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cookiieduh · 11 days ago

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Just like candy .ᐟ

.Can you really blame him? You’re just too sweet—it’s not his fault he can’t get enough!

.pairings.ᐟ choso x reader, geto x reader, gojo x reader.

.cont.ᐟ MDNI, fem!reader, cunnilingus (duh), JJK men get pussy-drunkkk, fingering, edging, praise, dirty talk, pet names, light dacryphillia, overstimulation, hint of dumbification, not proof-read, porn with litch no plot, light bondage perhaps, dom and sub dynamic (geto),

.extra.ᐟ whew… jumping straight into it lol. part two with the other JJK men. soon.

CHOSO KAMO٠ ࣪⭑ hold on tight .ᐟ

“Mmph, babyyy,” Choso mumbles deliriously against your cunt, the vibrations of his husky, almost whiny, voice against the sensitive flesh making you bite back a squeal.

He has you sprawled out across the mattress, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs as he holds them apart, preventing them from quivering shut in attempts to quell the onslaught of his crazed tongue.

“C-Cho, s’too much!” you choke out, head barely raising before immediately falling back, as if there was a magnetic pull between your cranium and the pillow. You writhe under the press of his upper body, legs shaking beneath his palms because he just doesn’t. Let. Up.

“C’mon, baby. Please, jus’ a little more,” He pulls back for a second, blown out eyes meeting your glossy ones as his warm breath puffs over your abused sex.

Maintaining eye-contact, Choso’s tongue lolls out once more, just barely grazing your clit.

Light taps and swirls until the little kitten-licks grow bolder, flicking between that sensitive bundle of nerves to those puffy folds. His fingers continue to press into your thighs, kneading the muscle as he continues the assault.

He’s been going for so long, is his jaw not aching?

Well, it is. But, hey, any ache is worth seeing you melt into a puddle right before his eyes.

“Ngh—oh, fuuuck!” Your chest heaves with dry sobs, boobs bouncing hypnotically as you twitch. You can feel your boyfriend smile against your sore pussy before licking another stripe up the swollen folds.

Choso laps and laves at your cunt like a man possessed, never giving you even a second of reprieve. Honestly, you’re not sure how much more you can give him.

One of your hands slides up to squeeze your breasts as your back lurches off the bed, the other flying to thread through your lover's messy, black tresses.

“You’re so, mmh, squirmy,” you can hear the smirk in his voice as he moans lowly against your slit, giving it one last messy kiss before he pulling away to take in the view you’re presenting him with: Hair beyond mussed by your endless thrashing against the pillows, shirt ridden up to the base of your throat, red marks blooming on the plush of your tits after grabbing them so tightly.

What a beautiful mess.

Chin glistening, Choso grins as you, utterly whipped and entirely pussy-drunk. “Think you can give me oneee more, baby?” He rasps, head dipping down to rest against your stomach. He plants kisses just above your navel, and you think that this might be your chance to catch a break.

Much to your dismay, you thought wrong.

Choso continues to trail kisses across the soft skin of your tummy, grip loosening around your thighs, only to trail further up. Another desperate mewl is pulled from your throat as his index finger meanly skims circles around your clit, avoiding giving the nub any direct attention.

You want to cry.

“You s-said, jus’ a lil’ more,” you whine, tears gathering at the edge of your lashes after throwing your head back for the nth time this evening.

The only response you get is an amused snort. His fingers continue to evade the place you need them most, purposely, torturously.

“Looking so pretty when you’re all messy f’me.” He murmurs adoringly, wholly ignoring your rebuke that rings hollow to even your ears.

Choso watches your body jerk with a mix of fascination and fascination, observing the way you buck your hips, seeking something more than the way he barely dips his fingers in and out of your slick entrance.

It’s the sweetest torture once he finally slips the digits inside your silky cavern, curling them so suddenly, so forcefully, that it makes you see stars behind your tightly shut lids. “Oh, there she is.” Choso simpers lazily as he pumps his middle and ring fingers in and out, grazing that spongey spot inside just right, sending you pummelling towards another earth-shattering orgasm.

Tears are trailing glistening paths down your flushed cheeks as your calves lock around his shoulders, thighs spasming, pussy clenching, as you cum for the who-knows-how-many-eth time tonight.

Finally, after leaving you thoroughly fucked-out by his fingers, he slowly eases them out. You feel sore all over, and the sudden emptiness makes you cringe. You raise your head just slightly to look down as Choso, the satisfied, hazy smile he sports as he stares down at your ruined pussy. Your cheeks burn.

His eyes flit up to meet yours as he rises to his knees. “Gorgeous,” he breathes, leaning down to press a kiss against the drying tears on your cheeks.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart. So perfect.” He litters another few pecks against your jaw before capturing your lips with his own. You taste yourself on his tongue as it breaches the seam of your mouth, making your breath hitch in your throat.

He pulls back, your gaze drifts down.

“Cho-” you begin, eyes zeroing in on the stiff bulge tenting his grey sweats, a small, damp patch where he’d felt his own dribble of bliss from lapping at your syrupy folds. It was as if he enjoyed giving you head more than you enjoyed receiving it. “Do you want to—?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He cuts you off with another smooch, attempting to quell your concern and growing sense of guilt before rising.

You’re still pouting when he looks down at you, eyes lidded so sultrily.

"Baby, I'm serious. Don't worry--hahh--!" he cuts himself off with a breathy sigh as you reach for him, palm pressing against the thick outline of his rigid length.

All soreness in your body is immediately forgotten by his airy response. Now you're tugging down the waistband of his pants, the dazed glaze in your eyes becoming hungry once his throbbing cock is freed, hot and heavy in your hand.

Somehow, you manage to switch previous positions--boneless but absolutely determined to return the favour. Your boyfriend's pliant, strong legs shifting further apart as you lean in closer, breath ghosting over the flushed tip of his lengthy dick.

"Now it's your turn."

𓂃⋆.˚

SUGURU GETO٠ ࣪⭑ it’s addictive .ᐟ

Here you are, spread out over your superior’s lap, his thick fingers plunged deep into your gummy walls.

“Sugu,” you breathlessly whine, head reclined against his shoulder as your chest rises and falls with steadily increasing rapidity. "Don't tease." Your hips buck, and thighs would threaten to close around his static hand if it weren't for his other that kept your knees pried open.

"That's part of the fun, though, lovely." Geto's cheek brushes against yours, lips grazing the shell of your ear in a way that's so purposely seductive. He's kept this game up for a while, successfully reducing you to a desperate, mewling mess.

"It's not fun when you're doing nothing." A trace of frustration bleeds into your treble admonishment. That's when you make the mistake of reaching down to cover his hand with your own, attempting to coax him into doing something. Anything.

As if to provoke, he barely scissors his fingers open in your clingy heat, making you gasp, thighs just begging to close against his hand that keeps them pried apart.

"Good girls listen, they don't rush or demand. They take what's given to them." The cult leader murmurs sweetly from behind you as he continues to slowly, agonisingly, stretch you out. "Good girls get rewarded," he dips his head down until his warm breath grazes your ear.

"But bad, disobedient girls--they get nothing." he whispers, as he continues to press the pads of his fingers against your slick entrance - never pushing deeper, never giving the stimulation you're practically keeling over for.

A choked gasp is pulled from your throat when he slips his digits out completely, leaving you cringing at the sudden emptiness.

"Suguru!" you almost want to growl in frustration, chest heaving with desperate, impatient breaths as you all but throw your head back against his shoulder.

Your hands practically fly to your poor, neglected pussy, seeking to do give it the proper attention Geto had been purposely avoiding.

"Not so fast, gorgeous." he swats your hands away just as you barely manage to circle your clit, grabbing both your wrists with one hand, he wrenches them behind you, grabbing the cotton rope you've come to know so well from the side table, tying them behind your back.

"Please!" You hate how pathetic you sound. Suguru revels in it. "I'll be good, I s-swearrr!" A dry sob rips through you. But actions speak louder than words, and right now, you're rubbing your thighs together, seeking any modicum of friction to quell the burning arousal between your legs.

"You can start by keeping still." You can literally hear the smug in his voice, picture the exact curl of his lips he's more than likely sporting at the feeling of your wrist twisting beneath the soft but securely tightened rope.

It takes everything in you to stop your trembling, to stop pressing your thighs so tightly together.

"mhmmm." Suguru hums his approval, the low, resonant sound making you all the wetter. Watching you rigidly spread your legs, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to whatever touch he decides to inflict, makes Geto feel an almost sadistic sense of delight.

"Eyes on me, sweetie." He simpers, free hand coaxing your chin to face him. Only inches apart, he leans in, pressing one, then two--you stopped counting by the third--kisses to your lips. Small, teasing pecks dissolve into lengthy, sultry smooches.

Before you can even catch your breath, he's easing his middle finger in, barely plunging past the entrance. "only one finger and this greedy pussy's already sucking me in," He smirks against your lips, pressing and raising the pad of the single digit in time with your ragged pants.

You don't utter a. Single. Word. Holding back every gasp, every mewl. You're not about to risk breaking the spell of his touch by asking for more--not when he's finally giving you what you want, what you need.

"Oh, look at you," Suguru snickers tauntingly, finger finally breaching that tight ring of resistance. "Trying so hard to keep quiet, huh?" He snorts, making your cheeks burn hotter.

After a few slow pumps of his fingers, he finally slips in another, pace increasing only slightly as he watches your reactions through lidded, amethyst hues.

Your eyes begin to drift closed, back arching just barely off his chest. He uses the moment to his advantage, free hand slipping up from your mid-thigh to firmly pat against your touch-starved clit.

You jolt, eyes flying open as you let out a small yelp of surprise from the sudden stimulation. "Oh--!" The single syllable falls from your lips as you tense, anticipating another hit that's sure to come.

And it does. Multiple, actually.

With each mean tap, your sex only grows slicker, melty walls clenching so deliciously, so sweetly around Geto's thrusting fingers.

"It's like she's trying to pull me in." His breath brushes against your neck as he leans forward to rest his chin on top you shoulder, watching you cunt milk his digits for all their worth.

He's doing it on purpose--he has to be. She? He's referring to your pussy as if it's its own separate identity? fucking weirdo, but, god, if the embarrassing choice words weren't it working.

Wetter, slicker--your cunt is practically squelching as his fingers plunge into you with increasing vigour. They curl up, hitting that spongy spot justtt right.

You're close, devastatingly so.

"Think m'gonna cuuuum," You whine, your arms practically fighting against the ropey restraints as you seek some way to anchor yourself before your impending orgasm wholly devours you.

"Yeah, you do that." Geto breathes out, far more enamoured by how your greedy cavern resists letting his fingers leave each time he pumps them in and out.

His other digits continue circling, tapping, flicking--and whatever he can come up with--your clit, never giving the swollen, over-sensitive nub a second of reprieve.

You wildly jerk forward, hands flattening against his front as your climax hits you like a freight train, coming with a sharp cry of "SUGURU--!"

But his ministrations don't slow, and they don't speed up either. He continues driving you through your peak with the same steady rhythm, the overstimulation making your legs quake around his arms.

"It's not my fault; she just doesn't want me to let go." Geto rasps against your neck, still peering down at the mess he's made of you. Finally, his pleasurably painful assault on your quivering pussy begins to slow.

He gives your sensitive mound one last light slap for good measure before he eases his fingers away from your swollen folds--only to bring them to your lips.

"Suck." The single command is enough to get your lips parting, soft tongue swirling between his middle and ring fingers as he lightly presses them down against the pink muscle.

Your wrists are still tied behind your back, rubbing just a little raw as palms push against the wall of muscle that is his abdomen.

He plants a single, tender kiss on your sweaty temple, slipping his fingers out of your mouth before untying the rope that had bound your wrists together.

"Did so well f'me, sweetheart." He flashes you a lazy grin, looking so satisfied at the way he's left you all boneless and melty in his lap. You flinch when his hands land back onto your thighs, relaxing when all he does is knead the pillowy flesh.

And then it comes.

"Think you can take my cock, too?"

𓂃⋆.˚

SATORU GOJO٠ ࣪⭑ anywhere, everywhere .ᐟ

“Gojo!” You hiss sharply. “Are you crazy?”

“Ah, ok, so it’s Gojo now.” Satoru teases, already hiking your skirt up your thighs, sinking to his knees. “Y’know, I think I like it more when you call me ‘toru.” He smiles coyly, the words spoken so sultrily that it makes your cheeks heat.

"I. Don't. Care." You whisper-yell, even as your fiancé dips his head between your thighs. "We're supposed to be in a meeting--!" Your voice pitches to an embarrassing squeak at the word. All he does is snicker, pearly whites splitting his grin as he looks up at you.

"So? They can wait." He says with absolutely no sense of urgency. "Plus, you're just too sweet to resist, especially when you look at me like that." and by 'that', he means the way you're scowling down at him.

He's insatiable, really. Annoying too. Making you pretend you needed to take an important call before following you out of the room a minute later to--by his own words: 'see if you were okay'.

"What if someone comes to check up on us?" You urge him to see reason, even as you spread your legs further.

Admittedly, it's not entirely comfortable to be half-leaning against a hardwood desk in an empty classroom, but the awkwardness of your position is soon forgotten as he licks a languid stripe over the front of your panties.

"Then they better enjoy the view." He shrugs easily, licking another stripe before his index comes up to press your slit through the material. You know he's only joking, but there's still a sense of unease warring with the steadily growing arousal as he keeps teasing.

"Well--make it quick then." You sputter, heat pooling in your gut as you feel yourself growing slick under his dextrous touches.

"Of course, sweetie." He coos, voice dripping with feigned saccharinity, warm breath ghosting over the clothed slope of your pussy before digits dig into the waistband, pulling it of and letting the garment drop to your feet.

You gasp when his fingers spread your puffy folds apart, eyeing your twitching hole with an intensity that makes your face burn all the more.

You hate to admit it, now more than ever, but he's a vision. Tousled white hair pushed back by his blindfold, stray snowy strands escaping the makeshift headband, framing his features in a way that's so unfair.

Flashing you one last toothy grin, Satoru surges forward, tongue immediately flicking over your exposed clit.

He lets out a breathless laugh when your hips buck from the contact, mindlessly seeking more of that heavenly sensation from the assault on your sensitive nub.

"easyyy," He chides smoothly, vocal vibrations against your quivering sex making you gasp. His forearms dig deeper into your thighs to stop your skittish squirming while his fingers continue holding your lips apart.

"ngh, S-Satoru --!" Your hands fly to the back of his head, caught between pulling him closer or pushing him away as his tongue continues lavishing your jutting bundle of nerves with boldly growing licks and swirls.

Aww, that’s what it took to be back on first name basis with your fiancé? Cute.

Spurred on by your airy sighs and sharp breaths, he flattens his tongue, licking a up a long strip before sucking your swollen peak into his mouth, lashes batting as he looks up at you.

You can't get too loud--knowing how thin these damn walls are, you'd better hold back or someone really is going to 'enjoy the view' after walking in on you both.

But the pressure of his pursed lips suckling is almost too much to bear.

