#moonlight symphony

[alpaca-clouds]

The Church in Castlevania

Okay, folks, I need to get this out of my system. Because this is always such a bad faith argument and... yeah, I just need to get that out there.

Now, I think most of us can agree that a lot of the game fans, who hate on the series, are just... looking for reasons to hate on it. Because in this time and age it is apparenting not just okay for people to say: "This wasn't for me" and move on. No, folks need to make up reasons why actually the thing they don't like is the worst thing ever.

In terms of Castlevania that comes with people idealizing the games (and quick reminder: I like most of the games, but... their storytelling is still very lackluster) and of course making up issues with that.

And one of the made-up hate reasons they found is how the church and religion are depicted.

They will claim: "Religion is a force of good and such an important part of the games and the Netflix series made religion a bad thing!"

And I am sorry. This is bullshit. Especially as someone who has been raised Catholic - aka the flavor of Christianity that Castlevania features.

Let me explain.

How the Games depict Catholicism

Now, I am no longer Catholic. Because of all the bullshit the Catholic church did to kids, and also their stand towards queer people. But I can tell you: If I still was Catholic, I would probably be offended at the games.

Look, this is how religious characters like priests and nuns look in the games.

And, I am sorry, this is all bad.

Now, let me start with Tera, because she is probably the least offensive in there. Because her dress per se is alright. That is what a habit of a nun would look like. Most probably St. Thomas or Ursuline. But... there is one glaring issue: She is not wearing a head scarf. And that is an important part of being a nun. Like, really. nuns are usually allowed to drop the rest of their habbit. If you live somewhere with an abby (or go to a school where nuns are the teachers like me) you might see nuns running around in normal clothing... But never without their headscarf. The hair has to be covered. It is kinda part of the point.

Next up would be Vincent. And that dress is just like... Okay, I am gonna give them some points for giving him the right hair style that would made him Capucian. But the rest of his design? What is even going on there? That is not Catholic, that is just some fantasy priest design. It absolutely makes no sense. Even less so under the entire "well, technically he should be a monk" idea. The design is bad. Really bad.

And then we have the nameless Priest of Moonlight Rhapsody. Who... looks like you crossed a Capucian monk with a freaking druid?! Like... What?!

Not to mention, of course, that while Sypha in the games is not technically a nun (though she hides as one) she hides as one and also is said to have a close tie to religion, being a woman of faith and all of that.

Now, the CV3 design is not even that offensive.

Like, sure, the blue is a bit weird, but... You know what? Hair is covered. The clothing is very conceiling. Yeah. It is not ideal from a Catholic point of view. So, that is okay.

But then we have the Castlevania Judgement design.

And... Do I really have to explain why this design is offensive on so many levels?

Like, you cannot just put a female character in this super sexy outfit, put so many fucking crosses on it and then go like: "Yay, religious character!"

Ironically the character who has the best religious design in the games is fucking Zead.

Outsie of that, let us look how religion gets depicted within the text... Well, no, let's not do that, because it isn't. Religion is not there in the text. At all. Because it is just a purely aesthetic thing that happens within the games. Charakters have religious affiliations, you will regularly find a chapelle in Dracula's castle with all the pretty stained glass and all that. But... It is not really there.

I think Alucard is a very good example of this. In Japanese artwork he gets depicted with a rosary or cruzifix from time to time. Like on the cover of Symphony of the Night.

But there is nothing religious about how he acts. There is no prayers. Nothing in terms of how he speaks. Really nothing. It is nothing but an aesthetic.

And... that is basically the whole thing going on with the games.

The thing folks miss, when it comes to the depiction of Christianity in the games, is that the games are first and foremost Japanese games made by Japanese games for a Japanese market. And in Japan only 1.5% of all people are Christian. And to Japanese people, Christianity is a very exotic. It is about as exotic as Shintoism is to European and American people. So, the Christianity within the games is very much that. It is basically the same like an American game in which some characters run around with Kitsune masks, or where you run through a shrine with nice torii in front.

Is it offensive in a horrible way? No. Or not that much, and be it just because Christians over here love to feel offended, but actually rarely are because they are the majority. It isn't that bad. But is it a good depiction? No, definitely not.

How Religion gets portrayed in the Castlevania series

So, let me talk about how the series - both the one from 2017 and now Nocturne portray Christianity and how this is related to their historical contexts. Now, let me first get one thing out of the way. The bishop and the Catholic church.

