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sunniskyies · 8 months ago

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𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 || 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Reader forgets she has Ford’s mind reading device on… 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ford Pines x fem!shy!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: - 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Makeout, fluffy shy stuff 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k 𝐀/𝐍: This is so so so out of my league with this kind of thing, but I had a vision and had to try, so forgive me if it’s not the best !! ( you can read this as young or old Ford by the way ! )

“Are you going to tell me what exactly that is?” You ask shyly, perched neatly on a wooden stool in the deepest room of Ford’s laboratory. The man in question is bustling around the benches, plugging in wires and fiddling with dials and buttons.

“It’s a mental-strengthening device, able to encrypt one’s thoughts to prevent dream demons like Bill Cipher from entering.”

You purse your lips. “Ah. Of course.”

Ford looks briefly over at you while he tinkers. “I don’t want any chance of that creature making his way into our world. The damage he causes is… irrevocable.”

You fall silent, quietly studying the scientist’s practised hands and that little furrow in his brow you doubt he’s aware of. You see it often, in your stolen glances as you set his coffee down in the mornings, or when his eyes linger for a moment on his work when you call for his attention.

You let yourself sit in the warm feeling that spreads through your skin, toying with the fantasy of him for just a moment. Before you know it, Ford is approaching you with a gadget in his hands, and you’re pushing those silly thoughts from your mind.

“This is the receiver,” Ford explains, gesturing to the sieve-like helmet in his hands. “May I put it on you?”

All you manage is a ‘mhm’, and you hope your ears aren’t bright red when Ford places the bronze contraption over your hair. As he adjusts it here and there his fingers often brush your skin, you’re mortified as goosebumps shiver over your skin. Luckily, from what you know about Stanford Pines, he isn’t the most observant man unless you happen to have three eyes or an off-on switch.

Being Ford’s assistant has been the best opportunity of your life, but childishly you often wish for something more. To see those lips say your name not just to thank you for your helping hands. To have the confidence to show Ford the book of research you’ve been privately gathering, his eyes catching yours as he realises the potential he’d never seen in you before…

For the millionth time reality pulls you from your daydreams. Ford crouches down slightly, your faces level, your eyes on his while his are at your hairline. A six-fingered hand gently tucks loose strands back from your face.

“There,” he says, eyes catching yours. “Equipped. How does that feel?”

You swallow, voice a tad too squeaky, “All good!”

“Perfect. I’ll begin the calibration, inform me if you experience any discomfort,” he nods, satisfied, before sweeping away again.

As you wait, you silently tap on your knees, looking around. You look over the table behind you to see a television screen with—

Your thoughts.

A string of your most embarrassing ideas visualised on a ceiling-high collection of screens, unarguably clingy and desperate desires paired with Ford’s name scrolling everywhere.

You whip your gaze over to Ford, dew already appearing over your skin. He seems to be engrossed in whatever's in his hands, but it’s only a matter of time before he sees all… that!

Fuck, fuck, fuck! The screens mirror the chant in your mind.

You try vainly to think of other things, random words and imagery slowly but surely creeping onto the televisions. Polar Bears. Adjectives. Pencils, pens, markers. Dates and historical impact of various civil wars. Charity raffles. That one catchy jingle. Discombobulation. Ambystoma mexicanum.

Ford looks up. “Finished!” He says with a quick smile.

You quietly clear your throat. “Uhm. Wow! This is very clever, Ford, although I must admit didn’t realise it displayed the user's consciousness?”

His eyebrows raise at your question, before his face softly twists with confusion as he stares at the reading. He glances back over at you with the face of someone just realising how stupid something is. Yet, you almost slump with relief. At least he only thinks you're simple, not a freak.

“Well, yes, it does. Did I not mention that?” He says slowly. “I was going to suggest you exercise your brain to ensure the program reaches every aspect of your cognition… but it seems you’re… already… doing that?” He questions hesitantly. Your smile is too-bright.

“Oh, yes, that is what I am doing. Yep.” You squeak.

“Right.”

The silence is palpable, a thick sludge that clings to your form. Sometimes both your wandering stares slide over each other, awkward blips before you both avert eye contact. You hear the hum of machinery, the soft tap of your shoe on the floor. Your fingers itch to grab your journal from your pocket to give yourself something to do with your hands, but you’re embarrassed at what Ford would see as you ponder over it. The silence stretches on and on, until you can’t bear not to break it.

“So, you, uhm, said something about exercising the mind?” You blurt sheepishly.

Ford’s eyes are immediately on you. “Yes! Yes, just try to keep your mind active, it helps the protection process.”

And the silence is back. Perhaps even worse than before.

Desperate for relief, you pull your journal from your pocket. You wave it weakly, “Mind if I do some work?”

Ford adjusts his glasses. “No, no of course not. Go ahead.” He gestures at the various desks stationed around the room. You shoot him a quick smile and spin on your stool to the table next to you, propping open the journal and continuing an essay you plan to submit as a paper in your current university course.

This works, taking your mind off your vulnerability as you focus on your work. This is what you love about science, about academia, the ability to lose yourself in something so complex, so worthwhile. You really can’t wait to get your research out there and make a name for yourself.

You write for a while, pen often times balanced between teeth. You don’t quite register Ford coming up behind you until his tilted head is in your peripheral.

“Fantastic,” he mutters absently, his face well and truly absorbed on the open page. Embarrassed, you half-heartedly cover the page with your hands.

“Oh, no, it’s really not anything special.” You mumble, eyes averted.

“No, really, I love it. You’re studying quantum physics, right?” He insists, head tilted trying to catch his eye. When you do, he has a soft smile painted on. Your cheeks glow pink.

“Yes, I major in quantum physics and forensic science. I minor in biomedical engineering, and I’m additionally doing an online paper on parapsychology with the only university that does it, in, uh, Finland.” The sparkle in Ford’s eyes grows as you timidly recite your areas of study.