Mouth hanging open, head lolling back as you hike one of your twitchy thighs even higher up, your hips roll senselessly up against his handsome face, grinding your sloppy pussy harder against those sculpted features.

"F-Fuck-" You tremble, fingers tugging at his ivory strands even tighter, making him moan lowly against your bared, weeping cunt. Another shudder ripples through you as your peak approaches, and you bite back something louder.

You come with a stifled mewl, legs shaking, one hand jerking back to steady yourself against the desk. Back arching, keeling forward, you let out a plethora of shaky gasps and pants.

Satoru releases your thoroughly suctioned clit with a pop, pulling back, plush lips gleaming with the gloss of your arousal. “Fast enough?” He asks, voice a little raw from disuse. He’s looking far too smug, too proud, by the fact that he made you come so quickly.

Before you can retort, he pulls back completely, still on his knees with his neck craned back to watch your stuttered reactions before azure irises flit down again. Your mouth opens as if to bite back, but soon snaps shut when he lets out another breathy chuckle.

“You’re twitching.” His blown-out gaze jumps back to your headed cunt, the way your fluttering whole clenches around nothing. Six eyes or not, you really can’t hide anything from him. God, he could probably feel your heartbeat thrumming beneath the flesh.

With fingers still holding your pussy-lips apart, his middle finger trails down to skim along your slit before dipping inside. Your back lurches forward, head dropping down as he wastes no time pressing against that spot—the one that makes stars explode behind your tightly closed lids.

“Such a sweet little pussy,” Satoru murmurs, entirely enthralled. “Squeezing me so tight.” He purrs teasingly, meeting yours briefly before they flutter shut as he goes in for another taste.

His finger eases in and out of you, massaging your gummy walls so sensually you feel like you might explode. It’s soon followed by another before his tongue lolls out to work over your swollen peak once more.

Suddenly, he switches the positions, tongue prodding at your cinched entrance while his thumb feverishly circles your clit. “Taste fuckin’ heavenly,” his voice is muffled as his tongue continues to push deeper inside, prodding in and out with quickened strokes.

One hand hooks beneath your knee, coaxing it to rest over his shoulder as he shuffles closer to you.

The attendees had to be getting suspicious by now, when you're so lost in the sensation of your soon-to-be-husband's mouth, you can't seem to muster any regret.

“Please, ‘toru,” you breathe, head falling forward as he continues to delve his tongue deep inside your silken cavern. “I need to—ngh, oh—!” Your quiet, hushed moans making his lips curl into a smirk, still pressed into your sobbing folds.

“Oh yeahhh? You need it?”

You hate him so bad.

His fingers slip down from your clit to press into your melty core while his lips mash against every inch of your perfect, puffy pussy. And you’re falling apart on his tongue for the second time in what had to have been only ten minutes.

Legs shaking doubly as wildly as before, you let out a choked cry—one that’d no doubt be heard from when all attendees were waiting for your return. “Too m-much!” You squeal as he drives you through sensory overload.

You have to literally wrench his head away just to get him to stop eating. There’s a pussy-drunk grin curling his lips as you struggle to focus on him through the hazy fog of overstimulation.

You’re just about coming down from your high, his long, slick fingers dragon-clawing the meat of your thighs. He finally moves to stand, but the moment he’s extended back to his full height, he’s pushing you back up against the desk with his front, arms braced on either side of you as he leans in closer.

“I sure they won’t mind if we take a few more minutes.”

a/n: running on two hours of sleep and too tired to proofread. Toji, Sukuna and Nanami next. hopefully.

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atyourmerci · 1 year ago

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☀︎To the light is to the darkness✩

Abby X reader X Ellie

Prologue to vengeance (can be read alone)

☀︎ ☀︎

Summary: Abby is your childhood best friend, you did everything together, taught each other everything. You were utterly infatuated with each other until Ellie Williams enters your world.

Warning: smut, MDNI, porn w lots of plot, innocence arc, mutual pining, lots of sexual tension, mutual masturbation (in the same room, together), fingering if you squint, useless lesbians, lesbian love triangle, abby needs a hug, phoebe bridgers as her own warning, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader

A/N: okay so holy fuck did I get carried away with this one. I didn’t want to leave yall on a cliffhanger but this dynamic deserves more and I don’t want to rush through it. I hope yall enjoy. This chapter is mostly just abby but there will be lots more Ellie in the next chapter promise :)

✩ ✩

“Someone you couldn’t lose. You said we’re not together, so now when we kiss I have anger issues.”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

A relationship that felt more of interlacing two souls into one that resided in two structures. Shared autonomy of mind, breath, word, and body. Unspoken feelings, touches, and stares.

What started in green fields of pink flowers and brown roots ended in dark rooms and pining embraces. Hand shakes turning into interlaced fingers, laughter filled glances turning into tense stares, and experimental pecks turning into open mouthed pants.

The first time you meet abby was at school at 15. Bright eyed and bushy tailed still untainted from the reality of the world around you. You were quite shy in those years, keeping yourself away from the wild hairs of children ready to grow up and take charge. You were okay with the stability of childhood, the sticky sweet feeling of safety and uncharted terror.

Before Abby’s dad had died, before the muscles and long locks of golden blonde hair she was reserved too. Abby was wrapped in a bubble of comfort, a loving community that doted on her. She felt no need to join the crowd of chaos when she had everything she needed.

Well she thought she did…and then she met you.

In class you had your face shoved into a notebook doodling away of ferns and dandelions you had seen in the fields early that day. If it were up to you, you’d spend every last dying breath in the fields, soaking in sunlight and trailing your fingers through the rows of flowers.

Abby sat next to you in class, always too shy to speak up to you. You always seemed so busy, either reading, drawing, or with your head in the clouds, never truly listening to the lecture ahead. She admired your creativity, attention to detail, and the utter sense of unawareness to your surroundings. She wondered why you didn’t talk to the others, you were so inviting, so pretty. She once wished to look like you, how effortlessly magnificent you looked.

She grew too curious, over zealous at the thought of being close to you, understanding you. She knew she had to speak up.

“H-hey you draw pretty cool- I mean- it’s really good…what you draw.”

You had never taken more than a glance at the freckled girl until then. She always seemed just as busy as you, so you never bothered her.

You let out a bellied laugh at the now crimson red faced girl- completely embarrassed by her attempt at recognition.

And that was that. The two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip from then on out.

Abby seemed to understand your weird quirks and odd fascinations. Even when she didn’t, she was there open minded and wide eyed to hear your lengthy ramblings on about nothingness.

Sometimes it felt like you did most of the talking. Not that it was one sided or you wouldn’t let her butt in, but rather she was completely enamored by what you thought. Sometimes all she wanted to do was to hear you talk, you were her favorite person, the own mold of herself.

She wanted to think what you thought, feel what you felt, see the world through your eyes.

As the years went on you only seemed to grow closer to abby as she grew fonder of you.

Some could call it an obsession, the way you treated each other. Not a single thought went by that the other didn’t know. If you were there, so was abby. If you knew something, so did she.

Everyday she would follow you to the fields after school, your special escape you’d learn to share with the other half of your being.

You’d make her lay across the flower ridden fields so you could draw her glistening hair kissed by the whisk of wind. She let her hair grow longer since you’d ask to braid it for her every morning. She liked it short but she wanted to let you have room to make intricate designs and lace them with weeds you’d found.

Abby would playfully nudge you when you’d draw the hump on her nose in the drawings, but you loved it too much to not appreciate it. You loved all the things she couldn’t in herself.

You two spent hours out in the field daily, even when it rained you’d make her dance around like fairies as mud splattered across your shins. Anything you wanted, she’d do as long as it was with you.

That’s when you asked her to try kissing, she’d obliged.

“Have you ever…kissed anyone?” You ask staring off into the cloud painted sky, tall grass framing your bodies.

She lets out a breathy giggle, “no… you would know if I did.”

You shrug, shoulder crashing gently into hers, “I don’t know, maybe it was too embarrassing to say.”

She trails off, “h-have you?”

“No dumbass you would know…” you push your shoulder into her turning to give her a toothy smile, “what if I’m not good when a boy kisses me?”

Her eyes remained trained onto the pillowy cloud, “you can try on me- I-if you want to.”

It was a good idea, she wasn’t going to judge you, she was your best friend, she was only there to help.

“Okay.” And without a second thought your upper body shot up and lent over hers, pressing your lips into her plush pink ones. It was gentle, only a placement amongst the flesh, yet so charged. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach and up to your throat, something you had only felt once before when you and abby went swimming.

Closeness you thought. Being close to someone causes that. How nice it was to be so close to your favorite person, maybe one day you could feel close to someone again.

After that you continued to experiment kissing. At sleepovers you’d talk about the boys you wanted to kiss, then show each other how you would kiss them. It turned into an innocent routine, pecking her before she would leave, kissing her in the fields when you felt the butterflies.

You’d told her about them- the fluttering in your stomach. Whenever you felt them she told you that she wanted to feel them too. Transferring them through the soft pink flesh, she’d say she’d feel them after.

Soon she’d tell you when she got them, to which you’d return the gesture back. As time went on, the butterflies came more often.

People were starting to notice the relationship, started talking about how close the two of you were. You’d shoo off the irrational comments and over zealous accusations, but abby never did. She just didn’t respond.

“Who am I to ask for more? But you’re breathing in my open mouth. You’re the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out.”

Abby started spending the night daily, she practically lived in your room at that point. After her dad died your relationship grew stronger than ever. In such a treacherous time she clung to the only person who truly understood her. Many a nights she spent huddled into a ball in your lap weeping as you smoothed the hair behind her ear and rubbing circles into the grown muscles in her back.

Abby had taken to working her emotions out in physical labor. Now being a solider full time out of school she had grown muscular and more rough. Her heart was still the same for you, but had grown caged off to the people around you.

Her pleasantries for the rest of the community had grown stale, only allowing a few to get near her. But you… there was always an indefinite spot inside her for you.

Since abby was always around now, in the darkness of every night, privacy had flown right out the window. Not that you had minded- there wasn’t much of really anything abby didn’t know or hadn’t seen.

But when that eery sense of familiarity crept up, when the butterflies would come at night.

She had started out sleeping on the extra bed in your room. Before she had practically moved in she’d sleep with you, but since her stay turned to no vacancy she’d taken to given you the last sense of space, even when you hadn’t asked.

In the middle of darkness as the crickets chirped outside the window you’d tell her the feeling had come back, and she’d always agree, and the room would fall silent again.

“Abby?” You call out to a darkened room, illuminated by the shine of the moon.

“Yeah?” She’d call back from the other side.

“Do you ever…fix the feelings of the butterflies. Like make them go away?”

“Uh yeah- sometimes…when it gets bad.”

“I think mine are…bad right now,” it felt embarrassing almost, there was nothing she could do to help, fix your issue. Transferring the butterflies to abby only made them worse sometimes, and you were boiling.

“M-mine too,” she admits.

“You can fix it- if you need to.”

“A-re you going to stop yours?”

“Is that okay?” You say reluctantly into the tense air coating you. Every slight move felt with a million nerves.

“Mhmm,” she responds, a rustling heard coming from her direction.

Soft hums filled the air from the feeling of release you had allowed yourself in the presence of your best friend. Abby’s breathy moans would only follow quickly after your own, never before.

Dual release become a routine. Allowing the sticky sweet sensations of climaxing in the same bedroom of your other half. It became another thing you shared with her, another check on the list of the endeavors you’d participated in with her.

Talks of the butterflies and the unleashing of them never left those four chipping walls. Some things were meant for just Abby’s ears. All best friends must do the same. You’d never heard of others talk of sorts so you sealed your lips, a secret kept like a bird in a cage.

As you both had grown accustomed to the routine things gradually got more intense. Sometimes you couldn’t get the butterflies to fly away even when you tried for hours, panting out whimpers of frustration. Even when they would go away sometimes they would crept back in immediately, your body unable to be satiated.

Abby begun sleeping in the bed with you, to calm the frustrating unnerve you felt after no avail. She’d tell you she wish she could help you, make them go away. She’d do anything to make you happy.

That’s when you started touching yourselves next to each other. The routine was upheld for so long that it felt natural to do it even when she was right next to you. First fully covered, then in undergarments, to finally completely bare.

Seeing Abby’s bare flesh only made it worse. You weren’t stupid, the pieces were falling into place before your eyes. But you hadn’t seen anyone else naked before, maybe it would be the same. Her flesh so pale, her nipples shades of pale pink roses, and the hair that trailed down to her folds as golden as wheat. You had never seen something so magnificent, so beautifully crafted.

That was something you didn’t share with her. The drawings of her bare flesh. You made sure to memorize each chisel, line, and freckle to be as accurate as possible once you got to your notebook. With every piece of her revealed opening thousands of opportunities to draw her art. She was so fucking beautiful.

“When was the first time?” The auburn girl had asked you.

It all had meshed into a blur, what had happened and when it did. When you and abby had started sleeping together it started on opposite ends. Heat not close enough to sting your flesh but the air still tense enough to be cut clean with a blade. As time grew on and the routine becoming daily, the space between you started to close in. Knees brushing as your legs wavered, arms transferring sticky sweat in the blistering heat of arousal.

The inevitable placement of foreheads touching as you watched each other fall apart, watching the butterflies flutter out of her throat with every pant.

From what you could call the ‘beginning�� of sorts, rather an act of mercy, came from her.

You found yourself in the familiar position of unnerve. Rubbing aimless quick circles on your abused clit. It became a matter of principle at the point, needing to fulfill the urge even knowing the outcome would leave you more helpless than before. Abby’s butterflies were far gone, now rubbing lazy stripes down her slit in attempt to not let you feel alone. She never wanted you to feel like she wasn’t completely enthralled by your every move.

Your leg sprawled across her own, wide open, bucking your hips into the air as you let out frustrated grunts, eyes sealed shut in concentration. She just watched. She loved watching you touch yourself. Abby felt like the luckiest girl in the world getting to watch you, kiss you, feel you. She wanted to feel more of you, every atom in your body she’d kiss if you’d allow it.

“Let me help” she said, eyes trained on your open mouth.

Your brain was too fuzzy to even comprehend the depth of the act, so pent up and eager.

“Mhmm,” was all you could muster up. As her calloused fingers transferred from her skin to your abdomen, your body jolted up. You had never been touched by another. Not like this. She took her time running the tips of her fingers from your side to the mound, taking your hand and moving it your thigh so she could replace it with her own.

Something deep in your belly erupted when you felt her fingers meet your clit. A flock of doves released from their cage, a gasping goldfish meeting water. An exaggerated sigh of relief came out as a depraved moan. Every nerve in your body heightened by her gentle touch.

She drew cautious and attentive swipes across the newly swollen bud, watching for when your breath would hitch.

“You’re so warm,” she said studying your face as it contorted in pleasure. Your chin raised high, burying your scalp into the frilly pillows below. She had then studied the flesh around your neck, oh why had she never noticed that. How thin the skin was there, how close she could get to you in that space.

