#i get all your points and its fair!!

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[scionshtola]

a bit of sugar

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 1.5k | rated: G | read on ao3 summary: A date with Corisande at the county fair has Y'shtola reconsidering what she really wants out of their time together. notes: another fic in the rodeo au verse, where Y'shtola is a geologist come to survey the land of the ranch that Cori works on. written for Wolshtola Week Day 4 - Date Night! [divider credit]

Just inside the entrance to the county fair, Y'shtola waited for Corisande in the shade of a large tree. A cool breeze blew gently through the fairgrounds, fluttering her skirt about her knees. The grounds were bigger than she had expected, and far more crowded, too, so used had she grown to the small town establishments she now frequented.

A steady stream of people bustled through the entrance, many of whom beelined for the same line Corisande now stood in. They were at the front of the queue now, and as tall as they were, Y'shtola could just see them from here—their pink tipped ears, the burgundy curls that streamed down their back, head and shoulders above most of the others in line. A tiny flutter started somewhere in her stomach, a feeling that, to her continual chagrin, she could no longer describe as unfamiliar.

She tried not to think anything of it. It was only a trip to the fair, after all—a date, Corisande had called it, when they had asked if she wanted to come. Seeing as she already spent most of her time—personal and professional—with Corisande, it didn't seem anything to get worked up about. But even that logic did not stop the warmth that spread through her chest as they approached, smiling brightly as they brandished neon pink wristbands in one hand.

"Unlimited rides," Corisande said, and reached for Y'shtola's hand. They wrapped the band carefully around her wrist, their fingers brushing warmly against her skin as they smoothed the adhesive into place, and the fluttering in Y'shtola's stomach started up again with the thrill of their touch. She felt vaguely ridiculous, like a schoolgirl with a silly crush rather than a grown woman who had, more than once, done far more than brush fingers with Corisande.

Corisande handed over the remaining wristband. "It almost matches your hair," Y'shtola teased, tugging on a pink curl that fell in front of Corisande's shoulder, warming when she laughed. When Y'shtola was done settling the wristband into place, Corisande twisted her wrist and laced her fingers easily with Y'shtola's. There was so much affection in her gaze that it took some effort for Y'shtola to turn away and study the fairgrounds beyond her. "Where do we start?"

"I recommend saving the food for after the Tilt-a-Whirl. But—" Corisande gestured at a nearby booth. Several teens sat on stools, shooting water into the open mouths of laughing clowns, bright balloons inflating above their heads. "—If you would like a giant stuffed bear to carry around all night, we can start with the games."

"You're certainly confident," Y'shtola teased, laughing when Corisande replied, with a shrug, "I have good aim."

Quite the understatement, considering Y'shtola had seen their performance at the rodeo, where they had hit their target with the loop of their rope with ease each time. She leaned into Corisande and said, "Tilt-a-Whirl it is, then. But I expect to eat far too much fried food before the night is over, and to bring home at least one unreasonably sized plush animal."

"Don't worry," Corisande replied, leaning down to kiss her. They squeezed her hand as they started guiding them both toward the rides. "I'd never let you leave the fair without at least one fried Oreo for the ride home."

The afternoon passed by in a whirlwind as Corisande tugged her between rides, starting with the Tilt-a-Whirl, as promised, before moving on to others—the Cliffhanger and the Downdraft and the Skyscreamer, side by side, bumping shoulders while they soared through the air. Corisande's cheers carried through the air as they spun and fell, and Y'shtola, heart racing and stomach dropping as the Mega Drop carried them fast toward the ground, lifted her voice to match, laughing and yelling alongside her.

Y'shtola found herself a little amazed—and perhaps a little enamored, when she let herself give in to the sentiment—by the way Corisande was so free with their affection in public. They held her hand as they walked between rides, fingers laced; they shifted their arm around her shoulders when they stood in line, pressed her to their side, dipped down to kiss her seemingly whenever they had the urge. It was easy for Y'shtola to press back into their touch, to lean into the long line of their body, to rise on her toes to meet their kiss. Y'shtola marveled at every touch, delighted in each kiss Corisande pressed to the back of her hand, at how intuitively it came to her to kiss the curve of their shoulder in return.

They found a table as the sun set, orange sky giving way to the faded blue of dusk, two bottles of Coke and a large basket of fries between them. Y'shtola smoothed her dress under her thighs before she sat in the plastic chair, and Corisande tangled their long legs, bare below the hem of their denim skirt, with hers beneath the table. Every so often their fingers brushed as they reached for the basket of fries at the same time, and Y'shtola's cheeks would warm at the sweet curve of Corisande's smile across the table.

They moved on to other attractions after, bumper cars and the carousel, laughing at themselves in the mirrors of The Funhouse and kissing in the dark corners where they were sure no one was behind them. A surprising amount of carnival games involved aiming—tossing basketballs into a basket and rings onto a bottle, knocking over pins with a softball—and by the time they made it to the booth Corisande had first pointed out, with the water guns and the laughing clowns, they had already accumulated a myriad of plush animals: a small monkey that now swung from Y'shtola's purse, velcro hands clasped around the strap; a fanged cat with wings and a cape; and a large stuffed paissa wearing a white chef's hat.

"Please," Y'shtola said plaintively, when Corisande proved herself exceptionally good with the water gun. "We can't carry around any more of these creatures."

Corisande studied the wall of prizes, humming with consideration. After a moment, she lifted something delicately from the wall, and turned back to Y'shtola. In the palm of her hand laid a bracelet made of large white beads, the size and shape of plastic pearls. A small, heart-shaped charm dangled from between the beads.

"May I?" Corisande asked, gesturing to Y'shtola's arm. Y'shtola obliged, heart skipping as Corisande lifted her arm, cradling her wrist gently as she slipped the bracelet over her hand. Beneath the flashing lights of the games, the white beads were almost pearlescent. It was silly, only a plastic piece of children's costume jewelry, but when Y'shtola looked up into Corisande's fond gaze, she felt the way she had on the Mega Drop, her stomach dropping and her heart racing with the thrill of the fall.

"It matches your hair," Corisande teased, taking the ends of Y'shtola's hair between her fingers just as Y'shtola had done to her earlier, and Y'shtola rose to kiss her.

Their lips were warm and inviting against hers, sweet from the powdered sugar of the funnel cake they'd shared. She kissed her and kissed her, fingers curling in the belt loops of Corisande's skirt, until the teenager who ran the booth clapped his hands and said, briskly, "Okay! Who's up next?"

