Writing and Art dump. I write smut, fluff, basically anything I feel like writing. about to rebrand/revamp this account thanks for checking me out, stay tuned for more 🐍
If I had a nickel for the times I fall in love with a Pokemon Legends game antagonist (or antagonists bait?) I would have two nickels, which is not a lot but it's weird it happened twice.
I know I mostly write about Dom reader stuff but ohhhhh boy, the things I would do to be sandwiched right in between Flins and Rerir...
Mind you, I'm writing this immediately after seeing Rerir getting his body back in game, I have zero spelling checks on this. And I'm also so late to this lmao.
NSFW ahead, as always
Rerir/GN!Reader/Flins
Also, headcanon that Flins has a cold body, and Rerir has a monster d with ridges. Trust me.
Imagine the strong, muscular chest of Rerir in front of your face whilst Flins is behind you, holding you tight. How rough the sinner's hand would be compared to the fae's delicate fingers. One will leave bruises by grabbing your waist and splitting your thighs open while the other would caress you softly whilst dreaming of all the stuff he could do to you.
Rerir's claw like hands probably leaves deep red scars after he's done with you, but his other hands, those he creates using the Wild Hunt or abyssal magic treats you so tenderly, it's almost like he's worshiping your body. It's almost sinful how he treats you so roughly yet so tenderly, it's almost like the false, tentacle like hands reveal his truest thoughts when his mind and body is simply too distracted by pleasure, both yours and his. His dick is probably as large as your hand, look at him, he's massive all over. He'd slide it inside and talk about how deep he is inside of you, pressing his large hands against the bulge on your stomach and growling the nastiest words you could imagine.
Don't forget about Flins, the fae definitely has many tricks up his sleeves too. The flames of his lantern are just as warm as his body is when he's all hot and bothered. He wouldn't hesitate to suddenly heat up his fingers just to tease you, touching you in the most sensitive areas, his usually cold skin becoming hot all of a sudden and chilling down back to his normal body heat. It sends a shock down your spine when he grabs at your chest from the back. And don't forget the electro moon wheel, he'd definitely use that to tease you too.
Flins would tilt your head to the side just to piss Rerir off, stealing your attention and giving you kisses that leave you breathless, and at the same time he would slip into you without as much as a word. He likes seeing you whine and whimpers when he suddenly moves. He wouldn't stop kissing you either, he'd wait until you're begging to breathe, stop just for a moment, before capturing your lips in another heated kiss.
The two of them inside you would definitely be a stretch, but the two of them taking turns, one pulling out and the other pushing in, is a one way road to the best fucking of your life. The ridges on Rerir's dick and the natural coldness of Flins entire body gives you whiplash whenever one of them pushes inside you, sending multitudes of pleasure in different ways, stretching you apart and shocking you to the core in more ways than one.
The two of them would leave you sore for the rest of the week, but you can't convince me otherwise that having two bad bitches at the same damn time isn't amazing.
What I'm trying to say is fucking Eiffel Tower me.
I say, knowing damn well I didn't write an Eiffel Tower section for this brain dump. Maybe next time.
(Khaenri'ans are just built different, I literally started playing because of Kaeya and now I'm here dying over Rerir.)
Getting back into writing is so hard because wdym I post stuff here without proofreading and now I can't write a sentence. Don't get me started on art either, because I can't even draw a good looking tree rn 💀 this blog is going to be dry af this year because I have a massive exam coming up, so it's going to be a lotta rage and very little smut unfortunately. Who knows, maybe once I'm pissed enough, I'll go back to bullying Skott (after I catch up with hsr quests).
I'm trying to figure out the aesthetic for this blog and that's pretty much done I just need some borders. I have gotten zero progress on my Mydei fic, but I'm working on a Volo (pkm legends Arceus) fic but I have no idea when I can post it.
I plan on doing fics for The kid at the Back, Killer Chat, A date with Death and Error 143, along with HSR and Genshin and random posts, so stick around for that.
And finally, y'all interested in seeing some OC's? I'm still gonna post them anyways, but I'm kinda curious, since it's an AU of Tkatb and Killer chat.
Aventurine and his partner have been together for a while when they somehow try working through Aventurine’s past trauma by showing him what a true master is like (reader)
Note - heavy bdsm, master/slave, anything else you’d like but I would prefer this being a healthier one so not non/con or forced
Thank you! 💖💖
“LET ME SHOW YOU WHO I AM”
pairing. Sub!Aventurine x Top!male reader
synopsis. In where Aventurine finally submits on his own terms, he learns what it means to be touched without being taken. — 4.3k
warnings. mdni, nsfw, amab reader, master/slave kink, collaring kink, light bondage, fingering, blowjob, handjob, overstimulation, begging, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, subspace, aftercare, safe word use, past trauma, discussions of past abuse, implied SA (not graphic), hurt/comfort
The room was quiet.
Not sterile. Not cold. It smelled faintly of lavender and wax polish—warm light spilling from a shaded lamp. The blinds were drawn. The door was locked.