“I-it feels b-better when you do it,” you admit to her, water in her hands, hips grinding into the soft touch of her. “Y-yeah really?” She says, perking up, so pleased with knowing she could make you feel better. She’d do anything to make you feel better.

You let your stagnant hand run down her chiseled chest to meet her mound, her sticky slit pooling at her core. You meant to return the favor, an eye for an eye. “It’s okay- just let me help you.”

You shook your head in agreement, but let your hand rest on the pulsing flesh, you wanted to feel her like she felt you.

With every gentle circle she took you closer to release. It was so much faster when she did it. When you did it together before you would lie there for hours flicking at the raw skin to no avail, but in minutes she had you tipping at your edge.

Her strokes felt akin to the ones on your notebook, gentle and cautious direction, seeking a desirable outcome. You’d thought to picture this, able to recreate this on paper shielded from her eyes. What would she think if she saw them? Maybe you’d grown too fond of the other half of your heart.

“Abby!” You scream out, nearing your pending release.

“Y-yeah? D-does it feel okay- are you okay?” She perks up in concern, helplessly worried she had hurt you.

“Yes- Yes! It- it’s coming,” you pant out, body slick with sweat as your arousal pools below you. A sloppy mess of bodies interlaced with remorseless pleasure.

“Let me feel them, I want to feel them,” abby says inches from your face, intently watching the contortions of your face below her. The butterflies, oh how she wished she could flutter in your tummy as they do so effortlessly.

You cave shamelessly, pressing into the soft pink flesh. You try to keep them stable, but as you reach the cliffs edge you can’t help but moan pathetically into her throat. Your hips thrust into the calloused fingers, chasing the lasting feelings of her, escaping your doom and passing the burden through your lips onto hers.

You did draw of this, and every time after that. It became an obsession, mental images snapshotted to accuracy for replication later.

The routine increased in frequency and intensity. Exploring each other’s most sacred places. She would let you touch her sometimes, but only when she was touching you. Abby seemed more interested in your pleasure than her own. But she cared about you, she never wanted you unsettled. She wanted to be your salvation.

“I ask you how you’re doing and I let you lie. But we don’t have to talk about it, I can walk you home and practice method acting. I’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning.”

“Does she make you feel them?”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

Ellie Williams was so…vulgar, erratic, a ticking time bomb. The pieces of the puzzle connected at last when you lied eyes on the auburn haired girl.

She had entered the WLF as gentle as a bomb to a building. Fiery hot attitude, a chip on her shoulder, and drowning green eyes. At first glance she utterly captivated your ever fleeting thoughts.

When she first walked through the corridors of the stadium your eyes fixed on her, staring rudely at her every move. “Who is that, the girl?” You ask the unfazed blonde next to you, too busy working at sharpening a blade, “names Ellie, they say she’s trouble. By the looks of her, checks out.”

“What did she do? Why is she here?” You continue your glare, taking note of the pink scare rippled along the crest of her eye.

You had never drawn anyone other than abby, but the girls features were so strong, the strokes would come naturally in your grasp. A secret muse possibly, even from a far.

“I don’t know- stay away from her. She reeks of trouble,” she’d remark, finishing off the blade and leading you off to a pending mission.

You tried, you really did. She was so compelling, and you? You were a bee to honey. Was she soft unlike her features? Did she speak of the world beyond her? Did she like to watch the clouds mesh into unlikely objects? Did she know of the butterflies and their ever present existence in your lungs?

Your notebook grew of only her, the short frayed hair, the pink scare, the freckles that littered her face. So effortlessly magnificent she was, unknowingly your own secret work of art.

Until abby found them.

Related to this work

Song lyrics: casual , waiting room , cool about it

Moodboard

If you enjoy the childhood best friend trope with abby highly recommend this fic by @kieranscaren she writes beautifully and gave me great inspiration for this work:)

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

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aventurineswife · 10 days ago

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Feeling romantic, eh? Well it has been a little while since I welcomed myself to your inbox and have returned with love. But not just that! A request as well. Rather than my series of flowers, I think it's time for music.

"The Legend Of The Blue Eyes" - Anaxa x Astrologist! Reader

This is a series that I think has music that may... inspire you. It will be your only prompt to go off of besides the reader being an Astrologist as well as an Astronomer. Fluff, Angst- It matters not. These will be targeted towards Anaxa, and he alone. Enjoy, ma amour. (This is totally not an idea I had but haven't had the confidence to write. So, you'll enjoy this dynamic I'm sure.)

“If the Gods Fall, Let the Stars Remember Me”

Summary: In a world governed by celestial fate and divine tyranny, you—a battle-scarred astrologist—find yourself slowly unraveling under the weight of your past and the growing pull of an eccentric scholar who dares to challenge the gods. As Anaxagoras pursues truth with reckless brilliance, and you shield your beloved ward with fierce devotion, an unlikely intimacy forms between you—one forged through shared loss, quiet defiance, and the fragile hope that love, too, might be written in the stars.

Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Vanitas-inspired, Jeanne based Reader, Fluff & Angst, Found Family, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Experimental Love, Tragic Romance, Still Life Symbolism, Emotionally Vulnerable Characters, Forbidden Knowledge, Protective Reader, Scholar x Warrior/Astrologist Dynamic.

Warnings: Past abuse and trauma (enslavement, coercion), Death and grief, Self-worth issues, Emotional breakdowns, Mentions of physical violence and manipulation, Existential themes (mortality, gods, divine rebellion), Bittersweet/ambiguous ending, Use of his full name (because I don't want him to leave me alone).

A/N: So, I guess... This is the start of a new series?

Tagslist: @sewoui, @tremendoustragedybard

The first time you met Anaxagoras, it was beneath the shattered remains of the Starfall Observatory. The sky was blistered with constellations long since banned from worship, and you had blood on your hands—though not your own.

You had your blade pressed against a noble's throat. He had mocked your ward. Called the child a "pet." The noble didn’t get the chance to say another word before you silenced him with a wordless snarl.

That was when he spoke. Not the noble. Anaxagoras.

"I see your stars have teeth. Fascinating."

You turned, startled by the unexpected guest standing in the rubble. He looked... odd. Pale skin, spectral hair draped over his shoulder like seaweed through moonlight, and eye like broken galaxies—pale aqua seared with magenta. A golden-patterned eyepatch gleamed over his left eye, and his smile held the weight of both satire and tragedy.

The child behind you tugged at your cloak.

"They hurt me," the child whispered. You nodded, and without a word, left the noble's body to the collapsing stars.

The second time was different.

You had just mapped the soulburst trail of an extinct comet, and Anaxa was sitting cross-legged on the table of your study, flipping through your star maps like one might flip through a scandalous novel.

"The way you chart the cosmos is so... emotional. Like you're writing poetry to the gods."

"And you're desecrating divine cadavers to prove they're mortal."

He grinned, utterly delighted. "We make a fine pair."

You hated how fast your cheeks flushed.

The third time, he found you sobbing.

Not because you were weak, but because someone had tricked you. Lied about the child’s safety. You had surrendered to the enemy, let yourself be chained and humiliated—all because you'd believed your ward had died screaming.

When the truth was revealed, you wanted to tear the liar's throat out.

But instead, Anaxa held you.

He didn't speak. Just let you scream into his shoulder until your voice cracked like brittle moonlight.

"If truth is pain," he whispered finally, "then you're the most honest person I've ever met."

You clung to him, shaking. Not from grief. From relief.

It became a ritual. You, the once-ruthless protector, reading the stars. Him, the foolish scholar, trying to dethrone them.

When he showed you his soul-seeing eye, you didn’t flinch. You simply asked, "What do you see when you look at me?"

He hesitated.

"I see a constellation too beautiful to name."

That night, under a burning aurora shaped like a shattered crown, you kissed him.

But love, to you, was dangerous.

You had never been allowed it before. You feared it. It made you reckless, vulnerable. You wanted to own it, dominate it, like a caged starmare longing to outrun the night.

You whispered things you shouldn't. Held him too tightly when nightmares seized you. Touched him when you shouldn't have, and cried afterward, convinced you'd ruined something sacred.

But he never looked away.

He never stopped coming back.

One night, he laid out an arrangement of vanitas symbols—wilted flowers, broken instruments, gold tarnished with acid.

"This," he said, gesturing at the still life, "is how the world sees me. A failed scholar, a madman. Disposable."

You knelt beside him and placed your hand over the crimson tattoo on his right.

"Then they're blind. Because I see someone who made me believe I was more than a weapon."

He swallowed. You had never seen him look so... small.

"Don't go tomorrow," you said.

"I have to. The experiment must be finished."

"You don't have to prove anything. Not to them. Not to the gods."

He turned to you, tears forming like stardust in his remaining eye.

"I'm not doing it for them. I'm doing it for you. For a future where people like you aren’t born in chains."

You broke that night.

And he held you as if he was the fragile one.

They never recovered the body. But your ward found a final letter, hidden in a hollow telescope.

"If the gods fall, may the stars remember me. And if I fail, let my ashes guide you home."

You etched those words onto a monument of shattered astrolabes.

You still watch the stars.

And every time you see a flicker of pale aqua and magenta dancing across the night sky, you smile.

You whisper, "Truth never dies."

And somewhere, through the veil of dead gods and broken prophecies, you know Anaxagorus hears you.

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vixeneptune · 4 months ago

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INFINITE AURA ♾️

The most powerful AURA affirmations (use w caution!!)

AURA +10000

I am the living embodiment of a force so powerful that it cannot be ignored. My aura is infinite, limitless, and divine, radiating a magnetism that is utterly addictive and irresistible. I am surrounded by an energy so intoxicating and potent that it draws everyone to me effortlessly. My aura doesn’t just catch people’s attention—it holds it hostage, captivating their every thought and leaving them mesmerized.

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AURA ×100000

I am the embodiment of raw, limitless, and unstoppable power. My aura is a force so undeniable, so magnetic, that it doesn’t just attract—it consumes. My energy is infinite and transcendent, radiating with a supernatural potency that overwhelms and captivates everyone in its path. I am not just noticed—I am etched into the minds, hearts, and souls of all who encounter me.

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+♾️♾️🔥🥵

I AM POWER ITSELF. My aura is not just magnetic—it is a storm of divine energy so overwhelming that it commands the attention of the universe. My presence is an unstoppable force, piercing through the minds and hearts of everyone who crosses my path. I don’t just walk into a room—I dominate it. My aura is infinite, omnipotent, and utterly irresistible.

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I am the most magnetic, enchanting, and powerful force in existence. My aura rules. It dominates. It controls. It creates obsession. It creates devotion. It creates a legacy so unforgettable that the world bends to my energy. I am infinite. I am unstoppable. I am everything.

youtube

Powerful aura subliminal

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bippot · 4 months ago

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A Real Headscratcher

Story Summary -> The two BAU younglings clearly feel something other than friendship towards each other. Despite how much Morgan and the rest of the team tease them, the dynamic duo progress at their own adorable speed.

Tags -> Idiots in Love, Crushes, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Drinking, Awkward Flirting, Touch-Starved, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Over the years, Spencer had grown more accustomed to people touching him. He still didn't like it. Still, he would prefer if he was left untouched. But if someone held their hand out for a handshake, he no longer declined the offer. He did rigorously wash and sanitise his hands after every encounter with a new person, though.

The rest of the team had begun to notice this new, more relaxed Reid. Coincidentally, this change had occurred a few weeks after a certain Agent Y/N had joined the BAU — the young woman, whom Derek had affectionately begun calling her 'Peanut' since she had dethroned Reid as the youngest of the squad and had brought a peanut butter sandwich for lunch on her first day.

Together, the two youngsters had become fast friends. The new arrival quickly took a liking to Spencer's quirky personality and was the only person who allowed him to ramble on and on for as long as he wanted, about whatever he wanted, without interrupting or changing any of his train of thought. Whereas Spencer was particularly fond of the way Y/N always gave him a helping hand socially whenever he needed it. He knew he wasn't the easiest to interact with sometimes, but with Y/N's advice and guidance, he was getting better.

After a particularly disgusting case, the team were on the jet and on their way back to Virginia, and they were all ready for a long weekend. The 'dynamic duo', as they'd become known, sat next to each other, both quiet and absorbed in their own thoughts. "Hey, look at Pretty Boy over there," Morgan whispered to Prentiss, nudging the arms she was holding her drink in and causing it to splash down her shirt. He snorted but was quick to apologise, "Sorry, we can have a wet t-shirt contest later if you want payback."

Emily brushed her hand down the wet patch as she glanced in the direction of the duo to find Reid pretending to read. His book was firmly in his hands, yes, yet his eyes flitted between the page and the woman beside him, who was busy watching the clouds outside the window. Spencer's eyes were practically hearts behind his glasses as he watched her, his mouth slightly open and his tongue poking between his lips, and he looked utterly fascinated, completely enamoured.

"Oh, that's adorable," she smirked, looking sideways and catching Morgan's eye with a knowing smirk.

Y/N finally took her focus off the window, realising she was being stared at by the younger brunette. "What?" she questioned curiously, giving Spencer what she hoped was a questioning smile. Reid suddenly realised how creepy he must appear, staring at her like that, so he tried to pretend that he wasn't doing anything weird but couldn't help smiling an incredibly goofy smile in return.

"You look tired, Y/N."

"That's no way to talk to a lady, Reid," Morgan interrupted, raising an eyebrow with a playful smile playing on his lips. "You still look beautiful, Peanut."

Spencer dipped his head to hide the frown that appeared due to Morgan's comment, and his fingers gripped onto his book a little tighter, which was obviously noticed by the profilers opposite. Even Hotch let out a quiet huff of something that sounded like laughter from where he was sitting, having turned around to see the display. "I didn't mean it like... I, uh, I just..." Spencer trailed off, trying to come up with something to say. He looked across to gauge Y/N's reaction in the hopes she'd help him out and not embarrass him further.

Instead, he found himself looking straight into her bright eyes, which had crinkled at the corners as she giggled at him. Her hand made its way to his thigh and gently squeezed in an effort to comfort the confused boy, who had seemed to turn into a blushing, flustered mess in front of her, and her smile grew impossibly bigger at his bashfulness. "I've been called worse, doctor. Don't sweat it."

With that, she went back to watching the passing scenery, while Spencer and Derek stared at each other, having a conversation with only their facial expressions. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Morgan was trying to urge Reid to do. It seemed that Reid was reluctant to go through with it. He looked across at Y/N and bit his lip nervously before shaking his head.

For the next hour or two, they all tried to get some shut eye, some more successful in their attempts than others. Prentiss was snoozing with her cheek squished against the glass. Hotch had spread himself out and had a sleep mask on, so who knows if he was truly sleeping or not? JJ had fallen asleep a couple of minutes into the plane ride; she'd called Henry, and then boom, out like a light. Rossi had brought along a neck pillow and draped it around his head, apparently content to sleep away the remainder of the flight with the occasional snore escaping his slightly opened mouth.

Derek, well, he had his eyes closed, but he had yet to drift off. He was too busy listening to the dynamic duo as they were in the throes of a passionate conversation, both of them leaning forward intently towards one another, their heads close together, and their voices hushed.