"There's one more thing I want to do," Corisande said, when they pulled apart, laughing, noses bumping. Y'shtola swept her thumb across Corisande's cheek and was rewarded with a warm smile before Corisande straightened. She slung her arm over Y'shtola's shoulder as they walked, and Y'shtola, still warm with affection, leaned into her and slipped her hand into the back pocket of Corisande's skirt.

The line for the Ferris Wheel was short when they reached it, and it wasn't long before Corisande was helping Y'shtola into the carriage. It was fully evening now, and as they rose above the fairgrounds, night stretched dark across the countryside in all directions. But even with the lights blazing below them, the stars were bright and beautifully visible above them. It reminded her of that first evening she had spent with Corisande, dancing beneath the stars outside her motel room, music floating out of the windows of Corisande's pickup truck. And that second evening, too, kissing for the first time under the night sky, wrapped up warmly in each other's arms.

Is this how it would always be, here with Corisande? The two of them, side by side under a brilliant night sky. Hands in each other's pockets, leaning into touches, kissing sugar off each other's lips. Sharing silly gifts and fries and dances and warm, sweet smiles. Is that what she wanted—until the job was complete, of course, however many weeks or months that might be—so long as it was Corisande next to her?

Y'shtola looked at Corisande, who had her head tilted back as she gazed up at the stars. A small smile played at the corners of Corisande's heart-shaped mouth, growing when she turned to face Y'shtola and saw her already looking back. Y'shtola's heart raced as their gazes met, as if they were soaring through the air on one of the roller coasters rather than spinning slowly on the Ferris Wheel. When Y'shtola leaned in to kiss them, they met her mouth sweetly, and the last of her uncertainty was brushed away with gentle fingers on the back of her neck, twining into the ends of her hair.

[g0nta-g0kuhara]

I think I've gotten to the point where I'm just gonna not interact with or even block blogs that post v/3 fan art while aggressively and needlessly harping on it in the caption

[torchickentacos]

The pokemon anime subreddit fascinates and frustrates me on equally deep levels

[silent-sentinels]

youve heard of panic! at the d!sco, now get ready for overthinking! at the laundromat!!

[kiqilinn]

Why am I seeing Eurovision posts on my dash.... Haven't we established already how this competition keeps favoring Israel.... I thought we knew things

[ponyatowski]

so ive been to london for the (kindof) very first time as a conscious human being and man it is like. i can’t articulate all the feelings ive been having but its making me REALLY emo because Wow heres a city that seemingly works!

[gifti3]

so yea running servers isnt like a cheap thing is what ive been learning these past couple weeks

[crypt1dcorv1dae]

Metalheads who don't like/respect Babymetal bc their "look" isn't, what? Traditionally metal? are so cringe. Like bro it's an alternative music scene we're supposed to say FUCK tradition????? What's wrong w y'all... Embarrassing

And also they are missing out bc Babymetal fucking rules

[dirt-str1der]

I miss y5 so much kiryu is trying his best to just be some guy and everybody in the world keeps trying to seek him out and tell him no ur not

[nightmare8-420]

tw uhhh???? sorta ish implied possible abuse??? i have no idea how to explain this. sorry. /vent / this is so long im basically reciting one of those core issues that reply again and again

this is so stupid shouldnt this stay in the noted app

isnt this basically the open notes app?

what the fuckk everrr idc

how am i supposed to even start this. christ.

april 17th. 2022. i think at least. i dont have any of the pictures anymore. new phone and stuff. it was in april at least. i hate april for more than this reason, big factor though.

i was laying on the couch, early morning, 9-10 am ish if i remember. there was something said about going up to my fathers mothers house because she was insistant, yada yada, i zoned out, then asked for the schedule. [Fathers mothers name]s house then the store? i asked something of the like i think.

and i guess that was the wrong thing to say. she lit into me about god knows what, i can barely remember honestly. dont really wanna remember tbh. i remember some of the things she said, they make me feel disgusting just thinking about it. i wont talk about those.

it was like instead of being a normal ass rider she decided to wait 7 months and then just start fucking screaming. when i say screaming, i mean literal fucking screaming. not shouting. not talking loud. screaming. to the point shes done it so much i dont know how we havent gotten a noise complaint. or domestic violence report or something.

obviously me being 12 and an idiot, i totally took this 100% well!

i dont know why exactly i have been, but, i am to say the least, a paranoid man. kinda.?? is it paranoia if it started out as unrealistic and unjustifed but then became realistic and justified? obviously my ass hasnt trusted her since i was 8. ignoring medical issues, cheating on her husband and making me lie for her. etc. so of course, assuming that shed hit me or something bc tbh that woulsnt be shocking, i went outside, crying like goddamn i was crying bro. (note; unimportant but a habit whenever i start getting yelled at, sorta just shut down and agree with whatever they say, usually making plans on how to look like im doing what they say without actually doing it.) that stupid fucking gray sweater i was wearing. far too itchy ti be considered comfortable. shaking. vision blurrier than ever before (use this line for fanfic future j stg stg)

of course she comes out there yelling too! i think. or made me come back inside. i think it was the latter?? again, tried to forget about this. kinda hard to though tbh.

more yelling ensues, as usual, my father ends up taking me to his mothers house, because we planned to go anyways.

we didnt talk the whole ride there. he asked me on the street "still kinda upset?", god it was hard to get even a "kinda" out (note, blurry memory, dk if thats correct, pretty sure it is tho)

we went in. and i as he and them were greeting each other, i had to go to the bathroom so i wouldnt (or at least not be seen) cry. (my father worked most of the time since before i was born and theyre over protective so going mostly anywhere was always with my mother) it sucked. her bathroom really, REALLY sucks okay.

anyways i come out because i cant hide in there forever. i go into the kitchen, she has a 'gift' for me, she said so. it was a little bird house. yk the ones that arent really useable and just meant to be painted? yeah those. i actually like it still, never finished working on it though.