Aventurine stood in the center of the room like a model in a glass case, posed. Perfect. Still.
He had removed his gloves first. Then his rings. Then his coat.
Every motion methodical. Almost clinical.
You’d seen him negotiate with CEOs more relaxed than this.
You sat on the edge of the couch, legs slightly parted, arms resting on your knees, watching him like he was something fragile. Not in the way that meant he’d break—but in the way that meant he already had, at some point, and learned to glue himself together into someone flawless.
And he was flawless.
That was the problem.
"You're not breathing," you said quietly.
Aventurine blinked. Then inhaled like he forgot that he needed to. A short, clipped breath.
He forced a smile. "I'm just… preparing."
"For what?"
He paused. "To give you what you want."
You let that sit.
Let him feel it.
Then you stood—slow, controlled—and stepped into his space.
"Look at me."
He did. Carefully. He always looked carefully, like his gaze was a scalpel and he was afraid to cut too deep.
You reached out, brushing your knuckles against his jaw. He didn’t lean into it. He didn’t flinch either. He simply absorbed the touch like it was something he had to endure—an input to be processed, not felt.
“I want you to listen,” you said. “And I want you to listen as Aventurine. Not as someone performing. Not as a client trying to impress me. As you.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “…I’m listening.”
“I’m not asking you to submit because I want to dominate you.”
He stiffened.
“I’m asking you to submit because I want to keep you safe.”
A silence followed. Longer this time.
You let your hand fall from his jaw and gently, deliberately, took his hand in yours. You turned it palm-up—his fingers were smooth, trembling ever so slightly.
You pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist.
“That’s the only reason,” you said. “Everything else—the commands, the structure, the rules… those are tools. Not punishments. Not games. They're ways to show you something you weren’t allowed to believe.”
He stared at you, eyes flickering. “Which is?”
“That being owned can feel like being protected.”
His lips parted—then closed again. He didn’t speak.
But he was still listening.
So you guided him to the couch. You sat down first, then tugged him forward by the hand until he was kneeling between your legs. Not to humble him—to center him.
"Now," you murmured, letting your fingers brush along his throat. “Let’s make something clear before we go further.”
Aventurine swallowed again. You felt it beneath your fingertips.
"You are mine only if you choose to be. And that choice doesn’t disappear just because you're in a collar or calling me Master."
His breath hitched. Slightly.
"You have a safeword. And you will use it."
You felt him tense—but it wasn’t fear. It was confusion.
“Why?” he asked softly. “Do you think I’ll regret it?”
“No,” you said. “I think someone else made you believe you weren’t allowed to.”
He froze.
And there it was.
That flicker. That twitch beneath the surface. You saw it behind his eyes—how he wanted to deflect, wanted to throw on that trademark smirk and laugh you off, pretend none of it reached him.
But it did.
Because the first time you called him "slave," he hadn’t flinched.
But he hadn’t melted either.
He had looked like someone waiting to be hurt.
Obedient, yes—but not present.
You didn’t want that again.
“I don’t want obedience like that,” you whispered.
His lashes flicked up. His eyes were wet—but not crying.
You kissed the space between his brows. “I want your devotion. Your trust. Not your fear.”
He went still.
“…Then I don’t know how to be yours,” he said softly.
You tilted his chin up.
“That’s okay,” you said. “I’ll teach you.”
𓆩♡𓆪
The collar was black. Supple leather, lined in deep velvet.
Not flashy. Not harsh. Nothing sharp or ornamental.
It wasn’t a trophy.
It was a promise.
You fastened it slowly around Aventurine’s throat, adjusting the buckle until it sat snug against his skin, resting in the hollow between his collarbones. His breathing had grown shallower with every click, every brush of your fingers. But he didn’t pull away.
He didn’t stop you.
And now—now he knelt.
He looked beautiful like that. Not just in the aesthetic sense, though he always had a way of appearing curated, even when undone. No—this was deeper. He looked like something offered.
The room was low-lit. Heavy drapes. No mirrors. No performance.
Just you and him, framed in candlelight and silence.
Your voice was the only thing allowed to break it.
“You’re trembling.”
His eyes flicked up, fast. Shame tightening his jaw before he could stop it.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” you said gently. “And that’s okay.”
He exhaled like the air had been trapped in his chest for years.
You reached out, brushing his hair from his forehead, slow. He didn’t lean into it, but he didn’t pull back. Still learning. Still testing the depth of the space you’d carved open between you.
“I want to hear you say your safeword.”
“…Now?”
“Yes.”
His lips parted, then closed again. A flicker of pride, of resistance. Not defiance—just fear dressed in finery.
You tilted his chin up, thumb dragging along the edge of his jaw.
“Say it for me, Aventurine.”
“…Citrine.”
The word hung in the air. Soft. Almost delicate. Like it didn’t belong in his mouth.
“Good,” you murmured. “That word is power. Not weakness.”
You saw it flash in his eyes. That old wiring. That ache. The way he’d been taught that power only came through performance or control, through being sharper, cleverer, faster.
