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bunnypansy · 6 months

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Unbalanced Diet

Rated NC-17, read at your own RISK!

This is a dark fic, read ALL of the warnings before you consume. If anything mentioned in the warnings makes you uncomfortable, TURN AWAY. As a creator, I do not condone the things I write about, though that should be obvious enough.

That being said, welcome dear viewers, to our special Halloween showing! You and Rook are celebrating your one year anniversary together with a delicious dinner and a bit of intimacy afterward. Though this film contains romantic elements, make no mistake, this is a horror movie, intended to disturb and discomfort the audience. Featuring: Rook Hunt, and you, dear viewer, with minor cameos from from guest stars Vil Shoenheit and Neige Leblanche Beware! This film contains: Dead dove do not eat, non-con/dubious consent, non-consensual touching, kidnapping, unwilling cannibalism, sexual reactions to cannibalism, drinking blood, blood/injury, implied murder/torture, implied ptsd/flashbacks, controlling/toxic relationship, starvation as manipulation, physical/mental abuse, dissociation, Rook being generally fucking terrifying, implied existence of ghosts??? sexual biting, nipple play, light infantilization, sadism, blood kink, dacryphilia, blood as lube, teasing, oral (reader receiving), cis!male!reader, the french language, dog/master metaphors

“I love you.” You know. It sits on your tongue like a stone in your mouth.

He says it everyday, his devotion total, complete, unwavering; it should be admirable. At first, you tried to count how many times he said it, tally marks carved in the grooves on your brain- you lost track four days in.

Warm hands creep under the hem of your silken robe, roughed palms smoothing over your cold shoulders, a honeyed voice whispering in your ear. “I love you more than anything, mon amour.”

The silence of anticipation is loud, but you stay quiet, even as Rook’s warm hands wander their way down your chest and the white silk falls away, feeling more like a wildfire on your skin. Bare legs and arms are laid open the frigid air of the dining room and you sink back against the fine oaken dinner chair, as if trying to steal Rook’s heat through the seat back.

His hot fingers pause over your stiffened nipples, still tender and aching. “It’s our anniversary today, darling.”

“It-” There’s a little flick over the swollen nub as you try to answer, Rook just wants to hear you stumble for him, watch you squirm. “It is?”

“Oui, c'est le cas.” Idly, thumbs brush back and forth over your sensitive nipples, slow and patient. “Every moment of this year with you has been utter bliss, mon amour, beyond ecstasy.”

“For this momentous occasion,” Rook’s lips press against your temple, the crest of your ear, your jaw, “I believe a special meal is an order, non?” Then finally land on the column of your throat.

The points of his teeth nip at your thin skin, a soft pinch, soothed with the flick of his tongue. A kiss from any other man would be so sweet. You shiver under his touch, from the crisp air or the terror you can’t decide. When you swallow back a distressed noise Rook can feel your throat bob under his tongue, teeth scraping against your Adam's apple, eager for a bite. You wonder how exactly he wants you.

All at once the heat of his breath disappeared from your skin and Rook’s weathered hands returned to your shoulders, pulling up your silken robe to once more cover your skin. “I’ll get started on dinner then, don’t go anywhere mon chéri!” He laughs, and it’s not funny.

You listen, listless, as heavy work boots stalk away from you; the steps are slow and deliberate, as if he wants you to hear exactly where he's going. Five long strides behind you, then three more to the left and… he's passed the kitchen. There’s a sort of rhythmic pounding in your skull, it might be your pulse, but your brain had it confused for the beat of Rook’s boots against the hardwood as he stalks down the hall. The footsteps fade but the throbbing in your head stays, freshly renewed as a weighty metallic click meets your ears, and paired with a profound tightness in your chest when you realize Rook has opened the door to the basement. Beyond that, he’s left the door open, which he’s done before- how many times you’re not sure.

All at once you’re pulled to the mouth of the basement again. Now is your chance, maybe your only chance, since Rook wasn’t home. Your sheer silken socks did little to protect the soft soles of your feet from the splintered wood on the first step. How odd, the rest of the house is in mint condition, but this corridor is left in disrepair. As you felt along the wall for a light switch, you came to the realization that perhaps the basement hall had never been in repair; your groping did not reveal a lightswitch, rather that the walls were unfinished. Fingers grazed the flesh and bones of the house, a wooden skeleton filled with soft insulation in its gaps. The foundation groaned, perhaps a reaction to touching the open cavity in the wall, perhaps a warning to turn away. You felt around a moment longer but there was no light switch to be found. You’d continue in the dark.

At your back, the creaking of the steps and rattle of chains followed close on your heels, you were terribly aware that if you needed to run, you’d be doomed. The length of chain was too short for a full stride. It rubbed, cold and insistent over your ankles, a reminder. In front of you, only blackness, a warning.

The entire world seemed to disappear behind you as you delved deeper into the intestines of the house, and the farther you went, the more alive it felt- and God did you go far. The basement stairwell seemed to stretch on into the abyss ad infinitum, it gave you plenty of time to reconsider your choice, especially when the air began to change around you. Where the house above retained a cold, sterile feeling, the narrow passage of the stairwell grew warm and humid the further you pushed on. Soon enough it took on a putrid stench, growing in strength with every step; by the time you reached the foot of the stairs it was so potent you had to suppress the urge to gag. Rancid eggs or animal feces or something of the like: you could name a thousand things as olid and never once touch the intensity with which the basement reeked that night. While you couldn’t logically place the smell, a deep instinctual part of your brain put a name to the stench as easily as you took a breath. Something had died here.

A wave of nausea rocked over you so violently that you blindly grabbed for the wall to steady yourself, surprised when you found a thin metal chain in your grasp. Before you could properly debate with yourself, something cool brushed across the back of your neck; too light to be a sigh, yet too undefined to be a gust of wind- how would the bowels of the house even get fresh air? It felt more like someone letting go of something they had held onto for a long time, a final exhale. Or maybe it was nothing, you’re not sure you want to know.

“...Hello?” Your voice sounded miniscule in the face of the unending blackness.

Anxiously, you waited for a reply- rather a lack thereof. Your ears caught the sound of buzzing insects, you became aware of the flitting gnats and flies as they zipped past your face, the lack of ventilation, the-

“Turn on the light.” Rook was not home.