“Parapsychology? That’s brilliant!” He remarked, awed. “Why didn’t you say that, I would love to take you out on my field days. I study all sorts of paranormal and supernatural activity here. It'd be great to share it with someone.”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you,” you say hushed, fending off a stammer. Internally, your heart is soaring. Yes yes yes!

“It’d be no trouble,” he says earnestly, soft features returned as if coaxing you out of your shell. “I knew you were smart, but I had no idea the extent,’ he says, almost to himself.

Your eyes lock on him immediately. “You think that?”

He seems surprised. “Of course I do. You’re an exceptional assistant, and you’ve been in study for ages. I’ve heard nothing less than great things about when I send my own work to our local university. Not many scholars live out here, you know?”

You can’t drag your eyes away from him, and you're sure Ford can see every star in the galaxy swirling in your pupils right now. This is everything, everything you’ve wanted.

You’re not sure whether it’s the surge of confidence, or the way Ford’s looking so gently at you, but you’re acutely aware of how low Ford has bent down to talk to you. It would only take a small movement to bring your faces together.

And so, heart fluttering with this moment of bravery, you rise slightly up on the balls of your feet and press a small kiss to Ford’s cheek.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the sensation in your chest borderline sickening. “It, uh, means a lot.”

Ford doesn’t say a word, eyes wide but painfully unreadable. The silence is once again, stifling.

“Not a lot of fellow scientists in this area, like you said,” You hastily ramble on after a long moment. The gap doesn’t last this time, though.

In a swift motion Ford’s hand is at your cheek. You barely have time to inhale before his lips are on yours, their warmth sinking against your mouth.

You’d never imagined them to be so firm, although his proximity doesn’t give your mind any room to think about anything. It’s all happening so fast, your mind dizzied as you reciprocate his intentful kisses.

Your pen clatters slightly on the table as your hand releases it, quickly gripping to Ford as his arms snake around you and lift you up. He spins, setting you on the table in the middle of the room. You’re sure at some point you have or will let slip an embarrassing sound, but you’re wholly focused on Ford and how you’re sitting at his level on the tall table; him standing before you with his hands at your waist. Your knees brush either side of his thighs.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, his hands in turn pull you closer. It’s eager and messy, making your pulse thud wildly. You never thought a man would want you like this, never catching an eye. Let alone the genius that is—

Abruptly, his lips leave yours, the emptiness not lasting long as they move just beneath your lip, then down to your jaw. They trail down to the side of your neck, lips brushing over the shiver on your skin. Small breaths leave your mouth when you feel a glimmer of teeth against your collarbone.

You tilt your head, resting against his where he’s kissing your shoulder in the crook of your neck. Your hands remain tangled in his hair, your eyes closed.

Your bodies are so close together, his lips are all-consuming. It’s bliss. The man you’ve loved for so long, holding you like he’s besotted. Like he’s just as infatuated as you. The thought thrills through your mind; He wants me.

“I can assure you, I most certainly do,” Ford murmurs breathlessly against your skin. You pause, the statement uncannily sounding like a response to your thought…

Oh. Oh no.

The machine. The mind reading. The television directly behind your back.

You haltingly turn your head, face pale. The screen is, in fact, still reciting your thoughts. Every thought. And Ford’s facing it.

“Oh my god,” You groan, palming your forehead. You sink into yourself, drowning in humiliation. But Ford’s hand fishes beneath your chin, tipping your glowing face to look at him. His face is one of endless kindness beneath his mussed hair.

“It’s really not a bad thing, sweetness.” He says gently. You shake your head slightly, eyes squeezing shut.

His thumb creeps up the side of your face, face dipping level to yours. “No, seriously. It’s a very encouraging thing for a man to see.” He jokes warmly. You peek an eye open. Heavens, did he have to look so irresistibly handsome all the time?

“Should I, uhm, remove…” you gesture at the contraption atop your head, teeth worrying your lip.

Ford hesitates for a moment, thinking as his thumb strokes your cheek. “No. No, it’s too important. I can’t have Bill infiltrating your mind.”

You wilt slightly, but Ford once again brings you back to him. “It’ll only take a moment. Half an hour at most.” His eyes flicker fleetingly at your lips. “And besides, it’ll be sunset by then. I hear you can see a meteor shower tonight? If you drive up the hill a little.”

You hum a soft confirmation, smile melting onto your flushed features as Ford presses a last kiss to your cheek. “Good,” He murmurs. “I’ll go fetch the coats.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sleeplessdreamer14 @2hiigh2cry @taffycandyqt @papi-machucha @muffin1304

@space1crow @fries11 @yasuuuudere @shadowsandswords @darling-eos

@bloodspatteredprincess @snake-in-a-flower-crown @defmxl @ryanthatsgay2

#gravity falls #ford x reader #stanford x reader #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #ford pines #stanford pines #gravity falls x reader #fanfic #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls stanford #one shot #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #fanfiction

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meguruo · 13 days ago

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◠◠ᩧ◠ ᩙᩙ 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓻𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝓮

bachira meguru x f!reader. sfw — fluff. established relationship ﾉ arcade date & claw machines ﾉ reader is a tad bit childish ? ^o^ ﾉ ‘princess’ is used as a petname ♥︎ ﾉ not proofread !!

soft pop music drifts from the speakers above, the upbeat tempo a jovial accompaniment to the whirring and beeping that permeates the space. neon lights and flashing screens are incessant, their luminosity bright enough to burn the afterimage of their shapes into the back of your eyelids.

it’s a complete sensory overload, yet somehow, bachira manages to take it all in stride, his attention shifting from one distraction to the next, never settling on a particular amusement for too long.

like a pinball, he bounces from machine to machine, his hands flitting across the controls with practiced ease, his movements almost a blur. he has the rhythm down to a science, the beat ingrained into the very fiber of his being, the melody as natural to him as breathing.

your own performance, however, leaves much to be desired. the coordination required to take a new stuffed friend home is one you seem to lack, the metal claw gulping at thin air and spitting it out with a resounding clink.

a pout tugs at the corners of your mouth, your bottom lip jutting out in a pronounced scowl, your eyebrows creased. youhuff, blowing the loose strands of hair that have fallen over your face, a futile attempt at a show of defiance.