And now here you were, asking him to surrender.
You reached for his shirt. Silk, crisp, fitted. The kind of thing he wore like a second skin. You undid the buttons slowly, not ripping or demanding, but unwrapping him like something valuable. Something earned.
By the time you slid it off his shoulders, his breath had quickened again.
“Color?” you asked softly.
He blinked. “Huh?”
You smiled. “Give me your color.”
“…Green.”
Safe. Uncertain, but safe.
You trailed your fingers down his chest—bare, smooth, too still.
“I want to see you move when I touch you. Not freeze.”
He swallowed hard.
You leaned in, lips brushing just beneath his ear. “You don’t have to be perfect here. You just have to be mine.”
He shivered.
“…Yes, Master.”
There it was. That subtle quake beneath the surface. Not fear. Relief.
You reached for the tie you’d laid on the bed earlier—rich crimson silk, soft and long. A blindfold, if needed. A restraint, if wanted. But tonight, just a tether. You looped it gently around his wrists behind his back—not tight. Just a suggestion.
“Sit back on your heels.”
He obeyed.
You let the silence stretch, letting him feel the leash of your presence even without a word. Your gaze burned into him—watching the way his chest rose and fell too fast, the way his fingers twitched behind him, even restrained.
Then you spoke. Low. Commanding. Steady.
“Say it.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Say… what?”
“Who you are.”
His throat bobbed.
You took a step forward, letting your fingers trail beneath the collar at his throat.
“Say it, Aventurine. Who do you belong to?”
“…You.”
“That’s not enough.”
He shuddered.
“I belong to you,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m your slave.”
The words cracked on the edge of something old—something raw.
And you knew. That this wasn’t the first time he’d said it. But it was the first time he wasn’t punished for saying it wrong. The first time he wasn’t being used like a toy to be broken and left behind.
This was the first time he said it and wasn’t afraid.
You stepped around him slowly, trailing your hand across his bare shoulder as you did.
“You’re mine,” you said, voice smooth as heat. “Because you asked to be. Because I said yes. And now… I’m going to show you what that means.”
You stopped behind him, let your hand drop lower, brushing the curve of his spine.
“You’re going to listen.”
Your hand slid lower—over the waistband of his slacks, down to his thigh.
“You’re going to obey.”
You knelt beside him now, brushing your lips over his temple.
“And if I touch you and you shake, I’ll hold you.”
He let out a small sound—too raw to name. You felt his breath stutter. His entire body leaned just slightly into yours. Like the tension in his shoulders had finally started to give.
“Color?” you asked, voice warm.
“…Green,” he whispered.
You smiled.
“Good slave.”
His eyes fluttered shut. His lips parted. And for the first time since you’d collared him, Aventurine didn’t look composed.
He looked free.
𓆩♡𓆪
You guided him onto the bed slowly. Not forced. Not posed. You didn’t bend him—you invited him. And he followed.
The sheets were dark—deep maroon silk, soft enough to slide against bare skin without a sound. The collar caught the light in a subtle gleam as Aventurine lowered himself down, legs folded beneath him, arms still behind his back. You sat in front of him, letting the room fall to quiet.
He was breathing a little too fast again.
You reached out, cupping his jaw in one hand. His lashes fluttered.
“Color?”
“…Green,” he whispered.
Your thumb stroked his cheek. “You’re doing beautifully, treasure.”
His breath hitched again, this time from something that almost sounded like relief.
You leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Just once. And when you pulled away, you saw the dazed flicker in his eyes.
You didn’t ask for more yet. You just started touching him—slow strokes of your fingers over his chest, his arms, his thighs. Mapping. Worshipping. Letting him feel like something sacred.
“You’ve been holding yourself together for so long,” you murmured, tracing the hollow of his hipbone. “You don’t have to anymore.”
Aventurine’s body twitched under your touch, heat flashing across his face. He was already hard—aching against the front of his slacks, pulse pounding through him in quiet, desperate waves.
You kissed his collarbone, then lower. “I want to see what you look like when you come apart.”
He made a noise—small, breathy.
“I want to see how messy I can make you.”
Another whimper. This one sharper.
You undid the button on his slacks. Pulled the zipper down with slow, steady fingers.
"You’ve kept yourself so clean," you said. "So controlled."
You slid his pants down, along with his briefs. His cock sprang free, flushed red, already leaking.
"But this isn’t clean," you whispered, wrapping your hand around the base. “This is filthy. Needy. And it belongs to me.”
He shivered violently. You felt his knees twitch beneath him.
“You’re mine, Aventurine.”
He nodded. “Y-Yes, Master.”
You pumped him slowly—light pressure, thumb teasing over the slit. You kissed down his thigh as you worked, feeling the tension begin to fracture.
"That’s it," you whispered, lips brushing his inner thigh. “Breathe for me, pretty boy.”
He did. He tried. He was panting now, head tilted back, fingers clenched behind him like he didn’t know where else to hold the sensation.
“Such a good thing,” you crooned. “So obedient. So sweet. So ready to break.”
