svarog and gift-giving. he loves, loves, loves finding little things that remind him of you and clara. not expensive treasures or elaborate displays of affection, but practical, thoughtful trinkets gathered with quiet intent. every item serves a purpose, yet somehow still carries an unmistakable warmth. he notices everything—the things you mention in passing, the habits you don't realize you've formed, the small inconveniences you dismiss with a laugh. nothing escapes his observation.
the first gift arrives without explanation. he simply approaches you one evening and extends a neatly wrapped package into your hands. inside rests a pair of insulated gloves, the stitching impossibly precise, the fingertips reinforced with a stronger fabric than before. you blink, turning them over in confusion.
"...i didn't tell anyone i needed new gloves?"
"you did not." svarog replies in his usual even tone. his glowing eye(?) settles briefly on your worn pair, still tucked absentmindedly into your pocket.
"however, your previous gloves exhibited a 56% decrease in thermal efficiency. structural wear-and-tear at the fingertips increased the probability of cold-related injury by 48.4%."
he pauses, almost as though processing something more difficult to articulate. there is no flourish, no expectation of gratitude. to him, replacing something damaged before it could inconvenience you is simply the logical thing to do. clara smiles knowingly beside him, hands clasped behind her back.
"i helped mr. svarog make them!" she says proudly. "mr. svarog wanted them to fit you perfectly."
"correction—" svarog says after a brief moment. "we built them together."
his gaze returns to you. it's such an ordinary sentence, spoken in the same measured voice he uses for battle reports and maintenance updates, but somehow it makes your heart ache. because that is how svarog loves. not through grand confessions or poetic words, but through quiet observation, careful preparation, and gifts that say what he never quite can.
you matter enough for me to notice.
phainon and quality—time. now, this is a personal headcanon due to him going through millions and millions of cycles, i feel like he'd treasure spending time with you more than anything. he'd try to avoid finding you in some cycles, trying not to get close again, to not lose you in his arms again but he'd ultimately fail, every single time. since then he decided to spend every second possible, cherishing you.
mydei and acts of service, shown with a quiet devotion that rarely asks for recognition. he is not the type to speak grand declarations or shower someone with extravagant gifts. instead, he shows affection by making life easier in small, meaningful ways. long before you notice you're running low on supplies, he's already replaced them. if you've had a difficult day, your favorite meal is waiting for you without a word. he remembers the smallest details—how you take your tea, which side of the bed you prefer, or the little habits you don't even realize you have.
TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon (reader says it’s too much but svarog has a mission to collect data), rough sex, multiple rounds, dom!svarog, sub!fem reader, svarog is Massive, cervix mentions, tummy bulge descriptions, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size difference, power dynamics, size kink, fingering, unrealistic sex, robot fuckers unite!, can you tell i have a size kink?
WORD COUNT: 5.1k
SUMMARY: You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.
The repair bay smelled faintly of heated metal, coolant fluid, and faint traces of alcohol; a sharp tang that clung to the sterile air. You barely noticed it anymore, accustomed to the hum of machinery and the faint vibration of tools against metal. But today, that hum was louder, and the vibrations sharper, emanating not from your usual repair work but from the massive, battle-worn war machine sitting across from you.
Svarog loomed over the room, his 8’11 frame too large for the reinforced chair you’d hastily reinforced when he arrived. His joints hissed faintly, micro-servos struggling to compensate for the damage he’d sustained during the Wardance duel against Luka earlier that day. Faint dents marred his reinforced dark blue chest plating, and faint sparks sputtered from the exposed wiring along his arm.
You reached for your tools, hyper-aware of the pinkish-red glow of his cyclopean optical sensor tracking your every movement.
“Superficial damage sustained. Functionality remains above 90%. Repairs are non-essential.” His voice rumbled, a deep, mechanical timbre that sent a shiver up your spine.
You regarded him critically. “Non-essential? Your vents are overheating, and you’re rattling like a dying starship. Sit still and let me work.”
He didn’t argue. Svarog was nothing if not logical, and logic dictated that he allow himself to be repaired. Still, there was a tension to him, a stiffness beyond the rigid design of his armor. He didn’t like being examined, didn’t like lowering his guard to anyone else other than Clara, even in the hands of someone who statistically meant him no harm or stood a chance against him.
You stepped closer, tools in hand, and gently pressed against the plating on his shoulder. His frame vibrated under your touch, a subtle hum you might have missed if you hadn’t been so close.
“Core temperature stable,” he intoned. “Subsystems fully operational.”
“Your fans tell a different story,” you muttered, running diagnostics through a handheld scanner. “You’re burning hotter than you should be.”
Svarog didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his pinkish-red optic watching your hands as they worked, tracking each movement with the precision of an apex predator. The thought sent an odd warmth through your body, and you tried to shake it off.
You needed to focus.
The repairs took you lower, inspecting the dents along his torso plating. The main brunt of the damage he took from Luka’s mechanical arm focused around his torso. One of the seams had split, exposing a layer of reinforced polymer beneath the outer shell. Carefully, you reached for the damaged panel, fingers brushing against the edge of the pants covering his lower half. It was an unusual addition for a machine built for combat, and one that always raised questions in your mind.
You tugged lightly at the material, intending only to check the joints underneath, but your fingers brushed against something unexpected beneath the fabric.
Your breath hitched.
The surface wasn’t the cold hardness of metal or the pliable texture of synthetic padding. It was smooth, warm, and distinctly… organic in shape.
You froze, pulling your hand back as though burned.
His optic dimmed slightly in a flicker that you’d come to recognize as his equivalent of a blink.
You swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, gesturing vaguely at his lower half, struggling to form the words.
Svarog tilted his head, the motion eerily human. “This component was included in my original design for biological infiltration protocols.”
You stared at him as if he grew a second head. “Biological… infiltration?”
“My model is the third series of the Monitoring Automaton Prototype, engineered to simulate human anatomy. The purpose was strategic manipulation through intimate interactions if required by mission parameters.”
Your throat felt dryer, and the question that left your mouth sounded ridiculous even to you. “You’re telling me someone thought it’d be a good idea to put a dick on a war machine?”
“Affirmative.”
His voice remained perfectly calm, but your face was burning. A sneaky glance at his lower half rendered you speechless once again. Whoever designed Svarog certainly made his… appendage proportional to his hulking body.
You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strained. “And… what? You’ve just been...” You made an awkward gesture with your hand, “carrying it around this whole time?”
