#Pulse Art Fair

[rocketbirdie]

you're still with me, right? you'll be okay?

[tbaluver]

May I request the LaD boys reactions to you sending them a video of you playing with yourself while they're away?

Sending Them A Dirty Video When Their Away- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x fem!Reader, Zayne x fem!Reader, Rafayel x fem!Reader, Sylus x fem! Reader genre: MDNI, 18+, suggestive content, masturbation ( all ) , facetime sex ( Rafayel ) a/n: hi anonnie! i hope this was okay and that you enjoy reading! i'm suppose to be doing a quiz and studying right now but i wanted to finish writing this hehe any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He was so lucky to be split from his team during his mission when you sent him a video. He thought it would be you winning another plushie at a claw machine but he was so so wrong. It was so much better than that. His teeth sank down into his lips as he watched you stroke yourself with one hand as your other grabbed your breasts. He feels like he could cum right now, his cheeks a dark shade of pink as he watches your video on repeat.

𖠌:  ( ´ཀ` )

𖠌: not fair angel

He sends that as he fights the urge to relieve the tension in his pants. He makes sure to check his surroundings that nobody was nearby before pulling out his throbbing cock, slowly stroking it while he holds his phone with his other hand.

“n-need to hear you angel, please”

He breathes heavily into his voice message that he sent you, speaking as softly as he can to avoid being caught. You call him immediately after he sends that, your sultry tone invading his ears, “cum for me my sweet boy” Multiple images of you invade his mind. Images of your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock and your pretty eyes looking up at him like he’s the most important person in the world. How he swirled his tongue around one of your buds as he pinched your other nipples, rolling them around between his pointer finger and his thumb. He bucks his hips into his fist, spilling warm white trails down his length.

𖠌: i’ll make this mission quick

𖠌: need to see you

Zayne:

Zayne was away for a couple days for another research project and you missed him so much.

You’d send him a video, angling to show you wearing his favorite lingerie, slowly remove the thin clothing to tease him. You’d cup your breasts and roll your sensitive nipples between your fingers, your eyes fluttering shut as your mouth slowly starts to part.

When Zayne glanced down at his phone and saw the notification of a video from you, he immediately knew you were up to something mischievous. He had to excuse him and retreat back to his room to watch the video you sent. He’d suck in his breath and just groan at the sight, wishing and wanting to fuck you senseless.

☃︎: must you always do this to me when i’m away?

You’d send him another video, alone and naked in that big empty bed. His eyes tracked every movement of your body on his phone. One hand gripping his phone as he closely examines how your hand slipped in between your legs. How you whined for him and how much you missed him.

His jaw clenches, springing his stiff cock free as he replayed the video over and over again. He starts to pump his cock slowly, wanting to be inside of your tight and soaking cunt so bad. Zayne’s mind only clouds with how much you’d cream around his cock or how your mouth or hands feel so much better than his hands. You're the only thing on his mind as he watches the video on repeat. Your fingers pulsing in and out of your pussy, becoming wetter from your own arousal. He imagines it's your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him.

“h-hah-” He throws his head back against the seat as he fists his cock harder, tightening the grip until thick streaks of his cum leak out of him. He raises the phone and sends you a quick photo of the mess you caused.

☃︎: don’t think that i don’t miss you too.

☃︎: when we reunite, i’ll gladly help you get off.

Rafayel:

You’re so mean for sending him a video when he was out for an art exhibition tour in a different country. Anytime you two were apart, he was always needy and seeing a couple seconds of your video with your legs spread wide open and two fingers sinking in and out of your cunt and whining his name,  made him almost whine on the spot.

𓆟: ( ｡ • ᴖ • ｡) you’re so mean to me

𓆟: gimme one sec cutie

He would try to find a way to slip out of the art exhibition and find himself back into his hotel room that was nearby. He’d put his phone on mute so Thomas doesn’t bother spam calling or texting him.

𓆟: you know i can’t do this, i need you

He facetime called you in less than a minute before he sent that message

He moves to prop the camera up so you can see the full view of him unbuttoning his top slowly, teasing you as he exposes his muscular chest. He then reaches for the buttons on his pants before hooking his fingers into his waistband and lifting his waist to pull it down. His cock springs free and hits against his lower abdomen, his eyes locking in on you. You can’t help but let your eyes wander down his muscles, lingering at the bulge until it was fully released from his trousers. His smirks in amusement to see your mouth parted open hungrily and needy just at the sight of him.

“You should close your mouth cutie, you might catch some flies in there.”

You both adjust the camera angles to ensure you both have a complete view of one another before beginning

Gently you rub circles over your clit, trying to mimic how he would with his pretty fingers. It drives you mad, making you bite your lips as you moan his name loudly. You drag out his name, your pussy desperately trying to clench onto something as you reel your head back in pleasure. Increasing the speed until you start to match the sound of his fist pumping his cock over the phone.

“want you soso bad” He whines, pumping faster with the sounds of your cunt squelching in the background makes him throb. “cum with me raf” your sultry voice drove him mad, cursing under his breath as he felt his seed leaking from his tip. He knows you’re close as gasps escape your mouth and how he watches the coil in your stomach snap, gushing your juices around your fingers. “‘s pretty. can’t wait to come home and fill that pretty hole.”

Sylus:

Sylus was away for an important auction. Despite it being important, nothing truly captivated him, his thoughts were solely on coming back home to you. His eyebrows quirked in amusement when he saw a notification of a video you had sent him. He excused himself letting Luke and Kieran handle the matters in their own hands as he made his way back upstairs in his hotel room.

𓅪:  showing me what i’m missing princess?

He smirks once he opens your video, arousal washing over him, entertained by seeing the angle of your perky tits bouncing and his favorite pussy that was sobbing and clenching just for him. The way you moaned and panted just for him was music to his ears.

Before you could send him another video, he was already quick to reply with one of his own.

“Is this what you expected, princess?”

He flashes a smirk to the camera before lowering it to show his shirt slightly lifted to give you a glimpse of his sculpted abs and his long fingers wrapped around his cock, his tip crimson as he slowly strokes it. Small groans flutter through his lips when he fists over the tip.

“all just for you princess.”

He says in the video, pre-cum dripping down his length and his muscles flexing on his stomach from the perfect angle he had. Your fingers were so deep into you, pounding relentlessly into your pussy. You replay the video again and again, watching him stroke his cock harder and you can taste your sweet release. Once you feel the heat pooling to your throbbing cunt, you make sure to send it to him. This time instead of a video, he sends a voice message, “did my princess cum thinking about me? i wish you were here, i need my pretty girl.”

[valentine-cafe]

Can I please get a macchiato? [amab reader]

thinking about buying alessio a cute pair of lace lingere and him getting all shy while getting fucked in it...mmm...

˖⁺. “ dolled-up, filled-up ! ” : 

﹙ top male reader x bttm mercenary antihero bf ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . alessio 781 x male reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ mercenary ˖ antihero ˖ bad boy esque ˖ enigma  character ﹚

he's always been so cocky and yet now that you have him all dolled up and pretty - he's getting shy. 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ lingerie ˖ edging ˖ penetrative sex ˖ nipple play ˖ rough sex ˖ hand job ˖ creampie ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ mirror sex | wc : 2k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: whoever requested this I am giving you my first born child !! top that top! DOM THAT DOM!

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Leather is his signature, and yet lace makes him a masterpiece.

Your hands trail over the canvas. Eager to touch. Grip. Feel him. Dig you nails in and create beautiful red lines over his fair, olive skin.

“Such a pretty boy. . .” your croon to his ear is met with a low grunt. Nothing of contempt. The pink on his helix told you all that you needed to know. The shivers that vibrated against your palms too. And those emerald eyes staring back at you from the mirror he faces? Oh, they spoke thousands.

The black lace feels perfect against his skin. Looks even better on him. Both in reality and reflection. You run your fingers over his hips and trace them to his thighs. Trailing them into the slip of the garter you simply had to buy with. You stretch it away from his skin - before allowing it to smack back into his muscular thigh.

You nurse the noise that he makes. Your hand quickly slips between his legs and palms at his leaking cock. Slow. Purposeful. Easing that perfect sound into a long-winded whimper.

“Querido. . .”

“I know baby. I know.”

Your free hand finds his jaw. Tightens and yanks so that he stares at the beautiful piece of art your eyes hungrily rove over. “Look at yourself. Watch as I do this to you, Alessio.”

His name on your lips always has him elated, but this made him dizzy. Makes him weakly buck up into your hand that devilishly strokes along his pulsing nerves. You make sure to shove the soft fabric off so that you an see the way his tip throbs. Pink and begging for your thumb to swirl around mercilessly.

You wet your lips at the curve that his back takes. Your hips keenly following by grinding your wet dick up against his ass. Wanting another go at fucking him raw.

“Need this baby?” Your hiss elicits a whine. With a rough shake of your hand on his jaw - you shove your thumb past his lips and roughly pad down on his tongue.

“Said fucking watch yourself.”

His eyes flutter at the rough treatment. If only to cross when you slip back in. Your groan mixes with his series of moans and you buck your hips up to sink further into his tight rim. It mattered not how much he took your cock. He always clamps like a needy little slut.

Instead of the harsh skin-slapping that filled the room prior, you bite on your tongue and force your thrusts to slow. Ease your dick into his gummy walls. Retreat. Fill again. Till your balls tap at his ass gently and he’s whining about you being deep.

Or going slow. You’re not sure yet.

“That feel good baby? Yeah?” Huffs meet his ear. You stutter your hips against the plush of his ass and grin at the moans that fall from him. His large hands grip at the edges of the mirror and he bends slightly. Steering his hips back into your cock and giving you the perfect angle to bury your hand into his messy black hair.

You so desperately want to fuck him until he’s drooling again. Have him bounce on your cock so you paint his insides and thighs white. But this time you want to adore the lace on him. Trail your fingers over the black fabric and feel the way it frames his body so perfectly. Enhancing some of the beauty spots along his sides. Riding up his waist with each thrust back into you. An invite to grip and yank him back against you, if you do say so yourself.

“So gorgeous. God. Do you have any idea?”

He whines at you. You just so manage to hear the low mutter. The soft shut up. So you curl your fingers into his tousled strands and jerk his face to the mirror properly again. Resuming your harsh treatment with hard. Yet slow thrusts. So that at the very least his plush flesh claps with each smack of your hips. Tempered. Punishing.

“Oh no. You’re not getting away from this.” You grunt through clenched teeth. Just like he’s clenching around your dick. Begging to be filled again most probably. As though your slick isn’t still staining his thighs from earlier. “You’re gonna watch. Gonna see what a pretty lil’ toy you are for me.”

The restraint bubbles away. You start fucking him a bit faster. The wet squelching fills the room quicker. So do his moans that catch in his throat or whine out when his mouth falls open and his face scrunches up.

“A-Am - Am - hhh - or fuck -!”

“Say it. Fucking say it.”

The growl comes from deep with you. Rough like the way you start humping his ass. The way you start slamming at an angle - against that one bundle. So that Alessio can’t even buck back into you properly. All he can do is take it. Like he’s good for; in that pretty lingerie of his.

Your mouth finds his ear. Clamping teeth as you speed your thrusts. Cramming your hips into his and using another hand to shove his legs together. So that he’s squished, pressured — all the more to add to the intensity. “Want you to say you’re a pretty little toy. Pretty little whore.”

“I-I - I-hhh - m- ah! Fuck - po-por f-ffff-fuck please-”

The whining caught in his throat is so endearing. You bark a breathless laugh into his ear and yank him back. Stumbling through your bedroom floor and shoving the mercenary onto the bed. Hands gripping at his forearms as you squish him onto his stomach. Rail him from behind until tears squeeze out of his emerald eyes and his moans turn into drooling words.

You know how stubborn he is. Know that you have to force compliments down his throat. The same way your forcing your dick into his thigh ass. Mercilessly slapping. Addicted to the lewd sounds of his ever-taking hole. The slop of your cum all over his thighs. His own on his abdomen. The sheets.

It’s such a mess. And still - he’s the most beautiful thing that you’ve seen. Something you are ready to drill into his head. Even if it takes all night of you pulling and twisting him. Fucking him full so that he’s crying. He’ll repeat your words. Even if he has to sob it while you are pounding him ball-deep.

“A-Am- Amoor-ciiitttooo -! No - N-No puedo -” ( “I can’t-” )

Liar. He always could. He proves it with the way that his little hole spasms around you when you shove him onto his back and bully your way back into him. Fucking every inch in until he’s stuffed full and arching because of it.

“Yes you - hah - yes you can baby. You can. Look at me.”

Your hand reaches down to caress his tear-stained face. You abruptly slam into him. Cram your hips against his and jostle him further up the sheets. Wrecking the bed like you’re wrecking his trembling body. This position allows you to see just how much he’s creamed himself all over. The sticky substance clings onto the material pooling around his waist.

The sight has you groaning. Your hips stutter to shallow. Fuck him full repeatedly while also grinding into that spot hat has his eyes threatening to roll back again.

Your hand takes a quick detour to roughly tug at the trap of the lingerie. Gentleness be damned. You’ll buy him a new one. Buy him five. Ten - as many as he wants. Anything if it meant getting him to squirm beneath you like this.

Skilled fingers brush the fabric away and you give one of your favourite parts of him some love. Tugging at his nipple piercings before hurling a small wad of spit. So that you can swirl your thumb around the sensitive bud and watch as he crumbles even more.

Your name on his lips is so broken. So pitiful. You simple have to dip your head down and suck on his nipples. All while your hips make bruises on his. Pounding his poor little ass into the sheets until he’s crying out all sorts of phrases in his mother-tongues you can’t eve decipher.

“N-No p-pueeedddoo! D-Dios - ah- Por dios - e-es t-aaan profundo -hngh!” ( “I can’t - oh god - it’s too deep.” )

As if you knew what he was saying, you try to bury yourself deeper. Grip at his thighs and fuck into him with your own desperation. A desperation to claim. To pleasure. To remind. You force yourself away from his nipples slathered in your saliva to instead crane your head over his. Shut your eyes, crease your brows and focus all your strength into fucking his poor hole raw.

“Goood baby I - hngh - fuuckk you’re too fuckin’ pretty -”

His moans sound odd suddenly. You let your gaze fall to investigate. If only to be met with the sight of his head flicked to the side. The back of his knuckles covering the lower half of his face. The mere gesture warms your hearts — to think. The cocky bastard. Your flirty charmer of a boyfriend. Shy over being called pretty and fucked in a lingerie.

It’s such a pitiful sight. Such an endearing one. Your hand returns to brush some of his messy strands back. Before clicking your tongue and drawing out your thrusts again. Slowing them so that you might piston him in that way that shakes his body and slams the headboard into the wall.

“Did I say you could do that?” You snatch his wrist and pin it firmly. Giving a harsh squeeze to remind it to stay there. Before you reach up to cup at Alessio’s reddened face. So that you might tilt it up and pour your loving gaze down into his teary ones.

“You still haven’t said it. Please. Baby please.”

Your pleading combined with your thrusts shallowing once more. Rolling and fucking him just right. There was no denying you this time. Not when you looked down at him as though he was every star in the fucking universe.

“I-I’m - I hah -”

“You can do it. Come on. Say you’re my pretty boy.”

To motivate, your slip a grip under his thigh so that you can toss his leg over your shoulder. Invade his space further. Bring your warm bodies together so that you can make him cum again. You’re not sure how long you might last either. But one thing’s for sure. You’re using his body through the night.

His teary eyes meet yours. His hand weakly reaches to cling onto your bicep - and at last, he rasps out in a trembling voice: “I’m . . . I-I’mmm - fuck -” he gasps at your little spank to his ass.

“I’m your pretty - your p-pretty boy youur prettyy boy - ah!”

You have to reward him by cramming your hips into his. Snatch at his cock and pump him until he’s creaming all over again. The sobs that leave his lips as he tosses his head back into the sheets makes all the strain in your muscles worth it.

No - the sight of him laying there. In that black lingerie that has nothing on his beauty - taking it like your good, pretty boy. That is what makes everything worth it.

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[art-missy]

"Give them back."

You looked down from the ceiling beam you were sat on to see Percival's little frown that you found endearing.