Your tongue flicked over the tip. He jerked—gasped.
"Color?" you murmured against him.
“…Green,” he rasped. “F-fuck—green—”
You hummed in approval, then dragged your tongue up his shaft, slow, tasting every drop he’d spilled.
"Look at you," you whispered, mouth just above his cock. "So wet already. You’d let me ruin you with just my tongue, wouldn’t you?"
He moaned—loud.
So you took him in. Not all the way. Just the head. Just enough to pull a shudder from his hips before you pulled off again.
“Not yet,” you murmured, hand stroking him again, firmer. “You don’t get to cum until you beg.”
You leaned up, lips brushing his ear.
“And not like a businessman,” you whispered. “Not like a negotiator. Like a whimpering little thing.”
His cock twitched in your fist.
"Say it."
“I—”
"Say what you are.”
“…Your p-pet,” he gasped.
You squeezed.
"Not good enough."
“I’m your—your toy—your slut—”
"Good," you growled. "Getting closer."
You tugged his head back by the collar, made him look at you.
"You’re mine, aren’t you?"
“Yes—yes, I’m yours—please, Master—please let me cum—"
And then he choked on a sound. His whole body jerked.
And the word fell from his lips:
“Yellow.”
You froze.
Not in fear. Not in failure.
In readiness.
Your hand left his cock instantly. You released the collar. Your voice softened.
“Hey.” You cupped his cheek. “You did perfect. You’re safe.”
His breathing was erratic. His eyes were glossy. But he wasn’t panicked. Not quite. Just too much. Overwhelmed. Drenched in sensations he’d never let himself feel before.
“I didn’t want to stop,” he said, voice breaking. “It just—just hit too fast—”
You nodded. Kissed his temple. Held his jaw steady.
“You did everything right,” you whispered. “I’m proud of you.”
He shivered. A small sound leaked from his throat—frustration. Shame. Something old.
You held him.
“You said yellow,” you murmured. “Not red. That means we slow down. We breathe. We check in.”
You reached for the silk tie around his wrists, undoing it gently.
He was trembling now.
And when he whispered, “I’m sorry,” you cut him off immediately.
“Don’t apologize,” you said. “Not for taking care of yourself. Not with me.”
He went quiet. Eyes searching yours.
“…So we can still—?”
You smiled.
“We’re going to continue. If you want to. And this time?”
You leaned in, kissed him slow, deep, open-mouthed.
“I want you to give me your surrender.”
𓆩♡𓆪
He was still shaking when you brought him back to the bed.
Not from fear. Not from regret.
From how much it was.
He let you hold him without asking. Let you kiss the top of his head, run your fingers down the back of his neck, cradle him in your lap like something precious. And when your hand slid to his thigh again—he opened his legs without hesitation.
“I want you inside me,” he whispered. “Please.”
Your fingers traced the line of his inner thigh, featherlight. “You sure?”
His breath caught.
Then, “Yes, Master.”
You smiled, leaned in, and kissed the side of his mouth. “Then I’ll give you what no one else ever did.”
He blinked, eyes fluttering.
“What’s that?”
You kissed his throat, tongue dragging over the edge of the collar.
“Time.”
You laid him out like he was something sacred—chest to the sheets, legs parted, cheek resting against a silk pillow. He looked wrecked already. Hair wild, skin flushed, cock twitching against his stomach. He still had the collar on.
Your hand ran down his back slowly, fingers trailing the curve of his spine. You watched his hips twitch in anticipation.
And then you whispered, “I’m going to stretch you open now.”
Aventurine shuddered.
“Not like them,” you added, voice low and warm. “Not fast. Not hard. Not careless.”
You pressed a kiss to the small of his back.
“Like this.”
Your hand slid between his legs, parting them more. You took your time with the lube—warm, slick, worked between your fingers before you ever touched his hole. You let your thumb rest against the rim, not pushing, just being there.
“Breathe for me,” you whispered. “Color?”
“Green,” he rasped. “Fuck, I’m green—just—please.”
You slid one finger in. Slowly. No resistance. Just heat. Just a shaky, desperate moan beneath you.
“That’s it,” you murmured. “That’s my good boy.”
He gasped into the pillow, his whole body tensing—then softening.
"You're so tight," you praised. "So soft inside. You were made for this."
You curled your finger, watching the way he arched, hips twitching.
“M-Master—”
You hummed, kissing the dip of his back.
“I know. It’s good now, isn’t it?”
He nodded, whimpering.
You took your time. You didn’t rush the second finger. You didn’t stretch him to watch him squirm—you stretched him because you wanted him to be ready. You wanted to give his body the chance to welcome you.
Not endure you.
Aventurine was panting now. His cock leaked freely onto the sheets. Every twist of your fingers sent a sob through him.
“You’re doing so well,” you whispered. “Letting me open you. Letting me feel how warm you are inside. This hole is mine now, isn’t it?”
He moaned—wrecked, high, humiliated.
“Yes, Master—it’s yours—just yours—”
You slipped in a third finger, carefully, watching his back arch as he cried out.