“Correct. The feature has never been activated.”
He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made it worse.
You stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know how it works?”
Svarog paused, the glow of his optic focusing intently on you. It flickered momentarily.
“My systems include theoretical data on function and compatibility. However, no practical demonstrations have been performed.”
The room felt hotter suddenly, and you were certain that it wasn’t because of Svarog’s malfunctioning fans. Your mind raced with countless possibilities. Given Svarog’s size, you weren’t even sure how anyone was supposed to take that. Did it have a shrinking feature? Did it automatically adjust with Svarog’s… partner?
You swallowed, trying to steer the conversation back to something technical and banish the questions swirling in your head.
“Right,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t explode first. Then we’ll worry about your…” Your traitorous gaze flickered down again, swallowing, “attachments.”
You regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Svarog’s optic dimmed again, and he shifted in his seat with a faint creak of metal.
“Acknowledged.”
You groaned internally and forced yourself to focus, pulling open the next panel and reaching in to check his sensor nodes. But you couldn’t help the way your mind kept wandering to the warm, flexible material hidden underneath that fabric. Whoever invented Svarog’s model was an absolute pervert and lunatic, you thought to yourself. A war machine equipped with a dick? You still could not wrap your head around it. To the way Svarog had described it so matter-of-factly, like it was just another tool in his arsenal.
And yet… the tension in his frame, the way his systems overcompensated whenever you touched him, those weren’t reactions you’d expect from a simple machine.
Your hands hovered above the exposed sensor nodes, still adjusting the connections, but your thoughts were no longer entirely focused on the task at hand.
It was impossible to ignore the strange electric tension in the air between you and Svarog. Every time your fingers brushed against his cooling panels or adjusted a wiring interface, you felt it; the subtle hum of his systems, almost like a heartbeat. Or maybe it was just the increasing proximity to his form, which felt more real with every touch, even if you knew he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense.
The heat beneath his outer plating felt too organic, too alive. The warmth spread further with each subtle shift of his hulking frame as you adjusted his internals, a mechanical symphony of soft clicks and hums that made your breath catch in your throat.
This was nothing like the Intellitrons.
You had worked with hundreds to thousands of them over the years, and each time it had been the same routine: simple diagnostics, quick fixes, nothing too complicated. They were built for efficiency, cold efficiency. Their systems were bare-bones, nothing more than a body of metal and circuits with only the basic instincts to follow commands.
But Svarog…
He was different. Complex. His systems, his body, everything about him screamed intricacy and human-like design. A part of you resigned yourself to further look into Svarog’s specific model. Perhaps it was time to take a deeper look into Belobogian technology. Even the way Svarog’s body responded to your touch felt foreign. He was more than just a machine, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just a war machine, a combat tool; there was something underneath, something untapped, a feature of his yet to be understood.
And that thought… that burning curiosity clawed at you.
You’d always prided yourself on being a mechanic. You understood machines, systems, the cold logic of how things worked. But Svarog wasn’t cold. Wasn’t simple. The way his body responded to your movements, the imperceptible shifts in his temperature, the faint, almost unnoticeable changes in his posture whenever your fingers brushed too close to certain sensitive spots—all of it made you wonder.
What if I pushed him further?
A thought you could barely even process, but it lingered, stubborn. The daring curiosity that ran deep within you as a mechanic—was this not what you lived for? To understand the unknown, to push the limits of what could be fixed, adjusted, modified? Svarog’s design wasn’t just mechanical, it felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, like a language you only understood in fragments.
Your hands moved to reconnect a set of wires, but you barely felt the tools in your grip. The warmth from his frame was distracting, constantly pulling your focus away from the task at hand.
You set your tools down with a sharp click, exhaling as you leaned back from Svarog’s towering frame. The repairs were done. Functionally complete. His damaged plating had been reinforced, circuits reconnected, and his sensor nodes recalibrated. Everything checked out.
Or at least, it should have felt finished.
But you lingered.
Your gaze swept over him again, tracing the seams of his armor and the smooth lines of his construction. Svarog wasn’t like the Intellitrons. His design was deliberate. Every joint, every harsh angle of his frame, was crafted with an almost human elegance that made your brain stutter every time you tried to compare him to standard machinery. Even the sections hidden beneath his plating—the ones you briefly glimpsed while making repairs—were unnervingly realistic in their precision.
And then there were the features he’d kept covered.
You dragged your gaze back to his waist, to the reinforced plating that remained stubbornly intact throughout the repairs. That section.
You hadn’t needed to touch it, hadn’t even dared to ask about it again, but the shape and positioning had made it impossible not to notice. That, combined with the suspicious necessity of his pants, had left your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t shake.
Why go to such lengths to simulate humanity in that area?
You knew you shouldn’t care. You were a mechanic. Curiosity was natural. It came with the job. But no matter how many times you tried to frame it as a purely technical interest, your pulse told you otherwise.
It wasn’t just simple curiosity. It was a fixation.
You reached out, under the pretense of double-checking one of his sensor-nodes, but your fingers hesitated. You could feel the faint hum of his systems through the plating, steady and constant, and for reasons you didn’t want to unpack, it made the room feel smaller, like the two of you were occupying too much space at once.
“You are hesitating,” Svarog declared suddenly, his mechanical voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
You froze, pulling your hand back like you’d been caught committing a crime. “No, I was just making sure everything’s—”
“False,” he interrupted. His optic seemed red as it regarded you. “Your behavior has deviated from standard patterns. Focus is inconsistent. Eye movement suggests distraction.”
You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. Svarog wasn’t wrong, and worse, he wasn’t letting it go.
“Your gaze has returned to my lower half multiple times,” he continued, his tone as flat as ever. “Body temperature elevated by 15.3 percent. Heart rate increased. These patterns suggest heightened interest.”
You felt your stomach flip as he laid out your reactions like cold, hard data. And yet, his voice was so mechanical, so calm and detached, that it made the weight of your embarrassment feel even heavier.
“I can conclude the source of your distraction,” Svarog added. “You are exhibiting curiosity regarding the anatomical structure concealed beneath my armor.”
You didn’t know whether to flat out deny it or run out of the room entirely. Neither option felt viable. At least, not with him towering over you like that, unflinching, his glowing optics locked onto your every move.
“I—no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, even though you knew it was exactly like that.
