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wvyik · 10 days ago

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slippery when wet ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

dean winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: you thought dean was still asleep. so you took a long, hot shower. and you got desperate. real desperate. too bad dean was not as asleep as you thought.

♯ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, f! masturbation, shower sex, unprotected p in v, wet skin, shy! reader, slippery bodies, choking (light), dirty talk, possessive dean, hair pulling, degradation kink, face-fucking (slight), overstimulation, oral (f!receiving), your thighs will be shaking.

♯ notes: hi mah babies!! i woke up today and chose to let the horny demon take over (once again). anyways i think if i counted right there’s like— 7 new bots from me on c.ai!! so make sure to check that out if you’re into it, ty for reading. <3

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this.

You’d just wanted a moment to breathe. One hot shower in this cheap, peeling-tile motel bathroom to wash the day off you. Just you, the water, and some peace. The door was locked. Dean was asleep, knocked out cold from the hunt.

Or so you thought.

The second the water hit your back, your body softened. The ache of tension in your shoulders began to melt. You let your mind wander— dangerous territory, really. Because your thoughts always drifted the same way when you were alone.

Dean.

His voice, deep and teasing. The way his jaw clenched when he was angry. The veins in his arms when he loaded his gun. The smell of his cologne on your pillow. The sounds he made when he slept.

God, it made your thighs rub together.

Your hand slipped between your legs before you could even stop it.

One little touch. Just to ease the pressure. Just to imagine what it would feel like if he wasn’t sleeping in the next room, if you could moan his name out loud without shame.

But once you started… you couldn’t stop.

You pressed your back to the cold tile, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers moved against your slick folds. You gasped, soft and breathy, head tipping back under the hot spray.

And then it started.

“Dean…” A whisper. Then a whimper. Then full-blown begging as your hips rolled into your own hand, chasing the fantasy.

He was behind your eyelids, in your head, in your bones. You pictured him pinning you to the wall, snarling in your ear, telling you to “Keep those fuckin’ legs spread.” You imagined his voice telling you to rub your clit faster.

You imagined his cock inside you, hard and deep and perfect.

“Dean—please—need you so bad—”

And that’s when you felt it.

That shift in the air. That thud of boots dropping to the ground outside the bathroom. Then the slow slide of the shower curtain being pulled back.

“D-Dean—?”

He was already stepping in.

Naked. Eyes locked on you like he hadn’t eaten in days and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His hair flattened under the water, his jaw clenched, chest already heaving. The steam didn’t even compare to the heat in his gaze.

“You tryin’ to kill me, baby?” he muttered, voice low and feral. “You walk around all day bein’ a sweet little angel, and then you come in here and start moanin’ under the fuckin’ water like you don’t wanna be ruined?”

Your back hit the slick tile before you could answer. His hand was on your throat; gentle, but firm enough to make your breath catch. His other hand gripped your waist, sliding lower, palming your ass like it belonged to him.

“Dean, I was just—”

“Just what?” he cut you off, crowding your body with his. “Just bein’ a little tease? Standing here all wet, touchin’ yourself like I ain’t in the next room?”

“I wasn’t—!”

He grinned. That dark, sinful grin that made your stomach drop and your thighs tremble. “You gonna lie to me, sweetheart?” he growled, knee slotting between yours to force your legs apart. “I can smell how fuckin’ needy you are.”

His fingers slid down your stomach, over your mound, and between your folds; already wet from the water, but soaked from him. “Christ,” he hissed, rubbing slow circles over your clit. “You’re drippin’, and I haven’t even gotten started.”

Your head fell back against the tile with a moan. You were losing it, fast. The way he touched you, the way he owned you in the smallest movements, like he already knew exactly how to destroy you.

Then, he dropped to his knees. Right there on the wet shower floor.

“Dean, what are you—”

“Gonna make you scream,” he said simply. “Gonna eat this sweet little pussy until your legs give out. Hold on, baby.”

You had no time to prepare.

His mouth latched onto your clit like he was starving. Tongue flicking, lips sucking, fingers spreading you open so he could get deeper. He moaned into you like the taste of you was holy.

You screamed.

Your hand flew to his hair, yanking hard, but he just groaned, grinding his face into your cunt like it was the only thing that mattered.

And then? Two fingers.

He slid them inside without warning— deep, crooked just right, while his tongue worked your clit with dizzying precision. “Dean—oh my God—”

“You gonna moan God’s name now, baby? Or mine?”

You screamed as his fingers curled deep inside you, pressing right into that spot that made your legs give out. He caught you, of course. Pressed you hard to the tile and started pumping his fingers in and out like he owned the place.

You were shaking. Gasping. Losing yourself against the wall while the shower poured over you and your boyfriend wrecked you on his knees.

“F-Fuck, Dean—Dean, I—”

“You gonna come on my face, baby?” he growled, breath hot and wet against your core. “Do it. I wanna taste it.”

And you did. Loud. Helpless. Walls clenching around his fingers while your knees buckled.

But he caught you. Hands on your thighs, lifting you off the floor like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the tile again, this time with your legs around his waist and his cock rubbing against your soaked folds.

“Think I’m done?” he growled, lining himself up.

“Dean, please—”

One thrust.

You cried out. Loud. Head falling back as he filled you— thick, hard, perfect. “God, this pussy’s tight,” he hissed, pulling back and slamming in again. “Like you were made for me.”

He started to move. Rough, punishing thrusts that shook your whole body as water streamed down your chest and his cock hit every spot inside you that had never been touched like this before.

“Yours,” you gasped. “It’s yours, it’s always been—”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he snarled. “No one else gets this. No one else hears these sounds. You moan for me. You come for me.”

You were delirious.

Between the steam, the heat, the sound of skin on skin, his cock slamming deep and fast inside you, it was too much. “Say it,” he growled, hand back around your throat, not squeezing—just holding. Owning. “Say who fuckin’ owns you.”

“You, Dean, you do,” you cried. “All yours, please don’t stop—!”

“Not gonna. Not until this whole shower smells like sex. Not until you can’t fuckin’ stand up without thinkin’ of me.”

You came again. Harder. Screaming.

Your body clung to his, shaking and sobbing while he kept thrusting through it, chasing his own release now. His mouth found yours—messy, wet, desperate—and when he finally came, it was with a groan so deep it shook you both.

Hot ropes of cum spilled inside you as he buried himself to the hilt, teeth biting your shoulder, hands digging into your hips to keep you in place.

The water kept running. The room was soaked. You were drenched in sweat, water, and him.

And Dean?

He nuzzled into your neck, voice hoarse and wrecked,

“Next time, don’t start the shower without me, baby.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tendertulip @tinas111 @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @cupidzbunny @amsliajskxkxkx @anxiety-prime-max @ninii-winchester @suckitands33 @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @dollyfetti @riteofpassage77 @spookyysinsanity ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library.

#༊*·˚ wvyik #sofia writes ✎#dean winchester x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #supernatural x reader

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4mrplumi · 2 months ago

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01. spiderwocky ── 'spidey' bot

platonic | spiderverse x spiderman!reader x batfamily | ms. list

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤdisclaimers on masterlist!

index. prologue , chapter one , chapter two , chapter three ... to be continued. based on this

“there are more advisable ways to source materials, (name),” a robotic voice ushers in your ear, “i could run a route for the nearest hardware store, safe enough for you to reach”.

you wave her out of your head, murmuring around your breath as you examine the multimeter in your hand. “‘s alright, spidey… they won’t mind me borrowing.”

you’re cooped up behind a large cargo box in the batcave, looking for throwaway tools to use, hoping to be able to fix the sp//dr suit before returning to queens. you’ve known bruce’s tech since you first came around, piecing out the fact he was batman soon after. batman and his batplane, his batmobile, his batgrapple… hell, maybe even a batGPT? he won’t notice if you snatch a little something.