Yes, the bishop is clearly wearing the vestments of a Catholic bishop. Stylized, yes, but this is clearly Catholic vestments. And I have no heard several people claim that this is ahistoric because of Romania in general being mostly Eastern Orthodox.

But here is the big issue with that is, that... Yeah, Eastern Orthodoxy started to spread in Wallachia about a hundred years early. And it was from all we can say (look, there is little of written information that survived on the exact distribution). And I will not do it to you and myself to go deeper into the entire chasm between the Orthodox and the Catholic church.

Something that just needs to be said: The late 15th and the early 16th century in this area was a lot of religious turmoil. Which also had to do with the one historical detail that is not quite adressed in the show: Wallachia was just at the border to the Ottoman Empire, who tried to conquer Europe from there. (Again, the entire historical Vlad Tepes was so closely tied to that story. He got killed by the Ottomans in 1476.)

But that is also the aspect the show rightly brings in in one regard.

See, generally speaking one of the reasons that we got the Spanish Inquisition (which, again, was not about witches!) and the witch hunts just after the middle ages ended, so in the late 15th century was the conflict within the Church. There were suddenly several Christian religions and they were in conflict with each other and with that came a lot more push for the Churches to have power. The witch hunts were a way for them to clear up their power.

And yeah, that was a horrible thing they did. But... it is historically accurate. In fact, I would find it kinda offensive to look at the church of this time and show them as these nice people. Because that is kinda fucking with the pain and trauma of all those killed in the name of the church.

Now, Sala and his men are clearly Eastern Orthodox. While the clothing is not an exact match, the stuff they wear and also how they wear their hair and what not... That is Eastern Orthodox design.

Admittedly, the Priory is a but... bland for that. The Priory looks almost like Protestant. But than again it is a priory in a little town, so I guess it is somewhat understandable that it is not quite as fancy as Orthodox churches would be.

When it comes to the depiction of them... Well, I mean, they are not crazy because of their religion, they are crazy because somehow the night creature has brainwashed them.

That is honestly all I have to say.

And yeah, of course I should mention that we have of course Isaac there, who is a very religious character and who, in the very end, also gets depicted in a more positive light.

Now, compared to the original show Nocturne put in a TON MORE research when it comes to the depiction of the religious folks. Because while I do not consider the depiction in the original show as wrong, there is also not a ton of nuance and neither is there a lot of... details in there.

And compared to that we have now Nocturne and they just get the Knights Hospitaller so right. As well as their role within the revolution and all that. And... you know what? I am just gonna leave this blog here, where I went more into all of that.

But yeah, the entire thing is, that... in the games, Christianity is just an aesthetic. There is no substance to it. It is just to make the setting and the characters more exotic from a Japanese perspective. Meanwhile the show, which is mainly producted for a western audience, is more aware of the historical context it is set in and what role the Church took in it.

[tilbageidanmark]

Valentina Lisitsa, Beethoven, Moonlight Sonata III (Presto Agitato)

[smbhax]

Maria Renard by Ayami Kojima for Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (the Dracula X ~Nocturne in the Moonlight~ Art Works included artbook)

[lord-tiki]

Alucard & Richter Belmont - Elite Exclusive Statue

[beautifulsavagegarden]

How they express love and affection verbally.

Antoine - 'You make me feel wanted.'

Armand - 'are you well?'

Claudia - 'my heart can hardly bear the feeling I have for you.'

Gabrielle - 'you are a treasure.'

Lestat - 'I love you with every inch of my soul, every part of my heart.'

Louis - 'I don't have much but you have all I can give.'

Nicolas - 'It would be easier if I could hate you and yet, I can't, not wholly.'

Sybelle - 'Is this what love is? Oh, it's wonderful!'

[balu8]

From Dracula: A Symphony In Moonlight And Nightmares

by Jon J. Muth

Marvel Graphic Novels #26

[nfcomics]

Night Flight Comics • Cottonwood Mall • book displaying:

DRACULA: A SYMPHONY IN MOONLIGHT & NIGHTMARES • Jon J Muth [1986]

KID ETERNITY (3 issue mini series) • art • Duncan Fegredo • (w) Grant Morrison [1991]

VIOLENT CASES • art • Dave McKean • (w) Neil Gaiman • Titan • UK [1991]

Note: VAMPIRE LESTAT • promo poster • art • Daerick Gross • Innovation [1991]

Note: BATMAN LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT • various issues [1991]

[badtaktopheadcanons]

hehehe

[opera-ghosts]