But he didn’t say yellow.
He didn’t say stop.
He pushed back.
You grinned.
“Oh, you’re greedy now,” you murmured against his ear, one hand reaching around to grip his leaking cock. “You want it all, don’t you?”
He whimpered. Nodded. Twitched in your hand.
"Say it."
“P-please,” he sobbed. “Please fill me—break me—fuck me full—I want to be yours inside—please, I need your cock—”
You laughed—low, hot, proud.
“Oh, my sweet little slut.”
He gasped—choked on it.
You leaned down, kissed the back of his neck. Then whispered, “You like being called that now, don’t you?”
“…Y-yes—”
“You like being my toy. My slave. My obedient little hole.”
His whole body seized.
“F-fuck—!”
You pulled your fingers out—slow, careful, teasing.
He sobbed at the loss.
You lined yourself up, pressed the tip against his stretched, slick entrance.
He pushed back instantly.
"Greedy thing," you growled. "Beg for it."
“Please, Master—please—fuck me—ruin me—make me your cumdump—please—”
And you gave him exactly what he asked for.
You sank in.
All the way.
Slow. Measured. No brutality. No rush. You slid into him inch by inch, letting him feel it, letting him open around it, letting the stretch burn sweet and thick as your cock filled his aching hole.
Aventurine gasped—his voice a cracked moan as his body trembled beneath yours.
“Oh, f-fuck—” he choked out, knuckles white as they dug into the sheets.
You leaned down, one arm braced beside his head, the other gripping his hip tight, keeping him spread open as your cock bottomed out, balls resting snug against his skin.
“There it is,” you whispered into his ear. “Feel that? That’s me, inside you.”
He whimpered. You felt the clench around you—tight, slick, hungry.
“This is what you needed all along. Not a man who takes. A man who fucks you like he owns every inch.”
You pulled back—slowly—and thrust in again, long and deep, your cock dragging against the sweet spot that made his legs shake.
He moaned—loud, broken. His cock throbbed untouched against the sheets.
You kept the rhythm slow, heavy, grinding deep with every thrust, pushing the sound out of him with every roll of your hips.
“Y-you’re so deep,” he gasped. “I—I can feel you in my stomach—Master—please—”
You kissed his neck, teeth grazing the collar. “You’re taking it so well. My pretty little whore.”
He shuddered. “Yes—yes—call me that again—”
You thrust deep—he jerked, crying out.
“Say it.”
“I’m your whore,” he whimpered. “I’m your obedient whore—use me—please—just—”
He clenched around you, hole fluttering, walls pulsing like he was already about to cum.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back.
“Don’t cum,” you growled into his ear. “Not until you break for me.”
Aventurine whined, a high, needy sound, mouth open, drool slipping down his chin as you kept fucking into him—slow, deep, deliberate.
“Faster,” he sobbed. “P-please—Master—please fuck me harder—need it—need you to ruin me—”
You slammed in hard. He screamed.
“Oh, that’s it,” you growled. “You like it now, don’t you? You like being fucked stupid.”
“Y-yes—yes, I do—please—don’t stop—”
You pulled the leash tighter, using it to anchor him as you began thrusting fast, hard, pounding into his slick hole until the slap of skin-on-skin echoed with every deep, bruising thrust.
“You gonna cum like this?” you hissed. “Face in the sheets, used, leaking, begging?”
“Yes—yes—I’m your cumslut—I’m yours—only yours—”
His words collapsed into gasping cries, voice breaking every time your cock slammed into that same aching spot deep inside.
You reached under him, fisted his cock—already wet, throbbing, twitching.
“You want to cum, slut?”
He nodded frantically, tears slipping down his cheeks.
“Then fucking ask.”
“Please—Master—please let me cum—let me make a mess for you—please—”
You grinned.
“Cum for me, slave.”
He screamed.
His body seized, hole clenching so tight around your cock it almost pushed you over the edge. His cum splattered across the sheets in thick, hot streaks, and he collapsed beneath you—shaking, moaning, drooling, trembling with every aftershock as you kept fucking him through it.
He was babbling now. You didn’t need to understand. It was all yours.
You growled low, thrusting one last time and spilling inside him, hot and thick, grinding deep as you filled him to the brim. He sobbed into the sheets—completely broken open, your cum leaking from his fluttering hole as he whispered, “Thank you, Master,” again and again.
You kissed his shoulder.
“You did so well for me,” you murmured. “So good. So obedient. So mine.”
He made a small sound—something close to a sob—but there was no fear in it.
Only peace.
𓆩♡𓆪
You didn’t let go of him.
Not once.
Not when he came undone under you, not when his body collapsed into aftershocks, not when his sobs started—quiet and broken, into the silk sheets.
You stayed inside him, shallow and warm, one hand on his waist, the other splayed across his chest. His breath came in shivers. His body twitched with every small pulse of aftershock, still spread open, still marked by you.
And still, he whispered, “Thank you, Master.”
Over and over again.
Like a prayer. Like a child afraid of silence.