"I don't know what to tell you, Spencer, but I know - with one hundred percent certainty - that I'd prefer to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer over Star Trek any day."

"You've got to be kidding me?" Reid said, almost shocked that she could ever consider such a thing. "Star Trek has endured for over fifty years. It transcends generations, and it's still going strong!"

"Yeah, well, have you even watched Buffy?"

"No." Spencer narrowed his eyes. "Have you ever seen Star Trek?"

"No." He opened his mouth and seemed as if he was about to continue, but gave up with a laugh and shook his head in amusement. Y/N grinned at him and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, as if she were assuring him that this argument meant nothing and it was just for fun.

"If you wanted to, and I, uh, u-understand if not, I'd be willing to endure a Buffy marathon with you. Any time."

His voice faltered slightly, and for a moment, it was like he forgot how to breathe. It felt like his heart stopped beating momentarily. For a second, he could feel his stomach churning uncomfortably, but the sensation vanished quickly, and Y/N nodded her head in reply, unable to contain her grin at his response.

"You can try and turn me into a Trekkie if you'd like."

"Oh! Okay, yeah, I'd like to. W-we can arrange that. We can sort that out."

They soon settled down enough to fall asleep, heads resting against each other's, and failed to notice Morgan whisper, "My man," under his breath. He peeked out of one eye to catch a glimpse of the good doctor and his soon-to-be sweetheart. Prentiss was right; he thought they were adorable. And Derek had half a mind to take a picture and send it to Garcia.

After that, it was impossible not to notice how comfortable Spencer had gotten while interacting with Y/N in every way. The team was unsure whether the pair had actually gotten together yet, but they knew it was only a matter of time. The boy wonder often rambled about how they went to the library, the cinema, or had those TV watchalongs. And it seemed that the pair were so close that they'd developed their own sort of language, even if they were unaware of its existence.

"Hey Spock," Y/N greeted as she entered Morgan's hotel room, where they'd been going over the case for hours, her hands coming down on his shoulders to gently massage them. He'd positioned himself right on the edge of the bed, so Y/N took the opportunity to kneel behind him and rest her chin on his shoulder.

In this particular case, Reid had to read through thousands of pages of a psychopath's very descriptive diary, which was filled with gruesome descriptions and diagrams of torture. The rest of the squad had gone to dinner, yet Spencer had waved them off. They knew there was only one person who had a chance at changing his mind. "Take a break?" But instead of stopping like she asked him to, he continued reading until she pulled the book out of his hands. "...Please."

"Fine," he replied with a sigh. "The unsub-"

"A total break. No work talk."

"But -" She gave him a look, one that was stern but soft at the same time, and he gave in.

As she went to pull away, she noticed that his hair was a complete mess. "Did you brush your hair today? Or at any point this week?" she teased while she reached up to brush through his thick locks with careful fingers, untangling the knots she spotted with ease.

"We were called out pretty early this morning, Y/N," he reminded her with a playful inflection in his voice.

He tried to say something else, but it died in his throat as her fingers worked through his hair, massaging his scalp in such a way that he was turning to mush in her hands. His body relaxed, and his head lolled back against her palm. When she finished detangling his hair, she continued to further relax him with her touch until he let out a borderline embarrassing whine. "Ah! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make that noise," he told her, sitting bolt upright in embarrassment. His ears were bright red as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, as if he could somehow rub away the blush that had appeared on his face.

Frankly, Y/N was proud that she could pull a noise like that from him. There was no doubting that it would be imprinted on her brain forever since it was so cute. She grinned in triumph while she tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. "No need to apologise, Spence." To show how little of an apology she needed, she resumed working her fingers through his hair again, this time more forcefully and with a little more pressure, causing Reid to once again moan softly at her pleasurable treatment. They stayed like that for a while, neither really caring that much about how fast the time was flying by.

Just as another noise fell from Reid's lips, Morgan re-entered his hotel room and stood there for a few seconds in stunned silence when his eyes landed on the embrace his two friends were sharing on his bed. "Well, well, well," he started, making them jump out of their skin. "I'd prefer it if you use your own room to canoodle, kids."

Their faces flushed as they scrambled apart from each other as though they had been caught doing something forbidden. "Uh... we weren't... we... we...uh..." Reid stuttered incoherently, completely failing to find the words to explain themselves without sounding like an absolute idiot.

"Pretty boy, I'm just teasing you," Morgan told him, holding his hands up in surrender as he walked closer to the bed, his gaze shifting between Spencer and Y/N. "Although I'm planning to get at least two hours of sleep, either you guys leave or you give me the keys to your room, your choice."

Looking at each other out of the corner of their eyes, the pair made a silent agreement and shuffled out of Morgan's room quietly. As soon as they were in the hallway outside, both of them burst out laughing, both at the awkwardness of their situation and at how they were probably going to endure even more teasing.

They began to slowly walk in the direction of their rooms, both of them swinging their hands and almost knocking them into each other with every step they took. Their laughter faded away and was replaced with nervous smiles, the awkwardness still lingering in the air. It was only when they neared Y/N's door that one of them spoke up. "Are you hungry? We both skipped out on lunch earlier, so..." The brunette asked suddenly, looking down at her with hopeful eyes.

"You want to go and grab food?"

"Maybe we could order to the hotel? I haven't eaten anything all day except for breakfast."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a genius?"

"Funny enough, they have."

Soon enough, they were huddled on Y/N's bed, surrounded by Chinese takeaway boxes, and watching cable TV as they ate, talking animatedly as they enjoyed each other's company. By the time they'd finished their meal, they hadn't managed to wipe the grins off of their faces once. And neither of them were willing to move an inch from their spot. They were too cosy, too warm, and too full from eating, so as the night turned into morning, the pair were once again side by side as they drifted off.

From that mission on, whenever Reid needed calming down, Y/N knew exactly what to do. And after getting used to it, Spencer began to ask beforehand. Not vocally, no. Whenever he wanted her to play with his hair, he'd simply and subtly tap her thigh, which was his way to silently plead for the girl to pet him. Obviously, their coworkers had witnessed many strange things over their years as profilers, but none of them expected to ever see the touch-phobic Dr. Reid urge someone to initiate physical contact with him. It was a rather shocking revelation for everyone who knew him.

It all came to a head one evening when the squad convinced Reid to join them for one of their after-work bar nights. Morgan had heavily stressed the fact that Y/N would be there and she would want to see him, and as much as the doctor didn't particularly enjoy these nights out, he was swayed by the suggestion anyway. The only problem was that Y/N had caught the attention of the recently hired bartender there, who proceeded to flirt with her nonstop. Reid, due to his lingering second thoughts about the outing, was last to arrive and, as soon as he walked through the door, was already regretting his decision.

"Doctor, you're late," JJ teased, nudging him with her shoulder and gesturing towards the bar. "It looks like Y/N's still ordering our round if you want to go and add yours onto the tab. Rossi is paying, so go wild."

"Have you ever known me 'go wild', JJ?" Reid asked dryly as he headed in the direction of the bar.

"Tonight could be your night. You never know, Spence."

That sentiment rang through Reid's head as he approached the other half of his duo. Y/N was smiling, but as he got closer, Spencer noticed a certain fakeness to it, almost as if the girl was forcing it. A bolt of something sweet went straight to that big brain of his as he realised she never looked at him like that. All of her smiles had been genuine when they'd been directed at him. And that was proved when Y/N caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye and broke out into a real, goofy grin that caused him to do the same. "I was wondering if you were ever going to turn up," she greeted him cheerfully, holding her hand out for him to hold. He took it, and to his delight, she pulled him in for a hug.

She was a little wobbly and a lot more giggly than usual, so it was obvious she'd had a few drinks. Judging by the glare he was getting from the bartender, Spencer assumed she'd got those drinks for free as a way to sway her affections. There was a flush to her cheeks as she looked up at him, and his heart skipped a beat when he caught a glimmer of something in her eyes. "Do you want a drink, doctor?" she asked playfully, tilting her head to the side and giving him a coy look. "They do mocktails if you'd like something fancy."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll take a mocktail."

"I'll get them," Y/N volunteered, squeezing his hand before releasing it and waving the bartender over. The guy was quick to try flirting with her again, despite the fact that Spencer was right there and still had his arm wrapped around her.

Did the bartender not see him as a romantic threat? How was that possible when he was literally the one who was closer to her in every sense of the word? Was it so unlikely? Reid's brain was working overtime, desperately trying to come up with a solution to this issue as he stood there, helpless, watching the bartender make a very flamboyant and fruity-looking mocktail.

"Are you wearing a new cologne, Doctor?" Y/N questioned, a hint of flirtiness in her tone. It was just enough to cause Spencer to very loudly gulp and avert his gaze. Accidentally, he looked directly at Morgan, who gave him (what Derek intended to be) an encouraging wink. Whether it was was another thing.

"Uh, y-yes," Reid managed to squeak out before mentally kicking himself for being so obvious.

"It smells nice. You smell nice."

"I do?"

"You do."

Before Reid could thank her, the bartender placed the drink right between them, and that disturbed any response he would eventually mumble out. Instead, he hurried to take a sip as an excuse to not say anything other than a hum of approval. It was delicious - he had to admit that. Maybe he should branch out from extremely sweet coffee once in a while.

Throughout the night, Reid stayed glued to his friend's side and did his best to ignore the knowing looks the other members of the squad were giving him. Y/N kept him on his toes with the amount of times she caused a blush to appear and his IQ to drop by twenty each time she made a playful comment. By the time they left the bar, he was a total mess. And although Y/N had only been a little tipsy - it seemed that she only needed a little bit of liquid confidence to act upon her feelings - he was determined to make sure she got home. Working a job that constantly forced him to see the worst of humanity, well, he had an obligation to ensure nothing bad happened. Safety first, after all. Getting more time to hang out with her was a close second, though.

The pair made it back to Y/N's apartment in no time. It was a relatively short walk, and the streets were quiet at that late hour. The night air was warm and humid, and the moon was full, giving their journey an ethereal glow. Neither of them said much. They didn't need to. There was no need to break the comfortable silence as they made their way closer to her door.

Spencer let Y/N lead them up to her apartment door. He even allowed her to hide behind him when one of her drunk neighbours stumbled into the elevator they were in because she didn’t want to interact with him. She stood behind him, her hands on his hips and her forehead resting against the back of his shoulder. It was only when the drunkard - who'd not paid attention to Spencer at all - left that Y/N came out from hiding. "Sorry, Spock. Last time, he spoke to me about buying a timeshare for a full hour, and I couldn't go through that again," she apologised sheepishly.

"I hide to avoid talking to my neighbour almost every day. It's a small price to pay for peace and quiet."

"That doesn't surprise me."

Once they were inside her apartment, Y/N immediately flopped face down on her couch. Spencer plopped down beside her feet and, without prompting, untied her laces and slipped her shoes off. He then did the same with his shoes, leaning back and getting comfortable.

"You're so sweet to me, Spock," Y/N muttered, lifting her face from the pillow she'd squished herself into to look at him. What she was greeted with was adorable. Reid had his hands intertwined behind his head, sitting criss-cross applesauce with his eyes closed. Because of how he looked and how sweet he was, Y/N got to her knees and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. His eyes snapped open, and his jaw dropped so he was gaping at her, blinking slowly.

"W-what was that for?"

"For being you."

"Oh. Okay." He tried to hide his confusion, but the look on his face was priceless. For all his intellect, he couldn't work out what the hell she meant. So, to give him a helping hand, she gently placed her hooked forefinger under his chin and tilted his head up so he'd meet her eye.

"For making me happy," she whispered, pressing her lips to his in such a way that Reid was so startled by her display of affection that he forgot to respond for a moment until his hands came up to either side of her face and deepened the kiss.

That was all it took to send him plummeting into the depths of lust-induced oblivion. Spencer was acting purely on impulse as he pushed Y/N down on the couch and pressed his body into hers, trapping her underneath him with his knee between her legs. Breaking apart, he let out a breath and leaned his forehead against hers. "Morgan is going to be so smug," Reid joked. "When he finds out I kissed you."

"You kissed me?" Y/N repeated jovially, winding her arms around his neck. "Is your memory different from mine, Mr. Eidetic?"

"I'll just tell him about our second kiss."

Before she registered how smooth that had been, Spencer's lips were back on hers. He was eager and hungry and intent on making her dizzy. He held nothing back, and neither did she. Their lips collided in a storm of moans and groans, tongues tangling and fingers clutching at each other. Reid moved away for a moment to take off his tie and undo the first few buttons of his shirt. "It's getting a little warm in here," he muttered, finally realising his skin was on fire thanks to her touch.

With this new stretch of skin uncovered, Y/N couldn't help herself and attached her lips to his newly uncovered collarbone, kissing up his neck to his ear and biting down gently on the lobe. He made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and he let his head fall back so he was looking at the ceiling. Her fingers toyed with the remaining buttons of his shirt, teasing them open to get access to the skin underneath. Reid kept his eyes closed as she continued her exploration, enthralled by the attention she lavished upon him. Eventually, she was able to slide the fully opened shirt off his shoulders and run her palms down his sides until she reached his belt.

"Spence? Do you want to continue?" Y/N asked, her voice breathless yet understanding. He beamed at her with eyes as wide as a bush baby. Reid could barely form a coherent thought but clearly still held some grasp of his gentlemanly nature.

"Let me take you on a date first. Please? There's a few showings of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari at the Palace this month. I've been trying to gather the courage to ask you for seven months, eighteen days and -" He checked his watch. "Ten hours and thirty-three days."

"You're adorable, Doctor Reid." She nudged the tip of her nose against his and let her hand trail up to rest in his head, her thumb drawing soothing lines against his pink cheek. "I'd love to."

Their glee was evident. It was palpable. Spencer placed his hand on her thigh, just as he'd become so accustomed to over the months, and expected her usual response. Yet, when Y/N tangled her fingers in his hair and lightly tugged his chin up, her eyes focused on his lips, he wasn't disappointed with the change of routine. Quite the opposite.

"Do I have to wait until our date to kiss you again, or am I allowed to do it now?" She coquetted, raising and wiggling her eyebrows in a teasing manner.

His response was instant. "Now!" He cleared his throat, afraid that he'd been too eager. "I mean, now if you want. Yeah, uh...now." She peppered his cheeks with sloppy, wet kisses until he was breathless and desperate for a proper smooch. It didn't take long before he was guiding her into position to get what he wanted.

It was safe to assume that their very intelligent, very observant colleagues were going to be difficult to hide from. Especially when, in all the excitement, Spencer left a hickey on Y/N's collarbone. One that was just a few centimetres too big to be hidden by her work shirt.

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nyxs2 · 2 months ago

Text

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 18/?)

Can you hear it? The subtle, almost imperceptible sound of something breaking. Not glass, not bones—something much deeper. Something inside you.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,8K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, vaginal fingering, sensory play, breeding kink, orgasm edging, light bondage, dom/sub dynamics, Silco being a tease, unprotected sex, morning sex, creampie, PTSD, panic and anxiety attacks, hallucinations, Silco POV

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

Part 17

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

He knelt on the mattress, his hands moving to her thighs to spread her legs even wider, baring her most intimate parts to his hungry gaze. Silco's breath caught in his throat as he watched, transfixed, as his own release slowly slid through her folds, the pearlescent essence coating her skin and glistening in the dim light.

