Ewusernamessuck-offical - D1LF•L043R

Creaming my PANTS

prettying him up in the shower so he smells like warm vanilla and honey, then wrapping him in a fluffy towel and combing mousse through his long hair so when i dry it, it ends up so curly and soft. i massage lotion into his hands to keep them soft, and file down his nails.

by the end of it, he looks so good that i can’t help but pin him down on the bed and undo all my work by leaving him a sweaty, exhausted, fucked-out mess.

Coming back to this bc I genuinely fucking heart sub silco sm😍

I WILL fuck that old ass man

                     THE BAAAAD TOUCH!

synopsis. there’s a very thin line between the way animals fuck on the discovery channel and the way you fuck them. featuring shameless, rough sex with the arcane men, and a third secret option at the end. jayce, vander, silco, viktor.

tags. top! reader, sub! jayce, vander, silco, viktor. reader has a cock. rough anal sex, creampie(s), exhibitionism, infidelity, cumslut! jayce, doggy, riding, size difference, huge cock, belly bulge, size queen! viktor, sweat kink, strength kink, breeding kink, implied marathon sex, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, excessive amounts of manhandling, age difference, established relationships. cock-hungrified men. (lmao)

a/n. inspired by this song from bloodhound gang.

“does she know?” you pant into his ear, grip strong and sweaty on his hips, and jayce feels dirty, the way he’s being mounted like a bitch. “does she know about the way i fuck you? the sounds you make when i fill your pretty hole up?”  

he shudders, shaking his head, nails raking down your biceps as he tries to lift his head, to be less vulnerable in the way you’re taking him, but to no avail. he feels the hot burn of your palm at the back of his neck, and he finds himself back with his cheek pressed against the sheets, back arching with the violence of forcing his body to accommodate both pleasure and pain plowing away at his dignity. 

 “fuck!” he gasps, “let’s not, nnngh! talk about this. not, not right now.” it’s not the first time you’ve brought mel up in a conversation, but hardly ever more than an offhand comment, something to tease, something for fun. this… this was unknown territory. 

“why? you don’t like it?” there’s a strange displacement in your voice, a touch whiny, as though you were pouting at his denial. jayce thinks he’s going insane, because as manipulative as you were, there was no way he could say no to you. not with that look on your face. the one he can’t see but knows it’s there. 

“doesn’t matter,” jayce whispers. “it’s not ri- right.” 

you want to laugh. it’s not right? so it’s all right and just if he sneaks into your bed almost every other night for you to get him off simply because said girlfriend never could—nights of sweat and sinful lovemaking that end with him sneaking out of your room with a limp—but it’s not okay if you want to talk about it? how was that fair? 

“you don’t like her anyway, do you?” you mutter. “you should just get rid of her and be with me.” you tighten your hold on him. you want it to bruise. you want him to go home with your marks on his body. you want mel to ask about them and jayce squirming as he tries to think of a stupid excuse to fool her again. faulty gym equipment. sparring session gone wrong. you know all of his excuses. it’s funny, the way he tries to patch things up. “this is cruel… to the both of us. don’t you wanna get this over with?” 

“it’s- unh, complicated!” jayce moans, but there’s nothing complicated about it, he just doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to feel the shame and guilt making his guts tangle and heart pound—the way you fit into him so perfectly, so innately, like you’ve always belonged inside him, a missing piece to his puzzle. 

he bites back a whine as the thick head of your cock pushes against his swollen prostate, and he’s not sure if he can even feel his legs at this point. it’s humiliating, the way you’re cooing nasty words into his ear, handprints branding his hips as you tug him up only to slam downwards against him, pushing him further down into the mattress with every heavy thrust. 

“why? what’s keeping you then? hah. don’t tell me. does she fuck you like this too?” you snarl, sucking hot purple bruises down the column of his neck, salt and iron underneath your tongue making you hungry, and he keens. “so desperate for cock you’d let your girlfriend fuck you, jayce? well? does she fuck you as good as i do?” 

“noo,” jayce slurs, shaking his head, “nothing’s as good. you’re the best. love it. love you.” 

“really?” you bark out a laugh, and he nods dumbly, like his body’s conditioned to respond to your every whim, wanting to please, to serve. “well, i don’t see it at all. only thing you could ever be in love with is my cock.” 

“ah- ah, yeah, that too,” he whines, “love you more.” 

“liar,” you growl, and he sobs out at the way your length drags across his walls, thick and girthy, missing his prostate on purpose. it’s a punishment, jayce knows. he’s sorry. he feels so guilty. “pretty slutty liar. you’ll do anything to get stuffed, won’t you? even if it means cheating on your little girlfriend. you’ll even enjoy it, the moment you break her heart.” 

jayce shakes his head, tears blurring his vision. he can’t even say anything at this point, with the way you’re forcing him to take, fucking the words out of him. he can’t help being addicted to this. it’s too good. mel would understand, wouldn’t she? she would, if only she could have a taste of it. it’s not his fault. not really. 

“you probably think she’ll never know. you probably think she’ll never find out.” you’re talking again, but the sounds buzz by, barely intelligible. jayce swallows, letting your accusation wash over him. he has been careful, hasn’t he. surely she won’t know. surely she can’t know. “the way you start crying when you’re about to cum. you think she’ll never know about that, right?” 

he doesn’t know what you mean, but it’s so hard to think. there’s wetness on his cheeks and the low flame in his belly has blazed into a forest fire. he wants to cum. he needs it. he needs it hard and rough, bruises on his waist and hips and love bites on his collarbones, hard, heavy thrusts that make him feel dizzy and high and stupid, drowning him in the throes of pleasure that only you can give to him. 

“please,” jayce begs, tears streaming down his face. “i want, ngh… ah, want your cum in me.” 

and before he knows it, there’s the rush of hot cum flooding his hole, the sweaty press of your chest against his back, your hips trembling and bucking against his, and it’s so good it makes him see stars. but you don’t stop. it’s messy and filthy, and pure bliss when he feels you snake a hand into his hair and wrench his head up, rough and careless just the way he likes it. 

his eyes roll back before his cock starts helplessly spurting at the sight of mel standing in the doorway, watching him being bred like a whore.

VANDER

. . . vander thinks he maybe maybe made a mistake, telling you to be rough with him. because this is exactly the kind of rough he likes. 

“oh, fuck, sweetness,” he moans, arousal bleeding into his guttural voice as he arches his back and cants his hips backwards to receive your thrusts, taking you deeper inside, his ass bouncing every time you meet his hips with a wet, nasty ‘pap’. “t-thaat’s it, kid. right there, fuck, harder…” 

he’s clutching his pillow tightly, waves of pleasure shackling him to the bed as you’re pounding away at his hole from behind. you’ve snaked a hand into his hair to wrench his head up roughly, and a low whine pushes its way past his lips, punctuated by a sharp, deadly thrust aimed at his prostate. he’s pretty sure his own cock’s rubbed raw against the sheets, spurting so much pre there’s a sticky, slippery pool underneath him—easing the steamy push and glide. 

there are stars bursting at the corners of his eyes, threatening to consume his vision, and he can vaguely feel his toes curl and thighs spasm at every brush of your cock against his bundle of nerves. there’s sweat dripping down his face, a salty tang on his tongue, and he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, hearing nothing but his own heavy pants and groans, attuned to the rhythm of your thrusts. it’s too good. almost makes him feel young again. he’s halfway through his forties, and yet you’re fucking him like he’s twenty. 

vander can feel your hands all over him, pressing heavy bruises onto the tender fat of his waist and hips, bodily dragging him back onto your cock every time you ram forward, making sure to put your entire weight behind it. the mattress is letting out horrible creaking sounds, the headboard of the bed slamming into the wall in perfect tempo, and the both of you are going to regret this later, but fuck, he doesn’t care. 

it’s addicting. it’s violent. vander shouldn’t be enjoying this, but he is. 