“they’re out, can’t be too bothered to roam out in gotham when there’s perfectly available gizmos here, can i?” you chew on a fruit candy you nicked from the kitchen earlier, it might be damian’s, you’re not sure, “won’t be back till… eleven, tops?”

sp//dr crawls down your arm, her metallic legs causing a pin-prickly sensation, and making you shiver. “rather still, (name), i do not like advocating for such behaviour. what would your father think of you stealing?”

you stiffen for a second, pressing your lips into a thin line. “yeah, what would he?” you manage to scoff, shutting the lid of the box you were scouring through. “run a scan on the tech in here, would you? maybe there’s a micro-comm i can slip out-”

a shooting sensation of anxiety fills you, and you’re suddenly skittering to the nearest wall, sp//dr following close in suit. the water-curtain in the batcave parts to make way for a jet, the engines whirring so, so quietly, you think you’re hallucinating it.

the hatch starts to open, and sp//dr whispers at you to climb up the wall, hide in the dark before you can run off. batman and the littlest robin hop out, their conversation to far away to eavesdrop on… for a regular person.

you narrow your eyes at them. super-hearing isn’t something you’ve experimented with, but you know it’s there, recalling the way your ears nearly exploded the first time your spidey-sense kicked in. maybe if you really concentrate? you squint at them, and the quiet becomes clear.

“perhaps it’s an installment… such work has become very popular as of late.” the little robin says, crossing his arms as batman types away on the long, long keyboard at his computer. “i doubt it,” he replies, his voice always sounds like gravel being rubbed against cement when he puts that cowl on, you think, “witnesses say it ‘showed up out of nowhere’, and the footage glitches out before the structure came in.” the screen in front of them switches to a recording, in black and white, crunchy even with the computer’s high data compatibility.

you don’t stick around, scampering up the wall to the shaft you came in through, quiet as a bug as you stalk out from behind the grandfather clock that decorates the opening. the batman can figure out weird happenings in his city, you just need to be capable enough to help yours.

spider crawls onto your wrist, her metal parts rearranging themselves to turn into a bracelet. her voice hums out from a little blue dot on it, forever monotone. “please now, (name), return to your room without detection, fixing the suit can wait for tomorrow.”

you can’t help but smile a little at her instruction, slipping your new tools into the pockets of your jacket. “maybe it can,” you mutter back, under your breath, swiftly making distance from bruce’s office after you leave it, “but it’s not going to, is it?”

(name), duke notes glancing at the kid, who seems thoroughly submerged in schoolwork at the dining table, is more quiet that he’s accustomed to.

now- that’s not to say he’s used to (name) at all, having barely spoken to them last year, and missing them the year before that when they went off on some trip over the summer.

but it had been impossible to ignore the atmosphere of supreme awkwardness that followed the kid like a ghost, when they shifted on their heels, wanting to ask dick if they could hang out, or tim if he could look at some “cool question” they got as homework. now, that awkwardness had just been replaced with something… quiet. something still, and simpler. it was a drastic change, making him purse his lips into a thin line each time he saw them run back to their room the second everyone got back home from patrol.

he wants to ask if anything's wrong, but… how? what would he even say? duke isn’t close to (name) at all, and it’s not like anyone else is either. heck, he’s barely even seen the kid. the house is decorated with pictures, relics from everyone (but... you) that bruce keeps up. in comparison, you drop in to the manor for a few months, haunting the place, before leaving just as quickly as you came. he didn’t even time to acknowledge you existed the first time he met you, too tired from patrol to be able to entertain any of your questions. wouldn’t it be weird to just… bluntly ask what in the world’s wrong with them, when he doesn’t know what’s supposed to be right?

duke looks away sheepishly when (name) glances back, seemingly aware of his staring. he’ll ask, he will. he just needs to figure out how… and when. when tim creeps into the living room, still in his suit, (name) crawls away up the stairs without acknowledging him, quiet as a bug. before… everyone just chose to excuse the noise (name) made.

tim turns his head to where duke’s looking, the space now empty, and shrugs in dismissal. (name)’s not sitting there anymore.

you haven’t blinked in ten minutes, the thought drifting idly at the back of your head. you’re camped out in the dingy stairwell of some building, sp//dr’s little inbuilt projector painting a slideshow on the wall in front of you. her voice buzzes out from microscopic speakers.

“everything i could compile in the given time,” she speaks, “the information was protected quite fiercely… barely existed at all.”

“so- what? like this doesn’t have a lot of notes or something?” you ask, scribbling down the words you see onto sticky notes, pasting them on the pages in your journal. sp//dr pings in acknowledgement on your wrist, switching to the next slide.

the batwing suit, one of the most high tech wearables you’ve ever had the opportunity to look at. call it inspiration, you’d murmured to sp//dr when she inquired about why you wanted the files on it, it’d be both a development in your knowledge and good for the sp//dr suit.

really, it was. the interior skin had similar properties to the hypothesized “nanotechnology” a guy at school had talked about, and the extra features would have genuinely enamored any mecha-geek.

your notes were simple. the “system” acted similar to sp//dr, and she already had a compartment in your suit, so it wouldn’t be too important. gyroscopic assist… that’d be interesting. most of your time’s spent swinging around, and the motion control on your suit is pretty good already, consider it an upgrade?

what’s most interesting about the suit is the toxikinesis, and energy negation. now, so to speak, you’re aware of the batman’s cautions against metas. apart from the signal, you’re not too well aware of anyone with any kind of powers in gotham (apart from yourself right now).

but hell, releasing poison mist? nullifying energy? that’s got to be cheating! even with all the other things the illustrious spiderman can do, it’s too cool of a thing to let up. before having to move into the manor with bruce wayne and his entourage of coloured birds, you’d lived with your father’s files taking up all the room on his desk, leaving only the stuffed drawers for the pictures you made for him.

he’d been illustrious in his own right, taking out the little time he had to spend time with you. but not really be with you. still, in his interest, you took to technology too, tinkering with little robot kits your father’s friends gifted you. and it stuck. even after you were pulled out of school one day, the teacher’s expression looking unfathomably sad. the remorseful hunch of the officer’s back who’d eased you into telling you about your father’s accident was the only thing you looked at, your little kiddish throat feeling dry.

it had stuck with you after you were put into bruce wayne’s house, as per your late mother’s wishes. it stuck with you after you were sent away from the manor to boarding school for most of the year. it stuck with you even after the sharp pinch of the spider that bit you a few months ago, changing the trajectory of your life in a way you couldn’t complain about.

in the midst of your “studies”, you hear a doom slam, and shouting ensue. in regular gotham fashion, it’s vulgar, filthy and loud. spiderman responds to conflict with fight. (name) prefers flight. you shove everything into your bag, scuttling down the steps as the shouting gets louder, something about hogging the elevator before it starts making your head feel hot and dizzy from anxiety.

the suit’s going to need work. the batwing suit’s fairly slimmer than your bulky mecha, making the components proportionate would take time.

maybe you could ask… no, he’d be too busy anyway. your tongue feels like lead when you lie to sp//dr. she asks; “what are you thinking about?”, you say, “a lot of things.”. you're not thinking of anything at all.

in your silence, sp//dr’s monotonous company is like a soothing balm. so soothing in fact, you don't see a stray sticky-note glitch in red and blue, and then; disappear entirely.