You kept taking in breaths to scream, but the noise remained stuck in your throat, only making awkward, fish-like gasps that left you lightheaded. The dark, the bugs, the smell, it was messing with you. There was nothing down there. There was no one down there. There couldn’t be. To die in that basement, surrounded by the rancid air, losing count of the days- could there be a more horrible fate? Would it be worse to live here, or die here; you’re no longer sure.

Thin, cold hands slithered over your shoulders- Rook wasn’t supposed to be home -slid over the expanse of your collarbone, traveled further up your throat and tilted your head back. Stretching, straining, the tendons in your neck began to ache, but you leaned as far as he made you, until you were eye-to-eye.

“Why don’t we go upstairs?”

You wake up in cold sweat, tell tale heart hammering against the bars of your ribcage, traitorous to the calm you’d sworn yourself to keep. The gleam of the dining room table, the stiffness of your chair, the incessant pain in your tendons- it all comes bleeding back in. Time is slippery, you could’ve been dozing for an hour or a week and you wouldn’t know the difference. The tantalizing scent of steak grounds you, the sizzling of the pan in the kitchen, Rook humming a tune you’ve grown familiar with. That memory was weeks ago- or days, perhaps.

It’s a sliver of comfort, your lighthouse on the wild waters of your relationship, these small domestic moments. As time goes on, the fragrance grows stronger, creating a mouthwatering aroma that reminds you of the emptiness in your stomach. You suck in a deep breath, eager to somehow satiate your hunger; the scent of steak hits your palate, followed by the hypnotic perfume of rosemary mingling with red wine and butter. It's thick, intoxicating, the delirium is enough to make you forget your nausea. By the time Rook deposits a plate in front of you, the basement is as far from your mind as it could be.

His plates are simple milk porcelain with a gold lined rim, because that's how Rook likes things; simple, expensive, delicate. The meat in the middle appears like an open wound on the pristine plate; a ruddy gash in the porcelain, delicately seared and glistening with a bloody sauce. Beyond that, the food smells divine, every ounce as decadent as it looks. Instinctually, your forefinger attempts to uncurl and reach for the golden silverware on either side of the plate, only to stop short with an agonized whine.

"Oh ma chéri," a chiding sigh brushes across your cheek, you just can't help but flinch away. Rook has taken a seat beside you, despite the opposite side of the table being perfectly clear. He's close enough that your shoulders brush. "You simply must quit irritating those, or they'll never heal."

As if it wasn't him who severed your tendons. His thin fingers grab for your wrist, turning it over to inspect the gauze, now freshly dampened with your blood. A sick flush overcomes Rook's face at the sight, stark crimson on clean white- you can tell he's suppressing a smile. Your stomach turns.

"Oh, la vache…" the gentle caress of his thumb against your knuckles brings forth the urge to rip your hand away, you force yourself to deny it. "How dreadful. I suppose I'll have to patch you up after dinner, ce n’est pas la mer à boire."

You asked him what that meant once; ‘it’s not the sea to drink’, or something like it. A bland encouragement to stay collected, despite the torture he’s made you endure, but it works. Maybe the phrase is effective, or maybe you have no choice but to make it so; Rook stands at the lip of a cavern, the lightest brush either way and he’ll send you both careening into the dark. It’s become your career to stand so perfectly still, even as he waltzes on the knife’s edge, desperate to make you follow in his depraved steps like his lovers before.

The screech of wooden chair legs against the floor makes you flinch away, though you’re well aware Rook has become your master and you, his dog. You will only ever walk as far as he allows- recently, he’s decided to keep you kenneled. Your achilles tendon aches as he lifts you from the dining chair like a bride, a belonging, then takes your place in the seat- you find your place on his lap.

For a few heartbeats, you’re lost in the romance of Rook taking the serrated knife to your portion of steak; his arms warm around your shoulders, deft hands cutting away a bite-sized chunk for you to eat. You feel honored that he cares enough to feed you.

“Say, ‘ah’.” There’s a sort of genuine delight in his voice that still feels belittling when he raises the fork to your lips, but your stomach comes before your dignity, and you let Rook put the bite of steak in your mouth.

The flavor melts on your tongue, savory, acidic, rich, everything you’d hoped for- but you’re a few chews deep when you realize something amiss. This does not taste like steak. In every aspect it appears as such; the darkened, almost leathery brown of the exterior, the scent, but its flavor more closely resembles pork. You chew a few more times and swallow, and make the terrible mistake of turning to look at Rook.

“What is-” The words shrivel up and die on your tongue, silenced completely by the bloodcurdling expression on Rook’s face.

There’s a wild, thrilled look in his arsenic-green eyes, something bright and excited that makes your heart still. His smooth, pale skin has been set aflame and the ivory points of his teeth threaten to pierce his bottom lip.

Your mind conjures images of the cream cotton bags, once white but stained with overuse and blotted in red, the fabric stretching at irregular angles to contain whatever Rook had stuffed inside. Buck, or doe, or veal- whatever he would promise with glimmering eyes. You imagine silky blond hair and soft brown eyes, perfect skin and straight teeth. You imagine the basement, the voices you might’ve heard, Rook’s past lovers.

There’s a violent turn in your stomach, so strong your eyes water and you instinctively lift your hands to clasp over your mouth, only drawing more blood from your open wounds- but Rook doesn’t scold you this time. No, he only watches in cruel silence as you dry heave in his lap, running his hands up and down your sides as you scream hard enough to make your parched throat sting.

It’s an arduous ten minutes and sobbing and retching before you reach some sort of calm, reduced to miserable hiccups, lamely attempting to dry your eyes. Somehow, you feel immature for being sickened at the prospect of eating human meat.

“How is it?” The question nearly makes you devolve into sobs all over again, because it’s good- perhaps the most heavenly thing you’ve ever eaten.

“It’s…” You can’t make yourself say it. That you crave more, like an addict.

“That good? Mon amour, I’m flattered beyond words.” Strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against Rook’s chest, you fight your every instinct and do not pull away, even when something twitches against your ass. “Here.”

Cold dread sinks into your stomach when he cuts you another piece, holding a slice of human to your lips. You tremble in place for a few breaths, refusing to open your mouth, but your body betrays you, as always, growling like a rabid dog for another taste. He taps the fork against your lips once more, and you concede. Rook cuts you bite after bite, you swallow each and every one, the meat is further salted by your unending tears.