"But you look so cute without them on, dearest." you chuckled to which he sighed.

Percival's irritated scowls were more visible without his glasses on and you were always the first one to admire them. His green eyes seemed to shine as he glared in your direction and your lips wanted to kiss the quiver of annoyance that animated his. You wanted to smoothe the crinkle between his brows. You wanted to caress the fair skin of his cheeks.

You loved when his face was so expressive. He was a piece of art that you wanted to keep for yourself and admire until the end of your days.

"I don't have time for your mischiefs," he groaned and started pacing under you.

"Well I do," you chuckled.

He stopped pacing with an annoyed huff, looked up at and froze. He saw badly without his glasses, but he could see your legs swaying above him and feel the intensity of your gaze on him. He could almost feel how your pulse quicken when your eyes met his. He felt like he was on the middle of the stage of a theatre and your eyes were the totality of the audience and the lighting. You had the unique talent to irritate him and to make him nervous.

"I can see your eyes better without your glasses on."

The awe and reverence in your tone rose goosebumps in the back of his neck and reddened his ears. Percival felt flustered under your eyes. Your pupils were relishing the sight of his breathing hitching.

"Please Percy, let me admire you."

[poppy-metal]

being fwb with patrick or art (or both 😝) and maybe you’re away at the moment so your on a call, talking about your day and asking about theirs just to realize they’re fucking/ jerking off on the call…. - 🌷

stop need to clench my legs while my clit pulses listening to them rut against eachother - they're sharing a fleshlight - cocks sliding and rubbing as they fuck the silicone together - and you can hear art whimpering, he's out of it, patrick is the one that's talking - breathless - telling you it's not as good as your hole, they just wanna fuck you so fucking bad - art fucked him earlier and his cum is still dripping from his ass - and patrick fucked him too buts it's just not enough - they need you there - need you on their cocks - clenching and gripping around them. tight and warm and hot.

arts been out of it for awhile - has been the second patrick slipped the fleshlight around his cock - "he really misses you," patrick tells you, "I miss you."

hhhhh just have to hurry to get home it's not fair you're visiting home and states away - rubbing your clit raw in bed later to the video patrick sends you of him fucking arts cock with the clear pocket pussy - pink and flushed and throbbing - fuck. you just wanna be home immediately, taking care of your boys - letting them rut inside you. RAHHH

[hotheadedhero]

Learning Curves

Being in a relationship with a mutant turtle comes with its challenges and not always the kind you would expect

2012 Turtles x Reader

Turtle of choice ___________________

When it comes to new dating, there's a fair share of hurdles to overcome. Whether that be understanding what makes your partner tick, how to manage certain boundaries, and so on. Dating a mutant turtle who has been trained in the ancient art of ninjitsu comes with a different set of hoops to jump through.

With him being a vigilante, you expected to endure sleepless nights in which you'd worry for his wellbeing. You anticipated that it would get easier over time. You were wrong. The evenings drag out, painstakingly slow, until you finally receive a message confirming that he's okay. Despite your best efforts to remain rational, you can't help your wondering mind from firing horrible images of his demise. It's something you try to keep quiet but he eventually catches onto it and that's when he suggests you sleep over for the first time.

When you each get over your initial bashfulness, it is a truly heavenly delight - wrapped up in his arms and lulled into a safe security. You both have to wonder why you never suggested this earlier but things are still new. Without a doubt, it's the best you've slept since the beginning of your relationship.

Morning comes and you awake atop his plastron. It feels like one of those moments in cheesy, romantic movies and you can't help but entertain indulgence. With a satisfied sigh, you make yourself comfortable, pressing your ear against his chest. A few moments pass and it dawns on you that you can't hear his heartbeat. In a short, ferocious wave of fright, you sit up and call out his name over and over. Your sudden wails and shaking of his body wake him up in a panic. When you realise he isn't dead, you let out a heavy breath and relieved tears quickly follow. He first worries that you had some horrific nightmare and tries his best to calm you down. For the most part, you're still shaken up but you manage to explain to him what had happened for you to get so worked up.

You do not appreciate the bellows of laughter that follow.

"It's not funny!" you cry.

You hit his arm and roll onto the bed, turning your back to him. As he takes you back into his arms, he's still laughing his stupid little head off. He isn't making fun of you. Well, he is but he just hadn't expected that to be why you got into such a tizzy. In all honesty, your concern is adorably sweet and he feels honoured to have someone who cares so much about him.

Researching the matter later, you understand why it was so impossible to hear his heart in the first place:

'With their thick protective shells, listening with a stethoscope for a heartbeat is impossible. The best way to check for a heartbeat is to use a doppler ultrasound to pick up on a pulse.'

You almost have to snicker at yourself for how absurd it is to research your boyfriend's anatomy. Typically, these kinds of searches entail how to kiss properly or birthday gift ideas. Normal stuff where having a new boyfriend is concerned. Yet again, you should have known this kind of relationship would be anything but normal.

Dating a mutant comes with obstacles but you know you would never have it any other way.

[getoslamb]

a/n: slow intro with a fair bit of dialogue & little plot twist at the end? + if you don't like gunplay, i promise this is not the one for you, don't read it wc: 5.7k

the rest of kinktober here + (toji art credit) + special tag @risararelywrites <3

As the night crept on, the thrill of the scare park hung thick in the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and muffled shrieks from other visitors. You walked arm-in-arm with Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru, revelling in the pulse of adrenaline that shot through you whenever an actor lunged from the darkness. Together, you’d gone through nearly every haunted house in the park, each one more elaborate than the last. 

But now, as you drifted toward the edge of the grounds, the lively sounds began to fade, swallowed up by the sight of a lone haunted house standing apart from the others—a grim silhouette shrouded in eerie, rolling fog.

This house looked different. It was darker, older, with an unsettling aura that seemed to thicken the air around it. Unlike the other exhibits, there were no bright lights, no cheering guides or costumed actors welcoming you in, just an open doorway that hinted at cracked wood, grimy windows, and shadows that seemed to hang around and watch.

"Why isn’t anyone going in?" you murmured, stopping to stare at the building. "Did they close it for the night?"

Shoko glanced at Suguru, exchanging a look that sent a tiny ripple of unease through you. “No, it’s open. Just not exactly popular,” she replied, her voice low.

“Not popular?” You smirked, letting the hint of a challenge seep in. “Is it really that bad?”

“Depends who you ask,” Satoru replied, his usual playful tone missing as he stared at the house. “People don’t go in alone.”

“It’s a scare park.” You scoffed, waving off his warning. “How scary could it actually be?”

Suguru placed a hand on your shoulder, a rare seriousness in his eyes. “This one’s different. People say there’s something… wrong with it. Nobody wants to find out for sure.”

“Wrong?” you echoed, crossing your arms. “How, exactly?”

“Some say there’s a man who hides in there,” Shoko murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “They don’t know if he’s some rogue actor or just… some crazy man. But he’s armed. Supposedly, he sneaks around pretending to be part of the act.”

You looked at the house again, half-amused, half-spooked. “So you’re telling me there’s a real psycho in there hiding out? Right.”

Your friends exchanged wary glances, their usual bravado notably absent, which only deepened your curiosity. “You’re serious? This is over some urban legend?”

“It’s not a legend,” Shoko muttered, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone creeping out of the fog. “People say they’ve seen him covered in blood. They say he blends right in until it’s too late.”

“Staff avoid it too,” Satoru added, his tone unusually flat. “So if you’re thinking about going in, maybe reconsider.”

A thrill shot through you, half defiance, half intrigue. The house loomed ahead, daring you. “So you all think he’s in there tonight?”

Suguru’s hand tightened on your shoulder. “It’s not worth finding out. There are plenty of other places we can check out.”

But the challenge tugged at you, almost tauntingly. You took a step forward, drawing exasperated sighs from your friends.

"Are you actually going in there?"

"This is a hard no for me," Shoko insisted.

“Come on, we’re not kidding around,” Suguru said, his expression sombre.

You gave them a shrug and a smile. “I’ll just peek in, five minutes, that’s all.”

Shoko crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. “Right, nothing bad ever happens in ‘just five minutes.’”

“Remember, if he’s in there, we’re not coming to save you.” Satoru jokes as he rolls his eyes.

"Noted," you replied, dancing around him with a grin. "If anything happens, at least I'll have a story."

But as you moved toward the darkened doorway, the memories of the warnings hounded you, and crossing the threshold, a small voice whispered, maybe they're right.

Inside, the shadows clung to the walls, warping and shifting with every flicker of the dim yellowing light bulbs. The air was heavy, still, as though the house itself was holding its breath, waiting. With each cautious step, the floor remained eerily silent-no familiar creaks, no whispers from other thrill-seekers echoing from somewhere in the darkness. The quiet was suffocating.

"It's just another haunted house," you whispered, trying to break the silence. But even your voice seemed to be swallowed up by the shadows.

You reached the edge of a dusty, darkened room when a soft dragging sound cut through the quiet. You whirled around, your heart hammering, but the hallway behind you was empty. The moment you began to steady your breath, a low rumbling chuckle echoed through the room, crawling down your spine.

"Didn't think anyone would wander in alone," a voice drawled from the shadows, smooth and dripping with dark amusement. "You've got guts.”

Your breath caught as a figure began to take form: a tall, wide man whose eyes glinted in the poor light. He moved like a shadow off the wall, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips as he took another step forward, the faint glow illuminating a pistol in his hand, his finger lazily resting near the trigger.

You swallowed hard and forced a grin, hoping to mask your unease. "Are… are you part of the show?"

He chuckled, his eyes raking over you with dangerous curiosity. "I'm part of an experience," he told you, that taunting smile twisting. "But not the kind you paid for.”

Your heart was racing as he closed in; his eyes were razor-sharp and predatory. He didn't hurry-if anything, he drew out the fear across your features. The pistol glinted in his hand, but his gaze stayed fixed on you, like he was reading every flicker of emotion.

He moved forward with a nearly lazy step; his head fell to the side as his smile grew, watching you inch backward. "So, you thought this was just another haunted house?" he asked, the tiniest thread of dark thrill weaved in. "Guess it's too late to warn you some rumours are worth listening to.

Your back hit the wall, and his eyes lit up with a spark of satisfaction. He leaned in closer, pressing the gun against his temple as he did so, an intense gaze and a chilling gleam in his eye. "You've got that look-the one which says you're curious. Brave, maybe a little too much so." He paused, smirk deepening. "So, how brave are you feeling now?”

You clenched your jaw and wouldn't flinch. "Maybe I am not as easy to scare as you think," you muttered, though your own voice quivered ever so slightly. "Oh?" His smirk whittled just a little sharper, a flash of mirth dancing in his eyes. "Then let us see.”

He let go of your wrist, only to trail the gun’s barrel along your jawline, his eyes drinking in every flinch, every shiver. He seemed to delight in drawing out the silence, each second weighted with his slow, deliberate movements. And in that quiet, somehow, the unspoken threat felt far more sinister.

As he studied you, his gaze lingered, savouring the fear that glinted in your eyes. “I have all night to see what it takes to break you,” he murmured, his voice almost playful. “And something tells me, this is going to be fun.”

The glint in his eyes held a dark promise, and you knew, too late, that you’d wandered into a trap—the kind that left you wondering just who, exactly, was meant to be scared.

You swallowed, struggling to hold his gaze, fighting the instinct to look away. But he had you cornered, and he knew it—knew you were trapped in his snare, just like he’d intended. The glint in his eye sharpened as he watched, a spark of twisted satisfaction lighting up his face as he took in every flicker of fear.

The man’s grin stretched wider, dark and mocking, as he watched you. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lowered the gun, tracing the cold barrel down your jawline, his eyes studying every inch of your face with a predatory intensity. The silence between you pressed in, suffocating and tense, somehow worse than any threat he could have made.

“You’re trembling now,” he whispered, voice dipped in dark humour. “But it makes me wonder…” He tilted his head, a false look of innocence softening his gaze even as his smirk stayed razor-sharp. “Is it fear making you shake? Or is it something… else?”

Your breath caught, a barely perceptible hitch that he didn’t miss. His smirk grew, as though he’d stumbled on a private joke, something only he was in on. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re the kind who gets a thrill out of all this?” he mocked, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, as if he were sharing a secret with you. “The type who’d never admit it, but… can’t help the way their heart races anyway.”

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you off so easily. With a nudge from the gun, he forced your chin up, his gaze locking with yours. “I see you,” he continued, inching closer, his warm breath fanning across your skin. “People like you walk in here alone, pretending it’s just for the thrill.” He leaned in, his voice lowering to a near murmur against your ear. “But maybe you wanted more.”

His words sent a shiver through you, mingling fear with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. He leaned back, watching your reaction, fingers brushing the side of your face in a touch that was disturbingly gentle. “Maybe that’s why you’re here,” he said, a rough laugh slipping from his lips. “I doubt someone like you would admit it, though.”

Your mind raced, and your voice caught in your throat, a knot of indignation and fear keeping you silent. He noticed, smirking like he’d already won. “Right on the mark, aren’t I?” he murmured, his hand resting on your cheek. “It’s always the innocent ones—scare the easiest, break the fastest.”

Your heart pounded, and though you willed yourself to pull away, your body seemed frozen under his touch. He held your gaze, thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “Just say it,” he teased, leaning close again. His thumb pressed lightly against your throat, tracing the beat of your pulse. “You didn’t come in here just for the scare, did you?”

The mocking smile he wore softened slightly, his voice lowering to a nearly intimate whisper. “I can feel it—the way you’re responding. The thrill, the nerves, the part of you that’s not sure if you want to run… or stay.”

You hated the way he seemed to read you, hated that he saw through the mask you wore to the part of you he’d awakened, a part tinged with something reckless and dangerous. He bent down further, enjoying how he had you at his mercy. "That's it, isn't it?" he mumbled, "It's a game-this line between predator and prey." His voice dropped to a purr. “Between fear… and whatever this is.”

You tried to steady your breath as he studied every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the touch feather-light but charged, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“How much would you actually enjoy being pushed?” he wondered aloud, eyes glinting. “Maybe you’d even beg for it. Maybe you’d even like not having control.”

A thrill of panic mingled with something darker, something that made your heart beat faster. He could see it, knew the effect he was having, and the satisfaction on his face only grew. “Just admit it,” he murmured, his tone insistent, his thumb grazing your jawline. “Admit how much you’re enjoying this.”

His fingertips lingered on your hip, a reassuring touch that was highly unsettling, as if he were daring you to let those words pass your lips out loud. "Come on," he seduced, the devilish glint dancing in his eyes. "I promise I won't bite… unless you're asking.

His hand slid around to the small of your back, pulling you against him. The heat of his body reminded you just how close he was, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted. His voice dropped to a near-growl. “Last chance to back out.” His lips ghosted over your earlobe. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”

His grip tightened, teeth grazing your ear, and then he pulled back, his gaze sharp as he slipped the gun into his waistband. His eyes were fixed upon yours with such intensity and something so akin to hunger; it sent the shiver down your spine. "So," he breathed, his voice low, with just a hint of challenge. "Ready to play?

Your heartbeat pounded against your rib cage, each thud a resonating drum in the silence between you. His words, his touch, the heat radiating off his body, it threatened to overwhelm you, drowning out every rational thought. You knew you should tell him to stop, should put space between you, but something kept you frozen there, curiosity mixing with the thrill of the unknown.

"I… I don't.", you stuttered, all but a whisper, while shallow breaths betrayed you, even in protest.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk edging toward a full grin. “You don’t what?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Don’t want me to stop… or don’t know if you should?”

Closer still, he leaned in until his nose brushed against yours, his gaze burrowing into yours with an intensity that made your knees feel weak. “I think you want this more than you’ll admit,” he murmured. His hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head, exposing your neck. “Just say the word,” he whispered, his lips hovering over yours. “I’ll give you everything you’ve been too afraid to ask for.”

He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, a playful nip that he soothed with his tongue, his voice softening to a near-coax. “Come on, sweetheart,” he breathed, every word a slow, dangerous promise. “Let yourself stop fighting it.”