“fuck, love, y’er gonna make me cum already,” he chokes out, and it’s more of a drunken slur, really — there’s something about the way you’re treating him that makes him dizzy and weak at the knees. his fists are clenched, grasping at the bedsheets every time he feels like snaking a hand between his legs and jerking off to your thrusts. he wants to enjoy it, savour it—the way you’re taking him, pressing him into the mattress like you’re trying to break the bed before you break him, gaze hungry enough to swallow him up in your lust. 

“go ahead and cum, vander,” you drawl, grabbing a handful of his ass before sharply spanking him across, the sting rewarding you with a full-body shiver. “i want you to cum like it’s your last night on earth.” 

who the absolute fuck does this kid think he is, vander thinks, and he quickly buries his face back into the pillow because he knows he’s going to get loud. you’re insane. insanely bad at dirty talk, but your hunger makes up for it. he’s never liked dirty talking that much, but fuck, if you weren’t something different. cum like it’s his last night on earth? he really underestimated how greedy you were. 

“cocky,” he wheezes instead, once he’s caught his breath, “y’er gonna, haah, hafta fuck me harder for that to happen.” it’s yet another bad decision, and he’s digging his own grave, he knows it. as if you aren’t already fucking him within an inch of his life—the bulbous shape of your cockhead digging into his prostate with such immaculate precision, pressing the shape of your handprints into his skin as you fuck him with your eyes, your hands and your cock. 

hungry. intense. unforgettable. vander doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of it. 

before he can even breathe, you’ve hooked one arm under his thigh, tossing him over onto his back like you’re flipping a fucking pancake, and vander’s not a delicate man by all means. without wasting a second, you’re pushing inside him again, groaning shamelessly as his wet, warm cave engulfs you perfectly. vander makes a desperate noise, eyes squeezing shut—there’s no pillow to muffle his cries or hide his expressions from you this time, but he’s far too close to be embarrassed. 

the new position’s got you so deep inside him, and it’s getting harder to breathe, almost as though he could feel you all the way to his throat. it’s uncomfortable and very inconsiderate of his aching back, but the mind-numbing pleasure hammering away at his sweet spot makes up for it. 

“s-so fuckin’ good, kid,” he pants out, arching his back with a moan as you reach down to grope at his tits, the muscles plump and soft with tender age, hole clenching around you tightly every time you tug at his perky nipples. his cock’s all leaky, drooling over his stomach and making a mess, and he’s so aroused it’s almost endearing. “fuck me… god, fuck me.” 

he’s going to cum hands-free, vander thinks, and shit, you’re going to be so smug about this after you’re done with having your way with him. vander sneaks a glance at you—eyelids fluttering, making little grunts of pleasure every time you bully your way into his tight wet warmth. it embarrassingly makes the back of his neck burn, makes him feel all hot and sexy and wanted. 

“yeah? best cock you’ve ever taken, vander?” you purr, and his breath stutters, seizing up with a yell and then he’s fucking cumming with you balls-deep inside him. guess you’ll take that as a yes.

SILCO

silco doesn’t know how long he’s been bent over in that same fucking position, but he doesn’t plan on making you stop anytime soon. 

“darling, not so rough. . .” he gasps out, nails raking down the expensive wood of his office desk while you plow away at him from behind, his hole sopping wet but tight, as though you haven’t cum two times in him already. he can feel his knees knocking into the hard front of the desk with every brutal thrust, the weeping tip of his erection grazing the cool mahogany, the pleasure inside him making his lower belly burn with a flame he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

“why?” you grin, draping yourself over his half-clothed stature, his pants yanked down to his ankles as he’s bent over to take. you shuffle forward, making sure his ass is pressed snugly against your crotch before giving an experimental roll of your hips, always reaching deeper, for more. “worried that they’ll hear?” 

silco presses his lips together in a thin line, tilting his face away from yours, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he were sulking. you laughed. it was just too easy to piss him off sometimes. 

“i’m just playing around, baby. your office is soundproofed, no?” you straightened yourself, running a hand over the smooth, sensitive expanse of his back before returning to your firm grip on his bruised hips. he gave a shuddering sigh, trying to relax as you started to rock into him again with strong, steady thrusts. 

“it doesn’t matter,” he rasps, “we’re, hah, being too loud… sweetheart. s-sevika is right outside.” 

“don’t care,” you mutter. “i’m pent up. ‘least you can do is let me fuck you stupid. you’ll let me, right?” 

silco makes a noise at the back of his throat, half from displeasure, the other half from the sharp curl of arousal in his lower abdomen, making his cock twitch and leak. fuck if it didn’t turn him on when you talked to him like this. he settles for burying his face into his arms, preparing himself for whatever you were going to put him through. 

“be gentle,” he whispers, letting out a shuddering sigh. “i’m not so young anymore.” 

you could feel a grin pulling at the corners of your lips. yeah. sure, you were going to be gentle with him. with him looking like that. 

“hngh, r-right there…” silco mewls out, knees buckling repeatedly as he tries not to think about how loud he’s being. he supposes he could gag himself with something, your fingers, maybe, get them warm and wet for you while you use his face as leverage to fuck him harder, but he knows how much his noises spur you on, and right now he really doesn’t want to piss you off. not when you’re indulging him so well. “that’s it… you’re so good… darling.” 

“not so shy anymore?” you hummed, licking a hot stripe up his neck, his gasp twisting into a whine. “think we can make you louder?” 

“sweetheart,” he sighs as he feels your hand wrap around his throat, and he tilts his head back to let you grip it properly. “you already know what i want.” 

“well, i don’t think so.” you smile, leaning down to press your cheek against his, working away from behind with short, firm thrusts that steal his breath away. “remind me. did we use the magic word yet?” 

but just as he’s about to answer with snark, there’s the rap of fists against his office door, and silco feels his heart plummet. not now, when things were about to get good—this was the worst timing possible. “everything alright, boss?” 

“yes,” silco pants, “fuck… yes.” 

you can feel his nails dig into the back of your thigh, warning you not to pull out. you’re thick and heavy, resting against his stomach, and silco feels so fucking good and full. you can’t stop now. not until he’s had his fill. he can vaguely feel your warm seed trailing its way down his perineum in a slow trickle, and fuck, he wants more. wants to feel stuffed even without you inside him, drowsy and content. 

he blinks, brows furrowing as he catches himself fantasizing about you yet again. should he even be having thoughts like these in his forties? was this healthy? sex with you was life-changingly—and now apparently hormone-alteringly good. 

“sir?” sevika’s growl interrupts his train of thought. and yeah, not to mention—his second-in-command is right outside his office, while all he can think about is cock. shit. your big, leaky cock, buried to the hilt inside his hole. he wonders if it’ll be gaping once you’re done with him. and oh. cum. loads of your cum, filling up every inch of space inside him. making it hard to breathe. making him swel— “is someone in there with you?” 

“yes,” silco wheezes dumbly as you roll your hips against him with meaning, forcing him to take you deeper. he trembles, shifting back slightly to fuck himself on your cock, forcing a sharp inhale from you. “we are busy. you’re, oh… dismissed, sevika.” 

the silence is loud, save for the almost-silent squelches of your cock maneuvering inside him with all the cum stored in his belly. 

you can feel his heart pounding from the way your chest is pressed against his bare back. or maybe it’s your own. his walls squeeze around you, sinfully tight, pulling a muffled moan from where you have your teeth sunken into his shoulder. fuck. he’s—silco’s actually into this. you’d have never guessed he would be such a freak, for lack of a better word, but with how things were going . . . you didn’t mind it. not one bit. it drove you crazy with want, if anything. 

