#while creating this design i realized

[pixellangel]

new epithet erased/anime campaign oc based on the epithet "consumption!!" info on them under the cut <3

Mori Terabye (they/he) is an Epithet user whose Epithet is "Consumption." They've been somewhat sickly since they were a child, but it's gotten worse for them over time. They had their Epiphany after learning that they could create mysterious voids that "consume" objects - the realization that they'd been coughing up blood all their life help them mentally connect consuming things and "The Consumption", also known as Tuberculosis.

He doesn't have TB, technically; it's a weird Epithet magic situation. His Epithet happens to affect the inside of his body in a way that presents itself like the notorious infection. When making his little voids, he also has the ability to "eat" them before they disappear entirely. It helps him feel significantly better, but he doesn't exactly know how that works. Epithet magic is weird, man.

They enjoy fencing and do it on the professional level. Their lithe body makes it easy to dodge the swipes and slashes typical of swordfights, even if they do need a minute to catch their breath after a match.

so that's it!! my little guy!!!! i started making a character sheet for them but i don't have anyone that i know could gm a session of anime campaign so i have to refrain from finishing it. i don't know how to properly balance a ttrpg moveset :(

i gotta get more people into epithet tbh. ive been assigning them to some of my friends and im super attached to this idea of a campaign with my besties but its kinda unachievable without a gm </3

anyway. hope you enjoyed the art and loredump :D

[sooz-again]

I genuinely don't understand those who are able to plan out the whole drawing design from the beginning. Like, you just have a whole concept come to you while sketching? How does that work? Every single time I start working on a drawing, the largest amount of edits happen during the linework portion. It's like I can't see where to take things next until I see it closer to a completed stage, and then I have to rework so much.

[juliareed]

Fandom: Alias Relationships: Sark/Sydney Song: Spiracle by Flower Face Content warnings: Blood, death, violence, spiders, insects, flashing lights

[aria0fgold]

I have so many drawing WIPs that I did a pro gamer move and created another WIP instead of working on the other WIP I have. Thumbs up!

[the-weeping-dawn]

///

[neverendingford]

.

[winterspellsfrozenkit]

One thing I wish was understood a bit better about Twisted Wonderland.

Everyone in this game has trauma or personal struggles and it's NOT a competition of who has it worse. Honestly, sometimes I wish everyone's traumas were discussed more in depth in the game like we get with each person who Overblots, but we don't have time for it. With the Overblot boys, their trauma is shoved directly into the spotlight and we hear exactly how their situations make them feel. But the rest of the cast, ALL of them, have personal struggles and/or trauma. This is just a small list of some of the issues each non Overblot student has.

Ace masks the fear he feels in a lot of situations, and he's got an inferiority complex on some level. Notice how he bullied the player and Grim in our first interaction? That is a sign of someone who is looking to feel better by pushing someone else down because they don't feel good about themselves.

Deuce grew up with a single mother who had to work multiple jobs to make ends meet, which causes him to worry about her, and he was a delinquent in middle school, which made his mom, the one person he worries over, cry. He lives with those regrets, but he's still got those old habits and he agonizes over the fact he's not academically where he'd like to be and his behavior regresses when in heated situations.

Trey has severe trauma at being screamed at for FIVE HOURS over giving Riddle ONE slice of tart, so much that his vitals are severely affected at the thought of Mrs. Rosehearts and he's heavily conflict avoidant.

Cater has had to move all the time and as a defense mechanism, refuses to be honest or get close to people because he doesn't want to get attached only to be ripped away from them.

Ruggie lives in EXTREME poverty when not at school. He struggles to make ends meet and he has to work so hard in a system that is DESIGNED to keep him in poverty, because many beastmen still prefer segregation in the Sunset Savannah.

Jack has one of the healthier mindsets, but he still struggles with being open and honest about his feelings, which makes it hard to have friends, and he struggled with watching Leona, someone he's idolized, fall short of what he believed of Leona.

Jade and Floyd are implied to have grown up in some form of crime family and both seem to have handled the fact their lives could be in constant danger differently. Both like things being interesting, but Jade seems to prefer seclusion and control, while Floyd enjoys scaring people off and having as much fun as he can before he goes.

Kalim is someone who has had multiple assassination attempts on his life, even from his own family. He masks behind a smile, but he's afraid to trust people, and when he DOES TRY to talk about it, it gets brushed off because he has money. Also, he has to deal with the fact Jamil has been undermining his ability to progress by not treating him as if he's capable at all.

Epel has been teased and bullied on how he looked to the point where he started instigating fights to ensure he wouldn't be teased. He also has to fall in line with what Vil wants because he made the error of picking a fight with Vil and getting his butt HANDED to him. To further add, Vil is NOT NICE about it when Epel resists, with one example being Vil grabbing him by the ear and pulling hard as a form of punishment.

Rook has deal with the fact that for being someone who is super perceptive and can notice details, he didn't realize Vil's feelings around Neige, likely because he was blinded by his own admiration for both of them and that's a bitter pill to swallow.

Ortho has to deal with being basically created as a replacement for dead Ortho Shroud, trying to figure out if he's just really a robot made by Idia with really good AI or more than that, and dealing with the fact he loves his brother so much, but his brother doesn't take care of himself and it's disheartening to watch Idia's self-destruction.

Lilia has so much war trauma, losing his loved ones, having been exiled, and so much other crap. Even so, he forced himself to put the war and his trauma about it in the past, where it belonged for the sake of his two sons who both lost so much to war, which is something Baur/Baul could NOT do which was to Sebek's detriment.

Silver has had to live with the idea that his adoptive father would likely outlive him, then is faced with the fact that his father is basically abandoning everything about their life in Briar Valley before he learns that his biological parents were the enemies of the person he serves and cares about, Malleus, and the only father he's ever known.

Sebek has grown up with internalized racism/speciesism against humans thanks to his upbringing and he basically rejects half of his heritage with how he treats his father. He does not even realize how hurtful his comments are until he's faced with those remarks being directed at him by a younger version of his grandfather.

And this isn't everything each student has to face. This is just broad strokes. Yana Toboso wrote a story about flawed people who all have gone through really hard and difficult things because that's the point. As Toboso said in a 2023 interview:

“Happy endings in Disney works come from righteous actions and love, but I believe that the villains are characters who do not get saved during the story. That is why, through this game, I want to portray the message that even if you get beat up all the way to a bad ending, you can grow from it and live your life without feeling discouraged.

Acting lame, obstinate, without hesitation, being open and honest—it’s not as bad as it sounds. 

I would like to paint a positive picture of living honestly with yourself and not worrying about others.

In today’s society there are so many people who live in fear of failure and are always walking on eggshells, but nobody’s flawless. It is exhausting to try to live your life so that no one will hate you.”

Everyone, even people you don't know or do not like, have gone through things that shaped who they are. Sometimes, how we've adapted to handle the bad things that happen will force us to hit rock bottom. But you don't have to die when you hit rock bottom.

You can have terrible things happen to you and have maladaptive strategies to handle your experiences, but you aren't stuck that way forever. You can learn how to change your habits, learn to be okay with yourself, and work at being better than you were the day before.

Human growth is not linear. It's a bunch of taking steps forward and backsliding and learning and making mistakes over and over again and accepting failure, not as a testament to your character, but as part of the process of growth... and that's something all the students have to learn, not just the Overblot boys. Because all of them, every single one, are handling their own personal issues, even if it isn't shoved right in our faces.

[hugintheraven]

How Bethesda fixed Vampires without realizing it

So there's a LOT of takes on vampires across media, and most of them are radically different from each other. The Elder Scrolls series has an interesting version that I haven't seen anywhere else, that incidentally fixes a bunch of lore issues with vampires, and yet Bethesda hasn't ever really leaned into any of that.

So, the issue with vampires in large RPGs like Elder Scrolls games, D&D, etc, is that a world where various elements of character building are supposed to be balanced, vampires are heavy on the upside and light on meaningful drawbacks. So in Oblivion, Bethesda completely reworked their vampires, coming at it with a blank slate:

Vampirism is a 4-stage affliction, with each stage increasing the numerous benefits of being a vampire as well as the middling drawbacks. Stage 4 brings with it all humanoid NPCs recognizing you as a ravenous monster and attacking you, basically wrecking the game. And, this is the unique part, you reduce stages by drinking blood. Being a vampire is LESSENED by doing the most vampiric thing out there, it actively makes you weaker.

And this is great. From a gameplay perspective, you vanish below ground to kill zombies/robots/whatever, and you grow stronger as the dungeon goes on. But if you don't rush through it, or if it's large, you surface having ignored your hunger for several days and have to do a whole second quest to sneak into town at night and drink blood, where the only reward is to engage with the game again. It's a drawback in the gameplay sense rather than the stats sense. And it lets game designers throw the player against weak vampires in town early on, and face dungeons full of max-bloodlust monsters later once the player knows how things work.

Meanwhile, from a lore perspective this is also great. Suddenly, it's not that vampires have to be evil, it's that they have a choice. A good person who flees their family to hide in a cave is going to starve, turning into a ravenous, uncontrolled, extremely strong monster. Someone who's comfortable sneaking around town drinking blood, meanwhile? They never lose control. They walk in the sun. They're perfectly human. Or as human as anyone can be while the blood of their neighbors flows in their veins.

And Bethesda doesn't DO ANYTHING with this. People you talk to in-game just treat it as "all vampires are evil, why would you expect anything else", when they've created a world where vampire morality is so much more interesting. The few vampires who exist in civilization that you're not supposed to kill don't really discuss their condition at all. And there's plenty of evil vampires choosing to live in caves running societies of vampires, when that makes no sense compared to basically any other way of life they could set up.

Bethesda games are a masterful disaster, in this as in everything else.

[chow0w]

The scorpion den is punk

walk with me... ↓

The big idea

First, let’s walk through punk: what is it? Cambridge Dictionary defines punk as “a style or culture popular among young people... expressing opposition to authority through shocking behavior, clothes, and hair.” Contrary to popular belief, it's more than fashion and music: it’s a longstanding subculture which has existed since the 1970s. While looking for more definitions of punk, I found that a lot of people were saying different things - some say punk originated as an anti-racist subculture, while others say it was anti-authoritarian first. Either way, most people seem to agree that punk is loudly against injustice of any kind.

But how does this tie into the scorpion den?

First, it's important to consider what the scorpion den is by the time we are introduced to it: a crowded sandy city populated mostly by outcasts, deserters and veterans of the sandwing succession war. Most dragons of the scorpion den (outside of the talons of power and kind of outclaws) are not wealthy by any means, with a general stance against war and authorities like the sand kingdom. So, perfect breeding grounds for a punk revolution. The ideals of the scorpion den align very strongly with the ideals of punk, and It would be very easy for punk culture to manifest alongside its subculture cousins like riot grrl and emo.

The logistics of scorpion punk

Sandwings and Skywings of the scorpion den would probably be the first purveyors of punk, with both tribes heavily affected by tyranny, war and authoritarianism around the same time (Sandwing succession + Queen scarlet both come to power in the same..ish... timeframe.) I imagine these dragons talked a lot in the den, realized they had something and common and began accessorizing to identify each other or themselves. The harsh, loud, spiky appearance gives a distinct style, while also making it harder for other dragons (or guards!) to grab hold of these dragons during a fight - which they would likely have a lot of. Wood was burnt to make charcoal, which could be combined with oils or water to make a cheap, effective dye when squid ink imports were unavailable/too expensive. Spikes were fashioned from cactus thorns or cheap smelted metals, sometimes even sewn into the scales for that extra weaponry.

These functional design choices must've caught like fire to a dead tree, becoming more and more popular until they were a commonality across the punks of all tribes. Eventually, Scorpion punk became more creative - dyes and paints were used on sandwing frills, and thin black linens could be pulled over the neck or arms to create a fishnet-like accessory. In some extreme cases, dragons would even bend or clip their frills/spikes to create a more thorny appearance.

What about the Outclaws?

The biggest issue with this idea is undoubtedly the presence of the outclaws: an authority in an anti-authority space. Most of the individual dragons that make up the outclaws would probably lean into scorpion punk: if you look at Six-claws, Thorn and Kindle, all of them could easily be punk. Still, their presence kind of disrupts the whole vibe... until you look a little closer at what the outclaws are actually doing.

As described by the wiki, the outclaws are described as a group of peacekeepers who control (and distribute) water from the oasis equally, as well as providing free meals and persistently giving resources to the scorpion den. These traits are still very comparable to punk, only softer on the anti-authoritarianism. I would suggest the outclaws are more alike a punk gang, upholding their community in spite of the mistrust other dragons have of them.

Speaking of, the general response to punk outclaws would probably be to call them posers. Its been stated in the books that some dragons in the scorpion den think the outclaws are secret recruiters for the war, and the same sentiment could easily carry over to the honesty of their punkness.

in conclusion, the punks of the scorpion den undoubtedly outlast the sandwing succession war: remaining and integrated part of their community and culture for decades to come.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for listening to me prattle! I tried to keep it short and leave room for imagination, so do with this what you will. I'll see you guys this weekend for some perfectly punk sandwing redesigns!

( ´ ω ` )ノﾞ

[fxrheisenn]

Andrus Laansalu talked about making Disco Elysium at EKA (Estonian Academy of Arts)

"Initially, the church wasn't a focal point. There were certain characters that needed to visit this location, and I asked, "Seriously, what do we have in our church?" The others replied, "Nothing at all. Our church is completely bare—just a wheel, really. It's quite basic."

That's when I decided to unleash my creativity in the design. For example, they chose to install a glass structure at the top of the church to create a reflective surface. It was like placing an optical clock up there. Therefore, one of the most crucial aspects of designing the church was ensuring the lighting was just right to create the desired atmosphere."

"Let me show you an example of Baroque architecture, which is rich in detail. We're also designing the interior of the church based on large cathedrals. However, the foundation you use might not yield the expected results, because the church itself doesn't require such intricate details. Sometimes, it's about simplifying the design."

"I used Articy for the initial scriptwriting of Disco Elysium. The image only represents a tiny fraction of the text and choice variables involved. This system was also the reason I eventually abandoned the project after a year of outlining the script and shifted my focus to becoming a sound designer. My mind struggled to keep up with the dynamic graphic rules, but fortunately, a more talented writer took over afterward."