AND 50 FUCKINF DOLLARS FUCK YOU TO MY MOTHER I GOT 50 BUCKS OUT OF THIS BITCH 🖕🖕🖕

still sucked. (also as a note, i did smoke then, but i had left it purposefully underneath my dresser, incase she was like "HE SMOKES DID YOU KNOW THAT HUH? WHY SHOULDNT I BREATE THIS CHILD" i could be like "NUH UH I LEFT IT THERE FOR ANREASON" or some shit irdk my reasoning was so weird but id still do it today.

so after that, zoning out because god i dont remember the rest, we went to his at the time place of work (truck driver, chemicals, going to the yard to get stuff from truck to swtich it to another or just to clean or look at it is so normal i cant express it)

the yard is essentially an ass ton of those dusty gray small rocks. i stayed in the honda, it was a gray day, literally. looked like it was gonna rain.

i stayed in because everything was so much and if i got out, i probably wouldve collapsed just from being too into my own thoughts.

i guess at some point when she was yelling at me it turned into about school work and how i get nothing done.

theres actually still an app for it, but i dont think you can reset passwords, if you could, then idk how. the password was extremely long and stupid, like random numbers and letters literally. i always logged on on my laptop, by muscle memory, but the ohone keyboard is different so i texted my mother to ask if she knew, yk, to 'show initiative' and of course she was still being an ass. because why not right! so that made me feel more like shit and lowkey kinda helpless. she had been yelling sorta at my father too, so its not like i could just go get run over at this point, would make it worse on him (not actively what i was thinking but i think subconsciously)

finally he finished doing whatever he was doing, dont remember because too focused on smth else (care to guess what?)

he got back in the car and asked if there was anywhere else i wanted to go. i said something along the lines of "anywhere but home".

he said "i know, but we gotta go home at sometime.." i cant express his tone but ill try.

it was in that solem, "im about to start the process of before you cry and i can feel it but im trying not to." or "i know this isnt right, but everhthing else is wrong too and i just. cant. save. you."

i feel that its very worth mentioning that since he was 3 he was severely abused by his father and mother. as he puts it "every night was a fucking argument" i dont remember the exact words but hes stated multiple times because of said fights he used to go to bed without eating. (and his mother is SO fucking weird, i mean it in the shes literally told my mother and i quote "when his chest hair was coming in it was so sexy". im not kidding. this is a real quote from this woman. hes adopted. this makes it absolutely no better but im pretty sure thatd be her justification for that comment.)

[his first father, gene who is now thankfully rotting in hell <3, was an absolute piece of shit. a whore. an abuse. everything.

the next one, Jack because no motherfucker thats MY initial. was an alcoholic, a prick when he was drunk, but not too bad when sober, my father has told me how jacks parents used to. essentially chain him (his shirt or neck?? dont remember) to a clothes line 'so he wouldnt run off'. or smth very close. foggy memory. boils down to 'very sensitive to child abuse and doesnt take that shit' a W indeed.

third, MASON MENTIONED actually was good. he doesnt talk abt mason much (idk time period, dont think he was around too long, died of cancer i think? or tb. i think. also gene was only in his childhood. a bit of gene and then after the nexts where in adult hood)

then the last/most recent, Jimmy. hes like. fine ig????? longer story for later.]

so basically having a slight panic attack because oh god what the fuck am i going to do. i asked a question.

simple. plain. basic english.

"do you ever think she'd hit me?"

you know when youre crying and your throat closes up and is scratchy? just like that. from someone thats supposed to love and protect you.

and. the worst part? this man has been married to her for somewhere around 20? years now. and the only thing he could say?

"i dont know."

i dont know. i dont know. i dont fucking know.

i was in the backseat, so i couldnt see, but i could hear him cry. gene was in the army, so of course he was the type for everything to have to be perfect. also probably why my father is assumed to have been in the military. everything has ways had to be perfect.

and you know what isnt perfect, military or just generally being seen as wrong or effeminate?

a man crying. a grown man crying.

over his wife. not because she died. not because shes sick. but because hes unsure that his own child, his son, will be safe with her. because he has to work. no matter what.

because courts never give custody to the father here. because he doesnt have enough PTO or sick days (not that thats a thing) to see it blow over.

because in the next 24 hours he will have to come to work.

he watched his wife almost kill their newborn son because she was stressed, he stopped it. because he could. because he was there. it was understandable. i dont remember what its called but after pregnancy/birth depression is real.

but thats 12 years later. with a woman that should know so much better.

we went home. it was the first time i was glad he drove slowly.

that tension in the air. it would take more than a fingernail to cut through.

we 'discussed' some things. less yelling. more just stern talkings of 'what needs to happen', i still dont do those things.

at some point we went on a walk, there was a backhanded comment about how we didnt go to the store for some reason.

the next day her and i went to the park. the major was there, she knows him, she made me take pictures with him. and the whole time the only thing i could think of was "does he even know what happened yesterday?"

[arolesbianism]

Y'know I generally like all the sephirah core suppressions but Man I wish Binah didn't have the no pause mechanic. She was going to get it anyways later, why did she need it right next to the guy who's main meltdown mechanic involves limiting your ability to pause.

I also just feel like the fight is actually genuinely pretty fun in the way it pushes your micromanagement skills to their limits, and I feel like removing the ability to pause just makes the fight go from a fun management challenge to just kind of stupid. Maybe that's just a skill issue on my part, but still I think her suppression would be a lot less stupidly hard for no good reason and more of a fun challenge if they just removed the no pause part

[followmybadreligion]

thinking about getting a little too drunk w husband!simon…

he’s already a super possessive guy, but your drunken antics are only making it ten times worse.

sure, coming to the bar was his idea. it was only fair, after such a long week at work, that he got to have a nice dinner on the town and a few beers shortly after. even better that he got to do it with his pretty fucking wife, you know?

yeah, he watched you slip into the tightest, smallest dress you had, curl your hair into pretty little coils, and push and pull at everything else out of place. he saw the too tall black pumps you choose— the one’s he got you for your anniversary that make your legs look model-length long. he even saw the way your black lace bralette played peek-a-boo along your dress’s neckline.

all of it only made him more excited.

getting to show you off on the town? his sweet, sexy little woman all done-up and pretty, hanging off his arm like his little trophy? god, he was practically hard before you two could reach the front door.

the second that liquor hit your system, though, was the second all hell broke loose.

at this point in the night, you’re long past the idea of sitting pretty, eating your food, and posing for pictures. now, you’re feeling good. a little tipsy, or maybe even drunk. all the shyness or docile little feelings from the beginning of the night are gone.

now, you wanna dance. you wanna throw your arms up and sway with the other bar-goers, and why shouldn’t you be able to?

you didn’t mind the way your dress rode up your thighs, giving the wrong people an eyeful of your goods. you hadn’t noticed the men who’d run their hands over you, every so often passing by with their crotch just a little too close to your ass. all you were focused on was the music, how good you felt, and when your next shot was coming.

if only you had paid attention to the damn near menacing stare simon had you under. something that rivaled a madman’s with its intensity.

he’d held back for the first few songs, letting the angel on his shoulder telling him to ease up guide him. sure, he still stood around like an unamused body guard, sending glares to the gawking men and buying your drinks whenever you asked. maybe occasionally he’d get a cute picture or video of you too. that was just what came with the simon o’riley type though.

it wasn’t until you got to the flirty territory, grinding your ass into him with the music or kissing him with a little too much tongue, that he decided to pull the plug.

and god, did you always give him attitude for it.