“... if you say so, boss.” the sound of retreating footsteps fills you with both relief and disappointment, but before you could even process what that means, you can feel silco gazing at you through his lashes, low and scrutinizing and something needy. 

“did i say you could stop?” silco grunts. “fuck me.” 

you let out a shaky sigh, hips already bucking back into the warm mould of your cock—and the next sound that drives past his lips is a loud and unabashed sob of your name. 

you think you might have unlocked something new in your lover.

VIKTOR

“it won’t fit,” viktor slurs, moans tumbling out of his mouth as he gives a shaky roll of his hips. he’s not quite there yet, with only the tip sucked in, but he’s making good progress. “i’m terribly s-sorry, dear. your… appendage. it’s too big.” 

his eyes flutter shut at the feeling of your hands forming a ring around his waist, strong and firm, a warm assurance that there was a possibility… although slight, that he’d make it. 

“it’ll fit,” you murmur, kissing the sensitive spot at the back of his ear, the one that makes him suck in a sharp breath and shudder. “you’re doing very good, love. just… a little more, yeah?” 

viktor looks down. it’s nowhere near a little more. you’re barely halfway in and he’s already thinking about quitting—has been, since the stupidly huge head of your cock breached his rim, making him feel a stretch that no amount of fingers or plastic toys could replicate. it was something extraordinary. overwhelmingly so. 

“please,” he mewls, forehead dropping to rest on your shoulder. “t-touch me? i think i’ll probably, hah, ease up a little if you would… oh, yes. thank you, dear. thank you.” 

it’s… in simple words, too much. you’re usually very considerate, taking your time with him with your fingers, rubbing on his tender walls until he loosens enough for you to slip another one in. the night would then end with you fucking his thighs, sticky and slick with his own cum. it’s good. it’s enough. that was until he started having thoughts of what it would feel like if you were inside him. 

but viktor would’ve never imagined it would be like this. the difference in size was just… comical. you were so deep inside him already, the impossible girth forming an obscene bulge over his abdomen, making him whine with the fullness. if this is already what it feels like to have you inside, then just what would it feel like to have you spill inside him?

he can’t lie—he’s spent nights waiting for you to fall asleep first so that he could scoop up some of the cum you had missed on the sheets, quietly fingering himself with the cold slickness. it didn’t feel right, even if it was yours. it just wasn’t the same. he wanted, no, needed to feel it for himself. 

it doesn’t help, the way you’re stroking him, ever so gentle with him. your huge palm covers his entire length without having to move much, huge thumb rubbing at his leaking tip, and viktor’s never been so hard before in his whole life. he’s so close already, hole fluttering around you uncontrollably, and it’s almost cute how it looks like it’s going to swallow you up. maybe it is. 

maybe it’ll fit. 

“last few inches,” you pant, fingers trembling slightly where you’re struggling not to press bruises into the cup of his hips. “can i-? please, vik. it’s so good. you’re so good. i just need a little more. please, baby.” 

“yes,” viktor blurts out, before he realises just what he agreed to—but within the next second he can feel something abnormally large pushing its way past his tight walls, faster and rougher than before, even as he tries to clench and hold still—it’s mean and a little too much, but then the back of his thighs meets hot skin and he nearly blacks out with the stretch of it all. 

“ngh,” viktor keens, trembling with exhaustion as he tries to settle into your lap comfortably with such a large intrusion within him. “soo full…” 

you sigh in pleasure, hands going back to his hips where they belong, pushing him down until you’re satisfied that he’s properly taken everything you’ve given him. it’s not a demand, viktor thinks, more like a comfort. telling him that you’ve always known he would’ve been able to take you in the first place. that this is where he belongs, filled to the brim with you and you only. 

he lets out a shuddering moan when you start to slowly bounce him on your lap, lifting him up with ease a good inch or two, before rolling your hips to meet his, pushing yourself deeper. “shit, vik…” you groan, and he cries out with every brush against his prostate, the sheer size of you making it impossible to miss it. “you’re so tight, baby… so perfect. i’m right here with you, okay? easy now, you’re doing so good.” 

you’re so good to him as always, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but it’s different this time, and fuuck. viktor thinks he’s dying with how good it feels. he tries to steer his hips, to actually ride you instead of having you manhandling him up and down your cock, but there’s hardly any friction left now that he’s properly stretched, and any attempt results in him collapsing back to his knees, the pleasure making him weak. 

he settles for hanging onto you, arms wrapping around your neck and choking out little whimpers as you rock upwards into his waiting hole again and again, toes curling and nails scratching red trails down your back with the all-consuming pleasure.

it’s driving him crazy, the fullness, the simple thought of you pumping your seed and sperm into him, of making love with you. it’s nothing like the way it was written in the textbooks he had spent nights researching—it’s beyond anything he would have ever imagined. 

“please,” viktor sobs out, feeling strangely empty every time you pull out halfway, as ironic as it was—as though there was a chance you would leave him fully. the thought of it hurt. if only you could fit inside him forever. if only. “stay…” he cries, “cum inside. m-make me yours.” 

you lean forward, pressing your lips against his in a hurried kiss, at the same time grinding so deep viktor thinks, for a split of a second, that that might be you he’s feeling in his stomach. the broken wail he gives is loud and muffled, and you lap up the drool on the side of his face, watching as your lover’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling of being filled, properly this time, to the brink of spilling.

masterlist!

I genuinely think there was no greater insight into the modern Christian mindset than when the Pope said he very much hoped Hell was empty and he was absolutely hounded by both Catholics and Protestants outraged at the idea of a man who wanted a place of infinite suffering to have nobody in it.

Crying, somehow

001

↳ Loss of Virginity with Aaron Hotchner

"Gonna give you all my love, boy, my fear is fading fast. Been saving it all for you, 'cause only love can last." - Madonna, Like a Virgin.

CONTENT/WARNINGS. Prelude to Smut (18+ mdni); Slight Dom/Sub Dynamics.

WC. 0.6K

AUTHORS NOTE. A light start to kinkmas. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written, but I want it out of the way, so enjoy.

kinkmas '24 masterlist

Aaron was beginning to believe there was no view more beautiful than you perched on his lap, skin flushed, lips kiss-bitten. You were a work of art - painted by Monet, sculpted by Conova. You belonged in a museum, put on display to be adored and revered for centuries to come. 

You were positively bewitching.

You wore Aaron’s navy GWU Law sweatshirt, something you had found shoved in the back of his wardrobe, discarded and forgotten. He wore it often during his time as a law student - it was one of his favorites, though he’d wager that it wouldn’t fit his filled out frame anymore. Aaron loved the way it looked on you, he loved the way seeing you in it made him feel.

Aaron’s hands rested against your thighs, his fingertips teasing against your soft skin, his cock hard and straining against the front of his pants as you unwittingly pushed yourself further against him. He needed you with a fierce desperation, inhibitions be damned. He needed to taste you and to feel you and to hear you. He needed to worship you. Aaron needed to know that you needed him, that you wanted him - he needed to know you were sure. 

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, the ghost of a kiss. Aaron could hear you whimper, could feel you grind your clothed pussy against him in response. His hands moved to grasp your hips, halting your tantalizing movements. “You have to say it; I have to hear you say it.”

Your skin flushed a deeper shade of red at the prospect of voicing your desire, of telling Aaron all the places you wanted him to touch you, all the ways you wanted him to take you. 