The sight sent a dark thrill through him, a primal surge of male satisfaction at the evidence of his claim on her, his mark upon her body. He could feel a strange, almost obsessed fixation taking hold.

"Tell me." Silco murmured, his voice a low, intense rasp as his fingers traced maddening circles on her inner thighs, his touch maddeningly close to where he most wanted to be again. "Have you been taking your birth control pills faithfully?"

"No." she responds quickly. "This month's shipment was late, so I haven't had it for a week."

Silco's eyes widened, a dark, almost manic light flickering in their depths as he processed her words. His fingers tightened on her thighs, the nails digging into her soft flesh as a shudder ran through his body, a mix of anticipation, fear, and a perverse thrill of excitement.

"You mean to tell me..." he growled, his voice a low, intense rumble, "That when you so boldly, so brazenly allowed me to finish inside you... you hadn't stopped to consider the fact that you were leaving yourself...exposed? Unprotected?"

"You don't have to worry about that." she sighed back, not at all concerned with the implication of his words. "I don't think I could get pregnant, anyway."

Silco's hand shot out, his fingers stopping the slow drip of his release from staining the sheets beneath them. "Don't waste it..." he rasped, his voice rough with a hunger he couldn't quite understand. "How can you be so sure of that?" She shrugged.

"Considering everything that's happened in my life..."

Silco rolled his eyes, a mix of exasperation and dark fascination playing across his face as he listened to her cryptic words. He couldn't fathom how she could be so blasé, so utterly unconcerned about the potential consequences of their unprotected coupling. Of course, he understood that the things that happened at the Institute had certainly changed her body in irreversible ways, but maybe... just maybe...

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Silco murmured, his voice a low, almost sinister rumble. And with that, he slipped two long, dexterous fingers inside her, feeling the slick, scorching heat of her walls clench around the intrusion.

Silco's breathing hitched as he watched, transfixed, as her body seemed to suck his fingers in deeper, as if greedy for every last drop of his seed. He could feel the way her muscles fluttered and clenched, as if trying to keep his essence inside her, to hold it deep within her womb. The sight of his fingers disappearing into her, coated in the mingled evidence of their passion, feels a dark thrill through Silco's body. He could see his perverse enjoyment.

As Silco's fingers slowly pumped in and out of her dripping core, he found himself rambling aloud, his thoughts tumbling out in a disjointed, almost stream-of-consciousness manner. His brow furrowed as he grappled with the realization of their current situation, his mind struggling to reconcile the woman beneath him with the image of the brothel prostitute he had once known. It had been so long that he didn't even remember that it all started in that brothel.

"I never paid attention to that detail, not the first time we fucked or any of the times after." his thumb brushing maddeningly over her sensitive clit as he spoke. "I just assumed... I mean, you worked at the brothel, so of course you'd be taking precautions, being careful not to end up with some child growing in your belly..."

His fingers stilled for a moment, buried deep inside her as he searched her face, looking for some sign of understanding, of gratitude. But all he saw was his face was an adorable blush. Her mouth was half open, drawing in long, deep breaths, her eyes staring at him with a mixture of admiration and pleasure.

"But you're not that woman anymore. You're mine now."

Silco's eyes darkened with a possessive, almost feral intensity as he moved to hover over her prone form, his fingers never ceasing their maddeningly slow torment of her dripping, needy sex. He could feel the slick heat of her arousal coating his digits, the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of her tight channel filling the room.

"We have Jinx to raise already." there was a hint of teasing lacing his low timbre. "But I don't think the little imp would mind having a sibling. In fact, I have a feeling she would love a little brother to terrorize and boss around, just like she does me."

Leaning down, Silco pressed his lips against the shell of her ear, his breath hot and heavy as he whispered to her.

"Or perhaps... a sister, to love and protect as fiercely as she loves and protects you."

Silco's fingers curled inside her, pressing against that secret spot deep within her that made her see stars. His thumb circled her clit, the rough pad rubbing over the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that made her hips buck and wrote beneath him.

"Wouldn't that be nice, dove? To have a little piece of both of us growing inside you."

Silco felt the way her velvet walls clenched and fluttered around his invading fingers, gripping them like a silken vise as if trying to pull them even deeper inside her. The sensation felt a dark thrill through his body, his spent cock twitching and stirring to life once more at the feeling of her desperation, her desire.

He watched, enraptured, as her hips undulated beneath him, her body instinctively trying to ride his hand, to chase the pleasure that his touch promised. The sight of her writhing, wanting and needy, was almost more than Silco could bear.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled up from Silco's chest as he took in the erotic display before him. His eyes glittered with a wicked, knowing light as he gazed down at her, a smug, self-satisfied smile playing about his lips.

"Looks like someone likes that idea... likes it a great deal." he purred, his fingers never ceasing their maddeningly slow, deep strokes.

She let out a long, drawn-out moan of agreement, her back arching off the bed as she ground her hips against Silco's hand, desperate for more, for everything he could give her. The sound was music to Silco's ears, a symphonic chorus of his own triumph and success in reducing this strong, capable woman to a writhing, mewling mess beneath his touch.

"Use your voice, dove."

A new grumble mixed with a moan.

"Yes..." she gasped out, her voice ragged and thick with need. "God, yes, Silco... I want it. I want it so fucking much..."

Silco knew she wasn't speaking in earnest.

Drunk on pleasure, her body trembling beneath him, she had barely any grasp on the weight of her own words. Had she been in her right mind, she would never have uttered such a thing—never would have allowed such a thought to slip past those lips. And yet, despite knowing this, despite the absurdity of it, the sheer impossibility, he felt something dark and primal stir within him.

A sense of rightness.

He exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to the crook of his neck, inhaling the lingering scent of sweat, grounding himself in the present even as his mind drifted to the impossible.

A child.

The notion was ridiculous.

The very idea of bringing new life into their world—a world so cruel, so unrelenting—was nothing short of selfish. He came to believe this after Felicia died. Zaun was no place for innocence, no place for something as fragile as a child. To even consider it was to invite suffering.

He knew she was right—rationally, he knew. The likelihood of her being able to conceive was slim at best, an impossibility at worst.

But, what if...?

And with that thought, Silco redoubled his efforts, his fingers pumping into her with a newfound sense of urgency, a desperate need to bring her to the pinnacle of ecstasy and beyond. He could feel her body tensing, her walls fluttering and clenching around his digits as she raced towards her release, and he was determined to give her that satisfaction.

Silco could feel the way her body tensed and tightened as her climax approached. He knew she was teetering on the brink, balanced on the knife's edge of ecstasy, ready to tumble over into the abyss of rapture at any moment. With a wicked, almost cruel smile, Silco abruptly pulled his fingers out of her dripping, needy sex.

Yes, he would give her the satisfaction she wanted, but not now.

He watched, amused, as her body jerked and twitched, her hips bucking up into empty air as she chased the pleasure that had been so abruptly denied her.

Her enraged scream of frustration filled the room, a primal sound of pure, unadulterated outrage at being left wanting and unfulfilled. Silcou noticed how her hand quickly closed into a tight fist and she stared at him with that look that meant trouble. More precisely, trouble for him.

He grabbed her wrist just inches from his jaw, his fingers wrapping around her delicate bones with bruising force as he wrenched her arm downwards, stopping her attack in its tracks. Silco threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rich sound of pure mirth at her impotent fury.

"Careful." His eyes danced with mirth and a dark, self-satisfied gleam as he held her gaze. "You should be thanking me for not overstimulating you as thoroughly as you did to me."

He brought her hand to his lips, his mouth brushing over her knuckles in a mocking, almost taunting gesture. Silco's tongue flicked out, tracing the lines of her skin. "Consider it payback."

"Bastard."

"Yes, I am."

Silco leaned in, claiming her lips in a searing, dominating kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth, stroking over hers in a sensual dance that calmed her evident anger. As abruptly as it had begun, the kiss ended, and Silco pulled back, leaving she panting and dazed. Still seated above her, Silco's voice dropped to a low, commanding tone as he gave his next order, his eyes glinting with a dark, hungry light.

"On your hands and knees. Now."

His words were simple, but the underlying authority and demand was unmistakable. It was clear that he expected to be obeyed without hesitation or question.

As she scrambled to comply, Silco rose from the bed, his nude form on full display without shame or modesty He scanned the disheveled pile of clothing strewn across the floor. His gaze landed on a shimmer of silk, a handkerchief of fabric that had once adorned his person at the grand ball the previous evening.

Silco reached down, plucking the silk handkerchief from the floor. The rich, white fabric slid like liquid satin through his fingers, a gossamer whisper of luxury and refinement.

He could think of a thousand and one uses for that handkerchief, a thousand and one ways to bind and tease and pleasure the woman now presented to him, her ass raised high and her back arched in a pose of wanton invitation. Silco's lips curled in a wicked, anticipatory smile as he turned back to the bed, the silk handkerchief dangling from his fingers like a promise of delights to come.

"Do you trust me, dove?"

She hesitated for only a measly second before— "Yes."

Silco stepped close, the cool silk of the handkerchief brushing against her skin as he carefully tied it around her eyes. He pulled the fabric taut, knotting it securely behind her head, ensuring that not even a sliver of light could penetrate the impromptu blindfold.

He stepped back, admiring the picture she made, all displayed to his hungry gaze. Silco's cock twitched and stirred, already hardening once more at the erotic sight she presented. He could take her now, could bury himself inside her welcoming heat and lose himself in the slick, silken embrace of her body again. But he wanted more than that.

Silco moved away, circling the bed like a predator stalking its prey. He stepped to the left, then to the right, his bare feet making not a sound against floor. And yet, to his amazement, her head turned, tracking his every movement with uncanny precision. It was as if she could sense him.

A dark, wicked smile curved Silco's lips as he watched her, watched the way she strained and focused, her concentration completely consumed by the effort to locate him in the darkness. It was a heady feeling, to hold such power over another, to know that she was so attuned to his presence, so desperate for his touch that she could sense him as if by some sixth sense.

Silco climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he positioned himself behind her. He gently but firmly pushed her torso downwards, arranging her so that her elbows were bent and her wrists crossed at the small of her back. The pillow cradled her head, the downy softness a sharp contrast to the hard, unyielding grip of Silco's hand as he pinned her wrists together, holding her in place with a strength that brooked no argument.

For a long moment, Silco simply drank in the sight of her again, his gaze roving over the elegant curve of her spine, the way her ribs flared out to the gentle swell of her hips and ass. God, he would never tire of watching her. It was like studying a work of art, a work created solely and exclusively for him.

His free hand drifted downwards, trailing lightly over the curve of her shoulder blade, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip. He could feel the heat of her skin, could see the goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch.

Silco's fingers brushed over the globes of her ass, squeezing and kneading the firm, yet pliant flesh. He could feel the way she tensed beneath his touch, her body coiling like a spring wound too tight, ready to snap at any moment. A low, dark chuckle rumbled up from his chest as he drank in her barely restrained passion, her desperate, aching need for his touch.

His hand drifted lower, his fingers skimming over the backs of her thighs, the delicate skin of her knees, before finally coming to rest at the juncture of her legs. Silco could feel the scorching heat emanating from her core, could see the way her folds glistened with the evidence of her arousal in the dim light of the room.

He circled her entrance with a single finger, teasing, tormenting, drawing breathy little whimpers and mewls from her lips. Then, his hand drifted lower, wrapping around his hardening cock, stroking it to full, aching erection as he watched her squirm and wrote beneath him.

Silco's cock, now fully hard and throbbing with need, pressed against her entrance. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push forward, his length parting her folds and sinking inch by inch. He kept his thrusts languid and measured, savoring the way her velvety walls clenched and fluttered around him as he claimed her, filling her so slowly, so completely.

Silco could feel the desperation radiating off of her in waves, could hear it in the increasingly loud, wanton moans that spilled from her lips with every gentle undulation of his hips. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, each inhale and exhale a little more ragged than it normally would be, as if the blindfold and the inability to touch him had somehow amplified every sensation, every spark of pleasure that raced through her body.

He could feel her trying to meet his thrusts, feel her hips rocking back against him, seeking more, demanding more. But with her wrists pinned beneath her and her vision obscured, she was at his mercy, completely under his control. It was a heady feeling, to hold such power over her, to know that every twist and turn of her body, every desperate keen and needy whimper, was a direct result of his actions, his choices.

Silco's breathing grew heavier as well, his chest pressing against the smooth expanse of her back with every slow, deep thrust. He could feel the sweat starting to gather on his skin, could feel the way his heart pounded against his ribs as he lost himself in the tight, slick heat of her. The sound of their coupling filled the room, the obscene wet slap of flesh against flesh, the breathy cries of a woman lost in the throes of ecstasy, all blending together in a symphony of raw, unbridled lust.

"We'll have to test the pregnancy thing, from now on, to see who was right." His lips brushing against the delicate shell of her ear as he whispered, his voice a low, sinful rasp. “Perhaps every day until we know for sure.” "Y—yes..." “Yeah?” he was smiling now, a wicked smile. “If my sweet dove wants it, she'll have it.”

At the same time, his free hand drifted upwards, the calloused palm and long, dexterous fingers splaying out over the gentle swell of her belly. He could feel the way her muscles trembled beneath his touch, could sense the desperate, aching need that consumed her every thought and action. Silco's hand drifted lower, his fingers splaying out over her mound, a almost taunting gesture that made she gasp.

As her body began to tremble and quake beneath him, Silco could feel her wrists straining against his grip, her fingers flexing and curling as if trying to break free. But he knew that if she wanted to let go she would do so easily, it was her choice to remain contained in that position.

"I... I'm close..." She gasped out, her voice a breathless, needy whimper that stroked over Silco's skin like the finest velvet. He could feel the way her body tensed, the way she arched and writhed beneath him as the first stirrings of her climax began to build.

Silco's thrusts grew harder, faster, the wet slap of his hips against her ass a lewd, obscene sound that filled the room. He could feel his climax building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his loins as he hurtled towards the inevitable, inescapable conclusion.

"Me too, dove." He panted against her ear, his voice ragged and thick with lust. Silco's hand then goes back up to her belly, a lazy caress on her sweaty skin. "Be a good girl and cum with me."

He felt the moment of no return arrive, the pressure that had been building to an unbearable crescendo finally bursting forth like a dam breaking under the force of a raging torrent. With a roar of primal, animalistic ecstasy, he surged forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside her spasming, clutching heat as his cock jerked and throbbed and pulsed, painting her womb with thick ropes of his seed.

At the same time, she let out a scream of purest rapture, her back arching almost painfully as her climax crashed through her like a tidal wave, sweeping away all thought and reason in its path. Her cunt clamped down around Silco like a silken vise, rippling and milking his spurting cock, as if desperate to wring every last drop of his essence from his body.

