#ascendant succubus

[elavoria]

Arueshalae having a moment with her goddess. <3

[queen-scribbles]

Completely forgot about this Daeran comment from Vikkari's Dance of Masks run. xD

[starshipsofstarlord]

daryl + mouth spitting

warnings. smut, mouth spitting, saliva exchanging, unprotected sex, dom!daryl, sub!reader, swearing, fluff, kinda dom!daryl

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Rough and calloused hands gripped the edge of your jaw, as the body that they belonged to was atop of you, looming down at your submissive nature with domineering ecstasy. Daryl had driven himself inside of you, stretching the walls of your cunt with his bare cock as he leant down, his hair creating a distorted halo around his head, supporting himself on his knees.

Each speckle of cerulean colour in his eyes had darkened with a shadow of lust, much like when the ravenous sea tide rose into harmful waves beneath a grey and stormy sky. He was the storm, and he was prepared to bring a reckoning to your meek and mortal body. With maleficent intent, his hips clashed like the plates on the planet’s format against your own, as though he was creating an earthquake; your body shattered from the cruel pleasure, that felt like too much yet not enough at the same time.

It was as though a distorting cloud of fog had intercepted your brain, belittling you into nothing more than a pile of bone and flesh, completely at the mercy of the man that was leant over you. He was urged on by the erotic moans that were almost pornographic which slipped without control past your lips, and he became fixated on the way your mouth moved and curved with each sound of pleasure. To subdue the racket that you were creating with the small part of your brain that was still working, your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, muffling each attempt at repeating his name.

Daryl frowned harshly, his eyes burning into the sight of your front teeth, admiring the small trail of drool that had cascaded past them. His heaving breaths created a warm spot on your flesh, his tone ragged and accent prominent as he spoke through his own ecstasy. “Le’ go of tha’ lip sunshine.” He tapped your chin with his forefinger, grip harshening around your jaw as his mind reeled with nervousness, although he didn’t allow it to show.

He wasn’t certain that you would like what he was about to do, and if you didn’t he vowed to himself silently that he would never do it again. But it was a primal desire that was igniting like a wildfire in his chest, and as his lips trailed over your throat, eyes boring across every inch of your skin and continually rocking into your tight cunt, and feeling how your walls gripped his cock like a succubus’ prowess, he drowned in the sounds that were making your throat soar.

“Fuck.” You moaned simultaneously, making each of you laugh gravelly and breathily from the unexpected communication that matched with each syllable. He leant in closer, running his nose across your cheek, as your eyelids fluttered from the sweet notion. Your hands gripped his shoulders, face still upturned in his grasp as you dared to make eye contact with your lover. “Open yer mouth darlin’.” It was a gentle order, and whilst confused in your blissful pleasure, legs seizing his hips in a strong hold, you did nothing but comply.

And so you opened your lips, tongue peeking out as you closed your mind and waited for whatever action ascended into Daryl. He clenched his jaw, mulling over his decision once more before he decided to proceed with it, before he leant down, tenderly stroking your chin with his thumb as he pursed his lips, allowing a string of saliva to fall and pool in your mouth. His brows rose as his hips slowed from hearing your unexpected moan; he wasn't certain on what reaction he had expected from you, but he felt the anxiety bouldering his shoulders slip away.

"Was tha' okay?" Daryl asked, his hips completely still now with his cock still sheathed inside of you. In response you wiggled your hips, needing to gain some friction from the overbearing fullness that was settled within your clenching walls, batting your lashes up at him as you rubbed your aching clit against the base of his manhood. "Need words baby." He endearingly ogled at you, wanting to do nothing more than to stutter his cock in and out of your pussy however your pleasure was his main concern. It always was, your welfare came long before his arousal, you were his priority, and as hot as it was to watch you swallow his spit and moan, he required verbal reassurance.

"Was more than okay Dar." Your voice was wispy and breathless, a sweet smile sprawled across your lips as your hands ran up and down his biceps. "If you want to be sure, you could always do it again." That was enough for him to proceed, rutting his length within your velvety and slick folds, as he continued to grasp your face in his large hands and trickle his saliva into your open and wide mouth. It was something that he had never given much thought, however from then on with each dazed gaping that you expressed, his mind reeled straight to the image of you drinking up his saliva like his own personal, thirsty whore.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 6

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Masterlist / DISCORD SERVER

Context Warning: NSFW! Oral Sex, Author's Poor Attempt in Smut & Dark Fic, Fingerfucking

A kiss was enough to confirm that you were to live till the end of time in their fortress, but at the same time, unease slithered through the cracks of your mind like a slow-acting poison.  

A King wanted you—not Jonathan, but another one. A King who was known as the Horror of Monsters. His name alone sent shivers down spines, whispered in dark corners, and sung as a warning in the dead of night. His nation was at war with Kyle’s, a conflict steeped in blood and centuries-old hatred, and the other three monsters were no different—none of them were on good terms with this said Horror. You didn’t know the history, had never read or heard of the true reason for their bad blood, and they refused to elaborate on why they longed to tear the Kraken’s throat out with their own hands.  

But you were determined to find out. If you were to survive in this world of monsters and kings, then ignorance was a luxury you couldn’t afford. No matter how much you hated what you had been sold into—  

Achoo!  

You sniffled and rubbed your nose, scowling at the dust that danced in the stale air. You waved your hand in front of your face in a half-hearted attempt to clear it away, muttering under your breath, “God, the dust . . .” Irritation simmered beneath your skin as you tugged on the sleeve of your dress, pulling it over your palm to wipe the thick layer off the book’s cover. A dull, muted shade revealed itself beneath your touch, its colors once lost to time now returned with the simplest gesture.  

“What’s the use of so many servants if they don’t even clean the library?”  

Your voice fell into the silence, swallowed by the endless rows of towering shelves, met with no response—which, much to your delight, meant you were finally alone. With a quiet hum, you let yourself sink to the ground, the aged floorboards creaking softly beneath you.  

A rare moment of peace. A time alone.  

A book in hand.  

A room steeped in the rich scent of varnished wood and aged paper.  

It was . . . familiar. A feeling long buried under years of survival and unwanted touches that seared your skin, under cruel gazes that saw you as something less than human.

You traced your fingertips over the brittle, yellowed pages, careful as if touching autumn leaves that would crumble at the slightest pressure. The first few pages were mundane—publication date, author, publisher—but when you flipped to the first chapter, your eyes landed on a single word.  

The Sirens. 

The name itself carried weight, thick with the taste of salt and the distant echoes of songs never meant to be heard by human ears.  

Creatures of the deep, infamous for their voices—voices that could weave spells of longing and sorrow, that could pull the weakest of minds into the sea’s cold embrace, drowning with a smile on their lips, believing they had ascended to heaven. And as if their voices were not deadly enough, the gods had blessed them with beauty beyond mortal comprehension—skin that shimmered like gold under the sun, eyes that held the weight of forgotten centuries, tails sculpted from crystal and dusted with stardust. And wings—large, powerful, and soft enough to cradle lost souls in their final moments.  

The author described them with a reverence that bordered on worship. Like they had once loved a Siren.

And you hated that of all things, of all the different illustrations and poetic descriptions, your mind conjured only one image.

Kyle.

You clenched your jaw, fingers gripping the fragile paper as you forced yourself to read on.  

—If one were to escape the spell of a Siren’s song, they would never be free. The Siren would haunt them, slipping into their dreams like a succubus, twisting their nights into longing and despair. And once they heard the song again, no matter how strong their will, they would succumb. They would fall.

Your throat tightened.  

Perhaps you were a defect.  

Perhaps there was something in your blood, something wrong with you that had allowed you to break free from Kyle’s enchantment the first time. Something unnatural, something no one could explain.

You turned the page and your heart stilled when your eyes landed on a new chapter.  

—Weakness.  

The ink bled into the parchment like a secret waiting to be uncovered.  

You skipped over the grotesque descriptions of how to rip off their wings, how to descale their tails for medicine, and how to harvest their feathers for blades. No, you weren’t looking for ways to hurt them physically. That would be meaningless.  

You needed something deeper.  

—Once a Siren falls in love, they offer their voice, heart, and soul. They become bound, eternally owned by the one they give everything to.

Your breath hitched.  

The words repeated in your mind, over and over, twisting into something dangerously close to realization.  

You closed the book.  

A loud, resounding thud echoed through the library.  

And as if summoned by the very knowledge you had just absorbed, the heavy doors groaned open, the sound breaking the quiet sanctuary.  

Footsteps. Rhythmic.

And then, a voice. Silken, melodic.

“There you are,” Kyle purred, his voice slithering into your ears. “We’ve been looking for you.”  

You turned your gaze to him, unhurried, and let your fingers lazily drag over the book’s spine before meeting his piercing gaze.  

Slowly, you closed the book and placed it on the table beside you, watching as his eyes flickered to it for the briefest of moments.  

“What for?” you asked, your tone flat, unreadable.  

There were only ever two answers to that question.  One—to fuck you. Two—to talk about something that ultimately served their interests.  

Kyle’s lips curved into something that barely resembled a smile. “We’re getting you fitted for your clothes.”  

You blinked, unimpressed. “Don’t I already have a full wardrobe? What’s the use of all those clothes?” you asked.  

His fingers grazed your jaw, featherlight, curling around a lock of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. A mockery of gentleness.  

Kyle sighed, tilting his head. “Can’t you just let us have the joy of dressing you up?”  