You kissed the back of his neck. Gently. “You don’t have to thank me for not hurting you.”
His fingers curled in the sheets. He didn’t answer right away.
You pulled out slowly. Your cum dripped down the inside of his thighs, hot and wet, and he didn’t move. He just exhaled—long, cracked, like the last of his performance was melting out of him.
You left only briefly. Warm towel. Cloth. Water. When you returned, he hadn’t shifted.
He was still kneeling.
Silent.
Shaking.
You moved behind him and eased him into your lap. Chest to back. He folded like he’d been waiting to. You wrapped your arms around him and held him there—wet, ruined, open—and he let you.
You cleaned him gently. Slow, soft, reverent. Not possessive now. Not hungry. Just present.
“I want to hear your color,” you whispered.
“…Green,” he breathed. “Just… slow.”
“Slow is good.”
Another breath. Then, quieter: “I don’t want to go back to my room.”
“You won’t.”
You tightened the towel around him, pressing your palm over his heart. The leather collar was still warm under your fingers.
“Does this still feel good?” you asked, thumb brushing it.
“…Yes.”
“Does it still feel like a leash?”
“No.”
“Good.”
You tilted his face toward you. His eyes were red, wet, shining.
He swallowed.
“I kept waiting for it.”
You blinked. “For what?”
“For the part where you stopped asking,” he said. “Where you just… took.”
Your breath stilled.
He looked down, shame creeping like old blood into his voice. “They didn’t ask. Not after I was sold. The first ones just—”
You adjusted your hold—firmer now. Grounded.
“I know.”
“There was a man who called me by my serial number,” he said. “Said names were for people.”
You didn’t speak. You held him tighter.
“I used to think… if I offered it first, let people use me, I was in control. If I moaned loud enough or spread my legs fast enough, maybe they’d forget I didn’t want it.”
His voice cracked. His jaw clenched.
“But none of them ever stopped.”
You found his hand. Laced your fingers through his.
“…And you did.”
You didn’t say of course.
You didn’t say I’m not like them.
You said: “You said yellow. So I slowed.”
And something inside him shattered.
He didn’t break pretty. He broke real. Face crumpling, shoulders shaking, tears falling hard against your skin as he buried his face in your chest and wept.
Not from shame.
From being seen.
You rocked him gently. Back and forth. Holding him through every sob, every tremor, every time he tried to apologize only to collapse again.
“I didn’t think I could ever be like this again,” he whispered.
“Like what?”
“Soft.”
You closed your eyes. Kissed his hair.
“You’re not soft. You’re just safe.”
His breath hitched.
“I don’t remember the last time I felt wanted,” he said, voice thin, “without needing to win something first.”
“You didn’t win me,” you murmured. “You let me hold you.”
His lashes fluttered. His voice dropped to a whisper:
“…Was I good?”
You cupped his cheek, thumb wiping a tear from his flushed skin.
“You were perfect.”
He laughed. It broke halfway. “I look pathetic right now.”
“No,” you said, smiling. “You look mine.”
He flinched—just slightly—but he didn’t deny it.
You kissed his nose. Brushed his damp hair back.
“Can I ask you something?”
“…Anything.”
“What do you want me to call you now?”
You didn’t rush it.
“You can keep Aventurine. Or Slave. Or…” You paused. “Kakavasha.”
He blinked.
His breath caught in his chest.
“I haven’t heard that name in so long,” he whispered. “It feels like it belongs to someone else.”
You nodded. “It does.”
He looked at you, startled.
You smiled.
“But maybe… that someone still lives here.” You placed your hand gently over his heart.
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
His throat worked. His lashes fluttered.
Kinda spoilers for nezha 2 but gawdamn was Ao Bing's dad hot as fuck as a human.
When (or if) I'm finished with my Mydei post, I'm fucking writing about Ao Guang (probably, who tf knows what my brain does) because this son of a gun can't pass up on a hot dilf.
But fr tho the movie was fantastic, Nezha is such a funny little prick and Ao Bing is just the cutest.
Raw raw raw, or whatever lady gaga said.
LOOK AT HIMMMMMMMMMM
Also, can't believe I'm actually reading fics in my mother's tongue on ao3, but at this point I'm desperate for content and the CN writers are just *mwah* chefs kisses, Michelin star level stuff.
Spoiler for HSR 3.1 update, specifically about Mydei.
Mydei becoming the Achilles of HSR is just ajsjdhdhdh it's so peak actually omg. The mythology nerd in me is screaming, I've read through the Iliad and Odyssey (twice for the Odyssey), this makes me feel so giddy, it's like an early birthday present.
The tenth thoracic Vertebrae is at the centre of his back btw. Like, almost directly in the middle of his back. The angst is gonna go so hard for this.
God being a nerd actually comes in handy for once, damn.
IPC superior/richer Male reader X sub! Lyndon Skott (HSR) smut because my type in men are pathetic idiots for some reason.
NSFW under the cut, no extra tags, enjoy
It's a bit pitiful, the man that's currently fucking himself on your dick would never have though he'd be moaning like a bitch in heat whilst in his superior's office.