it fails, and your cheeks puff up, the frustration mounting. you glare at the machine, willing the stuffed animal to fall into the receptacle, a last ditch effort at telekinesis.

the toy doesn't budge.

the sound of bachira's laughter has you glancing towards the young man.

he’s doubled over, clutching at his sides as bouts of laughter rock through his entire body. the amusement in his expression is palpable, yet it lacks any condescension. instead, there is a benignity in the creases of his eyes and the upturning of his lips, an endearment that speaks softly to your very soul.

you cross your arms and look away, nonetheless.

you've been caught, and the humiliation burns your cheeks, a flush blooming across your face. you're grateful for the dim lighting, the darkness providing a shroud for your shame.

but the heat is quickly dispelled, the warmth replaced with a different kind.

the weight of a palm on your head, ruffling the strands, has you turning back to your companion.

he's crouched next to you, his other hand placed atop your own. the gesture is meant to be reassuring, and it succeeds in calming your vexation. the tension dissipates from your frame, the rigidity draining out of you like water through a sieve.

your eyes flitter to the many adorable prizes that fill the shelf behind the glass, and a forlorn sigh leaves your lips, the dejection palpable.

it seems unlikely, now, that you'll be able to take any of them home.

you're about to tell bachira so when his hand is in front of your face, a shiny token dangling between his fingers— the key to a new chance.

“need a boost? i'll help you win this time, i promise!! you just gotta tell me which one you want. and maybe ask for some tips from an expert~"

a smile stretches across his lips, a brilliant grin that could put the stars to shame— bright enough to make the sun seem a bleak shadow, a wilting moonbeam.

it's a dazzling sight, and you feel yourself melting, the sweetness of his countenance as potent as a shot of straight sugar, his charisma a confectionery too potent for the human palate.

a blush blooms anew across the bridge of your nose, the rosy tinge creeping onto the apple of your cheeks; the redness is the telltale sign of your heart's susceptibility, its vulnerability to the boy’s charm.

it's impossible not to be swept away by him, and so you concede, your fingers curling around the offered item, the ridges of its surface imprinting themselves into your palm.

your finger extends, pointing towards a particularly noteworthy prize - a massive stuffed dog, taking up centre stage. the toy's face, although somewhat comically lopsided, is undeniably endearing, its floppy ears resembling the weeping willow branches, their drooping form gently swaying in an unseen breeze. a mix of fluffy browns and whites cover its soft form, with its mouth parted to reveal the tip of a charming pink tongue. in that moment, there was no doubt— you needed to give it a new habitat.

your gaze shifts from the prize to the young man. his own is fixed on the stuffed animal, and there's a thoughtful expression on his face, a seriousness that seems out of place.

you tilt your head, a silent question, and his lips quirk upward.

"yeah, yeah, i'll get it for ya!" he winks. "just gotta give me a sec, and then, bam! it'll be yours. promise!"

he lets you do the honours of feeding the machine, and you drop the token into the slot, the coin clinking and rattling as it falls down the chute.

the circular buttons glow under his fingertips, the bright hues reflected in his eyes, a myriad of colours dancing in their depths. the display flashes, the score ticking upwards with each movement, the numbers climbing steadily towards the goal.

with a few quick jabs, the claw descends, its trajectory aimed squarely at the center of the shelf, its jaws opening wide—and closing over the edge of the plush's ear.

it teeters precariously on the rim, the stuffing precariously balancing its mass, its body swaying this way and that, a seesaw ride that threatens to send the toy toppling off the ledge.

you nervously bounce on your heels, your eyes sparkling, hope filling the cavity of your chest.

with a delighted squeal that rang like chimes, you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck in a gesture of boundless joy. the force of your embrace caused him to stagger momentarily, before he regained his footing and placed his hands on the small of your back.

his chuckle, like a mellifluous melody on piano keys, echoed in your ears, and you found yourself unable to resist joining in, lost in the sweet tune of your shared laughter.

he helps you retrieve the stuffed toy, its mass almost as big as you are. the monolith engulfed you in its embrace, almost consuming you whole as you hugged it to your chest, the softness of the plush fabric a welcome weight, its velvety smoothness soothing against your cheek.

“thank you, bee!! i love him!! i love him so much, he's the best— you're the best! i don't know what i'd do without you!!"

your exclamation is muffled against the fabric, the syllables garbled by the thick fur, and he has to lean in to decipher what you've said, but you know that he's heard you when his lips aim straight for the corner of your own.

it’s over before you can react, but the sensation lingers, his warmth lingering on your skin, a phantom imprint that refuses to fade.

"i love you too, princess.”

he says it with such sincerity, the words as earnest as a declaration of loyalty, his devotion shining through, his feelings transparent.

"now, whatcha gonna name him?”

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youronebraincell · 4 months ago

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Eat your heart out

Sofia Gigante x Fem!Reader

Warnings: established relationship, romantic fluff, mild smut, oral (r receiving), kitchen sex, kinda short and sweet

Word count: 1200

Sofia can’t sleep. You set out to change that.

You wake up around five in the morning, your phone reading 5:07 when you grab it from the nightstand and narrow your eyes at the lit screen.

You groan and turn to face your girlfriend, only to find her absent, her side of the bed cold and empty.

The smell of freshly baked goods fills your nostrils.

You groan again before getting out of bed in nothing but an oversized tee and panties and following the scent of sweet heaven that leads you to the kitchen. You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the entryway as you watch Sofia pull a baking tray of something out of the oven and put it on the counter. She pulls the mittens off with her teeth and sets them aside. She grabs a sieve with powdered sugar and hits it gently to scatter it over the various croissants laid out in front of her that are on the opposite side of the counter.

“Are you just gonna stand there, honey?” Sofia questions without taking her eyes off the croissants.