“Aaron…” you murmured, your heart racing - a ceaseless, unrelenting cadence against your ribcage. You were sure - one hundred percent certain - that you wanted this, that you wanted him to be your first. But, then, there it was… that small, nettlesome flicker of hesitation that kept you from speaking your wants and needs into existence. 

Aaron - damn him and his profiling abilities - caught your hesitation, his grip on you relaxing, his brows furrowing in rumination. “We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to,” the man affirmed, his eyes boring into yours. “If this is too much, too soon… if you want to stop, just say the word. Nothing has to happen tonight.”

“And if I don’t want to stop?”

“We’ll move at your pace,” Aaron promised, face relaxing. “Whatever you want, whenever you want it - it’s yours.” 

His words - the confirmation that this moment was yours, that every passing second and miniscule action would be tailored to your wants and needs… it smothered that flicker of hesitation. 

His words were your green light. 

You bent down, capturing Aaron’s lips in a heated kiss. He tasted like the cheap red wine you had picked up from the convenience store - the wine itself was far too bitter for your liking, though it tasted satisfyingly sweet on his tongue. 

You were an addict. You could kiss him forever, you could lose yourself in everything that was him. 

Your hands left his shoulders, trailing over his chest and stopping at the waistband of his slacks. Your fingertips dipped beneath the waistband as you flirted with the idea of freeing his cock from its confines, delighting in the feeling of Aaron’s teasing smile against your lips.

“I want you,” you admitted, quiet, pleading. “Now. Please.”

Aaron gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your bare flesh as he pulled you further against him. “Take what you want,” he implored. “You’re in control.”

I heart natural dialogue😍

okay so what if a kieran culkin character wore as many hand accessories like the bracelets but also rings as kieran and then fingered you rougly? what if?

girl ya smart let’s get into it

i’m gonna go with roman the love of my life light of my day fire of my loins because we see him wearing bracelets a couple times, especially when he’s in barbados and in the gym. and…im gonna go with post-s4. like, future rome and you. because i’m a softie and i like imagining him happy in the future. so SPOILERS for s4 of succession, beware.

You’ve come with Roman to a vacation home—a villa, really, in Rome. His dad gave it to him, it’s his now. That’s weird, right? Your dad dies and you get a villa in Italy, specifically for you, that’s weird to him. Maybe he’s just sensitive, you keep giving him those puppy-dog eyes like he could crumble at any minute, especially in the jet on the way over. You almost yank his arm off trying to stop him from carrying your luggage.

But now you’re settled in, it’s warm outside (maybe too warm) and you’ve gone to a market nearby to buy some meats and cheeses for snacks, and a peach wine despite having real (expensive) wine in the cellar. You’d tease him in a couple weeks of staying here, bully him for getting ‘fat’ all the while sucking his dick by the pool. But that’s later, in the future, and for now, you’re in the room he always stayed at when they vacationed here, ‘his room.’

“It’s very…red,” you’re shocked, not that you don’t like it, just surprised by how red it is. His room in Barbados was a teal and beige, all blue paired with the natural stone. Here, it’s a deep red, very fitting for Italy and the whole ‘Rome’ aesthetic, but weird, with a similar stone texture surrounding, the same as outside, almost stuccoed.

“Yep. Red. Very emo eye my father had, maybe he was trying to get me in with Gerard Way,” he teases his past self, and you can almost implicitly tell that Logan picked it out. You can’t imagine Logan redesigning a house without making it a part of some psychological training routine.

“I’d think you were a Frank Iero, personally,” you quip with a grin.

“Oh thank you, thanks. For that. I uh, I’ll try to ignore your emo mumbo jumbo and act like I’ve never heard those names before,” he says, trying to active ‘above’ the emo scene. He opens a little drawer in his dresser and like muscle memory finds a shitty little box against the front panel, the cheapest thing in this whole house you’re sure.

The top is lifted and placed onto the dresser with a familiar movement, a limp wrist and body twisting to face you as he rolls a single bracelet down his arm, past his wrist. He holds his arm up for you to see, the plastic bracelet covered with teal and dark blue beads with a few large notches of white stone.

“Nice. Never knew you liked accessories so much,” you comment, not sure if this is a joke, or?

“Didn’t really, I guess? Just kept ‘em. Mom hated it, Dad hated it. Look, Shiv,” he says, holding up a bracelet with orange, pink, and beige beads, with ‘S-H-I-V’ in white letter blocks, not quite centered. He drops it back down in the box and rummages around.

“Aww. Big bro was such a sweetie,” you say despite Roman being barely older than Shiv. You hold yourself back from asking invasive questions, like how old she was when she made him that, and how old she was when she stopped. Maybe she sent him bracelets in military school, maybe her friends had a crush on him—you doubt it, he was a little too lanky and annoying to be the typical rich girl’s pre-teen crush.

“Yeah yeah, sure, sure I was. Ooh, pretty,” he holds up a ring and gives you the box, using both hands to put the gold band on, a lapis lazuli in the center. It still fits his forefinger perfectly on his right hand.

You peek through the box like a treasure chest as you hold it in your hands. There’s so much of him in here you’ve heard about but will never have been there to see. It makes you wish you were born at the same time, same place, and spent every second together. It might’ve been worth him bullying you through your many awkward phases to see him in all his breakout teenage glory watching Fight Club and Tetsuo the Iron Man with ten or twenty bracelets down his arm.

“Want one?”

“Oh—uhhh, no, thank you,” you squeak out, lost in your thoughts, not sure how to politely respond.

“Uh-huh. I think I’m supposed to give you fuckin’…Tiffany and Cartier before I make you wear my sweaty rope cord bracelets,” he says before putting one on. I mean, he’s given you plenty of expensive jewelry before, he just kind of feels like he should give you more before you have to wear this junk, even for play. The rope cord bracelet he stretched over his hand is a dark green color, it looks good with the tan he has from Barbados. The strings that tighten it hand down against the beaded bracelet, and you don’t think about Roman in this way, in Italy, as a teen on summer break. You’re sure there’s a copy of Sex, Lies, and Videotape bound to be in this room.

“Oooh,” he sounds in awe of a three-bracelet band of dark green, light green, and white crystalline beads, rolling them down his arm. He holds up a pear-shaped ruby ring—which looks like a real ruby, which is shocking because why the fuck would that be in there? “Here, for you, m’lady.”

“Thank…you,” you say, not sure how to respond. Is he giving you this? Maybe just telling you to wear it? You put it on your middle finger, hesitating, almost putting it on the finger beside it, which could lead to a big insinuation that you’d prefer to avoid.

“You’re welcome, wow, how excited you sound,” he sarcastically quips, putting a stack of silver rings on his ring finger, one from Miansai, with a flat onyx at the top. The other looks sort of like a screw-fastener, like a dirty, used up attachment to some screw or bolt, with a hole big enough to fit around his ring finger. There’s another similar to it that he puts on his thumb, with what you think is black spray paint on it.

“You wanna look s’more in my little box of horrors?” he asks, rolling a couple thick red rubber bracelets, four or five down his arm, and a black leather cuff. He seems punk. He’s not, he’s a fucking born-and-raised billionaire who pissed the bed at fourteen, but he seems…like a guy, a regular guy from your high school or home town or something, someone who wears AC/DC shirts from Spencer’s.

“Uhn-uhn, I’m good,” you say, twisting off the ruby ring.

“No—what? Keep it on. You keep that, ‘s yours now, unless you hate it?” he seems confused and genuinely offended. You thought it was time to put it away but he’s giving it to you? You make a quick noise that sounds like an ‘oops’, like ‘oh fuck, I thought wrong.’