OTD in Music History: Ludwig van Beethoven (1770 - 1827) is laid to rest in Wahring Cemetery in Vienna. (Beethoven's remains would later be exhumed for scientific study in 1863, and then exhumed a second time and relocated to Vienna's Zentralfriedhof Cementary in 1888. He now lies in a grave adjacent to Franz Schubert's [1797 - 1828] final resting place.) Beethoven's funeral procession was attended by an estimated 10,000 people -- the largest public mourning turnout in Vienna's history up until that point. Schubert served as one the official torchbearers, and a funeral oration was written and delivered by noted poet Franz Grillparzer (1791 - 1872). Music composed by both Beethoven and his highly-esteemed contemporary, Luigi Cherubini (1760 - 1842), was performed. Grillparzer's oration can be read here: http://www.lvbeethoven.com/Bio/BiographyFuneralOration.html PICTURED: An original printed invitation to attend Beethoven's funeral, featuring text that was written by one of Beethoven's closest friends, Stephan von Breuning. It reads: "Invitation to the funeral of Ludwig van Beethoven, which will be held on March 29 at 3 pm. We will meet at the home of the deceased in Schwarzspanierhaus, 200, on the Glacis, opposite the Schottentor. The procession will move from here to the Dreifaltigkeitskirche [Trinity Church] at the Fr. P. Friars Minorite in the Alsergasse. [via Alser] The musical world suffered the irreparable loss of the famous composer on March 26, 1827 around 6 pm. Beethoven passed away in his fifty-sixth year of age, from dropsy, after receiving the holy sacraments. The day of the suffrage mass will be announced later by the admirers and friends of Ludwig van Beethoven. (This ticket is distributed in Tobias Haslinger's music store.) Printed by Anton Strauss." A mourner who actually witnessed the funeral has handwritten a contemporaneous account of what he saw on the back of this particular copy of the invitation.

[esmartworld]

Moonlit Reverie 🌘

This dreamy, abstract landscape painting captures the tranquil beauty of a moonlit night. The soft, blurred forms and muted colors create a sense of ethereal wonder, inviting the viewer to lose themselves in the serene, contemplative atmosphere. The glowing moon casts a gentle light over the hazy scene, evoking a feeling of peaceful introspection and connection with the natural world. Created By EsmArt!

[suparhythm]

A Cold, Warm Touch

Hello there poetry fan. Check this one out.

In the heart of ancient Transylvania, where shadows danced and secrets whispered, there dwelled two vampires, their souls entwined in a love that defied the mortal realm. Elijah, a creature of the night with eyes like smoldering coals, his touch as cold as the grave yet burning with an eternal fire, and Seraphina, a siren of the night with hair like silken strands cascading down her ivory back,…

[lalunanymph]

MASTER OF ME

SUMMARY sylus purchases a kitten hybrid from an auction and dotes on her very, very well.

WARNINGS kitten hybrid, pet play, collars, leash, nipple play, clit play, mirror sex, explicit smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, master kink, language, overuse of the kitten petname, riding, clawing, possessive behaviour, slight humiliation and degradation, sylus is soft for his kitten

DAWN SAYS couldn't stop thinking about sylus and his fave kitten hybrid ...,....,,,. so now you all have to suffer with me ,,,, inspired by this post

"Who do you belong to, kitten?"

Your thighs burned with the effort to keep yourself upright, your vision going blurry from how heavenly his thick cock felt rutting against your gummy, slick walls.

"Mhm," you moaned, arching your back, the tinkling chime of your collar accompanying the sloppy symphony of your bodies meeting together in carnal bliss.

Sylus was brutal with his ministrations, one hand wrapped around the bubblegum pink leash clasped to your pink diamond-studded collar; the sight of his engraved name on the tag shining in the moonlight filling him with a sick surge of masculine pride.

"Come on, kitten," he goaded, leaning in to run his tongue under the line of your collar, making you shiver. "Answer me. Who do you belong to?"

The sound of your heavy breathing and his ragged grunts shattered the quiet of his bedroom air, the dark shades of his monochromatic lair absorbing the sins of both your ecstatic bodies; making you feel like he was claiming you right in the belly of the beast.

He pushed your head down into the mattress, leveraging on your supine position to dick you down harder. The slap slap slap of his balls hitting your ass resounded around the room, reminding you of how much you belonged to him.

Body, soul, mind.

Sylus Qin owned every inch of you.

He moved his lips to your ear, your tawny tips twitching at the sensation of his hot breath caressing the sensitive flaps.

"Please," tears thickened your voice, and you fisted the black silk sheets, holding onto them for dear life.