The force of their shared release left them both reeling, their bodies wracked with the aftershocks of the most intense, mind-blowing orgasms either had ever experienced. Silco could feel his strength giving out, his muscles turning to jelly as the last vestiges of his climax ebbed away. He had to grab onto the headboard with white-knuckled desperation, anchoring himself against the onslaught of sensation that threatened to sweep him away completely.

Beneath him, her body went limp, collapsing onto the bed in a boneless, sated heap. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, her skin glazed with a sheen of sweat, her hair a wild, tangled halo around her head. Silco could see the utter, blissful destruction etched into every line and curve of her body, the way she had been wrung out and left empty, drained in the most exquisite way possible.

With a gentleness that belied the brutal, almost punishing pace of their coupling, Silco released her wrists from his grip, massaging the slight reddening of her skin as he did so. After, he drifted up to the silk handkerchief binding her eyes, untying the knot with deft, practiced ease. He peeled the fabric away, revealing the stunning, ethereal beauty of her face, her eyes glazed and unfocused as she floated in the aftermath of her release.

With a tenderness, Silco gently brushed the sweat-dampened strands of hair from her face. He tucked the errant locks behind her ear, his fingers lingering to trace the delicate curve of her jaw, the softness of her cheek. His touch was almost reverent, almost worshipful, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of her skin, to sear the feel of her into his mind.

Silco's voice was low and soft, a gentle murmur that rumbled through his chest as he leaned down to press his forehead against hers.

"Are you alright?" his breath mingling with hers as they both struggled to catch their breath in the aftermath of their shared ecstasy. "I got a bit carried away at the end there. I hope I didn't overwhelm you with my... enthusiasm." He added, a note of understatement coloring his words.

"It's okay..." the poor thing was just as destroyed as he was, if not more. "I like it."

His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, wiping away the sheen of sweat that clung to her skin like a second skin. A wry, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

As Silco made a move to pull away, to disentangle their sweat-slicked bodies and roll off of she, she reacted instinctively. Her hips shifted, tilting up slightly to meet his retreating form, the movement allowing her to keep him buried deep inside her still fluttering, sensitive heat. Silco let out a low, surprised grunt at the sudden ação, his brow arching in surprise as he looked down at her.

Her voice was a low, breathy murmur as she turned to face him over her shoulder, her eyes glinting with a mischievous, almost challenging light.

"Wasn't that you who said we would have to test the theory?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at her words, his chest rumbling with a deep, amused sound. Silco shook his head, a rueful smile playing about his lips as he gazed down at her with a mix of fondness and exasperation.

"Greedy girl." he murmured, though there was no real complaint in his tone, only a dark, sensual undertone. "It seems I've created a monster."

Silco's hands drifted down to her hips, gripping them with a possessiveness. He rolled his own hips forward, grinding his pelvis against her ass, the overstimulation being such a pleasurable pain that Silco gladly accepted it.

"But I suppose I can't blame you." his voice lowering to a sinful rasp. "Not when I'm the one who made you this way... then I suppose I have no choice but to indulge you." ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

[...]

When Silco finally released you from his room, you came to a rather interesting conclusion—irritating him was actually a fantastic idea. It wasn't an easy victory, of course. The way he had drawn things out, making you beg—no, earn—your freedom, was something that would linger in your muscles for the rest of the day. But in the end, you had won. In a way.

You never thought that not taking your pills could give you such a satisfying victory. Well, you could stop taking them, after all, you and Silco had a theory to prove.

That small triumph, however, had cost Silco time, and the moment he realized it, his irritation had turned from heated amusement to actual frustration. A commitment. An important one. Something about new tests for the Chemtanks, or perhaps an evaluation of progress. You didn't particularly care to know the details—only that it meant he would be gone for most of the day.

Which left you with the distinct problem of what to do with yourself.

You could have stayed in his room, but the idea of lounging there felt far too indulgent. Wandering around The Last Drop wasn't an option either—not with Silco's men constantly watching, their gazes heavy with unspoken questions.

The solution, then, was simple.

His office.

It wasn't exactly a sanctuary, but at least it granted you solitude. No one entered that space lightly—no one, except for Sevika. And sure enough, as you made your way down the hall, the familiar sound of heavy boots followed close behind. Sevika trailed after you, a fresh stack of correspondence balanced under her arm, her usual expression of perpetual disinterest firmly in place.

"I wanted to ask." you said suddenly, breaking the silence between you. "Does Silco have any place for training?"

If Sevika was surprised by the question, she didn't show it. Instead, she turned her head slightly, giving you a long, scrutinizing look. One brow arched, skepticism plain on her face.

"And why..." she drawled, voice thick with dry amusement, "Would you need a training area?"

You met her gaze without hesitation, your expression unreadable, deadpan. What do you think? you seemed to say without words. Sevika let out a sharp exhale through her nose, rolling her eyes in exaggerated exasperation.

"There's a small warehouse near the docks." she said, her tone shifting back to something gruff, businesslike. "That little blue-haired brat usually uses it to practice her aim. Or blow up some shit without killing anyone. Most of the time."

You hummed in acknowledgment, already filing the information away for later.

"But." Sevika continued, leveling you with a pointed look, "I don't think you need the practice anyway."

"I disagree."

You pushed open the heavy door to Silco's office, stepping aside to let her enter first before following her inside. The scent of smoke, gunpowder, and aged whiskey lingered in the air, a familiar mix that had become synonymous with Silco himself. The door clicked shut behind you as you turned back to Sevika, your voice calm but certain.

"I'm rusty."

Sevika scoffed, a dry, humorless chuckle leaving her lips. "Rusty?" She gave you a look like you had just said something incredibly stupid. "Didn't seem that way in the warehouse that day."

You didn't flinch under her gaze. "Trust me." you said simply, "I've been better."

With a careless motion, Sevika tossed a thick stack of papers onto Silco's desk with a loud thud, the impact shaking the surface just enough to make the inkwell rattle. She didn't spare the documents a second glance. Instead, she turned her sharp gaze to you, posture rigid and impatient.

"Sort this out with Silco." she said, tone clipped, already half-done with the conversation. "And if you need a training partner, you know where to find me."

You leaned against the desk, fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood as you tilted your head, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. "Why? Are you offering?"

Sevika's expression barely shifted at first—just the faintest narrowing of her eyes, a flicker of something unreadable. Then, her mouth twisted into a look caught between disbelief and irritation, like you had just said the most absurd thing she'd ever heard.

"Forget what I said..." she muttered, shaking her head before muttering under her breath, "I don't get paid enough for this."

"Obviously." you shot back smoothly, "you waste all your money on gambling."

Sevika moved—just a fraction, just enough for you to see the brief flicker of irritation cross her features before she caught herself, rolling her shoulders back and exhaling through her nose. For a moment, it looked like she might actually take a step forward, might make you regret that little jab, but instead, she shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and turned on her heel toward the door.

Still, just as she was leaving, you caught the half-angry, half-amused grumble she didn't quite manage to suppress— "Damn brat."

Silence remained for a few seconds in that room.

You were just about to reach for Silco's cards to use as a distraction from your boredom — you started reading his mail after that day in his office. He really didn't mind you reading it as long as you didn't mess it up — when the sharp clang of metal hitting the ground shattered the quiet. Instinctively, you turned, your eyes scanning the room until they landed on the source of the disturbance—something small and metallic rolling across the floor. A monkey's head.

Powder.

Immediately, your gauze lifted to the rafters, and sure enough, tucked between the wooden beams, was a small, familiar figure. Her blue eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, her small frame curled inward as if she were trying to disappear into the shadows.

She looked at you.

Then, without warning, she jumped.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up—arms rising on instinct, hands bracing for impact. A second later, the weight of her small body settled against your arms, a jolt of warmth and surprise running through you both.

For a beat, neither of you moved.

Powder blinked up at you, her expression frozen somewhere between awe and disbelief. As if she hadn't expected you to catch her. As if no one ever had before. And honestly, you were just as shocked as she was.

Clearing your throat, you quickly set her down on the table, brushing off the lingering weight of the moment. She sat there, legs dangling over the edge, her arms loosely wrapped around herself. Her wild blue hair was unbound, strands falling into her face like she had just tumbled out of bed.

"You didn't do your braids today." you noted, gesturing vaguely to the untamed mess.

Powder reached up, fingers toying absently with a loose strand. "Silco does them."

Oh.

The mental image formed instantly—Powder perched in Silco's lap, small and fidgety, while he carefully worked his fingers through her hair, twisting and securing the strands with the patience of someone who had done it a hundred times before.

That explained a lot.

"So... is that why you're here?" you asked, tilting your head. "Hate to break it to you, but Silco had to step out for work. He won't be back for a while."

Powder gave a small nod, but there was something off about it—something hesitant, like she had expected that answer but still didn't quite know what to do with it. She was quiet. Too quiet. The little girl who usually had a mouth full of mischief and hands full of trouble was suddenly shy, withdrawn, picking at the frayed hem of her shorts like she wasn't sure if she should stay or go.

Without thinking, you offered, "I can do it for you, if you want."

That got her attention. Powder's head lifted, a flicker of surprise passing through her expression.

"It won't be as good as Silco's." you admitted, giving a small shrug, "But at least it'll keep your hair out of your face."

For a moment, she just stared at you.

Then, hesitantly—almost cautiously—she nodded.

You guided her gently onto your lap as you settled into Silco's chair, the weight of her small frame warm and familiar against you. She shifted slightly, adjusting herself until she was comfortable, then without a word, she placed the ribbons on the desk, her silent invitation for you to begin.

You hesitated for only a moment before gathering a handful of her soft, blue strands, trying to recall the precise way Silco would weave them together. He was always meticulous in his braiding—precise, steady. A quiet ritual between the two of them, and now, for the first time, you were stepping into it.

The room was silent, save for the occasional creak of the old chair beneath you and the faint, rhythmic rustling of hair sliding between your fingers. Powder didn't speak. She simply sat there, still and waiting, trusting you with something so intimate.

You worked slowly, carefully. Your fingers weren't as deft as Silco's, but you were determined to do this right—for her. Powder sat quietly between your legs, her small frame tense, her head slightly tilted forward as you weaved your fingers through the soft blue strands of her hair.

You had just begun the second braid, threading the pieces together with a little more confidence, when—

Thud.

A sharp, dull impact.

Then another.

Your hands faltered for a split second, confusion flickering in your mind before realization struck like ice through your veins.

She was hitting herself.

Powder's small fist collided against the side of her head. Once. Twice. She raised it again for a third strike, but you caught her wrist before it could land.

"Powder?"

The moment the name left your lips, her entire body tensed against you. You didn't even care that you had called her by it—by the name that should have been dead. She stilled under your touch, her hand trembling in your grip. Her shoulders were tight, locked in place as though bracing for something unseen. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned her head to look at you over her shoulder.

Wide blue eyes, usually so full of mischief and sharp energy, now clouded with something far darker. Unshed tears clung to her lashes, her expression flickering between panic and exhaustion, between being here and being somewhere else entirely. You recognized it. You knew very well what she was feeling.

"Is it the voices?" You kept your voice low, careful. "Is that why you're so quiet?"

A beat of silence.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"I can see them." Her voice wavered. Small. Frightened. "They won't stop talking."

The words sat heavy in the space between you, sinking deep into the marrow of your bones.

Your grip on her wrist loosened, but you didn't let go entirely. You could feel the tremor in her fingers, the tension wound so tightly in her little body that it felt like she might snap apart at any second. Her gaze darted over your shoulder suddenly, locking onto something just past you. Her breathing hitched, going sharp and uneven, and her fingers twitched as if she wanted to claw her way free of your hold.

"My sweet little girl." You shifted slightly, keeping your hands on her, grounding her. "Look at me... I'm here and no one can reach you."

She blinked rapidly, like she was trying to shake something loose from her mind. But her eyes didn't stay on yours. They flickered away again, widening slightly, her lips parting like she was about to say something—

Or scream.

"They're not real."

You kept your voice soft, steady—gentle enough not to startle her, firm enough to keep her anchored. You knew better than to tell her to just ignore them. That wouldn't help. That never helped.

"They feel real." she shot back, her voice small, raw. A whisper drenched in something fragile and breaking.

She turned fully in your lap, her small fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes, gripping like she needed to hold on to something—someone—or she might slip away completely. Her breathing was erratic. Too fast. Shallow.

Her chest rose and fell in quick, uneven movements, panic curling around her lungs like a vice. Her wide, tear-filled eyes darted past your shoulder again, flinching at something only she could see. Her entire body trembled, stiff and coiled like a wire pulled too tight.

"They're right there." Her voice cracked. "I can see them. Staring. Laughing. Blaming me."

Your heart clenched painfully at the fear in her tone, at the way her fingers twisted harder into your clothes, nails pressing against your skin like she was trying to make sure you were real. That this was real. Slowly, carefully, you reached out, cupping her cheek, tilting her face until she had no choice but to look at you. Not at the shadows.

Not at the ghosts clawing at the edges of her mind.

"I know they feel real." you murmured, thumb brushing away the dampness beneath her eye. "I know it's hard and it hurts. Believe me, I know very well how painful it is. But you're here and I know how strong you are... Focus on my voice, my little one. Just my voice."

Her breath hitched, eyes flickering between yours, still darting past you every few seconds, wary, unsure. Her hands fisted tighter into your clothes.

"What if they never go away? What if I keep hearing them? I... I just wanted to help that night... It wasn't my intention to do that, but they keep blaming me." Powder's lower lip trembled, her voice barely audible now, so small. "I think I'm crazy..."

The way she said it—like a confession, like a wound torn open too many times—sent a sharp, aching pain through your chest.

"You're not crazy." Your fingers curled around the back of her neck, grounding her, letting her feel your warmth, your presence. "You're just hurting and I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

She exhaled shakily. The tension in her muscles didn't vanish, but you could feel the slightest bit of pressure ease, the frantic energy inside her dimming just enough for her to breathe. Her wide, glassy eyes searched yours, still afraid, still haunted—but holding on.

She swallowed hard. "Promise?"

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her close, wrapping your arms around her like a shield against the monsters she couldn't fight on her own.

"Promise."

Slowly, your hand finds its way to the top of her head, fingers threading through her hair, gently smoothing down the wild strands. You move with patience, slow and rhythmic, grounding her with the steady motion. Her breathing is still ragged, uneven, but you can feel it gradually slowing, matching the rise and fall of your own chest.

The silence between you is thick—not uncomfortable, but heavy, weighted with everything left unsaid. When you finally speak, your voice is soft, careful.

"Whatever happened that night... it wasn't your fault."

She doesn't react, not at first. But the way her body stiffens, the way her fingers curl tighter against you—it tells you that she heard you. That she's listening.

You don't know exactly what she's referring to or what had happened to make her like this today, what ghost had risen from the depths of her mind to torment her. But you had seen this look before—this guilt, this raw, festering wound she carried inside her. You have your suspicions. That night. The one that had shattered everything.

The night Vander died. The night her siblings were taken from her, where she was somehow related. You vaguely remember hearing something about an explosion... which would link it to Powder's guilt, but you weren't sure and didn't want to ask. It didn't matter anyway.