“Your biological responses contradict your statement,” he said simply. “You are aware of the human-like components integrated into my design. Your fixation suggests a desire to understand their functionality.”
Your breath hitched. The words functionality and components should have grounded you. It should have made this situation feel as clinical as he seemed to think it was. But instead, they only fueled the heat already curling in your stomach.
Because Svarog was right.
You wanted to know—Aeons, you’ve been dying to know—how far his human design extended. And now that the repairs were done, now that he’d laid the truth bare, it felt impossible to stop.
“You are not the first to display interest in this feature,” Svarog continued, as though he were listing out schematics. “However, prior inquiries did not progress past verbal questioning. You are demonstrating physical tension indicative of deeper investigation.”
Your throat felt dryer than the desert.
“I propose a solution,” Svarog said, tilting his head slightly. “Controlled exploration. Further data on synthetic anatomy is limited. Your curiosity provides an opportunity for analysis and documentation.”
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He wasn’t joking. He couldn’t joke.
“You are suggesting we… test this?”
“Correct.”
His lack of hesitation made your pulse stutter. He saw this as a logical step, nothing more than a means to gather data, and yet, the way his frame loomed over you, the hum of his systems almost vibrating through the air, felt anything but detached.
“Decision required,” Svarog said after a beat. “Proceed with testing, or terminate this interaction?”
Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up.
“Proceed,” you said softly.
His optics flared slightly—almost imperceptibly—before he nodded.
“Acknowledged. Experiment initiated.”
Svarog wasn’t designed to rush.
He worked methodically, his plated fingers tracing along your thighs—testing, measuring, pressing into the soft flesh as though assessing the tensile strength of your muscles. Assessing how much you could take.
“Body temperature elevated by 1.8 degrees,” he noted, his optics narrowing slightly. “Pulse irregular. Predictive analysis suggests heightened arousal.”
You whimpered as his thick mechanical fingers dipped lower, sliding between your legs without hesitation. He brushed against your heat, deliberately testing the slickness already building there.
“Lubrication present,” he said. “Preliminary preparation observed. Additional stimulation required.”
You barely had any time to register his words before his thumb pressed against your clit. The motion was slow, deliberate, grinding down just enough to make your thighs tremble.
Too much.
The smoothness of his plating, the slight hum of his servos adjusting with every movement, left you aching almost instantly. He applied more pressure, adjusting the angle like he was calibrating the motion for maximum effect.
You gasped, hips jerking against him instinctively, and Svarog’s optics dimmed.
“Response strength at 63 percent,” he observed. “Testing deeper penetration.”
You bit back a cry as his fingers slipped inside. Thick, unyielding, and cool against your heat. He stretched you slowly, adding another finger almost immediately, pushing past the tight resistance with clinical focus.
“Muscle tension detected,” he said, his thumb circling the erect pearl of your clit again as his fingers curled inside of you. “Adjusting pressure.”
You whimpered as he spread his fingers, stretching you wider until the ache blurred into something hotter, sharper.
“Elasticity improving,” he noted, tilting his head as he pressed deeper. “Lubrication increased by 24 percent.”
You clenched around him, your gummy walls struggling to accommodate the deliberate stretch, and Svarog’s optics flickered.
“Resistance still measurable,” he said, slowing his movements. “Further preparation required.”
Your head was spinning by the time he added a third finger, the burn almost too much, but Svarog didn’t falter. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, pumping and curling until the tension broke, and your body melted around him.
Svarog’s mechanical fingers lingered inside you, coated in slickness as he worked them deeper—pressing, stretching, curling with deliberate precision. His thumb dragged slow, circular patterns over your clit, the rhythm steady enough to make your hips jolt against him in a helpless, uncontrollable reaction.
“Muscle tension improving,” he observed. “Current dilation at 73 percent. Additional preparation recommended.”
His tone was calm, detached, but the way his optics dimmed as he watched your thighs trembling betrayed something deeper. He pressed in further, adding another finger. Thicker. Unyielding. Enough to force a sharp gasp to tumble out of your throat.
The burn was too much and not enough all at once, your body clenching down against the stretch even as your legs fell further apart under his firm grip.
You could feel yourself dripping, already struggling to take his fingers, but Svarog didn’t falter. He spread them wider, deliberately testing your limits, and the ache left you clawing at his arm, nails scraping helplessly against smooth plating.
“Elasticity increased by 18 percent,” he said, pulling his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch that made your breath hitch and your cheeks burn. He inspected the slick coating his fingers before tilting his head slightly. “Sufficient for insertion.”
You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Your eyes widened as he was lining up, the thick, mechanical weight of his massive cock pressing against your sopping entrance and making your stomach twist with a sharp mix of anticipation and fear. His cock contrasted the rest of his metallic body, covered by a synthetic material that seemed to emulate the sensation of skin.
“Size differential detected,” Svarog noted, palming your thigh to angle your hips upward. “Accommodating size will result in initial resistance.”
You bit back a cry as he pushed forward, the broad, blunted tip spreading you open with agonizing slowness. The pain is sharp, your walls pulsing and struggling to accommodate him even after the preparation.
Too big.
The words barely formed in your mind before the pressure stole the thought away entirely. You gasped sharply, arching as he forced himself deeper, the stretch too much. Burning, tearing, making your legs shake uncontrollably.
Svarog’s grip on your hips tightened as he paused, allowing you a brief moment of reprieve to adjust, but as his optics flickered, scanning the trembling of your muscles and the fluttering of your gummy walls around him.
“Pain response detected. Estimating threshold at 62 percent.”
You cried out as his hands tilted your hips. You were barely able to breathe as he pressed further, the new angle forcing him deeper into your cunt, and your stomach twisted as you felt it. His cock bullied its way in, the meaty girth of his shaft forcing you wider and wider until you swore you could feel it pressing against everything, imprinting his shape inside of you.
Too much. Too deep.
Tears welled in your eyes as your body struggled to take him, your hands scrabbling against his frame, fingers digging uselessly into unmoving steel.
Svarog’s hand pressed against your stomach, his thumb grazing the prominent bulge already forming there.
“Internal displacement observed,” he said, pushing down slightly to feel the way his massive cock shifted inside of you. The sensation earned a quiver of your legs, the pressure in between your legs rendering you unable to utter a coherent sentence. “Pressure response increasing. Adapting angle.”
Your head fell back with a guttural cry as he adjusted, pressing even deeper, his thumb brushing over the bulge experimentally while he thrust deeper, the bulge in your stomach shifting with him. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Your lips fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body clenched down hard, pulsing and fluttering, struggling against the size, and Svarog stilled.