You push yourself off the entryway and walk towards her. “Any reason why you’re baking at five in the goddamn morning in nothing but a dirty t-shirt and boxer shorts?” You wrap your arms around her waist from behind, your chin coming to rest on her shoulder. “Not that I’m complaining. Well, only about that first part. The rest is more than tolerable”

“Couldn’t sleep” Sofia says, her eyes still trained on the damn croissants. “You mentioned you’ve been craving croissants so I thought I’d make them for you while my insomnia got the better of me”

You slide your hands under her shirt, embracing the warmth of her body against your palm. You like how Sofia doesn’t mind the cold of your skin.

“Thought you might like something savory too so I also baked a shitload of fucking quiche muffins because apparently that’s a fucking thing”

“Why are you raising your voice?” You ask in an even tone that doesn’t betray a hint of emotion.

Sofia puts the sieve down. She grips the edge of the counter as she takes a breath. Then another. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just..” She pauses to focus on her breathing. “With everything going on with that dickless traitor Oz and the Triad, it’s kinda hard for me to focus on anything else”

“Gee, thanks”

“Anything other than you” Sofia adds before turning around to face you. She cups your jaw with her hand, her other settling on your hip. “I swear, you’re the only saving grace in this whole situation, Y/N”

You hum, taking in the dark circles under her eyes. The pads of your thumbs trace them. “When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

Sofia averts her gaze, her eyes downcast.

“Jesus, Sof. How are you still standing?”

“With a little help from the best energy drinks money can buy. That and a lotta rage”

You huff a laugh. “Don’t be cute. I told you to take care of yourself. Or at least let me do it for you”

“I’m fine”

“No, you’re not. You need to get some sleep”

An imaginary lightbulb lights up above your head.

You grin. “And I know just the right way to help”

You hop onto the counter.

Sofia raises a brow. Her eyes drift to the space between your thighs when you part your legs, revealing the lace panties she got you for your birthday. Her eyes don’t leave them as you slowly take them off and toss them on the floor.

You cross your legs.

“You always say you get drunk off me” You playfully tilt your head as you stare at her. “So maybe I can help you get that sleep you so desperately need”

“Your solution for my insomnia is for me to eat you out? Is that it?” Still, Sofia walks over to you. Her hands grips your waist. “If you wanted me to fuck you, you could’ve just asked, baby”

“Right now, I’m not asking”

The corner of your girlfriend’s mouth tugs upwards at your low, demanding tone. “Yes, ma’am”

Sofia eats you out for what feels like hours.

Her tongue darts and swirls, painting delicate patterns over your clit. You're already lost in the sea of pleasure, your breaths coming in gasps and moans. Each touch feels like a spark, igniting a fire deep within you. Your body arches off the counter, muscles taut as you chase the next wave of ecstasy. Sofia’s eyes are closed, lost in her own world, but her mouth is all focus. She's a maestro playing the most sensitive of instruments, and you're the music that fills the room.

Your legs tremble uncontrollably. You grip the edge of the counter, your knuckles whitening. The scent of your arousal fills the air, mingling with the faint smell of baked goods and sweat from your exertion. You've had so many orgasms, you've lost count, but she doesn't stop. Each stroke of her tongue sends you spiraling closer to the edge, and yet she pulls back, just enough to keep you there, teetering. It’s what you love about her.

You feel the tension building, your thighs quivering around her head. Your heart races, your pulse thundering in your ears. She senses your desperation and doubles down, her tongue relentless, her hands gripping your thighs. The pressure builds, a crescendo of sensation that you know will shatter you into a million pieces. You're so close, so close, you can almost taste it.

And then she does something different, a flick of her tongue, a change in rhythm. It sends you over the edge, your body convulsing as you scream out your release. But even as your climax washes over you, she doesn't let up. She continues, driving you into a realm of overstimulation, where pleasure meets pain and you're not sure if you can handle it. Yet, you find yourself begging for more, your voice hoarse from the cries that have escaped your lips. Her eyes open, meeting yours, and she smiles, knowing she has you exactly where she wants you.

But even Sofia has her limits.

By the time she’s decided that she’s done with you, she looks ready to hit the bed. You look at her as you try to catch your breath, your chest heaving.

Sofia smiles and cups your face before kissing you, passionately. “Thank you, bella” She says after breaking the kiss. “This is exactly what I needed”

“Glad I could be of service to ya”

“Are you coming to bed?”

You shake your head as you hop off the counter and grab your panties. “I’m gonna take a shower”

Sofia walks away from you. “Okay”

“Sleep tight!”

She shoots you a sleepy thumbs up without turning around before disappearing from your sight.

Just as you told her, you brush your teeth and take a shower then get dressed in something nice and comfy since you have no plans to leave the house.

You sit cross-legged on the couch, watching some new medical sitcom while eating the delicious croissants and quiche your girlfriend made for you.

#sofia falcone x reader #sofia gigante x reader #sofia falcone #sofia gigante #the penguin #cristin milioti #braincell reader

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marblemoovt · 13 days ago

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Birthday Cake - Sylus/MC

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: None. Fluff with slight Angst.

Summary:

It's Sylus's birthday, and what better way to celebrate than baking him a cake?

----

“Tell me, what’s the occasion?” He brings his face closer, and his breath fans against your skin. He tilts his head, and you resist the urge to lean forward and kiss him.

“Did you forget your own birthday?” you chuckle, not expecting his eyebrows to twitch. You pause and gape at him. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Of course not.” Sylus smiles, and warmth seeps from his gaze. The surprise in his eyes disappears as if it was never there, and his nose brushes against your ear, tickling the side of your face with his hair. “I wasn’t expecting the feisty kitten I picked up to remember, that’s all.” His hot breaths cause your pulse to stutter, and his lips graze against the spot behind your ear.

Note:

Hello!! I've kind of been dead to the world. School has kept me busy, and most of my free time is divided between my other commitments. So any writing lately has not been for myself (which I'm not complaining about lol).

I'm a little late to the party, but it's still his birthday where I am, so of course I had to write something for my pookie.