₊˚⊹ a/n : was this bit kind of a nothingburger... maybe. next entry sometime soon,, we'll get to see the society there. thanks for reading!!

taglist @shycreatorreview @facelessgetolover @mileskisser @1abi @kenyummy @selvyyr @systemix @momentomoribitch @redsakura101 @k-anaru @stupouid @glowinthedarkjellyfish @blankface333 @sassycupcakecomputer @miyseilish @xzmickeyzx

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the-haiku-bot · 10 months ago

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Sneak peek at my uhh

“concept art” for that Toppat

Henry design tho

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

Toppat Doodle Dump!

Finally showing off the inside of that magic pocket watch I gave Terrence!

He thinks he's so sillyy (he just killed a man)

I've drawn Sven a few times before, but I've never settled on a design for him until now! Flowery and covered in ribbons and lace! He's a little brat boy-

(I wanted to make sure he's different from how I do Toppat!Henry, which y'all will see designs for soon ;3)

Sneak peek at my uhh "concept art" for that Toppat Henry design tho

Henry cozy :<

#haiku bot #kursed-curtain

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whywaittofallinlove · 18 days ago

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off limits ch1 | jesse x miller!daughter reader

pairing: jesse x miller!daughter reader

summary: as tommy’s daughter and joel’s niece, there is an unspoken rule in jackson that you’re off limits. jesse, someone known for sticking to the rules, breaks this one rule

words: 854 words

warnings: barely there smut

Chapter 1

The early morning sun slips through the gaps in your curtain, scattering warm rays across the room, across the bed. The light catches on the faint scars and toned contours of your lover, painting him in an almost ethereal glow.

You tilt your head back, slightly breathless as you grind your body back and forth. Strong calloused hands grip your waist, guiding your thrusts.

Three sudden knocks on your garage door causes you to halt your movements, your brow furrows in annoyance. A whispered groan escapes from the man tangled in your sheets. “Yeah?” Your voice unsteady and low.

“Just makin’ sure you’re up, you’re patrollin’ with Jesse today. He don’t like tardiness.” Your Dad’s Southern drawl commands from the other side of the door. At the mention of his name, you watch as Jesse lifts his head to the look at the blaring red numbers illuminating from your alarm clock, his hand raking through the mess of his dark hair, his head dropping to the pillow in frustration.

“I’m sure he won’t mind.” You call out, your tone full of mischief as your hands drop to either side of Jesse’s head, caging him in. Your bare breasts brushes against his warm chest as you begin to slightly roll your hips, Jesse still very much hard inside you. You bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning Jesse’s name.

“Get your ass movin’.” Tommy fires back, unimpressed and completely unaware of what is transpiring just behind the wooden door. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ For a moment you wait, listening as your dads footsteps crunch over the snow covered driveway, each step growing fainter.

Jesse shifts beneath you, his hands moving to lift you off him, but you press down firmly on his chest, keeping him in your bed. You press your lips to his, your kiss deepening as you ride him with more urgency than before.

Jesse swings his legs over the edge of the bed, you sit up behind him, still breathless, your fingers faintly ghost over the red scratches across his shoulder blades, vivid against his pale skin. Jesse glances over his shoulder at you, an amused glint in his dark eyes. “Admiring your handiwork?”

You inch even closer until you’re pressing your breasts against the warmth of his back, your arms loosely resting against his torso. Resting your chin on his shoulder, “You know, I seem to recall you enjoying it last night.”

“Oh, I very much enjoyed it.” He turns to face you, his hand comes up to cradle your face as he places his lips against yours in a quick kiss. “We have to get moving.”

You sigh and lovingly roll your eyes at your lover. Jesse has always been a stickler for following the rules, always the one who shows up early, triple checking every route before delegating patrols. Except when it came to being with you. With you, he became a little bit more reckless, a little more free.

Being Tommy’s daughter and Joel’s niece made you off limits, not just to Jesse, but to everyone. If there was an unspoken rule within Jackson, that was it.

Out of the two of you, Jesse had the most to lose. He had earned his place beside Tommy through years of hard work, commitment and dedication to the community of Jackson. He had finally gained a seat on the council, a seat elected by the community.

That’s why you had resorted to sneaking around, the late nights, early mornings, brief glances when they thought no one was looking. All to keep Jesse’s integrity intact.

You glance at the Korean man as you step into your jeans, his eyes already on you, watching you unashamedly. “Stop staring.” A smile tugs on the corner of your lips. “Can’t help it.” Jesse replies, his own smile, the one solely reserved for you etched on his face.

You both dress quickly with almost military precision. No fumbling, no stalling, just practice that came with years of survival.

Both you and Jesse walk to the window at the back of your garage. You ease the frosted glass open, careful and quiet. Jesse braces himself on the frame, one leg already over the sill. His glances back at you one last time. “I’ll see you out there.”

You gently cup his cheek, eyes full of affection. He leans in, brushing one final kiss on your lips, then disappears into the cold morning.

Pulling your jacket over your shoulders, you step out of the garage, the bite of the cold December air not the only thing to send chills through your body.

Maria stands on the patio of the main house, arms tightly crossed, her gaze flicking between you and Jesse, who’s been caught red handed, in the act of slipping away. Neither of you move.

You watch as Maria gently closes the door behind her, before slowly descending down the patio stairs. She stops just a few feet away from the both of you, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the sight before her. She raises an eyebrow, silently gauging both of your reactions. “You’re both lucky it was me… if it was Tommy…”

#the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou2 #jesse the last of us #jesse tlou #jesse x reader #jesse X Miller reader #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou #tlou imagine #tlou fic #jesse tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #jesse tlou X you #the last of us x you

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emacrow · 4 months ago

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The Phantom of the Abandoned Opera by emacrow/creator

The bats were investigating an old abandoned rundown opera that seemed to come to life, literally rebuild and booming at night that was luring people in, only for them to come out... different.

Tim was the first to sneak in in disguised as a wanderer citizen, seeing how people were grabbing snacks from a snack bar that looked as if it was in the 1880s with snacks ranging from the early 1990s to late 2010s.

Nobody was unable to enter with technology or weapons of any kind, which was the price Tim had to pay, unable to bring his backup backup spy bots.

He got a sample of the oddly popcorn with specks of green coating and a smoothie, which the Snack bar attendant told him it was Phantom Special tonight.

He follows the group to a mass audience seat. The audience room that was once rundown with barely anything in it beside broken nails and missing chairs in the daytime were filled with thousands of vintage chairs with red plush seating and cup holder, each with names on them.

What scared him was a seat was his real name on it.

Sitting down as stiff as he ever felt, the opera stage that used to be a mass hole in the center with no curtain was at all renewed as red curtain pulled open, the center play that was a very very tall man with a half mask wearing a handsome old fashion style royal costume with long hair that defies gravity in a stage full of moving stars and planets as the background.