“Involuntary constriction detected,” he said, his optics dimming slightly.
His free hand reached up, spreading your thighs wider, and he began to move.
Slow, deliberate thrusts that forced you to feel every excruciating inch of him.
You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
All you could do was feel. The stretch, the ache, the grinding pressure of him bottoming out inside you again and again and again. The bulge in your stomach shifted with every thrust, a visible reminder of just how deep he was, how much he was filling you.
Svarog’s optics glowed faintly as he observed you, his gaze calculating and unwavering as your body trembled beneath him. Each shallow breath you took, each gasp for air as his cock pressed deeper, he noted, analyzing the involuntary way your body gripped him, how your muscles fluttered around him with every thrust.
He could see the way your body reacted. How your hands clenched, how your thighs shook, how the bulge in your stomach shifted with each deep push, marking the extent to which he had filled you. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils dilated with every inch of him that stretched you wider, deeper, further than you ever thought possible.
You were on the brink of breaking, the tension in your body growing unbearable as your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. Your body, desperate for more and yet unable to fully handle what was happening, was his to command, and he couldn’t help but watch in quiet fascination as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.
You were becoming dumber. So much of you just couldn’t function anymore. You were speechless, unable to utter a coherent sentence, broken down by the intensity of his cock fucking its way into you, and the way you melted against him was nothing short of fascinating. Your voice was lost to you, your thoughts clouded by raw sensation, but the pleasure you felt was clear. It was painted across every quiver of your body, the sheen of beaded sweat lining your face and neck, in the strained arch of your back, the desperate shuddering of your limbs.
He could hear the soft whimpering sounds, could see the way your face twisted with both pain and pleasure, and his own systems hummed with the data flooding his internal logs. Every reaction of yours was so genuine, so untouched by reason. It was an anomaly he had never experienced.
Svarog’s mechanical frame moved with precision, his movements controlled and deliberate. His systems hummed as he observed you, his optics tracking every microexpression, every shuddering breath as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming size that filled you.
He didn’t feel pleasure. He didn’t need it, not the way you did. But the reactions you were giving him—the way your body trembled, the way your walls spasmed around him—were intriguing, data points he had yet to fully understand.
“Subject’s body reacting to size discrepancy. Estimated stretch threshold surpassed.”
Your hands were clutching at him, your fingers slipping over his cool metal plating, desperately trying to find purchase. Your tight walls clung to him as though your body was doing everything it could to resist the sensation, even though it was now obvious that you couldn’t fight it. Your body was becoming swallowed by him, opening wide to accommodate what it was never meant to handle.
Svarog’s movement’s never faltered, his thrusts measured and precise, studying you as your body began to react involuntarily. Your walls spasmed around him, tighter and tighter, almost as though your body was trying to pull him deeper despite the overwhelming stretch.
“Subject’s body is exhibiting signs of imminent climax. Response timing has been measured.”
You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your entire body stiffed, an involuntary shudder running through you as every nerve seemed to light up at once. Your vision blurred, the sounds of your ragged breathing filling your ears, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond belief. Your walls contracted and released rapidly, the pressure inside you finally exploding, and you cried out his name, the world barely a whisper between gasps.
The release sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and Svarog could see it. How your body trembled, how your legs locked around his waist, pulling him even deeper—if that was even possible. You were speechless, your mind blank as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your insides gripping him with a tightness that was almost painful.
“Subject has achieved climax. Response exceeds expectations.”
Your breaths came in desperate, uncoordinated gasps as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, and your body was left quivering, unable to do anything but absorb the aftershocks of your mind-numbing release. Your thighs quivered, feeling your cum trickling down your skin, staining his metal plating.
Svarog, ever the observer, did not stop. He noted the way your body reacted to each of his thrusts, the way your tummy bulged with each movement, the way your warm walls clamped down involuntarily as you tried to regain control of your senses.
Despite the fact that Svarog himself could not feel pleasure, there was something undeniably fascinating about the way you came undone beneath him, your body fighting for control even as it surrendered entirely to him.
He continued moving inside you, his mechanical precision relentless, watching as you flinched with each motion, your body too sensitive now to handle it. Your hands, still pawing weakly at his arms, combined with your whimpered protests of it being too much, were growing weaker, and the sensations were too much for you to bear, but still, he kept going, his own curiosity driving him. He wanted to see how much more you could take, how much more your body could endure before it reached its limit.
You were still trembling, still catching your breath, your mind scattered and lost in the aftereffects of your climax. He could see your skin shimmering with sweat, your breasts rising and falling, the way your hips thrusted up to meet his even though you were lost in the throes of overstimulation.
“Subject remains responsive despite signs of fatigue,” he observed. “Data indicates further analysis needed.”
You were so tight, so overstimulated, and yet your body responded again as though it couldn’t stop itself. Another surge of pleasure crashed through you, pulling another, more broken moan from your lips. It was overwhelming, too much, but your body needed it, responding in ways that only deepened his analysis of the situation.
Svarog’s focus didn’t waver. He watched as your body shook with every movement, your legs quivering with the strain of accommodating him, and still, he continued, his thrusts growing deeper, more relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave litters of bruises that resembled the shade of his metal plating, holding you in place, using your body as a tool for his data collection.
He could see the way you reacted to the sensations, your face contorting in a combination of pain and pleasure, your eyes wide and unfocused, the way your mouth parted as though you couldn’t form any coherent words. Your body had become nothing but a series of responses, unable to control the way you moved or how you moaned, each sound increasing in volume and intensity as he continued to jackhammer into you.
Your stomach bulged from the pressure, each thrust deepening the curve, showing just how much of him you were struggling to take. Your body was so small, so delicate compared to his design—a machine of war—and yet it was somehow adjusting, somehow taking him all the way in, and with each inch he could see your entire body shift, your muscles trembling, walls contracting and clenching around him.
Svarog observed with detachment, but a small part of him couldn’t ignore how your body seemed to respond, how the very tightness of your searingly hot walls seemed to tug at him, pull him deeper as though it wanted to trap him there—needed him to stay there. The way you trembled beneath him, struggling to remain grounded as your body was filled with something so vast compared to your form. He noted how your skin glistened, how you arch your back, trying to take more of him, trying your damned best to accommodate his size.