You rose to your feet, your patience thinning. “Do I even have a choice?”  

“Of course—”  

“It wasn’t a question, Kyle.” Your voice sharpened, laced with irritation. “One way or another, you always get what you want. The masters of this Fortress always get their way. I don’t have a fucking choice, so stop trying to get in my head and make me think I do.”  

You turned sharply, walking toward the aisle where you had pulled the book from, hoping—praying—that he wouldn’t follow. But his boots clicked against the floor, trailing behind you.  

“I don’t get it,” he mused. “You escaped my song. You snapped out of Soap’s dreams before Simon ever reached you.”  

You slammed the book back into place, the force rattling the shelf.  

“You’ve read about Sirens,” Kyle murmured, amusement flickering in his gaze. “What’s your conclusion?”  

Your eyes narrowed.  “Doesn’t take much to figure out,” you said.  

Kyle took a step closer, lips quirking.  “Then let me tell you something about Sirens, love,” he murmured, voice dipping into something darker. Your breath caught as he suddenly pulled you flush against him, his warmth seeping into you. His hand slid down and against your skin, he whispered, “We love till the end of time.”

“Till the end of my life, you mean?” You swallowed, gazing down at his hand disappearing underneath the hem of your dress, and frowned as you felt a now common sensation of calloused fingers against your clothed sex.

“No, my love,” he kissed your temple and traced kisses down your jaw. “Till I have nothing else to offer but my dust.” His fingers skillfully parted your undergarment to the side and ran his fingers on your folds. Then he found the sensitive bud and began to roll circles, making you close your eyes and relish 

the feeling.

You shouldn't be. But if this was what it takes, then so be it.

Kyle's fingers continued their relentless teasing, circling and stroking your sensitive bud as he pinned you against the bookshelf. His knee pressed firmly between your thighs, parting them, as his other hand groped your breast, thumbing your hardened nipple.

"Why me, Kyle?" you gasped out, trying to hold back the moans that threatened to spill from your lips at his touch. "Why am I so special that you want to claim me as yours, forever?"

Kyle's eyes glowed in a way that resembled how the sea shimmered under the light of the Sun. "Oh, you should know by now why," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You’re not quite human, yet you don’t appear to be a monster as well. And that is something we want to unravel.” His hand slid from your breast to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, but possessive and claiming.

"And then there's this," he purred, his fingers delving deeper, stroking your slick folds. "The way you respond to my touch like your body was made for me. For us." His thumb circled your clit, making your hips jerk against his hand. "Fuck, you are addicting," he demanded, his face inches from yours, "much more than any wine, much more than anything I have.”

He crashed his lips against yours in a bruising, demanding kiss, swallowing any protests you might have had. Despite the roughness, there was a dark passion to it that sent shivers down your spine. His tongue plundered your mouth, leaving you breathless and wanting.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were left panting, your lips tingling and swollen from his assault. 

His eyes bore into yours, blazing with a fierce, possessive light. “We won’t let you go.”

His fingers never stopped their maddening circling at your core, stoking the heat building within you. Your body arched into his touch, craving more, even as your mind rebelled against his words.

"And why is that, Kyle?" you gasped out, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Why do you want to own me so completely?"

He chuckled, a sound that sent a thrill through you. "Because you're a rare gem in a sea of dull, obedient diamonds. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "And we always get what we want, one way or another.”

Kyle's lips crashed against yours again, more insistently this time, demanding your surrender. You turned your head to the side, trying to resist, but he simply followed, his mouth trailing hot kisses along your jaw and down your neck. A shiver ran through you as his teeth grazed your pulse point, sending a jolt of reluctant desire straight to your core.

Large hands gripped your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he hitched your legs around his waist. Before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you towards the large oak table in the center of the library. The books and papers scattered across the surface went flying as he swept them aside, the thuds and rustles filling the air.

He sat you down on the edge of the table, your dress riding up your thighs. His hands slid up the bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You shivered as his fingers found the hem of your dress, pushing the fabric up and over your hips until it pooled around your waist.

"Kyle, wait . . ." you breathed, placing your hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to hold him back. But your resistance was crumbling, your body betraying your reluctance.

He ignored your weak protest, his focus solely on his mission to claim you completely. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers brushing against your cloth-covered sex. You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily into his touch.

"Stop fighting it," he murmured, his voice low and persuasive. "You feel what this is between us.” 

Kyle guided you down onto your back on the table, your body splaying across the cool, polished wood. He positioned himself between your parted thighs, his hand gripping your hip possessively. His touch was firm yet gentle, guiding you into place as if you were a rare artifact he meant to admire and claim.

He leaned over you, his face hovering above yours for a moment before he began to trail soft kisses along the column of your throat. You shuddered as his lips brushed against your skin, your pulse quickening beneath his mouth. His kisses were feather-light, barely there and at the same time, sensual, teasing, leaving the faintest hint of a mark on your flesh.

Kyle's lips moved lower, his mouth trailing down to the hollow of your collarbone. He pressed a particularly soft kiss there, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. You felt your breath hitch, your chest rising and falling more rapidly with each passing second.

He pushed your panties aside, his fingers delving into your slick folds. A moan escaped your lips at the sudden intrusion, your head falling back as he began to stroke your most sensitive spots. Your body was already reacting to his touch, craving more even as your mind struggled against the intensity of it.

At the same time, Kyle's other hand roamed your curves, kneading the soft swells of your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress. His fingers traced the neckline, dipping teasingly into the valley between your breasts before sliding up to brush against your collarbone.

"Kyle . . ." you gasped out, your voice breathy and strained. Your hips undulated against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. The dual sensations of his fingers stroking your sex and his lips worshipping your skin were driving you to the brink of madness.

He murmured against your throat, his voice a low, seductive rumble, "Shh, just feel it. Feel how good we can be together."

His fingers continued their relentless assault, stroking and circling, while his other hand slid down your stomach, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Your body was a live wire, every nerve ending singing with sensation as he played you like a finely tuned instrument.

Kyle's fingers slid into your slick heat, his touch initially soft and slow, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion. He watched your face intently, his eyes darkening with lust as he savored every flutter and clench of your inner walls around his digits.

You panted, your back arching off the table as his fingers began to move faster, plunging deeper into your core. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body writhing beneath his touch as he brought you closer to the edge.

He could feel your walls tightening, your breathing growing more ragged, and he knew you were close. Just as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy, your body stiffening in anticipation, he abruptly withdrew his fingers. Before you could cry out in protest, he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick them clean. A deep, approving groan rumbled in his chest as he savored your essence.

The sight of him tasting you, the raw hunger in his eyes, sent a fresh surge of arousal crashing through you. You could feel the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against your thigh, hard and throbbing, straining against the confines of his pants.

Kyle's eyes flashed with a primal hunger as he drank in your desperate, wanton expression. He could see the battle raging within you, the war between your body's all-consuming need and your mind's feeble attempts at resistance. It only served to fuel his own desire, to make him more determined to shatter the last of your defenses and claim you utterly.

"Hush now, my love," he murmured, his voice a dark, seductive purr. "There's no use fighting it. Your body knows what it craves, even if your mind refuses to acknowledge the truth."

"Lift your hips for me, love," he commanded, his voice rough with need.

As if under a spell, you lifted your hips. Kyle peeled your panties down and off and tossed them carelessly to the side. He took a moment to admire your glistening folds, his eyes glowing with lust at the sight of your arousal. Then, with a low, approving groan, he leaned in and ran his tongue along your slit, savoring your essence like a man starved.

"Fuck, you taste divine," he growled, his voice muffled against your sex. He sealed his lips around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud as his tongue flicked and circled, stoking the flames of your desire ever higher.

Kyle's hands gripped your thighs, holding you open and exposed to his relentless onslaught. He delved deeper, his tongue plunging into your dripping core, fucking you with the slick muscle as he drank down every drop of your honey.

The obscene sounds of your pleasure filled the library as Kyle feasted upon your sex, his tongue and lips, and mouth devouring you with a hunger that bordered on feral. You could hear the lewd slurps and suckles, the wet, filthy noises of him lapping at your dripping folds like a man starved. The depraved symphony of your coupled moans and his ravenous consumption echoed off the bookshelves, a carnal duet that sang of your shared lust.

Kyle could feel your thighs trembling against his ears, your body quaking with the force of your impending release. He doubled his efforts, his tongue delving deeper, fucking into your clenching channel as he suckled hard on your clit. The combination of sensations proved too much, and with a sharp cry, you came undone.

Your back arched off the table, your fingers tangling in Kyle's hair, holding him against your sex as you ground your hips against his face. He groaned against your flesh, the vibrations only heightening your pleasure as your walls clamped down around his plundering tongue.

Wave after wave of bliss consumed you, your body shaking and writhing as the most intense orgasm of your life tore through you. Kyle drank down your release, swallowing every drop of your essence as if it were the finest nectar. He worked you through it, his tongue gentling as your spasms began to subside until he had wrung the last aftershock from your limp, sated body. Only then did he pull back, his face glistening with your juices.

Kyle pulled back, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he gazed down at your trembling, flushed form. He licked his lips, savoring the lingering taste of your essence. "You did so well, my love," he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was a kiss of praise, of reverence, his way of worshipping your pleasure. His tongue slid against yours, the taste of your combined releases mingling together, a lewd reminder of your shared climax.