"Sometimes." you continue, voice barely above a murmur, "We hurt the people we love, thinking we're saving them."

Powder shudders against you. You tighten your arms around her, holding her closer, as if sheer warmth alone could press the broken pieces of her back together.

"Your brothers loved you, despite everything. I know that." You breathe the words against her hair. "And Vander..." You pause, swallowing against the ache in your throat. "He would never blame you. Not for anything... You were his little girl and he loved you so much."

Powder's arms tighten around you, her small frame trembling against yours. She doesn't say anything, just holds on, like you're the last solid thing in a world that keeps shifting beneath her feet. You exhale, steadying yourself before speaking again, your voice a whisper in the quiet.

"They still love you."

Powder tenses—just barely—but you feel it. You close your eyes, pressing your cheek against the top of her head, your fingers still combing gently through her hair.

"I shouldn't have said 'loved,' because that hasn't changed. They still love you, Powder, wherever they are now. And you can't—" Your throat tightens for a second, but you push through it. "You can't let the voices drown out your memories of them. Ever. No matter what they say, no matter what anyone says."

Her breath hitches, and you feel her fist clench in the fabric of your clothes.

"Not even Silco?" she asks, so quiet you almost miss it.

You pull back just enough to look at her, brushing a strand of blue hair away from her damp cheek. Her eyes are wide, searching—uncertainty and something fragile, something scared, beneath the surface.

"Not even Silco." you say firmly because even though your feelings for him have evolved over the months you've been together, you recognize how damaging he can be. Powder is a fragile little girl he could model on his 'Jinx.' "Especially not him."

She looks down, chewing at her lip, but you don't let her retreat into herself. You cup her face, thumbs tracing over the smudges of tears on her skin, waiting until she meets your gaze again.

"You are still you." you murmur, holding her there, grounding her. "No matter what the voices say. No matter what he says. Powder and Jinx aren't two different people." Your fingers press lightly against her temple. "You are still you."

Then, without a word, she buries her face against your shoulder again, arms wrapped even tighter around you.

And you just hold her.

Eventually, your hands — ever patient — continued their task, weaving her unruly strands into braids despite the impossibility of the angle. The position was awkward, your wrists already aching from twisting in ways they shouldn't, but you were persistent—stubborn, even. And when the final strand was tucked into place, you realized something.

She had fallen asleep.

A deep, exhausted slumber, her small frame completely slack against you.

It was only then that you noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes, the evidence that she had likely gone without sleep the night before. Nightmares, perhaps. Or maybe worse—visions of ghosts only she could see. You hadn't even realized she was struggling like this, hadn't imagined she was carrying this weight alone.

Your chest found at the thought.

Leaning back against the chair, you let one hand smooth over her hair, fingers running through the newly woven braids in slow, comforting movements. It was one thing for you to have your own ghosts whispering in the dark—but Powder? Powder was just a child. She shouldn't have to bear this, shouldn't have to suffer through fears too big for her small shoulders to carry.

And for now, at least, she wouldn't.

You weren't going to move. Not yet. She was too peaceful like this, too at ease, and you refused to be the one to wake her. So instead, you reached for Silco's correspondence, carefully lifting a letter with one hand. After all, he had given his permission to look at his letters anyway.

The first letters were irrelevant. Routine logistics. Shipments of Shimmer moving beyond Zaun's borders. Hardly surprising—Silco wasn't the kind of man to limit his empire's growth. Keeping the drug trade confined to Zaun alone would never make him the kind of wealthy he was. No, its reach extended far beyond the undercity, past the smog-choked streets and rusted bridges. The true power lay in distribution, in controlled dependence.

Then came letters from the other barons. Discussions of territory, resources, alliances. Names you recognized from the times Silco had vented to you in bed, his voice a low, tired rasp against your skin. Especially when Finn was involved.

Silco particularly loathed Finn.

It wasn't just the usual business rivalry—no, there was something personal about it, something raw, a deep-seated disdain that curled in his tone whenever the man's name was spoken. He had given you direct orders to keep your distance, his warning clipped and absolute. Silco rarely issued commands without reason, but this one... this one had been firm.

And yet, after rifling through document after document, you found nothing particularly interresante The letters were dull—expected maneuverings, predictable transactions. A pattern of influence, but no shocking revelations. Nothing you hadn't already suspected.

Your fingers skimmed over the next stack, flipping through pages of neatly scrawled reports, each one blurring into the next. It was tedious work, mundane—until—

Something different.

You felt it before you saw it.

The texture of the paper beneath your fingertips was thinner, slightly rougher, its edges more worn. The ink—smudged in places, not from carelessness but from haste. The strokes of the pen carried an urgency absent from the others. This was no formal report, no carefully curated correspondence.

More a note rather than a letter.

Scribbled quickly, absent of politeness, stripped of the usual pleasantries and pretense. The handwriting was cold, precise, almost... mechanical. The kind of script that came from hands used to writing the same phrases over and over.

And with each passing line, a quiet dread began to settle over you.

Bile burned at the back of your throat as your eyes scanned the cursed words on that damned letter. The longer you stared, the harder it became to breathe. A nauseating mix of emotions churned violently inside you—anger, disbelief, a dread so profound it made your limbs feel like lead.

Your fingers clenched around the brittle paper, creasing it beneath your grip. As if pressing hard enough—holding on hard enough—could force the meaning out of those words, could change them, could make them disappear before they shattered you completely.

It could be anything.

Any experiment. Any abomination. Singed had a hundred projects, a thousand sick and twisted ideas brewing in the shadows of his laboratory. This letter could be referring to any one of them. But then why did it feel like your name was written between the lines?

Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out reason, logic, hope.

The room around you felt distant, like a stage set for a play you were no longer a part of. The edges of your vision blurred, narrowed, darkened—your body aware of what your mind refused to accept. The weight of it pressed against your ribs, heavy, suffocating, drowning out any remaining certainty you had left.

You held Powder's small sleeping body against you as if it would calm your mind.

There had to be an explanation. A reason. A mistake. There had to be, because if there wasn't...

No! Silco wouldn't do this.

Not this. Not with you. Not after everything.

After everything he had seen—everything he knew. After every time he had pulled you back from the edge, even when he was the one who had driven you there in the first place. After every whispered word in the dark, after every moment when it felt like—against all odds—you were his.

He wasn't like the founder of the Institute. He wasn't.

He cared.

Then why—

Why did it feel like something inside you had just broken? .

Silco,

I urge you to reconsider the directive you have issued.

It is of utmost importance that we maintain our current research trajectory rather than diverting valuable resources toward an unproven endeavor with a high margin of error and inevitable waste. The subject's reaction to the administered dosage of Shimmer over the course of that week has resulted in an unforeseen mutation.

During some tests with live specimens, I identified that when placed under extreme stress or life-threatening situations, her ability manifests involuntarily—triggered not by conscious will, nor by the usual violent aggression we have observed in prior iterations, but rather as an automatic response of self-preservation. A parasitic survival mechanism, if you will—one that does not allow its host to perish. No matter the severity of what has been inflicted upon her.

In other words, we may have stumbled upon something far beyond our initial ambitions.

I trust you will see the value in this discovery.

—Singed

Part 19

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I don't know the meaning of happiness… therefore, you don't know it either. Okay, now you're starting to threaten me and come after me with torches and axes… Well, I warned you that we would enter a new arc in this story and it has just begun. She had to find out at some point, don't you think? And now it's time for Silco to deal with the consequences.

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

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lord-luminous · 9 months ago

Text

Someone called Bill Cipher and Ford Pines a doomed soulmates pairing and I haven't been able to stop thinking about that.

Being doomed soulmates, to me, always felt intrinsically tragic. One of the few examples I could think off hand are Achilles and Patroclus, two people loved each other so much but they weren't destined for happiness. Greek heroes 99% of the time never are. Soulmates as a trope is defined in someone being destined to end up with their perfect match.

That's why Bill and Ford being doomed soulmates is so utterly fascinating. BillFord is probably the most anti-romantic pairing Gravity Falls (show) could honestly conjure. So much of that pairing is built on manipulation, lies and transaction. Bill is using Ford to get into the a physical realm so he can rule it, while Ford is idly using Bill to learn more things about the unnatural side of the world. So those two being soulmates on any level is going to be anything but healthy. I mean, even in the show, Bill tortures Ford for information.

Furthermore, it can be used in such fascinating theories and AUs. When we read the story as them as explicit doomed soulmates, while pairing information we have from the show and fandom theories you can bring to life fun concepts.

When the show was airing, there was a theory post-ATOTS that Blendin Possesed By Bill had messed with Ford's project to further ruin it than Stan had. Which is why it looked more damaged coupled with the "Blendin was here" with a triangle right there in the episode. So what if it was Bill that ruined the project? That would make the Stan Twins fight and go their separate ways, while this intentionally led Ford right down the path to meet Bill eventually in Gravity Falls. The path that eventually lead to their partnership, Ford being pushed into the portal, 30 years trapped in the Dream Dimension, and later, Bill's defeat.

And that's just one idea I came up for some random fanfiction floating in my brain. The reason I even like that particular concept is that it does more than absolve Stan of wrongdoing, but rather shows you how twisted Bill Cipher could be. There's more you can do with it. Doomed soulmates destined to find each other, and destined to ruin each other. Bill being half the reason Ford was pushed through portal or how he let Ford go insane through fear while Ford being a part of the Cipher Zodiac that could vanquish Bill or using the memory gun on Bill to erase him from existence.

It's so interesting because even if BillFord isn't my ship, you can unpack so much through their dynamic through this lens. Like what makes them click together and what drives them apart.

You guys might have already realized all this, but I just needed to get this off my chest. Finding out more about Bill and Ford's relationship has altered me on a fundamental level. Doomed Soulmates is actually the most appropriate way to define it. How else would you define it?

Thank you for listening to me, a semi-casual fan of Gravity Falls.

#billford #the book of bill #bill cipher #ford pines #stanford pines #gravity falls #doomed soulmates #lumi rambles #gravity falls meta

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literatureloverx · 9 months ago

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You seem to have an amazing understanding of Fyodors character. It's like you crawled into his head. What do you think his kinks/turn ons would be?

I’m giggling and blushing rn.♥️ You’re so sweet!!! Truly, this is such a huge compliment.♥️ I hope you enjoy it!

Mdni, yandere!Fyodor, dom!Fyodor, sub!reader, ideal type fem!reader.

Fyodor’s kinks / turn-ons

About you:

Fyodor would be captivated by the sight of you in a vulnerable position, as it would quicken his heartbeat and heighten your already striking beauty.

Anything that enhances your aesthetic allure is a source of intense arousal for him.

He is especially drawn to your teary eyes and the way you cry out when he pushes your limits.

Your soft mewls and moans are the most exquisite sounds he's ever heard in his seemingly endless life.

He has a particular fascination with your neck and finds profound excitement in watching you squirm beneath him.

The sight of his marks on your skin deeply arouses him, as they are a testament to his control and the art of his dominance.

About the act itself:

Control and Power Dynamics:

Fyodor thrives on absolute control (I say this all the time and I’ll say it again: he is a man of God, and he is a man of control.)

His pleasure stems from orchestrating every detail of your experience, from the moment he binds you with intricate precision to the way he manipulates your responses.

Seeing you completely at his mercy, restrained and helpless, fuels his dominance.

He commands your entire existence in those moments, and you, his willing captive, offer yourself entirely to his control.

Psychological Manipulation

Fyodor's dominion extends far beyond the physical. His keen intellect allows him to master the art of psychological manipulation, turning every encounter into a mind game.

He delights in exploring your deepest fears and desires, using this understanding to heighten your submission.

He prolongs your pleasure, making you beg for release, and in doing so, he asserts his power over both your body and mind.

Your vulnerability and dependence on him are what he truly cherishes.

Sensory Deprivation and Overstimulation

Fyodor expertly manipulates your sensory experiences to enhance his control.

When he uses blindfolds or gags, he heightens your other senses, making every touch, whisper, and command feel more intense.

Conversely, he may overload you with stimulation, driving you to the brink of ecstasy and frustration.

This skillful play with your senses magnifies his dominance, ensuring that every moment is a testament to his power over your pleasure and pain.

Marks and Branding

For Fyodor, marking you is both an art and a statement. He takes immense satisfaction in leaving his marks on your skin-bruises, bite marks, scratches—each one a physical symbol of his ownership.

These marks are not just about inflicting pain; they serve as a permanent reminder of his dominance, a visible declaration of his claim over you.

He revels in the sight of his handiwork, knowing that you bear the marks of his control. That you’re so utterly his.

Intellectual Domination

He takes pleasure in engaging you in deep, philosophical discussions, using his intellectual superiority to reinforce his control.

They deepen your connection and emphasize his role as the superior partner, both mentally and physically.

I dare say that it arouses him.♥️

Corruption of Innocence:

Fyodor is captivated by the idea of corrupting your purity, but only because he is the one corrupting it.

He cherishes innocence and purity, seeing them as embodiments of art and beauty.

To him, molding you to his will by corrupting your purity is probably intensely arousing.

Your purity becomes a canvas for his control, and the process of corrupting it is a source of immense satisfaction.

High Emotional Stakes:

He revels in the vulnerability and desperation that come with high-stakes encounters. The more emotionally charged the experience, the more satisfying it is for him.

That is, because he loves you so much. His love is twisted and deep, but it is sincere.

He finds fulfillment in pushing you to your limits, in witnessing your raw, unfiltered responses to his dominance.

Detailed Preparation and Rituals:

Fyodor's meticulous nature shines through in his sexual rituals.

He invests time and effort into preparing elaborate scenarios that align with his vision of control.

Every detail is meticulously planned to ensure that the encounter fulfills his desire for dominance and precision, as well as your pleasure.

#bsd fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #fyodor x you #yandere bsd #bsd #fyodor bsd #fyodor smut #dom fyodor #yandere fyodor #smut fyodor

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hazamacore · 4 months ago

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Hey!! It's kaisturntoshine (aka that one person that made long responses to your Eloise and Desmond essay) from my main blog.

I was thinking about Wolfgang's first interaction with Desmond (the "you haven't killed anyone with these weapons" one) and it reminded me of how differently Wolfgang treated Eloise in comparison:

... I thought I had a point to make with this but nope. Or, well, I do have a rough idea of what I meant to explain but I'm too sleep deprived to properly articulate it.

HIII and yeah I think this observation is basically telling us immediately and outright how these two contrast each other with this theme of "judging by appearance"!!! You are absolutely right to point it out because it is SUCH a stark contrast.

...Somewhat related and connecting this to Wolfgang and Damon - we have Wolfgang who extends sympathy and understanding towards Eloise who he perceives as in need of additional support due to her being more outwardly affected, but who suspects and consistently undermines Desmond (reaction to his thoughts on exploring the Alpha Sanctuary, reaction to his bunking idea EG) without any basis besides his talent despite Desmond's pretty open support of him and despite how Desmond was one of the only ones to validate his feelings during the mock-trial.