Svarog noted how you were losing coherence, your once-clear expression now a mess of uncontrollable need, your eyes glazing over as you gave in to the rhythm he set. He couldn’t deny the way your body seemed to yearn for more, even as you struggled with the sheer size of him.
The final stretch was the worst for you, and the best for him. He felt your body grip him, squeezing him impossibly tight as he buried himself to the hilt. This earned a strained sob from your lips. Your stomach bulged more than ever before, a visual testament to just how much of him you had taken, how far he had pushed you. He could see your body tremble, your limbs shaking, your quivering lips gasping for breath.
Yet, even as your body was on the edge, unraveling beneath him, Svarog did not stop. The data was still incomplete. He needed more. He needed to see how much you could endure, how much pleasure your body could take from the sheer act of him pounding into you.
And so, he continued, calculating the rhythms, watching as you came again with a scream of his name, your body seizing, the loud moan that escaped your lips barely audible over the overwhelming noise in your head. It was the most raw, vulnerable he had ever seen you—or any human—and it only fascinated him more.
With another deep thrust, you shuddered, and this time, Svarog could see your body collapse against the surface beneath you, completely undone. You were breathless, barely coherent, your limbs shaking as the final waves of pleasure raked through your senses.
Svarog paused, his cool hands steadying your trembling body, allowing you to come down from the dizzying high. He could continue for as long as he wanted, but your body was too spent for further testing. He could still see the evidence of your come, dripping down in translucent milky strings to the surface beneath you, painting your inner thighs. Svarog decided that this must be what humans described as “beautiful.”
“Conclusion: Subject’s tolerance to size discrepancy has surpassed previous estimates. Data collection complete.”
⌗︙・becoming svarog's human cocksleeve for "research" ♡⸝⸝
it's just for research, that's all. that's what you tell yourself when you shrug off your clothes and stand before the huge mass of metal that is svarog, you have to remind yourself that he's simply conducting these so-called calculations for research. but it's so hard, it really is, when he makes you orgasm so intensely that you end up passing out or when he fucks you in positions that make you feel just how big he is.
to say that his dick is huge is the biggest understatement of the century. you don't know where and how he got the idea to construct such a monstrous size, one that almost made you second-guess bending over to let him shove it in. every time he moves, your stomach bulges, your tiny body just barely accommodating his size and you have to cling onto something, anything, just to stabilize yourself. he doesn't feel pleasure when your tiny mouth suckles on the engorged tip nor when your plush walls swallow it up, but he seems to enjoy pummeling you in his own, strange robotic way.
his stamina is unmatched, mostly because he's a robot and robots do not have a concept of a refractory period or physical limits. he can keep going for however long he pleases, continuing to fuck you through the sensitivity of your orgasm even when you snivel and whine for him to at least wait a bit. the only things stopping him from fucking you for hours are the possibility of sweet clara accidentally upon this debauchery, and you passing out right after a mind-shattering orgasm or because you simply can't possibly go for any longer.
when svarog's hitting it from behind, he will grip your chin and force you to look up at him, to see the way pretty tears clung onto your lashes. he's stronger and bigger than you in every way possible, and you can be damn sure that he knows it. from the way the tummy bulge pops up and down bc his cock is too big for your body to his thick n heavy fingers holding you in place with ease, svarog overwhelms you entirely. when you cum, he gets to watch your eyes roll back and your tongue loll out as you choke out pathetic cries and moans.
sometimes, he just... sort of forgets that overstimulation is a thing, especially for cute little humans like you who can only take so much. svarog just keeps fucking your tight little hole, giving you no time for breaks as he continues to pummel his enormous cock into you. it's even worse when he tests out some strange toys that he managed to procure, though you don't know how and why. but that's the last thing on your mind when svarog keeps testing toy after toy on you, giving you no time to relax as he slides the next toy into your ruined hole.
just to see you squirm and cry out for mercy, or perhaps because he wants to see just how much further he can push you beyond your limits, svarog installs a vibrating function in that massive cock of his. and he got exactly what he wanted, as the vibrations only serve in pushing you over the edge countless times and have you crying out his name over and over. although.. it might have worked a bit too well as now you won't stop pestering him to fuck you constantly, whining that nobody else can satisfy you anymore. not like he can.
Prompt || Svarog suggests that bonding as Clara’s parental figures are important. - NSFW UNDER THE CUT / MINORS DNI
Warnings: Heavy-Petting, Just-the-tip type of sex, AFAB reader so She/Her is used, Grinding, FREAKY robot anatomy and a lot of robot cum, size difference, sometimes a family is an orphan, the reader, and a massive robot that u want to jump his bones u know, also muffling/slight gagging (robot fingers in mouf hhfskhfk) so u don’t wake Clara 3, also belly bulge again
Idk anymore I got him randomly on the standard banner while on a break at work so here it is (this is for all the robot fucker truthers out there)
***
“ Regarding my prior analysis… the results indicate that engaging in “bonding experiences” with the other is beneficial for the household and parental units. ”
That’s all it took for her to find herself beneath Svarog’s massive frame, exposed, vulnerable, and entirely bare as his massive servos clutched onto the wall with one knee on the edge of the bed and the other on the ground. He was so large that she wondered if this was the only way he didn’t break the poor mattress beneath her, it was already fighting for its life, and she could tell because with every hard rut of Svarog’s hips the bed frame creaked beneath her.
She held onto him for dear life, her trembling fingers pressing up into his chest while Svarog’s massive, hard, and absolutely leaking mod-piece slipping against her swollen little clit. She gasps and stutters over her words, unable to even think when Svarog is looming over her like this. She thought it would be uncomfortable when he first opened his lower interfacing panel to reveal the massive piece of metal and silicon, but now that she was able to experience it first hand she found it was actually rather comfortable. It felt the same as a toy, but hotter, even warmer to the touch than any human could ever be.
Svarog’s hands aren’t exploratory but instead entirely stationary, they plant themselves in the wall and make indents in the plaster. The wall almost cracks beneath his hefty weight. “My pulse oximeter indicates an elevated heart rate,” Svarog speaks as a matter of fact, his voice that’s laced with static is just as calm and collected, “I believe you are—” she interrupts him, hands slapping at his chest and ankles uselessly bobbing by the sides of his hips. “Yes, yes I’m close— I’m close, I’m gonna cum—” she babbles, her voice pitched and her breathing becoming sparse. “Keep going, just like this.” she encourages him, turning her head and breathing hard through clenched teeth as Svarog rolls his massive modded-cock over her aching clit once again.