Kyle's hands gentled on your body, his touch now soft and tender as he caressed your curves. He stroked your hair back from your damp forehead, tucking it behind your ear as he gazed at you with a look of pure adoration. His fingers trailed down your cheek, tracing the delicate line of your jaw before tilting your chin up to deepen the kiss.

"You're breathtaking," he whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours, before he pulled away. He quickly fished out a kerchief from his pocket, wiping your lips clean, before he did his and between your thighs.

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your intense climax, Kyle gently gathered your trembling body into his arms. He held you close, your head resting against his chest as you both caught your breath. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear was soothing, a comforting reminder of the life and passion that flowed through him.

After a few moments, Kyle reluctantly disentangled himself from your embrace. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead before rising from the table, his movements graceful and fluid despite his large stature. Your eyes followed him as he walked away, admiring the broad expanse of his back before he bent to retrieve your discarded panties from the floor.

Returning to your side, Kyle knelt beside the table, your panties dangling from his fingers. A small, indulgent smile played at the corners of his mouth as he gazed at your sated, flushed face. "Here, let me help you with these," he murmured, his voice low and gentle.

He carefully slipped the delicate fabric up your legs, his fingers lingering on your skin, tracing the lines of your calves and thighs with a touch that was almost reverent. Once he had tugged the panties up to your hips, he pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. The gesture was sweet and intimate, a silent acknowledgment of the pleasure you had shared.

Rising to his feet once more, Kyle smoothed your dress down your legs, ensuring that you were covered and comfortable. His hand lingered on the curve of your hip, giving it a soft, approving squeeze before he reluctantly pulled away.

"There now," he said, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "All put back together. At least, for the moment." His eyes glinted with mischief and promise, a silent implication that he looked forward to stripping you bare again, to exploring every inch of your skin.

Kyle's hand lingered on your hip for a moment longer before he reluctantly pulled away. He gazed down at your sated form, a look of deep satisfaction on his handsome face. "Think you can stand, love?" he asked softly, his voice gentle yet tinged with anticipation.

At your nod, Kyle slid his hand up your arm, his fingers wrapping around your elbow to help steady you as you sat up. He kept his other hand on the small of your back, supporting your weight as you swing your legs over the side of the table. After a moment to collect yourself, you pushed to your feet, your body only slightly unsteady.

A slow, approving smile spread across Kyle's face as he watched you find your balance. "Excellent," he murmured, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your form. He kept his hands on your elbows and waist as he guided you towards the door, his touch firm yet gentle. You walked alongside him, your body still tingling from your climax, as you made your way through the winding corridors of the fortress.

The stone hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the flickering torchlight casting dancing shadows on the walls. As you turned a final corner, you found yourselves standing before an impressive set of double doors. Kyle paused for a moment, his hand on the handle, before pushing the door open to reveal the room beyond.

As the door creaked open, the room inside revealed a spacious, well-lit chamber. The walls were adorned with tapestries that glowed faintly in the magical light, casting a soft, warm glow across the room. Several plush couches were scattered around the space, arranged in a loose, inviting circle. Low tables, made of dark wood, were scattered between the seating, each one holding a few candles and small, arcane trinkets that pulsed with magical energy.

The room was comfortably warm, with a touch of enchantment in the air, giving it an almost ethereal quality. The magical lights hanging from the ceiling illuminated the space brightly, their glow shimmering in a spectrum of blues, purples, and golds.

Jonathan sat off to one side, casually leaning against one of the couches with a cigar between his lips. Smoke swirled lazily around him, his eyes half-lidded as he exhaled. Soap was nearby, seated with Simon, both of them exchanging quiet word.

The moment you stepped inside with Kyle, Jonathan’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before he flicked the cigar out of his hand, stamping it out with a quiet, almost imperceptible gesture. His eyes shifted between you and Kyle, a knowing look passing between them, but he merely smirked.

Johnny, on the other hand, seemed to brighten immediately, his sharp, perceptive nature picking up on the shift in the air. His usual smirk was more pronounced as he took in the sight of you both. He seemed to know exactly what had transpired. He stood up, walking towards you. His hand reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he took your hand in his. His lips curled into a soft smile.

Johnny's thumb brushed lightly over the back of your hand as he looked at you, his expression softer now—earnest beneath the usual mischief in his eyes. His voice dropped into something quieter, more personal, edged with uncertainty even as he tried to play it off with a faint smile.

"So," he murmured, "do you finally forgive me now?"

The question hung in the air, delicate and heavier than it should’ve been. Your eyes met his, the silence between you stretching just a second too long. You didn’t speak. You simply sighed—tired, guarded, but not dismissive. It wasn’t a “no,” but it wasn’t a “yes” either.

Johnny’s smile faltered for the briefest moment. Then he gave a small, understanding nod, his gaze lowering just slightly as if to hide the flicker of regret behind his lashes. He knew what that sigh meant. You hadn’t fully forgiven him—not yet. But you were here, and you let him hold your hand. That, in his eyes, was already something.

Without another word, he gently tugged you with him, leading you toward the couches. You followed, the warmth of his hand a quiet anchor in the tension that still lingered in your chest.

As you settled between Johnny and Simon, the quiet hum of magic still thrumming gently in the air, Simon shifted beside you. His gloved hand reached up, fingers warm and steady as they found your chin and tilted your face toward him. His dark eyes met yours—gentle, unreadable, but searching.

Without a word, he leaned in.

Through the thin fabric of his balaclava, he pressed a firm, reassuring kiss to your temple. The contact was brief, but grounding—Simon’s own quiet way of offering comfort, acknowledgment . . . perhaps even affection. A low hum rumbled in his chest, almost inaudible, as if pleased by your presence beside him.

His gaze flicked just over your shoulder, catching Kyle seated across the room on a solo couch. The other man lounged with ease, legs spread and arms draped across the cushions, yet there was a subtle alertness in his posture. Simon held his stare for only a second before turning his attention back to you, making no comment. Whatever passed between them needed no words.

Just then, the heavy doors creaked open again.

A single servant stepped inside, silent and composed. Veiled from head to toe in fine silks and dark fabric, they revealed not a trace of skin, only the smooth glide of movement and a voice softened by the weight of enchantment.

"The seamstresses have arrived," they announced, bowing low in deference.

Jonathan, who had remained lounging coolly, lifted his chin lazily at the servant. “Let them in,” he ordered, voice calm but firm, the tone of a man who expected to be obeyed without hesitation.

The servant bowed again and turned on silent feet, vanishing back through the door to usher in whoever waited beyond.

The door opened once more, and the seamstresses entered in a quiet, flowing procession—three of them, each clad in heavy, finely woven fabrics that veiled every inch of their bodies. Their movements were graceful, deliberate, each step taken with a bow of the head, eyes cast downward in silent deference. Not a word escaped their lips as they crossed the threshold, their presence adding an air of reverence to the room.

They carried their tools of the trade tucked into delicate pouches and folded cloth rolls—spools of shimmering thread, enchanted needles, and measuring ribbons that glowed faintly with latent magic.

Jonathan, still lounging with one leg crossed over the other, flicked his gaze toward them with mild interest before turning his golden-eyed attention to you.

With a slow, fluid gesture—two fingers raised from the arm of the couch and a casual tilt of his chin—he addressed them. “She’s the one,” he said, voice steady and assured, the subtle rasp of something ancient curling in the back of his throat like smoke. “You’ll be fitting her.”

The seamstresses paused in unison, their heads bowing a fraction deeper this time as their focus turned to you. None dared look you directly in the eye—an old custom, perhaps, or one bred from deep respect or fear. One of them took a careful step forward, hands folded over her front, waiting silently for your word or gesture of permission to approach.

The others stood ready behind her, already unfolding lengths of fine fabric—some gauzy, others heavy with embroidery—each piece clearly meant for you.

As you gave the faintest nod, the lead seamstress stepped forward, raising her gloved hand to beckon you gently. Her touch was feather-light as she guided you toward a concealed partition that had been conjured with a quiet murmuring spell—heavy silken curtains rising from the floor, creating a private space just off to the side of the room.

The fittings began in near silence, save for the rustle of fabric, the soft snap of measuring ribbons tightening around your form, and the occasional murmur of approval or contemplation in a tongue older than common speech.

The first gown they slipped over your frame was of deep sapphire velvet, high-necked and long-sleeved, hugging your form subtly but with grace. Intricate silver embroidery danced along the cuffs and collar, depicting curling ivy and sigils of protection. The dress swept the floor, with only your gloved hands and face visible. It made you feel royal—untouchable, serene.

When you stepped out, there was a moment of silence. Kyle offered a low whistle, then cleared his throat with a smirk. Johnny raised a brow, giving you a once-over before grinning in approval.

Simon, eyes unreadable behind the black of his mask, tilted his head. “You look like you’re about to sentence someone,” he murmured.

Jonathan gave a slow nod, eyes narrowing in pleased thought. “A queen’s poise. Cold . . . and exact.”

You tilted your head, considering their comments, before the seamstresses ushered you to the back.

The second gown was a forest green brocade, heavier, regal. The bodice was structured, with a squared neckline just barely revealing the clavicle. Gold threads shimmered through the fabric like sunlight through trees, and the skirt was layered, giving weight and gravity to your steps.

Johnny leaned forward when you returned to the room. “You wear that like you’ve done this before,” he said, admiration glinting in his voice. He didn’t touch—none of them did—but their eyes followed every step when you went back to the partition without a word.