Despite being unable to see him, you heard the smirk in his tone when he deepened the angle, hitting a spot inside of you which made your knees buckle.

"Sweetie, I think you can do better than that."

The thick trunk of his arm wrapped around your neck, using it to hoist you up, and your resistless gaze landed on the mirror across the bed.

Intending to rub your humiliation in your face and remind you how helpless you were without him, Sylus pinched your cheeks together with his other hand, forcing you to watch the way his slick cock pounded into your willing pussy; stretching the muscles tightly around his thick, meaty girth.

The tip of his cock hitting your G-spot made you mewl, your claws catching in his arm around your neck. But, Sylus didn't mind the pain. Those wounds would heal anyway, and besides, he was much more focused on making his sweet little kittie cry.

"Be good and tell me—" he grunted, emphasizing each word with a heavy thrust of his hips. "Who. Do. You. Belong. To. Kitten?"

Once upon a time, that question would've made you bristle and sink your claws into the closest jugular; reminding of the conditions you were brought up in before you were purchased during an underground auction by the one and only elusive leader of Onychinus.

Shrouded in mystery and long regarded as an urban legend, the sight of his blood-red eyes and the smirk upon his pale lips made you shrink back in horror.

That was until he stroked your head and your ears, running his fingers down your back while murmuring in his low, soothing baritone that, "I am not going to hurt you, kitten."

Slowly, you began to warm up to him. The horrors you led as a hybrid stolen from a Linkon City lab faded into the recesses of your rare nightmares; your life as Sylus’s precious lap kitten the only one you recognized.

The sight of his large palm trailing down your body, straight to your core, made you clench down on him in anticipation.

Shit... Sylus choked down on a curse, fighting to retain his self-control.

He knew you could force a kitten to do what you want, but you could always entice her with a tempting treat.

"Does that feel good, kitten?" The caress of his warm breath against your neck tingled your skin, nipples puckering from the sensation.

Mhm... your teary moans gave way to sharp mewls when he started to rub your clit in tandem to his blunt mushroom cock head hitting your sweet spots.

"This pussy loves me so much... can you hear her purr?"

Sylus clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling your moans so you were forced to listen to the wet sounds of your walls sucking him, spitting him out, drooling over his length.

Such a lewd display made you dizzy with lust, your claws stabbing harder into his arm, making him bleed.

"Oh, kitten. My helpless, sweet, little kitten..." He pressed his lips to your ear, letting you hear every filthy moan, every ragged, hitched gasp as he fucked deeper into you.

"I'm going to devour you, my sweet one. Tame you. Tease you. Until you finally admit you're mine."

Your whimpers were fuel for him to double down on his brutal pace, his fingers digging into your waist with a bruising force.

Sylus cursed under his breath when your walls tightened around him, the sight of your obvious submission reflected back from the gilded, black mirror; the sight alone edging you closer to the point of no return.

Like what you see, kitten? Do you love belonging to me?

The scent of your sweet musk burned his nose.

You were the sweetest sin melting on his tongue.

Sylus slid his fingers around the slippery little bud between your legs, the sloppy circles forcing your eyes to roll back into your skull; your thighs twitching and abdomen tensing.

The scent of your impending release tantalized the tip of his tongue, and with a cruel smile, he let you dance right towards the edge, encouraging you to cling to the lip of your first orgasm of the day.

"Master," your hitched gasp of his honorific drew a flame of possessive flame flickering in his chest. "I–I'm close... so close..."

Dropping his fingers down to his side and effectively leaving you hanging, Sylus ignored your paltry gasp of despair, snickering quietly as he slowed the roll of his hips. Intentionally denying your toe-curling orgasm.

"Master..."

Your puffy lips puckered into a pout, those pretty eyes shining with fustration.

In one smooth motion, Sylus slid out of you, the sensation of gaping emptiness where your cunt was once stuffed with him making you cry out, grinding your teeth.

Turning you onto your back with the cockiness of a man who controlled every aspect of your pleasure, Sylus’s crimson eyes burned with an intense, sadistic glee.

He shoved you down to the floor, onto your knees, and spread his toned thighs, beckoning you closer with a tug of your leash.

"You know how much I hate it when you deny me, kitten," the fall of his silvery locks across his face gave him a rougueish air. He grinned, jutting his chin at his stiff cock that was coated from base to tip in your arousal. "As punishment, I want you to pleasure me and think about how much you're denying me as much as I am denying you."

