a good old drama, so you'll see that here.

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[weaselle]

i have a dog client (just one, starting a new business is hard) and she's a two-ish year old husky who was rescued only a couple months ago. I've been working with her for a couple weeks now and she just decided she could trust me yesterday. And i think the reasons why are interesting

So huskies can be sort of aloof, it's easy for a husky to decide they don't really care about you unless you are doing the exact thing that holds their attention. But it was more than that with this dog (she's named after a cheese, let's call her Gouda because she's [mario voice] a good-a dog) I think her experience in life thus far has been a bit traumatic

(this doesn't mean she was beaten or anything, everyone always jumps to that conclusion, but dogs are sensitive social creatures, and just being an orphan in a system that controls you so completely and never knowing who you can form a close bond with could be real trauma... i was given up at a young age by my own parents and it fucked me up pretty good even though i was adopted by my aunt, so i can only imagine what it might be like for a dog to be passed around for two years)

Anyway, she is very withdrawn (tho loving with her new family) and also tends to raise hackles and stiffen up when meeting dogs. For this reason i've been walking and running her alone because i walk some other dogs (not clients, it's part of my customer acquisition technique to be seen out with a pack of dogs) and a couple of those dogs are ... also not the friendliest. So i wanted to set her up for success by giving her time to get comfortable around me and the new activity before i introduced a possible stressful situation of other (grumpy) dogs.

At the meeting there was a growling and snapping situation and I had to use my Big Dog voice (just a big deep "hey" with my full diaphragm) and get between them and shut it down. Then they settled and we went on the walk, during which time there was an additional teeth and snarl moment from the other grumpy dog that i shut down immediately. The rest of the walk they were fine - during the second half i transitioned away from walking between the two, and ended with them walking next to each other close enough to bump and they did great.

Anyway, when i went to drop off Gouda at home, for the first time she really responded to my goodbye, licking my face and nuzzling my ear and bumping her head into my chest, whereas before she wouldn't even walk back over to me for goodbye petting once she was home.

I'm pretty sure it was the interactions with the other dog that did it. Specifically three things

A: for the first time she saw me defend her against another dog, so she knew she could count on me to back her up so she could relax

B: she saw that i was maintaining order and discipline and wouldn't allow dogs to be in altercations so she could relax

C: this is the more nebulous one but one i think is the most interesting: I believe the situation with the other dogs helped her to see me at a high level of disapproval, yet remain within behavior parameters that allow her to feel safe. In other words, she saw me in a situation where dogs were breaking the rules in a pretty big way - a semi fight situation where theoretically i would be at my most threatening or angry - and my response was not scary, i didn't get physical or punish or hold a grudge etc.

I think that last one really cemented it for her, because now Gouda knows if she gets something wrong and makes me "angry" it's going to be okay. So she can relax.

Taken all together, her experience yesterday was that i will defend her against other dogs, i can and will maintain order in the pack, and, importantly, even if she gets something really wrong or i'm in an "angry" situation, i'm safe to be around.

and now we're good friends.

[lusanchromchinnn]

Viago De Riva your Undiagnosed But Extremely Obvious OCD is fascinating and so so revealing of your character and motivations ohh my gosh. Like of course your obsession is poisons and being poisoned! I refuse to believe that growing up adjacent to the royal court wasn’t the driving force behind this because literally where else would someone hear so many stories of people succumbing to assassination by poison. I bet nobles were dropping like flies to the crows every day. I bet he saw his father’s food taster (we know he visited during Viago’s youth) and realised how truly possible it was to die from a bite of food. Bonus points if he actually witnessed a food taster keel over in front of him. Paranoia through the fucking roof as he researches poisons for years on end before he’s ever presented with the option of joining the crows. Maybe he only drank out of clear glasses he could hold up to the light. Maybe he insisted on preparing all of his own meals rather than let servants near his food, much to the chagrin of his mother. AND OH GOD HIS MOTHER.

We know she was an alcoholic, and that Viago hated her drinking, it scared him as a small child. But what if his mind won’t let him watch her sip a glass of wine without the image of it being her last. She could be a target as a mistress of the king, just as he is as a royal bastard. Perhaps he becomes the one who uncorks her bottles and pours her glass after glass, because he’d rather her drunk over dead. Of course, there’s the very real possibility she succumbs to alcohol poisoning, which is so ironic and so fucking sad. He pours her final glass and becomes what he fears most.