"Okay," you whispered, just barely audible, the last shred of resistance dissolving as his lips claimed yours-hard and demanding. The kiss bruised with its possessiveness-he took your mouth with such hunger that robbed your breath, his tongue delving deep inside to consume you. His hand tangles in the strands of your hair, keeping you firmly in place, the other roaming along your body, mapping out every curve.

But the next instant, he pushed you away, and you tumbled backward, falling against a stack of old props that tumbled with you, a flicker of fear crossing your features. He saw it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he mocked, stalking toward you on lean legs with a predator's ease. "Scared off so soon?"

His eyes shone with a feral light, a cruel smirk playing about his lips. "I thought you wanted to play."

He leaned over you, grasping at your chin roughly to force you to look up at him. "Maybe you're not as brave as you thought," he sneered. "Or maybe", the tone darker, "you just need a little more incentive."

His hand had gone to his waistband, drawing out his gun. He pressed the cold metal against your lips, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that chilled you to the bone.

"Open up, sweetheart," he ordered in his voice, a thick coating of mockery. "Let's see if you're as good with that mouth as I think you are." A hand twisted in your hair yanking your head back to bare the line of your neck. "Or maybe," he mused, "I should just shut you up completely."

He traced the gun along your jaw, down your throat, stopping at the hollow at the bottom of your neck. His eyes never once strayed from yours as he watched for the effects, feeding off your growing fear. "What's it gonna be, baby? Want to play nice, or should I get rough with you?"

He leaned closer, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee as he savoured the tension. "Tick tock," he murmured, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Time's running out, and my patience is wearing thin. Choose wisely, baby—it might just save your life."

A wicked grin spread across his face as he saw you open your mouth, lips parting just enough for the barrel of the gun to slide between them, the cold metal pressing against your tongue. "That’s it," he purred. "Good girl."

He pushed the gun deeper, savouring the sight of you as the taste of metal filled your mouth. "Suck," he commanded, his voice thick with lust as he watched you obey, your lips stretched around the barrel, tongue swirling over the smooth surface. His hand in your hair tightened, and he let out a low, satisfied groan.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he breathed, his hips pressing forward as he ground against you. "You’re a natural at this, aren’t you? I bet you'd look even better with your lips wrapped around something else."

He watched with rapt attention as you continued, cheeks hollowing, mouth working the gun with an obedient rhythm. His gaze darkened as he took in the sight of you, debasing yourself at his command.

Finally, he withdrew the gun, a string of saliva briefly connecting it to your lips. "Kiss it," he growled, voice low and commanding. "Show me how much you want it."

You pressed your lips against the barrel, kissing it softly, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze, exactly as he demanded. Seeing you so submissive, so compliant, sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

"Atta girl," he murmured approvingly, his voice a soft purr of pleasure.

He pulled the gun away, resting it on the side as he freed his cock from his pants, stroking it slowly, teasingly, as you knelt before him. He smirked down at you, his eyes glinting with dark promise. "Put that pretty mouth to work, baby. Show me what you can do."

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding your head towards his cock, the musky scent of him filling your nostrils. His other hand gripped the base of his shaft, slapping the head against your lips, leaving a smear of pre-cum.

He pushed forward, forcing the head of his cock past your lips, groaning as your warm mouth enveloped him. "Fuck, that's it," he growled, his hips rocking gently, pushing deeper.

He groaned as your lips stretched around his thick, veiny shaft, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. His cock was long and hard, the skin smooth and hot against your tongue. The musky, masculine taste of him filled your mouth as you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked.

Saliva dripped down your chin as you bobbed your head, your hand coming up to grip the base, stroking what you couldn't fit in your mouth. He tasted of sweat and arousal, the flavour heady and intoxicating on your tongue.

Lewd, wet sounds filled the air as you slurped and sucked, your nose buried in his pubic hair, breathing in his scent. His balls were heavy and full, bouncing against your chin as you worked him over.

"Fuck, just like that," he grunted, his grip on your hair tightening, his hips snapping forward, fucking your face with shallow thrusts. "Take it all, baby.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he hit the back of your throat, your gag reflex working overtime, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you relaxed your throat, letting him slide deeper, taking him to the hilt.

He threw his head back with a groan, his abs clenching, his thighs trembling as you swallowed around him, your throat fluttering around his sensitive flesh.

"Goddamn, you're a natural," he panted, his voice strained with pleasure.

The click of the safety being disengaged sent a jolt of fear through you, even as you continued to suck him off. The cold metal of the gun brushed against your cheek, a stark contrast to the heat of his cock in your mouth.

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations through his shaft. "You like that, don't you, baby? The danger, the thrill. It gets you hot, doesn't it?" He pressed the gun to your temple, the barrel cold against your skin as he fucked your face harder, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper down your throat.

"Bet you're soaking wet right now," He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he neared his peak. "Fuck, I'm close," he grunted, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing in your mouth.

He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, his cock slick with your saliva. "Not yet, baby," he growled, his voice low and guttural. "I'm not done with you."

He grabbed your arm, hauling you to your feet, spinning you around and shoving you so you were bent over the wooden table. The rough wood scraped against your skin, the edge digging into your hips as he kicked your legs apart, exposing you to his gaze.

He flipped up your skirt, tearing your panties away with a sharp rip. His fingers dipped between your folds, teasing your entrance, circling your clit. 

"Fuck, look at you," he purred, his hand coming down hard on your ass, making you yelp. "Already so wet for me. Yeah, you’re not innocent at all, are you?” He leaned down, his breath hot against your skin as he spat directly onto your pussy, the warm liquid trickling between your folds before he licked a stripe along your slit.

He dove in, his tongue delving deep into your folds, lapping at your juices. He teased your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, flicking the sensitive bud with rapid strokes. The hand holding the gun rested against your ass as the other held one of your thighs, exposing you completely to his hungry mouth.

He alternated between long, slow licks and quick, darting flicks, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. He growled against your flesh, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine. His nose rubbed your clit as he buried his face deeper, his tongue probing your entrance.

He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to stroke your G-spot as he continued to eat you out. He added a third finger, stretching you, filling you, as his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groaned, his words muffled against your pussy. "So sweet and wet for me. I could eat this cunt all day."

He sealed his lips around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive nub. His fingers pumped in and out of you, the wet squelching sounds obscene in the quiet room.

His cock throbbed, rock hard and leaking pre-cum as he feasted on your pussy. The taste of you, the feel of your wetness coating his tongue, the sounds of your moans and whimpers—it all drove him wild with lust.

He fucked his fingers harder into you, curling them just right to hit that spot that made you see stars. His tongue flicked rapidly over your clit as he sucked, nibbled, licked every inch of your sopping folds.

He pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. His eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you, spread out and desperate for him.

"Mmm, you're so fucking wet," he purred, his voice low and dangerous. "I could eat this pretty pussy all night long."

He trailed the gun along your inner thigh, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. "But first, I think I need to prep you a little. Get you nice and ready for me."

He teasingly ran the barrel of the gun along your folds, the cold metal sending a jolt of sensation through you. "What do you think, baby? Think you can handle this?"

You looked over your shoulder at him, stealing a glance as his eyes gleamed in the moonlight, a faint nod of your head as you wanted it.

"I don't know," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Can you?"

He circled your clit with the tip of the gun, the metal cool against your heated flesh. Your hips twitched, seeking more pressure, more friction.

"Look at you, so desperate for it," he purred, his free hand coming down on your ass in a sharp slap. "Even with a gun to your cunt, you're still begging for it."

“Tell me-” he says as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, “Use those words.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to spill from your lips. His touch, his words, they were driving you crazy with need. You wanted him, all of him, and you didn't care how twisted it was.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Please, I need it. I need you."

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "That's more like it”

He trailed the cold metal of the gun along your slit, teasing your entrance, circling it slowly. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of his gaze on your body as he watched you squirm

He pressed the tip of the gun against your entrance, the metal cool and unyielding. Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as he applied just the slightest bit of pressure.

He pressed the tip of the gun inside you, the cold metal sliding in teasingly slow. You gasped, your body tensing at the unfamiliar sensation. He went deeper, inch by torturous inch, stretching you, filling you in a way you'd never experienced before.

"Fuck, look at you taking it," he groaned, his voice low and approving. "Such a good girl, so eager for me."

He worked the gun in and out, fucking you with it, the metal gliding along your walls, hitting spots you didn't know existed. Your pussy clenched around it, trying to adjust to the intrusion, the friction.

He pushed the gun deeper, the metal sliding in with a slick sound, your wetness easing the way. You whimpered, your body trembling as he filled you, stretched you, claimed you in the most primal way possible.

He pulled it out slowly, the metal dragging along your folds, teasing your entrance, before pushing it back in.

He twisted the gun, the barrel rubbing against your sensitive walls, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. Your pussy clenched around it, trying to adjust to the intrusion, the friction.

The wet, obscene sounds of the gun pumping in and out of your pussy filled the air, mixing with your moans and whimpers. He angled it just right, hitting that spot deep inside that made your toes curl, your eyes roll back in your head.

He pulled the gun out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching. You whimpered at the loss, your body craving more.

"Patience, baby," he purred as he tossed the gun to the side. "We're just getting started."

He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

He pushed inside you slowly, inch by throbbing inch, stretching you, filling you. Your pussy clenched around him, trying to adjust to his size, his heat. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as he sank deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. "Feels so good wrapped around my cock."

He bottomed out as his massive frame engulfed you as he leaned over your back, his balls heavy and full against you as he remained deep inside you. He stayed there for a moment, letting you feel every inch.

Then he started to move, his hips rocking, his cock sliding in and out of your slick heat. He set a slow, deep rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt.

Your pussy fluttered around him, your walls clinging to his shaft, trying to keep him inside. He grunted with each thrust, his fingers digging into your skin with a pressure that you know will leave marks.

He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you back against him, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper. His other hand slid up your body, coming to rest at your throat. Not squeezing yet, just a gentle reminder of his control, his dominance.

"That's it, baby," he growled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Take it. Take my cock like the good girl you are."

He fucked you harder, faster, his grip on your throat tightening just a fraction. The dual sensations of pleasure and pressure, of being filled and controlled, sent waves of heat coursing through your body.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his hips pistoning, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Gonna fill you up with my cum. Pump you full until it's leaking out of you."

His fingers tightened around your throat, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your heart race, your pussy clench around him. He was so close, his cock throbbing inside you, his body tensing.

His grip tightened on your throat, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make your pulse flutter beneath them. His other arm cinched around your waist, pulling you back harder, his hips slamming into you with bruising force.

"Fuck, gonna come," he grunted, his voice strained and guttural.

He pounded into you relentlessly, his cock stretching you, claiming you, branding you from the inside out. His balls slapped against your clit with each brutal thrust, the wet, obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

His hand on your throat squeezed again, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your head swim, your vision blur. The dual sensations of pleasure and pressure, of being filled and controlled, pushed you closer to the edge.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles as he fucked you harder, deeper, his cock pounding into your pussy like a jackhammer. The added stimulation was too much, sending you careening over the edge into a mind-blowing orgasm.

Your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and clenching, milking his cock for all it was worth. Your body shook and trembled, your moans echoing off the walls as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

He groaned, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering as your pussy worked him over. "Fuck, yes, come for me," he growled, his fingers pinching your clit, prolonging your climax.

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied himself inside you. His thick cum filled you, painting your walls white, marking you as his.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight pinning you to the table, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. For a moment, you both just lay there, basking in the afterglow, your bodies still joined, your hearts beating in sync.

He rolled his hips, his semi-hard cock still buried inside you, drawing out your pleasure. He pulled out slowly, a groan escaping him as your walls clung to him, trying to keep him inside.

He watched, transfixed, as his cum leaked out of your pussy, dripping down your thighs. The sight of you, so thoroughly used, so marked by him, sent a fresh wave of arousal through him.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "So fucking beautiful, covered in my cum."

He leaned down, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your spine as you lay there, trying to catch your breath. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves and dips, the marks he'd left on your skin.

"You did so well, baby," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear.

He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing. “Come on, up, lemme get a look at you.”

He helped you up, his hands steady on your hips as you wobbled on shaky legs. He turned you around to face him, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over your body, taking in the marks he'd left, the cum still dripping down your thighs.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he growled, his hands cupping your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "I could look at you like this all day."

He kissed you then, hard and deep, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, tasting himself on your lips. He pulled back, his eyes searching yours, a question in them.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks as he helps you redress, along with himself.

"No," you breathe, your voice hoarse and trembling. "It was... intense, but not painful."

You lean into his touch, savouring the warmth of his hands on your face, the solidness of his body against yours. Despite the darkness of what just transpired, there's a strange comfort in his presence, a sense of belonging.

“The gun-” you begin before he chuckles and interrupts you as he approaches the gun and picks it up, “Looks pretty real, huh? Feels it too.”

You laugh a little at that, “Yeah, it definitely felt it.”

“I’ll have to thank your friends for getting me such a good prop” He says, “And for arranging this whole place…You think they’re waiting outside?”

“God no, Shoko made it very clear yesterday that she wouldn’t wait around whilst I came in here to get fucked by my boyfriend. They’ll be long gone, we can call a cab.”

“Cab it is.” He smirks as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

taglist:

@l0v3m3-p13as3 @hishearttohave @williamafton26 @kentochronicles

@jays-adventure3 @nctislifue @eeveedvck @needtoloveoutloud @yowumi

@sweetpo1son @betelgeuse420 @yuhig-blog @psychedellyc @char-35

@kaeyeahsworld @sukunadckrider @ladyackermanisdead @szired

© getoslamb �� do not copy or translate any of my works

[puttersmile]

Crittertember Day 16: Sleeping

Yes have some more Puppylove! And a oneshot to go with it!

When the skies darkened Dogday had a sinking feeling it was too late to leave.  He’d lost track of time and without warning a sudden  thunderstorm rolled in. The thunder rumbled, making Dogday tense up and his tail sag. He had always tried to hide his fear of storms, even though his friends knew. 

Bobby didn’t like it much either, but as the storm intensified and it became clear that Dogday couldn’t leave, she nervously suggested,

 “Why don’t you, uh, stay the night? We could… keep each other company?” Bobby saw the rain pouring in sheets outside her window. “ Like maybe we could–”

“S-sleep together? Like… in the bed? Under the covers? The same bed? The both of us?” Dogday stammered, trying to play dumb to mask his own nervousness. 

Bobby blushed but nodded.. “Yes, in the same bed. We’ll be more comfortable that way, and it’s not like I want to face this storm alone.”

Dogday gulped. “I mean, I can always take the couch…”

Bobby shook her head quickly. “No, really. I’d feel better if you were with me. It’s already late enough as it is.” Bobby genty pulled his hand. "Promise I won't bite."

Dogday couldn’t help but laugh, albeit shyly. “Well, when you put it that way… Okay, I’m in. But fair warning, I might need to hold onto something if the thunder gets too loud.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Well, as long as that ‘something’ happens to be me, I think we’ll be just fine.”

She lead him to her room, the storm outside seemed to boom only half as hard as Dogday’s heartbeat. Yet it also made the space feel cozier despite the crackling tension in the air. They settled into bed, a timid excitement bubbling up as they cuddled close. 

Dogday was hyper-aware of her warmth, the scent of her fur, and the steady rhythm of her breathing. It felt right, yet the newness of it all made his pulse race.

Another boom of thunder rolled through, and Dogday instinctively pulled her closer. 

“You weren’t kidding about needing to hold onto something, huh?” Bobby teased.

Dogday smiled sheepishly. “Guess not.” He glanced around, “You know, this is pretty scandalous. What will our friends think?”

Bobby grinned, playing along. “They’ll probably be jealous they’re not getting a warm hug from someone as awesome as me.”

Dogday snickered as he eased his side into one of Bobby’s oversized pillows. “You’re probably right.”

At that moment, Bobby leaned in and began peppering his face and neck with soft kisses, each one sending a thrill through her dog friend, his tail thumping against the blankets wildly. Enraptured by her affection, he managed to joke, 

“H-hey, Bobs! You know, I’m starting to think you wanted the storm to get me into this kind of position!”

Bobby pulled back just enough to smirk at him, her eyes gleaming. “That’s a strong possibility, but I’ll admit nothing.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, the storm outside no longer feeling like a threat but more like a backdrop to this moment.