By the time you work your way through the entire plate, Rook’s erection presses hot and heavy against your backside, somehow he’s restrained enough not to hump you like an animal; you realize now what you’ve been starving for. Your stomach aches, heavy and bubbling with turmoil; guilt, disgust, betrayal, but it’s soon overshadowed by a chilling numbness.

When Rook brushes a thumb across your split bottom lip, you scarcely stir, your tongue flicking out to wet your dried skin. The crisp rim of a wine glass clanks lightly against your incisors and your thirst flickers to life. Your gaze slides down to the contents of the bowl, a dark burgundy wine so pitch it nearly reaches a shade of black. Fingertips smooth over your jawline, gently tipping your head back to follow the pitch of the wine glass, letting the maroon liquid slide over your lips. It’s thick, coolly oozing down your throat and leaving the taste of pennies heady on your tongue, though you lack the clarity to care. He forces more and more down your throat, and you willingly guzzle away, content to slake your thirst with blood, no matter whose, as long as the pain of dehydration disappears. Scarlet blood pools at the corners of your mouth carves a path across your skin, first pooling on your chin before drawing a trail over your throat.

When the glass finally empties, you lick your lips and Rook can no longer repress a moan, the nails of his spare hand digging into the softness of your waist so tightly it hurts, sure to leave crescent shaped cuts behind. A trail of open mouthed kisses dances from your shoulder to your cerise stained throat, where Rook takes the liberty of licking what remains of his lost lover from your skin, all the while groaning incoherently- you barely pick up the word ‘obéissant’ amongst his mutterings. A man possessed with his own lust, Rook hastily shoves aside his fine dishware in place of laying you down against the cold wooden dining table- splayed out across the tabletop, haloed by silverware and white plates, now you are the meal.

Your body becomes a canvas, the victim of an artist with red stained hands as he borrows paint from the font in your radial artery, burrowing his smoothed nails into the thin webbing of gauze until your blood squishes around his knuckles and seeps beneath his fingernails. His hips fit perfectly between your legs, the defined points of his bone sliding like blades against the softness of your thighs, sharp and unyielding as you gingerly tuck your legs around him- better to give the wolf a taste now than deny his growling stomach. By God does he savor that ‘taste’. Moans pour from Rook’s lips like life from your veins, oozing around your skin warm, wet and vulnerable, punctuated by his grotesque slurping at your throat. Rook sucks hickies into your neck with such harsh desperation you think he might be trying to draw the blood from your arteries with his lips alone, overlaying plum and claret blotches with the yellowing remains of your last endeavors.

The pale lace and silk Rook has taken the effort to swaddle you in is marred with ruby droplets, round and glittering rhinestones for a moment, before they melded with the smooth fibers of your robe. It would be no effort on Rook’s part to dress you in vibrant shades, something that would hide the rusty stains, but that wouldn’t be half as cathartic. Perhaps more sensual, perhaps more tantalizing; but not nearly as visceral and intimate as peeling open a flower bud, digging his fingers beyond the milky satin petals and revealing the blushing center.

“Oh, mon chéri,” He’s breathless as he gazes down at you, his lips rosy and glistening with a slick mix of blood and spit. “You are beguiling in every element, a blessing upon my unworthy eyes.”

You clench your jaw and avert your gaze.

“I beg of you, s'il te plait mon amour, give me the honor of showing you my passion?” It’s not really a question, Rook’s very presence is so oppressive you’re suffocating in the open air. You feel small beneath him, size notwithstanding.

Truthfully, he does not need your permission either way- it’s a petty ploy to force a word up your throat -his hands would’ve snaked their way beneath your bloomers nonetheless. You’re bare beneath your sleep shorts, as Rook preferred, and with the brush of a warm palm against your soft cock, you’re just as excited as he’d please too.

Experienced fingers gently enclose the head of your cock, rolling your foreskin back to the base, all while Rook keeps his eyes trained on yours, the smallest expression of delight on his face. Though coarse, Rook’s hand felt heavenly wrapped around your dick, the grip delicate and pace agonizing as he began to work you up. It didn’t take long for you grow hard- Rook knew exactly how to make you twitch and squirm -pulling his hand along your shaft before pausing just below the tip, only for his thumb to press harshly against the your slit, drawing a long squeal from your throat.

At long last, Rook drags your shorts from your hips and over your legs, leaving streaks of blood like rivers on your thighs. The chilled air finally meets your warm cock, bringing forth a shudder of discomfort. Rook will choose to interpret this as a show of anticipation. Again, Rook closes his fist around the base of dick, now choosing to stroke you with more fervor, the squelch of precum of blood growing louder and louder with every pump. It’s enough to make your face hot, swapping frantically between rapid panting and holding your breath, if only to deny yourself the shameful satisfaction of letting loose a moan.

“Tell me how this feels, mon amour.” Rook’s eyebrows pinch in a way that almost seems genuine, even as he stills his movements and squeezes the base of your cock tightly; watching a tremor pass through your body, your muscles tightening, eyes fluttering open and shut in quick succession, determined not to grant him a single noise. “Is it good?”

Precum drools from the tip of your cock in a slow, sticky stream, mingling with the tacky blood coating Rook’s hand and coating your length in a thick, marbled mixture of the fluids. It’s sickening, disgusting, and makes your stomach turn slow and dreadful- yet, somehow, the sight makes another bead of precum gather at your tip.

“Or do you need something more, hm?” Rook’s free hand smooths over your inner thigh, knuckles brushing lightly over your balls, his thumb smoothing flat over your taint, before his middle finger finally teases against your rim. “Do you need me in here, ma bichette? Dis juste oui.”

The tip of his finger presses in lightly and you inhale sharply, bringing a small chuckle from Rook’s chest. Your struggles amuse him. Rather than wait for any kind of response, Rook instead encircles your cock with only his forefinger and thumb, pinching it tight enough to make you writhe as he scoops the slurry of blood and precum from your shaft.

For a second, Rook spreads his hand open and watches the sticky webs spread from finger to finger, before he bends down and lets a small exhale hit your dick, suppressing a laugh when your hips jerk in response.

“Ah, si mignon.” The tone is almost dreamy, it would be cute in any other situation, with any other lover. As though to reward your endearing behavior, Rook leans forward and places a kiss on the tip of your cock, forcing a cry of sensitivity from your throat. “Tellement mignon, mon chéri.”