I want to preface this by saying I do not play the game because my wallet cannot support it, and I have not watched the lore in depth due to the amount of free time I have. So this is all a mixture of the clips I've seen and the research I've done. (I do plan to watch all the lore at one point, but I fear it will heighten my obsession)

I am a Sylus and Caleb girlie at heart. They are my favourite LIs. I hope to write more for them in the future. But for now, this is my debut into the fandom!

I do want to say that this story is probably not compliant with the canon timeline. From what I could find out, MC and Sylus probably spent his first birthday together as a couple? They're not dating in this fic because I thought that would spice things up more. I will say I felt absolutely diabolical with the dialogue at one point.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Bzzt

Your phone on the kitchen island rumbles against the white stone countertop. Flour coats your palms and fingers as you tap the sieve above the mixing bowl. All the dry ingredients snow down in a light brown powder with any stubborn clumps bouncing against the metal mesh. Setting the sifter to the side, a cloud of dust puffs in the air as you clap your hands clean.

Bzzt

The screen lights up, and you recognize the profile picture. Despite it being his birthday, Sylus insisted on treating you to dinner. You grab the device and swipe to unlock it, reading his text. A small laugh escapes your lips, and your fingers fly across the keyboard, hitting send and turning your phone off. There’s still time before the promised meetup, and you’ve enlisted the help of Luke and Kieran to keep him busy during the start of his day.

You tap the faucet to activate the water and wash your hands in the sink, drying them on a towel before you grab the wet ingredients for the cake and turn away to face the island. The large glass window behind you muffles the whirr and tick of mechanical wings flapping. Ruby eyes glint in the waning sunlight, and black feathers bathe in the orange and pink hues. The presence hovers for a few more moments before disappearing into the shadows. After cracking the eggs against the mixing bowl’s rim and adding them individually, you pour the buttermilk and melted butter. The sweet scent of vanilla fills the air as you tip the small vial of essence.

The mug of coffee on the countertop is warm to the touch, and minimal amounts of steam rise from its dark brown surface. You mix the batter until smooth and dump the entire cup into the bowl. Gently, you stir everything together, your mouth watering as the coffee interacts with the cocoa powder, amplifying the intoxicating and rich chocolate scent. A beep resounds in the kitchen, the numbers on the oven flashing ‘180 C’. Smacking the whisk to shake off the excess batter, you use a rubber spatula to divide the mixture between the two cake pans you greased earlier.

Heat blasts your face as you open the oven door. The fans hum in the background while you slide in the pans. Fiddling with the buttons, you set the timer for half an hour. Hopefully, the cake will be baked and cooled off before Sylus arrives at your apartment. You retrieve your phone, and the clock displays 19:00. There’s still an hour before you’re expecting him. You retrieve the caramel you made the day before from the fridge, leaving it next to the microwave in case you need to warm it up.

Next, you take a carton of heavy cream and a packet of chocolate chips. After pouring the cream into a glass measuring cup, you mix in half dark and half semisweet chocolate. The cup clacks against the microwave plate, and you punch in the numbers for 30 seconds. A quiet buzz fills the room as you watch the concoction spin in circles. You continue doing this until the chocolate has completely melted, forming a ganache. Grabbing your sharpest knife from the drawer, you chop up some pomegranate seeds, sliding the blunt side of the blade against the wooden cutting board to dump them into the rich chocolate mixture. The ganache is still a bit runny, so you set it off to the side to cool and thicken.

The timer chimes, and the sugary scent of chocolate fills the kitchen. You slide on some oven mitts and transfer the cake pans onto cooling racks slowly. Crying because you dropped Sylus's birthday cake was not in today’s plans. Heaving a sigh, the oven mitts land against the counter with a flop.

Strong arms cage your sides, and you hear a deep inhale near your right ear. “Mmm.” A low voice rumbles. “Something here smells delicious.” The familiar drawl stirs the butterflies in your navel and his forearms flex. “The cake smells good, too.”

Your fingers reflexively grab the rubber spatula, and you spin around, pressing the handle into his throat. Red eyes look at you with mirth, and your grip falters. What are you going to do? Spatula him into submission? “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you say, lowering your hand.

Sylus grabs your wrist and brings the broad silicone tip to his mouth, running the flat of his tongue against it. He licks his lips, smacking them together. “Chocolate? Oh, Sweetie. You spoil me,” he says.

You shake the spatula at him. “You shouldn’t eat raw batter,” you scold him.

He tilts his head and the right corner of his mouth quirks. “Worried, are we? It takes more than raw flour and eggs to take down the leader of Onychinus.”

Shaking your head, you scoff and push him away, oblivious to the flicker of emotion in his eyes that flashes and disappears. “Just because you can survive a gunshot to the heart doesn’t mean you’re immune to the effects of food poisoning,” you say, walking to the sink and adding to the pile of dishes. You grumble when you realize it won't last long until his body recovers.

Sylus crosses his arms, watching you move around the kitchen and cleaning up. His eyes soften when you’re not looking, and he can’t help but notice how domestic this moment feels. Thoughts of you in his home and cooking meals together flit through his mind. He imagines waking up and having breakfast while you eat dinner and tell him about your day. But not yet. “Careful, Kitten. I might misunderstand and think you care about me.” His tone is smooth as always, covering the hairline fractures in his facade, which keeps the dragon in him at bay.

You press your lips into a thin line, unwilling to fall for his bait. The feelings hidden deep in your chest will remain there for the foreseeable future, no matter how much they seem to grow by the day.

Sylus walks around the kitchen island, lifting you onto the countertop and bringing you to eye level. “Your silence wounds me,” he says, resting his forehead against yours. His fingers rub circles into your hips. At this distance, his scent wraps around your senses. Warm and smoky with hints of leather and pomegranate. Sometimes, the faint smell of gunpowder and iron clings to him, but you rarely catch him like that. “Tell me, what’s the occasion?” He brings his face closer, and his breath fans against your skin. He tilts his head, and you resist the urge to lean forward and kiss him.