“You’re sure? I mean, is this—?”

“Real? Yeeesss, duh, would I put a fake vending machine ring on you? Jesus. C’mere, let’s bang on my childhood bed,” he jokes, urging you to sit down with him. He plops down and he’s weirdly solid, the bed bounces from the force of his weight suddenly falling almost limp on it, feet barely on the ground. His hand gently pats against the comforter.

“Didn’t you say your dad bought this after he divorced Caroline?” you ask incredulously, questioning his idea of ‘childhood’.

“Yeah, okay, ‘childhood’ is relative, Freud,” he rolls his eyes and grabs you by your waist, slamming you down into the bed face-first. “There we go, see? See what happens when you don’t listen? Ya get slammed. Face first into my dusty old mattress.”

“Mmfhm,” you mumble, tucking your forearms under your chest.

“Is it nice down there?” he asks with a half-grin, still sitting up, twisted around to peer over his shoulder at you still lying face-down.

“Mmyup,” you reply, raising your head up to look up at him.

“Looks comfy. Watch out, comin’ in hot,” he says, plopping on top of you as you squeal. His arms wrap around you, laying himself on you like dead weight and squeezing you tight.

“Roman! Rome, you’re like, a thousand pounds, oh my god—,” you say, a little breathless from beneath him.

“I can’t believe you’re calling me fat when you’re the one who fed me a metric ton of brie,” he mumbles into your hair, sniffing it deeply. You smell good. He lays there for a few moments until you speak up.

“Speaking of, we gotta fix dinner, fatty, now get up,” you say, kicking your legs at the back of his thighs, occasionally hitting his ass. He could stay here forever.

“Fuck you? Come on, lemme jump your bones and hump you right here. Just the tip,” he giggles and scoots back, practically crawling off the bed and reaching his hand down to help you up. “Fiocchetti again?”

“Penne instead?” you barter. He makes a little ‘mm’ noise in agreement.

Heading downstairs, fixing some simple penne with a tomato, basil, and garlic sauce, it’s all pretty simple with Roman. Without a chef doing everything for you like in the penthouse back in New York, it’s a lot more—normal, relaxed. Almost domestic. The pear-shaped ruby on your middle finger seems, in quick glances, like it belongs on your ring finger. It seems only natural, almost like you’re living in a sitcom as the ‘cringe married couple next door’ stereotype. Everything has been weirdly easy after the death of his father, almost like he’s happier—which oversimplifies so much, but he seems so open now. He’s even began rewriting some of his old screenplays. He dubs you his ‘editor.’

You ate in the kitchen together, him sitting on the countertop and you standing between his legs. You both finished the pasta off together, nice and full and bloated, putting the dishes in the sink before heading upstairs to sleep in his room, at his request.

You’re in a tank and shorts when he comes up behind you, leaning against you with a pitiful whine, arms wrapped around you. He nuzzles into the nape of your neck, bites your back gently with a growl. “C’mere, wifey-poo,” he says, walking backwards, guiding you both with the occasional misstep and stagger.

“Heeeere we go,” he says, pulling you back on the bed, your back landing on his front. “Mm. You comfy?” he asks, and it’s comical, because he wants to know the minute the two of you fucking land if you’re already cozy. He sure is. He smells toothpaste and your skincare. You used the same toothpaste but he still wants to know if you taste the same.

“Yeah, sure, okay now, release me,” you say, trying to crawl out of his clinging.

“No! Nooo, no-no-no, bad girl, stay down with me,” he demands, one leg wrapping around you, then the other. His face nuzzles into the side of your neck and his hand lays flat against your lower navel. You groan but stay still, freezing up when his right hand slips between the band of your shorts and where your tank top hangs over it. He’s still wearing the two rings on his ring finger, one on his pointer, and one on his thumb, all of his bracelets still on his arm.

“You ‘kay if we…?” he asks. He so rarely asks. It’s weird here, it’s like he’s so different but still obviously your Roman. You can’t help but sputter out a laugh, because Roman’s already awkward enough without asking-but-not-asking for sex. “Fuck you, I’m taking that as a ‘yes.’”

He unentangles his legs from around you and moves them to between your thighs, keeping them open. “You gonna shut the fuck up now?” he asks, but he’s just not intimidating when you’re mid-laugh, so you just respond, “Oh my god, yeah, sure Rome, I’m so scared. Shaking in my boots, really.”

“You should be,” he says, suddenly serious but still not unfunny. His jaw clenches and his eyes are dark. His hand moves your face to his, your cheek smushing under his forceful touch in a way he thinks is so cute (but certainly can’t say now). It looks like he’s about to kiss you—you’re even ready for him to, lips halfway puckered when you hear a noise that can’t be what you think it is, and the wet feeling splattered on your face registers a moment after it happens.

“What the fuck,” you say, eyes wide and confused, a little pissed.

“Told you. Be fucking scared, I’m serious,” he says a moment before he licks his own spit, both hands on your head keeping you from moving away as his tongue trails the top of your nose, under your eye, the apple of your cheek, a little lick to your eyelid when your eyes flutter shut, and your lips. It turns into a kiss, slowly, his tongue forcing its way in your mouth, one hand encouraging your jaw to stay down, tugging your mouth open. Your face is covered in his spit by the time he’s done.

“Here. Help me out a little,” he shoves his fingers in your mouth, his pointed and middle, down to the base where you feel his gold ring on his pointer. “Gooood, that’s good. What a beauty. You make it so fuckin’ easy.”

You gurgle around them as they trigger your gag reflex. “Shhh-sh-sh-sh,” he shushes you, feeling around your mouth for a little longer before slipping them out.

His wet fingers leave snail trails grabbing the inside of your thigh from behind. He knows you. He knows you don’t wear panties under these shorts. He knows you’ll jolt a little and get all squirmy if he doesn’t keep you against him, your back to his chest, your ass to his dick. Roman knows you so well, he knows the color of your childhood bedroom, he knows where you keep the hair ties on your arm when you take them off, he knows your weak spots and how to make your brain get fuzzy.

“Shut the fuck up, I got you,” he mumbles into your hair, huffing the smell of your shampoo and conditioner, trying to get every note of you. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your sleep shorts, and you’re not usually one for keeping them on—too uncomfortable usually—but they’re nice and soft and loose. Not gonna inhibit his ability to feel around and fuck around, so no reason to do more work than necessary, right?

Roman’s pointer and middle fingers play with your clit, not roughly and not with much of an intention to get you off, just playing, for his own enjoyment. You twitch and whine, but he only presses a couple kisses to your head through your hair and your neck. You feel his bracelets against your lower navel leading down to your cunt.

“Give it, come on. Give it to me,” he demands brattishly, thumb rubbing your swollen clit then trailing down to massage your labia. You open up, and he’s right after all, you do make it easy for him. He slips his pointer in your pussy and rubs your clit sweetly, nice and hard so that your hips can twitch as his legs prevent you from grinding up into his touch. You feel the gold ring at the base of his index, and after a few moments he slips in his middle finger. He can’t help but comment on it with a shocked, giggly little noise, “Tight fit, huh? Yeaaah, that’s alright. Just little ole me stretching you out. Never fear, Romey’s here.”

You moan when he wiggles his fingers against that one spot, and fuck, his fingers are thick, and what he lacks in experience (and dexterity) he makes up for in excitement. It’s almost sadistic, his legs wrapped around you and keeping you down from behind, his left hand popping your tits out of your tank top and grabbing them. But it’s reverent all the same, how he never grabs too hard, how he massages your tits from base to the tip of your nipple instead of pinching your nips, how his free hand grabs yours and kisses the finger where the ruby ring is adorned.