Next came dresses with more daring shapes. A wine-red gown with an off-the-shoulder neckline that displayed your collarbones and just a suggestion of cleavage. The sleeves were sheer, and embroidered with twisting flame motifs, and the corseted waist emphasized your shape. The skirt flowed around your legs with each step, lighter, and freer.

When you stepped into view, Johnny gave an exaggerated whistle, and even Simon's eyes briefly widened.

“You’ll be starting fires in the halls dressed like that,” Kyle muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jonathan didn’t speak, but his eyes followed the movement of the sheer fabric, glowing faintly gold with his interest. He smirked faintly.

You raised a brow. “Why would it start a fire?” you questioned, before quickly padding your way back to the seamstresses before anything else happened.

The next balanced dress was pale lilac, soft as moonlight. It had delicate straps and a plunging V-neck lined with crystal beading, though the cut remained tasteful. The back dipped lower, showing smooth skin and the curve of your shoulder blades. It was fitted through the waist and hips before blooming outward with tulle layers that shimmered like starlight.

This time, Simon was the one to break the silence. He stood, walked over, and circled you once—like a wraith in motion.

“Stunning,” he said quietly, the word low, as though he didn’t want to say it aloud and yet couldn’t help himself.

Then came the more daring creations—dresses designed to wield femininity like a blade.

One was black and scarlet, sleeveless with a halter neckline that crisscrossed at the throat before dipping sharply between your breasts. The back was bare, save for silk cords tied like a harness. The skirt split at both thighs, revealing high-heeled boots beneath. The fabric hugged you like it had been poured on.

When you emerged, there was a moment of stunned silence. Kyle sat straighter. Johnny made a sound that could only be described as a choke, covering it with a cough.

Jonathan laughed—low and delighted. “Now that,” he said, “is a dress meant to end men.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and marched back to get the dress off immediately.

The final gown was white and gold, like divinity wrapped in temptation. One shoulder was bared entirely, the sleeve on the other arm long and sheer. The bodice clung tight, held in place by enchantment alone, and the side slit climbed nearly to your hip. The gold embroidery was artful—designed to draw the eye in all the right places. When you turned in it, the fabric rippled like water.

Johnny exhaled slowly. “Right . . . that’s it. I’m gonna start praying now,” he muttered, clasping his hands.

Simon shook his head at him. “You’re a fucking lust demon.”

Kyle rubbed his jaw, visibly trying not to react. “You’re going to make enemies dressed like that.”

Meanwhile, Jonathan leaned forward in his seat, chin resting on his hand.

After the final dress, the seamstresses bowed low once again, silently awaiting approval or dismissal. You stood surrounded by the glow of spelllight, your skin still warm from their measuring ribbons and silks, the scent of exotic fabrics clinging to you like phantom hands. The weight of each dress, each revealing turn, each pair of eyes tracking your every step—it all began to settle heavily on your shoulders.

It was tiring.

Not just physically, though your limbs ached from holding postures, from walking and turning and standing still while enchantments whispered through fabric and thread. But emotionally too—baring different versions of yourself in silk and lace, letting them see how power could drape itself across your body, how beauty could be both armor and invitation.

You exhaled slowly. Your back straightened, but your eyes softened. And for just a moment, your guard slipped. Not fully—never fully—but enough.

Jonathan gave a single nod to the seamstresses. “You’ve done well,” he said, voice like a warm purr wrapped in iron. “You may go.”

With another bow—so low their veils nearly touched the floor—the seamstresses gathered their tools and vanished like shadows dispersing in the morning light.

The room quieted, only the soft crackle of enchantment and the faint hum of magic hanging in the air. You stepped back toward the couches, slow and careful, like the silk of the final dress weighed you down more than it should.

Before you reached the seats, Johnny stood and offered his hand again—gentler this time, like he understood the toll it had taken. “Tired, dove?” he murmured, just low enough for you to hear.

You didn’t answer right away. Your gaze flicked to the others, then returned to him.

But instead of words, you leaned into his shoulder for just a moment. A silent yes. And that was enough.

That was enough to get him, but in this game, you needed more.

"I've never thought getting fitted for dresses would be this tiring," you murmured, voice soft as you let yourself sink into the cushions beside Johnny once more, the silk of your final dress brushing against his arm. "But I . . . like it."

Your eyes followed the retreating backs of the seamstresses as they exited in a swirl of veils and muted footsteps, and your fingers brushed over the embroidery at your hip—still warm from the touch of magic.

Johnny chuckled under his breath, resting his forearm along the back of the couch behind you, close but not pressing. “You wore 'em like a queen that you will be,” he said, casting you a sideways look. “Almost forgot how to breathe when you walked out in that crimson one.”

Simon, still beside you, let out a low hum in agreement. "You did look good," he added, voice quiet but firm—earnest. “All of them, really.”

Across the room, Kyle gave a lopsided smirk from his seat, arms crossed, one leg propped up. “Liked that navy blue one,” he said with a casual shrug. “Fit you like it was made for you—which I guess it was.”

Jonathan exhaled a curl of smoke from his cigar, watching you over the glow of the ember. “You were made for all of them,” he said simply, the words laced with something older, deeper. “Just depends on what kind of queen you choose to be.”

You tilted your head, resting it briefly against the back of the couch, your eyes tracing the shimmer of magic still floating lazily above the ceiling, and you closed your eyes.

In your mind, the word "queen" echoed like a title worn by someone else—someone polished, poised, untouched by scars or flame or shadow. It wasn’t distasteful, but it didn’t fit right either. Not on you.

You sat there surrounded by men whose gazes carried a weight few could survive, dressed in silk tailored to perfection, measured to seduce or command or conceal. And yet, beneath it all, you still felt the whisper of calloused hands, the memory of steel in your grip, the ache of muscle earned from war, not waltzes.

No, you thought quietly to yourself, I don’t want to be a queen.

You didn’t want to sit on a throne. You didn’t want to be waited on hand and foot, to be another puppet of the crown and court. Not to be their bird in a cage. You wanted freedom.

But . . . maybe you could wear the dresses.

Maybe you could be their ghost in silk.

Maybe you could be the myth in the corridors—neither queen nor servant. Not a damsel. Not a jewel. Just you.

The thought made you smile, faint and fleeting.

Johnny nudged your shoulder lightly, breaking the silence. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

You glanced at him, your smile still lingering. “What should I wear for the party?”

I am very sorry for the very delayed update. I was caught up with school and my physical and fucking mental health. Anyways, I hope you guys will still enjoy the story and the chapter. Thank you very much.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

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[minxmut-cafe]

SUCCUBUS

Pairing : Jimin x Reader

Authors note : I'm pretty sure I was drunk when I wrote this. Soooo ignore any typos lmao. Also I have a Kofi account linked on my Master list. If you like my writing be sure to check it out. Your support means the world to me

Warning : Suggestive tones. Jimin is suffering from success. Mentions of cock, innuendos and MINORS DNI.

Synopsis : " When Jimins sweet, innocent, girlfriend is an actual devil in disguise "

_________________________________________________

Jimin was a strong man.

Or at least, he used to be.

Now? Now, he was a shell of the man he once was.

Exhausted. Drained. Depleted.

And it was all your fault.

Ever since he became your first, you had turned into something else entirely. A beast. A creature that needed him constantly, day and night, as if he was oxygen and you would simply perish without him.

And for a while? He took it as a compliment. Of course you wanted him—he was your first, your only, the only man who had ever touched you, ever made you feel that way.

But now?

Now, he was practically limping around the house, chugging protein shakes like they were holy water, staring at his reflection in the mirror wondering if this was how ancient kings felt before they dropped dead in battle.

And you?

You were thriving.

So much so that when he finally sat you down, hands clasped together like a man about to deliver his final words, you just blinked at him, all sweet and innocent like you hadn’t been riding him like a mechanical bull the night before.

“Y/N,” he started, inhaling through his nose. “We need to talk.”

You tilted your head. “Okay.”

Jimin steeled himself. “Baby, I love you. But—”

Your eyes narrowed instantly. “But?”

Jimin winced. “You have to understand,” he continued, carefully, so carefully, “I am a man. A human man. And unlike you, my body has limits.”

You pursed your lips. “That’s your fault.”

Jimin froze.

“…Excuse me?”

You folded your arms. “This wouldn’t be a problem if you were bad at it.”

Jimin’s soul momentarily left his body.

“Baby, that is not the—”

“You took my virginity, Jimin,” you interrupted, tilting your head. “You awakened the monster.”

Jimin opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

His brain short-circuited.

“The—what?”

You placed a delicate hand on your chest, blinking up at him so sweetly it was a crime. “The monster, Jimin. You woke her up.”

Jimin wanted to scream.

“This is not—baby, listen to me, I am literally physically suffering.”

You huffed, arms crossed. “Well, I am suffering too.”

He stared. “How are you suffering?”

You jutted your lip out. “Because the monster is hungry.”

Jimin felt something inside him snap in half.

A deep, tired, exhausted exhale left his lips, and he physically pressed his fingers into his temples.

“Oh my God.”

Meanwhile, you continued to glare at him like a wife who just found out her husband forgot their anniversary. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve done, Jimin.”

“No, I understand perfectly what I’ve done,” Jimin hissed, looking at you like you were an actual demon. “And I’m paying for it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t love me anymore.”

Jimin threw his head back in agony.

“THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID.”

And yet, you were still pouting, lower lip trembling, fingers curling around the hem of your dress as if you were suffering, "certainly feels like it..."