A tiny strand of precum stays stuck on Rook’s bottom lip as he pulls away, only broken when his tongue darts out to lick up what remains- your cock throbs at the sight, so fiercely that you can’t help yourself any longer, a sound somewhere between a wail and a moan makes its way from you before you can even think to stop it. When you calm enough to refocus your attention on Rook, a smile spreads across his face like the plague.

One of his broad hands digs into the fat of your thigh and drags you to the end of the dining table with ease, perfectly aligning your hips with the edge. You’re still reeling from the movement when Rook abruptly pushes two fingers beyond your rim and immediately curls them up into your prostate with cruel force; at the same time, he laves his tongue over the slit of your cock, eagerly swallowing every drop of pre you leak. Your whole body spasms in response to the pleasure, your back arching and legs flailing wildly, a litany of whorish moans falling from your lips- control has not just slipped away from you, the leash has been ripped free of your clenched fists and instead given to Rook. Thick fingers pummel mercilessly against the sensitive bundle of nerves in your ass, punching air from your lungs with every thrust and simultaneously shoving your nearer and nearer to the brink of orgasm- but before you ever reach it, Rook pulls away. His mouth leaves your cock, your hole is left empty once more, and you are left desperate. In a moment of weakness, you almost sit up to beg Rook for more, whine for him to let you cum, before your shame roars back to life.

Though you’re laid bare for all to see, Rook is finally rabidly throwing off his clothes, as though any moment without your touch was one of pure agony. In mere seconds, he’s completely nude and readjusting your body as he pleases, tucking a hand under either thigh before guiding them to wrap around his hips. Your eyes are immediately drawn between his legs, where his cock rests against your own, heavy and twitching, the flushed tip glistening with wetness. Lazily- unfairly -Rook squishes the soft head of his dick against your slickened rim, just shy of fulfilling your desires.

“Oh my, regardez ça…” His hips push forward ever so slightly and you let out a puppyish whine, distraught when he retreats again just to watch your hole clench in an effort to pull him back. “You’re just so terribly cute, my dear, so cute.”

The torture feels endless, though he only teases you for a few seconds longer, tapping his cock against your ass one more time before he asks the question that makes your heart go still. “Tell me what you want, mon cheri.”

Your throat closes. You can’t admit that you want- no, need -Rook to fuck you, you need his warmth, the pleasure, the comfort; the same way you need food and water. Still, you can’t say it, not anymore, because Rook will come unraveling like a linen with the lightest tug on his heartstrings. A couple months ago you would’ve happily cried and screamed for Rook to finally shove his dick into you. Now you feared he’d finally break.

You spread your legs wider, arch your back further, whimpering like a stupid animal as you give the weak attempt to rock your hips back into Rook’s cock with teary eyes.

“Ah-ah.” He takes a pace back, moving just barely out of your reach. “Do you want me?”

There’s a quiet thump as you let your head fall back against the tabletop, squeezing your knees around his waist in need.

“Just nod for me, d'accord? That’s all I need, ma bichette.” His hand smooths over your waist, trying to soothe you, but it does nothing to stop the rapid thrumming of your heart.

You heave, too humiliated to meet his eyes, instead throwing your arms over your face and giving the subtlest dip of your head. There’s hardly a second after your approval before Rook’s hands grip your hips so firmly your bones creak under his strength, dragging you back to meet his thrust and sheathe his cock inside you in a single smooth movement. You receive no mercy, no time to adjust, as Rook fucks into you like a feral animal, his movements unrestrained and frenzied, unyielding as you squeal and scream beneath him, legs locked around his hips for a single scrap of stability.

You think- if you can think -that he’s begun muttering something between open-mouthed pants, gasps of how much he loves you, how beautiful you look, how he’d like a taste of you. You let your thoughts scramble with every thrust of his hips, you let go of the fear for a few minutes. It not hard when Rook actively makes an effort to take your breath away, clumsily smashing your lips together in something that could barely be called a kiss; it’s all teeth and tongue, Rook sloppily stuffing his tongue into your mouth with an animalistic grunt- he feels more monster than man to you. Everything about him is suffocating, you can’t breathe around his love, head spinning, vision darkening- at the same time, Rook tilts his hips just right and jams the head of his cock against your prostate, and you’re ready to die for this orgasm. Pain is irrelevant, your weakened hands tangling in Rook’s hair and pulling despite the violent ache in your tendons. The euphoria is incomparable, so sudden and violent you spray cum over both of your chests, your whole body trembling and tightening within Rook’s grasp, milking his cock for all you could with a series of strangled moans Rook is happy to swallow.

Lucidity quickly sets in and you begin to panic, beating your bloodied fists against Rook’s shoulders in a useless attempt to push him away; if Rook wanted you dead, you would die. Your lungs have been set alight with Rook’s passion, parched for the cool touch of oxygen you’re worried may never come. Only once you’re entirely convinced you’re about to die does Rook finally break away and let you breathe, both gasping like you’ve drowned, and still Rook pumps his hips back and forth, chasing his release.

“Tell me- putain -tell me, mon amour,” his words are gasped out against your throat, muffled by your skin. “Tell me you love me, ah, dis moi que tu m'aimes”

It’s not a request, it’s a demand, his teeth lock around the thin skin of your esophagus, canines pressing sharply against you. Any answer could end in a crushed windpipe, and you’ve never been good at gambling; but you are his dog, and he is your master. No matter how many times the hand beats, you will return.

“I love you, Rook.” Quick as a flash, Rook readjusts and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, iron filling his mouth in a flood he’s happy to swallow. Rook manages only one more thrust before stilling inside you, shuddering from head to toe with a guttural groan as he fills you with his cum. You’re utterly revolted.

Your wounds have left you in agony. You’re still afraid Rook might rip a chunk from you. You’re sick to your stomach. You might cum all over again. A few stray tears roll over your cheeks, but you suppose this can’t be so bad; your stomach is full and Rook is warm. So warm. You are Rook’s dog, and he is your master. You loosely wrap your arms around his neck. A dog always loves his master.

That's all for our Halloween special folks! I hope you enjoyed, and as always, thank you for viewing. I. Am sorry for writing this ngl. During the uh. hard-on people steak scene, I just stared at my computer screen wondering what the fuck I was doing with my life. I hope you find it spooky though, i definitely do... (also I think I'm very funny for the Vil/Neige cameo hehe)

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somedaylazysomeday · 2 years

Text

Good Intentions (Part Six)

Another thirty days have passed and it's time for your payment.