"In terms of sound design, it's essential to develop different layers to bring out the charm of the church as a cohesive space. Although this represents only a small portion of the overall design, each layer actually requires a significant amount of time to compose the whole....... Whenever there's a shift or a change due to the dialogue itself, you need to adjust the background sounds. Each time you modify the details in the dialogue, I have to refine the background audio, ensuring that these elements build upon each other like an intricate layer of work."

"It's funny how many scenes involve characters getting smacked in the face. My job was to recreate those, so I locked myself in the bathroom with a recorder and hit my forehead until it turned red.

As a sound designer, I really dig those unsettling, drill-like sounds. So, I mixed in creepy lectures, metal scraping, moans, and cries of pain—because I just love that stuff! (laughs)

Players will be moving through all kinds of areas, so it's super important to make the sound transitions feel natural, trying to create a more immersive vibe in certain spaces.

With all the scenes featuring big cranes, you can hear them from far away, and I wanted to capture that eerie ringing in your ears. That's going to be a thing throughout most of the game. I've found ways to really mess with players while they're playing!"

"I've come across a lot of old objects (like phones and radios) that I needed to perfectly replicate the sounds. I started to become a bit of a hoarder, buying up different models of old phones whenever I found one to add to my collection. The sound effects I can simulate from them are really impressive."

"Some of the devices don't actually exist in real life—just a mix of architecture and tech. When I need to create sound effects, I first look for something similar that exists in our world, then I try to simulate what the sound and appearance of that thing might have been like a century ago.

Towards the end of the game, there's a character carrying a fuel canister. We needed the sound of the canister, so we dug one up from our garage—it had been sitting there since it was five! I realized this would make the sound perfect. So, it had been there for 50 years, and after 40 years, it finally found its purpose.

In some places, I needed unique sound waves, and recreating them was a real headache until one day I happened to walk by a swimming pool and stumbled upon an old wartime torpedo. You can rotate the torpedo's probe, and it slowly rises up, like a proud zombie head. The sounds it made were exactly what I needed!"

🙋How did you manage to get funding?

"Well, since we're in Estonia, you just need to know a wealthy person. You don't need five people—just two who can network, hang out together, and convince them to keep investing! (laughs) Back then, we constantly ran out of money and would tell them, 'Oops, looks like we spent it all! Can you invest a bit more?' That's how we made it through!"

🙋How did you all come together to make the game?

"Luck. It usually doesn't happen this way, and that's the key difference. It has to be. If not, you couldn't create a game of this scale - well, I mean in terms of budget. But creatively, Estonia definitely has writers and artists who can pull it off. With such a small population, there are a lot of quirky folks who are good friends. We were really lucky, though - lots of fortunate circumstances came together. It brought the right people together, allowing those talented fools to collaborate with us. They had experience but hadn't tackled projects of this magnitude before. So yeah, luck is pretty important!"

Lecture experience shared by 白兔YIYANG SUN on 小红书, reposted & translated by me with her permission.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[momomogos]

*Break the water surface

The original clip is probably: his own light reflects from the skin to the water surface, outlining his soft blue outline, which rises slowly, gently, quietly from the water. You looked along the glowing blue smooth curve until you finally saw him one-a pair of ruby-colored eyes staring straight from the water.

[A?MLTYT au by @helpmeimawkwardbutfun]

This is a great word game! You get to explore an alien planet! Cuddle up and fall asleep with the alien boys! The link is here!

I'm not the author, the author is @helpmeimawkwardbutfun !!

I just wanted to do something about it out of spontaneity!I want this wonderful game to be seen by more people!

[SUN/MOON] Character Reference Sheet

[Y/N] Character Reference Sheet

There are character reference design Sheets I made for this game out of challenge and for my own amusement! I got the idea and design from @helpmeimawkwardbutfun! I just added some of my thoughts and preferences while keeping the description of the game itself as close as possible! I thank her for her help! I did have a lot of questions while designing that she helped answer and solve! I love how talented and enthusiastic she is!

（As always, I can't get the naff's SJ au out of my head, and I don't want yn to be bald, so draw it this way）

I have to thank my inspirations :[Sources of Light/Signs of Life created by @jackofallrabbits]

I might not have even finished the design without the inspiration of her writing. I was reading these two great drama-filled novels even before I learned about the game! 

I was also very highly recommended to check out jack's writing when I was chatting with the game writer!!!! So I'm here to highly recommend her work again! Click here to check it out!

*Is there anything better than hugging three boys together?

(I don't know how it will develop in the future lololo just the night before, she talked to me about some interesting things, so with this meme~~)

Here's a close-up: 

oops, there's also a costume reference version!

[SUN/MOON] CLOTHES Reference Sheet

*As well as there is a Chinese version! Click here to play!

The Chinese version of the project originated from an ASK from me, and I didn't realize that just 6 hours after I asked the question, bean released the Chinese version of the game and left me a message!!!! I really feel very thankful for that! There are no words to express my gratitude!

As well as please ask @helpmeimawkwardbutfun more questions! She deserves more love and kisses!

[wheneclipsefalls]

Little Gift - Latch

Neteyam photo by @cinetrix

Pairing: Dark Aged Up Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Warnings: aged up characters, DUBCON/NONCON, kidnapping, MDNI EXPLICIT, yandered qualities, possessive behavior, slight degradation, interspecies intimacy, swearing, power imbalance, sub reader, dom Neteyam, manipulation, hair pulling, creampie, a lot more stuff but at this point you hopefully know whether or not you should read haha

Summary: Victory is finally his and Neteyam knows exactly how he wants to celebrate it.

A/N: A little unsure about my word choice but it's been fun writing from Neteyam perspective for the first time in this series. Enjoy!

Main Masterlist I Little Gift Masterlist

You belong here, perched on his lap with your head notched against his shoulder. So small and pretty that his legs barely register your body weight. He wraps a hand around your outer thigh to angel you further against him. This is perfect.

Everything is perfect. 

Pandora has rid of those Sky Demons and his prize, his little gift, is still here in his arms where you will always be. Those traitors are no longer here to tempt you with false promises of escape and a life outside of belonging to the Olo’eyktan. You may not realize it now but they would have broken you. It is only a miracle from Eywa that has allowed your beautiful spirit to stay in tack after all those years of inhabiting the same space as those treacherous creatures. 

The RDA may think that you are a gift given by them but in reality it is Eywa that has placed you on his lap.

You were created for him. Designed perfectly inside and out. 

His reward for all that he has had to endure. 

Now with you safely tucked in his arms and his People celebrating their freedom once more, he can rest. He is free to savor all that the Great Mother has offered him, although you prove to be difficult to rangle at times. That’s okay, he enjoys a good challenge. It makes your earned submission all that more satisfying. 

He’s not sure how long one human can cry for but it appears you are shooting for a record. Your tears have soaked the feathers of his Olo’eyktan attire but he doesn’t mind, not when you are snuggling into him for comfort. 

His plan of distraction worked wonders during take off but it was only a matter of time before your mind came back online and began worrying once more about the absence of people that never truly loved you. It’s to be expected however Neteyam is pleased to find that your response is not one of anger but sadness and seeking refuge. He couldn’t have asked for anything more ideal. 

He is your refuge, your one true home and the fact that you are learning that so quickly makes a sense of pride burst within him. 

The glittering gems of your new top compliment your own sparkling tears exquisitely. It had taken weeks for him to make but it was worth it. He would want nothing less for his pet on a night of such grand celebration. However, it becomes abundantly clear that he is not the only one who appreciates the outfit. 

It’s the fifth time Lo’ak has turned in the direction of the throne while dancing to check on you. Or at least, that is how his younger brother would be sure to phrase it but Neteyam is no fool. He can see the hunger in those eyes. Typical of his younger sibling to chase after what he can not have. What Neteyam himself possesses. 

Their eyes meet and it only takes a moment for Lo’ak to recover from being caught and roll his own back at his brother and turn to continue dancing. He’s not sure how much longer this game will go on where Lo’ak pretends to hold no interest. One way or another it will come out. Neteyam’s arm tightens around your waist, fingers running through your silky hair. 

It is then that he notices your little sobs have stopped and are now replaced with long deep breaths. It’s amazing that you are able to sleep through the banging drums and echoing calls but it seems that all of your crying has worn out your poor little body. Such a fragile thing you are. 

All the more reason to keep you close. And yet another reason he finds his mind swirling back to the idea of keeping you on a leash. Ideally he would carry you to and fro but there are times where he needs to have his hands available. With your habit to wander off he can’t risk having you fall and break your little neck. A leash would be the perfect solution.

Not to mention how good you would look trailing behind him, sweet little bow around your throat as a permanent reminder of his claim on you. 

His tewng [loincloth] is unbearably tight. It presses against your soft thighs but that’s not enough. For perhaps the hundredth time you shift in his lap, unable to sit comfortably on your red ass. You’ve given up on trying to convince him to let you stand but that doesn’t stop that supple little pout from gracing your lips every time you are reminded of the pain. Even in your sleep you try to wiggle and squirm from his lap. 

Of course there is another source of your constant squirming. A source that Neteyam finds his fingers dipping down to trace over as the base just barely peeks out of your tight pussy. 

This plug is much larger than the cute one you had stowed away in your old nightstand drawer. It had taken more than a fair amount of encouragement to slot that thick piece of plastic inside your cunt but the sight was magnificent. Complain all you want but the way your walls clench around it in desperation tells Neteyam more than he needs to know. 

It’s the largest size of his collection which means that tonight is the night. Tonight you will officially become his. Your pussy will soon forever have the imprint of his thick length inside of you, ruining you for any other man. Not that you would ever have the chance to be with another male outside of him again. Jared was the end of that line and the Olo’eyktan feels no hint of remorse for taking care of that pest.

Another flash of Lo’ak’s gaze.

Neteyam feels you stir when he lets out a deep sigh. However reluctant he is, it’s important to set his brother straight. Lo’ak has an overactive imagination after all and the last thing he would want is his little brother’s curiosity and desire becoming an interruption for the wondrous night the two of you are about to have. 

Those long lashes flutter open, throat caught on a sharp intake when he stands up and places you back onto the seat. Your dazed and confused look is one that Neteyam can’t help but coo at, the pad of his thumb running over your cheek. 

“Mawey, tiyawn [be calm, love]. I will be right back.” You’re already scrambling to your knees, finally keeping the weight off of your sore bum. “Be a good girl for me and stay put, yes?”

It’s a rhetorical question and one that he doesn’t give you a chance to answer before a kiss is placed on your hairline and the Olo’eyktan is parting the crowd. It’s obvious that there is a moment where you consider stopping him. You may be hell bent on never admitting it verbally but the other Na’vi put you on edge and being around him has become your one constant, a safety you can rely on. If not for his urgency Neteyam would take his time in teasing you on the matter. 

Your face always looks even more lovely with that deep shade of red, whether from anger or embarrassment or even both. 

Later, he reminds himself.  

The female rubbing up against Lo’ak looks more than put out by his lagged reciprocation. Her displeasure colors into slight shock when she spots her Olo’eyktan coming straight towards them. Lo’ak crosses his arms as his partner quickly signs the proper respect to their leader. Neteyam dismisses her easily. 

“Excuse me, sister. I require a moment with my brother.” Neteyam ushers Lo’ak away from the scene before giving her a chance to respond or offer to give them privacy. 

The fire’s light now just barely humming over their skin. The two brothers find a moment of solace on the outskirts of the celebration. Neteyam’s ears still buzz from the sensory overload it has taken for the past few hours. 

“If you’re going to ask me for another favor can it at least wait until tomorrow? There is a party, you know.” Lo’ak tall frame lazily leans against the nearest tree and he attempts to hide the way his eyes fly over Neteyam’s shoulder towards you by making a show of tying his hair back. 

“Funny considering how eager you were to grant me a favor earlier this morning.” Neteyam’s veiny arms cross over his chest, tail whipping back and forth in the cool wind. If Lo’ak is intimidated he doesn’t show it. 

“Aren’t I a wonderful brother?” Those sharp teeth shimmer as he makes a show of giving an over the top sarcastic grin.

“Lo’ak.” Neteyam growls. 

“Jesus, calm down.” Lo’ak groans, head thrown back against the bark. “She’s still your little toy.” 

“I am not stupid, baby brother. I see the way you look at her.” 

“Whatever.” Lo’ak bristles and makes his way to stomp off but he is caught by the upper bicep. 

“I don’t want there to be any…confusion.” Silence spreads between them, the only sound being that of Lo’ak’s harsh exhale. 

“I was only watching.” He finally says, voice dropping lower. 

“And you are free to.” Small steps bring him further into his brother’s space. “But let’s be clear about whose permission you need in order to touch.” 

“And I didn’t.” His arm is ripped from Neteyam’s grasp. “I’ve only ever babysat the little brat and done all that you’ve asked of me. If you are looking for problems to address I would start with her running off at every given opportunity. Take a look for yourself!” He flails an exasperated arm in your direction but Neteyam doesn’t even bother to turn. 

“I am aware.” There is no need to look in order to know that you have once again tried your hand at another escape. He can see it in his mind’s eye now, your small body carefully hoisting itself down from the high throne. Panicked eyes racing over the crowd in search of any Na’vi that could potentially halt your actions. All that before short legs race off into the darkness. “I’m giving her a head start.” 

It’s best not to let you go too far. Eywa knows you are very skilled at finding new ways to put yourself in danger, but a little chase is an exhilarating experience. 

“Oh yeah, you going to make me chase after her for you too?” Lo’ak spits out, urging Neteyam to roll his eyes at his brother’s antics. He resists however, that wouldn’t be very becoming of the Olo’eyktan. 

“I fear you would enjoy that far too much, brother.”

Instead of fiery words shot back the only line of defense Lo’ak puts up is a scoff and frowned expression, golden eyes simmering with words that he knows better than to voice. Neteyam can give his brother credit for that at least. He knows when he is stomping on dangerous territory. You, on the other hand, seem to be learning that lesson far too slow. It seems a cute tawtute like you are more of a hands on learner. 