“i’m not ready to leave, simon,” you’d whine, eyes glossed over and face screwed up in that cute little way you only do when you’re aggravated.

“i want another drink,” but you’re slurring and stumbling already.

“just keep kissing on me, baby,” you protest as he grabs your discarded shoes and purse and starts leading you towards the exit.

he’s sweet with you at first, given how drunk and cute you truly are. sure, you may have triggered his possessiveness early, but you’re batting your eyelashes up at him and clinging onto him for dear life. how could he not talk to you softly? how could he not kiss you back as he tugged your dress back down?

“it’s alright, lovie. let’s get home and i’ll take such good care of you.”

you start trying to fight him though and you’ll see how thin his patience truly is.

doing things out of spite? pulling his hands away from you while he’s trying to guide you down the street? arguing with him through your half-coherent sentences? cursing him under your breath just loud enough that he can hear it?

you’re getting yourself in trouble and you’re too drunk to know it.

he was prepared to let your little outbursts slide. wouldn’t hold it against you and still keep his plans straight for the night.

after all you’d done, he was still gonna get you home, slip off those stockings and undo those zippers. dedicate the rest of the night to making you feel all good like how you’d begging him too.

but you just can’t keep that pretty little mouth shut, can you?

“don’t make it worse for yourself.” he’d warn, grabbing your face from its resting place against his passenger-side window, “you’ve already fucked up enough as is, yeah?”

his voice is gruff and his jaw is set, but his eyes don’t leave yours for a second.

you’ll be making it up to him all night long, and he’s gonna be anything but nice now ;)

[mattsundaes]

“i think iwa-chan’s in love with you.”

startled, you whip around to see the pensive look on oikawa’s face as he sits down on your new couch and looks around at the equally new furniture that now fills the rest of the living room.

glancing up from inspecting the array of trinkets on the bookshelf, mattsun nods in agreement.

you look between the two of them, bewildered.

sure, iwaizumi’s one of your best friends. but so are they.

(the years-long crush you’ve had on him is neither here nor there.)

“it’s the ikea effect,” mattsun says with a shrug, reaching out with a finger to spin your miniature globe on its axis.

“the what?”

makki sprawls out on the couch as well, kicking his feet across oikawa’s lap; they’re promptly shoved off. “i asked iwaizumi if he’d come over and help me build ikea furniture once. he told me he’d rather die.”

“to be fair, we almost killed each other building that tv stand,” mattsun adds.

“i tricked him into coming over after i bought an ikea dresser that needed to be built, and he took one look at the box and walked right out,” oikawa scoffs.

you blink at all three of them, your heart doing something funny in your chest. “i mean, maybe he just felt obligated because he went with me and helped me pick most of it out—“

“i’m sorry, he fucking WHAT—“

“—HE WENT WITH YOU?”

“IWAIZUMI HAJIME STEPPED FOOT INTO AN IKEA OF HIS OWN FREE WILL?”

at that, the door to your new apartment swings open, and there’s a familiar, affectionate flutter in your chest at the head of dark hair that steps inside.

“i picked up those curtains you were talking about last night…” iwaizumi immediately starts talking, trailing off when he belatedly realizes you’re not alone.

oikawa hops up off of the couch, pointing an accusing finger at the logo on the shopping bag clutched in iwaizumi’s hand as he looks from mattsun to makki and trills in a singsong tone, “remember what happened last time one of us tried to get him to come to bed, bath, and beyond?”

“he said he’d rather die,” mattsun and makki reply blandly in unison.

iwaizumi gives the three of them a weird look and shakes his head as he turns down the hallway to use the bathroom. makki and oikawa start making kissy faces at each other until you smack them both with a throw pillow.

—and you try to hide the slight trembling of your fingers, shuddering in tune with the rapid beating of your traitorous heart, as you reach into the bag to take out the curtains.

(you decide not to announce when you subsequently find a bag of your favorite candy waiting in surprise at the bottom.)

[boyfhee]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦ㅤㅤ sim jaeyun

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝗦𝗖𝗥𝓲𝗣𝗧───𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌.

❪ 5O1O ❫ ｡ jake 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 𝑖𝑛 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌 ✿ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ! making out, explicit sex, fingering, oral ( f ! receiving ), car sex, jake is a little crazy

﹙◜ᴗ⁠◝⁠﹚ first and last time writing smut, this was so stressful >< please be nice. the plot is silly .. jake is silly erm anyway a big big thanks to casey my baef for reviewing this or i would have never posted. happy reading !

OO1 I WANT YOU

jake first bumped into you during one of the university competitions. you both were volunteering for different contests, running around, and he quite literally bumped into you. apologies spun in the air and you were quick to brush it off, maybe because you were busy. it occured to him that you are very pretty.

second time, it was at the congratulatory dinner with the winners exactly two weeks later. you were incredibly happy, pouring drinks and helping others and he was incredibly curious.

third time, well— you were already in his bed. wasted, tired, satisfied, and it’s a scene that’s burned into his mind.

numbers were exchanged, you both agreed on fridays. although, it barely only stayed limited to fridays. you started calling him after your long and tiring labs and he would want a taste of you after his football coach would get on his nerves again.

the first time he was in your bed would be today. he offered to drive you back and you pulled him closer by his collar in the elevator.

you’re pretty sure you’ve made a mess out of your apartment while bumping into things and making your way inside. it doesn’t really matter though. with jake, every mess leads to something good.

“oh, jake!” you moan as he thrusts into you, arms on either side of your head. sex with jake was incredible. he was caring, despite having his long dick in your tight hole, despite teasing you till he had his fill before filling you up.

he fucks you nice and gentle and his eyes never leave your face, wanting to see every single expression, to watch you as you let out the sweetest, most alluring sounds.