Comparatively, we have Damon who extends understanding to Desmond and views him as the most "normal" person here, and whose distrust of him can be put down to Average Damon Behaviour rather than the bias others show, and he quickly concedes that it's not productive - EG in the pharmacy after Desmond expresses a wariness around the sleeping pills being readily available and Damon initially says "you're already thinking of ways to murder?" but proceeds to agree with Desmond's reasoning and again label him as the Most Normal Guy Here, or in his FTEs where parallels are drawn between their work ethics and relationships with their talent, not to mention how Damon is suspected in a similar vein to Desmond but for much more personality-based reasons. Conversely, Damon doesn't understand Eloise (who doesn't really do much to help him understand her because she doesn't like him lol) and it's through his interactions with her that we see how the "judging by appearance" theme presents in her character! Most glaringly in the chapter one investigation where he doubts Eloise's ability to stand up to Grace and proceeds to be utterly proven wrong - him describing the Ultimate Fencer as "uncoordinated" and "bumbling" really lays it bare lmaooo as she takes Grace down in one fell analytical swoop, just like she asserted fencing is all about.

So it's sort of like one foil dynamic making another foil dynamic more apparent... Wolfgang takes Eloise and Desmond at face value, whereas Damon (more hostile in tone on Eloise's end for sure) becomes privy to their deeper layers. Which is FASCINATING considering Wolfgang and Damon present themselves and would have you assume the opposite! Beneath the veil of hypocrisy anyone...

And, on an additional note, I do think it's safe to say that Wolfgang had a more vested interest in the well being of the women overall! And more of an innate respect for them. #feminist but seriously a good example of this again related to Desmond (because he can't catch a break I guess? Desmond get behind me) is comparing how he doesn't level the same accusatory question at Ingrid after learning she works with swords as he does towards Desmond after learning he's a marksman which becomes ESPECIALLY blatant when you note that Desmond and Ingrid's relaying of their abilities has almost the exact same structure - "Not just swords, but tools, armour, statues...If you name it, I can forge it." / "Guns, bows, slingshots... You name it, I've hit bullseyes with it." Of course, only Desmond's talent indicates that he uses these weapons, but it's still a hell of a leap to make with energy Wolfgang really doesn't level at anyone else as consistently, which is my point.

It's interesting stuff EEEEE I LOVE the writing of these characters they are ALL so multidimensional!!! THANK YOU FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO RAMBLE

#★: p:eg #project: eden's garden #wolfgang akire #eloise taulner #damon maitsu #desmond hall

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reilora-borealis · 1 year ago

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I think people (cast included, I bet!) really want Bell's Hells to be as tight as Vox Machina or Mighty Nein, they want the team building exercises to work, they want these characters to talk about their issues and come to terms with their trauma, etc.... but I just don't think it's going to happen. (For a variety of reasons I won't get into in this post.)

And that's not necessarily a bad thing?

Everyone loves the found family aspect of D&D, the group-of-besties-against-the-world adventuring party. We had that with VM, though we didn't get to see their characters meeting/bonding since it happened pre-stream; and we had it with M9, who we did get to see as they gained each other's trust and came to rely on each other in a really narratively satisfying way.

But with Bell's Hells, we have a party where the characters are bonded by their quest, but their dynamic is utterly dysfunctional. Which is fascinating, and so much more like a real family. I honestly don't think these characters would be friends at all if they didn't have this shared goal. They're like reluctant coworkers who were forced to work together by their boss (Eshteross, Keyleth, Allura, take your pick), and each person lowkey thinks the other members of their team are bad at their jobs. Some groups just don't work well together, and you can't force it. You can try your hardest, but it will always be like a machine working at 60% efficiency.

My point is, I think we should stop trying to force BH to be more like VM or M9. What if the dysfunctional found family is a feature, not a bug? What if this challenging dynamic ends up being the whole point of campaign 3, and internal conflict is the real enemy BH -- and Exandria at large -- is facing?

#critical role #cr discourse #campaign 3 #bells hells

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strawberrypinky · 5 months ago

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fic recs - best of 2024 ✨🍓

With 2024 drawing to a close, I have decided to do a "best of 2024" fic rec list. I already did a round of recommendations in May of this year and I loved the positivity I was able to spread by sharing a few kind words about some fics that I have read and loved.

2024 was year of immense personal growth and changes for me (though I suspect 2025 will be equally... challenging) and I haven't read as many fics as I usually would have. However, I still came across quite a few wonderful ones, so without further ado here's my best of for 2024!

This is also me making up for the fact that I don't ever comment on fics. Sorry to the authors of the mentioned fics - I'm usually very awkward, but I promise I loved your fics. Otherwise they wouldn't have ended up on here

Baldur's Gate 3 Arguably the fandom I participated in the most this year after getting the game in January of 2024. I think precious little fandom content has stayed with me as intensely as anything Baldur's Gate, and I am so so appreciative of all the wonderful people I have met through this game. I wish I would've had more time for the amazing content people created (and continue to create!) for this game, alas, here's my top fanfiction for 2024:

❦

dealbreaker [A!Astarion x Tav] - @goodgirlgonebard

❦ Plot: "Dealbreaker" explores the dynamic between Willow (Tav) and an ascended Astarion, as they try to navigate their feelings for one another post breakup and post-brain, both with wishes and desires of their own, such as marriage, children and the possibility of an eternity together. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: I’ve only ascended Astarion once (purely for the plot, of course), and I firmly believe it’s his bad ending. That said, when it comes to fan fiction, I absolutely devour the dynamics between an Ascended Astarion and Tav/Durge, because the toxic complexity of their relationship is endlessly fascinating. Dealbreaker does an exceptional job of capturing the push and pull that defines both Astarion and Willow, even though it portrays A!Astarion in a somewhat softer light. It works perfectly within the context of the story, thanks in part to how delightfully idiotic Willow and Astarion can be when it comes to their own feelings. The blend of drama, fluff, and angst is just right, and I absolutely adore watching them navigate their way through it all together. There's also a song rec at the start of each chapter and Ms Ambs has taste 🤌🏻 Definitely my favourite BG3/Astarion read of the year!

❦

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal [A!Astarion x Durge] - @brain-rot-central

❦ Plot: After becoming the first ever Vampire Ascendant, Astarion begins to forge a new path for himself. Months after the defeat of the Netherbrain he returns to his former lovers life and the two grapple with the changed dynamics of their former relationship. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: "Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal" delves into a darker exploration of the relationship between Ascended Astarion and a redeemed Dark Urge, yet it remains utterly captivating. The crafted narrative feels both believable and seamless, drawing you into Durge's deeply personal fears as she becomes entangled once again in Astarion's life. The portrayal of her anxiety is so vivid that it transfers to you as a reader. The tension between them feels palpable to you - a sort of nightmare fuel that has you anticipating something bad is going to happen at the next second and you somehow know it will. I'm very curious to see this continue, because it's so beautifully fucked up. ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content.

❦

The Last of the Silverboughs [Halsin & Tav, Astarion/Tav] - Stillmaurauding (AO3)

❦ Plot: Halsin, burdened by the weight of his past, encounteres Lythra, a young Drow woman whose nature leaves him utterly perplexed. Meanwhile she is relentless in her efforts to break free from her own trouble history in Menzoberranzan and the two forge an unlikely bond as they navigate a the journey to Baldur's Gate. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Considering Halsin's character in the game, I understand why there’s minimal exploration of him as a father figure in storytelling, apart from scenarios involving Tav or Durge making him one. That said, he fits beautifully into the role of a quasi-father to Lythra throughout this narrative. The story delves into some very dark themes, but I’ve truly appreciated the nuanced approach to trauma, especially through Lythra’s character. The progression of the relationships, as well as the tensions within the group, feel very natural and there is enough intrigue with every chapter to make you want to continue. I hope the author eventually picks this up again. I'm also fairly certain they are on tumblr, however, I haven't been able to find them. If anyone knows their handle, let me know. I'd love to give credit where it's due :) ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content.

❦

O, Fortuna [Raphael/Dark Urge] - @gufu-vire

❦ Plot: Post the events of BG3, a redeemed Dark Urge and Raphael renegotiate terms to fulfil a contract sworn upon during the crisis of the Absolute. An adventure fraught with tension, frustration, conflict, and more as the reader partners up with the devil you love to hate ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Most biased spot on this list, especially if you've been following me for a while. I do not read Raphael fics, because while I understand the appeal, he's simply not my guy. However, I've been here for "O, Fortuna" since it was still in early development and Gufu said she hasn't got another longfic/slowburn in her, and thus it's ending up on here. It's definitely the longest fic on this list and quite an emotional journey, but I promise it's worth it. ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content, specifically towards the end.

❦

In Another Life, I Knew You [Astarion/Tav] - spaced_egg (AO3)

❦ Plot: After 200 years of believing him to be dead, Tav is once again faced with her ex-fiancé Astarion, who has little recollection of his life before Cazador. Now having to navigate tadpoles, the end of the world and feelings of both the past and the present, Tav and Astarion journey through Faerûn together. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: When I first read the summary of the fic I was quickly intrigued, because the concept of Tav and Astarion having known each other before he became a vampire offers up so many possibilites and adds layers of depth I really appreciate. "In Another Life, I knew You" does a wonderful job of expanding on their past and focussing on their present situation and as a reader you find yourself easily engrossed into the story. The dynamic between the two of them is written in a very believable way and I dearly hope the author is going to continue the story in 2025.

❦

Judgement by the Hounds [Gortash/Dark Urge] - @septembersummer

❦ Plot: A look into the relationship of The Dark Urge (Seren) and Gortash, from their first meeting up to their shared end. "The rise and fall of the worst situationship of all time" indeed. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: "Judgement by the Hounds" is getting a place in my fic recs for a second time, because it is quite possibly the best portrayal of Durgetash ever. It's basically canon to me at this point, because of how realistic their relationship is depicted (as in, realistic for them). I went through all fives stages of grief reading that story, and I so desperately kept hoping for a happy ending, even if Durgetash are the last people to deserve it. 10/10 fic - there's literally nothing else I can say.

❦

Miscellaneous One Shots/Short stories (Includes the ones I already recommended in May bc let's spread some love): legacy with no memory by @discordsmuse on AO3 - Gortash x The Dark Urge The Weight of A Promise by @sserpente on tumblr [Part 2 is equally good!] - Gortash x Tav/OC kiddo. by @avocado-writing on tumblr. - Gortash & OC to have and to hold by @littlejuicebox on tumblr. - Astarion x Tav choices. by @deadtired-highkeyenergetic on tumblr - Astarion x Tav how to win a custody battle in one easy step. by alltears on AO3 - Astarion x Tav Dangerous by NaeveTheWizard on AO3 - Astarion x The Dark Urge

The Ascendant Takes A Bride by @deadly-diminuendo on tumblr - Astarion x OC lilac and gold by @sorceresssundries on tumblr - Halsin x Tav Until We Wake, also by sorceresssundries on tumblr - Gale x Tav pygmalion's folly by AutopsyGarlands on AO3 - Gortash x Tav The Dark Prince by @reverieblondie on tumblr - Rolan x Tav For Old Times' Sake by @sserpente on tumblr - Gortash x Tav Ma'am by @kimberbohwrites on tumblr/AO3 - Rolan x Tav To Care Enough by @locallegume on tumblr - Astarion x Tav colors of the wind by al9ayf on AO3 - Halsin x Tav To Sever the Thread by anotheropti on AO3 - Shadowheart x Tav

❦

Honourable Mentions: Honourable mentions go out to several artists whose work I have throughly enjoyed throughout the year!

@starrforge - Incredible Halsin x Tav artwork! @lirotation - My favourite Astarionx Tav artwork, including amazing comics! @shellytheleo - Utterly beautiful Bloodweave content @heyitsjaki - THE BEST COMICS. I love how Gale suffers. Immaculate. @infernaldaydreams - Added to the BG3 category for the amazing Durgetash art, but damn if the DA art isn't immaculate as well.

Hogwarts Legacy I left behind Hogwarts Legacy at the start of the year, however one fic has still managed to secure a spot on my best of 2024 list:

merry and bright [Sebastian Sallow x M!MC] - @heyitszev

❦ Plot: Years after having left his magical hometown of Feldcroft, now streamer Sebastian Sallow returns home for the holidays to celebrate his sisters' nuptials. He expects a short visit, until he meets Charlie, Feldcroft's baker and potions master, and realises what he's been missing all along. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: I am a sucker for Hallmark movies - the cliches and predictability are something I eat up time and time again. So when the wonderfully talented Zev decided to write a hallmark fic with a gay couple at its center, I knew I would eat it up. "merry and bright" is perfect in taking itself serious enough yet also allowing for the typical hilarity and easygoing nature of Hallmark movies. The main characters are adoringly clueless yet charmingly witty and I cannot get enough of the dynamics between all of them.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Having not played the first three DA games, I know precious little about the universe as a whole. I have several opinions on the game/plot itself, but the community has created some incredible content that deserves to be honoured and appreciated!

❦

Rookie [Viago de Riva & F!Rook, Lucanis Dellamorte/F!Rook] - @marcell-arts

❦ Plot: Rook (or "Rookie") de Riva navigates growing up as a Fledgling of House de Riva as a former slave, before eventually becoming the Hero of the Veilguard. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Confession time: there’s nothing I love more than a good 'found family' dynamic, especially when it includes a reluctant father/brother figure. That trope alone is usually enough to win me over. I stumbled upon this fic late one night when it had about 15 chapters. Safe to say, I didn’t get much sleep because I was hooked from the very first chapter. The writing is absolutely phenomenal, with pitch-perfect pacing (seriously, it’s masterful) and just the right blend of detail, headcanons, and canon divergence. It manages to stay true to the game while carving out its own identity, and the dynamic between Rook and Viago is equal parts heartwarming and hilarious - ultimate tsundere/reluctant dad meets the kid he practically scooped out of a dumpster energy. Additionally, the relationships Rook forms before teaming up with Varric add so much depth and dimension to her as an original character; they really make her feel alive. This is hands-down one of the best fics I’ve read all year, and I still can’t believe it’s the author’s first.

❦

Misdirection [Emmerich Volkarin/F!Rook] - @jainydoe (AO3)

❦ Plot [AU Setting]: Working for the FBI, being a Professor and a single dad has left Emmerich celibate for years, but the return of his estranged ex wife renders him desperate enough to sign up for a Sugar Dating Website, through which he meets the disaster that is Rook, a broke college student equally as desperate as him. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: The prose of this fic is absolutely fantastic, but what really gets me is the humour. Rook is such a disaster that I can't help but laugh every five seconds and yet "Misdirection" manages to be serious enough that it never comes across as silly or irritating. Emmerich's characterisation, specifically the struggle between his hopeless romanticism and hurt, is written beautifully illustrative and I'm endlessly curious to see where the entire fic will eventually lead.

That's it for my 2024 fic recs! I will definitely be doing this again in 2025, because it brings me a lot of joy to uplift so many fantastic creators and their work. I would love to know what everyone else's "best of" fics were this year, so feel free to drop some wonderful recommendations! Let's create positive and loving spaces for each other, especially in times like these.

For now, Merry Christmas to those celebrating!

Much love xx

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