Silco x fem!reader

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Rating: NC-17, explicit, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: Ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, mentions of drugs including use and sales of, oral sex (male receiving), piv sex, rough treatment.

Your deal with Silco had been going for several months now - four, not that you were keeping careful track. It had been a straightforward deal, if risqué: in exchange for keeping Shimmer out of the neighborhood surrounding your charitable outreach, the Haven, you would go to the Last Drop and have sex with Silco every thirty days.

It still made you cringe to think about it so bluntly, even in the privacy of your own mind.

So far, Silco had upheld his end of the deal. There hadn’t been any Shimmer around the Haven in quite some time. Now, the neighborhood was turning into an oasis of people who were trying to free themselves from the effects of the drug. Recovering addicts came to the Haven for help continuing their efforts and families who had been hurt by exposure to Shimmer in the past filled the buildings around the area.

Finding work for such an influx of people was difficult, but many families had found clever ways of supporting themselves. Those who couldn’t support themselves came to the Haven for help. Thanks to grants from Piltover that your clever staff members had wheedled from the city, and a hefty donation from Silco himself, you were able to offer help for living costs. The neighborhood was well on its way to thriving.

All of that being said, your monthly payment to Silco was here. You were on your way to the Last Drop, and feeling much more nervous about that than you had for a very long time.

Exactly thirty days ago, Silco had requested that you arrive at the Last Drop before noon. He hadn’t told you exactly what he was planning, but something was definitely going on. You had a few guesses about what it would be, but there was very little use in speculating. You would find out what was goin on in a few minutes.

The thing that you found the most striking about this meeting was the time of day. Your sessions with Silco usually took place in the morning when the Last Drop wasn’t open yet, but the polluted skies of the undercity were typically dark and muted enough that you could pretend it was early evening.

That day, the clouds of semi-toxic air between the undercity and the sun were thinner than normal, letting the sunlight filter weakly onto the streets below. You would have reveled in this on any other day, but it only lent a surrealism to the scene that morning. You had woken, eaten a light breakfast, and taken care of some normal business at the Haven. Now you were rushing across the undercity for your scheduled appointment to get dicked down by a crime lord so he would continue to keep his drugs away from the streets of your neighborhood.

Sometimes, you wondered what your life had become.

In any case, you arrived at the Last Drop and let yourself in, nodding at the cleaning staff as you crossed to the staircase that would lead you to Silco’s office. Unlike what you had found on any other day, Silco’s door was open.

He paused in pacing back and forth across the room to nod approvingly as you stepped in. “You’ve arrived. Good. I have a meeting that is set to begin at noon.”

You frowned. That was only ten minutes away, surely not enough time for Silco to get his ‘mindless pleasure’ from you, as he had called it during your last session. “Do you- do you want me to… wait downstairs?”

Silco smirked at your guess, shaking his head as he crossed behind you to close the door. “No, I had something rather different in mind. This meeting is going to be tedious - Ziik is a partner of necessity, not because I particularly like him or his business practices.”

“Then why meet with him?” you asked, genuinely curious. In Piltover’s undercity, Silco was often regarded as the ruler of everything, the absolute top of the proverbial food chain. You were fascinated and far more surprised than you really should have been at the idea that Silco also had to do things he would prefer not to.

“Because he was chosen to represent the rest of the chem barons,” Silco answered simply, glaring at the floor he was pacing. “I have to meet with them if I hope to keep them in line.”

You gave a considering hum at that, hoping the wordless answer would be enough to keep him appeased without drawing his attention until you had a chance to gather your wits. It was common knowledge that Silco had a great deal of power in the undercity. He even had half the residents calling the place ‘Zaun’. But you hadn’t known he was the leader of the chem barons, much less that he met with a representative on a presumably regular basis. That meant he had even more power than you had known of… and you had known of a lot.

Thankfully, Silco seemed lost in thought, content to frown at the wooden floors of his office and mutter occasionally to himself. Either he didn’t realize what he had revealed to you or he had assumed you already knew it. It wasn’t such a big deal, all things considered, but you were reluctant to keep learning things about him. The more you knew, the less likely it was that this deal would end with anything less than your death.

Finally, you shifted your feet, drawing Silco’s attention. “It’s almost noon. What did you have in mind for your meeting?”

Silco’s mismatched eyes gleamed, and you immediately regretted giving him control of the situation. You held both hands up warningly. “I’m not having sex with you in front of some chem baron.”

“I had assumed that would be the case,” he agreed easily. “As it happens, I think there’s another way you can help distract me.”

“What do you want?” a distant voice called, suspicion thick in its tone.

Silco kept his gaze on you rather than glancing at the door. “That’s the signal. Ziik is here. Seat yourself.”

The instruction wasn’t odd in itself, but the fact that he was gesturing under his desk was. You frowned at him, but noted at the same time that there was a spacious gap for someone’s legs and lap to fit under the desk… along with some extra room. There was a panel at the front of the desk that reached to the floor. Ziik would never know you were there.

“This is what I want for this session,” Silco reiterated as footsteps started making their slow way up the staircase outside of the office. “I want you under my desk. Keep me distracted as that idiot tells me things I am already aware of. Use your imagination - and your mouth - to keep me from killing him. Don’t bring me off, but you can get as close as you dare. Are you going to deny me this request?”

You considered it, but the ever-approaching footsteps forced your hand. You sank to your knees and slid under the desk, watching as Silco sat in his throne-like chair and began to position his legs in the cavernous space.

“Silco, wait,” you hissed. Silco glanced down at you. “What if I hear something you don’t want me to hear? Something bad?”

You had been half-hoping that he would have thought of that, maybe giving you a pair of ear plugs to keep you out of the conversation. As he directed a sardonic smile down at you, even those meager hopes fell. “Ziik is here to talk about drugs. I was under the impression that you want to keep all of those away from the Haven?”

Before you could answer, a knock sounded on the door and Silco straightened in his chair, closing you fully in the space beneath his desk. In the most bored voice you had ever heard him use, he called, “Enter.”

Ziik’s voice was low and rumbling, a startling contrast to Silco’s smoothly expressive one. “Silco. I bring greetings from the rest of the chem barons.”

And thus began a meeting of such startling boredom that you started to understand Silco’s desire to have you there. Ziik talked about chem baron’s budgets, complaining about the scarcity of funds even as he described amounts of money you could only dream of having access to. You snorted and Silco dropped his hand beneath the edge of the desk to snap warningly in your direction.