“you close, angel?” he grunts as he fucks you slow and deep, with so much passion. you are a wanton mess and he can only chuckle at the muddle he has made out of you, leaving you speechless and fucked to the point you are only nodding furiously, digging your nails into him.

he can see the sweat on your forehead, making your baby hairs stick to your skin. he can feel you clenching around him— you’re still so tight after he has fucked you so many times.

he kisses your neck, right above your pulse, whispering in his low yet sugary voice as he pulls all out before inching all the way inside the very next moment. “come for me, doll,”

your eyes flutter shut as he pushes into you deeper, one hand finding its way to your clit as he elevates your pleasure.

you look unreal with moonlight reflecting off your skin. he is thanking the universe for making the power go out tonight because you look breath taking, and you have taken his breath away.

his tongue runs over your lips and then into your mouth and your moans echo through his mouth when he begins to kiss you slowly. you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. “g-gonna cum, jaeyun. . .”

“i know,” he breaths, feeling himself getting closer. he can feel it more than before when he glazes down at your body, all weak and hot, all because of him. it’s like a switch turning on in you when he looks at you like you belong here, and you come undone.

he pulls out with a grunt, pumping his cock on top of you before coming all over your lower stomach. he makes such a mess, although he doubts you would want it otherwise. the sheets are not a problem, he would make sure to help you clean them as a fair apology— not because he fucked you so hard you made a mess all over your sheets, but because it would happen again.

sometimes, you wonder if this is how it is supposed to be.

he immediately grabs a towel to clean you up. his actions are slow and soft and you let out a relaxed sigh at the way he trails his lips over your belly, tasting the remnant of him on his tongue. he goes further down and kisses the insides of your thigh, knowing just now it gets you all bothered.

his eyes find yours from down below, and you wonder why he looks at you like that while he wonders if you are aware that you are otherworldly.

he senses your breath even out and you slip into slumber. you are always the first one to fall asleep and he thinks it’s adorable. he covers you with a duvet, gaze refusing to leave you— who looks so angelic in the after glow, so spent, so blissfully unaware of the things you make him feel.

he guesses he should sleep on the couch but then he decides to stay and watch you longer. your eyes flutter during sleep in the most hypnotising ways and you look like you should be given everything you ever desire. you deserve to have all your wishes fulfilled, to be happy every second of life and never feel lacking. if it is the stars and moon that you want— stars and moon shall you receive.

jake realises this is the first time he has watched you sleeping for so long. he realises how lucky he is to see you like this, bare, open, content. he realises you deserve the entire world instead of some convenient sex a few times a week— the thought leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

his heart beats faster and he can feel his fingers clenching involuntarily over the sheets. jake realises you deserve to be sought after every day, every hour, every minute, every second, and not only on days he wants pleasure.

he thinks he is losing his mind, but he feels like a sick bastard to reduce someone like you to just sex, when you deserve to be made love to with utmost care and passion.

a voice in his head tells him he is overthinking— you agreed to this, fully sober. but he still feels an ache in his heart when he thinks about the first time he had sex with you, and he winces at his sheer stupidity for landing you in this arrangement when you deserve better.

the soft rustling of sheets turns his attention to you as you turn, hugging the other pillow in your arms. your cheeks are squished against the soft material— so pure, innocent, like a fairy.

jake feels sick to his stomach.

OO2 IN WAYS MORE THAN ONE

jake feels like the worst man to walk on god’s green earth.

his head is spinning and he can’t stop thinking about the beautiful sounds you let out while he fucked you out of your head the other day— each memory making him feel guiltier.

it’s been three days since he has seen you.

three days of pushing and pulling, of his fingers hovering over your contact to give a call back, three days of holding at the single string of reason left in him.

he avoids walking by your classes, even taking the longer route in the scorching heat. he does a complete one-eighty when he sees you from across the cafeteria, making an excuse to his friends and hurrying out.

jake is absolutely going through it because you went to your birthday party and your pictures on instagram are turning him on. he almost considers unfollowing you but ends up liking your post instead.

he thinks about all the times he has fucked you and all the sounds you let out for him and almost jerks off in the washroom stalls— almost, because he slaps himself back to reality and goes back to having his face buried deep betweent the pages of his book, this time.

“i feel like shit,” is the first thing he says as soon as he plops down on the chair next to sunghoon, immediately going for the can of soda on the table.

“did something happen?” there’s curiosity, just not enough to make him look up.

but the sound of jake popping the can open catches his attention anyway, followed by a groan from the australian. “me and yn are fucking,”

a pause. sunghoon shrugs. he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with that.

for one, you’re really beautiful. if he didn’t know any better, sunghoon would fuck you too out of sheer jealously. and two, jake goes off about you on a weekly basis and it doesn’t take a scientist to know that he might have a thing for you.

although, having sex with your crush on a friday to friday arrangement sounds way awkward for sunghoon’s liking. “oh? good for you,”

“no— no,” jake leans over the table, really engrossed in telling his friend why this is the biggest sin he could’ve ever committed. “this need to stop. she deserves something proper, more than just convenient sex,”

and the latter can only furrow his brows at his words. jake might just be the first person to complaint about this. “is it that serious?”

“it is! she deserves more— better,” he is firm, adamant. there’s an extra emphasis on the way he says better, and he says it so condensingly as if he knows he cannot provide you with that, or maybe he is too scared too.

“does she?” sunghoon scoffs. “or do you want more?”

more.

he does like the sound of that.

jake would never admit it to you, maybe it’s fear, or maybe he doesn’t want to look like a loser in front of you.

he thinks you look the prettiest when you’re basking in the afterglow, hair sprawled over his pillows. when your lips are swollen from all the kissing, when you’re exhausted and too far ruined for another round— jake thinks you might be an angel.

when you asked him if you could stay over for the first time, he wondered if that was even conventional. is that a part of this arrangement? but he ignores that question, immediately grabbing a tshirt for you from his cupboard.

and now on nights you stay over, he stays awake fixing your blanket to make sure you aren’t cold. he can’t sleep— his heartbeat is way too loud on his ears. on nights like those, he fights back the urge to brush his knuckles over the soft skin of your cheek, to gently run his fingers through your hair and kiss you good night on the forehead.

on nights like those, jake wishes there was something more; but then the sun rises and you are gone— the cycle continues.

sunghoon stares at him from his peripheral. watching his friend zone out occasionally isn’t really new, and he taps his pen on the table to get him out of the trance. “i asked you a question,”