“Can I be excused then, oh might Olo’eyktan?” He flourishes with a sarcastic bow. 

“Leave.” Neteyam bites out simply, forcing his eyes to remain trained on his younger brother as he joins the crowd again. It’s a safety precaution just in case Lo’ak gets a bad idea even after warnings. Much to the Na’vi girl’s dismay Lo’ak does not join her again on the dance floor and instead heads straight towards the fermented fruit. No doubt he will spoil himself into a drunken state. Unfortunately for him, Neteyam already has his hands full babysitting you tonight. 

He takes his time, however, greeting a few of the clan members and partaking in a small dose of alcohol himself. With your small legs it will take you forever to get a distance that makes this chase even remotely fun. However, once the drink is empty and he has done his dues as Olo’eyktan in the social event Neteyam can no longer keep himself at bay. There are other creatures of the night that could be waiting to catch a pretty prey like you.

Tracking you down is almost laughably easy with your sweet scent wafting through the air. A scent that only grows tenfold when he comes across a peculiar piece of plastic stashed in a bush. It’s the dildo that is meant to still be snuggled up in your little cunt. 

A sharp smirk cuts into his features. 

For such a smart little thing you really can be so negligent at times. With the dildo out your scent now goes from a dulled perfume to a thick fragrance that coats the air. He recognizes that aroma, he knows the way it tastes. Your arousal has only made you an easier target and now you have done nothing but take out the one piece keeping it plugged. Neteyam can envision so clearly that trail of slick that is sure to be marking your thighs. 

Such a messy little thing you are. Even after the way he cleaned you up so dutifully post launch, you have managed to turn into a wet temptation once more. 

The small footprints along the dirt are almost pointless in his pursuit now that he has your scent. They only serve as a confirmation that he is going the right way. It doesn’t take long before the sound of your sharp panting reaches his upturned ears. It’s then that the Olo’eyktan takes to the trees. He glides along the thick branches without a sound, gaining a bird’s eye view of your desperate running. 

The full on sprint you started off with has come down to a clumsy jog. Even with your small stride he’s sure you could make it a lot further if you would simply stop looking over your shoulder every other second. An action that has you stumbling and grabbing your foot to pick out a thorn from the underside. Little curses rise between your harsh breaths. 

And then your breathing is cut all together. 

The sounds of claws and wild yips echo through the greenery. By the sounds of it Neteyam knows it must be a small pack of aynantang [viperwolves]. They aren’t close, at least not yet. With your back turned and eyes blown out in silent terror he decides that now is as good a time as ever to interrupt. 

Neteyam lowers himself down slowly, muscular arms controlling his descent into a movement so smooth and silent that it is nothing more than a shadow. A shaky hand covers your lips, the little puff of your beating heart pushing your chest out even more. One long step forward and now he can watch your trembling from above, his toes almost touching your muddy heels. 

“Their bite is not as sharp as mine, pet.” 

You scream before the sound can be stopped, spinning so fast your heel that you land directly on your red bum instead. Even without glowing tanhi dotting your skin, those dilated eyes have a way of making you glow in the night. Even more so when they dazzle up at him with unleashed fear and vulnerability. 

You scramble backwards, clawing at the muddy ground until you are clumsily trying to crawl back onto your feet. Fine by him, it’s easier to close the height difference when you are back to standing. He grabs your right arms easily, pulling you back against him. The fight continues as you turn to bash your first against his abdomen, even clawing at his thighs but then another sound cuts you off again. 

They are closer this time.

“They hunt in packs.” Neteyam informs you. “Circle their prey until there is nowhere left to go.”

A rustle of bushes to the left has your squirming changing from running away to ducking behind Neteyam. He allows the action, sharp teeth peeking from his grin when he feels the way your soft fingers dig into his thighs. 

“My father was almost killed by a pack once. Even in his avatar form he depended on my mother’s mercy to fight the creatures off.” You shake like a leaf in the wind, your face pressed against his lower back when the sounds get louder. He almost feels bad for scaring you so much, tempted to bundle you in his arms and shush your worries away. However, that would ruin the lesson. You are the one that decided to run off carelessly into the woods without him and now you need to understand why you depend on Neteyam for everything. Why you owe him your submission and affection. 

“I wonder how you would fair.” A few more wolves prowl from the bushes, inching closer. They creep forward with a hesitance at the sight of Neteyam, driven only by curiosity as your scent continues to fill the air. 

“Teyam.” You whimper into his hip, now latching onto the strap of his loincloth to urge him backwards. 

“What’s wrong, pet? I thought you wanted to be set free?”

A vicious snarl rip from the right and you stumble to cling to his left side now. That startled little scream is just barely muffled by the way your face is pressed into his hip. 

He coos at your little pleas. “Has someone changed their mind, hm?” Any other time you would be barring your blunt teeth at him but he knows that in the height of your fear there is no resistance left for him. You’re too focused on the prowling beasts that flash their own teeth in eclipse’s glow. 

“Teyam please, let’s go!” Voice caught on sobs that threaten to rise, you can barely make the words out. 

Your fear is palpable, but not just to him.The aynantang [viperwolves] can sense it too. They circle and watch with more confidence as the seconds roll by. Periodically they flicker up to his looming form, as if checking to see whether or not he will be a threat against their newfound meal. It would be easy to scare them off, something Neteyam has done himself many times. He’s hunted these forests since he was a boy and his own scent is something that the creatures have learned to associate with danger. 

Standing here now, however, he keeps a neutral position and one that the pack hesitantly takes as an opportunity to cinch closer. A flash of his knife and that confidence would disintegrate until the pack would scurry off into another corner of the forest. 

Neteyam keeps it sheathed. 

“You’re the one that ran off, little gift.” He reminds you, voice calm and cool. 

“I know! I know! I’m sorry j-just please!” 

“Please what, tiyawn? You have to be more specific.” 

You struggle to respond properly, hands frantically switching from tugs at the straps to clawing up at his arms. Regardless, Neteyam remains unmoved, arms crossed over his chest as he observes the scene with indifference. “Please..please don’t let them-” You gasp rearing back when you spot another viperwolf emerging from the left. It’s been there for a while but it appears this is the first time your weak eyes have caught sight of it. “I’m sorry! I’ve changed my mind! Please, I’m sorry.” You cry out in a shrill voice, plastering yourself under his arm. 

“Changed your mind on what?” It’s tempting to look down and see the way you so desperately seek his comfort but Neteyam is wise enough to keep his golden gaze sharply pinned on the emerging creatures. 

“On wanting to leave! You can take me home just please-”

“Oh can I?” Your chin is snatched between two fingers, forcing you to crane your neck up towards him. That mask of indifference is gone, replaced only  by a fierce stirness you are terrified to be facing twice in one day. “And what makes you think that is up to you?”

It’s hard to look into your eyes directly when they are bouncing wildly in every which direction. Perhaps it is your pitiful way of tracking the oncoming predators, or maybe you simply can not handle facing his gaze filled with ire. Either way, it is adorable to watch your natural submissive nature emerge. And all from a few viperwolves. 

Poor thing, what would you do without him?

“I-I’m sorry.” You say, voice so small and timid that only a Na’vi would have hopes of hearing it. Neteyam’s chest rumbles with a deep purr, other hand finally coming up to run through your hair.

“I know you are, tiyawn. You just get confused sometimes, don’t you?” No response is given, instead just a gasp as another creature inches closer and you dash into his arms. This time he wraps one arm around your small frame while the other goes for his sheathed knife. The advance pauses, aynantang  [viperwolves] pacing from side to side instead. Your reaction is premature but Neteyam basks in it all the same.

From the heated breath and salty tears painting his lower stomach he begins to worry that your fragile body will soon give out and lose consciousness. Keeping you tucked under his arm is the best move, easily accessible for when he needs to scoop you up without retaliation. However at this point, it seems that you are willing to do whatever it takes to earn his protection.

What a short memory you truly have. Perhaps if you listened to him more diligently like a good pet should then you would already know that his protection has been yours since the first time he saw you. He would defend you to his very last breath. Whether or not you asked for it would be irrelevant. That being said, you’ve always had the sweetest way of begging so who is he to deny himself such a pretty chorus of promises. 

They flow now freely from your lips. Pleading, crying, and begging for him to get you out of harm's way. He simply shushes you, making no rush as a rigid arm tightens to pull you even closer. 

The creatures are scared off within the first few hisses that leave his lips. Knife dancing under the moonlight with a deadly promise, they yip away reluctantly. Still, there is an advantage to not letting you know how easy it truly is to scare them off so he tells you to look away, to keep snuggled against him where they can not so easily see your fear. 

You remain that way when you are lifted into his arms. Your thighs strain to wrap around his ribcage but you eventually manage to lock your ankles together. With your shaky limbs locked in terror you are barely in need of his supporting arm, but he wraps one under your rear anyways. You remind him of a small syaksyuk [Prolemuris] as you cling with fervor, lighting his amusement to new heights. 

The walk back is pleasant, even when your shaking doesn’t stop and your racing heart beat is louder than the stomp of his feet. There is still great peace to be found with you in his arms and the promise of a wonderful night in the air. After tonight you won’t dare to leave him, not now that you have developed a healthy sense of fear and even more so once your body has taken him fully the way it was meant to. 

He holds back a groan at the thought. Your smell is still just as potent as when you first ran and now it holds an extra tang of emotion that makes it all that much sweeter. He manages to pick up the tossed aside dildo on the way back, but that acts as fuel to the flames. 

He has sought after your true mating for months and now that he is on the cusp of finally making it a reality it is hard to keep a rational mind. The natural urge to pin you down and take what has always been his morphs into a feral urgency that infringes on his thoughts. Although, he is determined to take his time tonight because it is isn’t enough to simply fuck you into the ground or find pleasure in that first stretch. No, tonight is about claiming you in every way possible. 

About teaching not only your body but your mind that there is no one else it belongs to. No one else that can provide for you in the way he can. Utter and complete submission is his goal. But to get you there, that will take skillful maneuvering and coercion. Otherwise it would not be a quest worthy of his time or attention. 

However, there is still one more way he can lock you into his life. One permanent reminder that would forever keep you shackled to him. An action that would have your scent intertwined with his so much so that it wouldn’t matter if it took. Pregnant or not the message would be clear. The confines of his loincloth feel suffocating at the thought. Would your tiny pussy even be able to hold half of his seed? What a pretty treat it would be to see it spilling out from your perfectly pink and tight hole. 

Pace now quickened, nothing can take away his laser focus. Not even Lo’ak’s obvious staring as you are carried swiftly along the outer edges of the celebration. Nor Spider who tries to run across the crowd and apologize again. Neither make it to him because all that he can feel is the warmth of your softy body. The pulse of your heart. The essence that is entirely yours, filling his lungs. 

Once back in the safety of his kelku [home/house] you are smart enough to not flee from his lap. He manhandles one leg to be thrown to the other side so you are properly straddling him. A sense of shyness must fall over you because you are silent while nervously fiddling with the feathers of his traditional attire. Or maybe you are still too shaken up over the little viperwolf incident to do much else. 

Neteyam is unbothered by it, instead using it as an opportunity to let his hands explore. Not in a sexual way at first, just simple brushes that are sure to have you melting for him.

“Now you understand why you must stay by my side. Don’t you pet?” Voice as gentle as the hands that run up the back of your neck, he can feel goosebumps rise in its wake. Eyes still fixated on the feathers, you nod shakily. If it wasn’t so cute he would be tempted to reprimand you for such a half hearted response but it appears luck is in your favor. 

His knuckles paint a trail up the back of your neck before swiping over your left shoulder. His other hand softly gathers your hair to the other side so your skin is bared for him. He thumbs at the side of your throat, feeling your pulse flicker beneath his fingers. 

“Such a pretty thing like you is not safe out there.” His hands bracket either side of your face, large enough to span the entirety of your head and tilt it upwards. It gives him the perfect view of your expression when both hands smooth up towards your hairline before parting and dragging along your scalp. Lips parted and eyes fluttered closed, he knows he has pressed the right button. 

“Creatures eager to snatch you up.” Neteyam draws out, nails ever so gently scratching along your roots. The shiver that races through your body is powerful enough to be visual. Massaging at the area in long strokes proves to have you breaking into pieces. Body practically limp against him, the Olo’eyktan watches with glee. 

No wonder Sky People are too soft for this world, all it takes to disarm you is some well placed pets. 

“And they’d be successful too,” The tips of his fingers come together to circle your hair into a ponytail. A small sound exhales from your lips, leaning into his touch without resolve. “Have you between their teeth before you could even scream.” That dark tone washes over you in a way so contrary to the warning message, his lips mere centimeters away from your own. 

One little kiss, more of a peck really. That is all you get. Just enough to have you chasing after him, a motion that is hard to do when he has you anchored by the root of your hair. 

“And that,” Another soft peck to your cheek, “is why you are so lucky to have me.” Neteyam allows his lips to linger longer this time but it’s still just as soft, almost more of a whisper than anything else and with the way you are trapped, there is nothing for you to do but take it. The noise that catches in your throat proves it is far from the passionate affection you desire. 

“Isn’t that right?”

“Yes Teyam.” You puff, the softest whisper as you try to learn forward for more. He tutts in disapproval, a slow but firm yank to your hair following. “Y-yes Olo’eyktan.” You correct yourself with a squeak and much to his delight, the fragrance from between your thighs intensifies. He’s tempted to look now and see if it has left a spot on his loincloth. 

“There’s my good girl.” He grins and finally you are rewarded with his lips capturing yours. Although slow and tender in movement the heat of the kiss is all consuming, spreading a message that can only reflect his complete control over you. Several times you try to squirm or wiggle but the hand embedded in your hair shackles you into place. 

Unlike most times you become a fidgeting little thing, it’s clear that your efforts are to get closer, not further away. Neteyam is a nice man after all and so he indulges that desire. At least to a degree. He kisses you until you’re gasping for breath. He kisses you until slick is seeping through your mini loincloth. And he kisses you until those soft little lips are ruby red and chapped from the harsh treatment. 

It doesn’t matter to you, that much is clear by the way you whimper once he pulls away. 

“Don’t be greedy.” He smirks against your cheek.