You rolled your eyes, reveling in the small show of impatience that he couldn’t see, feel, or control. Even so, you started unfastening his pants as soon as your eyes were back in their proper place.

When you peeled the panels of fabric away from Silco’s hips - no simple task, since he hadn’t moved even slightly to help you - his cock was pale, flaccid, and seeming extremely disinterested in the situation. You had never seen Silco so completely unaroused and had started to wonder if he walked around in a state of semi-hardness. You had to smother an inappropriate laugh. Maybe Silco was always hard, but Ziik was a previously undiscovered anti-aphrodisiac.

To distract yourself before the slight amusement could spiral into something else, you stroked your fingertips lightly down Silco’s length, then focused your attention on the head of his cock. The rest of him was interesting as he started to harden, but his head was particularly fascinating as it flushed with color and started to weep pre-cum for you.

You smoothed the liquid over his skin, smiling when Silco’s hips twitched toward you, cock seeking the heat of your mouth.

When you obliged, it was without warning. You didn’t grip him to get the angle right or let Silco feel your breath soothing over his skin. Instead, you arched up as far as you could get in the cramped cavern and captured him suddenly in your mouth, swallowing as much of him down as you could. When you finished, the coarse hairs around the base of his cock were tickling at your lips and you swallowed twice in fast succession as you adjusted to having him so deep.

A booming thud surrounded you and you jumped, pulling back before you realized that Silco had slammed a hand down on top of the desk. Fortunately, his angrily raised voice covered the sound of your small gasp.

“That is a lie, pure and simple,” Silco hissed venomously. “Do you dare to disrespect me by lying directly to my face?”

If you hadn’t known what had just happened, you would have missed the way he was slightly breathless under all of the fury.

“I meant no disrespect, Silco,” Ziik hurriedly said, lacking your insight into Silco’s current state. “I am merely reporting the facts as they were reported to me.”

As the meeting resumed, you wrapped your hand around Silco’s cock, giving him a few firm pumps to spread the lubrication from your mouth over his length. You continued exploring him, pausing to take him into your mouth every so often or nibble at the delicate skin of his thigh as Silco and Ziik continued talking over your head.

At one point, you were toying with the soft skin of Silco’s testicles as you sucked lightly on the head of his cock and all you could do was admire his composure. If this felt nearly as good for him as his ministrations the month before had felt to you, his willpower was incredible. You would have been a gibbering mess by this point.

With nothing left to do and no explorations left to make, you contented yourself with taking Silco as deep into your mouth as you could, then simply staying like that. You gave an occasional draw with your mouth so you didn’t start drooling, but didn’t move otherwise. He was so erect by now that it had to be painful, the deceptively velvety skin of his cock hiding the way he was impossibly hard beneath it.

Unfortunately, without something to focus on, your attention drifted to the conversation between Silco and Ziik.

“I believe you will be pleased to hear about my most recent business expenditure,” Ziik revealed, sounding thoroughly satisfied with himself. “I have developed a new substance, highly addictive and powerful. It incites feelings of strength and anger in users and artificially augments their strength.”

“Why should I be pleased to hear about something I’ve already done?” Silco asked. “Or are you going to steal my idea entirely and tell me you’ve invented something called Shimmer?”

“It isn’t Shimmer, though they have similar effects,” Ziik reported. “It is far more addictive. I have reason to believe no one will ever voluntarily stop taking it. They only stop buying when they die from an overdose.”

“And you’ve tested this, have you?” Silco asked, voice bored once more.

“I have, in fact,” Ziik said smugly. “There’s a neighborhood in this city that has none of your Shimmer dealers in it… so I sent one of my own dealers in instead.”

As it turns out, when someone gasps with a cock in their mouth, they choke. Fortunately, said choking is quiet since it’s muffled by the cock in their mouth. You found all of that out by first-hand experience, your throat spasming around Silco’s cock as you abruptly became aware of the hand pressed against the back of your head holding you in place as you tried to breathe.

“What’s wrong?” Ziik asked.

“Indigestion,” Silco huffed out, squirming under the pleasure of your throat contracting around him. The grip of his hand loosened, allowing you to pull away and catch your breath. His fingers stroked gently over your head, petting you like one would a small, disgruntled pet. You were irritated at how calming you found the touch.

Silco straightened, carefully keeping his stomach against the edge of the desk so he wouldn’t accidentally flash his bare skin or hard, glistening cock at the chem baron. Despite that potential weakness, Silco’s voice was cold as he addressed Ziik once more. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have you killed for selling your… concoction… without permission.”

“You gave me full permission to sell Wrath in our last meeting, I just hadn’t finalized the formula yet,” Ziik reminded him. “Why would you kill me for taking advantage of an area with no sales at all? I turned a dead zone into a potential district. I don’t know why you aren’t selling Shimmer there. It shows signs of being a lucrative area. Lots of ex-addicts just waiting for something new to give their lives purpose.”

“I know it is a lucrative area,” Silco told him frustratedly. “It was one of my top-performing districts for years. Did it ever occur to you that I had stopped selling Shimmer there for a reason?”

“You sacrificed profits?” Ziik asked, sounding shocked. You only vaguely wondered what he looked like, but you had formed a picture based solely on the sound of his voice and you didn’t really need anything else. “Why would you stop selling in an area that you know you could earn money from?”

“Oh, Ziik,” Silco sighed pityingly. “This may be difficult for you to understand, but I am wealthy enough to sacrifice short-term profits in exchange for long-term gain.”

“What do you gain?”

“Knowledge.” It was a good answer, and Silco delivered it without a second thought. Your eyebrows shot up as you listened intently to the conversation. “Not that I owe you an explanation in any sense, but I use my most talented dealers in more challenging locations and test how far Shimmer addicts are willing to travel to access my product.”

A slight chill built at the base of your spine, threatening to run up your bones. Those were exactly the reasons you had given Silco months ago, the ones that had provided the basis of this deal. Did he remember them because his memory was better than you had believed or because he had been thinking about your reasons and had found them to be true?

“My sources say that there haven’t been Shimmer sales there in months…” Ziik said slowly.

“There haven’t,” Silco confirmed. “And look at the changes in the area. Over half of the residents have moved away in search of Shimmer and my dealers have increased sales in all of the surrounding neighborhoods. My profits have actually increased since cutting sales to that district, and I was able to reduce the number of dealers in my employ at the same time. As I’ve said: short-term loss and long-term gain. And I did not set up this scenario so that you can come in and undo all of my work by selling your Wrath.”