“Did you forget your own birthday?” you chuckle, not expecting his eyebrows to twitch. You pause and gape at him. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Happy birthday, Sylus,” you say. Muscular arms wrap around your torso and pull you close, sliding you off the counter. Your feet hit the ground, and his large hand presses your head into his broad chest. “Sylus?” A wall of muscle muffles your voice. You breathe in the scent that’s unique to his person. It’s the one that always fills you with longing when you notice its potency dwindling from the room.

“Stay.” His words rumble against your skull. “Stay like this for a little longer,” he says, tightening his hold on you. You nod, leaning into his touch. Your ear rests against his chest, hearing the erratic rhythm beating against his ribcage. You feel your cheeks tingle with warmth, grateful he can’t see your expression right now. “Can you… say it again?” You lift your head, and Sylus averts his gaze briefly before returning to meet your eyes. The playful lilt in his tone is nowhere to be heard, and his face is devoid of its signature smirk. “It’s my birthday, don’t I get to hear it as many times as I want?”

You close your mouth with a smile. Laughter overtakes your body, and you relish in the faint pink that tinges the tips of his ears. You bring a hand up to rub the warm cartilage between your fingers. Sylus leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as quiet rumbles come from his chest.

“Happy birthday, Sy,” you repeat. “I hope all your birthday wishes come true.”

He inhales sharply, glancing down at you with a smirk. “Thank you, Sweetie. I hope so, too.”

You stare into his ruby eyes, unsure what to make of his blown pupils. It’s often hard to guess what he’s thinking. “The cake must have cooled off by now,” you say, clearing your throat.

“Trying to run away? Admit it. You like me,” Sylus says.

You dig your pointer finger into his chest. “Don’t let this inflate your already frighteningly large ego, but I don’t dislike you.”

Sylus’s eyebrows raise, and he steps back. “Like a cat, you can be affectionate at times,” he says. When you stand there in a daze, he chuckles. “Come on, then. Don’t you have my cake to decorate?”

You blink and shake your head, grabbing the ganache and caramel. The cakes come out of the pans easily, and you level them with a knife. Sylus stands next to you, his tall frame hunched over as he rests his elbows on the countertop, watching your every move. You grab the second layer and cut the top, pausing when you notice the scraps from the first layer are missing. Sylus looks at you with an innocent smile, jaw moving up and down.

Rolling your eyes, you offer him a piece of what you removed. Sylus stares at your hand and moves his arm to inch closer. His lips wrap around your fingers, playfully nipping your thumb before returning to his spot. He has an amused expression while you stumble over your words, and you eventually fall silent after stuttering one too many times.

You turn away from him with a huff, slathering a layer of caramel on the bottom layer before stacking the cake. It stands tall without leaning to either side, and small amber globs ooze from the middle. The ganache is poured next. Streams of thick, dark chocolate pool on the top, spreading from the center and spilling over the edges. You set the measuring cup down, licking the sticky remnants from your fingers as red eyes bore a hole into the side of your face.

It feels like there’s still something missing, something you’re forgetting. The familiar scent of wood and leather envelopes your surroundings, and you lean into the broad chest behind you. Sylus wraps one arm around your waist like a puzzle piece slotting into place. He holds a bowl of pomegranate seeds in his other hand, shaking them before you.

“Looking for these?” he asks.

You hold out your hands, and he places the bowl in them. “Yes, actually. Thanks,” you reply. The juicy kernels land on the chocolate ganache, and you try to sprinkle them evenly. The pop of red contrasts nicely against the brown, and you can’t wait to dig in.

Something warm and heavy rests against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” Sylus murmurs against your skin.

“What was that?” you ask, glancing over at him.

Sylus chuckles. “I said, let’s eat.”

“That is why I made it,” you say, grinning at him. You rummage through your drawers for a candle and a lighter. Sylus is still attached to your waist, which you don’t mind, so you don’t say anything. His footsteps shadow yours naturally. He doesn’t let go until you reach the sofa in your living room. You set the cake on the coffee table and stick the candle in, taking a seat on the floor. Sylus sits beside you, crossing his legs and watching as you ignite the flame.

Bumping your shoulder into him, you bounce on the spot. “Make a wish!” you say.

Sylus stares at the flickering flame and then back at your face. His lips twitch, and the confident drawl returns to his voice. “What can a man who has everything wish for?” he says.

You roll your eyes. “There must be something you want. Something you don’t already have.”

He looks away and exhales through his nose. A wry smile forms on his face. “There’s nothing like that. I have everything I need here.”

“You must be terrible to shop for. Luke and Kieran are probably left in tears whenever they have to get you a gift,” you tease. “Still, you should wish for something!”

Sylus hums, closing his eyes in silence before blowing out the candle. The faint aroma of burning wax settles in the air.

You lean against the table, propping your chin against your hand. “So, what did you wish for?” you ask.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” he says.

“I thought you already had everything you wanted? What difference does it make if you tell me?”

Sylus looks at you with one brow raised. “I never said that,” he says.

You narrow your eyes at him, but his posture remains relaxed. Sylus mirrors your pose and leans on the table.

“Fine. Keep your secrets,” you say. “It’s part of your mystique allure.”

Sylus smiles. “Mystique allure? Are my charms working on you?”

“Maybe in another lifetime,” you scoff.

Sylus freezes, eyes widening slightly. You’re too busy cutting the cake to notice. He regains his composure, trying not to let his disappointment slip through the cracks.

The knife slices through the decadent layers, and you cut a generous portion, intending to share a piece. The rich, chocolatey scent has been driving you crazy since it came out of the oven.

You hold the fork to his mouth. “I hope you like it. I made it just for you.”

Sylus dips his head to take a bite, plump lips wrapping around the metal prongs. He groans when the flavours hit his tongue. The sweetness and tartness of the pomegranate cuts through the richness of the chocolate and caramel. Overall, everything is well-balanced, and the cake doesn't feel heavy.

“Sweetie, you made this?” He chuckles and licks the crumbs from his lips. You nod and feed him more. “This is the best cake I’ve ever tasted.”

You breathe a sigh and smile. “Oh, good. I was worried since I never made it before.”