Lyndon Skott met you in Aurum Alley of all places, when you spoke (more like scolded) him for ruining the IPC's public image with his stupid stunt. You might have been a little too mean with your comments, since he did start crying a little, so you took it into your own hands to buy him a drink or two...
Now flash forward a few months, you think you might've accidentally acquired a very bratty, very noisy little sugar baby. One that seems desperate to get a good fuck, but has so big of an ego he refuses to let you do the fucking unless you bend him in half.
He always tries to ride your dick, but he always ends up with his knees weak, his hole aching from his own slow and inexperienced pacing. He tries to lift his pretty little hips up but ends up losing strength in his legs, letting your dick fill his tight hole as he falls onto it.
You don't really mind this slow pacing of him fucking himself on your dick and failing most of the time, his whines and pretty moans makes up for the pacing. Plus, you do get to tease the man, stroking his dick while matching the pace where he fucks himself into you, overstimulating him and watching his pretty little dick twitch as you mark up his shoulder and neck, watching him cum from you hands as you suddenly speed up when he was trying to catch his breath...
When he finally gets tired of riding you, you get to pound him hard into the sheets. Putting his legs onto your shoulder and letting your dick press against his prostate, make him moan like a bitch, or if you're feeling mean you can ask him bark. He cries and whines about how you're so mean, letting him suffer a while ago and fucking him so hard when he's so tired, he's absolutely spent, he can't cum again, he really can't!
You make him cum so much he dry cums as you finally fill him up, the white substance already piled up on his stomach as he came multiple times when you had him in the breeding position, his dick twitching and he squirms as much as he can under you but he's so drained he can't even cum properly. Maybe if you're feeling particularly horny, he might suck you off while you press your feet against his limp dick, overwhelming his senses while he chokes on your cock, he's so fucked out of his mind he lets you rough him up however you like.
Of course, you have to treat him to a long, nice bath with expensive candles burning to get rid of the smell of sex. And of course you have to treat him to good food, you did fuck the brains out of the man. And yes, you do take him shopping, he wants new sunglasses. He's your bratty little sugar baby now, treat him well and maybe he'll let you fuck him against the mirror. Maybe.
Anyone interested in mirror fucking? Idk, maybe I'll continue this when I'm stressed out and need a punching bag. I love whiny men.
Self indulgent, Pre-release Mr Reca thoughts (and hopefully prayers for me, because this man makes me salivate.)
Nsfw don't like don't read
This is filthy as hell.
Pet play, dacryphilia, and probably a few more I hadn't think of yet, this is a wild ride
I wanna make this man whimper so hard you have no fucking idea, this man makes me feral. I want to see him on the floor like a dog for me just augghhhhhhhhhh
Anyways.
Mr Reca with pet play. You saw the trailer, you will see the vision. Crazy director man who probably has a thing for controlling things because of his personality (maybe) or profession? Sign me the fuck up. I want to see this twink with a collar and leash. I want to fuck him hard and make him whimper and call him a pathetic little puppy. I want to make him wear a tail plug.
Or, alternatively, make him hump my shoe while he wears some fluffy dog ears. I see him as a dog boy, I have no idea why, but he gives possessive dog boy vibes. Bear with me here. Make him a custom collar or thigh straps with your name on it. I mean he already has them in his daily outfit, it would just make sense y'know?
Mr Reca with dacryphilia because I like my men crying and in pain. That thing about men whimpering and whining being hot is my whole personality when I'm reading fics, that is my vanilla, let's go. I want to see this pretty man crying while I suck him dry, I want to kiss his tears away while I prevent him from coming over and over. And by gods above I want to see this man full on bawling after all the overstim. Kiss away the tears because I'm soft like that.
Mr Reca but we tie him up with his straps. Why does one man need that many straps anyways? Or hell, his jacket thing works too, that shit def looks hot if he wore it without a shirt underneath like the back is 80% open, it covers nothing but it's giving everything fr. Y'all think we can hang him up with just his straps? Fuck him hard while he's up?
Mr Reca but we def filming, I shit you not that is the thing that started this post. Use his phone, your phone, do it on a private Livestream for yourself, use his freaking cameras, do it on set let's goooooooooo. I wanna watch him write his scripts as we fuck, let him sit on your dick if you can, if not cockwarm him instead. We winning no matter what. Make that man struggle and whimper, we ✨love✨ whimpering men in this house. If he feels generous maybe he'll let us wrap him up with his film tape of him being fucked and takes pictures with it. He probably won't though, but he'll probably keep them~♡ I wanna see him drool on camera so I can zoom in on his face and take pictures of it.