She can’t kiss him, Svarog doesn’t have a proper face like a human would, but it doesn’t stop her from trying. She peppers little pecks up his chassis, the affection doesn’t go unnoticed by Svarog but it also cannot be returned, save for him reaching one hand down off of the wall and to her lips. He presses her head into his palm, watching as she kisses at the metal, one hand reaching up and gripping onto his thumb— for he’s too large to truly hold his hand —while adorning him in her human affection. A human’s touch.
“Oh, Aeons,” She slurs her words beneath him, eyes fluttering shut while her pelvis burned hot with need. That unbearable knot was wounding tighter in the base of her navel and she knew she couldn’t hold on for long. The sensation grew, wrapping tighter, tighter, and tighter. She gave him a reedy whine, her volume raising although she tried her damndest to keep it low. Her cunt clenches on air, the desperate need to get filled damn near preventing her from reaching her end, she’s bordering on the cusp of her climax and it burns. “Ugh,” she shakes her head, “Why can’t I…?” she mumbles, pushing her pelvis up to meet Svarog’s, the underside of his cock slipping against her dripping wet pussy until his metal thighs slap against her ass. “I believe that a different form of stimulus may be required,” Svarog calculates.
“Huh?” She mumbles, not sure she was truly listening to him in between her desperate rutting into his pelvic-plating. Svarog doesn’t answer, instead pulling away and leaning back. She whines at the loss of contact, feebly watching as his mod-piece lifts up and off of her pussy until only a thin string of her arousal is the only thing connecting them together. “Why did you—?” she questions, but she’s answered by the blunt and fat tip pushing up against her tight clenching hole. She gasps, body jolting in surprise while he nudges that miserably fat thing against her well-prepared cunt. Even with how soaking wet she is it feels like a struggle for Svarog to fully sink into her heat. Her toes curl and she grips the bed sheet, mouth open in silent-shock as he stretches her open until she feels like she’s being absolutely split in half. It’s only the tip but it’s enough to make her legs go stiff and tremble, the inside of her thighs burn and ache while she sees stars beginning to dot her vision.
Svarog withdraws his hips, pulling out until just the head is kissing at her stretched-hole, before driving back in to force the first few inches back into her struggling pussy. One hand tucks itself between her slick thighs, his massive and warm digits pressing down on her swollen and puffy clit while the other rests his thumb across her jaw. It’s impossible to watch her volume now, she’s being completely drowned in stimulation and it’s too much all at once. She knows she needs to be quiet because the walls are thin and Clara is in a few rooms down, Svarog knows this too.
Svarog brings his right hand up higher and covers her mouth, pressing her lips into a tight line with just his thumb before it prods at her mouth, he slips the purple metal between her teeth and presses down on her tongue. She gags, feeling just the tip of his digit graze the back of her throat before she closes her mouth over the intruding finger. Spit bubbles at the corners of her lips and drips down her chin, her eyes rolling to the back of her head while her face flushes with sweat and heat alike. She claws at his arm, desperately trying to clutch onto anything she can for any type of stability that she can, her nails almost leave streaks in his purple paint. “Mmhh— Svhh—” She’s so relieved when that crawling high returns, she plants her heels into the bed and tilts her hips up to try and welcome him even deeper, although she’s sure that’s near impossible when she already feels him stuffing her to the point she swears her navel is swelling with the shape of himself.
She cants her waist up, her hips scream in protest while she desperately seeks to get herself off. That burning ache runs through her stomach and makes her legs feel fuzzy just as she finally reaches that peak that claws at her belly. The knot that had been building inside of her waist snaps and her legs go numb. Svarog presses down on her tongue with the flat of his thumb-pad as she screams, although her volume is muffled and gagged by his metal digit, drool pools in the base of her jaw and spittles out of her open mouth. Now the usually stoic mech above her is making sounds, its low, and barely audible but there’s no mistaking the rumbling groan that comes from the basin of his chest. He pistons his hips into her trembling cunt, savoring the way she practically suffocates his synthetic-cock, the human body was truly a marvel because Svarog finds himself wanting to stay buried inside of her wet heat.
His chassis trembles while a dull roar comes from the center of his chest, he can tell that his internal CPU fans have started in a desperate attempt to cool his far-too-warm frame. “My systems are beginning to overheat,” he speaks and she swears she can hear an edge to his voice, his usually monotone drone sounds strained through crackling static. “I may experience intermittent shutdown if I do not expel excess heat.” He tells her, but she’s hardly listening to him now, she’s fucked out beneath him with her half-lidded eyes staring up into his glowing red optic. He pulls his thumb out of her mouth just enough for her to murmur, “Mhmm— go— go ahead—” between quick and raspy little breaths.
He slips his fat cock out of her now gaping cunt, finally relenting his hold on her clit only to bring it down to his mod-piece, he begins to pump the angry mix of metal and silicon while steam billows out of the seams of his metal. It’s faint, but she swears she can hear him moan just before he overloads. She flinches at the touch of hot and sticky blue fluid that falls over her stomach in thick ropes, he jerks his hips up into his palm as another fat drop falls right over her waist, inner thighs, and cunt. He’s cumming, and damn, it’s a lot more than she expected. It practically paints her in that cyan-blue hue, the sticky and wet sensation making her shift near uncomfortably because she knows she’ll need to take a long shower after this. She falls flat in the bed with her chest rising and falling in rapid gasps for air, her entire body is limp save for a the tremors that run up and down from her legs up to her spasming hips, laying in the bed that feels near bent from Svarog’s weight leaning against it for so long.
Svarog’s pistons come to a slow stop with a hiss, he slouches over her in a way that almost seems human. She’s never seen him fatigued like this, but his movements are almost sluggish as he wraps his massive servos beneath her hips and hikes her up further into the bed. He makes sure her head is resting on the beaten-pillow underneath her, although her body is still positively stained he makes sure she’s comfortable. Inquisitively, he cocks his head to the side and observes her flushed and warm body that’s sprawled out in the ruined sheets.
He lets her rest for some time before he reaches his thick digits up and brushes her hair that’s clinging to her sweat-slick cheek out of her eyes, “Your heart-rate has returned to a normal to moderate pace,” He says while she turns her head to fully face him. “Would you like to continue?” He asks her.