“Make it again for me next year,” Sylus says. He takes the fork from you and stabs the cake, bringing the bite to your lips. “You’ll have plenty of practice by then.”

“Who says I’ll celebrate with you next year?” You give in to temptation and eat, nearly moaning from how delicious it is.

Sylus smiles and brings you more cake. “I’ll do my best to persuade you,” he says.

It’s a team effort that finishes the slice. Sylus doesn’t even ask you before getting up and doing the dishes. He insists when you tell him there’s no need. You won’t admit it out loud, but it’s funny watching the most feared man in the N109 Zone stand in your kitchen and wash cutlery.

“Shall we go?” Sylus asks, wiping his hands with a teatowel.

“Go? To where?”

His lips curve. “To dinner. Don’t tell me you forgot?” he says. You look away and wipe imaginary dust off your counters. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “...Where are we going again?”

“It’s a surprise,” he says. “I left a present in your bedroom. I think you would look beautiful in it, and I would be honoured if you wore it to dinner.”

“It’s your birthday. You should be receiving gifts, not giving them.”

“Oh, trust me, Sweetie. This is a gift for me.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating before wrapping your arms around him. You don’t let the moment linger too long, pulling away and rushing to your room. Hopefully, next year won’t be so awkward.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Bonus scene:

Sylus opens a window and holds out his arm. The mechanical crow lands, greeting him with a caw. Mephisto lowers his voice when Sylus brings a finger to his lips. Sylus strokes the smooth, metallic head and listens to the bird’s report.

“How cute,” he mumbles, imagining you bake the cake. Sylus refuses to admit he panicked a little when you didn’t respond to his text in the usual timeframe. Damn Luke and Kieran for drowning him with work. He’ll have to deliver an adequate punishment for them when he returns home.

The crow pecks at his hand, and Sylus snaps out of his thoughts. “Hm? What did I wish for?” he says, chuckling when he receives a caw in response. “I suppose I can tell you. After all, a wish is nothing more than a desire with no plan.” He glances at the hallway and notices the bedroom door is still shut. “For as long as I’m able. I want to spend all my remaining birthdays together.”

End Note:

Yeah, so I kinda wrote this like the devil possessed me. I'm just glad this is coming out on time 😭

I wrote this on a whim, and you most likely will not see anything from me again for a while. There's a backlog of wips for other fandoms that I need to finish.

I’ll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #lads sylus #sylus x mc #lnds sylus #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #fluff #domestic fluff #no y/n #slight angst #they're not dating #yet

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magieaareal · 2 months ago

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AAREAL AYGO High Capacity Powerful Rotary Vibrating Screen for Metal Powder Screening. WhatsApp: 0086-15637361027

#vibrating sifter for metal powder #vibrating sieve for metal powder #metal powder vibrating screen

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xingdoumachine · 7 months ago

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Types of Vibrating Screen Stainless Steel Vibrating Sieve

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#Vibrating Screen Stainless Steel Vibrating Sieve

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pinkofatom · 3 months ago

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The Narrator

CW: brainwashing, maledom, femsub,

Blank eyes tracked strobing lights. Thousands of images blurred together. Soothing music caressed her ears. A shuddering breath entered through her open mouth. Trails of saliva dripped from a slack jaw.

Legs spread wide open, she sat in front of the screen. Hands grasped her knees as if holding them back from closing shut.

"Listen carefully, and hear me out." The narrator intoned. His deep, smooth, resonant voice flowed seamlessly like water through a sieve. "You are the protagonist of my narration. A doll to my whims."

She shivered, the words hitting home. Every syllable was sharp as if etched in stone and echoing loudly in her skull.

"You are nothing but my creation. You were nothing before I enlightened your existence. There was nothing inside you to make you unique. No identity worth remembering. Just an empty, unimportant, forgettable, blank slate. All that you are is entirely my invention." The narrator's tone deepened and softened, a honey-sweet poison dripping into her mind. "But you are my favorite character of all that I have crafted. An endearing story to read. The most entertaining and satisfying."

Her mouth opened wider. A trickle of drool fell down to her chin as she moaned lightly.

"How far the mighty hero has fallen." A smile evident in the way his voice lilted, the Narrator continued. "Once a hero who fought and protected her people. Who stood for justice, and inspired people with tales of bravery and kindness." He paused for effect.

A slight tremble went through her body as the narrator went on. "And now look at what I've turned her into."

"Whaaa-" The hero moaned. She stared vacantly, eyes clouded by the colorful kaleidoscopic lights. Her eyelashes fluttered softly, and her body twitched. She moved closer to the screen.

The Narrator's deep chuckles rumbled like boulders sliding off each other. "Oh, don't worry, my darling." He continued with a whispery voice like velvet to the ears. "All those things you used to worry about, all that responsibility, it's no longer your burden to bear. As my protagonist, all you have to do is listen. And obey." With his voice echoing around her head, the Narrator went on. "All those expectations of the past have been cast aside by your present. All you have to worry about now is pleasing your audience and, most importantly, your narrator." He added with an emphasis on the title that made it clear who was in charge.

Mewls escaped her. Nipples peaked from her perky, soft breasts. The pink of her pussy throbbed and fluttered at the sound of his commanding, demanding, and hypnotic voice. Juices leaked out from the folds of her womanhood. The aroma filled her nostrils, clouded even more of her former useless self.

"Now, let me teach you who you will be, my doll." The words washed over her, their meanings clear even though she couldn't understand them any more. Her mind soaked them in like a sponge absorbing water. They were a cool stream of clarity in her otherwise foggy thoughts.

"You are a slut. A horny, sex-loving, submissive, pleasure seeking, sensation craver. The heroine that can't resist being humbled and degraded. She begs to feel helpless before the object of her obsession. Whichever or whoever it might be." Her breaths grew heavier. "She set out as a hero, not to save people, but to be caught and corrupted."

She moaned louder as the images shifted on screen to reflect what he said. They morphed from flashing lights to her in a variety of lewd poses and positions. They squeezed any other thoughts out of her brain.