“oh, right— uh,” there’s hesitation, jake is thinking. “i’ll see you later,” and then he scurries off out of the study room with a newly found realisation.

sim jaeyun is terrible, terrible at self control.

it’s no news, just a touch from you gets him worked up. it’s a doucious sin, neither of you mind it. study sessions are an excuse, if anything. jake knows you aren’t any better. you can’t wait until fridays and honestly— he wouldn’t mind eating you out any day despite trying to be the voice of reason between you two. but jake, jaeyun, the way you say it, so sweet and breathlessly, the way you chant his name when he has you spread out on the farthest table in the library, when he’s pounding into you and you’re biting your lips to muffle any sounds— it’s heaven.

but back to him and his self control, absolutely terrible.

jake turns like a firefly to the light when he hears your voice. you have him enchanted, like a moth to a flame. he sees you walk out of your lecture hall and he is gone, tranced.

you look like an angel, you are an angel, irrevocably so. maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen you in four days— his fault for avoiding you and now it’s coming back to bite him— but you look so incredible.

“hi, jake,” he thinks you are calling his name or maybe, it’s just his mind playing games, until you wave your hand in front of his face and bring him back to reality.

“hi,” he huffs, already breathless by the sight of you in your outfit. he doesn’t think he has seen you in that before and he is thanking every deity up there for letting him witness the sight in front of him.

“you good?” you raise your brows, you words once again get him out of his trail of thoughts. your voice is the only thing grounding him to reality and the sight of you is making him lose his mind— it’s everything that’s making him so crazy.

“yeah, very,” and he is ogling you in that outfit, undressing you with his eyes and barely even trying to hide it. god, he can feel himself getting hard just by looking at you. “you don’t know what seeing you in that does to me,”

he says it like a sinful secret, you’d be lying if it doesn’t rouse you a little. his gaze alone does the magic, already having your mind visiting places that would be deemed inappropriate by the code of conduct of your university.

“is that your way of saying i look beautiful?” you don’t let up. god, you are the death of him, looking him in the eyes with dirtiest innuendos, and jake would gladly die in your arms.

“yes. you look so beautiful,” he runs his eyes over the empty hallways before whispering against the shell of your ear. “it’s taking everything in me to not rip that off you,”

and jake doesn’t waste another second before pulling you inside the janitor’s room with him. he is quick with his hands, pushing you up against the door before kissing you hungrily.

it’s insanity how he works you up easily, like he knows you inch by inch. what you like and what you don’t— like having him kiss you messily while grinding his hips against yours— an action that takes you to heaven and back.

he feels your fingers trace over the back of his neck, making him shudder, and he is deliberately letting out a long exhale against your ear. he knows you are impatient, gosh, you always are, despite trying to be so calm and composed, only to be reduced to a puddle by just a few nips and kisses.

“so fucking pretty—” he whispers, pressing kisses along your cheeks, trailing them down to the corner of your lips just so he can hear how adorably you whine when he stops short.

he knows he is dragging this out, it’s evil but he loves it when you’re needy. he plants open mouth kisses against the column of your neck while undoing the buttons of your blouse. and he does it exactly the way that would get you worked up— slow, deliberate, teasing as his fingers brush over your breasts.

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin while his hand pushes down your bra and trails down to your breasts as his thumb starts to circle your nipple. you clutch onto him, barely able to speak anything except. “jaeyun,”

“yeah,” he responds, grinning against your neck. he loves the way you say his name, like a prayer, like your life depends on it. “got a class after this, pretty?”

you can barely make out his words, only focusing on the way he slides his hand under your trousers, feeling the damp spot on your panties before pushing the flimsy cloth aside.

“yes, but it’s— oh, jake,” your words are cut short by a gasp when his finger finds your clit, and he grins at how you spread your legs instinctively.

“gotta keep that in mind,” he mumbles before capturing your lips in a rough kiss, half because he loves the feeling of his lips against yours, half because you do have a tendency to get loud when he’s working you out with his fingers.

his thumb rubs gentle circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves, barely giving you what you want. he drinks in every single moan and whimper that dances off your lips while your eyes are closed in bliss— he thinks this is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.

your voice is honeyed— needy and saccharine and breathe— and it has his mind fogging up in admiration. your head is thrown back against the door while he continues his ministrations, flicking your clit. jake could die happily in this very moment and he would have no complaints.

this is everything he desires for yet fears, just being with you makes his heart race in inexplicable ways. the way you’re drowning in pleasure and need, so lovely— it breaks his heart knowing this is only about sex.

his mind registers your moan when he sweeps his index finger across your clit but he is far too lost in his head to focus on anything. you deserved to be treasured, to be loved, like the precious thing that you are. you whine and roll your hips to meet his hand, eager for more, only for him to rip his fingers out.

“jake—” you’re pleading nonsense while clinging to him, but he is already mumbling apologies and fixing your outfit like this was never meant to happen.

“i’m sorry,” there’s a crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that paints confusion all over your face.

“what?” you are still out of breath and in disbelief, not sure if it’s because of his words or because he left you undone for the first time in three weeks.

and jake, hell, he sees the desperation in your eyes. he knows you need him; and he can give in with the way his cock is straining inside his pants but the ache in his chest is far more and worse.

he knows you deserve to be worshiped all over, to be kissed over your skin and told sweet nothings, to have someone who says your name like a chant. you deserve the entire world, instead of some weekly sex that you both are hiding from the entire world like a sin.

so, jake simply walks out of the door once he has fixed your clothes, saying just three words that leave you perplexed. “you deserve better,”

OO3 IN ALL WAYS THAT MATTER

i’m sorry.

you scoff to yourself.

you deserve better.

and you do it again, this time in disbelief. you flip the pen in your hands, barely paying attention to the material in front of you. for a second, you wonder if this was a joke, although nothing about it was funny. especially now the way jake left you high and dry in the janitor’s room a few days ago.

maybe he is conveniently and very politely trying to tell you that he doesn’t want to have sex with you anymore, hoping you aren’t offended— you do feel quite offended, actually.

jake had no complaints before this and you certainly don’t either.

you both work together just fine, having flexible schedules, communicating actively— well, except now— great in bed ( you would give yourself that. ) you don’t know when you grew a habit of sleeping over at his place, maybe it was when you started waking to the fragrance of freshly prepared food.

you don’t even know if this was a part of the deal. ‘i can’t leave you starving after last night,’ he what he would say as an excuse. it was awkward at first, then you started to find it fun, except when you two almost missed a test because you both got a little too busy in the kitchen.