She doesn’t hesitate even for a second to nod her head, “Yes, please,” she mumbles while spreading her legs for him once again.
OMG first Svarog writer I've come across 🤭 anon 👾 here! I've been thinking about this lately and what if Svarog started to take an interest into Clara's human babysitter (after the medical supply incident it was just much safer to get a human to help keep up with her and protect her when Svarog is busy), she's always just so cute and motherly to Clara, there for she's the best candidate from his calculations to be a mother and cute little wife RIGHTTTT I can also imagine him manhandling and overstimulating his darling and not even registering it as a problem 😭
Anyways it you do read this suggestion TY FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ IT :))
~👾
Welcome 👾 Anon! :]
[I'll do a full fic instead of just a little HC/Thirst later <3] Hope this fed you at least a bit anon~ My pussy took over when. I wrote this.
(Fem reader)
NSFW BELOW
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My God, imagining Svarog not understanding how little his darling, human wife can handle as he's slowly forcing his fingers deep into her pussy, making sure to rub against any spots he finds that make her moan especially loud~
Imagining how his cute little wife would sob as his large metal fingers abuse her pussy until she's crying from how many times she's came.
Also, Svarog, because he's a robot and was probably not built with a dick, would make one just so he could watch the reader moan and cry in pleasure due to him just going so fast and rough without notice or realizing what overstimulation is. His cute wife trying her hardest not to be too loud because Clara's in the other room.
Svarog just absolutely fucking the reader so hard that all she can do is cum again and again to the point where she can't even say it's too much :(
But at the end Svarog would be so soft and gently just so his wife can rest. In my opinion Svarog would be a Aftercare king for his human wife <3
*a/n: for all intents and purposes Svarog has the necessary accessories lmao*
Tags: fem!reader, pregnancy, slight angst, fluff
Welt
If you were to tell Welt that you were pregnant he would love for you to tell him in a silly or a way that makes him think about it for a minute. Something like putting buns in the oven or sitting next to two piles of ice while giving him a goofy look
When you told Welt you were pregnant expect to be literally lifted into the air as he looks at you with so much love it’s almost unbearable
He’s never been happier than to hear you say you were pregnant
It doesn’t matter if you two are only dating at this point or married or if this baby was planned or not, Welt is so happy. He loves you, he’s pretty sure you are going to be his last love no matter what so he’s happy to start a family with you
If you’re scared or unsure about going through with the pregnancy don’t feel conflicted on his account. He is going to love you through it all. No matter your decision he’s okay with it. And if you’re worried about being a parent Welt will gladly hold your hand and help you learn and become more confident in raising kids. He's also more than happy to essentially show you how he deals with March, Dan Heng, and the trailblazer
Welt is pretty rational, but I feel like this man has already bought and/or built everything a kid ages 0-4 could ever need and assembled a nursery on the express before you’re even done with your first trimester. Not to mention everyone is so ecstatic for you both that they’re also buying and decorating the entire express
Please don't expect to lift a finger during your entire pregnancy because if it's not Welt doing it for you its literally every other person, minus Dan Heng if it's something that you can clearly do on your own (he still offers his help because lets be honest he is a gentleman and if you’re with Welt he has mad respect for you)
Blade
Blade is a somewhat reasonable man, he's strong, and while sometimes he doesn't necessarily think everything out when he goes out to fight he can always find a way out. However, this news has left him literally shell shocked. It's gonna take you or another Stellaron hunter to snap him out of his thoughts
He is not going to sugarcoat the fact that he isn't exactly thrilled by this news, and if you tried to be cute with it he's not to happy you weren't just upfront and straightforward about something like this with him. But, Blade will not leave you or hate you for whatever you decided to do regarding the baby
He makes sure you know that he is less than ideal for a father, he's losing his mind, sometimes it's hard to control his violent tendencies, and he's not the most tactful person in the universe. He understands that these things make others view him as toxic, and he would never deny that, so he wants you to know that this child is likely going to go through hardships because of him
Blade didn't make the connection when you first told him about your pregnancy, but eventually he'll realize that his regeneration ability has a chance to pass onto the child and the scene of destruction you discovered after that was horrendous and also the most emotion you've seen on Blade's face. he looks haunted by the idea that his child will live like him and have to suffer an eternity without any out. It takes a lot of comfort and logistic talk with Blade, you, and the other Stellaron Hunter including Elio for him to feel even a shred of peace about this possibility
Surprisingly, Blade will set up an amazing nursery for you and the baby. You have no idea where he got the items, and its probably best not to ask, but the nursery is beautiful if not a bit bland
Blade will leave all color, toy, clothes, and baby care items to you. Not that he isn't trying to be involved with you and the kid, but he doesn't really know or care about those things, so he will leave them in your ever capable hands since you are bound to know leagues more than him. He will of course accompany you in shopping and offer whatever opinions he may have with some of your choices
Please expect Kafka and Silver Wolf to throw a baby shower for you. Not only that, Kafka is incredibly happy for you and Blade and helps you out anytime Blade isn't there. Silver Wolf also joins in with helping you, but it's less so since she's still young and to be honest doesn't know how to properly help you other than just handing you stuff and being there for you when your hormones are getting the better of you
Elio also gives you some cryptic, but somewhat kind words for you, Blade, and the baby's future together
Luocha
Luocha probably knows before you do. He's not a licensed doctor or trained in pregnancy symptoms and care, but like? He's traveled for who knows how long and he's seen a thing or two out there, and he's 99% sure that you are pregnant before you ever sit him down to tell him about it. I mean the weeks of morning sickness were a huge sign, especially when his treatments failed to do anything for you
Don't take offense, but Luocha isn't either ecstatic about the baby or displeased about them. He is happy to start a family with you, but he also brings up that this is going to be tough for you, him, and the newest little member if you plan on coming with him around the universe. He can't exactly stop being a traveling merchant as how would either of you make ends meet if he quit his job and eventually you can't work for an extended amount of time, but he would never force you to travel around with him where you may be in some less than comfortable areas during your pregnancy
No matter how you plan to do this, Luocha is 100% on board with your plans. He loves you, you are his everything, and even if he has to travel back and forth or carry you, the baby, and his coffin he will do what he must to be with you
Luocha will likely set up a house for you regardless on if you plan to come with him or not. He wants a stable location for his family once the little guy is out