It’s a no-brainer that he joined the crows later on. Not only does it give him access to the poisons and antidotes he’s craved for years, but it gives him a sense of control. He’s making himself less of a target than his half-siblings (and it’s more socially acceptable for a crow to wear gloves constantly lmao). He’s so skinny because he refuses to eat unless he’s 100% positive his food is safe, checking and double checking even if he prepares it himself. He knows, logically, that his fears are unfounded, that he (or someone he trusts completely like Teia) made this dish, or poured this drink. But he needs to be sure, or his brain won’t stop screaming that he’s going to die! Right now! God forbid he’s proven right too, like with the adder in the wardrobe that he survived because of his doses of antivenom. I just knowww his compulsions got so much worse for a while after that, it was so cathartic and miserable for him. I understand this freak and his freak ways. What a guy, thank you Courtney Woods.

[muninnhuginn]

one thing I like to consider is how much lu guang's behaviour in yingdu mirrors his behaviour from what we've seen of him guiding cheng xiaoshi in dives in s1 and s2. the specific timekeeping and only acting when said time is reached, panicking when anything goes off track from what is expected. being passive whenever nothing is expected of him.

I remember someone saying that cheng xiaoshi vs lu guang is fight vs freeze when under pressure and that really holds up. cheng xiaoshi is more adaptable than lu guang. it's improvisation vs control at its very base, but when you stir in some danger, you get cheng xiaoshi able to act whilst lu guang remains too stuck to be able to act until he's thought it through. he can react, don't get me wrong, but unless the stakes are literal life and death (and, okay, even sometimes then), he tends to freeze until he can process.

anyway, lu guang's behaviour in a dive influencing how he guides cheng xiaoshi in a dive. he's treating cheng xiaoshi like he would treat himself. the key difference though is information. lu guang diving is constantly gathering information and comparing to previous instances. cheng xiaoshi meanwhile has the input from his host and how people around him act, but otherwise is completely reliant on what lu guang discloses and why. I'd always presumed this was because lu guang consciously wanted to keep cheng xiaoshi's actions under control (and tbf I do still think that's a factor), but starting to think that some of it is literally just... he genuinely would do it like this on the diving end so he defaults to it when guiding a diver.

he's not good at improv and freezes up himself, so he lays out what he knows in as much detail as he can remember and then follows along and gathers data. this applies to him as both a diver and a guider. when guiding, cheng xiaoshi obviously pushes back against this because *he* operates by reacting and is able to gather information more naturally when he's not beholden to a specific script.

makes me muse upon cheng xiaoshi guiding lu guang in a dive and if they'd have the reverse problem here. cheng xiaoshi only telling lu guang the gist and certain personality traits of those in the dive and trusting lu guang to play off everyone else, whilst lu guang just stalls because he has no idea where to start and needs something more concrete.

[protect-namine]

yingdu episode 2 thoughts:

for a show about time travel, it's surprising that link click went two seasons not focusing on the butterfly effect. S1 and S2 were very strict about making closed timeloops, because the overarching theme has always been: "past or future, let them be"

yingdu is the first time we actually have the butterfly effect as one of the main themes of the season

we now know from YE2 that whenever the screen shows up in black and white, there is a change in the timeline. events happened differently in a previous iteration

if we are to believe lu guang's time travel rules from S1 (which, imo, are still suspect, but whatever), then some nodes will alter the future irreversibly (like with xu shanshan) and some will not as long as the "critical event" still happens (like winning the basketball match in the earthquake arc — none of that mattered, since the earthquake will still happen)

so here's my best guess so far:

this frame shows up immediately before lu guang asks cheng xiaoshi what he's hiding. there is a distinct lack of red string

so I think cheng xiaoshi not asking about lu guang's abilities is still okay as a timeline change, because he's gonna ask them eventually, or lu guang will tell him eventually. it's a change, but a fixable one.

(edit: like when he tells him later in the vivian case)

when cheng xiaoshi doesn't ask lu guang to use his abilities on the photo, the red strings start appearing.

and of course, once they decide to actually go to bridon, it's just a whole mess

idk, I think this might be one of those "critical events" that cause a butterfly effect.

so my questions are:

did they NOT go to bridon in previous timelines? or maybe cheng xiaoshi went there before but like... in a dive... and not in the present? or it was under different circumstances? whatever the case, lu guang is clearly not happy with the change, nor was he expecting it

the timeline already changed as early as the afternoon of the anime con at least. since cheng xiaoshi didn't ask lu guang to explain his abilities -> he doesn't know what exactly lu guang can do with a photo -> he doesn't ask him to look 12h into the bridon picture. (edit: I forgot lu guang told him after the vivian case, nvm!) we've theorized that this could be because this is a future!cxs diving into the past, and there's also cheng xiaoshi with the gold eyes in the vivian case. I think this is still the case tbh, but I also want to explore another theory: there was a timeline change even earlier than this that is causing the butterfly effect. which is our actual theme for this season.