The pit of your stomach felt like a pit of ice. This deal had felt so promising, and you had thought you were making an important impact on the undercity. They had a neighborhood free of Shimmer, and it was thriving. But was it? Struggling to find work, living in cramped quarters, and relying on help from charitable organizations certainly didn’t meet most people’s definition of a good life.

And the fact that Shimmer sales had increased across the rest of the undercity was concerning in the extreme. Had you really helped the people you were trying to help? Or had you just found a way to make Silco’s business even more profitable than it had been? It was unexpected and concerning to learn that he had been keeping closer track of the neighborhood than you had ever thought he would.

You felt sick.

“How much longer are you going to be… gathering information in that district?” Ziik asked, more than a little sarcasm in his tone.

Despite your discomfort, you listened intently for the answer to that question. This might tell you more about Silco’s plans for you. Was he intending for this to be a temporary deal or would it last as long as you were willing to make your payments to him? And would he let you go when it was time to cut ties, or were you like the addicts of Ziik’s Wrath? The only way out was through death.

“As long as it takes,” Silco replied firmly… enigmatically.

You bit back a growl. That was no answer at all.

“Keep your dealers out of my district before I decide to make an example of one of them,” Silco instructed, voice sharp. “Now get out before I change my mind and decide to have you executed for overstepping.”

Ziik’s retreating footsteps were fast and unaccompanied by speech. As he left, you stared blankly at Silco’s hard cock, pressed against his own stomach and nearly brushing the underside of the desk. You found the sight erotic despite yourself - you had brought him to such a state - but it was only a backdrop to your tumultuous thoughts. What did any of that mean? And would Silco react poorly to the idea that a meeting that shouldn’t have had any impact on you ended up being intimately connected to you and the Haven?

As Silco’s chair pulled away from the desk, you squinted into the light that was filtering through the window behind him. It seemed that you were going to find out exactly what Silco thought about your presence here for that meeting… but not until you stood. At your current angle, the back of Silco’s chair was silhouetted against the light of the window, leaving him in full shadow other than the odd, muted glow of his orange eye.

You stood unsteadily, the air of the office feeling fresh against the warm humidity that clung to your skin after being in an enclosed space with your own breath for such an extended period of time. After a moment of adjustment, you glanced at Silco, waiting for him to say something - anything.

He didn’t.

Silco was staring at his desk, seeming as lost in thought as you had been a few moments before. He should have looked ridiculous, you reflected. He was perfectly put together, his hair and nails meticulously neat while his clothes were perfectly arranged… except for the way the panels of his trousers had been peeled away from his hips, displaying his pale skin and slowly softening cock as if it was being framed by the red and gray material surrounding it.

“Silco?” you asked eventually. You spoke softly, trying not to shock or anger him. His hand was half-covering his mouth while he thought, and it was difficult for you to gauge his mood. Still, you couldn’t not speak. You needed to know what was happening - and, more importantly, what it meant for you and the Haven.

Silco’s eyes flashed to you, his natural eye easily as inhuman as that of his artificial one. His hand dropped from his mouth and a feeling of unease ran up your spine as you realized his jaw was clenching with apparent irritation.

“Our deal was that I would remove Shimmer from the district around the Haven,” Silco reminded you, his voice hard and cutting. But you could hear an undercurrent of emotion behind the solidity, lurking like the winter currents under a lake’s icy crust. “I never promised I would keep other drugs away. I have not broken our deal.”

“I understand that,” you told him, mouth dry. You had never intended to hold him responsible for the actions of the other chem barons. Why would you have? You had never even known that he was their leader, even informally.

“But it was implied that I would keep the neighborhood free of contamination,” he continued. “I didn’t manage that. It would seem that our deal for this month is only half-fulfilled on my end. I understand if you want to make a half payment this month. What you have done so far is enough to be considered fair.”

Of all the things you had expected Silco to say, that was not one of them. A chem baron with a sense of fairness was unusual - even if you wouldn’t go quite so far as to call it honor. If you wanted, he would consider your monthly debt paid like this. He hadn’t even come. Perhaps you could live with that. After all, you weren’t thrilled that drugs had come so close to the Haven. Any drug - Wrath, Shimmer… there was little difference, honestly. For all intents and purposes, Silco had failed to keep his end of the deal.

But your own sense of fairness struggled to reconcile the idea. Last month, he had used his mouth on you and you had used your hand on him. That had already felt like a half-payment to you. Could you really leave things as they were and feel like you had done your part?

No, as it turned out.

“I’ll make a full payment,” you said, throat tightening with the understanding of what you were giving up. “You upheld your end of the deal in good faith. I’ll do the same.”

To your surprise, Silco didn’t immediately accept that offer. Instead, his gaze locked on his own hand as he absently swiped his thumb back and forth over his fingernails. “I need you to be certain. After that meeting… that idiot… I will not be pleasant. This will be rough and fast. I cannot manage anything else, not today.”

“That’s fine,” you agreed, swallowing as Silco’s eyes locked with yours. Surely it was your imagination that they suddenly looked darker than you had ever seen them.

“Strip.”

You fumbled to obey the soft, steely order, the muscles of your core already clenching around nothing. When you had finished and were standing in front of him, you did your best to ease the fine tremble in your muscles.

Silco looked over your bare form, eyes traveling down with an air of leisure. His hands stroked thoughtfully over his jaw, ending as he said, “Lean over the desk, legs apart.”

That was an order you followed, planting your feet shoulder-width apart and bracing your hands on the surface of Silco’s desk. You could hear him breathing behind you, feel his eyes on you.

“Farther.”

You waffled for a moment, unsure of whether he was talking about your feet or your posture, but quickly decided on the latter. You dropped down into a deeper lean, resting your elbows against the wooden surface where your hands had been a moment before.

“Mmm…” Silco trailed, making chills run over your spine. “Farther.”

You leaned as far over the desk as you could manage, planting the entirety of your torso against the coolness of the desk. You could feel your nipples tightening even further under the weight of your body.

Silco didn’t say anything at all. You couldn’t even hear him anymore, but you didn’t dare to look back. It would have been difficult to, anyway, with your cheek pressed against the desk just as firmly as your torso was. You felt ridiculous, exposed. As far as you knew, he was still sitting in his chair, staring at your cunt as you bent to put yourself fully on display for him.