Bobby broke the silence with a soft voice, “You know, I’ve imagined this… falling asleep with you. It’s nice, even if I didn’t picture the thunder.”

Dogday’s heart swelled, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Me too. And I don’t care about the thunder as long as you’re here.”

Bobby giggled. “It can’t hurt you as long as I’m around.”

Dogday yawned. “My hero.”

Bobby smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the blankets wrapped around them. “Well, in that case, I guess we’ll have to make this a regular thing.”

Dogday chuckled, the sound soft and comforting as he started drifting into sleep. Finally his tail rested.

“I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

AN: I doggedly continue making Crittertember art. They should be under the blankets but I drew them first and didn't want to erase half their body lol.

[mediumgayitalian]

“I made this for you.”

Nico stares, blankly, and the freckly hand extended out to him. Twisted around the long, calloused fingers, snagging on a black-lacquered chipped nail, is a bracelet.

Hesitantly, Nico takes it.

It’s woven in some way. He doesn’t recognize the exact pattern; Annabeth probably would. Not a braid, certainly, not any particular shape he can recognise. It’s bi-coloured, a twist of black and yellow, strings wrapped around them in an aborted spiral, almost. There’s a snag a third way into the bracelet, a tiny little error betraying its homemade status.

Under the guise of still inspecting the bracelet, Nico peers through his eyelashes. Will’s attention has long since shifted to somewhere to the left of him, rocking back on his heels, teeth gnawing into his lips as he hums. No longer extended out between them, waiting for Nico’s next move, his hands pick at the colour on his nails, picking off the polish chip by chip.

Dozens of similar bracelets stack his wrists, his ankles; rainbow of colours clashing horribly with the mint green of the cheap plastic shoes.

“What…” He pauses, clearing his throat. He feels Will’s attention on him, the warming rays of his soft smile. Surely this can’t be…

“It’s a friendship bracelet! We were makin’ pottery in Arts ‘n Crafts; I got distracted and the whole thing went squelch.” He blows a raspberry, smacking his fist into his hand. Nico jumps. “Totally collapsed! Anyways. Made a friendship bracelet for all my friends, yellow for me, black for you. I got a matching one!” He holds up his his wrist. It takes Nico a second of squinting to find the matching one — yellow and black, twisted, just like the one he’s wearing, nestled against the others like he’s been wearing it for years.

I made one for all my friends.

“You, uh.” His palms sweat. He tucks them behind his back before Will notices, although the twinkle in his eye tells him he might have an idea. “You’ve done this before.”

It’s not much of a question. Will takes it as one anyway.

“Mhm. You don’t have to wear it, if you don’t want to, I can take it —”

Nico wrenches himself away. Will blinks.

“Absolutely not,” he says, before he realizes what’s coming out of his mouth. “You made it for me. It’s mine.” In a flurry of movement, he tugs the bracelet over his hand, twisting the loosely hanging part around his thumb.

Slowly, giving him time to pull away, a freckly hand comes back into his space. When Nico — frozen — doesn’t flinch away, they rest on the jut of his wrist, the scar on the palm of his hand.

“I got it,” he murmurs. Nico glances up to find Will already looking at him, blue eyes wide and imploring and soft.

Nico has never associated blue eyes with softness. Intensity, maybe. Clarity. Softness, to him, has long been the understanding brown of Reyna’s, the softly glowing embers of Lady Hestia’s. The golden glow of Hazel’s, especially, ever-smiling. (The gentle, endless, sun-warmed clay brown of Bianca’s. Too big for her face, hidden behind her bangs; except, of course, when Nico was overwhelmed and miserable and needed her, needed her, needed her. Or when the lawyer came to their room door, steel-faced, giving the same news, and Nico would slide a small hand in hers, squeezing.)

Will’s eyes are soft, though, he realizes. Like cotton candy at DC fairs, like grape hyacinth, like the blanket he toted around as a baby. Like a sunny smile and golden hair and teasing winks when everything is too too much.

“There.”

With a gentle tug, the loose strings of the friendship bracelet tightly pull the bracelet snug against his wrist. Looser, barely even touching, Will’s fingers follow the contours of the bracelet. He lingers. Nico wonders if he can feel his pulse, pounding, endless.

“Thank you,” he manages, finally. His throat is dry. “For.”

The rest of his sentence won’t come out. Before he can panic, Will smiles; beams, really, eyes crinkling shut, and the short breaths clattering his lungs fizzle out entirely.

“Oh,” he says, several things slotting together at once. “Oh.”

“Anytime,” Will responds grinning, squeezing Nico’s wrist once more before bouncing off. “See you around!”

He’s far gone before Nico finds his voice again. But he smiles, still, eyeing the pretty bracelet, and whispers, “You, too.”

[some-bunniii]

— self indulgence time, say howdy to my hellaverse oc! [+ a fic]

Kokabiel, one of Hell’s original celebrities and fashion icons [art by mamma_hisa]

I have a 6k word fic that’s been sitting in my drafts for awhile, and i worked long enough on it so i think it deserves some sunlight

i wrote the first chapter to a lucifer x oc story in an AU where Lilith leaves when Charlie is a baby and Kokabiel accidentally becomes her maternal figure, and it was going to be long but then I never touched it again ☠️ she was made originally made for the fic but she’s so gorgeous and mommy i spent days fleshing her out as my main bbyg.

working on a few things so take this for now to get a taste of her and some morningstar love! no romance, just introductions.

“Charlie, please go to sleep” The pearlescent figure next to the small bed begged the toddler, who was trying to scramble out of his grip and away from the covers that were wrapped around her waist.

The man’s platinum-blonde hair was disheveled, dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep that was quite evident on his features as he tiredly pulled the girl back onto the bed, holding her still as she whined against his hands. 

His mouth opened in a wide yawn, his shark-like teeth glinting in the soft light that emanated from the bedside lamp next to him. He blinked slowly, trying to rid himself of the exhaustion that was trying to overtake him, his eyelids beginning to droop even as he continued to wrestle his daughter. 

Charlie shot her father a nasty glare, brows furrowed as she frowned deeply. The bright red spots that graced the chub of her cheeks lowered as her lips curled downward. They were one of the many features she shared with the pale man before her, including those soft, sun-kissed locks and snow-bathed skin. 

She also shared the same tired eyes that met hers sternly, but her mind was too active to allow her body those much-needed hours of rest. 

The rest her father, Lucifer Morningstar, also needed.

“I know you’re sleepy, sweetheart! Just lay still so daddy can get some shut-eye too, hm?”

“No!” Charlie whined, lips puckered in distraught as her strength began to wane. Why would she sleep when she could be playing with her stuffed goats instead?! It just wasn’t fair!

“Yes!” Lucifer commanded, before he growled softly and lifted a finger towards the small child, a glint of golden light lit on the tip of his claw as he pressed it softly against Charlie’s forehead. 

For a moment it flickered against her pale skin, and Lucifer removed his finger as Charlie froze at the sudden tingling sensation.

Her mouth was in the shape of a small o as she tried to get a look at whatever her father had placed on her, but the only clue in her vision was the twinkle of aurum light. A warmth began to seep into her skin, emanating from the magic blooming across her face.

Like a firework launching into the night sky, the tiny orb shot from her forehead up towards the ceiling, before it burst into a flurry of sparks that glimmered in the darkness, casting the walls with their vibrant hues.

The golden light danced above Charlie’s head, her eyes wide and in awe as the golden sparks began to melt into rippling waves that spiraled across the ceiling.

Lucifer flicked off the bedside light, the room darkening slightly as the magic above basked the room in a subtle warm glow as it pulsed rhythmically.

He still sat beside the bed, hand resting limply against Charlie’s chest as the interest in her eyes soon turned to sleepiness, and her eyelids began to droop.

Lucifer watched with a small smile as a magical display began to lull Charlie into sleep, and it only took a few more minutes before her face relaxed into a peaceful expression and her breathing swallowed.

Roughling rubbing a hand down his face with a sigh, Lucifer stood from the floor. His fuzzy pink robe drooped from his shoulders just enough to expose his bare, finely chiseled chest.

Quietly, he tip-toed across the bedroom, stepping over dolls, stuffed animals, and other trinkets that littered the floor. As long as he was careful, he wouldn’t risk waking the child.

Lucifer’s fingers wrapped around the door handle, before he waved his hand in the air, and the golden light dispersed, showering the room in shadows once more.

Cracking open the door just a tad, he slipped into the hallway. Lucifer’s back hit the door’s solid, oak frame as he exhaled a sigh of relief. The fallen angel felt like he could slide down onto the plush red carpet and hibernate right there, but he was the King of Hell, he had too much self-respect for that.

Raking a hand through his disheveled hair, Lucifer began to drag his feet down the hall, fatigue gnawing at his mind as he passed by the large paintings that hung upon the dark red walls, a perfect backdrop to the fair-skinned figures that posed elegantly inside the gold-framed portraits.

A man, his apple-red cheeks practically brushing against the edges of his face as he smiled brightly. A woman stood tall beside him, a dark purple dress hugging her curved figure as she posed regally. Her fingers entwined with her counterpart, their intimacy evident.

Lucifer would take that down, eventually. It only ever reminded him of painful memories, of that violet, sultry gaze through which she would send him as they basked in the warmth of the large fireplace in the large lounge in their castle. 

Wine glasses emptied again and again as the King listened to her gentle humming, her fingers laced with his as she pulled him closer. Her lips left wet, sloppy kisses against his chin. The faint trail of black lipstick as her mouth connected with his in a passionate embrace of body and soul, intertwined.

Lilith, the previous Queen of Hell. Lucifer’s ex-wife, Charlie’s mother.

How long had she been gone now? Lucifer knew the exact day, he practically memorized the minute and hour when she left. When Lilith had sent him one last look from the open front door, her gaze unreadable through the black shades on her face, her honey-colored hair flowing like water around her figure as the two lovers locked eyes for the final time.

“Goodbye, Lou,” Lilith had whispered, her voice like silk against his ears even in such an anguished moment. Strands of hair covered her features as she spoke, shielding her expression as she turned her head, her back facing the fallen angel as she stepped through the threshold. 

Out of his home, out of his world. 

And, Charlie’s too. It’s hard explaining to a child that their mommy went on a very, very long vacation. He’d have the courage to tell her… eventually. Except, that meant she might one day blame him, too.

What could Lilith have been feeling, happiness, sorrow, anger? Lucifer would never know, he had tried so desperately to even understand why she had left in the first place. Had there been signs? An argument of some kind he had forgotten? What had he done wrong, that his first love and the mother of his child, would leave him to care for Charlie and the realm, all alone?

It was Lilith who held most of the influence when it came to the lower-classed demons, her words and songs enlightening the residents of Hell, cultivating the realm like a garden as she watered the needy and uprooted those with dark intentions like invasive weeds.

To the people of Hell, Lucifer was the epitome of complete, ultimate power. The embodiment of pride, and the reminder of who would always have control. 

He was rarely seen in public, especially in his own Ring, full of the very demons he despised the most. Sure, he had his covers on magazines and face plastered all over LuLu World, but that was where it ended.

Instead, the King kept his duties strictly to those most loyal and most powerful. The rest of the Deadly Sins, the Ars Goetia family, and once in a while joining on an overlord meeting. 

As long as they understood who not to cross, the safety and security of his family would never be at risk, if one could even try and pose any threat to one of the first creations. The Morningstar that shone before Lilith, before Earth, before everything.

In all honesty, Lucifer didn’t really do… anything, when it came to his subjects. 

It was Lilith whose appearance was imprinted into the minds of her subjects through her many concerts and powerful political influence. It was she who had given them the confidence to defy Heaven, to stand against their exterminations that plagued the Pride Ring once a year.

Now, Lucifer was left to hold up face, to keep the realm from divulging into chaos, as the stability of the hierarchy of Hell slipped slowly and slowly through his fingers. No matter how many demons he could smite with the snap of his fingers, the sinful on Earth would always be sent to him as punishment, for the both of them. 

He needed to keep them all in line, as respectfully as possible.

Which meant Lucifer was alone to take care of Charlie, who was insanely active and needy for attention, like any demon her age. She couldn’t stay out of trouble, and Lucifer had to juggle her, his own volatile emotions that had been causing him to skip more and more meals, and the piling events that always filled his days this time of the year. 

The annual gatherings with the Ars Goetia that he had to attend symbiotically to keep their unwavering loyalty, the meetings to make sure the rest of the Sins were keeping their rings afloat, and flaunting a little bit of his power to the Overlords in Pentagram City that liked to stir trouble in his own ring.

Hell needed a future so that his daughter would have something to rule over when she came of age and wisdom. No matter how he tried to push the thoughts of his little girl growing up and leaving him, sooner or later, the fledgling would have to leave the nest.

Lucifer could see it, clear as day, his spirit and creative spark deep in her gaze when she listened to his many ideas and visions of what could have been and what surely will be. The way she giggled quietly as he presented her toys of his creation, her soft gaze looking at each little trinket with adoration and inspiration.

If she was anything like the man Lucifer used to be, that meant she would no doubt rebel against his views of Hell and his subjects, and that scared the King. 

Lucifer continued to pass more portraits, dimly lit by the warm glow of the wall lamps dotting the hallway. Pictures of his daughter, the other Sins, and the grand opening of LuLu World. The final portrait next to his bedroom door was a small painting, an almost-perfect recreation of the only Heavenly creation he still held close to his heart. 

The Morning Star.

The large ball of bright, white light illuminated against the oily-black backdrop that was also speckled with smaller, glittering stars. Some shone in vibrant, multi-colored hues that lit the painted night sky with a soft celestial light.

Except, none of those stars shone as bright as his star, the star specifically created for him by a face whose familiarity had been long lost in time. A face that still gnawed at the edge of his mind every time he stared at that painting, those long-buried memories slowly crawling from the depths of his soul.

Maybe, one day, he’d have the strength to remember.

When the door to his room was pushed open softly, Lucifer’s eyes hit the digital clock on his nightstand. It was one in the afternoon, and Charlie would only nap for a few hours before she awakened with renewed energy. 

The toddler has grown restless lately, anxious to see a new face, to take a peek outside of the confines of their large home. No matter how many magical displays Lucifer presented the child, she always grew bored, and that frown was becoming more permanent on her lips as the days passed.

It must be tiring waking up and practically seeing your reflection almost every minute of your day.

There was no one Lucifer could trust in the presence of his daughter, though. No one he could see fit enough to care for her, not even himself. He struggled, being a father, for his little apple pie.

Parenting was not easy, especially when you had no idea what you were doing. It was especially hard when you were too afraid to upset your daughter with stern words and an authoritative voice, which meant the toddler ran the house.

The most powerful being in Hell would have to put his foot down to his little girl… eventually. After this quick nap, maybe. 

The large bed, much too big for only one person, beckoned Lucifer with an irresistible invitation. His legs moved with renewed strength before he fell face flat into the soft, cool duvet that welcomed him kindly. His muscles relaxed instantly, his feet dangling limply from the end of the bed as he finally opened his mind to the idea of sleep.

Slowly, Lucifer’s consciousness began to ebb, and his snores echoed around the room as his mind stilled into blackness.

What he wasn’t aware of, as the fallen angel sunk deeper into the plush, red blankets, was that the small bed on the opposite side of the hall was empty. Its previous inhabitant was currently tottling towards the door to his workshop that had been slightly ajar just across from her bedroom.

With wide eyes, Charlie scanned the room as she poked her head through the crack in the doorway, her little button nose twitching as she drank in all the little knick-knacks and prototypes of fantastical ideas that would never see the light of day.

It was dimly lit, save for the faint red glow pouring in from the large circular window above the desk across the room. There was nothing of interest on its smooth, wooden surface to the tiny awe-struck eyes. Instead, it was the soft, chromatic light that caught her gaze on a low shelf right next door. 

Floating elegantly above a short, circular pedestal were seven glowing rings, stacked above each other a few inches apart with zero gravity. Each held a unique hue, from green to pink, as they lured Charlie with their ethereal glow. If she could lift her little body just slightly onto the chair against the desk, she could reach them. 

What could they be, so pretty just floating like that? They looked just like glow-stick necklaces! Would Daddy think she was pretty if she put them on and showed him?