I am still not sure what exactly that change is, but it's most likely during their basketball meet-cute.

possible callback to S1E4:

then again, their conversation was interrupted because someone sent them a message about the fraud cases in bridon. so it could be liu xiao is messing with the past just as much? maybe? though I don't think a small interruption like that could make cheng xiaoshi forget to ask lu guang to use his abilities...

anyway, it's just a thought. as much as I love the idea of future!cxs messing with the past like lu guang, I also love thematic stories, and I think "(trying to fix the) butterfly effect" is an interesting contrast to "past or future, let them be" and reflects the contrasting arcs lu guang and cheng xiaoshi are going through.

but I really don't know with this show. we don't have full context, so anything could happen, really...

edit: oh I just found out that some people are interpreting the red strings as lu guang's attempts to control the timeline, which is the complete opposite of what I think lmao (to me, the strings symbolize the lack of control he actually has in the timeline — hence why he actually tries breaking them off at the end of the episode). guess we'll see in future episodes which one is correct...

[rabotimagines]

"Bottoming when they usually Top." GN BOT reader x Starscream, Megatron, Ironhide, Optimus

Summary: Topping them for the first time when they usually top you.

Warnings: None.

Genere/Theme: Smut 🔞 MDNI

G1 characters: Starscream, Megatron, Ironhide, Optimus

Notes: Bot reader uses their spike!

Pronouns: You, your, yours.

Starscream is a bit of a chaotic switch. He'll usually bend to fit whatever dynamic a partner has with him and also what he's feeling at the time. So when you first started interfacing, he was completely fine playing the role of a fixed top. It also does something to his ego that you enjoy his spike so much in the first place. So when you ask if you can top Starscream makes a stink about it, just to make you feel slightly guilty. Slightly anyway. In the bitchy "You're making me go off my regular schedule" sort of way he does when you ask him for anything. Starscream then turns around and declares "How lucky you are to have such an understanding and generous partner!" His servos digging into the seams of your waist. Starscream barely suppresses a shiver when you hum and start tracing his wings with already lewd intentions.

There is a fifty-fifty chance Starscream is going to ride you into the berth or just let you dom when you top. If Starscream gives you control, then he's a hundred percent expecting to be lavished with attention and praise. Which is how you wind up in between his thighs, pounding his valve as hard as you can. Starscreams digits are biting the paint off your back. You were a bit overcharged on Starscreams valve, your praising coming out like babbles. Starscream could feel his own overload creeping up his spinal strut. Your spike hits his ceiling node, and he cries out while you only rock into him harder.

You're telling Starscream how good he feels, and the comment makes Starscreams overload hit him sooner than he thought it would. His thighs clench around your middle, forcing you to fold harder against him when he tightens further around your spike. Starscream bucks when you start overloading inside him. Every pump of your spike had him clenching back down on you. Frag- You needed to work on how to praise correctly, but overall, you weren't terrible with your spike. Starscream vented heavily, taking in your post overloaded expression. The sight only made him want to push you down and take your valve next.

Starscream... supposed he will have to show you how you're properly supposed to praise a bot for taking your spike.

-

Megatron enjoys being in control, and he enjoys dominating other mechs both in the field and in the berth. Megatron fully expected to top without any pre communication when you entered a relationship with him. (Yes, he's a clown like that.) You could be a hulking triple charger, and Megatron would still be wordlessly expecting your obedience. He wants you to give yourself to him. Give him your everything. So he's always been content with you being a bottom the entire time you'd began interfacing with one another. So when you ask to top, Megatron is mildly surprised by the fact you'd waited this long to act on a sexual interest with him. But since Megatron actually holds affections towards you, he has almost no problem indulging you.

Almost anyway. He'll let you use his valve, but he's still going to be dominating you into the berth. He might just use the side of his arm and cannon to pin you further against the berth while he rides you both to overload. Megatron grinds down further against your pelvis, reveling in the noise he draws out of you. He chuckles at your sorry state even with his valve stuffed with your spike. Megatron only stops when you overload inside him and fill him up. He groans at the sensation and jerks his spike off to reach his own overload- Megatron cursed under his vents at the feeling of clenching down on you while overloading himself. His spikes transfluid ends up shooting you in the faceplate, dusting your paint with translucent pink.

The blessed out expression on your face and his own valve dripping with your own transfluid was definitely a positive gain. Megatron also enjoyed taking you apart in yet another way only for his optics and no one else's. He should've thought of this beforehand. Expect to be allowed to use his valve or be dominated by it after this. If you raise his affection high enough in your relationship, he'll eventually let you use his valve and dominate at the same time.