The man began to sing, and Tim was completely enchanted.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #dcxdp #danny is the ghost king #danny is the phantom of the opera #abandoned opera became Danny little relaxation spot to sing his banschee cried out #let other ghosts and liminal listen to his musical tales and adventures #only to not realize his Opera is blending into other universes and luring in undiscovered infected liminals and curing their core by singin #lancer would cry of joy if he could hear this #all this came to me in a dream and i woke up to write it down right here rn #dont fucking steal my story bots #don't steal this story bots

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sheepispink · 4 months ago

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i did it yall ✋🏽🙂‍↕️🤚🏽

hybrid! reader x tf141, but they’re nocturnal and ghost HATES it

(insp by undeadgrimm cai bot with nocturnal reader, the intro, not the ai bot)

As an owl hybrid, you harbored incredible hearing and used it to your advantage, along with your night vision. The only issue with this fact was that your animal side was nocturnal. Thankfully, you’d trained your human side to follow the schedule of a regular soldier back in your rookie days, but with more stressful missions coming about sometimes your hybrid side would peek through, giving you instinctual bouts of insomnia, of a sort. Naturally, this led to the captain introducing a curfew for the team, though actually designed for you.

Tonight, you couldnt get an ounce of sleep no mattter how many times you twisted or turned or even ruffled your feathers. It seemed near impossible, a feeling in your chest driving you with an insatiable need to explore and potentially hunt. Your wings spread as you stand, stretching out to their full size before relaxing. You often tucked them behind you, as it was more convenient but with the lack of people around it was more than normal to let them stretch for a bit. As you make your way to the common room, your bleary eyes finally readjust to the surroundings and you instantly notice the clink of a glass as it settles on the counter. Having now rubbed away the sleep in your eyes, you can faintly see the outline of a familiar mask, only the white bone marks showing despite your night vision.

He doesn’t bother waiting for your greeting, stepping out of the kitchen towards where you stand; your wings unintentionally form a curtain around your body— like a blanket almost. “You know the drill, back to bed, bird.” You mentally groan, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm. Of all the people to get caught awake by, the Lieutenant was by far the worst option. Not only was he practically the epitome of stoicism, but you’re convinced that he just has everything against you. Thankfully, it’s not in a ‘hybrids are disgusting creatures’ way, but more of ‘you’re a rookie and you need to be better’ way. After all, your training sessions with him are no joke. Despite that, you aren't particularly scared of him, despite the infamous reputation of the mask he wears. No, not when you know well that the Captain has far more authority over him— and over you too but that’s besides the point.

”But Lt…” You complain, flopping back on the small couch in the common room, intrigued by a packet of biscuits there. “You know I can't sleep, it’s not fair.” As expected, he doesnt take well to your excuses, only rolling his eyes up at you before snatching the biscuit pack. He places it on a higher shelf than usual, ensuring you can't have it. “Don’t care, go back to bed.” He tugs you easily off the couch, pushing you lightly towards the door.

“Aren't you awake too?”

“Do I get sleepy and grumpy during training?” You want to say yes, because you know damn well that he’s acted particularly grumpy once after getting minimal sleep. Then again, he is right about you getting annoyed during training. Regardless, even if you go back to bed, you won't be able to sleep anyways, the instinctual urge will probably just make you climb your walls. “I don't wanna just stare at the ceiling. C’mon, I just wanna walk around a bit. I won't stay up all night.”

He raises a brow at that, knowing damn well what happened last time he caught you up at this time and then he takes another step towards you, causing you to back up. “Told you, I dont care. Back to bed, now. Or i’ll carry you and duct tape you to your bed” He backs you against the door, but you’re desperate now and running on three hours of sleep. That also means you arent thinking sane in the slightest. And so, you cross your arms over your chest, a frown curving your lips.

“I’m telling Price on you.”

”You wouldnt dare.”

He stares at you, almost a challenging glare in his eyes and the bird inside you squirms, almost excited. It’s been a while since you’ve ruffled your feathers properly and this seems perfect. “Watch me.” You grin, and before he can react you’ve turned on your heel and dashed down the hallways. “You little—“

The heavy clacks of his boots start to pick up behind you, but you dont care, wings growing larger before spreading straight behind you in a way that’s almost streamlined. The height of these hallways are too low to fly, so you’ll have to rely on your legs for now. “Get back here—“ He’d growl if he was part animal too, but all he can do is grunt as you turn around another corner. He can see you rapidly approaching Price’s door now, almost barreling into the wood as you quickly knock. Awake as usual, Price calls you in and you turn at the last moment to flash him a cheeky grin before darting inside.

“You basta-“ He huffs as he stands in Price’s doorway, watching you sitting on the edge of his bed as you frown all innocently. “What the hell is going on here?”

He can only grumble, his hand grasping the door frame as Price frowns at him, clearly more amused than anything.

“He’s being mean to me— he wouldnt let me get a glass of water.”

Price looks back at you and then at Ghost, raising a brow at the man despite an amused look in his eyes. He clearly found the situation laughable and even Ghost couldnt retain his anger much longer. Still, he persisted, insistent on keeping the routine.

“They’re the one who's causing a racket. It’s way past their curfew! They should be asleep.”

He whisper shouts, eyes narrowed at his captain behind the surgical mask. Price just sighs, pushing the papers away; it was clearly time they all hit the hay. “You do realise that’s all our curfews? If they have to follow it, we do too. You shouldnt be up.”

“I dont care. They should be in bed—”

Price is about to laugh again when he hears a soft snore in the room, both of their gazes shifting to where you were behind Price’s swivel chair. You were still on the bed but now your lips were parted, hands in an almost starfish position as you laid on your back. His little chase with you had knocked the insomnia right out, leaving you snoring soundly beside Price until the sun shone once more.

———————-

buy me a coffee :)

#hybrid au #cod hybrid au #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty drabble #call of duty fanfic #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #cod fic #cod fanfic #cod fluff

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mizuribbons · 1 year ago

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HAIKU BOT WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE LMFAOOOO

Still not over the fact they chose RUI to be part of the furry— I mean dog set. Even though he doesn't have a dog or has no apparent relationship with the and IN FACT has been deemed a catboy since the dawn of the earth.

Something about belonging. Something about family. Something about blind loyalty even to the point of destruction. Something about wanting to be tamed while sobbing into your hand.

Congratulations Rui Kamishiro you have achieved both genders

#haiku bot #the-one-that-weeps #hoc is talking about curtain call y'all #kamishiro rui #rui kamishiro #pjsekai #project sekai #pjsk #still not over the fact that rui chose to stay with wxs because they matter to him more than logic #they matter to him more than survival #pjsk mentioned #favs of all time

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nyxs2 · 6 months ago

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Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 1/?)

Silco was at his limit. The last few days had been a whirlwind, made worse by Jinx's eccentricities, which Sevika couldn't control. He was exhausted, his nerves on edge, so, as if it were the most obvious solution, one of his subordinates suggested that he relax… in a brothel. The idea was so offensive that Silco almost killed him right there. But in the end, there he was and unfortunately or fortunately you are the lucky one who will serve him.

Silco x fem!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI) Word Count: 4,9K Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, oral sex (m!receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, discussion (a few lines), you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut because the male POV It just hits ✨different✨), an obsessive Silco in the end? Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

I got into my obsessive phase with this man again thanks to the second season of Arcane and I had to turn a conversation with a janitor bot into a fanfic. This is my first time posting something here so I have no idea what I'm doing lol… English is not my first language, sorry if there are mistakes.

The room reeked of overly sweet flowers, a cloying mixture of perfumes that you never found pleasant but managed to endure. Dressed in a simple white satin gown, which men liked to dismissively call "easy access," you stood behind the curtain, taking deep breaths and trying to hide the trembling in your hands. This wasn’t your first time dealing with difficult clients at the brothel, but this time, it felt different.

Silco.