With a large smile and slightly unsteady steps, Charlie crossed the room, her tiny feet pitter-pattering against the soft carpet as she beelined for the colorful display. When she reached the wooden chair, her chin barely grazed against the cushioned seating as she placed her palms gingerly against its plush surface.

With a mighty heave and a sharp inhale of breath, the toddler began kicking her legs wildly as she tried gaining momentum to hoist herself onto the chair. 

Charlie sputtered for breath as her grip loosened due to her sweaty palms, but then her leg hooked onto the seat railing, which gave her momentarily support to pull herself farther up until her knee grazed the top of the cushion. 

Placing one arm underneath her for support, the toddler reached the other out towards the ring. Her fingers splayed out, the whites of her eyes glowing red as they reflected the ring’s vibrant hue. 

Charlie held her breath, beginning to tip over just as her index finger grazed the very edge of the ring’s surface. Red energy shot down her spine, sending her hair to stick out with static 

The girl barely got a squeak in before she vanished in a burst of lightning that barely resonated a sound as it zapped her away. 

The red ring flickered once, faltering above the rest for only a moment, before it stilled into place.

And the room was empty once more.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀🤍🤍🤍

On the outskirts of the Pride Ring was a small, white villa nestled against a rocky cliff face, surrounded by tall, black fencing that ended in sharp, spiked ends. Purple magic sizzled off of the tips, a clear warning to anyone who wanted to enter: They would not be welcome.

Inside the powerful barrier, was a large garden filled with a surreal combination of beauty and decay. Vibrant flowers bloomed amidst twisted, blackened trees that seemed to reach out with gnarled branches like skeletal fingers. 

The floral scent that wafted from the blossoms permeated the air, mixed with the slight tinge of sulfur of Hell’s odor.  

Nestled among the dark purple bushes and other hellish flora, were tall snow-white sculptures of men and women, their stone eyes staring lifelessly across the garden’s expanse. 

A diverse cast of figures, short and brawny, too tall and lanky. Each unique from the rest.

Except, for their facial expressions, in which they each held a similar look of terror. As if they had been frozen in place during a time of anguish, of a terrifying encounter that left them to rot inside their pretty stone casks. 

They were positioned across the lawn in a perfect, meticulous manner. As if someone spent day in and day out holed up inside the black fencing, with nothing to do but continuously cultivate their blooming garden. 

One particular statue, which held the image of a goat-like man, staring up at the sky as if in one final prayer, was currently being inspected by a gracefully poised woman standing before it. Painted on his frozen cheek, was a small black lipstick-stained kiss.

From a distance, you’d think she was human. The silky, black dress that hugged her curves was reminiscent of ancient Greek fashion. Her shoulders were fully exposed, garment held up by a high neckline that tickled at her throat as she leisured, a glass of alcohol in her hand.

Her rich, deep brown skin stood out among the pearlescent, marble statues. Practically shimmering against the red hues that basked her home with the midday light. 

An ethereal radiance seemed to seep from her skin, giving her silhouette a faint, golden glow that made her skin shimmer like light on morning dew.

Her hairstyle was similar to a ponytail, a partial updo that sat at the top of her head like a bun, before the long, white locs cascaded down her back.Along with two large strands that framed the sides of her angled face.

The big differential between her and a woman strolling down the street? The horns that graced the top of her head. They curved to end just above her forehead, a black crown that cemented her place as another resident of Hell.

Travel a bit farther down her figure, and you’d find those large, white tendrils of hair that swished as she turned slightly had a funny texture to them that most would mistake for thick braids. 

Except, braids aren’t made of scales, are they? 

At her ankles, a multitude of snakeheads stuck out their tongues, tasting the air as their beady red eyes scanned across the grassy scape. 

They twisted around each other, curling into themselves to keep a tighter form as they wriggled against the woman’s back, interest peaked at their surroundings as their tongues flicked in and out.

Once in a while, a head would spot some small, hellish critter skittering across the yard looking for food. And, before one could blink, its jaws would open wide as it shot forward, pulling slightly at the woman’s scalp as it clamped its maw around the tiny creature.

It would slink back near her ankles, trying to gulp down the tasty delicacy as the other snakes around it poked and prodded for a taste. They hissed and snapped at one another, fighting for a morsel.

The woman turned her head, shooting the reptilian mass a glare as they wrapped around her legs. Milky white pools met multiple red, glowing eyes as they slunk back slightly at her scolding, giving time for the one snake to finish gobbling up his snack without fuss.

The two smaller serpents that framed her face weren’t as long as the rest of their siblings, instead reaching to her breasts as they lazily rested on the fabric of her dress. 

Tenderly, the woman lifted an arm, and her shorter serpent curled delicately around her hand, until its head rested gingerly on her palm. 

Gently, she brushed a thumb along its snout, and it hissed softly with pleasure, its eyes closing shut as it nestled farther into her warm skin.

“Jameson, another margarita, please.”

“Yes, Lady Kokabiel,” a small imp butler bowed, his cropped, curly white hair bouncing slightly as he lowered his head. 

Turning, the imp trotted towards a shaded area underneath a weeping willow tree, its low-hanging branches that grazed against his shoulders were dark red, shielding the large mixture of alcohol from the heat of the day as he poured another glass of the blue liquid.

When Jameson returned, Kokabiel handed him the empty glass before plucking the margarita from his grasp. She sent him an appreciative smile, her white freckles sparkling like starlight as they curved with her lips.

She swirled the alcohol in the glass, watching the small vortex for a few moments, before lifting it to her lips and taking a sip. 

That’s how Kokabiel spent most of her days in Hell, nowadays. Getting a buzz off of fruity liquor and fawning over her snakes, as she lounged in her garden with no one to bother her. 

It had been a long time since she left the spotlight, previously a fashion and sex icon, Kokabiel had flaunted her good looks and curves to promote all kinds of products and events, dominating the biggest runways. She even starred in a couple of A-list movies, growing her until she reached the peak of stardom.

Kokabiel had earned her place at the top of the pyramid, right next to many older, successful celebrities in the industry. Lilith was a big name, even bigger than Koko’s with how beautiful of a singer she was, pulling in fans like a siren with her honeyed voice. 

Even with such cutthroat competition, Kokabiel never felt that she was fading out of the audience’s vision with how fast her mailbox would fill with writings from her fans

Fanart, declarations of love written in sparkly pink ink, and invitations to large parties and prestigious events. Even now, she still received fan mail here or there, although they were usually left unanswered. 

She had never wanted to retire in the first place, her plans for the future only confining to grow bigger by the day. Until one night, during a party hosted by the overlords of the city, was Kokabiel confronted with an ultimatum. 

“I know your secret,” he had smiled devilishly. That flat-faced, know-it-all smirk the man sent her one evening, as he confronted her in the darkness of a hallway. 

“What secret?” Kokabiel laughed dryly, shooting him a question glare. 

“Oh, you know,” his pixelated eyes lifted to the darkened sky through the ceiling-high windows nearby, Heaven’s white glow cascading through the panes, “The one about where you really came from, not the Lust Ring lie you like to spin to the audience.” 

The alcoholic buzz in Kokabiel’s system faded in an instant, and her snakes coiled against her back, hissing loudly as she shot him a deathly glare. It had seemed he had chosen to give the news from a safe distance, too far for her snakes to reach. A smart man. 

How did he find out, and what did he plan to do with that information?

That smile of his had only widened further, giddy at the fact he had her in his grasp. He could pull the strings, keep her away from his industry. This secret, that he had only stumbled upon accidently, was going to make sure she stayed gone.

Kokabiel had never caused trouble, never flaunted her power to rise up Hell’s hierarchy, never made any public displays of how easily she could rip demon’s souls out of their bodies if they got too close. 

Nor did any demon claim to be owned by her, as they were too busy being decorative pieces to tell their tale. 

Kokabiel’s presence was a mystery to her powerful counterparts. Her aura was too clean, too ethereal to be a sinner or an average hellborn. But, she had never actually said the words ‘Yes, I’m from Heaven.’ 

She didn’t need to, anymore. After that little conversation, the talking TV had made a deal. Keep that pretty face away from the cameras, and his lips were sealed for eternity. 

Kokabiel had announced her retirement a day later, not answering a single question about why or where she was going. Those cameras and microphones that had gotten shoved in her face received no words as received hurried into her limo. 

How could Kokabiel, someone whose face was once plastered onto entire sides of buildings, fall so hard because of some up-and-coming overlord with the intent to control the masses? She’d had bigger spats with the paparazzi on the side of the street than this!

Now, she didn’t have to worry about those annoying flies anymore, with their constant flashes that always anguished her snakes and the peppering of questions.

Finally away from any prying eyes and those awful, bright flashes that plagued every step Kokabiel took out in public. Here, she could do and say anything, without someone waiting to jump at the opportunity to sell a shitty, non-contextual picture to the highest tabloid bidder.

Solitude gets boring, though. Even with her snakes to crawl over and her garden to tend, one could only vent to the marble figures for so long before they felt their sanity slipping.

That was until an imp had squeezed his way through the thick pickets of her fence, those short white curls singed at the tips from the magic that stung him. 

Whatever was chasing the small man was more dangerous as he continued to beeline toward the bushes that could shelter him.

The imp had turned his head, catching the sight of his pursuers as they reached the fence. Three burly, tall shark demons roared as his tiny frame sped off.

That only led him to meet horns first into the stomach of the owner of the fence, and the land he was currently trespassing on. With an oomph he landed on hit, gaze darting at the being standing above him.

Kokabiel had quirked a brow, unamused as she wiped the dirt from the front of her dress. It wasn’t until one shark demon rammed into the fence, did she lifted her head and a dark frown played on her lips. 

He had seen it, the power behind her gaze, when the loan sharks blew up one of her favorite rose bushes as they broke through the gates.

“How dare you,” she had hissed, her white gaze boring into the thugs, glowing with a much fiercer intensity as she bared her teeth, “Get out!” 

The imp had flinched, but Kokabiel’s anger was not directed at him as she stepped right above his quivering body, and he could feel the soft grazing of scales against his raised arms before he turned to watch the woman continue to meet the loan sharks halfway.

“Not without our little friend there,” one sneered, his teeth glinting as he gave the woman a silent warning of his strength.

“Unfortunate that you aren’t the one making the demands,” she retorted, putting herself between the sharks and their prey. 

With a loud, collective hiss, the bodies of her snakes lifted, encircling her head, and they opened their maws with extended fangs, displaying their own grim warning with bright red eyes.

The aggressor didn’t like that so much, as he opened he pulled out a large, glowing steel-laced ax and charged right for the duo. The imp squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the killing blow. 

The Kokabiel’s pupils shifted from that starlit glint into black pools of emptiness, and the air sizzled with a powerful energy right as the shark-faced man swung his weapon to connect with her shoulder. At the last moment, the fallen angel ducked and backpedaled, right as one of her snakes lashed forward, jaw wide to reveal twin, deadly fangs and struck the demon right in the eye. 

The scales of her snakes pulsed with a golden shimmer, and the demon’s mouth opened in a painful scream as his feet took on an ivory color, hardening to stone. 

The other sharks near him tensed, the rage on their faces instantly draining as their comrade's feet cemented to the ground, that stone plague creeping farther up his waist as he writhed in place, clutching his eye as black blood seeped from the large gash. 

They took a step back, then another, and another as the only blubber left on the struggling man was his large head. His teeth gnashed in mixture of anger and pain, but his good eye only showed fear, right as it was glazed over by white stone.

After that, the rest of the loan sharks had fled, huffing and puffing as they tumbled through the broken fence. 

Then, the snake that had bit the demon began to convulse, writhing with an open maw like it had something stuck in its throat as black blood from its victim landed on the grass below.

Like some hellish form of mitosis, the scales of the serpent began to stretch and split, revealing a mirrored version of the reptile that began to take form and separate from its twin. 

With wide eyes, the imp watched the two snakes finally , this new, fresh face shaking its head in confusion, before the rest of the scaly follicles began to surround and inspect their new friend with flicking tongues.

Kokabiel only watched the demons scurry off, before she sighed and adjusted her dress. Pivoting, she turned to face the imp, her arms crossed as she regarded him curiously. 

The scrawny demon gulped as he stared wide-eyed. Was he next?

“What’s your name?”

“W-what?” The imp replied hoarsely.

“Your name. You have one, don’t you?”

“it’s… Jameson, madam,” 

“Thank you, and I assume they’ll kill you if you try and go back into the city?”

Jameson nodded slowly, rising tentatively from the ground to look up at the woman. 

“Well, it seems you are out of options, Jameson,” Kokabeil had quirked a brow, a small smile on her lips, “but, it appears I’m in need of a butler. What do you say to free room and board in exchange for your services? I’ll let you keep your soul, I promise.” 

He had looked at her, suspicion in his gaze as his eyes darted to the snakes that coiled around her, shooting him hungry glares. How could someone with power like that be so… nice? If it were any overlord back in the city, they’d have taken his soul and his free will.

But, the offer didn’t sound too bad, and she didn’t look crazy. Just… lonely. Maybe, staying here would be so bad.

That’s how Jameson had begun working for the retired celebrity he now called master. Weirdly, he didn’t do many things a butler would do.

Sure, he cleaned and was at her beck and call most of the time, but Kokabiel did most of the things on her own. She cooked, tended to her garden which was slowly growing by the day, and kept up on the juicy rumors that circled the city. 

Usually, Jameson spent the day as entertainment for her. As an ex-clown in the circus, Jameson had a few tricks up his sleeve he’d showcase for the fallen angel, and she seemed to eat it up with amusement.

Kokabiel’s thoughts towards him? He wasn’t exactly sure. Obviously, she was much kinder to him than anyone else he’d worked for, but her zipped lips on anything related to her past or what kind of demon she was made him unsure.

There were times she got… sad. That was the best way to put it. Jameson never saw her cry or have a tantrum, but sometimes she’d get so sullen even her snakes seemed rather depressed.

And, once a year there was a day that Kokabiel would lock herself away in her room, and would not call for him at all the entire day. Not even for food to feed her snakes. What could make her so depressed for that one day? A lost loved one? Her death day, perhaps? 

She rarely mentioned her influential era as one of the largest fashion icons and models Hell had seen, although she didn’t need to with her collection of the seductive, sultry gazes she on the many ripped out pages of magazine covers she had framed on her walls. 

The few times he did go into the city, heavily disguised to run errands for Kokabiel, he’d pick up the newest tabloids or fill her ears with the latest gossip circling the entertainment industry.

“That’s what that old fart is up to now?” She had chuckled about an old acquaintance as she moisturized her snakes with a scale-safe lotion, “He used to be an A-list actor, and now he’s selling retinol cream? Ha!” 

The snakes had hissed with a chuckle-like sound, mirroring their mother as she coddled them. They still made Jameson nervous, even after all these years, they had a mind of their own, each individual one it appeared. But, they all seemed to have the same thoughts when it came to him: hungry.

Watching the snake finish its snack made Jameson a little uneasy as Kokabiel turned away from the statue and she took another sip of her drink.

“I’m getting tired, Jameson. I think I'm going to go inside, maybe take a nice, warm bath to relax.” 

“Would you like me to get the water heated?”

“No, thanks. I can do it myself.” She said, beginning to walk towards the patio doors. 

Jameson’s eyes flicked past her shoulder, at the very moment the statue began to sizzle with a powerful energy that even made his curls stand on end. 

Red sparks erupted from the front of the statue, right on the pedestal it was standing on which raised a few feet in the air. Jameson could only stare in disbelief as the sparks began to swirl like a vortex, until they burst and sprayed like confetti and a figure materialized an inch off the marble surface.

The tiny stranger landed with a quiet oomf, before she stood on her feet with a slight wobble, her little hands held out in front of her for balance. 

Jameson’s eyes flew open at the sight. It was a child! Her platinum-blonde hair disheveled, and her large eyes were darting around the area with confusion and fear. 

When her eyes landed on him, she took a tiny step back, her eyes growing wide as she stared nervously at the new face. 

“M-m-madam!” Jameson finally croaked, his finger pointed towards the girl with a slight quiver as he tried to get the words out. 