“R-Roman,” you breathe. “Fuck me, fuck, please.”

“Uhn-uh, don’t wanna. Saw you looking at my hands earlier, so you’re gonna give ‘em a nice fuck-and-suck,” he says, grinding his dick against your lower back in time with his fingers, slowly sliding in a third and hearing you wince. “Oh, you’re fine. They’ll fit.”

It’s disgusting, the wet noises are fucking embarrassingly loud. It all feels like a book, the cliche of getting fingered in one of his childhood bedrooms. Three fingers deep and the two silver rings at the base of his ring finger against your hole, holding you down against him and keeping you still, it’s straight out of a porno.

“Shit, are you — are you, fucking—?” he’s shocked when your pussy gushes with that telltale flutter. “You’re cumming on my hand like a bitch in heat from a whole lotta nothing. Didn’t even have to try.”

You whine, laying your head back on his shoulder, nose nudging at his ear, breath huffing at his neck. His dick is twitchy and he can’t resist humping it into your ass through the back of your shorts, he can’t help but shudder visibly, breath audibly stuttering against the crook of your neck. The two of you are so intertwined, your head leaned back with him leaned over to bury his face in the crook of your neck where it meets your shoulder. It’s intimate, a weird comfort, like how he always stares at your tits with that weird look, and how he takes deep breaths every time you hug him.

“I can’t take it, I can’t Rome, ‘s—,”

“Yeah, but you can though. You can, actually, you just squeeze reeeeal tight and milk my fuckin’ fingers like a bitch. You’re actually a pro, if I remember correctly,” he quips, and it would often be followed by a sadistic giggle, but his dick has drained all the blood in his fucking brain and he’s too close to worry about appearances right now.

And you do take it. You squeeze his fingers and he fucks you through it, three thick fingers fucking you through it, one thumb against your vulva and the heel of his palm moved to slap and grind against your clit. His other thumb brushes against the back of your hand, held in his free hand. You would be a little embarrassed of how noisy you are if not for how brain dead you are from how good it feels. You don’t even hear him moaning behind you, it hardly registers that he’s grinding his dick against your ass and lower back, hips stuttering.

When it’s all over, it seems a little ridiculous. His fingers kept inside, your tits still out, him breathing hard on your neck — the fact you’re in a villa that he now owns, in Italy, the fact that his dad died and he just kinda whisked you away to process at his own pace, away from a cold, dark, and worn Manhattan that his past still seems to haunt. You sputter out a little giggle. This isn’t really something you anticipate in your five year plan.

“What? I make you cum your brains out and you still think it’s funny to bully me?” he snarks, burying his face in your hair from behind, nuzzling into the side of your neck like a puppy ready to nap.

“No, just — what the fuck is this. Like, I’m in Italy, with you, and…it’s just different. A lot’s changed since I met you.” It’s true. A lot of shit has become a whole lot better, and a few things have become a whole lot worse at times. You have new stressors, new insecurities, new challenges; but you have Roman. Someone who takes you to Italy and makes jokes about knocking you up about of wedlock and then forcing you to elope with him. And has the chef make you your favorite breakfasts, better than anyone ever could. Sometimes he goes to markets with you and picks around at stuff, or goes to thrift shops and makes gross jokes about how everything is contaminated, inappropriate jokes about poverty, showing his pretentious socioeconomic class — but he still goes. He brushes your hair and has nicely trimmed (or rather, bitten) nails. He knows your favorite flowers and has them imported when they’re out of season. Everything is pretty weirdly domestic.

“Mmh,” he makes a little noise, wiggling his fingers in your cunt to feel you squeeze in oversensitivity. “Yeah. You’re,” he pauses, makes you think he’s gonna say something profound. His response doesn’t have to be said, it’s pretty fucking obvious from his everything that he loves you more than life itself. Change is whatever, nice, but his life technically only started when you came into it, and is on pause when you aren’t watching him. It’s horrible and codependent, but yeah, so is he. “Gonna drip on the bed. God, you hear that? Creamy, creamy girl. You creamed on my fingers so hard it got your fuckin’…neurons firing shit up in there, thinking these philosophical thoughts.”

He takes his fingers out, wiggling them around more as he extracts them, and your cunt squelches. His fingers are soaked, a thick ring of cream around the base before his rings. He turns your head to the side with his left hand and cranes his to face you, keeping eye contact as he licks his fingers one by one. It isn’t sexual. It’s more of an ‘I own you, your pussy is so fucking owned’ move, in his own playful manner, that little glint in his eye as he cleans them, savoring the taste. He kinda regrets not eating you out.

“Gonna be good?” he asks.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I want a kiss but I don’t kiss bad girls. Kiss-kiss?” he puckers his lips. You peck them with a quick ‘mwwwwah’. “Good,” he lightly smacks his left hand against your face, his right hand rubbing against the front of it to gross you out, the spit-slick fingers making you gasp in shock and mock offense, making him giggle in return.

He gets up out of bed with a groan of, “Hoooooly shit, ow.”

“You’re old as fuck, Jesus,” you giggle at him before noticing the large stain on the front of his pants. “Holy shit, did you—?”

“No. No, I pissed myself, the fuck do I look like, a bed-wetter?” he defensively quips, his load visibly staining the front of his pants.

“Yes,” you reply quickly. I mean, he did wet the bed for like, a long time, and then started wetting the bed again as a trauma response as an early teen, not to mention the adult ‘accidents’ he fails to keep hidden.

“Okay, fuck you, say ‘thank you, Daddy’ or something, I just made you cum,” he retorts, walking to the dresser to change, removing his bracelets and rings with heavy clinks and thuds onto the top of the dresser.

“Maybe you should thank me for making you cum,” you surrebut, the sharp look he gives you in return being nothing but play, like two puppies tugging on each other’s ears. “Thaaaaank you, Daddy,” you mock, half-genuine but you’d never let it show.

“You’re welcome, shithead,” he complains, changing into some soft briefs and a tee that he stole from you years ago, climbing into bed with you. Tonight, he chooses to do the ol’ reliable, sleeping facing you, noses nuzzling and breaths intermingling until one of you nudges downwards and sleeps on the other’s chest, an unspoken routine.

“Thanks. By the way,” he mumbles, not even fully said. “Even though you didn’t even try. Just born with a really nice pussy and perfected your moans at whatever pornstar school you attended. You lucked up, you’re the load-blow queen. Princess,” he corrects himself, thinking the title ‘princess’ seemed a better fit.

“You’re welcome, prince Romulus,” you let out one more tease, letting him nuzzle your hair as he has been all night, kissing the top of your head.

Currently doing a writing project, saving on my page for me and others :}}

Hey, random writing tip: Instead of having something be a ridiculously unlikely coincidence, you can make the thing happen due to who this particular character is as a person. Instead of getting stuck on "there's no logical reason to why that would happen", try to bend it into a case of "something like this would never happen to anybody but this specific fucker." Something that makes your reader chuckle and roll their eyes, going "well of course you would."

Why would the timid shy nerd be at a huge sketchy downtown black market bazaar? Well, she's got this beetle colony she's raising that needs a very specific kind of leaf for nest material, and there only place to get it is this one guy at the bazaar that sells that stuff. Why would the most femininely flamboyant guy ever known just happen to have downright encyclopedic knowledge about professional boxing? Well, there was this one time when he was down bad for this guy who was an aspiring professional boxer...

I know it sounds stupidly obvious when written out like this, but when you're up close to your writing, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. Some time ago I finished reading a book, where the whole plot hinges on character A, who is 100% certain that character B is dead, personally getting up and coming down from the top rooms of a castle, to the gates, at 3 am, to come look at some drunk who claims to be this guy who died 17 years ago. Why would A do that, if he's sure that B is dead?