...

Eventually.

-

Ironhide was a dom leaning verse. He did enjoy control, and he enjoyed making a bot whine with how well he'd use their valve. But he wasn't so up tight he didn't know how good a valve overload felt like himself. He didn't necessarily mind only being a top for you. He was soft on you and couldn't get enough of you, valve included. But when you ask if he's okay with you spiking him, instead, he does feel a bit giddy.

Ironhides the type to bend over all pretty against the nearest wall as soon as you ask. Array already snapped back valve on full display with his hips jutting out like they were. You gape at the sight, and Ironhide just looks over his shoulder back at you. "Well? what are ya waiting for? Need a party invitation to spike a mech, right?" You calmered to your pedes and tried to work him open with your digits, which only made Ironhide scoff. "I'm not glass. Just put it in already."

You do, and you frag him against the wall then and there. Ironhide can hear your quick vents on his audials. Spike striking his ceiling node every time you bottomed out. You end up overloading before him but seem to realize Ironhide wasn't as close. You reached down and started stimulating his anterior node- Ironhide cursed and impatiently started stroking his own spike off. Ironhide groaned, focusing on the feeling of your spike still in his valve and the transfluid spilling down his inner thighs. You pulled back and hit his ceiling node once more, and ironhide is overloading on your spike with a groan.

You were a bit rough around the edges and needed some work, but-

You were panting lightly. Your digits were rolling tracing circles on Ironhides hips, like he'd do for yourself after he'd spiked you.

Ironhide would train you how to properly spike a mech just you wait.

-

Optimus just didn't have the spark to tell you no when you looked at him and told him to spike you. He loved you. Optimus wasn't too picky about positions or roles he just wanted your affection and to make you feel good. If you wanted to take his spike, then he'd help you take his spike right. Likewise, if you wanted to top him, then Optimus is all for it. He wants to make you feel good. And if you wanted to feel good using his valve? He'd let you do just that then. But well- you hadn't asked to just spike him...

How you managed to convince Optimus to let you spike him in his office of all places he still didn't know- (Yes, he did. it's because he wanted to make you happy.) But now Optimus is sitting on the ledge of his desk with you thrusting in his rather wet valve. His servos are gripping the edge of his desk hard enough that the metal starts to give- fighting to keep his palms off your frame because he'd dent your frame so easily right now. Every time you bottomed out, your pelvis ground down on his anterior node. Your spike hitting every pleasure node it could with every snap of your hips. Your optics are bright, and you look so- attractive between his thighs.

A strangled use of your designation tumbles out of him when you wrap a servo around his weeping spike and start stroking. Optimus has to fight to stay quiet while he's overloading all over your spike. His own transfluid shooting on his front with your continued strokes. You groaned and stilled, finally panting through your own overload. Optimus can feel your transfluid spilling out of his valve and onto the floor. Optimus finally allows his vice grip on his own desk to loosen and start touching you once more. He's petting you through your own post overload haze while you're nuzzling and sighing all content at his affections.

Optimus definitely wouldn't have any problems with you toping again.

... Just maybe not on his office desk next time. Optimus admitted, staring at the dents on his own desk.

[vividdreamer]

Now that the hype has died down a bit I have something to say to the class.... I did not like season 2 of Arcane 😭

This season felt like avengers endgame. Every plot was hastily tied up so that Viktor could play god. I still don't understand what was going on with Mel and I don't care to look it up because that's not the point. The plot and character arcs in season 1 were so, SO good, and everything was spaced out just right. Season 2 had more time skips and characters going a complete 180 of their personalities SO FAST. Even JINX's overall change in her behavior and mood in Act 1 made no sense to me. Some were saying she's changed so much because Silco's influence was gone, but i disagree; it takes a long, LONG time to regulate your mood when you leave a toxic, controlling, aggressive father-figure. It takes years for some!

Netflix just CAN NOT comprehend the concept of a third season, ever. My conspiracy theory is that the writers wanted more seasons, and that season 2 was supposed to end with Cait ascending to power. But at some point it became undeniable that if they dont wrap it up sooner Netflix is gonna cancel. Some are saying it's actually Riot Games that wanted to quickly move to producing a show set in Noxus...but when you watch season 1 again it's really hard to believe that's the true case. There's just too much passion there to think they could just drop the ball like that.

It's so clear this was just grandpa-capitalism ruining the family function AGAIN. I get it yall. I GET IT. I APPRECIATE THE LESSON GUYS. This was the best animated series I ever jumped into, I'm so fucking sad. If even THIS couldnt be done right what hope do i have for the future of TV and film?