Surely it wasn’t normal to be this wet when Silco had barely touched you this session.

Every thought you had left your head as fingertips trailed lightly over your ass cheek and down the back of your thigh. You shuddered delicately even as your cunt clenched.

“So wet for me,” Silco mused. Your eyes closed automatically, listening to the change in his voice as he rose from the chair. There was a small sound of fluttering fabric and you clenched again, knowing that he was shedding his pants.

The next moment, you were struggling to breathe as Silco shoved his cock as deep inside of you as he could manage. His hands were clutching at your hips, pulling you onto him and holding you still for him at the same moment. There was a half-groan in his voice as he said, “So tight.”

When you could breathe again, you sucked in air in a moaning gasp that would have embarrassed you deeply if you were capable of thought on such a high level. Instead, you were lost in the intensity of your fullness.

Silco gripped your hips even tighter, somehow managing to cram another shade deeper into you as you squirmed helplessly under him. His palm cracked down over your ass cheek before he withdrew, slamming back into place a moment later as you clenched desperately around him.

He hadn’t been lying about the way this would go. Most of your mind had been hijacked by pleasure, engulfed in it, but the depths of your mind managed to remember that he had warned you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to regret your easy acceptance - this was overwhelming, but only in the best possible way.

Silco fucked you relentlessly, responding to your cries with gutteral grunts and filthy praises that were only just audible over the smack of flesh and the noises of your wetness. When you couldn’t keep still for him, one large hand planted itself between your shoulder blades and pinned you to the desk as he picked up speed.

When you came the first time, his pace didn’t slow.

“Giving in already?” he asked mockingly. “Pace yourself, darling. We’re only just getting started.”

His hips continued moving between your thighs, thrusting his cock as deep as he could get as you tried your best to breathe through the intrusion. Every inhale was silent, but every exhale took on the sound of a grunt or a cry or a moan. You writhed for him, though you couldn’t move much with his hand pressing you into the desk.

That wasn’t entirely true, though - you were moving, just not of your own volition. The force of Silco’s cock in you was moving you slightly, pushing you up. Before long, more of your weight was on the surface of the desk, leaving you leaning heavily across it and fighting to keep your toes on the floor. Every time he slammed into you, planting himself down to the root, you lost more control over your tenuous contact with the floor of his office.

And that was how you came, legs splayed wide enough for Silco’s hips to fit between them, desperately trying to keep your feet on the floor like it would give you an anchor in the disorienting storm of sensation. The papers and items strewn across the surface of Silco’s desk caught at your nipples, grinding hard against them with every thrust. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant sensation, but in the middle of such an intense session, it was enough to send you into a toe-curling orgasm.

You shattered silently under him, jaw dropped and eyes clamped closed as your focus shifted inward. Silco praised you roughly, slowing down for you until your cunt had stopped clamping around him.

And then he picked up his pace again.

It was overwhelming and ruinous, bringing tears to your eyes as you rode the edge between pleasure and overstimulation. Silco’s free hand hooked behind your knee, pulling it up until it rested on the edge of the desk beside you. The altered position opened you up even further for him, leaving him hammering directly at that magical place inside of you even as your clit was pressed against the edge of the desk. Your mouth fell open and you choked on the suffocating pleasure he was forcing on you.

You felt that orgasm coming from much further away, as if it was frightened by the incredible sharpness of sensation emanating from his hardness in your core. It felt as though your body was in shock and needed a chance to process that before it could concentrate enough to fall apart.

When you imploded around him yet again, it was nothing short of devastating. You clamped down around him so tightly that his rhythm stuttered for the first time. When he kept moving even despite the way you were surely collapsing around his cock, you could only let a strangled shriek escape through your lips.

As you came down from that incredible high, your vision faded to white around the edges, Silco pulled himself from you and seized you around the waist. You barely caught yourself as he pushed you roughly to your knees in front of him.

With his eyes wild and his glistening cock throbbing in your face, Silco demanded, “Finish what you started.”

You were dazed, but managed to understand what he wanted, taking his cock into your mouth. This was far beyond anything you had ever experienced, but the taste of your slick on his cock wasn’t as objectionable as you thought it would be. Your hesistation made you slow, however, and Silco wasn’t in the mood for ‘slow’.

He sank those long-fingered hands into your hair, gripping your skull so that he could force his cock between your lips the same way he had done with your cunt. You gagged at the intrusion, but he held you in place as he spilled down your throat. You swallowed over and over until the surges of cum finally stopped.

Silco released your hair and fell backwards into his chair, ripping his cock free from your mouth once more as you gagged again, tears streaming from your eyes at the violence of everything that had happened in the last few minutes. You weren’t actually sure whether they were from the physical shocks or the emotional ones.

The tears stopped soon, though. They were more of a reaction to gagging that many times than any real distress, and now you were left staring up at Silco as his breathing slowly evened out.

“That… was precisely what I needed,” Silco said eventually, something like a smile crossing his face. It was faint and faded quickly, but it had undeniably been there.

He reached down a moment later, motioning for your hand so he could help you stand. When you were upright, knees trembling, he leaned down to retrieve your articles of clothing. He helped you into them one at a time until you were fully dressed. He fastened his own pants and stood, guiding you carefully toward the door.

Your throat ached - whether from the screaming or the intrusion of his cock, you weren’t sure - and you stayed silent, but Silco was apparently feeling verbose. For the second time, he broke the silence of his office.

“You continue to impress, my little philanthropist,” he told you, and you had to look away from the look on his face. It was almost… warmth. “This deal has consistently been a good one. I look forward to our meeting next month.”

“Do…” you cut yourself off to clear your throat. “Do I need to be here at a certain time?”

“No, no meetings next time,” Silco said with a small chuckle. “Just set aside some time. I would like to try something new for our next session.”

“Something new?” you asked, frowning suspiciously at him.

“New,” Silco confirmed without further explanation. “Thirty days.”

And then the door closed behind you, leaving you in the stairwell wondering what the hell had just happened.

---

Author's Note - Word count may be slightly inaccurate since I was doing some heavy edits as I read through this chapter. If you catch anything that doesn't make sense or places where I repeated something, please let me know so I can fix it!

Hope you enjoyed! Have a great day!

#Good Intentions #good intentions #arcane silco #silco #silco x reader #silco x you #reader insert #rating: nc17 #nc17 #nc 17 #smut #lemon #spicy

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