Your greed only intensifies when he slips one hand down to untie your loincloth. His other hand remains embedded in your hair as a leash, one that proves necessary as you are eager to rut up against him. Perhaps he would feel guilty for the way you blush in shame after another tug to your hair. That is, if your reactions weren’t so delightfully endearing. 

For reasons mysterious to him, humans have a habit of going against their natural needs. You are not exempt from this issue as you are constantly trying to deny your desire for him, even deny yourself the pleasure you so clearly require. It’s fortunate that you have him to override those silly concerns. And override them he does, quite easily since your body reacts like a live wire every time he is near. The smallest of touches have you aching for more.

Eywa has blessed him with such a responsive little pet and he has every intention of exploiting that sensitivity until you are screeching for him to stop. 

Small hands come to dig into his feathered mantle as he idly explores the curves of your stomach. He traces up until reaching the sparkling gems of your top. With two little flicks your hardened nipples are bared for him. 

It’s a rare experience to have you so cooperative as he bites and sucks at those little peaks. The emotions of that day have softened your resolve, a pattern that Neteyam makes a mental note of. 

He tunes into every sensation of satin skin beneath his fingertips. Atop his thighs. Prickling beneath his lips. Like a flower you blossom for him so exquisitely. Revealing petals that are just for him. Melodic whimpers that only he has the pleasure of inducing. The irritation of Lo’ak’s infatuation fades to the background with you so pliant in his arms. 

You are quickly driven to madness, or at least is how you plead when he continues to trace, worship and tease your small body. Neteyam is anxious too. His hard member presses painfully against the fabric of his tewng. However, being the first born son has taught him something that you very rarely exhibit: patience. The fruits of your labors are tenfold more exhilarating once following a period of yearning. 

And you yearn for him, little gift. So much so that your dramatic begging has him holding back a deep chuckle. 

A river of nectar flowing down your thighs, you act as if you will pitter into dust if not satisfied. 

It will be fun training you. Making you learn to sit patiently like a good pet when that inferno of fire burns deep within you. He can devise a plethora of creative punishments for when you inevitably step out of line. Neteyam looks forward to the long process. He wouldn’t want to succeed too quickly and cut the fun short.

Luckily your spit fire attitude is sure to draw it out, keeping him entertained and challenged for a long time. 

The reasoning is only further confirmed when he catches you sneaking a tiny hand between your legs. The grip in your hair finally releases only for him to sharply smack away your attempt. 

“Did I say you could do that?” 

You’re exasperated, pleading eyes staring up at him as a drawn out groan comes from your lips. 

“Well are you planning to tease me all night or actually do something?” 

You’re pinned onto your back in a heartbeat, this time his right hand curled around your throat instead of your hair. It may not be firm enough to cut off your airway but the oxygen in your lungs freezes all the same. 

“Oeyӓ tiyawn I have greater plans for my pussy than using your pathetic little fingers.” He growls into your ear, watching as you are too frozen in shock to bother struggling. “Because by the end of tonight it will be filled with my seed.” 

Your throat bobs with a thick gulp, stuttered words struggling to come forth but a tad more pressure against your pulse earns your silence. And to his fascination, your eyes roll back into your head. Fight it all you want, but it’s clear you have always thrived off of his domination. This power imbalance is one that you need. Satisfying that deeply locked away drive you have to be loved, pampered, controlled, and absolutely ruined.

Just in the way only he can deliver. 

Squeeze any tighter and his fingers might just lose circulation. Regardless, the dildos have done their job effectively and now you are more than ready to take him. It was always going to be a tight fit, but at least there is little risk of real injury due to his preparations. 

You appear less convinced on that matter when his unoccupied hand roughly tugs off his tewng. Wide eyes stare down to where his full length lays along your stomach. He has to admit that in a position like this the size difference does become ever more staggering but he has every faith in you. 

“Neteyam please,” You whimper, shiny eyes staring up at him for mercy.

“Please what?” He hums. His fingers curl to massage that special spot inside while his thumb playfully runs over your clit. It has the desired effect, watching as your begging turns towards a different goal.

“Please let me cum! Need it! Neteyam please!”

Neteyam shushes you tenderly, relieving some of the pressure from you little button when he feels your cunt clench around him on the verge of an orgasm. You’ve never looked more beautiful than now, naked and spread across the little nest of blankets and pillows he arranged just for you. Long hair splayed out in every which direction and eyes already coated in a haze, it appears as if you have already been fucked dumb beneath him. 

“Patience, little gift. You will cum on my cock soon enough.” 

Your alarm flares up once more. 

“No Neteyam I can’t! It’s too big, it’s impossible-”

A large thumb presses over your lips to silence you. At this rate you are going to work yourself into hysterics and that would unravel all of the hard work he has done to get you here. A few more intentional circles on your clit has those protests flying out the door. It’s clear you require his help to stay calm and compliant the way you are meant to. The Olo’eyktan doesn’t mind aiding.

Your chest rises and falls dramatically as you melt under the pleasure. And when his three fingers are replaced with the head of his cock lining up, you hardly even notice. As long as that little bundle of nerves is being stimulated, you are hyper focused on seeing out that ecstasy to a finish. 

A soft kiss dampens your screech when he slots in just the tip. Already his mind swirls from the sensation but Neteyam manages to reign in his focus. Little ‘no’ s and pleas fall from your lips to caress his. 

“Mawey, oeyӓ tiyawn [be calm, my love]. You are being so good for me.” Another inch and it feels as if his own knees are about to crumble from how tightly you cinch around him. Small hands fists into the fabric below as your eyes squeeze shut. Neteyam shakily grasps one with his right hand, placing it along his shoulder that is now exposed with the feathered attire out of the way. “You can touch, little pet. Good girls deserve rewards.” 

With your face just barely reaching chest level the Olo’eyktan is forced to bend into an awkward position every time he goes to kiss away your tears, but it’s worth it. Those blunt little nails dig into his lower back. It’s a shame they aren’t strong enough to leave marks that he can cherish.

The air from his lungs are pushed out in a rush as he plunges ever so slightly deeper inside your sweet little pussy. You tense and cry beneath him, scratching as his back in haste. Although mere seconds away from popping his load far too early he still manages to reach down and play with your poor little cunt until more of that sweet essence is trailing out. 

“You need to relax for me, pet.” Neteyam grits, tail curling erratically. “Going to suffocate my cock like this, little one.” And it’s true because in all of his years of sexual maturity not once has he ever felt a pussy so tight, so responsive, wrapped around him. It drives him to the point of insanity. It takes every last bit of resolve he has left to not shove the rest of himself inside and plow you into the floor. 

But Neteyam knows better than to break his toys. 

The next few minutes test his mental and physical stamina over and over as you slowly take him inch by inch. Every slow push of his hips causes a domino effect of tears and incoherent cries from your sweet lips. He kisses and soothes and pleasures your trembling body until you’ve learned to relax again. Only to then restart the cycle when you take one inch more. 

However, nothing prepares him for the end result. No amount of dreaming or training could ever have done the sight justice as he sees the  way your soft belly bulges when he reaches the hilt. The shape of him is clearly visible, twitching so deep inside of you that it threatens to drive both of you into sensation overload. 

The groan that rumbles from his throat is one that you have never heard before. So rough and unleashed that your glittering eyes dilate in response. It’s still painful, that much he can see from the look on your face. So despite every instinct in him screaming to ruin your little pussy until it can take no more, Neteyam remains in place. 

Your swollen nub is red from his sensual play, nipples not far behind as he laps and kisses them like they are the last meal he will ever have. That beautiful blush now heats down your neck and torso, as if tempting him to continual his oral fixation. It accentuates most importantly that bulge of your stomach until he can’t help himself anymore, large hand spanning over your tummy to press on that area lightly. 

“Can you feel me, tiyawn? Right here?” He presses again, your mouth opening in a silent scream. “Taking me so deep, pet. My good girl.” 

 And it’s then that it feels as if something has clicked. Your bodies becomes attuned to one another. Burning stretch morphs into something otherworldly, those soft features finally unscrewing into fluttering bliss. And he draws out ever so slightly to rut back in, your head falls back against the pillows. 

He’s waited long enough. Pinned long enough. Crawled after you long enough. Now all that his body can do is take what you so freely give him. His hips snap forward without restrain, spurred on by the little sounds that pulse in the back of your throat. Little fingers scatter between gripping his muscular back and tangling into his braids. 

The heat that travels from his ears to toes is so intense that it feels as if he may burst into an inferno. And he truly might, little gift. With the way you hug his cock so snuggly as if you never want to let it go, you may simply kill him. He would be happy to go that way. To leave this world drowning in the bliss of your destined union. 

And for once in his life, Neteyam lets himself fully go. He chases that peak with fervent desperation. He drinks in every reaction you have to give him. And when the pleasure becomes all too much for you to take. When you grapple to crawl away from him and the mind shattering climax that is around the corner, he pulls you back down with a hiss. 

“No more running, pet.” He commands, a growl emanating so deeply from his chest that he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. He hoists your left leg around his waist, effectively changing the angle to thrust in deeper. 

“Neteyam!” A screech like sweet honey from your lips as you finally tip over the edge. Body trembling so hard it takes that firm grip on your leg to keep it there, you crumble beneath him. His stamina is far from being drained as he rides you through it. Every wave of pleasure is stronger than a drug, leading him to cloud nine until he no longer wants to be anywhere else. 

“T-too much.” You gasp for air but your body is already succumbing to the onslaught. He can feel the way you are ramping up again. This is far from being over. 

“Give in.” Neteyam coos but the ring of that command is clear. There is no other option. That is the way it has always been because from the very beginning you have always been his. And sooner or later Eywa knew that the two of you would be here together, trapped in his love where you belong. 

“Oh God!” You cry out, body sliding up the floor with every thrust. 

Whether you find his queue by accident or on purpose is unclear but that first tug is enough to have his balls drawing up against his body, bracing to fly into bliss. There is a sticky mess between the two of you, slick enough to have those wet sounds filling the night air. Neteyam runs the flat of his nose over your sweaty temple and curve of your cheek. 

“My little gift.” He purrs, body on the brink of rupturing. He says it more for himself than you but is more than pleased to watch the way your eyes flutter close as the sound. Trembling, squeezing, and shattering around him, those are the moments your reserve of denial dries up.

That’s how it has always been. From the first night that he brought you home, tucked under his arm, you’ve had this other side that can be taunted out. Even that night as you had pleaded to be released only to have the gag put back in, his tongue had driven you to stillness. Your screaming of kidnapping had sizzled into a series of moans and ecstatic exclamations. 

There’s another side to him too.

The part of him that can finally bask in the one thing he has wanted for months. The part of him that yearns for reprieve day in and day out. The part that demands for rest- for freedom. 

Now he can finally surrender himself to the magic that the two of you create. To the sparkle that runs down your cheeks. To the sensation of being embraced so tightly by your little pussy. To the way his name has never sounded better from anyone else’s lips. Eywa has finally given him this gift, his sanctuary from every other pressure bestowed upon him. 

And now nothing is going to take it away from him.

Nothing will ever take you away.

Those are the thoughts that coerce his primal nature forward. The same that ramp the fire of his tongue demanding more from you. Pushing you further, harder, deeper. 

“You won’t let any spill out, will you pet?” He spits between grunts. 

“I-I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be good.” More of a chant on loop than anything else. One day you will beg properly. You will cry for his seed, for his babies. You won’t question whether or not pregnancy is possible as he fills your womb with his mark. 

You will wear that little bow on your neck with pride.

Neteyam forces his eyes open at the precipice. Even as his body convulses and cock pulses rampantly while painting your insides white, he won’t allow himself to miss a single moment. That imprint of your expression as he finally claims you past the point of return will stay with him. The drawn in gasp that is sucked in from your red lips when you feel that warmth will be what keeps him going on day after day. Major to minor details of tonight will be his soundtrack to perfection as he pushes himself to be the best Olo’eyktan possible. 

And when the day has worn him to the bone and those day dreams are not enough, there you will be. Waiting for him oh so sweetly. 

“I want to sleep.”

Your muffled whine coaxes a chuckle from the Olo’eyktan.

“Then sleep.” He responds, only looking up from your spread legs for a second. So peaceful and sweet you are now, almost drowned in the hammock’s blankets and pillows. The picture of innocence and beauty only to then trail his eyes lower and find the evidence of his primal claim. His bioluminescent seed paints your weeping folds and inner thighs. A new spurt erupts from your still clenching hole only for him to push it back inside with his thumb again. 

It won’t make much of a difference. There is no way your small body could ever truly hold all of it but that doesn’t stop him from teasing you all the same. 

“Looks like this little pussy will need training to savor my seed properly after all.” 

Eyes still closed you let out a groan, trying to rip your thighs from his fingers. You remain trapped as exhaustion finally overcomes you, only a small incoherent curse from your tongue before passing out. 

Neteyam grins, reaching up to straighten the little pink bow around your throat. 

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[screampied]

❝ HOLLABACK GIRL . . ! ❞

ᡴꪫ sum. you wanna be his favorite girl—but you also wanna be his favorite brat. satoru’s caught off guard when you decide to play with him while he’s in a meeting. not only do you make him pissed but you make him whine.

wc. 7.0k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy gojo au, age gap (early twenties + thirties) office setting, semi-public, unprotected, switch satoru, implied multiple rounds, fıngering, brief masterbatiōn (m! receiving), hold the moan, mild brat taming, dirty talk, praise, spıt, cunnilıngus, breath play, impact play, brēeding, premature ejaculatıon, edging.

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

being satoru gojo’s sugar baby has its perks,

especially the days whenever you want to be a brat— he takes you everywhere, even to work with him. the thought of leaving you alone at home was a thought he wasn’t so fond of. mainly because, knowing you, you’d probably be a brat and touch yourself while he’s not there. you’ve done it before, more than once actually. and now, you wanted to be an even more brat.

“ . . sweetheart,” he murmurs, feeling an unfamiliar lump get caught in his throat. leaning back against his office chair, the material of the seat creaks from the pounds of weight leaning back against the furniture as his eyes flicker toward your hand. its placement, directly near his zipped open fly. gojo sat manspread, slut. and if you squint, you could make out the outline of his designer expensive satoru blue boxers. his colleagues around him are deep in conversation and he grabs your wrist. “heh, i know you want me but ‘m workin'. be a good girl ‘n—.”