he is handsome, sweet, kind, and generous with aftercare. he treats you like porcelain after ravishing you all night, like you’re something precious. he is good with his fingers and really fucking great with his mouth. it would be greedy to ask for anything more than having his face buried between your thighs on a weekly basis.

you try to think what you could have done wrong, only to end up with your hands devoid of an answer. you sometimes catch his eyes while passing by his lecture halls— he sits in the front— you don’t understand why he looks at you so much yearning while also running away from you.

no matter which way you think, you can’t find a rational explanation for everything he said to you three days ago.

you recognise jake’s perfume like the back of your hand. it’s woody with oud, oddly fitting for him. sometimes, you wake up with his scent lingering on your skin and it provides you a weird sense of comfort. your eyes follow his movements as he walks inside the library.

you almost wait for him to notice you and say something but he doesn’t. you wonder if he is ignoring you and end up calling out to him yourself. “fancy seeing you here,”

“oh, hi,” and he quite literally freezes at your voice. his heart only beats faster the longer he stares at you. you are angry, a little hurt, he can see it in your eyes. i’m sorry, he wants to say, but he chickens out like usual. “i’ll just— ”

“you’re avoiding me,” you retort, not wanting him to leave you hanging like the last time.

“i’m not—” and he defends himself, only to be cut off by your sharp words.

“stop lying, jake,” he figures that you are really mad, more than he expected you to be.and you wonder if this is even that serious— you two are literally just fuck buddies, but you still find yourself continuing. “you’re ignoring my calls and not even replying to my texts,”

an eerie silence follows. you’ve barely known him for a couple of weeks and can still tell that this is not jake— quiet, lost, speechless, with a gaze that meets everything but your eyes.

“sorry,” is all he is able to say. he does feel guilty. heck, more than he did while trying to fuck you in the janitor’s room. jake feels like the worst guy ever, all because of this stupid situation he got you both into.

it’s stupid, you conclude. you don’t even know what you’re upset at. if it’s his words from that day, his unexpected apology or the fact that he walked out on you in the middle of whatever you were doing, without explanation. “if you don’t want to have sex with me anymore, that’s fine—”

“i never said that,” his voice is firm and his next words are determined, like they’re the only ones that matter. “i just said you deserve more,”

“but i am content with this!” you almost want to throw something. jake is refusing to have sex with you because he thinks you deserve better— it feels straight out a poorly written script of a movie. “i’m happy with what we have, i don’t want to be greedy,”

“no, you should be greedy,” he is adamant, shaking his head and all. “you’re amazing— wonderful, you deserve better than some empty sex every week,”

no, you can’t be stupid— he is.

it would be the first time in the history of any friends with benefits arrangement that this is happening. you realise that you can go on for hours about how you are happy with him fucking you every week and he would still refuse respectfully, telling you that you deserve better.

you don’t even think you are mad anymore, just amused. despite his serious voice, you find yourself biting back a giggle at his slightly red face. he’s standing in front of you, arms crossed, actually frowning and fighting for your supposed loss in this arrangement which was mutually agreed upon.

“if i didn’t know any better, i’d assume this is your bad attempt at flirting,” you manage to chuckle and he is already pulling out a chair next to you.

it’s like his breath gets caught up in his throat and he is tapping his finger on the table just as fast as his heartbeat. “what if it is?” maybe, he is just taking your chances, maybe he’ll end up making a fool out of himself— it doesn’t matter anymore.

“jaeyun,” you whine, your fingers pulling on his soft locks when he draws his finger inside your wet hole, almost chuckling as you arch your back off the seat.

“didn’t even do much yet,” he scoffs mockingly, head slanting forward until you could feel his breath against your folds. “you’re already that fucked out?”

it’s your fault, clearly.

you shouldn’t have tried arguing with jake in the middle of library, definitely shouldn’t have tried to rile him up by trying to stroke him through his pants while he was trying to focus on his studies so desperately.

you knew acting up would get you in trouble and you have quite literally landed in the hands of trouble itself— in the backseat of his car with your legs spread open— although, you doubt you would have it any other way.

“oh, shut up—” you huff, still having a little bit of attitude and honestly, jake finds it cute, but so is everything else about you.

you make a throaty cry when he adds another finger, closing your doused eyes when he places a tender kiss on your clit. he’s doing it with practiced ease, knowing you inside-out like anyone else. you’re breathing in deep and exhaling sharply while he strokes your sloppy wet cunt with the tip of his tongue.

he hums satisfactorily at how good you taste. it’s like drugs and he is addicted.

“jake,” you let out a whine, riddled with impatience. “please,”

sometimes, you ask yourself why you are unable to say anything except his name and desperate plea when he has you like this. as if on cue, he presses a few feather light kisses over your dripping folds and hooks his hand under your thighs to pull you closer, already aligning himself at your entrance.

“you’re so beautiful,” he teases his tip at your entrance, adoring your chest with light kisses that are ever so gentle. “so, so, precious,”

you wrap your arms around his neck almost like you don’t want to let him go. he is teasing you and it’s too good and too painful, all at once, and you can only let out a breathy “jake—”

“i want you so bad, baby,” and jake would rather die than keep you waiting. so, he inches into you slowly, head finding your neck instantly as you squeeze him tighter than the last time he fucked you. “in ways more than one,” he whispers a breathy confession, pressing his nose against the side of your neck. “in all ways that matter,”

he wonders if you realise that your heartbeats are in sync.

he lets out a soft groan, drawn and breathy as your walls squeeze around him with each thrust. you whimper when he hits a certain spot and he only lets out a low moan when you suck him deeper.

“fuck—right there, jaeyun!” you’re breathing much more erratic now, raising your hips to meet his. and jake wonders if you know how you get him going when you call him that.

it’s just his name, someone would argue, but the way you say it, so sweet and desperate, coated in your lovely voice.. he likes how it rolls off your tongue. you say it like it’s your right and it is— he is your jaeyun.

he speeds up his thrusts when he feels you getting closer. he pulls away from your neck and loses himself in how ethereal you look, the glow of your face surpassing the stars.

you tug him by his hair pull him into a kiss. he kisses you carefully, unlike his hips pounding into you. his lips move with tenderness, with adoration, and he pulls back to look into your eyes. “go on a date with me, darling,”

“what?” you’re not quite sure if you heard that correctly. you could very well be out of your mind, considering how he is fucking you brainless.

honestly, you can barely think about anything, too busy thinking about how good his cock feels inside you, the way he is moving. he angles his hips better, just the way it would make you come, and you let out a cry.