Because he's a Warrior Guy from a culture of Loyalty And Honour, and hearing that someone's got the audacity to go about claiming to be his long-lost brother in battle, there is no other option than to immediately personally go down there to beat the ever-loving shit out of this guy. Who then turns out to actually be character B, after all.

US federal employees will no longer be observing:

MLK day

Black history month

Women's history month

Holocaust Day of Remembrance

API heritage month

Pride

Juneteenth

Women's equality day

Hispanic heritage month

Disability awareness month

Native American heritage month

they've also shut down all affinity/resource/networking groups for minorities

4 times you sit on silco’s lap & the 1 time he pulled you onto his lap

Warnings. Sexual positions. No specific reader gender/genitalia. Impregnation kink (sorry yall its bad again). Not toxic girl dad!Silco. Pet name

1

You and Silco danced around the empty bar, twirling and singing and chasing and slipping out of each other’s fingers. For the past hour the pair of you had been letting the loud music from the jukebox reverberate through your bones as you moved fluidly around the room.

Silco’s silky black hair was pulled back into a tiny bun at the back of his head. Sweat beaded at his hairline. The little droplets grew fat and ran down his cheek bones and disappeared down the sharp edge of his jaw as he chased your laughing body. 

“Crazy,” he mused to himself as the song ended and you finally let him twirl you in by the hand. Silco dipped you, watching your smile widen. He held you there as you examined him through your striking eyelashes. He leaned down slowly, sensually and let his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. You were caught in his trap, lips parted as your eyes locked on his lips.

Further, slower, he leaned down until you could feel his gasps of air on your lips. He parted his lips and tilted his head closing the gap between you-

Silco stood up and twirled you again. The sexy smirk on his lips made you forgive him just a little for being the incredible tease he is. “Bastard,” you cursed him with a wicked smile.

“A thirsty bastard,” he corrected smartly. Taking you by the hand, Silco led you to the bar and gestured dramatically to an empty bar stool.

He poured your favorite and slid it to you before making his own drink. Silco rounded the corner and brought the stool next to you closer to yours. He had just put his glass bck on the counter before you slid into to lap, facing him.

“Sly thing,” Silco chided, hands settling on your ass.

“You love it,” you replied. You pulled the hair tie out of Silco’s hair and watched it settle around his features perfectly. “Pretty boy.”

Silco practically purred at your words. He brought a hand up to cup your cheek and placed the other at the back of your neck. “I do love it- love you.”

“I love you too,” Silco repeated, sealing his words with a kiss.

2

“Don’t look at me like that,” Silco muttered, voice raspy with- was it. . . lust? “You know I can’t work with you watching me like that.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

“Don’t be coy.”

Silco didn’t look up as you rose from your spot from the couch. You heard his breathing turn shakier as you approached. Chuckling, you pulled the back of his chair until you could grasp Silco by the collar.

He spluttered- an endearingly pathetic noise you’d like to earn from him again- as you tore him from the endless plans, letters, and work sitting on his desk as he prepared for the future of Zaun. Silco didn’t actuallytry to stop you, though, despite his unintelligible grumbling.

You pushed him onto the newly acquired couch. His back hit the cushions and his raven-black hair spread around his head like a halo. Smiled as you committed the imagine of him so off-guard to memory. “You’ve been working so diligently,” you purr, raising on knee to rest between Silco’s hip and the sofa back. “And so hard. . .” You placed your other knee on the sofa and so lightly started grinding on Silco’s boner. “I think you deserve a break.”

Silco was the one watching you through his lashes now. “Is that right?” His heaving chest showed his anticipation despite his usual calm voice.

“Oh yeah,” you reply with a dangerous smile.

3

It was a late night- the crowd at the bar had been rowdy and took a while to herd all the drunkards out, leaving you an exasperated mess. Not to mention the fact that you were dealing with an astounding amount of Enforcers after Jinx had gone and stolen a couple expensive looking watches and necklaces for some reason unknown to you. All in all, you were beat.

After tossing a wad of cash to the other bartender, you bid him goodnight and headed up the stairs.

“I was wondering when you’d be up to see me,” Silco greeted you from his desk. “Come here, my dear.” 

He watches your movements with those sharp eyes of his. You perched yourself on the edge of his desk and let Silco rest his head against your chest. You ran your nails through his hair the way you knew he liked. “We should go get ready for bed,” you murmured, feeling his arms wrap lightly around your waist.

Silco heaved a sigh. “I have work to do.”

It was your turn to sigh as you pushed off the desk. Silco looked up, brow arching, at you. His confusion waned as you straddled him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt the man under you shudder as he exhaled, stress slowly easing out of his body as you pressed soft kisses to the oh so fragile skin behind his ear. “You can do your work tomorrow after you get some sleep.”

Clearly your tender embrace had weakened Silco’s resolve because all he did in response to your statment was pull you impossibly closer to him. “I suppose you’re right,” Silco finally muttered into your shoulder.

4

Jinx and Silco were currently in disagreement over who would do Jinx’s hair, when they would be doing it, and the hairstyle Jinx wanted. For an eight year old, the little blue haired girl knew what she wanted. And it was that Sevika stayed as far as humanly possible away from the eight year old.

So that was why Silco had convinced you to go to barber near Benzo’s old shop. Something about ‘not being anle to contain such rage and emotion in such tiny body’ alone.

Truth be told, you weren’t well educated in children handling. Working with Silco and the traitor for most of your life gave you practically no time to interact with people under sixteen. Jinx had taken a liking to you- probably because you were one of the people she saw the most because of your relationship to her adoptive father. (On the certificate, you were also listed as a guardian.) So being able to style the girl’s hair as she liked would be a good skill to add to your already wide-ranging knowledge.

The two of you paid as much attention to the barber as possible. Jinx had selected a simple three strand braid that you got the hang of off the bat. Silco? Not so much, but the effort was there!

When you paid and left, Jinx was so happy with her hair and so convincing that she was given permission to play with the barber’s twin son and daughter. Silco had pressed a handful of coin into Jinx’s hand and told her to be home in two hours.

“You’re going soft,” you mused, jutting your hip into Silco as the two of you left. “It’s endearing.”

Silco recoiled. “I am not. Inconceivable.”

When you scoffed, Silco turned to you with his eyes narrowed. “Something to say, trouble?”

“Nah,” you drawled. “It’s… It’s nice to see this side of you again.”

Your lover wrapped an arm around your waist and led the two of you back home. “I haven’t felt more content in a long time,” he finally admits. Emotion made his voice gravely.

“Yeah.” You continued to walk, falling into silence. 

“I like watching you with her.”

Silco’s glinting eyes are already locked on your gaze when you look up. “Yeah?” You ask, suggesting smile beginning to pull up at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah. It makes me wish I could. . . fuck one into you,” he mutters.

Your eyebrows are higher than your hairline when he speaks. “Sil, you- you know I can’t-“

The dark lust in Silco’s eyes lighten. “That doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you like you could carry my children,” he tells you, an edge of an emotion you can’t quite put a finger on.

Silco pushes open the door to The Last Drop and flicks on one of the light switches. He turns to see you sitting on the table of a booth, watching him with an expression so vacant Silco wonders if this conversation is what finally sends you running. “Talk to me.”

Continuing to say nothing, you pat the table next to you. Silco pulls himself up beside you and examines your face carefully. He is apprehensive as you slide into his lap wordlessly and wrap your legs around his waist. You trace the calloused pad of your thumb from the very bottom of Silco’s scar surrounding his eyes. It’s when you near the tip-top of the marred flesh does Silco grasp your wrist.