“it’s boring, ‘toru,” you pout, and he feels your fingers intertwine with his. softly, he returns the gesture before you get up from your chair. with a quirking brow, gojo shifts his attention back toward the conversation. glancing at his watch, a gasp then wretches from his throat once he realizes you weren’t next to him anymore. you were underneath the table, staring him dead in the eyes and licking your tongue all around his aroused bulge. your tongue slides its way against the tasteless material and he groans, his eyes widening.

“f- fuck,” he has a sheepish grin, whispering before grabbing ahold of your hair. yanking you forward, his legs spread more and he swallows again. “baby, when i asked if ya wanted somethin’ to eat, this wasn’t what i m- meant.”

his voice was incredibly low — its pitch was enough to make you throb. the way he spoke, it was as if he was holding back a potential whine. 

you were no fool though, you heard the cute little tremor lingering underneath his voice. but damn it all, you were gonna be the death of him. gojo keeps flicking his eyes back towards his colleagues, then back towards you, then back toward his colleagues again. 

you were right between his legs, crouched down on your knees like a good girl—bright eyed and bushy tailed.

he’s still got a solidly secure grip on your hair, lengthy tips of his fingernails massaging near your tender scalp. 

“mr. satoru, at least try to pay attention to the presentation,” one of his assistant’s grouse in slight vex.

the white haired man tugs on his sable black tie with long legs still manspread. with a hand combing through his hair, he coyly smiles. “oh, apologies. ‘m listening, carry o-on,” and his voice trails off once he feels your tongue slither its way against his bulge a bit more. with the help of the tip of your tongue, you create an addictive circle near the fly of his pants. a nice amount of his boxers pokes out and you bring down a hand to feel. he was hard, the moment a brief wind of your breath fans against him, he almost chokes. if you squinted just enough, you could see a few white speckles of hair trail up and up near his navel. gojo had quite the happy trail, you run a thumb against the curled strands before his breath hitches. “mhm hm, yeah.. exactly, i think that’s the—the uh, best approach for the company.”

you stopped listening to their boring conversation a long time ago—he’s loved this bratty side of you more than anything, but the risk of getting caught was so high. 

besides, he’s always been one to tease and edge you. maybe perhaps this was his inevitable karma. 

gojo feels his thigh start to bounce, feeling your cold fingers rummage through the material of his pants. your touch sends him shivers and your playful direct eye contact makes his dick twitch in his pants. 

“fuckin’ brat,” he swears through his teeth, an almost smile going against his lips. 

you being on your knees like this was an image he never got tired of seeing. gojo allows you to pull his long slacks down, halfway but not fully. you were lazy like that, impatient and a greedy girl. one of the many things he’s loved about you. 

what he doesn’t expect though is to see you rub your face against his bulge—it’s so rock hard that you can feel the print against your cheek. with the fabric rubbing against your face, smearing against your skin, it’s just downright dirty. obscene and straight up filthy. 

his breath quickly switches to a more heavy and shaky pattern as he intently watches you, completely forgetting the current eyes of his colleagues on him. the grip he has against your hair grows tighter before his head subtly tosses back in rapture. “nasty girl,” he starts to pant, his voice a mere whisper. seeing your tongue lick against the material of his boxers ingnites something deep in his core. biting his lip, he tugs your head closer before pouting. “quit teasin’ suck alrea-”

“excuse me?”

gojo has a flustered expression, staring back up at the main colleague who’s speaking. 

“i mean— nasty, this coffee is nasty,” he makes an attempt to correct himself, feeling the dryness in the air. the five eyes that glue to him made him feel small, despite him being the only important one in the room. with a sheepish chortle, he clears his throat. “is it hot in here for you all? feels like we’re in the damn sahara, heh.”

“mr. satoru, the air conditioner’s been on. are you sure you’re alright?”

he bites back a moan, not even realizing how you’d already sprung his cock out. with a single hand, you wrap it around his base before giving his tip a sloppy kiss. half lidded eyes take in the sight of his dick — so pretty. 

it’s got a reddened tip, swollen and almost pinkish at first glance. the very undersides near the base was painted with a beige tan and he’s got a bit of a hooking curve. curvy and upward, gojo was far lengthy more than girthy. 

albeit, he had maybe a sprinkle of girth. once the cool air sets against his skin, he grunts. as you’re face first with his staggering dick standing tall right before your eyes, you can’t help but bedaub the flatness of your tongue near his leaky tip.

you couldn’t wait to taste it.

to taste him, 

the bittersweet droplets of pre-cum coat against your tongue all at once and he gnaws his lip almost immediately. you’re nothing but a tease. a damn fine tease with those pretty glossed lips pursing all for him and only him. 

“r- right … right,” he nods at the men, trying to maintain focus but your tongue wasn’t helping. 

you were now making out with his length, smothering the entirety of his cock with a multitude of your tender sweet kisses. gojo being manspread like this, long legs all spread and sprawled for you — it makes you a bit moist.

moist to where you can’t help but creep an arm down between your own thighs. already, you felt your panties getting in a twist. he catches you making an attempt to play with your achy clit and he glares. 

gojo didn’t like whenever you touched yourself. he considered your pussy to be his pussy, 

but it seemed that for today, that wasn’t the case. 

as your fingers creep underneath your skirt, shoving past your panties, you scrape them to the side. his chest heaves, dragging your face further toward his heat to encourage more of your sloppy kisses against his dick. your lips were plushy and soft. a tongue of yours then carnally slides its way down against the pulsing vein that prods on him. “ugh.” he gawks at you with fully blown pupils, fighting the urge to just shove your entire head down. 

you were being the biggest brat, he could see that tantalizing smile forming on your lips. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so flustered before—he’s always been the one dominant and stern, and now . . you had him right where you wanted. 

the moment your lips swirl around the crown head of his cock, viscous honeyed strings of drool seep out from the corners of your mouth instantly. 

it’s unintentionally attractive. your own slippery sweet saliva pours from your mouth, to your chest, and then toward near his base. you’re teasing, bringing a hand toward your tits as it’s now covering with spit, lolling your tongue out to lap it more against his tip. gojo groans at you entirely, hooded eyes catching you starting to fondle with his neglected balls. “y- you cheeky little,” he nervously grins, and you hear him smack his teeth in frustration. he was so uptight. 

you’re really slow, it’s almost painful at how much of a tease you were. bobbing your head up and down to have your throat adjust to his size, you giggle. gulp after gulp after gulp and it’s already thwacking against the roof of your precious mouth. you don’t know how anyone didn’t hear the wet, lewd sounds of paps ricocheting from your mouth and onto his dick but you weren’t complaining. your tongue seductively glissades against his swollen mushroom tip and he jerks your hair forward. 

“mhm,” he glances up at his colleagues who all share the same deadpan. they were fed up with their boss — clearly no idiots, the same suspicious expression plastered amongst each face.

with a taken aback whew, gojo swipes a palm across his forehead as your throat’s keeping his cock warm. “a- alright, think we’re ready to close for today. thank ya fellas.”

“but the meeting literally just started.”

“you wanna look under this table ‘n see why ‘m ending the meeting early? we’re done.”

the audacity for one of his colleagues to try and take a peek under the oval-shaped banner desk and gojo glares before feeling your tongue tease its way down his shaft more. “leave. we’ll f- fuck, pick up tomorrow.”

making haste in unison, the businessmen all leave individually. loud booming stomps of the backs of their shoes thump and drag against the wooden floor before the room’s finally quiet. once the coast was clear, he makes you stare at him and a hand pries you off of his dick a glower shown on his pouty face.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs, a visibly tremor still hidden in his voice. it’s sweet, strands of white hair, similar to bangs, run straight down his face. even his unkempt, messily slicked back hair was still appealing. with doe, dilated irises, you leer up at him, knees still dug into the ground. “you’ve got some nerve, ya know? playin’ ‘n suckin’ me off in front of my c- colleagues like that.”

his voice timidly falters once you take a moment to gather up a decent wad of saliva into your mouth before spitting on his tip, lapping it up before swirling your tongue around the dampened tip. he groans, pulling you right back to face him. “you’re bein’ fuckin’ bratty today. ‘s like you wanna get in trouble, baby.”

“toru, your meetings take forever,” you chastise with a pout, your right hand still tucked between your thighs. he scoffs once he sees your fingers crammed up into your pussy, barely knuckles deep. oh, you were drenched. he could smell your alluring scent clogging up his nostrils from a mile away. peering up at the man, you finally get up from your knees and take a seat on his lap. “besides, don’t think i ever heard you whine before.”

“watch it,” he grumbles, white brows tugging together in annoyance. “and stop touchin’ her,” he grabs your wrist, a glossed string of your own arousal trailing away from your sopping cunt. “little girl,” he gently wraps a few fingers around your throat, cerulean eyes staring into the depths of your soul. “jus’ ‘cause ya had a little fun doesn’t mean you can let those pathetic fingers do whatever they please.”

with a teasing grin, you lean in to kiss against his mouth, a brief feeling of his growing stubble tickling against your skin. “my fingers aren’t pathetic, satoru.”

“oh yeah?” and with a quick drag, he sneaks a long kiss against your mouth, a free hand feeling against your wet folds. your body responds to his touch by twitching, you grind against his lap before moaning. you taste the cooking mint of his breath breeze its way against your tongue before he pulls away, making you turn around. “the nerve,” and you whine once he swats a palm toward your ass hard. it’s loud, ringing through your ears and the thin, bouncy walls also. “can’t even make yourself cum let alone squirt but whatever you say, silly girl.”

and that’s the exact moment gojo stands up—

he’s lean and slim, towering over your body by a mile. you bite your lip as you’re being shoved face first against meaningless paperwork before feeling him slide a thumb down your swollen, opening slit. he’s amused at how quickly you soak a single digit of his. “guess we woke up ‘n decided to be ‘toru’s little slut, huh,” and your pussy was so welcoming. with your pussy all droopy and drooling with your own candied slick running down like the niagra—he can’t help but slap it to watch it smear all against the center of his palm. “walkin’ around with a pussy this wet. oughta be ashamed, sweet thing.”

“s- satoru,” you whimper, hearing a few footsteps shift before he gets down to your ass level. scorchingly warm breath fans against your cunt before he rubs the tip of his nose against your slit. “don’t tease me, f- fuuuck.”

“i'll do whatever i want to this pretty girl, darlin,” and he brings a sloppy kiss toward your cunt. a cobweb of spit leaves his lips not even a millisecond later and he savors the taste. “mhm,” and he whistles by your pussy, a low seductive tune before hearing a low snicker depart from his lips. “now spread these legs f’me. my tongue’s fuckin’ missed you.”

everything was so lewd. you being bent over his desk, his breath blowing against your cunt, the enticingly low whistling, his tongue slowly swirling its way inside, everything.

your mouth slowly opens, tiny babbles of moans pouring from your throat like water out a working faucet. 

his lips stuck against your pussy like glue. as if it was some sort of adhesive. sticky and fucking clingy. the moment gojo had his lips against your cunt, it was no prying him off— he was a bit of a munch. although, munch was an understatement. gojo satoru lived eat and breathed pussy, especially yours, his precious little sugar baby.

every few seconds he pulls away, a pussydrunk grin forms across his crooked pink lips. the sounds of your sweet sobbing cries only fuel him, not only does it fuel him but it’s so loud that it rings through the frail walls of the corridor. it was a pretty spacey room. with the mixture of cacophonous white noise—the fax machine makes a repetitive spitting sound way off in the distance. a plethora of papers scatter across his desk and your face was voluntarily going back and forth against them. 

“aw, not you runnin’ from my tongue, sweetheart,” he purrs, breaking back to watch your cute little squirm. you make a little attempt of moving forward but he only grabs onto your hip. “nah, ‘m not done eating,” and you gasp once he lolls his pink, clean tongue all the way out. gojo had a long tongue—very great in length and perfect to reach all the crevices of your pussy. and it’s gojo satoru, he’s thorough and he makes sure to slurp every ounce of your fervor out of you if it’s the last thing he has to do. his tongue was now flat, and now it drags against your slit, sucking against your tender skin. “taste so mhm, sweet. ‘s too much for you?”

“n- no,” you mewl out, your cunt recognizing every direction of his tongue. in and out, through and through, he knows the exact angles where to go. you’re soaked, drenching on the twitching muscle that’s vigorously flicking and tweaking inside of you before your toes curl. “satoru, what if one of your c- colleagues come back again?”

“after suckin’ me off, that’s what you’re worried about, pretty?” touché.

as he’s teasing you, a thumb of his ghosts down your soddened folds. you whine, feeling your breathing pick up at a rapid speed. whiplash swiftly surges through you before you feel his thumb poke against your untouched hole. instantaneously, you let off a pitchy squeal before the suction against his mouth accelerates. “oooh, ‘s right there, yeah. gimme a better arch though, don’t be a lazy wet girl. even i can arch better than that, sweetheart.”

you whine, shivering manically the moment he presents a sloppy kiss against your weeping folds. sliding a free finger down your cunt, he annexes two more fattened digits along to join before inserting them in slowly. your jaw hangs like an earring but more so pleasure. the sensation was so crude, mind boggling even.

you’re already so stupid, the thickness of his digits shoving inside of you prods and pokes right between your stretchy walls and your back arches. “whewww,” he whistles again against your pussy, humming at the way your ass jerks from his touch. you’re so sensitive—his warm breath, so warm that it’s almost a frigidly cold temperature. a mixture that’s got you confused but in the best way. “atta girllll, arch that ass ‘n give me a proper show. just like i taught ya, baby.” and he spanks your ass before caressing your stinging cheek seconds later.

your whines grow pitchier and pitchier to where they’re just reverberating across the walls. it was an almost echo of your voice—almost as if you were a siren. with his lengthy fingers still buried into the depths of your cunt, he collects a decent amount of saliva before spitting it against your slick heat. he spats right against your pussy and it lands like fresh paint. he chuckles, hearing you whimper for him to do it again. “t- toruuu,” you moan, bottom lip all swollen from the way it was ruinously chewed up. simultaneously, you get even more drenched as if that’s of any surprise. his nose prods against your cunt, swiping all near your slit’s opening as you grind against his face and he snickers. eating you from the back had to be one of his favorite pastimes. once he laughs, you feel the hot vibrations of his amusement pulse through your cunt and it makes you moan. “f- fuck, ‘s good. more please, don’t s- stop.”