“i want to give you— fuck —better,” you know it just by his voice that he is close, with the way he moves inside you so desperately. “andnif we’re gonna keep fucking, you have to go on a date with me first,”

and it makes you laugh at how he is so determined to ask you out even in this state, when either of you can barely think, only breathing and groaning heavily. your walls spasm around him as you let go with a whine and he follows with a loud grunt. he presses his forehead against yours, continuing to slam his hips into you and fucking you both through the orgasm.

he slumps on top of you when you both finish, catching his breath. his eyes are closed and he plants a kiss on your temple when he feels you nuzzle in the crook of his neck.

“what if it doesn’t work out?” you finally manage to whisper after a while, not sure if you are scared or just stating a possibility.

but jake sees right through you, as always, pressing soft, gentle kisses on your cheeks with the sweetest smile. “not a chance,”

[mazeeelabyrinth]

☆ — sᥡᥣᥙs after teasing him all day

♡ Sylus x afab!reader

tags. smut, oral sex—cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, mild orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy drunk Sylus, petnames—kitten, sweetheart

wc. 1k

a/n. Idk how to format my blogs anymore lol, I'm getting lazy

masterlist ☆ ao3 ☆ navigation

You had been teasing him all day—half on purpose, half just existing in that damn oversized shirt he liked too much. Sylus did not say anything at first. Just watched you, eyes dark, tongue flicking briefly over his bottom lip.

Later, you caught the shift in his mood when he locked the bedroom door behind you that night—no smirk, just simmering intensity.

You had barely finished teasing him—just a bratty little smirk, a shift of your legs in that silk robe when you prepared for bed—and suddenly Sylus was kneeling between your thighs as if prayer was a sport.

“You’ve been a naughty kitten,” he murmured, slowly removing your panties and brushing his nose against your inner thigh. “It’s time I finally pay attention to this pretty cunt, don't you think?”

Then, he kissed your thighs like they were sacred—each kiss slow, open-mouthed, deliberate, like he wanted to taste your pulse before he got to the main event.

His hands stayed firm on your hips, thumbs circling your skin as though he was trying to memorize the feel and shape of you.

When his mouth finally landed between your legs, it was not soft. Sylus licked like he was attempting to slake his thirst—and your cunt was water and he had been crawling through a desert.

Your breath broke into fragmented syllables of his name. Sylus did not rush—of course he did not. Everything he did was calculated, elegant in its cruelty.

Those crimson eyes, intense and sharp, never left yours. Not even as his tongue kept dragging in slow, hypnotic circles over your labia. Each one ended with a flick against your clit that made you gasp—as though he was ringing a bell only he could hear.

Certainly not even when your hips arched off the mattress in response. He only pinned you down harder, one strong arm wrapping beneath your thigh while his other hand splayed over your stomach—holding you in place like a pinned butterfly.

“You always tremble right here,” he murmured, voice sonorous as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin on your mons.

“Sylus, please…”

You reached down to thread your fingers in his hair, but he caught your wrist with maddening ease and pinned it to the mattress beside your hip, fingers firm but never bruising.

“Let me work, sweetheart,” he said, low and amused, breath skimming against your slick cunt. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He spoke as if you were a decadent feast meant to be devoured by kings, not a writhing, breathless woman beneath his mouth. But then he moaned against you, like your taste was something divine, and your thighs clenched helplessly around his ears.

“Sylus, I’m—” you gasped, already feeling your climax building—sharp and quick and terrifying.

He smiled. That smile should have been illegal.

“You’ll come when I tell you to,” he whispered, lips brushing your folds, the tip of his tongue flicking against your cunt again, this time faster, tighter, ruthlessly precise.

Every flick of his tongue was done to leave you whimpering. Every suck of his lips around your clit came with a wicked gleam in his eye. He was too good at this. It wasn’t fair. He mapped you like a battlefield, found every weak point, and exploited it with finesse.

You didn’t stand a chance.

It didn’t take long before your first orgasm crashed over you, violent and shuddering. Your thighs clamped around his head but he didn’t let up—he growled softly, like your resistance only thrilled him.

Again, one hand gripped your thigh, the other slid up your trembling belly to rest over your sternum, keeping you pinned while he continued to lick and suck like you hadn’t just shattered for him.

“Sylus—fuck—I can’t—” you tried to twist, to move, to escape the overwhelming pleasure spiraling into pain. “Too much—too soon…”

He only hummed in response. The bastard was smiling. You could feel it against your skin.

“Don’t tell me you’re done, sweetheart,” he said, voice ragged, like it physically pained him to lift his mouth from you. His fingers slid in then—two of them, deep and slow, curling just right—and your breath hitched. “Not when you’re still this wet.”

Your body jolted, overstimulation crashing over you in waves—each touch too sharp, each stroke too much. Your second orgasm dragged out of you like a scream in reverse. You clenched around his fingers, thighs clamping against his shoulders. He didn’t flinch.

“Fuck—there it is,” he said against you, the vibration of his voice against your clit making you jolt. “Keep squeezing me like that, and I’ll come without even touching myself.”

No mercy. He did not stop there. You wondered if his jaw even ached.

Sylus was nothing if not indulgent when it comes to your pleasure. His teeth scraped your swollen clitoris, nipping the hooded, overstimulated bud just enough to make your cunt begin squirting around his pumping fingers and hungry mouth.

“Sylus! Oh fuck—please!” You gasped, hips writhing, too much—it was too much—but he lapped through it like he was starving. Like your orgasms had been an appetizer and he was determined to feast.

You tried to pull away but his arms locked tighter, pulling you right back against him.

By the time the third hit—harder, meaner—you were whimpering into your hand, too wrecked to speak, too far gone to beg properly. He licked you through it, slower now, gentler, but no less thorough.

His sharp features contorted into a wolfish pride when he finally pulled back, mouth slick and chin glistening. He leaned over you, bracing himself on one arm, and brushed his knuckles against your cheek.

“You always taste like heaven,” he said, voice low and reverent, like he had just discovered a religion and it wore your body.

You tried to answer. Your lips moved. Nothing came out but a ragged sigh.

Sylus chuckled, kissed the tip of your sweaty nose, and whispered, “And sweetheart, I am feeling religious.”

God help you—you got what you wanted but you were not getting sleep tonight.