His name alone was enough to make your breath hitch, and not in a good way. The feared, self-proclaimed leader of Zaun was seated on the couch, his arms draped casually over the backrest while his eye—or rather, his good eye—surveyed the room with evident impatience. You could tell he was irritated, perhaps even more so than the rumors had suggested when he arrived at the brothel. The deep lines on his face seemed sharper under the dim lighting, and he ran his tongue over his lips, muttering something you couldn’t catch.

You knew there was no choice. Refusal would bring consequences far worse than simply losing money. So you swallowed your fear, lifted your chin, and stepped through the curtain with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your steps were steady, but your heart waged a frenzied battle against your ribcage.

He didn’t seem impressed at first glance, but you could feel his gaze weighing on you as you moved closer. Each step shrank the safety distance between you. Your body moved almost instinctively from there, guided by the muscle memory of your unconventional profession. Carefully, you leaned down, letting yourself settle into his lap. Curiously, Silco showed no visible signs of discomfort, but he didn’t seem particularly engaged either, which only heightened your anxiety.

You assumed he would take the initiative, steering things more directly as clients often did here. The small talk, the courtesies—they always seemed unnecessary in a place like this. Your hands hesitated as they reached his shoulders, finding them rigid at first, but he appeared to relax slightly, sinking back into the sofa with a heavy sigh. It took you another moment to finally find your voice.

“You seem... stressed.”

“Those men aggravate me.” he muttered in response, his voice heavy with frustration, as if exhaustion had seeped into his very soul at that moment.

You nodded as though you understood perfectly. Of course, you didn’t, but you knew how to agree with powerful men without questioning them. Despite the fear that churned within you, you noticed something: he had let you touch him. A rare allowance for someone as reserved and commanding as Silco. The realization was strange, but it made you move your hands more carefully, wanting to prolong his apparent calm.

Silco’s mismatched eyes—one blue, the other orange—scrutinized you with an intensity that made you feel as though he was truly seeing you for the first time. He tilted his head slightly and asked, his tone more curious than cold:

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“Call me whatever you wish,” you replied sweetly, your voice melodious, though only you knew how forced every word felt. Your fingers, braver than your spirit, began tracing subtle lines across his chest, feeling the expensive fabric of his clothing and the warmth of his body beneath it.

“I’m aware of that, but I’d still like to know your name.”

After a moment’s hesitation, you gave him your name. Silco repeated it, testing the syllables on his tongue. Hearing your name spoken by him unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite place—it was strange how easily it rolled off his lips, as though it meant nothing, and at the same time many things. You weren’t sure if he was genuinely interested or if it was just conversational habit, but the fact that he asked stirred something within you.

“It suits you.” he said. From the subtle curl of his lips, you knew he’d noticed your nervousness. “Indulge my curiosity. What brings a woman as beautiful as you to a place like this? Surely, you have dreams that extend beyond satisfying the desires of others.”

Before you could think of a response, Silco's fingers moved to your face, brushing aside a stray strand of hair that had fallen over your shoulder. The touch was slow and soft—almost too intimate for someone like him. The warmth of his fingertips against your skin sent a shiver coursing through your body. Your instinct was to pull away, but you didn’t dare.

Swallowing your hesitation, you leaned slightly into his hand, like a cat seeking affection. Your posture remained controlled, the smile on your lips unwavering.

“Me? Well, I’m like any child of Zaun... I had to find a way to survive, so let’s skip the tragic parts of the story.” Your fingers began to toy with the fabric of Silco’s suit, admiring the quality of the material. It was the kind of fabric you’d never dreamed of owning, let alone touching. “I got lucky with my looks because, honestly, having sex and earning money beats living on the streets.”

You forced a smile as you said the words, trying to project confidence, though the very idea of finding yourself here still felt unreal. What you truly wanted to say was something entirely different: that you hadn’t had a choice. But that part, you kept to yourself.

“Besides, if I hadn’t chosen this path, I would never have had the chance to be here with you.”

It was an empty, contrived line, but you assumed it was what he wanted to hear. That had always been your role—making others feel desired, as though being in their presence was a privilege for you. Deep down, the bitterness of the lie gnawed at you, but you’d long since mastered the art of hiding it.

Silco’s touch, still unexpectedly gentle, lingered on your face, tracing the curve of your jawline with a calmness that seemed to contradict the dangerous aura surrounding him. Every nerve in your body was on high alert as he stayed silent, simply observing you, his fingers mapping your features. You couldn’t ignore the satisfaction he seemed to draw from your hesitation, as though your nervousness was precisely what he wanted to extract.

“I can see why the men of Zaun would pay handsomely for your... company,” Silco murmured, his voice low and deliberate as his fingers trailed down to your lips. “Still, surely you could have found another path. Something that didn’t involve selling yourself to the highest bidder.”

The disapproval in his tone struck like an invisible slap. You blinked, startled, unable to hide the brief flicker of disbelief on your face. Him? The chemical baron who ruled Zaun, questioning your morality? He, who built his fortune by exploiting desperation and chaos through Shimmer? It was almost laughable, but the weight of his words left no room for humor.

“Tell me the truth,” he continued, his voice slow, each word laced with a faint, mocking edge. “Is this what you want? Spending your nights warming the beds of strangers, smiling as they use you for their pleasure?”

Your fingers, which had been toying with the fabric of his suit, returned to your own body, creating the barest sliver of distance between you—though it felt impossible to achieve while still perched on his lap. You briefly considered keeping up the act, retreating to the mask of seduction and sweetness. But something about his tone, the intensity in the look he gave you, made it clear he wouldn’t accept a rehearsed answer.

"You’re hardly in a position to lecture anyone about morality, you know that?" Your voice was steadier now, stripped of the syrupy tones you had wielded before. There was still caution, but also something resembling either confidence or sheer madness. You weren’t entirely sure what was fueling you. "But the truth is, you don’t have much choice when you attract too much attention. Men have this pathetic need to turn anything they desire into property. If I weren’t here, I’d probably be some baron’s plaything... or any other man’s who thought he had that right."

You caught the slight shift in his expression, but you didn’t stop before he could interrupt.

"At least in the brothel, I have a small sense of safety. Here, we protect each other. It’s not ideal, but it’s enough to survive." Your words dripped with a cynicism you wore like armor, but they were genuine. Silco remained silent. "Satisfied?"

His touch grew firmer then, his hand gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. Silco didn’t settle for easy answers, and that kept you on edge. His mismatched eyes bore into yours, as if he could rip the truth from behind your façade by force. For a moment, your body betrayed your mind, trembling under the weight of his focus—or perhaps under the heat radiating from him.

"No," he said softly, his voice laced with an undeniable authority. "I’m not satisfied."

There was something in his tone that both soothed and terrified you. "I recognize value when I see it, and you’re not just a pretty face or a warm body to be used and discarded. You’re a survivor, my dear. And survivors don’t settle for scraps when they could have the entire feast."

Silco leaned closer, his face now so near that you could feel his breath ghosting over your skin. The hand that had been holding your chin slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer. He was invading your space, breaking every boundary you had tried to set before. It should have made you furious, and yet, there was something maddeningly magnetic about his words, his tone. Like a moth drawn to the flame.

"And what if I told you." he murmured, his voice dropping into a husky whisper near your ear, "That I could offer you another path? A way out of this gilded cage you’ve trapped yourself in? All you have to do is say yes."

It was tempting—far too tempting. But you knew better. This was a trap, a carefully spun illusion of power designed to lure you in. Silco wasn’t just a chem-baron; he was a master manipulator, someone who played people like pieces on a chessboard. His hands were stained with blood, and you weren’t going to become one of his victims.