“i probably should stop,” he groans, feeling his exposed dick twitch at the sight of you. your arousal turns him on a lot more than he thought it would. he can’t help but bring one of his hands down to stroke himself. he hoarsely grunts right into your cunt, feeling his thumb brush against that same pulsating vein. “this pussy’s so ungrateful, listen to her tryna talk back to me,” and your brows part in desire once he gives you yet another spank against your clit. your sopping wet that’s all slippery and saturated, coating his entire palm with a good amount of your slick. “rude ‘n a slutty brat just like her owner.”

“s- satoru, ‘m close,” you babble as he continues to speak to your pussy.

your voice was a cute desperate battle cry, begging for your approaching release. his tongue with the add of his two long digits sliding in and out makes you weak. your knees were shaking rabidly, so close to relatively buckling before your eyes roll far back into your hollow little cranium.

that’s when two of his fingers curl in deeper. gojo’s knuckles deep, and you’re about to lose it if he inserts one more. it feels sinfully so good, a pool of throbbing heat stirs its way inside of your tummy. he’s got a fine bowling ball grip inside of your cunt. two fingers, middle and ring, slowly easing its way in and out, in and out. almost as if it was some sort of relaxing mediation. they piston inward against your squeezing walls for a bit before the length of his digits miraculously locates your pretty g-spot. “gonna cum. o- oh my god, ‘toru. satoruuuu.”

“don’t cum on me,” he warns, his tone still playful. as he’s continuing to create a wet trail near the crevices of your thighs, his strokes against his dick increases. grunt after grunt leaves his throat before he nibbles on your clit. “not yet, sweet thing. only good girls are allowed ‘ta cum on my tongue. ‘n you haven’t been a good girl, have ya?”

“y- yes,” you stammer, the hotness of his breath making your pulsing enlarge and multiply. your head’s spinning, heart’s racing miles a minute, and your throat feels dry. the moment that simple syllable leaves from your mouth, he gives your pussy a teasing little bite. “f- fuck, ‘toru.”

he snickers. “don’t lie, girl,” and he was already pussydrunk. guilty as charged, a snail-like-trail of your own slithery slick runs down his chin. it’s shiny, and if you squint it’s almost as if it had glitter. dragging his fat thumb and other fingers out of your cunt, he finally gets up and pries his lips away. you pout at the feeling of nothing, you feel almost empty. it’s so sudden and abrupt that you barely even have time to react. “mhm,” he licks his lips, tugging on his tie from feeling a sudden wave of heat. “get up baby. ‘m finished.”

“but—”

“aw, someone unsatisfied?” he utters with a sly eyebrow compressing upward. two rough hands spin you around, pulling you into a sultry deep kiss. everything feels hot— each time you kiss him, your heart races and you can feel yourself floating. not to be cheesy, but it felt pretty cheesy. the more your lips crash with this man, the more your heart was trying to send you a signal. you didn’t know what signal that was, but you were desperate to find out just what it might be. you whine as your arms instinctively throw around his broad shoulders. he’s still wearing a suit and tie. lazily, his slacks were halfway on and pulled down. gojo runs a hand through his slick back hair before hamming your thigh wrap around his waist. “you make me crazy on purpose, huh,” he pulls away for a bit, lapping up your own flavor from your bottom lip. tasting yourself against gojo, it never failed to make you throb. you pout, not liking to be edged but it had your veins going on a rampage anyway. glowing blue eyes stare back into you before he cups your chin. “no back talk? so sad, mhm,” and a thumb of his skims against your lips, trying to spread them apart. “open that bratty mouth again, sweetheart.”

you whine, feeling his knee creep its way up between your legs. your heat, he could feel it. it wasn’t the room being hot but instead, you in particular. 

as your lips abide and part, he leans in and a cunning grin stretches against his pink lips. gojo satoru was playing a dangerous game—the more he spent time with you, the more he started to feeling something. 

was it lust or was it . . 

only time could tell. 

“atta fuckin’ girl,” and he tilts your chin upward before spitting right into your mouth. it’s damp, splattering against the tip of your tongue before he groans. you reach down to touch yourself and he grabs your wrist. “heh, you’re not gonna get off to this, baby. nice try, now swallow,” and he watches you obey, swallowing for him. you moan, feeling him create staticky friction with just his knee. “nasty woman,” he purrs, eyes flickering toward your spit-glossed lips.

you had a look of pure lust,

the human embodiment of the word actually. “we don’t touch ourselves, silly girl,” and he plants a kiss against your mouth. instantly, you taste his candied flavor and a mixture of your own before he pulls away. strands of spit pull its way back from each lip that it’s like a pretty lewd yo-yo string—but made solely of spit.

taking a moment to breathe, still panting and his chest deflating every few seconds, he pulls you close. his cologne, it’s loud and rich.

two words to perfectly describe the older man right before you. 

“careful, baby. startin’ ‘ta think you’re getting obsessed with me,” he titters, flicking a tongue against his naturally glossed  lips. he sits up, finalizing the remaining distance between you. 

a burly brawny fit body grinds up against you, the friction of his suit rubbing against you makes your heart race. it’s beating and beating, booming and booming like speakers. you can hear each individual pulse bang through one ear and out the other. gojo lifts you up with two arms, treating you like a precious doll. in a way, that’s exactly what you were to him.

porcelain.

he didn’t want to break you—at least not yet. 

instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist as he gets ahold of you. it’s slim and quite snatched and your ankle teasingly runs down the reddened lines of his back. gojo grunts, feeling the cold material of the anklet he bought you skim down his skin. engraved on a few of the chained, ashen charms had his initials of the two letters of his first and last name. ‘g’ for gojo and ‘s’ for satoru. the anklet was a resplendent silver color. thinking about how much it might have cost him made your stomach churn. 

like always, he’d shower you with anything in the world. speaking of, he’d buy you the world if he could. he’s gojo satoru, he can afford it. 

your heel and the way it roams down the areas of his tense back alone was seductive. gojo gruffly groans, crashing his lips onto you for the nth time. he couldn’t help it, he was a mere feen for you. for your taste, you were addictive like a drug and he didn’t want a cure—you were dangerous.

a whiney moan slides past your mouth once his warm body ruts against you. 

his boner, 

you felt it, his pants were already off but it still pokes at you. it was hard and pent up, you could almost feel your mouth filling itself up a nice pool of saliva in preparation. all due to your arising anticipation—you wanted gojo just as much as he wanted you. the wait was killing your, the tension was simply brutal. but perhaps the both of you had different definitions of want.  

craving . . noun, a powerful desire for something. 

the more gojo’s tongue shoves down your throat, the more he craves you. you had an sweetened taste to you, it was so sugary sweet that he just couldn’t put it into words. with tongues passionately fighting for dominance—gojo bringing a hand toward your chest to squeeze against your left tit, you tilt your head back. his touch alone was enough to get you off. you hear a low grunt run from his lips the minute he feels you grind back against him. gojo was a greedy man. 

wealthy, but very much greedy.

being with you only made him ten times greedier. he couldn’t take it anymore—your grinding makes him curse under his breath. gojo grabs ahold of his cock, aligning himself before smearing his tip against your achy entrance. so moist, so sweet, the way your slick clings against him the second he grabs his dick back makes him groan. “fuckin’ sloppy,” he huffs, bright eyes staring at the lewd sight. with jagged breathing, gojo makes you lie flat down on his desk. he didn’t really care about the documented papers now being crumbled up and scattered. “mhm, you’re so pretty when you’re pissed off. ‘s the edging irritating you baby?”

“y- yes,” you whine, and he rolls his eyes, making your leg extend further out. he slings it over his shoulder before within seconds, he’s bottoming out.

it’s snug but it fits—it takes everything within him to not break right then and there. your warmth, it makes him bite his lip, taking a moment to suck in a single breath of fresh air. fuck.

“aw, ‘s too bad,” he hums, and you let off a moan once the head of his cock delves its way more inside. one thrust, just one single thrust and you’re already dumb of cock. your walls were attatched more than anything, mindlessly clinging onto him like a koala. you didn’t want to let go, you’re holding him captive with just your insides. “s- shiiiit.” 

his cockiness wears down, feeling just how tight you were for a moment. it’s warm, almost lukewarm. he’s burying himself further into you before leaning up close to your trembling body to get a closer look of your pretty features.

with blown azul pupils, he stares at your body and gazes in awe at how you’re just a sloppy, quavering mess underneath him.

his sloppy quavering mess underneath him,

gojo’s pace starts off to be decent, then turns straight feral. once he tosses his head back, he then feels the secure lock of your legs wrapping around his waist in response. “f- fuck, pretty. c’mon, take the stretch. jus’ like ya always do,” and his words were deep but shaky. even gojo was losing a bit of his haughty momentum. your pussy had some sort of spell that’s making him go insane, he could never get enough.

each clamp makes him go mad. smacks and claps amongst skin makes you suck your teeth in desperation for more. “ugh. fuckin’ sloppy girl. niiiice stretch, yeah baby. eyes up here, wanna see those eyes roll for me,” and he grabs you gently by the neck, a kiss making its way toward your mouth. gojo’s so pretty up close, droopy eyes and white bangs covering his face. tears of sweat running from each sides of his thinly arched brows. “good girl. keep lookin’ up here, eyes on me.”

your eyes look up toward him and he cockily cheeses, pearly whites baring a single fang at you that it’s sexy. you wanted to wipe that smug, dumb grin right off his face.

“s- satoru, fuck me h- harderrrr,” and your little pleads makes his dick twitch inside of you. he’s lengthy, you feel him reach deep deep angles that’s enough to make you drool again. but you already were drooling, tiny trails of saliva pour out from the corners of your lips as your mouth dangles open. a noise was about to come out, but it halts. his tip was so familiar with the layout of your cunt that it takes him no time to reach that spot. an itch scratches itself way into the back of your brain once he reaches there. hearing your harmonic moans turn into pure symphonies. your noises alone was purely euphonic to him. a song he’d listen to on repeat all day if he could—your whines and beloved whimpers. “right there, p- please. pleaseee.”

“heh, can ya be any louder sweetheart?” he jibes, feeling your anklet hit and hit all against his arm.

your back arches against the desk, biting on your lip before you start to twitch. the moment he shoves your knees up to your chest, oh it’s over. it’s so over.

not only was it dirty, but the feeling of it all was simply euphoric . . almost indescribable.

gojo’s cock drags its way through you so good that it leaves you speechless. you’re at a loss for words, unable to comprehend anything in your brain with his zigzagging salacious thrusts. whilst his fat cock stuffs you deep—goopy walls haul and yank back and forth against his length.

with parching, grinding bodies against each other, breaths irregular and out of pace, it was a sight. you’re struggling to maintain eye contact and he finds it cute. “mhm, o- oh, are ya tryna tell me something?” and he simpers, watching you grab his arm to pierce your teeth into it. bite marks in a cute circle form—printing against his skin and he raises a brow, quickening his pace. “kinky girl. still mad at bein’ edged i see.”

sharp chiseled hips drill into you and you’re barely able to keep up with his pace—you whine, momentarily feeling his hanging sack slap against your cunt. you could taste your orgasm, it was right there. so so close, your championing legs fail to remain still the entire time. grabbing one of your legs up again, he even licks a trail near your leg to your ankle. gojo’s stamina was simply out of this world. easily, he could be compared to a stallion. his pace was rough yet deep with a sparkle of passion and thoroughness. if it was anything gojo knew how to do, he knew how to make a woman feel good. “mmf, s- satoru, lemme cum. please, please please,” you babble, feeling your body shake underneath him. the desk grumbles and roars from the pressing weight, and he’s panting—puffy clouds of air forming out from his lips. “wanna c- cum.”

with a coy grin, he moves his body further into you. he’s so close that his skin sticks against yours.

it’s hot, scorchingly hot with such intensity that it’s driving you insane. with glossed lips, gojo licks near your neck. specifically, that spot near your collarbone that makes you whine. with his lips sliding near your ear, he whispers in a teasing, gruff tone. “mhmmm, you wanna cum with me baby? ‘s that what you want?” and as he speaks, his adam’s apple bobs. with his dick still tucked into you, gojo purrs against your skin. “think ya deserve that, pretty?”

“y- yes,” you whimper, bodies moving together in syncing harmony. as you’re being fucked on his the table-like desk, a few edges of thin papers bristle up against your skin. whines shriek out from your throat before your arms throw itself around him. “wanna cum with you, ‘toru. lemme cum. ‘s close, need to cum.” 