“Speak to me, my dear,” Silco repeats. “What are you thinking? What do you want me to do?”

Silco lets your wrist go without much resistance. You tangle your fingers through his short hair. “I want,” you begin slowly, hearing his breathing cease entirely. “You to fuck me like you could knock me up.”

It takes Silco several seconds to compute your statement before leaning in to fucking devour your lips.

5

The bar was booming tonight.

Round after round, table after table, drink after drink. In informal terms: you were fucking slammed and the crowd wasn’t thinning out.

It’d been this busy for at least the past three hours and the pain in your feet and legs had been so God awful that you couldn’t wven feel them anymore. And the poor bartenders could barely open their mouths without someone spitting out orders or tossing coins or just pestering them.

You sighed. Nights like these made you really question your love of the damn building. 

An hour later, you could see a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. With an end to the night in your near future, you found yourself walking a little faster: a little more eager to get the people more drunk and gone.

It was another whole hour before you were almost finished with the cleaning. All you had left to do was wipe down the counter and tables, put the chairs up on the table, and mop.

Silco finally slunk down the stairs to see you and the last, most desperate bartender mopping up. He slid into a booth and rested his head on his palm as he watched you.

When the two of you were officially done cleaning, Silco fished out a bag of coins from one of his pockets. “Here, kid,” he said before tossing the pouch at the awed bartender.

“I- Thank you sir,” the girl said gratefully, eyes flickering between you and Silco. You smiled at her tiredly.

“Good night, Mimi,” you told her.

Silco watched Mimi smile brightly at you- the significantly kinder of the couple- and nod excitedly. “Good night, y/n! Thank you again sir, and good night!”

You came to a stop in front of Silco and tugged your apron off. “How are you?”

Silco heaved a sigh. He reached out to you and turned you away from him. Then Silco pulled you down onto his lap. He comically scooched back until his back was against the wall and his and your legs tangled on the rest of the booth. “Better.”

As Silco wrapped his hands around your waist, you felt your back decompress as you leaned against the love of your life. Your eyes fluttered shut, heavy with sleep. “I love sitting on your lap,” you confess.

Silco hums, amused.

“Best seat in the whole damn house,” you say, yawning.

Before Silco realizes it, you’re asleep. He doesn’t want to get up because theres a chance you’ll wake up, but Silco also wants to get his love to bed.

He just rests his head on your shoulder and lets himself have this moment.

Loveee sub jayce 😋😋

Mirror Sex Jayce Talis x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1067

Enjoy!

As the dim lights of your bedroom cast a warm glow, you found yourself standing before a full-length mirror, your eyes locking with your own reflection. Your gaze shifted slightly to the side, looking over to the delicious Jayce Talis. His eyes, filled with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness, met yours in the mirror. His dark hair fell perfectly across his forehead, framing his handsome face. He stood naked, his body on full display, waiting for your command. You admired his slender yet defined physique, the way his skin glistened under the soft lighting. You took a step closer to the mirror, your reflection now standing right behind his. Reaching out, you gently ran your fingers through his hair, sending shivers down his spine. "Relax, my love." you whispered seductively into his ear, your warm breath tickling his neck. “Be a good boy and touch yourself for me angel.” You whisper, kissing his back delicately. Obediently, he began to caress his own body, his fingers gliding down his chest, across his nipples, causing them to harden further. You watched in the mirror as his hands travelled lower, his fingers brushing against his flat stomach, inching closer to his throbbing cock. "That's it, my sweet boy," you encouraged, your voice growing huskier. “Remember though baby, no touching until I tell you.” He whimpered softly, his eyes closing briefly as he fought the urge to grasp his aching shaft. His hands paused at the top of his thighs, his fingers twitching, longing to wrap around his length. Your fingers danced down his side as you teased him. His soft whimpers were music to your ears. You tentatively wrapped your well manicured hand around his aching cock giving him a slow stroke. His eyes closed in pleasure as you continued your painfully slow pace. “Y/N, please..." he begged, his voice hoarse. "I need to feel you." You chuckled softly, a dominant laugh that sent shivers down his spine. "Not yet, my pet. We're not done playing." You abruptly stopped and began to walk in front of him. “Do try and stay a quiet pet.” You said playfully as you sank to your knees, instantly coming face to face with his angry red tip. 

He moaned, his fingers trembling as he tried his best to keep them placed firmly on his thighs, palm down. You inched your face closer to his hard, throbbing cock before letting his tip slide past your lips. The groan that elicited from Jayce's lips was as sinful as they come. You moved to envelope him in your mouth, as much as you could, with the rest being stroked with your hand. The other hand was placed atop of Jayce's on his thigh to balance yourself. The pathetic whines and whimpers coming from Jayce's lips as you sucked his pretty dick off were going straight to your core. “Fuck Y/N…” He groaned as you played with his balls, his head falling back unable to comprehend how good he feels right now. “Shit..I'm so close..wanna cum in mommy.” Jayce babbled, not being able to completely understand what he's saying. You smirked as you popped him out of your mouth. Standing up you looked at how dishevelled Jayce looked, already so fucked out just from your mouth. “Mommy huh?” You teased, kissing along his chest. He moaned lustfully as he nodded pathetically. You guided him to the bed, flopping on your back as Jayce slots himself between your thighs. “You wanna cum in mommy baby boy?” You asked as you guided his leaking tip to your entrance. Jayce nodded as he buried his face in your neck, “Need it…please.” He begged pitifully. And who where you to deny such a polite request from such a pretty boy. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist hinting for him to move and move he did, In on swift motion he nestled himself so deep inside your velvet walls. “Oh! Fuck momma.” Jayce cried as he bottomed out. Your cunt sucked him in so tightly, like it was meant for him, it took everything in him not to paint your insides then and there. “Gonna cum gods please!” Jayce mewled pitifully as he thrusted slowly in and out of you. “Wait for mommy baby, then we can cum together yeah? You wanna feel momma cum round your pretty cock?” You teased, grinding your hips down into his. He nodded frantically and started thrusting just the same. His hips met yours at such a brutal pace you knew that there would be bruises in the morning. Pulling his cock in and out of you with such precision, he was hitting your G-spot every time. At this rate, you weren’t lasting long. “Fuck angel, such a skilful cock. Jesus, you’re going to make Mommy cum so quick!” You cried out as he continued to nudge that special spot inside you.  “Please mommy, it hurts..need to cum.” Jayce panted, his hot breath feeling heavy on your neck. “Cum for me baby boy, fill momma up.” You moan, feeling your release creep up on you. Jayce's pace slowed slightly before he slammed his hips into yours forcefully, burying himself deep inside your walls. “Fuck! mommy!” Jayce moaned loudly, his eyes rolling back into his head. His warm cum filled and coated your walls so intensely that it triggered your own release. “God Jayce!” You cried as you clamped down around Jayce's softening cock. The feeling of your walls clamping down around him, while not a new sensation, still caught him off guard every time. He buried himself deeper, if it were possible, inside you savouring the feeling of you cumming round his cock. “You did so good for me, Jayce; such a good boy for mommy.” You panted out as best you could, still coming down from your high. You gently patted his damp hair soothingly as Jayce slowly removed himself from you. A little nod and whine was all you got from Jacye as he cuddled up into your side. You both lay there for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to one another. “Shall we get a shower, my love?” You asked, kissing his still sweaty forehead. Jayce nodded, picking you up bridal style. “Round two?” He asked, kissing your ear softly. You blushed and nodded, knowing you were in for an eventful, sexual night.