Your shoulders tensed, and your hands moved to his shoulders, pushing lightly as though instinctively trying to create space between you.

"You’re right about one thing," you whispered back, your voice low but carrying a newfound confidence even you didn’t quite recognize. "I’m a survivor, precisely because I don’t trust men like you."

Your nails dug into his shoulders—not to hurt him, but as a way to anchor yourself, to remind yourself that you still had some semblance of control. To keep yourself from faltering under the weight of his presence. After all, few dared to deny Silco, knowing full well he could take whatever he wanted in the end.

"It’d be foolish of me to say ‘yes’ so easily..." you continued, taking a measured breath to steel yourself. "Everyone in Zaun knows that accepting one of your offers is the same as selling your soul to the devil."

Silco's movement, leaning back slightly to return a fraction of space to you, wasn’t a concession—it was a strategy. He was calculating his next move, and you knew it. His gaze remained fixed on you, and despite his apparent calm, you could feel the weight of his stare—heavy, like a verdict. He didn’t like being challenged, especially by someone who, theoretically, had no power to oppose him. Yet, there was something about you, something that even Silco found himself impressed by, if only for a fleeting moment. He seemed to respect your defiance—admiration disguised as frustration, perhaps.

"You're bold, aren’t you?" Silco spoke, almost amused. "Most girls would jump at the chance to be under my protection. But not you. No, you're far too clever for that."

His hand rose again, this time stopping at your throat, where his fingers rested, feeling the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat. It was a gentle touch, but undeniably threatening—a silent warning. And though the sensation was unsettling, it was nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. After all, if he truly wanted to kill you, he would have done so already.

"Allow me to clarify my proposal, dove," he continued, his voice softening in a way that only heightened your distrust. "I’m not offering salvation or a fairy tale ending. I’m offering you a chance to survive, on your own terms. To rise above the squalor and degradation of this place."

His touch shifted, his free hand sliding along your waist, tracing every contour of your body with an unsettling softness. You could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of your dress, and you knew he could feel the heat of yours just as well. Your body tensed, but you didn’t give in—not even as his hand ventured lower, stopping on your thigh. A shiver ran down your spine, but your mind remained resolute, knowing that any sign of weakness would be an invitation for him to push further.

His tone, now little more than a husky murmur, made the air around you feel heavier, charged with a tension you knew he wielded with mastery. "All I ask in return is your obedience."

His hand, now bolder, slipped beneath your dress, brushing against your bare skin with a touch that felt almost possessive.

You swallowed hard.

"Think carefully," he continued. "Is serving me really worse than being passed from hand to hand, always in danger of being killed like any other cheap whore? At least with me, you’d be valued. Protected."

The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of your breathing, a rhythm that seemed to amplify the rising tension. Silco held the advantage here—he knew it, and so did you. For all your cunning, there wasn’t much you could offer him beyond your defiance. But you weren’t one to yield without a fight. He might have been formidable in many ways, but all men, no matter how imposing, had a weakness. And you knew this weakness well enough.

"My obedience..." you said, your voice soft, dripping with sweet venom. "You already have it… for tonight."

You pressed your body against his, deliberately moving against the part of him he most desired yet had been neglecting. For the briefest of moments, you caught the crack in Silco’s stoic façade, a flicker of pleasure that betrayed him as your slow, deliberate movements sent a surge of heat to his core. Your hips rolled against him provocatively, the thin fabric of your dress bunched high enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination. The lace of your panties pressed against the unmistakable hardness growing beneath his trousers.

"Isn’t this what you came for, after all?" Your voice was a seductive whisper, yet tinged with irony, your tone laced with a hint of mockery. This wasn’t the submissive game you’d been playing earlier. Not anymore. Silco, with all his authority, likely hadn’t anticipated you flipping the cards the way you just had—appealing to something as raw as carnal desire.

You leaned in even closer, your lips brushing his ear, your warm breath sending a shiver through him. "Because I doubt you walked into this brothel looking to recruit a courtesan for your organization... am I wrong?"

Your words seemed to strike a nerve in the feared "Eye of Zaun," as he remained silent for a few moments, though you could feel the tension in his body. His grip on your flesh tightened, almost as if he was holding back. Then, the hand under your dress slid further upward, his fingers brushing against the lace trim of your panties. The touch sent an electric jolt through your veins; it was affecting you just as much as it was affecting him.

"You're playing a dangerous game, dove," Silco murmured, his voice low and laced with warning. "Tempting me with your body, even as you deny me with such effort. It's a risky move."

He leaned closer, just a breath of space separating your faces. "But I suppose that's what I like about you. You're not afraid to dance on the edge of the blade, even if it means getting cut."

Silco’s other hand slid along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair before pulling gently, tilting your head back to expose the curve of your throat. You felt him inhale your scent, and your eyes fluttered shut as his lips grazed your skin. "However, don’t mistake my desire for weakness. You may not like the result."

"I have no doubts about that," you quipped, increasing the rhythm of your hips, the friction doing a fine job of making you forget you were dealing with a dangerous criminal. You could feel your panties growing damp. "But that doesn’t matter now, does it?"

With difficulty, you moved your head to face him again, despite the way his hand still gripped your hair. Your own hands wandered across his slender frame, sliding down toward his trousers.

"You’re paying to have me, not to talk." With practiced ease, you unfastened his trousers, your hand slipping past the barriers of his clothing, finally touching him. A gentle stroke, testing… "So let’s make your money’s worth."

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━ Silco's Pov

Silco's breath caught in his throat as her hand slid inside his pants, her fingers brushing his hardened length. The sensation was electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing down his spine. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of his underwear, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to buck his hips against her touch. But even as his body responded to her ministrations, Silco's mind remained sharp and alert. He knew she was trying to gain the upper hand, to turn the tables on him by focusing their encounter on base carnal desires. And while he was more than willing to indulge in such pleasures, he refused to let her think she had won. But, he would recognize her cleverness.

With one swift movement, Silco grabbed her wrist, halting her exploration of his cock. He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "Ah ah ah, not so fast, dove," he purred, his voice low and dangerous. "You forget who holds the power here. I'm the one paying for your services, and I'll be damned if I'll let you set the pace."

Silco released her wrist and sat back, his eyes raking over her body with undisguised hunger. "Strip," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I want to see every inch of that gorgeous skin. And then, if you're a good girl, I might let you touch me again."

As she began to comply, Silco allowed his gauze to drift down to the junction between her thighs. He could see the damp spot on her panties, evidence of her arousal, and it made his cock throb with need. But he held himself in check, determined to make her work for her pleasure, even if it becomes an unbearable temptation for both of them.

Once she was fully exposed, Silco reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of her undergarments, teasing her with the promise of his touch. "Now, show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "And maybe, just maybe, I'll give you what you really want."

Oddly enough, that stubborn woman obeyed him without question, living up to what she had said about him having her obedience. The sight of her kneeling naked was sinful, even more so when her curious fingers made quick work of undoing his pants completely. Taking a moment to study his cock, and when Silco opened his mouth to let out a sarcastic comment she finally took him into her mouth.

Silco groaned as her tongue laved along his shaft, the wet heat of her mouth sending jolts of pleasure racing through his veins. He could feel his cock pulsing in her grip, the blood rushing to his groin as his arousal mounted. It took every ounce of his self-control not to simply grab her head and force her down onto his dick, to fuck her pretty face until he painted her throat with his seed.