And Jimin, weak, weak, weak man that he was, sighed in defeat.

“…Goddammit, Y/N.”

That’s how he ended up back in bed, limbs tangled with yours, watching as his soul ascended into the next life.

And as he stared at the ceiling, body completely spent, he could swear he saw the grim reaper in the corner of the room.

He was a man of principle, of discipline, of self-control.

And yet, he had nothing left.

Absolutely nothing.

Not when you—his sweet, precious, soul-sucking girlfriend—had officially drained him of his life force.

He was one session away from perishing in this bed.

So, drastic measures had to be taken.

That’s why, as you sat beside him, eyes twinkling with that look, lips curling in that too-sweet smile—he held up a hand.

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

“No.”

A pause.

A deadly pause.

Then—

“…What do you mean no?”

Jimin inhaled deeply, preparing himself.

“You,” he said, slowly, firmly, “are on a ban.”

Silence.

A horrifying, bone-chilling silence.

Then—

“...A ban?”

Jimin clenched his jaw. “A ban.”

You squinted. “A ban from what, Jimin?”

“You know what.”

A slow blink. Then, voice innocent:

“I don’t think I do.”

Jimin let out a long, exhausted exhale.

“A sex ban.”

Your entire body recoiled.

Like you had been personally insulted.

Like he had just kicked a puppy in front of you.

“…Excuse me?”

Jimin sat up straighter, bracing himself.

“You heard me.”

You gaped at him. “You’re banning me??”

“Yes.”

“From you??”

“Yes.”

“Jimin.”

“Y/N.”

You gasped, placing a dramatic hand on your chest. “You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will.”

“This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“This is called self-preservation.”

You huffed, crossing your arms.

“This is so unfair,” you muttered.

Jimin just shook his head, rubbing his temples.

“I need you to learn self-control.”

You scoffed. “Me??”

“Yes, you.”

You huffed, looking away. “That’s your job.”

Jimin paused.

“…What?”

Your pout deepened, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me,” you muttered. “You’re supposed to make me feel limp and exhausted. You’re supposed to leave me so tired that I can’t even think about it.”

Jimin’s eye twitched violently.

Then he pointed accusingly at you.

“SEE??” he cried. “SEE WHAT I MEAN?? YOU’RE DEMONIC.”

You scowled.

“I am not demonic.”

“Yes, you are! You are a menace! An actual succubus!”

You pouted, glaring at him like a disappointed teacher.

“This is what happens when you’re too good at it,” you muttered under your breath.

Jimin threw his hands up.

“THERE YOU GO AGAIN.”

You huffed, turning away with a sassy little wiggle, mumbling, “Should’ve just been bad at it.”

Jimin groaned, rubbing his face.

“You are unhinged.”

“And you are a traitor.”

“I am trying to keep us alive.”

“No, you’re just torturing me.”

Jimin groaned louder, throwing himself onto the bed, covering his face with a pillow.

This ban was going to kill both of you. Mostly you

SEX BAN DAY 1 :

Jimin had been strong. Resolute. Unshakable.

For exactly four hours and thirty-two minutes.

Then he noticed the way you were sitting at the kitchen table.

Sulking.

With a bowl of snacks clutched in your hands.

Just staring at him.

Like a malnourished, starving, abandoned puppy outside a restaurant window.

His eye twitched.

You slowly popped another chip into your mouth, crunching aggressively.

Jimin sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Y/N.”

Crunch.

Jimin closed his eyes for patience.

“Y/N, you can’t keep looking at me like that.”

You tilted your head, eyes glassy with suffering.

“Like what?”

Jimin pointed at you.

“Like I’m a five-course meal.”

You gasped, placing a dramatic hand on your chest.

“I would never objectify you like that.”

A pause.

Then, voice quiet.

“…But if I could just have one bite—”

“OH MY GOD.”

Jimin turned away, frustrated, dragging his hands down his face.

You just huffed, stuffing another chip in your mouth.

“I told you this would happen,” you muttered.

Jimin groaned, pacing the kitchen. “Y/N, you’re not gonna die.”

“Easy for you to say.” You threw another chip in your mouth, chewing aggressively. “You’re not the one suffering.”

Jimin scoffed. “Suffering??” He whirled around, pointing at himself. “You think I’m not suffering??”

You squinted.

“…You don’t look like you’re suffering.”

Jimin gasped in outrage.

“Oh? OH??” He yanked up his hoodie. “LOOK AT THESE DARK CIRCLES. LOOK AT THIS WEAKENED FORM.” He gestured wildly to himself. “I AM A SHELL OF A MAN, Y/N. AND LET ME TELL YOU, SHOWERING WITH A SCRATCHED UP BACK IS NO CHILD'S PLAY"

You huffed, popping another chip in your mouth.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t unleashed the beast, this wouldn’t be happening.”

Jimin’s jaw dropped.

He pointed at you, eyes narrowing.

“SEE. SEE??” His voice rose in frustration. “YOU KEEP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT. THIS ISN’T NORMAL, Y/N.”

You just pouted harder, staring at him like he was a forbidden buffet.

Then, voice mournful:

“…You taste better than chips.”

Jimin screamed into his hands.

SEX BAN DAY 2 :

Jimin had thought Day 1 was bad.

Day 2 ? worse.

Because you—his sweet, cursed, insatiable girlfriend—had officially entered the sighing phase.

You were sighing at everything.

At him.

At the couch.

At the sky.

At existence itself.

And to make it worse?

You were stress drinking juice pouches like a woman on the brink of collapse.

Jimin sat across from you at the dining table, arms crossed, watching in deep concern as you aggressively slurped down your fourth juice pouch in five minutes.

You caught his stare, eyes glazed over in suffering.

Then—another long, mournful sigh.

Jimin groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, for the love of god, stop sighing.”

You huffed, stabbing another straw into a juice box. “I’ll stop sighing when I’m happy, Jimin.”

Jimin threw his hands up. “It’s been one day.”

“You don’t understand my pain.”

“Oh my god.”

You tilted your head back, taking an obnoxiously loud sip.

Then, eyes locking onto his, voice soft and dreamy—

“…You know what I’d rather be slurping on?”

Jimin whipped around so fast his neck nearly snapped.

“STOP.”

You just sighed again, staring longingly at him while sipping dejectedly.

Jimin groaned, pressing his hands into his face.

You took another slow, suffering sip.

“…Doesn’t taste the same.”

“Y/N, I SWEAR TO GOD."

SEX BAN DAY 3 :

Jimin was done—he had reached his breaking point.

It was supposed to be a peaceful morning. A quick shower, a few minutes of quiet. But of course, nothing could ever go that smoothly.

As soon as he stepped into the bathroom, he heard the soft scraping of a stool.

He didn’t even need to look. He just knew.

It was like a horror movie—he could feel the tension creeping in as he turned the water on, preparing for the inevitable.

You were in there.

Again.

And you weren’t just sitting there. You were watching him.

Not in some innocent way, no.

You were staring at him, not bothering to hide the way your eyes traced every inch of his body.

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t coy.

You were sitting on the stool, staring at his ass.

It was like the world around him disappeared.

“Y/N,” Jimin muttered, not even turning around. “Why?”

You sighed, dreamily, eyes glued to his cock, “You’re just so… perfect.”

He didn’t even flinch. Not anymore.

“I’m just trying to shower, Y/N.”

But you didn’t care. You were too busy sighing and practically melting at the sight of him.

He hated it.

No, he loved it. But he hated how it was making him feel—how he could feel his body reacting to your stare even as he tried to pretend he was unaffected.

By the time he was rinsing the shampoo from his hair, you were practically leaning forward on the stool, eyes locked onto him like you were about to devour him.

Jimin exhaled slowly, trying to ignore it. He really did. But his patience was nonexistent at this point.

He finished his shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, and started drying off.

And then you hit him with it.

You waggled the churro in your hand, a glint in your eye, before casually letting it dip into the chocolate sauce.

He had been bracing himself for everything, but this—this caught him completely off guard.

“Y’know,” you said, in the most casual tone, “what else is really long ,hard and deliciously thick that could use a little dip in chocolate sauce?”

Jimin’s head snapped around, eyes widening in complete shock.

“What—what the hell did you just say?!”

You just smiled, completely unfazed by his outburst, and took another slow bite of the churro, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“Just saying,” you said sweetly, “I think it’d be a nice snack.”

Jimin had to step back from the situation, a small gasp escaping him as his towel almost slipped.

“You’re insane,” he whisper yelled.

You didn’t even flinch. You were just so calm, so innocent—too innocent for this madness.

And yet, you were practically leering at him with that same look of hunger.

He could feel his resolve crumbling.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he gritted out.

“Why?” you asked, almost innocently, as you took yet another bite of the churro. “You’re so irresistible.”

Jimin was about to combust.

“Y/N, I swear…”

You leaned forward then, twirling the churro in your fingers as if it were some sort of weapon. “You know, I’m just admiring my boyfriend...and his Co—"

Jimin took a step toward you, gripping the edge of the counter for balance.

“If you don’t stop, I swear I’m going to—”

You looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, full of false innocence. “What? Punish me?”

Jimin cursed under his breath.

He wasn’t punishing you.

He was slowly losing his mind.

The silence after his words was suffocating.

Jimin's eyes were like daggers, sharp and determined. There was no stopping him now.

You were done. You knew it the moment he took that first step toward you.