“you don’t need shit, girl,” he grips your chin, rubbing a thumb against your lips. gojo’s pace gets quicker, mean thrusts slam into you so good that you forget your middle name. a school of pitchy moans die out from your vocal chord and you gasp once you end up finishing anyway. it’s like a flash, quick and barely able to process what happened. your body shakes in response, jerking with him still inside and you let off a cute squeal. it’s like a wave crashing through you at full speed. the moment you cream on his cock, gojo pauses. an unpredictable tsunami. “oh,” and with his twitching dick still buried into your sopping cunt, he pulls out. “did you just cum on me before i-”

and it’s as if it was right on cue— right as gojo spoke, he ends up finishing too.

talk about perfect timing. it was early, so so early.

too early.

a growling groan tears from him as he’s dumping a hot load into you. it comes out in thick cloudy spurts. your legs continue to wrap around him like a ribbon on a gift, securing him tightly and he gasps. “s- shit, ‘s too early,” and his voice shakes within each embarrassing word that spews from his lips.

gojo slumps into you, leaning in to kiss you. once you return the gesture, he groans, sliding his tongue inside. warm, feverish lips move in tavern before he whines right into your mouth. the moment you grab ahold of his now flaccid dick, he whines again.

your touch, it was fiery like electricity. gojo’s flustered, white strands of hair glue by his forehead and he can’t help but suck against your lip. 

it was dangerous. you were dangerous,

with tongues colliding and clashing back and forth, teeth gnashing all together, a hand of his snakes between your thighs. you gasp, lips parting open so he could get better access and he squeezes a hand against your soddenly wet cunt. rawly, a moan tears out from your throat as you sling your arms over his shoulders for a final time. “s- satoru,” you murmur breathlessly and he silences your words with another deep kiss.

and another, and another,

and by now, you both forgot exactly where you were. having not a single doubt in the world, totally forgetting you were in an office. as you’re still feeling a surge of emotions coarse through your veins, he lifts you up—you watch with a needy gazing glint in your eyes as he slouches back against the chair. “baby,” he whimpers, sprawling his legs out. with a sleazy, worn out grin, gojo rubs a hand against his lap—the g-shock watch that wraps around his wrist clanking against his thigh the more he moves. ushering you over with two fingers, he pouts. “c’mere. don’t be s- shy.”

he was fucked dumb, 

his lungs were strained and he wanted more.

more of you.

the moment you straddle him, your sloshing wet cunt rubs against his hardened cock and he groans. “fuck,” he breathes, clenching his jaw tight. with a glance down, he stares at the way you were all flooded with ropes and ropes of hot cum. it’s slimy, the way it oozes out of your hole and down toward your thighs, he’s so close to getting a taste himself. but instead—he’s more hungry for your lips. “mhm, gimme another kiss, baby.”

you lean in, pressing your warm lips against his. as always, gojo’s sloppy, running his tongue throughout your mouth, tracing the inside of its structure. humid breaths fan amongst each other before he squeezes your ass only to spank it afterward. time’s been lost, it’s probably been hours and gojo satoru had the stamina equivalent to a horse. another round occurs, then another, and he’s just blinded from your pussy at this point.

needless to say, you’ve never seen him so . . submissive. 

he’s whining for you to touch him more, to kiss him, even whisper sweet nothings into his ear. 

after being pumped with sloppy masses of load again and again to your heart’s content, you’ve never felt more full. literally though, it’s so much that it could barely plug its way inside anymore. the sight of his cum dribbling out of your cunt makes him lick his lips. he’s hungry for more and only you could fulfill his appetite.

gojo’s between you with your legs still grasped around his slim waist like a vice. panting heavily, a hand of his cups your face—exhaling a deep, pitchy sigh. the tips of his pointy ears burn a feverish temperature. it’s so hot, you could almost feel his heat radiate onto you. as you return his obscene gaze, he groans as his now soft dick remains idle inside of your clingy stretchy walls. seconds to miliseconds go by before gojo collapses into your neck. 

perhaps you rode him to death. 

“sweet . . thing, you’re so . . pretty,” he hiccups, moving his chin up to stare at your ethereal after state. he got lost in your eyes—your pussy did wonders because he was literally unable to speak for a good minute. with lowly hooded eyelids, you’re breathing irregularly yourself with your breath seeming like it’s gonna be your last. 

you’ve got a sheepish smile, trapping his waist with your shaky thighs. “toru, did i overdo it?” you attempt to tease, giving him a sneaking kiss near the corner of his mouth. his lips twitch, and he slumps back against his office chair. still, you feel the remnants of his hot cum pour continuously, leaking out a bit way down the inner crevices of your thighs. your full lungs could barely keep up with gojo’s pace. his pace—you were still recovering from it. you were in a mere delirious state of your own as you’re trying to compel yourself from your most recent high.

as gojo shakes his head—you could clearly tell he was lying. “n- no,” and he huffs, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “fuck, ‘s still cummin’ princess.”

with an incoming whine rudely snatching it’s way from your spit slicked lips, your body slumps backward. all you’re feeling is nirvana, a feeling that was blissful and utterly hard to describe with simplistic words. gojo’s still plugging you full with not only inches of himself but lots of his feverish, velvety ropes of cum. the way you succumb into your own pleasure with him, it’s pretty to see. your eyes has a glow to them and so does his. 

your own eyes roll themselves back as you give in to the your own elation. 

each body twitches from the various elated sensations, staticky electricity piercing through your veins before your legs finally sag back. with a breathy moan, you pull gojo’s head up a bit. “f- fuck,” and as you grip his snowy strands, with half-lidded eyes, you’re met with his pussy drunk state. he looks so pretty, a mere flustered tint paints over his face as his chin’s pouring with your slick even still. “you did so good, ‘toru. so so good,” and you lean up to his ear, whispering playfully. “good boy.”

he tenses as you’re on his lap, breathing stopping and he pauses from those two last words. a gasp makes its way out of his lips before he moans.

“don’t . . let this get to your head. ‘m still gojo s- satoru,” and he squeezes your right ass cheek, yet this time. his grip’s much softer and more . . . tender.

with his head thrown back, he feels your grinding intensify. “but— say it again, sweetheart. call me that one more time.”

you press a kiss against his cheek. “good boy.”

“your .. good boy,” he pants, a growing flush on his face and he’s not only irritated but heavily turned on.

it appears that he discovered a new kink. praise.

“i’ll .. i’ll be your good boy, just for t’night, pretty girl. now finish fuckin’ me. please.”

[rika-mmendmethings]

Baby Boss-Man (or Boss Baby?) l Sylus

Summary: One misfire of another one of Philip's odd inventions and Sylus is aged back to a five-year-old bundle of chaos version of himself. But as you try to survive his oversized cuteness, you can't help but catch baby fever. When the antidote arrives, you're sure that you'll be rid of those thoughts. The only difference is that Sylus intends to make them real.

Warning(s): Tooth-rotting fluff, baby fever, temporary age regression, written with female reader in mind, might die from the cute aggression you get from five-year-old Sylus, short and sweet, suggestive at the end, cheesy, kissing, pet names like kitten used.

Word count: 2.6k

Now playing: Honeypie by JAWNY

Notes: Based on this request. I'm a bit late but as promised here it is. I felt like I was writing Feline Hexes all over again because the fluff surely measured up to that one. Had me rolling in the feels. Okay enough yapping, hope y'all enjoy it especially you bestie @sylusgirlie7 ♥

You had accompanied Sylus to the Odd Workshop since you needed to have your hunter weapon modified anyway. Flashing a polite smile at Philip in greeting, you handed over your gun for him to begin his work. You took a seat nearby, exchanging idle conversation with Philip while keeping an eye on Sylus from your periphery as he wandered around the workshop, poking at things with curious fingers.

Once Philip completed the modification, you tested your weapon and hummed in satisfaction — the result was flawless. Just as you were about to thank him, a loud buzz shattered the eerie quiet that usually hung in the air.

You whipped your head around, eyes scanning for Sylus, but he was nowhere in sight. Alarmed, you called out, “Sylus?”

“Yeah?” came a small, chirpy voice.

Your gaze dropped to a heap of familiar-looking clothes on the floor. You gasped when a tuft of white hair peeked out from beneath them. Wide, crimson, doe-like eyes stared up at you — and in a shocking moment of realization, you understood: it was Sylus. Your boyfriend. But now, in the body of a five-year-old.

“Help!” he squeaked, little arms flailing beneath the pile of oversized clothing. “I’m stuck!”

You quickly bent down and freed him, lifting his tiny form out of the tangled garments — leaving behind his shoes, belt, and pants, which were now comically too large for him. The shirt hung from his frame like a cloak, sleeves completely swallowing his arms. Despite the confusion, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Gently, you wrapped the lower half of his shirt around his legs and rolled up the sleeves, messily tying it together to make it wearable. You cradled him in your arms, cocooned in his own shirt.

Philip approached, his face sheepish as his eyes flicked between the smoldering wreckage of a device on the floor and the now miniaturized Sylus in your arms. You could practically see steam rising from Sylus’s tiny ears in outrage.

Scratching the back of his neck, Philip offered a half-hearted explanation, “That was... um, my latest invention. I created a fluid designed to revert a plant to its seed form — or a butterfly back to a caterpillar. I didn’t realize the jet injector would actually work on humans too…heh.”

Philip’s words only seemed to further ignite Sylus’s temper. You noticed the telltale shimmer of his Evol — the familiar red energy crackling around his tiny form, pulsing with irritation. You gently patted his head, offering what little comfort you could, then set him carefully on his feet, telling him to go somewhere so as to not risk the chances of Philip being evaporated. Sylus reluctantly agreed and trotted away after promising to not touch anything else. 

You turned back to Philip, exhaling a slow breath. “The longer he stays like this, the angrier he gets,” you said. “Do you have anything that can reverse the effect?”

Philip tapped his chin thoughtfully, eyes drifting toward the remnants of his failed invention. “Nothing at the moment,” he admitted. “But I have been developing a counter-agent — something to reverse the regression effect. I’ve got a few prototypes I can begin testing right away. If I manage to create a viable solution, I’ll have Luke and Kieran deliver it to you.”

“How long do you think that’ll take?” you asked, brow furrowed.

“Give me five, maybe six hours,” he replied. “I’ll work as quickly as I can.”

You nodded in understanding. Five to six hours with a miniaturized Sylus… manageable. Hopefully.

After exchanging a few more words with Philip — mostly warnings and a half-hearted apology from his side — you turned to look for your pint-sized lover. What greeted you nearly made you choke on a laugh.

You had turned your back for five minutes.

He’s drawn an elaborate chalk mural on the wall featuring Philip as a monster and you as a superhero wielding a gun of justice.

Philip stares at it.

"...He’s not wrong," you say, your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard at his antics. Philip just sighs, returning inside to work on the prototype before bidding you goodbye.

You made your way over to your tiny lover, who immediately turned around with an eager gleam in his crimson eyes. He patted the wall’s surface with one small hand, proudly trying to divert your attention to what he clearly deemed a masterpiece. You couldn’t help but smile as you pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of his soft white hair, lifting him easily into your arms before praising him for his creation, watching as his ears turn slightly pinkish. 

The walk back to his mansion was surprisingly short, not because of the distance, but because of the constant stream of animated chatter coming from Sylus. You hum and respond once in a while, eyes locked on his round face. You’d often wondered what Sylus had been like as a child since he didn’t really have any childhood photos or any sweet memories of those sorts. You once even assumed that he’d had probably been an overall aloof child considering his normal nature. 

But clearly you were mistaken because little Sylus was far from indifferent. He was shorter, chubbier and a total chatterbox with full energy. He kept pressing his tiny palms against your cheeks, forcing your attention to remain on him rather than on the passing scenery. Something about it stirred a deep, unfamiliar sense of affection within you — maternal, perhaps, or simply overwhelming tenderness.

“Whatcha thinking?” He asked, peering up at you from beneath long ivory lashes. 

“I’m thinking…” you began as you stepped into the mansion and carefully kicked off your shoes, mindful not to jostle him, “I could have five little yous running around and still never get tired.”

Sylus giggled, and the sound was so sweet — so utterly uncharacteristic of the man you knew — that it made your heart swell. You cooed at him in response, smiling as his ears turned pink once again. It struck you then — he must have always gotten shy when praised by someone he loved.

You set him down gently and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water for him. As you filled it, you called out, “Luke? Kieran?”

The twins appeared a second later, popping their heads out from behind a wall in perfect sync before strolling over to you. They leaned casually on the dining table, voices overlapping as they spoke in unison.

“Yes, Missus?”

You handed Sylus the water and turned back to them. “If you get a call from Philip this evening, go to the Odd Workshop and collect whatever he gives you.”

The two exchanged glances and nodded but still asked, “What for, Missus?”

“Sylus turned into the five-year-old version of himself as a result of playing with one of Philip’s peculiar inventions. Philip will be creating a counter-agent to reverse that effect by evening. So, you’ll be picking it up from his place.”

The twins looked at you like you grew two heads before sharing a subtle glance with each other. Their gazes followed you as you walked over to little Sylus and offered him the glass of water. You heard them gasp from behind you as they saw their miniaturized boss-man.

“No gin fizz?” Little Sylus asked, his lips forming a small pout. You patted his head twice, making him finish the glass of water before responding, “You’re five, Sylus.”

“Only by body.” He protested half-heartedly, allowing you to walk away toward the kitchen counter. He noticed the twins staring at him, their jaws dropped in disbelief. He shot them a menacing glare that, unfortunately, didn’t carry much weight due to his adorably cute face.

“Do you think boss-man would like uppies?” Luke whispered to Kieran after a moment of silence.

“Try it, and I’ll break your hands.” Sylus threatened, though the menace was undermined by the childish lilt in his voice. The twins zoomed out of the room in response, but it didn’t take long before they returned, each holding one of the plushies you’d collected over time. They also sported silly hats with fans attached to them, which they had somehow managed to get onto Mephisto as well. Waving the plushies in front of little Sylus’ face, Kieran added, “If not uppies, then surely boss-man would like toys?”

Luke furrowed his brow, falling deep into thought. “Is it ‘boss-man’ or ‘baby boss-man’ now?”

“I think the latter. But is ‘baby boss-man’ okay, or should we change it to ‘boss baby,’ like in the movie?” Kieran voiced his own opinion, and the two of them pondered in silence, while Mephisto let out curious caws in the background.

You could see the slight twitch of annoyance in your lover’s brows as you cut up some fruit for him. His expression made it clear he wasn’t exactly amused by their antics. A few moments later, the twins’ yelps filled the room, followed by the sound of Sylus’s evol lifting them off the ground before spinning them in circles. You didn’t need to look back to confirm — his mischievous smirk was practically radiating from the air.

After a few more minutes, you spoke over your shoulder, “Sylus, that’s enough. Put the twins down.”

He slumped his shoulders, his lips pressed in a pout, but despite his reluctance, he complied.

The twins clutched their heads, their faces pale, leaning against each other to steady themselves. They now knew little Sylus’ favorite game, and with that newfound knowledge, they’d be sure to avoid becoming part of it ever again. Meanwhile, Mephisto emitted unintelligible chatters that almost sounded mocking, as if he were laughing at the twins, prompting them to chase after the crow in frustration.

You pick up the fruit bowl you prepared earlier and make your way over to your miniaturized boyfriend. Gently lifting him into your arms, you carry him to his study and settle into the plush sofa, carefully positioning him on your lap. His gaze immediately lands on the fruit bowl, and you already know — he’s not eating a bite unless you feed him yourself.