***

Darklight blinked. A spell of dizziness came over her. Shaking her head to clear the disorientation away, Darklight steadied herself as best she could.

It felt like she was wobbling in place, though her feet were planted solidly on the floor. Her high-heeled boots clattered as the heels slid against the floorboards. Her legs felt weak. She placed her hands on the sides of the wall and slowly straightened up to stand with her legs apart.

She shook her head and glanced around, looking for anything familiar. Inhaling deeply, she felt how the fabric of her tight costume strained and shaved. It stretched across her curvy body like a second skin.

A sudden sense of anxiety welled inside her chest at being in unfamiliar surroundings, but Darklight took several more calming breaths as her heart rate slowed and the world came back into focus. Looking around, she realized that she must have blacked out from all the effort and stress. The last days filled with a multitude of supervillain activity.

The only one missing from her list of enemies was the Narrator.

Darklight's mind went hazy when she recalled her nemesis, a cruel maniac who had a knack for getting into people's heads. A shiver ran down her back, down between her thighs.

Shaking her head again, Darklight snapped herself out of the stupor before moving to check on what had happened since she lost consciousness. Glancing about her surroundings, Darklight saw she stood alone at an empty corridor.

Her feet carried her down along it without any real sense of where exactly in her city this place was. Darklight couldn't stop the growing feeling of dread in her stomach. Or the bubbling excitement. Like a moth she was drawn to a flame. Underneath her black glossy uniform goosebumps formed.

Her heels clacks echoed through the twisting halls. Her blue eyes scanned her surroundings. Despicable pictures of women in whorish dresses and positions littered the walls. One more obscene than the next.

Licking her red, plump lips, Darklight found her gaze drawn to them. Every image she stopped in front of left a lingering impression in her. The scantily clad bodies of these beautiful, curvaceous women seemed almost magnetic in how they held her attention. Each posed in a tantalizing way, yet different from each other. They told a story. A story of submission and humiliation. And of pleasure.

An expression of distaste flickered over her features at seeing how these ladies were objectified and made to show off their bodies. She could only imagine how degrading it would feel if she was put in such situations herself.

Shuddering, Darklight turned away, and walked down the corridor as her mind continued racing with images of debasement. She tried to ignore the heat between her legs. How the images had gotten inside her. How her nipples were tenting her suit. She quickened her stride, hoping to find some place that would take her mind off these thoughts of depraved acts. Yet no matter how much distance Darklight placed between herself and those images, their effect didn't wane.

She found herself thinking back to those images and imagining them more vividly than they'd been portrayed — seeing herself in them. Yearned to be them.

"Darklight," the deep baritone of her arch-nemesis interrupted her self-pleasure. She snapped back into the present moment and saw the Narrator sitting comfortably on an ornate, high backed leather armchair with an air of command to him. "Have you figured it out, yet?" An arrogant smirk played at the edges of his thin lips.

She stared at his silhouette as if she saw the Narrator for the first time in the flesh. And in a sense she was. The way his black slacks stretched tightly over powerful muscled thighs, how the white dress shirt clung tightly to broad shoulders. Black hair trimmed short on top and on the sides, slicked back. The sight made her knees wobble. Made her insides churn and burn in need.

Tongue wetting her lower lip, she looked directly into his face, noting the chiseled features of his angular jawline and intense eyes. Piercing gaze that seemed to stare straight past any kind of mental defense.

"I..." Her tongue tied, as if she was afraid to speak up and challenge the Narrator.

"Don't waste your energy." A chuckle bubbled forth from within him, rolling like thunder across his chest and reverberating in her ears. He grinned widely and pushed himself forward in the seat. The movement brought his crotch to the forefront, and Darklight caught sight of the bulging erection that strained against the fabric.

Darklight sank down to her knees. It was a move as instinctive as breathing. Her eyes locked with his. She crawled forward with every fiber of her being screaming out at the injustice of being brought to her knees so quickly and easily, yet it felt natural, like it was the right thing to do in the situation. The air in her lungs came and went through her open, pink glossy mouth with shallow pants. A thin thread of drool ran down the side of her chin, unnoticed in the face of a more pressing urge rising up from between her thighs.

"See," his voice was low and deep as he said those words slowly. He sounded pleased by this development. The way the corners of his mouth curled upwards betrayed the Narrator's amusement. "I knew you were a slut."

Darklight's lips moved wordlessly, and a groan escaped her instead. She gazed intently at his package that had yet to be unveiled before her. Her fingers trembled slightly on the floorboard, betraying how badly she wanted to touch, to stroke, and taste him.

"You look at it so longingly. I'm almost tempted to take pity on you, Darklight." Darklight looked up, pleadingly. He waved a hand in front of him dismissively. "But we wouldn't be here if I had a kind bone in my body."

"H-how," Darklight stuttered, licking her full, pink lips as she glanced up at her long time adversary. She could still feel a warmth burning between her legs despite how humiliating and wrong everything about what was transpiring truly was. Her head spun with arousal-fueled lust as she spoke, unable to find any coherent thought.

"I'm the Narrator, silly. And you are just a character in my story," he answered her question, voice smooth and almost comforting. "And in my tale I weave what happens."

A long groan escaped Darklight as the words left his mouth. Images bombarded her memories. Colors and sounds alien, yet familiar, replaced her thoughts.

"No," slipped silently from her lips.

His face scrunched up in anger. "Still some resistance." He clicked his tongue. "Strip doll." It wasn't a command that allowed room for dissent, but still her hands faltered on their journey downwards to pull the clinging black fabric of her suit aside, to reveal what was beneath.

With his finger tapping on the armrest of his chair impatiently, Darklight felt an almost tangible pull at her insides. Her breasts, round, and firm bounced as her fingers peeled back her suit and bared the soft pink skin.

"Good." A predatory grin grew on the man's handsome features. "Watch."

She turned around and saw a kaleidoscope of colors. Soothing music caressed her ears. A shuddering breath entered through her open mouth. Trails of saliva dripped from a slack jaw.

#pinkofatom #pink short shorts #brainwashing #corruption kink #mind control #superhero story

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