Before you could even react, he suddenly lifted you off the stool, throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder.

“What—Jimin!?” You gasped, squirming as your face flushed with both embarrassment and the rush of adrenaline.

“You’ve been warned,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

You were screwed.

“Jimin! Wait, I—!”

He didn’t care. His grip tightened on your thighs as he marched toward the bed, your protests nothing more than background noise.

With one swift motion, he tossed you onto the bed, his hands gripping your waist like a vice as he slammed you down.

And then?

The slap.

The loud, sharp sound echoed in the room, a crack of pure tension and frustration as landed a sharp spank on your ass.

It wasn’t just a slap—it was a punishment, a statement.

Your eyes went wide, body frozen. You didn’t even know how to process it, how to react.

But Jimin wasn’t done. He hovered over you, chest rising and falling as he struggled to keep his own breath steady.

“You wanna act like a leech?” His voice was quiet, but it was filled with barely contained fury. “Then you’ll be treated like one.”

You blinked, still dazed from the impact, and despite the shock, you felt your heart race. The heat on your skin made everything feel more intense, more real.

His hand came down again, gripping your chin, tilting your face upward.

“You think you can just get away with all this?” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

You were starting to feel the weight of everything now—everything you had pushed him to the edge with. The wild neediness, the chaos, the relentless teasing… and the fact that you had really crossed the line.

He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he closed his eyes.

“You’re such a demon,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t even—"

You smiled sweetly, still a little shaken from the slap, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Well, you started it,” you whispered. “You’re the one who awakened this monster.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened.

"well then...let's see how long this monster lasts"

[underpaidimmortal]

john constantine from constantine (2005) is The character of all time to me tbh. legally dead for 2 minutes. gets driven around by a babyfaced exorcist wannabe in the backseat of a borrowed taxi. has no bedside manner talking to a distraught woman who believes her sister shouldn't be in hell. originally had a succubus situationship but the director cut her out to make him seem more lonely. so autistic/aroace that flirting and advances slide off of him like water on a duck. smoked 30 cigs a day starting at age 15. selfish dude who gave up his life to swap places with a random stranger he didn't know, but in doing so nearly ascended to heaven and flipped off satan. the devil himself hates him so much that he cured his lung cancer. Who Is Doing It Like Him

[scaredyspooks]

BG3 Kinktober 2024

Because I'm a perverted conduit that the void speaks through, I'm doing a Baldur's Gate 3 themed kinktober this year on here and AO3. As I publish the fics I'll be updating this list with links to them, and so y'all can gauge your interest here's the list!

Astarion (spawn) - roleplay - what's an innocent magistrate to do when his assistant propositions him when they're staying late at work?

Gale - pegging - growing bored of the wizard's endless accounts of how he and his goddess' bodies once intertwined, you notice there's one pleasure she never showed him.

Shadowheart - sensory depravation - life's greatest pleasures can be found in loss and darkness.

Lae'Zel - leather - peeling the leathers from your lover's body are one of the greatest rewards of battle.

Wyll - chastity - just because he wants to take things slow, doesn't mean you can't torment him a little.

Karlach - temperature play - attempts to cool her down end up having an interesting result.

Minthara - bondage - an interrogation goes south as you try to get to the bottom of the Absolute's cult.

Halsin - olfactophilia - after almost a tenday of not having time to bathe you head to the river, only be blocked off by a large elf.

Mizora - public - shrouded in the cloak of the hells atop a secluded pedestal, only to find it is in fact a stage.

Rolan - electro - someone's ego boost at getting a new tower has him coming out of his shell.

Zevlor - glory hole - the commander and the cleric need a release, things get interesting when the stranger behind the wall ends up being far too familiar.

Ikaron - semi-public - tensions are high in The Hollow, but you think you can help.

Raphael - naked platter - the devil has made a patisserie of you for his guests, though they seem to fade from existence as he grows distracted by the meal he's making of you.

Haarlep - size difference - the succubus is shocked that you want to see their true form, turns out they're a lot bigger than their master.

Rugan - impact play - the Zhentarim seeks to punish you for trying to skip out on your deal, he doesn't get very far.

Gortash - power play - your relationship has always been somewhat of a dance, one that you're determined to lead.

Dammon - edging - the forge's flames illuminate more than the smith realises, but you're happy to "help" once things quieten down.

The Emperor - hypnosis - the ilithid believes he can still get through to you, with one last attempt.

Aradin - hate fuck - your competitor, the thorn in your side, but damn if he doesn't have good stamina.

Abdirak - sado-masochism - two priests of Loviatar aid in each other's prayer.

He Who Was - free use - his ability to travel the shadowcursed lands unhindered has him popping up everywhere, making you pay for his insatiable desires.

Lia - wax play - after the first few drops, it's hard to tell what's blush and what's burn among the giggles in the Elfsong.

Cal - play fighting - a little extra training won't do any harm, though the proximity may prove... challenging.

Gale - findom - what starts as a simple shopping trip to Sorcerous Sundries takes a turn as you drag the wizard to more and more shops.

Astarion (ascended) - biting/marking - your last night as a mortal will be one to remember.

Shadowheart - human furniture - god's favourite princess needs a throne.

Wyll - roleplay - the son of a duke has a duty to mingle at these important events, though it usually shouldn't lead him to a cupboard with a handsome stranger.

Lae'Zel - predator/prey - your heart races, your breathing to quick to catch, and you know the more you sweat the easier it'll be for her to catch you.

Karlach - human ashtray - she's been making fun of you all evening for your drunken confession about her cigars, but once the other's go to bed she's happy to indulge you on the Elfsong's roof garden.

Halsin - breeding - ever the beast of nature, with your perils finally at an end he lets himself run loose with you and you realise it’s going to be a long night until he’s done filling you.

Minthara - body worship - the drow isn't keen onbeing nursed after but with injuries so severe you need to make sure she's alright.

[deadly-diminuendo]

You Will Know

a short ascended astarion/fem!reader tav fic / nsfw / ~9k words ***AO3 Exclusive***

Summary: Every time I make love in your shape, you will know. There are two mistakes you regret more than anything. One, helping Astarion complete the ritual that changed him into someone you no longer recognize. Two, giving your body away to an incubus, an eternal pact from which you can never break free. Haarlep has begun to take your form almost every night, making it impossible to forget your pact, impossible to forget the nights you shared with the man you once loved, all while a stranger ravishes you from beyond. Only it isn’t a stranger at all.

CW/Tags: non-con, incubus/succubus shenanigans, obsessive/possessive behaviour, vampire bites/blood drinking, piv sex, oral sex, desk sex, masturbation, references to Astarion's past, post-game, questionable decision-making

Read on AO3 This fic still holds a special place in my heart as its opening chapter was the first time I have ever shared fanfic online. While I'm not cross-posting this one here due to its darker themes, I at least wanted to show it a little bit of love here on Tumblr! Please make note of the warnings and take care in reading! 💜

Side note: I've been on a bit of a writing hiatus lately due to a recent vacation/real life getting in the way, but I have several ideas I'm excited about and I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things soon!

[nikjima]

In much more pleasant news, both my Raphael Collar mod and my Ascended Fiend wing mod are up, along with a mod.io version of my Infernal Intimates stockings mod that now actually hides under clothing!

Edit: Nexus links, for those who prefer using it: [Collars] [Wings]

[morgana-ren]

Just had the most fucked up thought of all time:

Ascended Vampire Lord Astarion with a beloved consort that was finally able to escape his grasp. After years, she's finally able to secret herself away and slip her chains, running from him and going into hiding so that he can never drag her back again.

It's no secret that he's gone mad, driven to the brink by his obsession with her in her absence. He refuses to simply take another lover or find a willing wife, spending untold resources and wealth trying to find her and coax her back, but she somehow stays hidden from him, somehow just out of his reach--

--However, he refuses to let her go.

Instead, he becomes slightly unhinged.

Astarion barters with a devil once again, only this time, it's for possession of a succubus. A very particular succubus who knows of his wayward little lover, and just so happens to have her form tucked away in her repertoire thanks to their earlier adventures.

He commands Haarlep to take her image each and every time he fucks her. It's the only way he'll sleep with anyone else-- the only way he'll find release while she is gone.

And Tav knows every time he's ravaging her because she can feel it. Feel his hands ghost across her body, squeezing the rounds of her neck until she can't breathe, scratching down her spine until she bleeds-- she feels all of it through this succubus' infernal connection. She is forced to acknowledge his power over her— his utter obsession with her— day in and day out, being violated by him over and over again even as she's finally escaped him.

Each time he takes the succubus, he is reminding her what he's done to her— what he'll do to her again when he gets his hands on her. His fucked up little way of saying "I'm thinking about you, darling" as he violates her body and mind, and no matter what she does, she cannot escape it. A ticking clock counting down the hours until he can touch her again.

She cannot hide forever.

It's only a matter of time, and every time she feels the phantom warmth flood between her thighs, or the tightness in her throat that leaves her with an aching jaw, or the sharp, miserable pain in her backside that has her hobbling for days, she knows he's thinking about her once more.

[blackblooms]

irredeamable development retrospective. Part 1.5: capitalism IN SPACE This one part will tackles an alternate setting for the Specter game we spoke of last time. It may even have come first in the development timeline, through it can be a bit difficult to determine exactly how and when ideas shifted so lets not worry about what actually came first. Much like shadow and light, this game was about a specter, possessing people, but just as the title says, the setting was more of a space-faring adventure where you would visit multiple planets.