Mr Reca and a breeding kink???? A height difference and size kink??? I can see this going both ways. I feel like it's less breeding kink, and more he likes the feeling of cum. How to explain this? No clue. But I just think he would. Let him suck you off or eat you out, get his face wet~
For the size/height kink I think it goes both ways. I think he doesn't really care if you're smaller than him or bigger than him, he just likes it y'know? Maybe you're smaller than him but you can fuck his brains out. Maybe you're tall enough you can lift him up and fuck him against the wall without his feet touching the floor. ✨Just difference in general✨ baby. Bonus points too if you're big, I feel like he'll enjoy getting squished. Doesn't matter if you're masc or femme leaning and/or presenting, he likes getting squished.
And I hadn't really started on the real size kink idea yet, damn. Okay, size kink when he sees his stomach having a bulge as you fuck him. We love a skinny twink. I think he would see it and his mind would just go blank, like, "what the fuck, you're that big" kinda thing. Strap on or not, I think the surprise factor of seeing it is something he likes.
Mr Reca with mirrors. Listen. Trust me. Mirrors. I just love watching this unhinged man get his mind fogged by pleasure. This is a thing I love. I wanna see his face and watch him cry and watch him struggle. We've seen how deranged this man is in the trailer, now let's fuck him up literally so we can see his face more. Do it against those big, wall length mirrors you see in dancing studios if he's working on a musical or something. Do it in one of his trailers while he's out filming on set, bonus if it's not even room and we just press him against a random ahh mirror in a random trailer for costume and makeup.
I blame the unhinged energy today on my exams.
Hope you enjoyed? Well, technically I wrote this for myself but, sure. Posting this for funsies.
I am in so much pain rn, my stomach hurts, my head hurts, and my throat is dry, but here we are.
In the spirit of kinktober, my absolute exhaustion and my want for more subby nerds, I present to you... This monstrosity
Younger!Boss Male reader X older!Nerd Colleague.
NSFW work, don't like don't read 👍
Light dacryphilia, Semi public (? Idk they bang after hours), overstim, getting caught 👀
Nerd Colleague who likes to play games, his office cubicle is literally decorated with mini figurines of his favorite characters, he would play online multiplayer games with the younger employees, he would teach them tricks and all the hidden things to find.
Nerd Colleague who's older than you by a few years, but you're his boss because you founded this company yourself. He talks to you like you're just a teen, but treats you with respect as well. It's kinda funny to see him fumble a little when you walk up to him looking serious as hell, but start asking him about games.
Nerd Colleague, who helps the new employees whenever they have a problem. You see him patting some guys back and feeling a little bit jealous, you would walk up to them and start a conversation. You're basically scaring the new employee away, but hey, at least your favourite man in the office is talking to you about a new update he's excited about.
Nerd Colleague, who gets confused why the younger employees are calling him the "office mom" and you the office dad. You also notice someone is shipping you two, you have your own little office Fandom. You tell your colleague not to care too much, just kids being kids.
"you're calling us kids when you're barely five years older than us?"
"then stop calling me dad"
"hell no, I'm not living in a divorced household. Stay with mom"
Nerd Colleague, who fell asleep at his desk one day, and ended up being the only one left... Except you were also there. Just, kinda watching him?
Nerd Colleague chuckles at you, gesturing for you to come over so he could give you a little kiss on the forehead.
I mean, just sayin, the new employees might call the two of you their parents, but the fact they didn't manage to figure out you two are actually dating was funny to the both of you.
Nerd Colleague who is also freaky. You both are, you match each other's freak really well. He wore a tie to work today for the fact he wants you to use it on him. In the office.
Nerd Colleague, who is a brat. Brattiest brat you have ever met. Constantly complaining about how he has more stamina then you dispute being older.
You prove him wrong later, after making him cum on himself so much his mind goes mush. You barely even needed to do anything with his cock and he's already leaking. You don't even need to get his pants off to feel it getting a bit wet ♡
Nerd Colleague gets tied up with his own tie but not in the way he expected. It's around his tip so he wouldn't get to come that easily, while your own tie was the one around his wrists.
Nerd Colleague who instantly stops being a massive brat, begging so nicely for you to release the tie on his dick.
Nerd Colleague who starts crying asking you to take off the damn tie. You don't, but you do give him little kisses to clear those tears away. He whimpers and complains about the "harsh" treatment you're giving him.
Nerd Colleague who finally gets to cum. And then you pick up the pace again, without giving him time to recover. He cries even more now, calling you unfair, you don't even bother, you're content on watching his tears fall down his pretty face as his eyes roll back from the pleasure.
Nerd Colleague who limps to your car. Complaining all the way there because you fucked him too hard. it's fine though, he did say he would get his revenge back home. You hope that revenge is as fun as what just occurred in the office.
...
"... I hate my job."
"Not my damn fault you forgot your phone, dumbass. At least we do know they're definitely mom and dad now."
"it's giving 'self fulfilling prophecy vibes', y'know? Calling them our parents and they end up banging?"
Vinny's extra notes :
Ngl I don't have anything planned for kinktober, this one is very light in terms of content. Might do a MHA fic, something like Shigaraki X reader or Dabi x reader if I feel like it. Should I do monster fucking? I feel like I should. Or something with sub Mr Reca when he comes out (my unfinished symphony ahh looking man). I love myself some mentally unhealthy men.