But he resisted the urge, determined to savor every moment of this exquisite torment. She was skilled with her mouth, he had to give her that. She knew just how to tease and tantalize, to bring him to the brink of madness without pushing him over the edge.

Silco's hands fisted in her hair, his grip tight enough to be uncomfortable but not quite painful. He guided her head as she worked him over, showing her exactly how he liked it. Up and down she went, her lips stretched obscenely around his girth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.

"Fuck, just like that," Silco sighed with pleasure. "Take it deeper, dove. Show me how badly you want it."

He could feel his balls tightening, his orgasm building at the base of his spine. But he held back, determined to make this last. He wanted to hear she beg for it, to watch her break apart on his cock like the desperate little slut she was.

Silco's hips rocked in time with her bobbing head, his pace increasing as his arousal grew. He could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his core, the pleasure bordering on pain. But still he held back, his iron self-control the only thing keeping him from exploding down her throat. Finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, Silco yanked she off his cock and hauled her up into his lap. He crashed his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste himself on her lips. His hands roamed her body, groping and squeezing, leaving marks of possession on her soft skin.

The kiss was confusing at first, perhaps because she probably didn't expect him to pull her in for a kiss. However, it didn't take long for her to give in, returning the same intensity. Of course, it would be foolish to think that her wandering hands would remain still since soon Silco could feel her gripping him and rubbing against herself. She had pulled her panties aside as she covered him with her wetness, as if her saliva wasn't enough. When the provocation seemed to last longer than it should, she lined up his tip with her entrance. That woman was going to kill him.

Silco groaned as she sank down onto his cock, her tight heat enveloping him like a vice. The sensation was exquisite, her walls fluttering and clenching around his length as she adjusted to his size. He could feel every inch of her, from the slick, velvety softness of her entrance to the tender spot deep inside that made her gasp and writhe.

His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, his fingers digging into her flesh as he guided her movements. Up and down she rode him, her pace growing faster and more erratic as the pleasure built within her. Silco thrilled at the sight of her, head thrown back in ecstasy, breasts bouncing with each thrust of her hips. She was certainly a sight that would stay in his mind for a long time.

He leaned forward and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking hard as he rolled the other between his fingers. She cried out, her back arching as the dual stimulation sent shockwaves of pleasure racing through her body. Silco could feel her walls tightening around him, her body tensing as she neared her peak.

"That's it, dove," he growled against her skin, his voice rough with lust. "Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock."

Silco's hips snapped up to meet hers, driving his cock deeper, harder, faster. The sound of their flesh slapping together filled the room, obscene and beautiful all at once. He could feel his own climax building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his core. But he held back, determined to bring her over the edge first.

He reached down between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation was too much for her, and she came with a scream, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. And, as if possible, becoming even more beautiful.

Only then did Silco allow himself to let go, his own orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave. He thrust up into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he exploded, his seed painting her insides with its heat. He could feel her milking him, her walls rippling and fluttering around his.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

You collapsed against Silco’s body, utterly spent, as if the world around you had vanished during those feverish minutes. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, and you desperately tried to catch the breath that seemed to have abandoned your lungs. Your body, slick with sweat, still trembled with the remnants of pleasure, involuntary aftershocks that left your overly sensitive skin prickling at the slightest touch. Every muscle felt too heavy to move, leaving you there, trapped between exhaustion and the slow return to reality.

The silence that followed was filled only with the sound of your uneven breathing mingling with his, punctuated by the muffled music, laughter, footsteps, and the occasional moans from other rooms. The brothel was alive, grounding you in where you were, even though the power play that culminated in this moment had momentarily made you forget.

"So..." You lifted your head slowly to meet his gaze, your voice husky and still thick with effort. "Did I please you?" You knew the question would sound like a provocation masked as submission, but you would regret letting the opportunity to tease him slip by so easily.

Silco remained silent for a beat, and then a low, rough chuckle escaped his lips. "Please me? That would be an understatement, dove." he replied, his voice still deep, almost purring. "You exceeded all my expectations."

As he spoke, you felt his fingers rise to your face, brushing aside a strand of hair stuck to your damp skin with a subtle touch. His heterochromatic eyes were locked onto yours, and the moment seemed to stretch on longer than it should have. A part of you wanted to pull away, but something about the intensity of his gaze kept you rooted in place.

His hands slid down your back, fingers tracing the subtle contours of your spine. The heat of his touch sent another shiver through you, your body still far too sensitive. He knew that, of course, and seemed to savor every small reaction he could elicit.

You thought he would push you away, that this moment would end quickly, but he didn’t. Instead, Silco’s lips met yours in a fleeting touch, so brief it could hardly be called a kiss. Then, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as if he were absorbing what had just transpired, what he had just done to you.

"But I’m not done with you yet." he whispered, his voice a dark warning, the echo of something dangerous. Something you should fear.

But you laughed in response.

"I was hoping you’d say that," you teased, slowly shifting your position on his lap, feeling your muscles protest against the movement.

The smirk playing on your lips was wicked as you took in the state of him. Though still clothed, his appearance was far from composed. His trousers, carelessly undone, were wrinkled and disheveled, while his previously immaculate hair was a tousled mess. And those eyes—still hazy, swimming in lust—watched you with an intensity that sent a thrill down your spine. He was chaos incarnate, and you felt absurdly proud of being the one to unravel him.

"However..." You slid off his lap with the same provocative grace that had carried you through the entire evening, your body still trembling faintly from the lingering sensations. "I believe you'll have to pay again if you want to see me next time... Our time is up." You felt his cum, as well as yours, slide down your thighs as you sank into the spot next to him on the couch, but you didn't really care about cleaning it up. The only shred of decency you had was fixing your panties.

Even with nothing but your undergarments covering your skin, you made a point of turning this moment into something that would haunt Silco’s mind—a small finale, pure provocation.

Silco remained seated for a moment, his intense gaze never straying from you. There was something in his eyes—a possessive glint, almost feral. It was as though he wanted to say something, to act, but with an admirable display of restraint, he held back.

You watched as he reached into his pocket, retrieving a wad of bills. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed them onto the table in the corner.

"Consider that a bonus for your... exceptional service."

Rising from the couch, he began adjusting his clothes with mechanical precision. His nimble fingers fastened the zipper on his trousers and smoothed the creases in his suit. The final touch was the swift motion of his hands taming his disheveled hair, each strand returning to its rightful place. With every deliberate move, Silco reclaimed the aura of the man who commanded fear and respect across all of Zaun.

When he reached the exit of the room, he paused. He didn’t turn completely but tilted his head just enough for the warm orange glow of his eye to catch the dim light.

"I have a feeling we’ll see each other very soon, dove." Part2

#silco x reader #silco x you #reader insert #minors dni #arcane fanfic #no beta we die like silco #smut #arcane #arcane silco

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Even if you think AI search could be good, it won’t be good

TONIGHT (May 15), I'm in NORTH HOLLYWOOD for a screening of STEPHANIE KELTON'S FINDING THE MONEY; FRIDAY (May 17), I'm at the INTERNET ARCHIVE in SAN FRANCISCO to keynote the 10th anniversary of the AUTHORS ALLIANCE.