“What..?” Kokabiel quirked an eyebrow at his stammering figure. Jameson’s eyes never left the strange girl, and she slowly followed his gaze to the statue.

The toddler and the fallen angel locked eyes, before Kokabiel’s mouth fell open and she stood there silently for a few moments. Charlie’s eyes widened, and she pulled her arms to herself in comfort at the shocked faces.

“What…. is this?” Kokabiel finally spoke slowly, eyes trained on the little being standing awkwardly on the statue. Her snakes lifted their heads slightly, tongues flicking the air as they tried to get a scent of the girl.

“It’s a child, madam,” Jameson whispered.

“I know that! But, how did it get here? What’s the point of having a magical fence if everybody can just walk right through it?!”

“She didn’t get through the fence, madam!” Jameson squeaked, shaking his head furiously as he explained, “She just… appeared here, like out of thin air! I saw it all!”

How could that be possible? There’s no way a child could harness such strong magic. It must be some kind of illusion, trickery by a powerful demon trying to use her empathy to get the best of her!

“You!” Kokabiel pointed an accusatory finger at Charlie, taking a small step forward “How did you get in my garden?”

“Um…” Charlie started, but her words—of what little she had—died in her throat. She only took a step backward, trying to escape from the attention 

“You’re trespassing on private property!” Kokabiel continued to stalk forward, she was only a few feet away now, her snakes becoming antsy as they curled around her, hissing softly.

“Oh…”

“Who are you?” 

Charlie took another step back, her hair grazing the leg of the marble figure. Where was she? 

“…Char—eep!”

Charlie’s heel hit the foot of the statue, and she tripped, her back hitting its leg as she slid awkwardly sideways. Her tiny fingers grasped desperately at the smooth, white stone, but to no avail, as she tumbled right off the edge of the pedestal.

Jameson squeaked in terror, before throwing his hands over his eyes to protect him from any grisly sight. He heard Kokabiel gasp, but no sickening thump or terrible crack of bones meeting the firm ground.

Slowly, he splayed his fingers and lowered his hands, his eyes widening. He stood there gobsmacked at the scene, mouth agape in silence. 

Yes, Charlie had been unable to save herself, falling helplessly in the air…. right into the arms of a shocked Kokabiel. 

Kokabiel stared wide-eyed at her own reaction to the split second of instinct that propelled her to catch the child. Charlie was tightly secured in her hands, being held at arm's-length as far as possible. 

Charlie blinked, before her eyes met those glowing white pupils with a slowly growing smile. She had one hand wrapped around the wrist of the taller woman, as she lifted up her free hand and sent a small, shy wave.

“Hi!”

[art i commissioned for the chapter by ruspettaa]

woahhh nice little(ha!) introduction to my oc, with some cute art of charlie! If I were to ever continue writing this fic, the relationship would be more focused on charlies than lucifers, at least at first. Slow-burn/co-parenting kinda thing bc Koko can def exist without being a relationship with our handsome king. she’s sipping margaritas free as a bird rn.

kokabiel is a loosely based version of the biblical figure with the same name who created the stars and constellations. One of the reasons she fell was for teaching humanity astronomy. A few others fell with her too, but she instead melded into demon society instead of her heavenly counterparts.

the only people that know of her true identity are Hell’s royalty, and Stolas probably has a signed autograph of hers somewhere around his office seeing as his duties are closely bound with her creations.

she’s a business woman too, though i am trying to figure out whether she sells snake-skinned accessories as a fashion line or diluted venom that’s a psychedelic drug which makes you feel all euphoric and stuff. l

I also have no idea who her voice claim is 😭 i imagine it being smooth and buttery like Beyoncé, but i’m sure there’s other voices similar to hers that I haven’t found yet.

i’ve got a comm [by wkyarts51243] in the works that will be styled closer to the show, so here’s a sneak peak i guess ☠️ I’d say her height is slightly shorter than charlie (not counting her horns lol), but I haven’t settled yet.

i have more art (one of her and luci hehe), which i might share either. but you can have the full version of the first art pic, with an extra piece from the same artist 🤭

also making this post so i can cement her backstory and stop changing it up ☠️ it’s its writing officially now yall

anyway, enough rambling, back to writing!! have a great weekend 🤍

[blarefordaglare]

Fan Joy July day 6

This one’s by @cheatsylu

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/cheatsylu/747325585341218816/for-a-request-lu-triple-threat-i-bet-theyd-be?source=share

I really love the line art in this one and I feel it just fits the color palette in such an aesthetically pleasing way! The way you also added the details (Feathers, Hyrule’s soul leaving his body, Legend checking his pulse) was also very enjoyable to look at. Overall I really enjoyed this piece :)

___

“Is everything okay in there?” Time’s voice made its way through the doorway, adding to the panic in the room. 

Hyrule could feel his soul leaving his body, the pain too much to bear. He could feel his nerves numbing from the hit, his muscles relaxing as he lay limp on the cool wooden floor. He stared blankly at the ceiling, questioning how his life choices came to this. He could feel the cold fingers of Legend on his wrist, checking if he was still alive.

He felt dead.

Death by pillow. 

“What have you done?” Legend’s voice was barely a mumble, a quiet number against the panic still buzzing in the room, “You killed him-“ He felt the faint heartbeat of the traveler, “Well close enough.” 

Wild could only stare at his hands. He never knew that he was that formidable, even more so compared to the heroes of his past-not that he knew that yet, “I didn’t know!” 

Legend could only facepalm as he watched Hyrule come back to the land of the living, “No more pillow fights with you,” he gave a tired glare at Wild, “Ever.”

“That’s fair.”

[artdcnaldson]

i saw the somno post but what if it was patrick waking up to puppy art fucking puppy reader while she’s asleep😋 he figured he wouldn’t get in trouble with you but he doesn’t realize patrick is awake!!

AURRRRRRR

TW: somno, dubcon

thinking like. Art’s being denied as a punishment. No cage or chastity or anything, just a test of his self control. Meanwhile, he’s having to watch every single time Patrick fucks into your cunt, how mean and rough he is, how much you fucking love it. Art’s not even allowed to eat your pussy to clean you up, because Patrick knows he’d like it too much :((

Anyways, Patrick has you knocked out, exhausted and spent and drooling onto your pillow after making Art watch how good he can fuck you. It’s really just rubbing it in, you know? Because Art has to try to go to sleep hard, knows he’ll get scolded if he humps the bed in his sleep, can’t take care of anything, just lays there and pouts because he’s so hard it hurts and he needs some relief.

So he waits until he hears Patrick’s breathing even out, when he knows you’re both asleep and he won’t get caught. You’re still so wet with Patrick’s cum, so open and willing when he tugs down his boxers and slides his cock through your drippy folds, coats himself in your lingering arousal, in Patrick’s cum. Slick and nice.

He wraps himself around you, buries his nose in your hair. Your mouth falls open, slightly, and you make a low, sweet noise when his cockhead brushes against your clit. Your eyes flutter slightly as he buries himself inside of your pussy, and he thinks you might wake up. His heart races. He doesn’t want to get in trouble, he just needs you so bad. Needs your warm walls gripping him, needs to cum inside and let his release mingle with Patrick’s inside of you. It’s only fair.

He moans softly and has to bite your hair to keep quiet. He can’t risk moving too much, so he just humps into your pussy, rocking deeper and deeper. He loses himself in it, gets louder, moans sweet and whiny as he grabs handfuls of your tits and thighs, any bit of skin he can touch.

Patrick’s already awake by this point, honestly just eating up how desperate and needy Art is to cum. Waits until Art’s moans start getting really whiny, high and desperate.

Patrick stretches, groans like he’s just woken up. Art freezes, balls deep in your pussy, and whines.

“Go ahead, dirty fucking mutt—“ Patrick says. Art whines. “Breed her fucking pussy.”

Art cums as soon as the words escape Patrick’s mouth— cock pulsing and spilling his load right against your cervix. He whines, ruts against you, pushing it deeper until it squelches out of your cunt.

He falls asleep still buried inside of you, drooling against your shoulder. He knows he has to be punished, that he broke so many rules, so many commands, but he can’t seem to fucking care when your pussy is so warm and wet and soft around his cock <3

[hitlikehammers]

almost out of time

rating: t ♥️ cw: boys being very unserious ♥️ tags: established relationship, featuring the party as supporting cast, also featuring shootouts! (with the most negligible stakes), post S4, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day twenty: Love is saying "I love you" even when you're scared (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

early 90s rockstar husbands, baby ♥️ this is apparently what happens when you say 'oh I'll skip day 20 because I have no ideas' and then ideas come for you because you were arrogant ♥️

“Stevie,” Eddie’s breathless, and he is, in fairness, often breathless around that name but this…

Not like this.

“Shh,” Steve bites out, hisses low through clenched teeth as he presses Eddie into the wall a little harder, chest heaving against Eddie’s; “quiet.”

“Steve,” Eddie pants, looking over his shoulder in the dim, there’s fog too, from where Eddie has no fucking clue but it cuts his line of sight to only just beyond Steve’s reach; he’s no use, and he tries to listen for the approach, for footsteps, but his heartbeat’s too loud; “Steve, we’re—"

A finger presses hard, jams his lips up against his teeth as Steve glares out the corner of his eye.

“They’ll fucking hear us,” he leans so close Eddie can feel the dampness of his words when he speaks, then the full drag of his lips; feels the instruction more than hears:

“Stay quiet.”

And Eddie’s trying, he really is, but they’re…this is fucking hopeless, isn’t it? They’re outnumbered, they’ve been running for fuck knows how long. Everyone else is already gone, it’s just them, and they…they can wait it out as long as they want and Eddie would take forever with Steve, he would, but not like this, and fuck, fuck—what good is it, what’s the point when it’ll change nothing—

“But Steve,” Eddie whispers, but his breath catches it and threatens to whine through his words; he nearly chokes trying to rein it back but Steve’s got his whole hand against his mouth, now: not hard, but present. Like a bolster. It feels protective. It feels safe where there’s no safety left.

The red flashes in the dim and fuck; fuck

“Stay down, and don’t fucking talk, okay?” Steve breathes harsh right against Eddie’s ear, and Eddie’s shoved up against him so close, so close that his warmth is Eddie’s warmth in the chill, so close he can feel Steve’s pulse inside his own; they’re, it’s—

They’re almost out of time.

“St—"

And then Steve’s lips are on his, insistent, demanding, claiming, keeping, his tongue in Eddie’s mouth and sure, it’s a very effective, tried and true way to shut Eddie up, but this: this feels like so much more; it’s all passion and feeling, adrenaline and that tip-of-a-knife feeling, that plunge-before-the-plunge and Eddie’s heart feels bold for it, and he sucks at Steve’s lip and kisses once with force of his own before he breaks off and cups Steve’s cheek, reaches to cradle his face full-on and steals one last kiss before looking him square in the eye, decision made, though—

There wasn’t really a decision to it; there’s no choice to be had when it’s him, or Steve.

“I love you, baby,” Eddie tells him fierce, with all the feeling in him; “so fucking much,” which is always true, not just here at the end. He hopes Steve knows that.

“Eddie, what the hell—"

And Eddie’s scrambling up, creeping out from their hiding place and toward the shuffling approach incoming.

“What are you doing?” Steve rasps, lunging to grab at Eddie’s ankle but Eddie’s determined, he’s got momentum, he’s already up and clearing the corner and—

“For love!” he cries out as he leaps into the open, arms wide and asking for the hit—

And it comes, it fucking comes almost immediately.

Eddie drops to the ground, gasping.

And then they’re on top of him.

“Fucking drama queen,” Dustin, Dustin of all of them has the goddamn audacity to say to him as he walks over his prone frame and takes aim at Steve who, in fairness, does take out Mike before Dustin takes three pulls to hit him and win the game to screeching digital fanfare through the speakers.

“You could have just stayed down, man,” Steve huffs with a roll of his eyes as he stands up and unbuckles his vest.

“We were almost out of time!” Eddie gapes a little, sitting up and pointing forcefully toward the big red numbers counting down how many seconds they had left in the arena. Less than three minutes.

“We could have made it, these shitheads still don’t have any aim,” Steve purses his lips with so much of that…that glorious bitchy judgement Eddie loves most to lick off of him, he wonders where he can drag him to—

The flickering of colors next to him catches his attention and: oh. Right. They dragged the kids here. It’s fucking sweltering, they’re all back from school, and the options were swimming or something air-conditioned. And the new releases at the movie theater were all kinda shitty.

And Eddie cannot risk getting them thrown out of here for public indecency at the minimum: the laser tag’s connected to the best fucking arcade in town.

And frankly, yeah: it’s been years in the plural now since they shut the Upside Down…y’know, down, but he’s kinda proud of the guys, extra proud of his Stevie, and actually, yeah, kinda proud of himself, that what with the dark, and the lights, and red and the guns: they were fine. They were safe.

It was fun. It was just a game.

“I mean,” Eddie picks back up his defense, gesturing at the at the kids with their little chest plates all blinking a celebratory red-blue-white-blue-red that feels either very patriotic or very law-enforcement-themed while his and Steve’s remain dark; “they were on their way to our location, one of us had to draw their attention,” and it was going to be Eddie because…

Because: for love.

“We weren’t gonna look there,” Lucas deadpans as Mike snickers and high-fives Dustin a little…a little too triumphantly and okay, fine, he thinks he’s starting to get why Steve had been taking this so seriously: to keep the shitheads from this kind of ego-inflating victory; “we were headed the other way.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to turn to feel the weight of Steve's stare, the vindication and self-congratulation in it's just…tangible in the air.

“Oh,” Eddie bites his lip, tries to think of an angle; “umm,” he twirls his hair and then Steve’s at his side, bumping his shoulder and he can’t really hide, or delay any further—and it’s Steve, next to him, so: he doesn’t exactly want to that bad, anyway, so he turns and gives the softest, widest-eyed look he can muster:

“Good intentions?” he sells it for as much as he can gather up, and Steve?

Steve just snorts, and bumps his shoulder, pretty fucking hard.

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve chuckles a little, shakes his head but doesn’t rush to follow the boys to the armory; he glances that way, but turns back quick, and then he’s grabbing the back of Eddie’s neck and: oh.

Yeah, this was more what Eddie’d been going for with the farewell-forever-my-most-beloved kiss he left Steve with before his grand-though-arguably-unnecessary sacrifice.

“And you’re buying lunch,” Steve breaks off with a nip to his lower lip before shoving his target-vest at Eddie’s chest and making for the door.

And Eddie’s a little breathless again, as he whines Steve’s name—so fucking often, just, breathless around that name—before he struggles a little to unhook his own vest because he’s actually hungry, now that Steve’s landed him with the bill for lunch, but really: it’s a fucking empty threat, either way.

Like: they share a fucking bank account.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[skiller0dani]

The Noble House of Gaunt | Ominis Gaunt

M A S T E R L I S T Other Masterlist Harry Potter Masterlist

angst | slytherin!reader requests info w.c | 4.9k summary | An unexpected visit proves to Ominis that as long as you, a Muggle, love him...you'll never be safe.

Alexa play Ready to Run by One Direction & All I want by Kodaline.

My Aunt Tara passed away from cancer in December, so I chose to name your characters Aunt after her. Love you Aunt Tara.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Blurb

Ominis always knew that being with you would put you in danger, with him being who he is and you being who you are. Blood status has never mattered to him, he knew you were a Muggle before you presented a magical ability when you turned 15. He knew you knew nothing of magic before coming to Hogwarts, and he didn't care. He had every intention of keeping his distance when you were sorted into Slytherin- as he did with most people. Ominis has a reputation among most of the students who attend Hogwarts. They knew who his family was, knew that they did to Muggles. He was ashamed to have their name.

The only two people who didn't flinch away from Ominis in the hallway's or duck into empty corridors to avoid him were Sebastian and Anne. The siblings he desperately wished he had instead of the family he was stuck with. It was halfway through First Year when Ominis stopped going home, and yes he had received more than a few Howlers from his Mother as a result. By the time they were in Second Year, most Slytherin students had dropped all misconceptions of Ominis, the rest of the school remained wary however. He didn't blame them.