You can bet that he has the house furnished and everything built and in place in no time. I feel like he's got connections and knows people that know people to get the job done asap
He leaves some fun aspects for you to do though, picking out nursery designs, clothes, toys, decorations for the home, he will leave it all for you and do what he can to get you everything you need or desire for the baby and y’all's new home
And don’t worry, if you go into labor on the road you are with the most capable healer and will make sure you and the baby are safe and happy
Svarog
Okay so, telling him you're pregnant is pretty much going to make Svarog do the equivalent of a blue screen. You’ve legit made this robot man crash and reboot
Svarog 100% knew that he could get you pregnant, you know this man has run 1000 and 1 different simulations and calculations to see if pregnancy was even possible for you two. And obviously the chance was a 0.0001% probability and he ignored that the possibility wasn't zero because those odds were supposed to be impossible, but here you were telling him you both beat the impossible and and beat the 99.9999% chance of this not happening
You would have to call in Clara to help Svarog and also tell her the amazing news. Clara is so excited by becoming a big sister that it kind of helps Svarog regain his composure and reboot his systems
He will want to discuss a lot about what is being created inside of you. This is a situation that he is not equipped to deal with and there is no simulation or calculation he can run that will tell him anything about what is going to happen now
However, Svarog is ever responsible and dependable and will never leave you uncared for during this time. Please rest assured that he will have you and Clara on baby proofing and baby planning duties until the baby comes, all while granting your every desire to assure your 100% happiness
Would never admit it, but he’s happy to have a second child, and he’s even happier that Clara is so hyper about the newest addition, if not a bit sad that she’s already maturing more and more in preparation for becoming a big sister
Expect some very confused and joyful congratulations from some of the prominent figures in Belobog. Bronya and Seele are the most confused, but offer their congratulations and Bronya even offers to accommodate you in the best hospital when you go into labor. Natasha is also happy for you and offers to be the one help with the delivery. Sampo…Sampo gives a lot of teasing comments that probably get a rocket fist sent his way and a pouting and scolding Clara on his heels
Because I've been fucking star-railed this last week and also I promised @dustofthedailylife that I would write a svarog thirst if she finally pulled welt. so since this exists, you can guess what happened!
Svarog/Yaoshi/Kafka x Reader
NSFW, nothing explicit perse but all very heavily implied, Robot/monsterfucking, does fucking a god cound as monsterfucking?, Svarog is a giant vibrator, Yaoshi and their many hands, also Yaoshi having an aphrodesiac venom in their scorpion tail, maybe a little implied dubcon in kafkas case? I dont...think it is but its there as a warning in case.
Ok but Svarog, who definitely knows what sex is, of course he does, he has an entire database to access, and lets face it, this man has probably already accessed it when looking up ‘how to parent’ information because at one point or another he’s going to have to give clara ‘the talk’
(no, we wont talk about how his version of the talk is going to be the most embarrassingly clinical talk ever to exist. rest in peace clara.)
But he does not, for the love of anything, understand why you want to have sex…with him.
Nonetheless, he does not stop your hands roaming his chest plates, he doesn’t really stop you from doing… anything really, because… whatever this is makes you happy, and that’s all he wants.
He’s confused when you ask him to touch you, but he does it anyway, all while sifting through his databanks to figure out both why and where.
This is also the day you discover that Svarog has an… interesting vibration function in his hands that he claims was once for easing stiff muscles of his old human commanders before he was abandoned.
Yeah it’ll sure ease you alright.
Admittedly…he does like watching you squirm…it does… something to his servos.
Though, he thinks he may have created a monster, because now every day, without fail…you’re asking him for a hand.
Perhaps one day, when he has done enough research…he might just reveal that one…extra modification that had been made to him before everything went to shit.
One day he will allow you to delve below his trousers and maybe one day he will use that…modification, to finally give you what you want, since it seems you’re unwilling to find another mortal to fornicate with.
Besides
perhaps …clara could do with a mother figure around.
----------
Some say the Aeon Yaoshi, of the Abundance, is a cruel and evil creature.
This does not stop you from seeking Their favour.
However when they finally do appear before you, you get so much more.
Six hands, long and delicate, trailing your skin as they pull you close, unearthly voice whispering in your ear, telling you they’ve heard every prayer, every plead and call for them; how they’ve been watching you all this time, and now they have come to bestow the blessing you’ve been seeking.
But only if you can endure one last trial.
In some depictions you had found, Yaoshi is endowed with a scorpion's tail, so it isn’t a shock when the appendage curls around your body, the tip pricking into your thigh. You feel the warmth of the poison spread through your body and you moan for it. Yaoshi only hums their praise
Their venom makes you feel warm and fuzzy, it makes their touch intense and vivid, most of all…
it makes you want to give yourself over entirely
You feel hands touch places that have never been touched by another, you feel their teeth and their tongue. You hear their praises.
And then you wake, in your bed.
At first, you think it was a dream, but then you sit up.
You were naked, your muscles ached, but it was a sweet ache, soft around the edges, and there on your thigh, where they had stung you with their venom…
the symbol of abundance
----------
Soft hands, and an even softer voice, leave you weak in the knees.
“Ready to talk yet?” Kafka muses quietly as she presses a single finger to your collarbone, and you immediately fall back against the table, your arms still bound behind your back.
You should be struggling. You should be fighting back.
But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t incredibly turned on by the stellaron hunter who had kidnapped you, and was now apparently intent on interrogating you.
“You’ll….have to try harder than that.” you rasp, trying to sound intimidating.
By the way Kafka’s smile widens ever so slightly, it’s failed completely, and you’re once again left reeling as she approaches, leaning over you like a cat who’s just caught their mouse.
“Will I?” her voice is so soft, and yet so very dangerous as her ruby eyes narrow in on your face “My…are we a little smitten? Your face is all red.”
Goddamn it.
“I’d never-”
“Oh don’t be so dramatic.” She interjects as she perches on the edge of the table beside where you lay, she shoots you a look…an expression you can’t quite discern for a moment, until you realise her own eyes are raking down your body.
hungrily.
You watch her bring her hand to her mouth, teeth closing around the finger of her glove before pulling the offending article off; your heart is jackrabbiting in your chest.
“I think…” she hums as she leans back over you, magenta hair falling between you both like a waterfall. This was dangerous, so very dangerous.
But the moment her hand presses against your belly, and slowly begins its slow gaze downward, pressing shamelessly beneath the waistband of your bottoms? You’re a goner.
“I think I have other ways to make you sing that we’ll both enjoy…don't you think?”
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