Without a word, you pick up an apple slice and bring it to his expectant mouth. He takes it without hesitation, and a fond smile spreads across your lips as you watch him chew with slow, deliberate movements, his tiny baby teeth working adorably. Your eyes wander to his miniature hands, chubby fingers, and the soft curve of his cheeks — each feature impossibly cute and heart-melting. A strange warmth blossoms in your chest.

Once he dutifully finishes the fruit, you shower his face with gentle kisses, unable to resist his charm. You take a playful bite of his squishy cheek, and he squirms away with a bashful laugh, flustered but delighted.

You stretch out your legs, adjusting him slightly on your lap just as Mephisto comes swooping into the study. The mechanical crow flaps in with a small box tied to his claws and drops it onto the table. Your eyes flick to the label — it’s a parcel from Philip. The antidote.

Opening the box, you find a syringe filled with a strange-looking fluid. Meanwhile, Sylus is preoccupied with Mephisto, tugging at the poor bird with all the curiosity and strength of a toddler. You gently free the distressed crow from his tiny grasp and let him fly away with a disgruntled caw.

You prepare the syringe, mentally rehearsing how to administer it without making Sylus cry. But to your astonishment, he simply extends his arm, blinking at you calmly like he was born for this moment. You barely suppress the laughter bubbling in your throat as you inject the cure into his arm. Once done, you toss the used materials into the waste bin nearby.

Little Sylus settles back against you, his small head nestled against your chest and his arms resting at his sides. He lets out a soft yawn, eyelids fluttering.

“You must be tired of taking care of me all day, right?” he asks sleepily.

You stroke a hand gently down his back as he drifts closer to sleep, murmuring mostly to yourself, “Tired? Not even a little. Though I’ll admit… I did catch baby fever — and it’s all your fault.” You smile softly and poke his cheek. “You’d look incredibly hot holding our babies, not gonna lie.”

Your eyes begin to grow heavy too, and you decide to let sleep take you — wrapped around this tiny, precious version of him.

But peace is fleeting.

You're rudely jolted awake by a sharp ache in your limbs from the sudden weight pressing into you — and the restless shifting of said weight. You blink your eyes open, groggy and confused, only to find yourself completely unprepared for the sight before you.

Sylus, in all his fully restored, adult glory, is now straddling your lap. And to your utter disbelief — he’s completely naked. The weight of his shirt over your feet confirms that. You keep your eyes fixed on his face, not daring to look anywhere down. 

“Why are you not decent?” You ask, your voice sharp but wavering slightly under the weight of the scene before you.

Sylus doesn’t answer — not directly. Instead, he tilts his head back, a downright  dangerous smirk playing on his lips as he murmurs, “Baby fever, huh?”

Your breath catches, and you struggle to mask the shock on your face. You’d been certain he was asleep last night — small, drowsy, and curled up against your chest — when you muttered those words. Clearly, you were wrong.

Feigning thoughtfulness, he furrows his silver brows, tapping a slender finger thoughtfully against his chin. “Let me see... Was it just my imagination,” he drawls slowly, “or did you actually say something along the lines of how incredibly hot I’d look holding our babies?”

You quickly avert your gaze, face flushing from the neck up, but Sylus isn’t finished. Gently but firmly, he turns your face back toward him with a soft grip on your chin.

“Babies, hmm? Plural, kitten?” His voice is velvet-smooth, full of teasing delight. “My, my… I never realized my sweet girlfriend harbored such passionate little dreams, tucked away in the quiet corners of her heart.”

Mortified, you bring your hands up to cover your face, hoping to hide the vivid shade of red blooming across your cheeks. Your attempts at explanation tumble out as little more than embarrassed babbling — completely incoherent.

Sylus lets out a quiet chuckle as he captures your wrists, gently drawing your hands away from your face and guiding your eyes back to his. His gaze is molten, ruby irises shimmering with a heat that words can’t quite describe — intense, unspoken, and entirely consuming

He presses himself further into your body and you try to not think too much about what is poking your thighs and instead focus on his next words. He clicks his tongue, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know… I really am curious how you'd handle five little versions of me. Perhaps it’s time we put that theory to the test, don’t you think?”

Before you can form a coherent response, you barely register the soft click of the study door locking — courtesy of his evol — followed by the warmth of his hand slipping beneath your shirt.

In the next breath, you're on your back, pressed into the cushions of the sofa, his body hovering over yours with practiced ease. That infuriating, devastatingly attractive smirk curves his lips — one laced with unmistakable intent.

And in his eyes, gleaming with heat and purpose, you see it: he’s done teasing. He’s ready to prove just how serious he is.

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[pomegranatelifethis]

The first excitement

The day you found out you were pregnant, Bruce first hugged you tightly, then, with deep seriousness, said, "I will provide the best environment for you and our baby." At that moment, you didn’t fully understand what that meant—until a few days later, when you started noticing that everything you loved and found cute was piling up in the house.

At first, you liked it. Knowing Damian’s fondness for kittens, one day, you casually said, "Little cats are really adorable." The next day, at least five different plush cat toys arrived at the house. Then, you mentioned that you liked the tiny penguin design on Tim’s coffee mug. Bruce heard this, and within a few days, the kitchen was filled with penguin-themed utensils.

But things spiraled out of control when Dick showed you a baby elephant video to cheer you up, and you exclaimed, "That’s insanely cute!" A week later, a corner of the Batcave was overflowing with elephant-themed baby toys. Even Jason walked in, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Even I think this is too much."

At some point, the house became suffocating. In the peak of your hormonal fluctuations, you stood in the middle of the living room, looking around. Plush toys everywhere, tiny blankets, cute animal figures on the walls… And suddenly, your eyes welled up.

"ENOUGH!" you exploded.

Everyone froze. Dick stood still, holding a tiny teddy bear. Damian, petting the new kitten Alfred had just brought him, looked at you. Tim slowly set down his coffee mug. Jason leaned back on the couch, watching the scene unfold with great amusement.

But the biggest reaction came from Bruce. "But… I was trying to create the best environment for our baby," he said, his eyes wide with confusion.

Between hiccups, you cried, "Yes, but our house looks like a toy store! I’m hormonal, I’m exhausted, and everything is overwhelming me!"

Silence. Then Dick bit his lower lip to keep from laughing, but Jason let out a loud, mocking chuckle. "I wish I had recorded this. The mighty Batman, completely lost in the middle of an emotional crisis."

Bruce quickly composed himself and gently pulled you into his arms. "Alright, alright… I went overboard. I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?"

Taking a deep breath, you mumbled, "Just… let’s scale it down, okay?"

That’s when the Batfamily sprang into action.

Tim immediately started making a list. "Alright, we can return the unnecessary stuff."

Dick grinned. "And we can donate some toys. The kids at the orphanage will love them."

Damian, with a serious expression, declared, "The cats stay. They’re non-negotiable."

Jason shrugged. "I’d personally burn half of this, but donation works too."

Bruce sighed and nodded. "Alright, everyone, get organized. We’re sorting this mess out."

In the end, the house became livable again. And you realized that, no matter how chaotic they were, the Batfamily always came together in moments of crisis. And maybe, just maybe, a little extra cuteness wasn’t so bad—at least, in moderation.

The Batfamily’s attempt to systematically resolve the “excessive cuteness” crisis had turned into complete chaos. Tim was sorting out items to be returned, checking his list, while Jason, clearly bored, was tossing some plush toys into the air.

"Let’s donate this one."

"This is unnecessary—trash."

"Can we keep this one? It’s so cute!"

Then, Damian turned to Bruce, holding a tiny plush bat. "I’m keeping this one. Because it makes sense. We are bats."

Jason sighed. "Yes, of course. Because logic is what truly matters here."

Bruce, however, still didn’t seem ready to part with anything. As Batman, he had stopped countless criminals, fought in Gotham’s darkness for years… but now, the real challenge was getting rid of plush toys without upsetting his loved ones.

Noticing Bruce’s hesitation, Dick stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you’re getting used to being in dad mode, you know? Don’t panic. We got this."

Bruce took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright. But… let’s keep a few things. For our baby."

Sitting on the couch, watching the scene unfold, you felt your emotions fluctuating—thanks to your hormones—but at the same time, a warmth filled your chest. Sure, Bruce was going a little overboard, but that was because he just wanted you and your baby to be as happy as possible. And now, the entire family was involved.

Eventually, most unnecessary items were sorted out. Tim and Dick organized the donations, Jason planned to dispose of some in his own way, but Alfred stepped in to ensure everything was properly sent off. Meanwhile, Damian had somehow succeeded in increasing the household’s cat population—there were now three instead of one.

That night, after everyone had left, Bruce sat beside you, resting a hand on your stomach. "I guess I got a little too excited," he admitted.

You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder. "A little?"

The two of you chuckled softly, settling into a comfortable silence. Bruce’s protective, loving nature could sometimes be overwhelming, but with this chaotic, affectionate family by your side, you knew everything was going to be just fine.

Late into the night, just as you thought you’d finally found some peace, you lay down in bed and closed your eyes. However, just as sleep was about to take you, the bedroom door creaked open. At first, you assumed it was Bruce coming in to say something, but instead, Tim stepped inside.

"I just wanted to make sure… Do you really want to donate the penguin-patterned blanket? Or maybe, you know… we could keep it, just in case you like it?" he whispered.

You sighed, keeping your eyes closed. "Tim, I’m trying to sleep."

Tim nodded but didn’t move from the doorway. "Okay, but… are you really sure?"

Before you could answer, another voice echoed from the hallway. "If you're going to keep bothering her, at least do it quietly, Drake."

Damian stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "Disturbing a pregnant person only proves how useless you truly are."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I just care about her preferences, okay? This is a delicate process."

"How ridiculous." Damian sighed and walked away.

Just as Tim was about to leave, another troublemaker appeared at the door—Dick. With a wide grin, he slid into the room and immediately crouched beside the bed.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?" he asked, his eyes shining with concern.

Bruce stirred, cracking one eye open. "What’s going on?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Nothing! Just checking in!" Dick quickly raised his hands in surrender. "We’re here to help!"

Before Bruce could give him a stern look, Jason’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

"If everyone’s taking turns barging in, I might as well join. What am I missing?"

You buried your face into your pillow and groaned. "Why is everyone suddenly in full-on parent mode?"

Bruce rubbed his eyes and shot the others a sharp glare. "Everyone. Back to your rooms. Now."

Dick glanced at Bruce’s serious expression, then shrugged with a small smile. "Alright, alright, we’re going. But remember, I’m always here for you." He walked out the door.

Tim clutched the blanket to his chest and quietly slipped away. Jason, clearly amused by the whole thing, chuckled. "That was fun to watch," he said before disappearing down the hall.

Finally, the door closed, and silence returned.

Bruce, still half-asleep, pulled you close. "I know they can be a lot, but… they really care about you."

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. "I know. But if they keep this up until the baby is born, the real crisis will happen then."

Bruce let out a quiet chuckle, pulling you even closer. "I’ll keep them under control."

But both of you knew that keeping the whole family in check was harder than cleaning up Gotham’s crime.

In the following days, the Batfamily’s overly attentive behavior showed no signs of slowing down. At this point, you had to take a deep breath before entering any room because, without fail, someone would be there—thinking about you (and sometimes overthinking for you).

One morning, when you went downstairs for breakfast, you found Damian standing next to Alfred. As usual, Alfred was calmly preparing a nutritious meal for you, while Damian, brows furrowed, was scribbling something in a notebook.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

Without looking up, Damian replied, "I’m researching the ideal age range to begin the baby’s combat training."

You paused mid-bite and stared at him. "Combat… what?"

"If they start young, they could master basic fighting techniques by the age of ten. Of course, we’d have to modernize Father’s traditional training methods. Also—"

Shaking your head, you held up a hand. "No. No, Damian. Our baby will not be training for combat anytime soon. They’ll play with toys, listen to bedtime stories, and—oh, I don’t know—just be a normal child?"

Damian frowned. "But—"

"No."

Alfred smiled softly and patted Damian’s shoulder. "Perhaps we should revisit this discussion in a few years, young master."

Just as you thought you could finally relax, Tim walked into the kitchen, balancing a laptop in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

"Hey, you’re up. I made a chart to monitor your vitamin D levels. We need to increase your daily intake because during pregnancy, your bone health—"

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Tim, please. Just one morning without a health chart while I eat?"

Tim hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. But I’m still going to ask you to check it later. The data is really interesting."

Before you could respond, Dick entered the kitchen carrying a bag.

"Surprise!" he announced, pulling out tiny, brightly colored baby onesies. "I saw these and had to get them for the baby!"

You picked one up—it was bright blue and had “Future Acrobat” written on it.

"Dick…" you said, exhaustion in your voice.

"Wait, I haven’t shown you the best one yet!" He excitedly pulled out a yellow onesie from the bottom of the bag. Across the front, in big bold letters, it read: "Mini Nightwing."

As Dick beamed at you, Jason walked in and observed the situation. He rolled his eyes.

"Great. The kid’s already being pushed into circus life before they’re even born."

Dick shot him a glare. "Hey! Flexibility is important!"

Jason turned to you, smirking. "This is all a bit much. But if you ever want to see the baby in a tiny leather jacket, I’ve got ideas."

Laughing, you shook your head. "Jason, I am not putting a leather jacket on the baby."

Jason shrugged. "Alright. But let me know if you change your mind."

Just as you thought the chaos had peaked, Bruce walked into the kitchen. Everyone immediately turned to him. He raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of people gathered.

"What’s going on?"

Without hesitation, you rushed to his side and tugged on his sleeve. "Please. Get me out of here."

Bruce studied you for a moment, then turned to the others with a sharp look. "Alright. Everyone, clear out."

The group erupted in protests, but as soon as Bruce’s Batman glare came into play, they reluctantly started to disperse.

With the kitchen finally quiet, you took a deep breath. Bruce crossed his arms, watching you.

"Are you really that exhausted?"

You shot him a tired but affectionate look. "Your family is… a lot."

Bruce let out a small chuckle and nodded. "I know."

Smiling, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist. No matter how chaotic they were, one thing was clear—this family cared about you and the baby more than anything. And that meant you were part of the safest—and most insane—family in the world.