Ominis had planned on keeping his friend circle fairly small, he wanted to pass through Hogwarts as small and unseen as he could. He spent most of his time with the Twins, and Imelda occasionally. He spent 4 uneventful years at Hogwarts, save for Anne getting cursed by the Goblins. As soon as Sebastian lost his Twin, he became obsessed with curing her. His obsession was slowly leading him towards the Dark Arts and down a path Ominis wasn't sure he could follow. His already small social circle seemed to keep shrinking and there was nothing he could do about it. It was a maddeningly helpless feeling, although not one Ominis was unfamiliar with.

Being born blind meant Ominis was born at a disadvantage. He was behind most of his pupils and that meant he had to work doubly hard to catch up. Learn how to do things differently, and it was important for Ominis to be independent. He was determined to figure things out on his own, he was nobodies burden and often rejected help if it was offered to him. Maybe it's because he's stubborn, maybe it's because Ominis has a hard time trusting other people. His Mother drug him all across England in search for anything that could cure his blindness, but time and time again his Mother was told there was nothing that could be done for him. That perhaps if his family hadn't partaken in incestuous habits, then Ominis wouldn't have been born with this defect. Hearing that made Ominis hate his family all the more, he's blind and they are to blame. Paying the price for a choice he never made, it wasn't fair.

By the time Ominis turned 11, he had received his Hogwarts letter and went to get his very own wand. Apparently the wand that chose Ominis had been sitting on the shelf untouched for many many years, harshly rejecting any that attempted to buy it. It was meant for you boy Mr. Ollivander had told him. The wand chooses the wizard, that much Ominis knew. His wand was different, even Mr. Ollivander seemed in awe of the bond between Ominis and his wand. His wand became his eyes, it helped him navigate the world, and every spell he cast would hit its target. The wand would help correct Ominis's aim, would pulse if he were about to bump into something. His wand began to feel like a friend. Ominis was very excited about his wand, his Mother was less so. She wanted her son to be perfect, not blind with a wonky wand.

Going to Hogwarts felt like a blessing, he could spend 10 beautiful months away from his family. Luckily Ominis's older siblings had all graduated by the time he started Hogwarts, he only shared one year with his older brother Marvolo who was a 7th Year when Ominis started. After he graduated Ominis knew he was finally free, and for once he felt like happiness was finally possible despite the horrors he endured during his childhood. Then he met you, and so many things seemed to fall into place.

He originally met you through Sebastian, who you'd beaten in a duel on your first day. He was rather prickly when you first met Ominis, but Sebastian reassured you that Ominis is like that with everybody. You made it a personal goal to break down Ominis's walls, his heart was more well guarded than Azkaban. But unfortunately for him you were never one to back down from a challenge, and you knew there was something about Ominis you were helplessly drawn to. You spent nearly every waking moment with Ominis, well when you weren't running around crypts with Sebastian.

You spent a lot of time reading to Ominis, and while he didn't need your help reading he liked the sound of your voice. He read braille books, and Madam Scribner had been more than gracious enough to order over 150 braille books specifically for Ominis, seeing as he was the only blind student attending Hogwarts. But sitting down in front of the fireplace with you while the soft sound of your voice read whatever book you were reading aloud was addicting. Sitting close enough to smell the scent of your shampoo, the strawberry tarts you so loved, the smell of old parchment as you flipped through the book. Ominis was developing feelings for you before he had a chance to stop it. By the end of 5th Year, the two of you were inseparable.

Then he learned you were Muggle born, though it wasn't something you were trying to hide. You never mentioned it before because nobody had ever asked. You lived with your Muggle Aunt before coming to Hogwarts, both of your parents had been killed when you were a small child. Perhaps that's why you bonded with Sebastian so quickly. To say that Ominis was panicked when he learned of your blood status was an understatement. What if his parents found out he was dating a Muggle? What would they do to you? He couldn't care less what they thought of him, what they did to him. All that mattered to Ominis was you.

"You sure you're okay?" You ask Ominis again, bumping your nose tenderly against his. Something you learned about Ominis after you started dating him is that physical touch is very important to him. He always has to be touching you in some way, holding your hand, pressing his forehead against yours, light kisses when nobody is looking. Besides his super sonic hearing, touch was one of his strongest senses. It's how he navigated the world, through touch and after you got together you'd allowed Ominis to run his hands over your body. His fingers gently feeling out the shape of your face, down your arms and across your back. Goosebumps had risen on your skin, and your face flushed hotly. If Ominis could see, then he would have known where your thoughts traveled to as he innocently felt the shape of your body. All he was trying to do was get a sense of what you looked like, to picture every curve of your body the best he could. You were head over heels for him, no doubt about it.

"Yes of course, couldn't sleep last night is all." Ominis answered, his chest warming as you gently nuzzled your nose against his. You leaned forward to tenderly press your lips against his, your hand squeezing his before you stood from the couch. The common room was bustling with people, Ominis was a tad overwhelmed with so much noise. Large groups of people are when Ominis struggled the most, his hearing was very sensitive and listening to so many people talk at once was sometimes disorienting. Which is why he spent so much time tucked away in the abandoned corners of the castle, where everything was soft and quiet. He could no longer feel the heat of your body pressed against his, you hadn't even said goodbye yet and he already missed you.

"Gotta go meet Imelda, wants my help preparing for Quidditch tryouts- y'know now that Black has finally lifted the ban. See you at lunch!" You explain, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before he hears your footsteps heading towards the stairs. Ominis sat on the couch, nervously fiddling with his fingers before he finally stood. He thought about finding Sebastian, but he wasn't quite ready to forgive him for the events of last year. Anne is still utterly devastated, and Ominis felt a pang of guilt when he thought of Anne. He had gone to check on her during the break between 5th Year and 6th Year, and she had confessed to having feelings for Ominis. He remembered his cheeks burning all the way to the tips of his ears as he stammered out that he'd been dating you for a few weeks already. He'll never forget how Anne deflated, how he had caused it. He felt awful about it for days.

Instead of looking for his used to be best friend, he decided to take a stroll along the castle grounds. It was nice outside, you had told him. The sun was out and the breeze was light and warm, and sometimes being outside helped clear his head. You still hung out with Sebastian, you cared for him which worried Ominis at first. He never thought of himself as the jealous type but seeing you spend so much time with Sebastian genuinely worried him. Until you reassured him with a kiss that Sebastian was practically your brother. You were an only child, had no extended family beyond your Aunt Tara. Ominis didn't like to admit it, but he often felt inadequate compared to other guys. He had a defect...he was defective. He knew you'd scold him heavily for ever thinking of himself in that way but its true. Sebastian had described you to him during 5th Year, and Ominis so wished he could see your radiant beauty he'd heard so much about from other people.

You usually reminded him that he could see a beauty in you that nobody else could see. Told him he could see into your soul, that he could see what truly mattered. That usually made him feel better.

Ominis stepped through the front doors, thanking the person who had held the doors open for him. It was easy for other people to assume that Ominis couldn't do basic things, like figuring out how to open a door. He reveled in proving them wrong. He felt the warm breeze you described to him, and would respond with a smile as people greeted him. The rest of the school had warmed up to Ominis considerably after discovering that he was dating the 'Hero of Hogwarts'. You made every part of his life better. Although it was slightly irritating having to converse with people so often, they felt the need to incessantly talk to him. He wasn't trying to be rude, he just preferred to keep to himself. Oh come on Ominis, don't be like that. He can hear your gentle scolding in his head, so he continued to smile politely every time someone said hello.

"Hello Ominis dear, I've been looking everywhere for you." A smooth voice spoke calmly from in front of him, and Ominis prickled at the sound of her voice.

"M-Mother?" He stammered, he suddenly felt very small and helpless. The hand holding up his wand dropped limply at his side, his entire body was shaking from head to toe. Why is she here? What could she possibly want? There's no way she found out about you...no this can't be happening.

"It's been a long time Ominis, you wouldn't be avoiding us would you? Your own family..." Her voice was worryingly calm, it put Ominis on edge. He heard the click of her heels as she took a few slow steps forward, her cold finger running along his jaw.

"I've heard some troublesome rumors Ominis, troublesome enough to warrant a visit." The venom was beginning to seep into her tone now, but she was still far too calm. There must be people around.

"I've heard you've found a special someone, and you didn't tell your own Mother. Ominis I thought I raised you better than that...consorting with a Mudblood. You haven't mated with it have you?" She asked, tutting at him. Her finger turned his jaw up, forcing him to face her. She stared into his glassy eyes, fogged over and covering the beautiful blue of his eyes. She could see the fear in his face, could feel his body trembling. It brought a smile to her face. Ominis's chest tightened, she is here because of you. If Mother is here, then so is Father and likely so is Marvolo. He had always done all he could to please his parents, he was just as evil as they were- if not worse. His other siblings were likely off causing strife and misery elsewhere.

"I...we-" Ominis stammered, his voice shaking. He needed to somehow convince her the rumors were wrong. He wasn't dating a Muggle, no no the rumors were wrong. That's the only hope you have of being safe. "No, no I'm not seeing anyone."

"Don't lie to me you pathetic child." She snapped, her nails digging into the skin of his neck. He's sure her other hand is curled around her wand, the spell he's the most afraid of dancing on the tip of her tongue.

Crucio.

His heart drops into his stomach, he loves you. That was incredibly selfish of him, he put you in danger every time he spoke to you, held you, kissed you and yet he continued to do it. He couldn't stay away, you made his life so much better. He should have stayed away.

"The Mudblood has corrupted you Ominis, did you not take pleasure in their screams? You remember don't you Ominis, what it felt like to hurt them." She sneered, a lightness in her tone as she spoke of the torture Ominis tries to desperately to forget. His jaw clenches and his palms twitch every time she calls you a Mudblood. He could never see you that way. His Mother is going to hurt you, and it's because of him. All of this is Ominis's fault.

"As fun as it is to catch up, I'm here to warn you dear. In 5 days I will return with your Father and your dear brother Marvolo. You have until then to severe all ties to this Mudblood, or we will deal with her ourselves. I don't like you'll approve of our methods of removal." She explained, turning Ominis's blood to ice. Crucio. He can't let that happen to you, he can't. The thought of breaking up with you made him feel nauseous, but the alternative is much much worse. Her hand ran along his cheek, feigning the touch of a loving Mother. She leaned down to press her cold lips to his forehead.

"Don't disappoint me again Ominis, or your precious little Mudblood will pay the price. I do wonder what beautiful screams we can pull from her lips..." She muses before the air changes and she's gone. Ominis slowly crumples to the ground, tears falling from his eyes. Sometimes he thinks it would have been easier if he'd never been born.

When lunch time came around, you looked around the Great Hall for Ominis but couldn't see him anywhere. You feel a pang of anxiety in your chest as you hesitantly sit with Imelda, your eyes glued to the doors, hoping you'll see him. Ominis is never late, never keeps you waiting. He always meets you when he says he will, always. So the fact that you're nearly halfway through lunch and you still don't see him is making you panic. Imelda eyes you curiously, at first you hated Imelda. She was unbearable and rude to you but once you'd beaten her fastest times she softened. She's become one of your closest friends, as has Poppy. Imelda watches you nervously chew on your cheek, your eyes still searching for him.

"What's wrong with you?" She asks, watching your distracted eyes flicker to her for a second.

"Ominis, he isn't here." You say nervously, forking another bite of mashed potatoes into your mouth.

"I'm sure he's fine. He's smart, and he wouldn't put himself in any danger." She tries her best to reassure you, but you're not really listening. You wait a few more minutes before you're standing from the table and heading back to the common room as fast as you can. You don't know why you're so worried, surely him forgetting this once doesn't mean something bad has happened. He's fine you know he is, and yet your heart will not stop hammering against your ribcage. Your palms are shaking as you push the doors to the common room open, you will tear this entire castle apart to find him if you have to. Ominis is easily the most punctual person you know, never late to classes, turns in assignments on time, and always meets you when he says he will. Always.

You find him sitting in front of the fireplace, his shoulders slumped and traces of dried tears on his cheeks. Your entire body tenses, panic crawling up your neck. Something happened, something bad. Ominis never shuts down like this, and he never shuts you out but now...you feel like a wall has been built between you two. You can't read him as easily as you could before, he's retreating from you and you don't know why. He can hear you before you sit next to him, can smell the sweet scent of the shampoo you use. You always smell like sweets and flowers, he's going to miss that.

"Ominis, my love what's wrong? You didn't meet me for lunch..." You ask hesitantly, reaching for his hand. He doesn't say anything, doesn't turn his head at the sound of your voice like he usually does. Ominis knows that if he speaks, the only thing he will say is going to break your heart- and his own. He has no choice, but he wants to put it off as long as he can. He feels you reaching for his hand and he lets you take it. He wants to feel the warmth of your skin, of your love, until he can't anymore.

"Ominis please talk to me, you're scaring me." You plead, and he can hear the emotion in your voice. You try in vain to keep the tears at bay, but they continue to fall every time you blink. Something really bad happened, you can see how shaken up he is. Please don't push me away you beg in your head, screaming it so loud hoping somehow he will hear it. He won't even move, his gaze downturned and his entire body slumped against the couch. Who did this to him? You feel anger surge through you, somebody hurt him. Somebody did this to him.

"I can't see you anymore." The words are whispered so quietly you almost miss them. But as soon as he says it, he's pulling his hand from your grasp.

Wait, what?

"Ominis..." You trail off, you feel frozen. Your heart is breaking and you can swear you feel the pain of it. He turns his head away from you, building his wall brick by brick, the wall you spent so much time tearing down. You need to know what happened, everything was fine this morning.

"Why?" Your voice sounds so small, so broken, nothing like the strong girl he's come to love. He hates that he's doing this to you, but then Ominis can hear the echoing screams of the Muggle's his family has tortured in his head. Reminding him why he's doing this, why he has to push you away. Why he needs to make sure you stay away.

"I'm better alone, I always have been." Ominis says, keeping his voice void of emotion. Maybe that used to be true, but it isn't anymore. He knows he's going to be lost without you, but he needs to keep you safe. He has to. He stands from the couch, keeping his back turned to you. Ensuring you can't see how broken he is, how much this hurts him too.

"No, I deserve a better explanation than that. There's more to it Ominis, tell me the truth." You plead, voice wavering as tears continue to cascade down your face. He can't tell you, he wants to but he can't. He doesn't want you to be afraid, but more importantly he wants you to stay away from him. If he tells you the truth... you'll try to help him. Try to protect him, you'll stay with him regardless of the danger.

So when you say, "have you found someone else?"

He doesn't deny it, he simply nods. He could never find someone who could compete with you. Nobody on this useless planet could ever come close, but if you believe he's a scumbag who cheated on you then you'll definitely stay away. Which is what will keep you safe. He can hear you gasp, as if he's wounded you. In a way, he has. Your hand clutches your chest, feeling it tighten. You never thought Ominis was capable of...of this. Of hurting you in this way, you trusted him. All this time he's been falling in love with some other girl, holding your hand while thinking of her. You feel sick, so sick you can't stand to be around him any longer. You turn and rush up the stairs to your dorm room, slamming the door shut behind you. Ominis hears you leave and he slumps against the couch again.

He hates himself, and he loves you. Not like it matters anymore.

The next 5 days were spent with you actively avoiding Ominis whenever you saw him in the common room or hallway. You barely ate, hardly left your dorm except to go to classes. You spent most of your time crying or sleeping. Imelda tried to talk to you, but you always brushed her off. She even tried reaching out to Ominis but got nearly the exact same response. You told her what Ominis said, that there was somebody else but she thinks that's a load of crap. For the last few days, Ominis has been sulking around doing the same thing you were doing. Not eating, not leaving his dorm and going to classes. If there was somebody else, wouldn't he be with her? Not sitting in the common room with a kicked puppy look on his face?

Imelda couldn't even bring herself to be angry with Ominis because anybody with at least 1 working braincell could tell that Ominis most certainly didn't cheat on you. There's more to this, she knows there is and for your sake she wants to find out what's going on. He's never been seen with anybody else, doesn't really have friends except the Twins and he hadn't even been seen with Sebastian lately either...an idea struck Imelda then.

Sebastian!