It features much of the same races as shadows and light, though their exact appearance has shifted a bit, as everything would in a different setting.

Depicted here, we have Mars, a frozen desert planet with large scale mining operations and a bit of a western vibe. Humans and mitons are the main races here and were given stout figures and thick coat to fit the cold yet dry weather. Venus is now overgrown with a rich, volcanic jungle where countless comic plant are being grown and harvested. This planet is mainly occupied by goblin employees who take the place of the succubus from last game. Mercury was hollowed out and turned into a giant energy powerplant, with a massive solar panel attached to one side. Earth ...well i dont think i ever did figure out what to do with it. Its kind of just another mining planet. and finally we have the alien mothership. The home base of a group of invading alien corporations from the Alpha Centauri system. ....yes i know what it looks like, but its actually supposed to be based on their system having 3 stars (2 large and 1 small)

Aniway, the Centaurian species consists of long-lived and hyper-intelligent giant squid. Their technology is very advanced, especially in domains of communication, space travel and artificial life. Many of their servants (which i think included the goblins) are bioweapons that were specifically crafted to integrate into local populations and perform whichever jobs were needed for the growth of the company. There was never much of an actual story, so all i really got left are some blueprints of the solar system, now converted into some kind of space construct for the Centaurians to exploit.

Aniway, thats it for today, but next time we`ll be leaving all those specters behind and move into yet another setting. One that is not quite so cosmic, but instead rather....toweresque... To be continued in part 2: Ascending the Godlands

[queen-scribbles]

For the couples asks, #1 and #12 for Jas/Tristian and Vikkari/Arue?

1.What, specifically, was the catalyst for their physical attraction (if applicable) to the other character? In other words, what in particular had them like “Oh, they’re…hot…”

I think for Jas, there wasn’t really a specific moment, she just has eyes and can see that Tristian is v attractive lol. For Tristian, it was the first time Jas cast something like Shield of Faith or Archon's Aura and was all glowy and righteous and he had kind of an …uhoh. I can’t do this moment.

For Vikkari it was when Arue one-shotted the derakni in Greengates, the one from the arrival cutscene. That was really hot. For Arue, there was a time she was looking for Vikkari to talk to him and found him with Seelah, laughing at something she’d said. Unrestrained joy looks really good on him(also he’s hot anyway) and she had a big time “oh no he’s hot” moment that flustered her so bad she ran away xD

12. How much independence do they prefer in a relationship—do they want to share their lives as much as possible with their partner, or do they prefer to mostly do their own thing and let their partner do their own thing?

I think they're both in the middle, with Jas/Tristian maybe a little more toward doing everything together than Vikkari/Arue. Given their canonical endings.

Tristian stayed with Jas in her kingdom and they're practically joined at the hip(figuratively, there's too much height difference to be literal xD) her whole life. They enjoy each other's company, trust each other, have similar interests. While they will occasionally go do their own thing, it never takes long to drift back together.

Vikkari keeps up(returns to?) his wandering lifestyle after the Worldwound is closed, and Arue settles down outside a village. He visits her a lot, and it's my firm personal belief that those visits get longer and closer together until one day he just... doesn't leave. Nothing out there compares to what's here. They're a little more likely, even after that point, to go do their own thing and not rush finding their way back together.

Couple Asks

[abyssalaerlocke]

Match Made in Hell

Consider this a written sketch

Bringing back "Mephistopheles arranging a marriage between his son and the powerful vampire ascendant he just made, with 7,000 souls as the groom price", but now in Raphael/Durge.

To clarify what I've probably mentioned in other posts — Mephistopheles built an arranged marriage contract into the rite he told Cazador about, but it binds whoever completes the ritual. Cazador may or may not have known about it, but whoever usurps the ritual doesn't.

Raphael doesn't know about it, but key in this iteration, Haarlep probably does. If Raphael needed to sign or anything, I imagine Haarlep getting him to beg and promise them anything in bed some time (or he simply owes them a favour for them withholding some information from their reports to Mephistopheles), and they pull out a "marriage contract". Raphael assumes Haarlep is the other party in question, and since they're basically his consort already, it doesn't appear to change anything egregious, so he signs it and it doesn't come up again.

For some context, Haarlep is Mephistopheles' spy, and since they're kind of Raphael's consort, they should probably know about Mephistopheles' plans for marrying off his son. Since the kiss of a succubus (and presumably incubus) can turn someone into a greater vampire, Haarlep has some potential to influence who the addition to their home/relationship/boudoir is, by adding their own vampire to the race.

Which is where Durge comes in. Prior to the House of Hope, they use Gale's scroll of True Resurrection on Astarion to turn him back into a living elf — no longer Cazador's spawn, or at the mercy of the tadpole to live in the sun.

When they do show up, Haarlep of course takes an interest, and after being killed, the party decides they should take their dead companion and go, before Raphael shows up.

Durge soon wakes up as a vampire, and while Astarion is not in a position to steal the ascension, Durge does help him carve the contract on his back into Cazador's for revenge, and ascends themself — thus finding themself unexpectedly married to the devil they know.

[storyowls]

The second half of my trade with @crownedinmarigolds, as a surprise for @thesixthplaneteer! Featuring Wayne Foss the Volgirre.

Like all stories in the WoD, VtM is meant for audiences 18 years and older. Wayne is a monster, and acts as such.

The Wolf: SIAMES

Wayne studies himself in the mirror, music thumping in the background.

Tilting his head around, he lets out a pleased hum. Everything looks perfect, as it typically does when it comes to his work. Especially when said work is on himself. He swears he can almost see his eyes sparkling in the mirror as he smiles.

Unless he’s called in, he has nothing work wise tonight. That means he can go see his fellow Toreador at the Succubus. Maybe get to talk to Tamela about an appointment soon. That is, if she’s allowing herself to take the night off.

His attention turns to his phone when the text tone goes off.

Picking it up, he unlocks the screen before finding the message. It’s from Selyf, the court’s oracle. It’s short, simple. No words, one image.

The Death card from his deck.

How the hell does he do that? Every few months he’ll just get a text from the Malkavian with nothing but an image of a tarot card. No words, no explanation. How does he even know the card applies to him? Another message pops up, from Selyf’s childe, Jenny. Attached is, of course, the Death card from her deck.

Hell, even the oracle’s apprentice is pinging him tonight.

Letting out a sigh, Wayne puts his phone down and goes to get dressed. Appropriate attire for the club, or work. He’s flexible like that. After thoroughly checking himself in his full length mirror, he finishes getting things together before putting on his shoes.

Pausing, he hears his text go off again. It’s from Jenny, with the Tower, inverted. This time she says something.

[“Don’t resist Death.”] Ah good, she’s just as weird and archaic as her sire. Sighing, he rolls his eyes and simply sends her a thumbs up before opening his door and stepping outside.

And while he pretends otherwise, deep down, he wonders what the hell the Malkavians are on about.

The Succubus is lively, always is.

He pretends to go stand in line before the bouncer calls his name and motions for him to go inside. The kine look his way; some with irritability, some with jealousy. He holds back his smirk, heading on past them all before entering the club. The interior greets him like a cold, welcomed hug; black with deep red accents. Red lighting, black leather seating, black flooring. Down in the lowered floor, clubbers dance as the heavy, thumping music plays.

Wayne gives a nod towards the bar, smirking as the bartenders wave at him. He heads towards the stairs, for the VIP area on the second floor. The bouncer there says nothing, lifting up the velvet rope so he can ascend. The kindred gives him a wink before moving past, going on up.

The sight of Kate leaning back on a couch, arms spread across the back of it. Next to them is Tamela, who he can tell is watching him like a harpy. That’s her job, after all, gossip monger that she is. Other kindred meander about, sitting in their circles. The primogen seems the most relaxed out of everybody, seemingly unphased by the loud thumping of music from down below.

The heart shaped sunglasses do not hide the fact that they’re watching him come in.

“Kate, so lovely to see you!” Wayne’s voice is a little sing songy as he walks over, leaning down to see them, “And Tamela, glad to see you take a night off for once!” Kate reaches up, pushing some of his hair out of his face.

“No work tonight for you, I see.” They grin at him, “Or, for now at least.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” he returns the grin. “Speaking of work, Tamela…”

“Awww, does somebody need to upgrade his wardrobe again?” He gives her a fake pout and he laughs. “Alright, I’ll text JJ and see what we have open next week. I’m pretty sure Thursday’s open but I need to make sure.”

“You’re the best.” He promptly sits down on the end of the couch, giving the two lovers just enough space. He watches as she pulls her phone out, quietly texting her assistant, JJ. He’s only seen the very young kindred at the studio, but he seems nice enough.

And very protected by Natricia who scares the hell out of him.

“Looks like we can get you in on Monday, Wayne. I forgot the appointment we had that day asked to be switched to Thursday.”

“Excellent, I only wish to see the best for my wardrobe needs.” Tamela playfully rolls her eyes at him as Kate drops an arm over her shoulders. Before he can try to continue the conversation, the front of the room falls silent. Then the rest of the kindred follow suit.

Oh, good, who’re they here for?

Turning, he notices one of the Sirens. Like always, she’s not distracted by the noise from below, or anybody else around her. She walks over quietly, and Kate begins to sit up, as though expecting to be called.

The Siren holds her hand up to them, shaking her head. Instead, she turns to Wayne; she doesn’t even need to say anything for him to start getting up. She gives him a smile, seeming pleased as punch that he knows what to do.