The big news in search this week is that Google is continuing its transition to "AI search" – instead of typing in search terms and getting links to websites, you'll ask Google a question and an AI will compose an answer based on things it finds on the web:

https://blog.google/products/search/generative-ai-google-search-may-2024/

Google bills this as "let Google do the googling for you." Rather than searching the web yourself, you'll delegate this task to Google. Hidden in this pitch is a tacit admission that Google is no longer a convenient or reliable way to retrieve information, drowning as it is in AI-generated spam, poorly labeled ads, and SEO garbage:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/03/keyword-swarming/#site-reputation-abuse

Googling used to be easy: type in a query, get back a screen of highly relevant results. Today, clicking the top links will take you to sites that paid for placement at the top of the screen (rather than the sites that best match your query). Clicking further down will get you scams, AI slop, or bulk-produced SEO nonsense.

AI-powered search promises to fix this, not by making Google search results better, but by having a bot sort through the search results and discard the nonsense that Google will continue to serve up, and summarize the high quality results.

Now, there are plenty of obvious objections to this plan. For starters, why wouldn't Google just make its search results better? Rather than building a LLM for the sole purpose of sorting through the garbage Google is either paid or tricked into serving up, why not just stop serving up garbage? We know that's possible, because other search engines serve really good results by paying for access to Google's back-end and then filtering the results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Another obvious objection: why would anyone write the web if the only purpose for doing so is to feed a bot that will summarize what you've written without sending anyone to your webpage? Whether you're a commercial publisher hoping to make money from advertising or subscriptions, or – like me – an open access publisher hoping to change people's minds, why would you invite Google to summarize your work without ever showing it to internet users? Nevermind how unfair that is, think about how implausible it is: if this is the way Google will work in the future, why wouldn't every publisher just block Google's crawler?

A third obvious objection: AI is bad. Not morally bad (though maybe morally bad, too!), but technically bad. It "hallucinates" nonsense answers, including dangerous nonsense. It's a supremely confident liar that can get you killed:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/sep/01/mushroom-pickers-urged-to-avoid-foraging-books-on-amazon-that-appear-to-be-written-by-ai

The promises of AI are grossly oversold, including the promises Google makes, like its claim that its AI had discovered millions of useful new materials. In reality, the number of useful new materials Deepmind had discovered was zero:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

This is true of all of AI's most impressive demos. Often, "AI" turns out to be low-waged human workers in a distant call-center pretending to be robots:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/31/neural-interface-beta-tester/#tailfins

Sometimes, the AI robot dancing on stage turns out to literally be just a person in a robot suit pretending to be a robot:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

The AI video demos that represent "an existential threat to Hollywood filmmaking" turn out to be so cumbersome as to be practically useless (and vastly inferior to existing production techniques):

https://www.wheresyoured.at/expectations-versus-reality/

But let's take Google at its word. Let's stipulate that:

a) It can't fix search, only add a slop-filtering AI layer on top of it; and

b) The rest of the world will continue to let Google index its pages even if they derive no benefit from doing so; and

c) Google will shortly fix its AI, and all the lies about AI capabilities will be revealed to be premature truths that are finally realized.

AI search is still a bad idea. Because beyond all the obvious reasons that AI search is a terrible idea, there's a subtle – and incurable – defect in this plan: AI search – even excellent AI search – makes it far too easy for Google to cheat us, and Google can't stop cheating us.

Remember: enshittification isn't the result of worse people running tech companies today than in the years when tech services were good and useful. Rather, enshittification is rooted in the collapse of constraints that used to prevent those same people from making their services worse in service to increasing their profit margins:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

These companies always had the capacity to siphon value away from business customers (like publishers) and end-users (like searchers). That comes with the territory: digital businesses can alter their "business logic" from instant to instant, and for each user, allowing them to change payouts, prices and ranking. I call this "twiddling": turning the knobs on the system's back-end to make sure the house always wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

What changed wasn't the character of the leaders of these businesses, nor their capacity to cheat us. What changed was the consequences for cheating. When the tech companies merged to monopoly, they ceased to fear losing your business to a competitor.

Google's 90% search market share was attained by bribing everyone who operates a service or platform where you might encounter a search box to connect that box to Google. Spending tens of billions of dollars every year to make sure no one ever encounters a non-Google search is a cheaper way to retain your business than making sure Google is the very best search engine:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Competition was once a threat to Google; for years, its mantra was "competition is a click away." Today, competition is all but nonexistent.

Then the surveillance business consolidated into a small number of firms. Two companies dominate the commercial surveillance industry: Google and Meta, and they collude to rig the market:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

That consolidation inevitably leads to regulatory capture: shorn of competitive pressure, the companies that dominate the sector can converge on a single message to policymakers and use their monopoly profits to turn that message into policy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

This is why Google doesn't have to worry about privacy laws. They've successfully prevented the passage of a US federal consumer privacy law. The last time the US passed a federal consumer privacy law was in 1988. It's a law that bans video store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you rented:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

In Europe, Google's vast profits lets it fly an Irish flag of convenience, thus taking advantage of Ireland's tolerance for tax evasion and violations of European privacy law:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Google doesn't fear competition, it doesn't fear regulation, and it also doesn't fear rival technologies. Google and its fellow Big Tech cartel members have expanded IP law to allow it to prevent third parties from reverse-engineer, hacking, or scraping its services. Google doesn't have to worry about ad-blocking, tracker blocking, or scrapers that filter out Google's lucrative, low-quality results:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Google doesn't fear competition, it doesn't fear regulation, it doesn't fear rival technology and it doesn't fear its workers. Google's workforce once enjoyed enormous sway over the company's direction, thanks to their scarcity and market power. But Google has outgrown its dependence on its workers, and lays them off in vast numbers, even as it increases its profits and pisses away tens of billions on stock buybacks:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

Google is fearless. It doesn't fear losing your business, or being punished by regulators, or being mired in guerrilla warfare with rival engineers. It certainly doesn't fear its workers.

Making search worse is good for Google. Reducing search quality increases the number of queries, and thus ads, that each user must make to find their answers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

If Google can make things worse for searchers without losing their business, it can make more money for itself. Without the discipline of markets, regulators, tech or workers, it has no impediment to transferring value from searchers and publishers to itself.

Which brings me back to AI search. When Google substitutes its own summaries for links to pages, it creates innumerable opportunities to charge publishers for preferential placement in those summaries.

This is true of any algorithmic feed: while such feeds are important – even vital – for making sense of huge amounts of information, they can also be used to play a high-speed shell-game that makes suckers out of the rest of us:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/11/for-you/#the-algorithm-tm

When you trust someone to summarize the truth for you, you become terribly vulnerable to their self-serving lies. In an ideal world, these intermediaries would be "fiduciaries," with a solemn (and legally binding) duty to put your interests ahead of their own:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/07/treacherous-computing/#rewilding-the-internet

But Google is clear that its first duty is to its shareholders: not to publishers, not to searchers, not to "partners" or employees.

AI search makes cheating so easy, and Google cheats so much. Indeed, the defects in AI give Google a readymade excuse for any apparent self-dealing: "we didn't tell you a lie because someone paid us to (for example, to recommend a product, or a hotel room, or a political point of view). Sure, they did pay us, but that was just an AI 'hallucination.'"

The existence of well-known AI hallucinations creates a zone of plausible deniability for even more enshittification of Google search. As Madeleine Clare Elish writes, AI serves as a "moral crumple zone":

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

That's why, even if you're willing to believe that Google could make a great AI-based search, we can nevertheless be certain that they won't.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/15/they-trust-me-dumb-fucks/#ai-search

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#pluralistic #twiddling #ai #ai search #enshittification #discipline #google #search #monopolies #moral crumple zones #plausible deniability #algorithmic feeds

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