If anybody could find out what's going on in Ominis's head, it's Sebastian. Last she saw he was heading towards the Library, so Imelda stands and exits the common room, finally leaving Ominis alone. He knows it's nearly time for his wonderful family to drop in and make sure he's taken care of the...problem. So he stands and straightens his cloak and does his best to look like he isn't stuck in the deep pits of depression. If he looks heartbroken they'll know you matter to him, and they'll punish you for it. He hears your cries every time he wanders by your dorm, he knows you never leave the dorm, knows you're barely eating. Its beginning to scare him, he doesn't want you to hurt yourself because you're so heartbroken. Ominis never meant to hurt you, he wished he could tell you that.

Imelda finally found Sebastian tucked away in the upper levels of the Library, sitting near one of the windows with a book he isn't reading in his hand. She quickly makes her way towards him, plopping herself down in one of the chairs next to him before he could protest. One of his brows raised in surprise, his expression apprehensive. Imelda never talks to him.

"Imelda." He says simply, his eyes turning to his book.

"I need your help." She says simply, causing Sebastian to look back up at her, signaling that he's listening.

"Ominis broke up with Y/N, and they're both totally devastated. He said it was because he met someone else but I think he's lying to cover something else up." Imelda rushes out, causing Sebastian to finally put his book down. Sebastian's eyebrows pull together, met someone else? No way.

"Ominis practically hates everybody except for Y/N and Anne so its unlikely that he met someone else. Why do you think I can help?" He asks, he wants to help. He loves Ominis, he's practically Sebastian's brother and you're practically his sister. He cant sit around and do nothing while you're both suffering. But he doesn't think Ominis will want to speak to him right now... not after last year.

"Uh because you're his best friend? Talk to him, please." Imelda asks, her tone pleading. Eventually, Sebastian nods and stands to go find Ominis.

Ominis however is pushing his way out the front doors, making his way through the castle grounds. He isn't sure exactly where his family will meet him, but he's sure it'll be somewhere away from the castle grounds. He continues to walk, his ear straining to hear anything when he hears the familiar sound of someone apparating nearby.

"Hello brother." Marvolo taunted, and Ominis knows Mother and Father are here as well. Ominis's body went rigid, but he did his best to stay calm. As long as he tells them what they want to hear they won't hurt you.

"Marvolo." Ominis's tone is clipped and he hears a chuckle from behind him.

"Come now Ominis, don't be like that." His Father says, his words mirroring your own and causing a pang of pain through his heart. A hand is placed on his shoulder, icy cold.

"Hello dear, have you handled your little problem?" Mother asks, running her hands along his shoulders and he can feel her breath fanning on his neck. She must be leaning close to his ear from behind him.

"Yes Mother I have." Ominis forces his voice to sound certain and unwavering. He can't allow any emotion in his voice or on his face when he talks about you.

"And how do you feel now my darling?" There's that tone again, the tone she only uses when he's said something that makes her happy. When he's being the cruel boy she expects him to be.

"Much better, you were right all along about her." Ominis says simply, feeling sullen and dejected. Her hands cup his face, forcing his head up to look at her.

"Your face looks sunken in dear, have you been well?" His Mother asks, although Ominis knows she doesn't really care.

"Yes Mother, quite." He responds robotically, and it seems to be enough to satisfy her. A groan comes from Marvolo, who's crossed his arms like a pouting child.

"Does that mean we don't get to torture the Mudblood?" He asks, sounding genuinely put off.

"Oh hush now Marvolo, we shall find another for you to play with on our way home. Care to join us Ominis?" His Mother scolds lightly, her tone gentler when she addresses Ominis. He feels his stomach turn.

"No Mother, too many assignments I'm afraid." He says calmly, hoping she accepts his no and lets him go. Please just go.

"Very well, we will continue to check up on you Ominis. To ensure you don't fall pray to weakness." His Mother says, her voice sharp and dangerous at the end. He merely nods and a few moments later they're gone.

"So that's why you did it." Sebastian says from behind Ominis, causing him to jump slightly.

"I don't know what you mean." Ominis says, his tone turning icy. Sebastian knew he wouldn't be happy to see him.

"Ominis, your family threatened Y/N didn't they?" Sebastian questions, causing Ominis to freeze.

"And what of it? I've dealt with it." Ominis snaps.

"What about Y/N?" He asks, and just hearing your name makes Ominis's heart clench.

"What about her? We're over Sebastian, and that will never change. So long as I'm a Gaunt, she will always be in danger. We can never be together, I should have known that." Ominis says bitterly.

"That's not true, if you love her then-"

"Then what Sebastian? Sometimes when you love somebody, you have to make sacrifices. Not like you would know anything about that." Ominis snaps, his shoulders rigid. He turns and makes a beeline for the castle, leaving Sebastian standing in the courtyard.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

and i just can't get enough, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

this is just a dick-sucking masterclass. maybe you're sucking him after a concert. idk. there's no story here. only dick. yup.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (no gender specified - if you have a mouth *thumbs up*, blowjob); pwp drabble

--

It was the taste but mostly it was the feeling.

The back of your throat stretching wide as your tongue snaked out in an arc. Nothing sloppy about it. Just pure precision with measured pressure and force, scooping one of those soft balls against your lips while the muscles of your throat closed in. Heat. Pulse. Slick. Again, but in the opposite direction. Lust in strokes of figure-eight, over and over, pushing your head closer to swallow that hard cock even deeper.

Above you, you heard of the music of a rough, low groan aimed at the ceiling.

A different kind of paradise you created with tongue, cheeks, lips, throat. Tighter and wetter and relaxed, no fear even in the lack of oxygen because it was just so, so good, tasting taut skin pulsing with blood and fervor, displaying your talent of the isolation of muscle. The production of saliva its own graphic show, slicker and thicker than one might expect, all to create that vacuum without overstraining your jaw.

In fact, your jaw was perfectly relaxed as the base of your tongue flexed and shoved the swollen head into the roof of your mouth.

“Hah… fuck…”

You tilted your head back and roughly ran the sensitive skin over the top of your mouth as your lower lip pressed to the underside of the shaft, all the way to the base. Slow and sensual, building the pleasure in layers. There was no fun in fast and messy. That was reserved for one-night stands and filthy casuals. No, this was erotic art soaked into seconds, minutes. Softness contrasting tightness, keeping a pool of saliva at the back of your throat for the throbbing head to squish into at every descent, and you could feel him flinch, hear him hiss, surprised at the additional sensation.

Shallow breathing.

Thinner and thinner.

Faster but still maintaining the depth, pulsing around the length as you moved your head back and forth, back and forth, tilting your head back at the ascent for the rough stimulation but also for that millisecond to breathe, but at this point you were so deep into the high that you didn’t even think about breathing, pressing down again to feel his cock fill your mouth again, so hard in your soft lips, so swollen in your tightness, and your tongue swept against the underside of the head, swiping at that thin skin with a rough caress.

You opened your eyes to see Min Yoongi lean the crown of his head against the wall. Gasping. Fair cheekbones gleaming, his long black hair soaked with sweat and his lower lip dark pink from biting down on it to avoid making too much noise.

Hands clutching his shirt, pulling it up.

Knuckles white.

You isolated the sensations to only the head, consistent and constant and ignition, closing your eyes again to bask in anticipation bleeding into the scorching flames of desire, flexing the tip of your tongue as the base curled around him. Tighter. Sticky and wet and the hint of pre-cum, closer, deeper, his hips locking, preventing himself from moving so he could savor the amplifying, agonizing bliss, head in the clouds and moaning soundlessly, ecstasy vibrating all over his body and into your lips and all the way down to your core, burning your insides and aching for more

You felt his large palm touch the back of your head and push.

Hot stream of strong, salty cum flooding your throat.

You slowed, swallowing, and Yoongi hissed, flinching at the sensitivity, but you buried him into your throat again. Opened one eye. Peeked at him through lashes. He cursed under his breath, almost a growl, pushing your hair back with deft fingers, the orgasm rippling through his breath and body, giving him the shakes.

“F-Fuck…”

Your tongue circled around his shivering length and he swore again, rough and abrupt, biting back any further sound by shoving his tongue in his cheek and closing his eyes. Head bowing, wispy strands of black falling forward to frame heavy exhale.

Very low, almost a whisper.

You name in more than lust.

You could hear it in his voice. Longing. Craving. As if he couldn’t wait to have you suck him off again.

Honestly?

Neither could you.

You started licking around his balls again.

The side of Yoongi’s lips curved into a devious, open-mouthed smirk, pink tongue sticking out at the edge.

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[pouralaura]

spit triptych

[saluting emoji] it's art for sickos

tags: spit, wine, cum (in that order), nsfw obviously

1

The restraints Raphael most often uses are his own hands, larger than Eris's and more than enough to hold her down.

This time, though, he's trussed her wrists up prettily in red silk ties so that he can have both hands free to toy with her as he fucks her into the mattress. One shifts into the sharp claws of his devilish form as he drags fingertips down her side, leaving raised red welts in their wake. The other --

"Open your filthy mouth," he grunts, a thumb pressing against her lower lip. "Show me that lovely tongue."

He catches her jaw in his hand before she can wriggle away and settles his thumb and forefinger in the hollows of her cheeks, preventing her mouth from closing. The heat of his hips against the backs of her thighs is searing as he presses her legs down towards her chest. Folds her in half.

"And -- look at that! -- I've caught my mouse once more," the devil coos, and it turns into a snarl as he draws back and thrusts his hips forward again. Makes her whine. "Down comes the claw, my dear."

Oh, how she likes him like this: harsh and unforgiving and dangerous and triumphant. To be fair, she likes him all ways; passion bleeds through in whichever role he plays, whether he's on top of her or underneath her or in the middle of a delectable sandwich with Haarlep on the other side or pressing her against a wall with his hips. But when Eris can see the victory glittering in his eyes (brown against white or fiery orange against black), when he declares his power over her with verse or sex or both, Raphael looks like he was made for this. Made for her to see; for her to be so captured by.

Ah! My sweet caged bird, he'd cooed when he'd finished binding her wrists before. I wonder how quickly I can coax out your lovely song this time?

To his delight, it hadn't taken long. She's long since discarded her inhibitions with him; knows he'd bottle and drink her sobs and moans to excess. He's always claimed to love a fight -- and she'll give him one, when they're both of a mind -- but my, my, how he loves a victory that much more.

Eris keeps her eyes wide and alert, gaze burning hotly into his as he spits harshly, warm and wet and claiming, into her mouth that he still holds open. His victory. A sick thrill pulses through her as she feels him hit her tongue, still tasting vaguely of her cunt from when he'd licked her nearly to delirium not twenty minutes before. Catches sight of the glimmer of sadistic mirth that lies behind his gaze; flutters around him in fear and want on the verge of her own end.

Raphael's fingers withdraw from her cheeks only to press up hard on her chin, closing her mouth around its contents, tipping her head forcefully back against the bed into the soft rumpled sheets.

"Swallow," he pants, and Eris can hear the strain in his voice, can feel him so rigid inside of her, and knows he's close.

So she does as he demands. Opens her mouth, sticks out her tongue to show him there's nothing left, and then she swallows too his responding groan, guttural and satisfied, when he claims her mouth again with his own. Feels him pulse, spill inside of her, shudder over her; feels him mouth the word Mine against her when, spent at last, he buries his face into her neck.

2

The sound of a wine bottle being uncorked echoes across the high-ceilinged room.

"If you're pouring, bring me some, won't you?" Eris asks airily from her spot on the gold-brocaded lounge, looking up from her novel.

She expects Raphael to snap his fingers in a typical show of pretentious prestidigitation and poof a second empty glass into existence, but he doesn't.

Instead he slowly pours a single glass; sets the bottle down on a nearby desk with a soft clink. Stalks towards her chair with full vessel in hand, eyes narrowed and on her hotly, predatory as the fox to which he so often likens himself. Shirt halfway unlaced -- he looks sinful.

She hopes he doesn't notice the gooseflesh along her bare legs. Their situationship has spanned months already and still this look on him makes her toes curl in pleasure and anticipation, embarrassing as it is. So affected by him, she is; but he is the same way with her.

But for now, she feigns exasperation. A little game.

"What?"

Raphael stops in front of her. Eris watches the bob of his throat as he takes a long, savoring sip and swallows, then follows the trail of deep olive-toned skin down into the wiry coarse hair on his chest. She doesn't have to admire him from afar for long, though, because he next moves his body over hers on the sofa, sliding a knee between her thighs and leaning in to capture her mouth in a kiss. It's clear he has no intention of playing the same game as she.

Not at all a disappointment.

She smiles against him as they part their lips together.

He tastes, unsurprisingly, of wine. Generous and sensual with his indulgent tongue, he leisurely paints the inside of her mouth with the rich, dry tang of the deep red liquid in his glass. Eris lets her eyes flutter closed, the hand holding her book falling limp as her devil slips warm fingertips through the gap in her silk robe to palm her breast.

"And what is it that you think you're doing?" she asks wryly (and a little breathlessly) when Raphael finally withdraws, mouth quirking up in a crooked little smile.

"Bringing you what you've asked for, little mouse," he says, rumbly and low and melodic, and takes another mouthful of wine.

Eris realizes what he's about to do only a split second before he actually does it, and it's not enough time to prepare. He kisses her again, but this time he parts her lips with his, pushing the rich, spiced drink between them.

Rivulets of red run from where their mouths are joined down Eris's chin and neck, collecting in the divots of her collarbone and seeping between her breasts. She can feel the wine continuing to spill from her lips, dampening her cheeks even as she swallows, as he shares more and more of it until there's none left and she's sucking decadently at his tongue while he drags his fingertips down her belly to unfasten her robe. His mouth follows before long.

"I haven't caused you to lose your place, have I?" he questions patronizingly between hot sticky presses of his lips and tongue, following the translucent wet red paths down her body. "What a travesty that would be."

Finally able to regain at least a shred of composure, Eris marks her page with a small scrap of parchment and sets the book on the end table within her reach.

"Lucky for you," she sighs pleasantly, watching him map with his tongue a tickling trail that dips into her bellybutton, "you've simply proven a very lovely -- and wet -- distraction."

"Shall I stop?" he purrs, and she knows he already knows what she'll say.

She shakes her head, heat pooling in her belly as he moves lower. "Best finish what you've started, you insatiable beast. Make a mess of me."

"That is every last inch my intention."

3

Raphael is terribly, painfully close.

His little mouse, wide steely blue eyes so penetrating, pretty lips so stretched around the girth of him, so much for her even in his human form. He feels her tongue travel up the underside of his cock before she takes him into her throat fully, sinking down and closing her mouth just enough to give him a gentle, dangerous graze of teeth along the line her tongue just finished tracing. Squeezes him at the base, light fingertips caressing his full, tight balls. Enough to drive him to the edge, but not enough to push him forward. To cross the last threshold.

She knows just how to coax a gasping, moaning song from his chest. His darling -- his sweet indulgence -- of his own making.

(Not entirely of his making, of course; but my, how he loves to consider her his own.)

The devil tightens his fist in Eris's short hair as if he's the one in charge of this exchange. He's not, but she humors him anyway. Her sparkling gaze as she looks up at him in response, half pleasure, half chastisement -- she does love it when he pulls her hair, just as he does when their roles are reversed -- pushes him over the edge. His gasp becomes a groan, mixing with her satisfied little hum as her warm, wet mouth finally floods with him.

He loosens his grip when she's taken all he has to offer. Sighs contentedly; watches her slither back up his body to straddle his thighs. Her eyes glitter with mirth.

"You've brought me to ruin again, blue cherry," Raphael rasps with a smile.

And Eris smiles back.

Before he can close his mouth, she opens hers. Lets the hot mixture of his milky cum and her saliva drip from her lips and spatter across his chin, his cheeks, onto his tongue, and Raphael sighs in utter satisfaction.

The sharp, sour taste of her, of himself, of them together ekes out a last twitching drool of thick release from his tip. Eris looks down and swipes her thumb over his weeping cockhead, bringing the last of him to her lips, pink tongue darting out to collect its due and catch as well the straying droplet threatening to dribble down her chin. His sweetling -- so deliciously debauched -- bends then to kiss Raphael's filthy sex-slicked mouth, lips wetly sliding against his, and he's filled with a surge of pride and delight and lust for his little hedonist as he indulges in her; as they lick each other clean of them both.