“Tamela, Kate, it was nice seeing you. It seems however I must cut this conversation short.”

“Of course,” Kate looks to the Siren, adding nothing else. Tamela also remains quiet, and the woman turns to leave. Wayne follows with no other word, keeping his fuming to himself over a good night interrupted.

He bitterly listens to the sound return to the room when he leaves.

In the parking lot he hands his car keys to the Siren’s ghoul. He’s only done this once before, but the learned experience hasn’t left him. The ghoul nods to him, not needing to be told which car is his. Which, truthfully, makes this whole thing even creepier. The Siren has gotten into the back of her car, and he silently follows suit.

He’s barely able to get the damn door closed before the driver takes off.

Wayne sits back in his seat, knowing the Siren isn’t much of a talker. She sits there, seeming to stare ahead. He knows there are two other Sirens, but he hasn’t seen them up close. She seems to be the one most dedicated to the Toreador.

He briefly wonders if each one is assigned to different clans.

Soon his thoughts are pulled to the building he sees on the horizon. The old tactile business that the prince runs. It also, conveniently, serves as cover for some kindred business. Her office is, of course, on the top floor. He starts to feel a little antsy when they pull into the parking lot.

He eyes a car he hasn’t seen before; an older, lower to the ground, painted silver pick up truck. There’s not enough time to really ponder who it belongs to as the Siren’s car pulls into a spot. He slides out first, holding the door open for her before closing it.

“Thank you, Mr. Foss.” That is the most she’s ever said to him. He doesn’t respond as the two go inside. The receptionist waves them towards the elevators, and they continue. Wayne remembers how, years ago, he was confused the elevators didn’t have mirrors in them.

Then he met all the Lasombra in the city.

As they step out, the prince’s personal assistant stands up. He watches as she goes to the open office doors and announces their presence. He doesn’t really hear what is said in response, but he can guess.

“Go on in.” Rabia sits back down, watching them walk past. Wayne’s eyes wander around, instantly identifying the new kindred in town.

And he has no idea what he’s in for.

House of Wolves: My Chemical Romance

Wayne gets into his car, trying to hide his excitement.

His new coworker is clearly like him, in a way. Sure, there are Lasombra in Grand Rapids, a few odd ex-Sabbat in other clans. But he knows the kind of Toreador Valeria is. He knows it so well, along with the predator like behavior. Even he felt unsettled talking to her at first, but then the old memories came back.

Nobody born into the Camarilla would ever understand.

He watches as she peels out of the parking lot, off to the destinations Jules told her to go. There’s no requirements of him tonight, so he decides to use the free time to do a few tasks. Before he can pull out he notices a very recognizable van in his rear view mirror. Chuckling, he gets out and waits for it to park.

And, as he’s done countless times now, he walks over and opens the hatch to get the folded up wheelchair out. Selyf says nothing as he gets it ready, pushing it over. The Malkavian holds it still as Jenny slides out from the back seat into her chair.

“There’s my two favorite, eerie future seers.” Wayne’s tone is joking, but warm. “Got an appointment I take it?”

“Of course.” Selyf adjusts his jacket, fashionable to the last. “I take it the card has come into play?”

“It did, we have a new rose in the city.” He shrugs, looking at the younger woman, “I did not resist death.”

“Excellent, but for now, the prince awaits. Good to see you Wayne, stay safe out there.”

“You too.”

“Bye Wayne.” She turns her chair, waiting for him to return the gesture before wheeling towards the doors. Her sire follows, silent for now. Probably focused on his current task.

Wayne takes the opportunity and gets in his car to leave. He watches them enter the building in his rear view mirror before pulling out, knowing his destinations. In the back of his mind, he thinks about Valeria.

And he wonders if she’s figured out the truth about him yet.

Pulling into the drive way of his last stop some time later, Wayne sees a familiar car. Parking beside it, he gets out as its owner exits the house. Isla Dunsirn says nothing to him; hell, he can’t even tell if she looks at him anyway. She opens the back door on the driver’s side, sliding the cooler inside.

He doesn’t need to ask what the cooler contains.

Passing by her car, he doesn’t even look back. Stepping up to the front door, he presses the buzzer and waits.

“Who is it?” Terrance’s voice responds, the eerie cheerfulness filling the air. Isla must have done to make them happy. She always does.

“It’s me.” He doesn’t need to say anything else, knowing the other kindred recognizes his voice by now.

“Wayne! Come in, come in!” Not needing to be told a third time, he opens the door and steps inside. They come up the stairs, grin wide. Wayne holds a bag out to them.

“I brought some new gloves, saw you were getting low. Got any fun projects going on?”

“Oh, come down and see! Tell me about your day.” Terrance takes the bag, instantly going down into the basement. He follows, shaking his head at the palatable excitement in the air.

And he reaches for some gloves when he sees what’s on the table.

Some time later, the two begin to clean up. Terrance chitters on about their work for the week, Wayne listening quietly. However, as they tear their gloves off and toss them in the garbage, they turn to him.

��So, what’s up with your work? You seem excited.”

“Got a new partner. She just moved here, clocked her as probably being ex-Sabbat.”

The Tzimisce gives him a look of surprise.

“And, based on the way she looked at me, she did the same. She gave the Lasombra a run for their money with the creepiness factor...but it was nice to feel that again.”

“Yes, yes. We’re all removed from that, but it is our base, our beginnings.” They begin to clean their tools. “It’s nice to feel the start again, hm?”

“Yeah, yeah it is.” Wayne walks around to start helping with the current task, making no other comments on the subject. The two begin to chatter, and will for a while.

Deep down, he wonders how much Valeria has missed the Sabbat, too.

Getting home late into the night, Wayne enters his home. Every other house around him is silent, lights off and owners sleeping or gone for third shift work. He knows nothing about them, and the same can be applied the other way around. Kicking his shoes off, he sighs and sits on his couch.

Oh what a night it’s been.

He wonders how deep of a change Valeria’s presence in the city will bring. How big of a change she’ll bring to his job. Or, well, their job. Sighing, he turns on the TV and relaxes, giving himself time to just do nothing.

For a moment, he ponders updating his look.

He could ask Terrance, of course. But that’s not fun, not as thrilling as doing it himself. To stare at himself in the mirror, inflicting the pain and agony in his own body. A new tattoo perhaps, or making a hidden one move to a new secret spot. So many possibilities, and so little time. But for now, Wayne rests, enjoying his silent existence for the rest of the night.

And he feels excited for tomorrow.

[spirits-n-giggles]

Now, I don't do much fandom deep dives these days, but I think it's feckin funny to hear of ANY unapproving ships in Baldurs Gate 3 of all things... A fandom that is FILLED TO THE BRIM with pan-sexual/romantic (and asexual/romantic) partners to choose from (if not more than one at time) so if anyone ever gets on to you about how you might enjoy a dark and twisted toss in the sheets, simply give a lil giggle, banish them to Raphael's succubus, and go about your day.

Life is too short to give a single shit about some dumbfuck opinions that are trying to ruin your day. So ruin their day by having a good one and go enjoy your ascended vampyres, your murderous drows, your literal sexy bear (my personal fave), your special connection to Withers, your spunky lil threesomes-- or even no romance at all, if thats what appeals to you. That's why this game is so awesome. There is no "right" answer.

This game is just that: a game. Go enjoy your game. And enjoy the story YOU choose to tell. That's what this game was made for, after all.✌️

TL;DR - if someone's ugly to you, block their ass. Simple as that. They exist to waste your time and your time is valuable, so if they don't pay your rent pay them bitches no mind. (thanks RuPaul)

Besides.... if you were a REAL BG3 fan, you'd ship 'em all together in one big dysfunctional orgy. 🥰

[rottenraccoons]

hello raccoons ✋🏼 🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝 be at peace, my fellow beings 🦟

i shall have a question of the utmost importance (🗣)

there was an anon, who implied there has been a succubus vesper/reader ask, however i cannot find it, would there be a possibility of you linking it in response? 😼😼😼😼😼

and for an ask, i do have another question: what are the LIs best at when it comes to sexual acts? (oral, fingering,...) (🧍🏽‍♀️-> 🐈->🦝 me when i ascend to a fellow trash eater, nasty nasty things are the best 😼)

also i wanted to add that its such a hot concept to be oleander's secretary, that man can ruin me, (over the kitchen counter, in the bathtub, on the table, floor, against the wall, over the balcony railing, we are not stopping ✋🏼) like i knew its gonna be a good game when i went through the intro of the game, but then i just want to point out especially the writing, which is so good and i am so serious about that! its insanely immersive and the characters are so well written, be it the main cast or the npcs, even if they are there for like one sentence, they are distinctive enough that i remember all of them. you all are so skilled, from the composer to the artists, to writers, its such a good game that i cannot wait for the upcoming chapters. very much looking forward to it!!

thank you for all your effort, my earthly comrades and have a divine rest of the day/night 🐈

- anon 🐈 (unless that emoji is taken by a fellow anonymous, then i can be 🦟 because i can suck oleanders d- 😼 (i am so sorry i am way too hyper right now))

The succubus/incubus/concubus post is here, nonny! As for general sexy stuff, we recommend taking a stroll through the spicy content tag and seeing what you can find!

Part of Oleander's appeal is supposed to be having a hot boss who's DTF without it coming across as a massive workplace safety violation, so we're glad you like being his assistant/secretary ❤️