Your stubby tail twitched, and you sucked on your sharp teeth, debating if you should disobey him and pleasure yourself.

As if he anticipated what you might do, Sylus shot you a glare.

"I dare you to do anything funny, kitten. Defy me, and I will make sure to edge you for the remainder of this session with that 20-inch dildo you hate. Is that what you want?"

The loathing you had for that toy was enough to deter you from acting out, your ears drooping docilely.

"I'm sorry, Master."

Sylus exhaled a chuckle, his mood switching as he rubbed your ears affectionately. "I know my sweet girl will never disobey me. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your answer was given in the form of your lips hovering over his weeping tip, your tongue darting out to lap at the treacly precum dribbling down his length in clear drops. The flavor of his musk and skin saturated your taste buds, making your insides clench down with unadulterated desire.

Sylus didn't have to ask you twice—his good kitten was trained to please him at the snap of his fingers.

Eagerly, your hot mouth swallowed him, bringing his cock to the back of your throat where the bitter taste of his cum nearly made you gag. But, Sylus clasped his hand around your neck, forcing you to keep him there; to not choke on and disappoint him.

Blinking your watery eyes, you moaned, the sound muffled from his thick length cutting blocking your airway, his fingers tightening around your throat.

"Mhm, mhm."

This blatant show of dominance and the slight degradation in his smug smile made you clench down hard on thin air; your hips shunting in circles as if seeking a cock to sink down on.

Your cheeks puffing, full of his cock, made something in his chest twinge.

Sylus didn't care for your claws sinking in his thighs, the stinging pinch blurring the lines of pleasure and pain in his mind.

The sight of your pretty lips stretched around his cock, tongue running over his thickset balls, sucking on the plump tip of his flushed and leaking head, was enough to make Sylus renounce any gods in favor of worshipping you for the rest of his life.

"Oh, kitten." Shaky fingers threaded through your hair, this blip in his composure boosting your cocky arrogance.

"Does it feel good, Master?" You mouthed around his cock, "Do you feel good?"

Sylus grunted, lost in the pleasure to notice you were mimicking his earlier teasing.

In one swift movement, your perception changed from staring up at him, to being on your back, face-to-face with his boastful smirk.

Sylus grabbed your wrists in one hand, showing off his strength by keeping them pinned above your head, while his other palm wrapped around your throat, tightening around your custom collar.

He didn't need to glance between your thighs to know his cock was breaching past your tight muscles; your thighs shuddering like an electric current was running through them.

"Master!"

You gasped; back arching, hips circling and nipples tightening. Holding him closer, you clung to him like a vine to a tree that was being rocked apart by a hurricane, unyielding in your dependency on him.

Rather than chastising you for your impertinence, Sylus responded in kind, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

Pausing to take a moment, he kissed your ankles and shins, before sliding deeper into your warm and welcoming cunt, a groan of ecstasy falling from his parted mouth.

The raunchy squelching of your bodies meeting together in such erotic intimacy was second to your flow of moans, which grew pitchier and more heated the faster he began to thrust in-and-out of you.

Sylus removed his hand from around your throat to grab your thighs, holding you open. The sight of your pretty tits jiggling with every punishing thrust was the stuff of his lewd dreams, and unexpectedly, he bent his head close, tonguing your sensitive and pert nipples.

Fuck—you're so sensitive. He bit down on the turgid points, nibbling on them like a cat roughing around it's favorite toy.

But, he knew you could take the pain, take his punishments; you were always his perfect, pretty kitty.

Sylus trailed one hand to your swollen and puffy clit, rubbing it in tandem to his punishing strokes.

"Say it, kitten."

Stars pressed behind your closed lids. Every line in your body was taut with the release you were fighting to hold back, waiting for his permission to let go of the tension he's been simmering in your body since an hour ago.

Sylus was nothing if not meticulous in his dark compulsions, expertly dragging out the ache to not give you what you want.

You're so close you can almost taste it, yes? He taunted you, tweaking your sensitive clit, enjoying how your body heaved and shook.

Sylus moved his fingers to your pointed nipples, twisting them with enough sadistic glee to bring tears to your eyes.

You yelped, "Master!" and he chuckled darkly, hooded crimson eyes locked on the sway of your hips struggling to fuck him back.

"Please." Syrupy. Desperate. "Please let me cum."

He chuckled throatily. "Nuh-uh. Not until you tell me what I want to hear."

Your independent streak was no match for his tenacious desire to own every inch of you.

Giving up your willpower for a taste of his reward, you squeezed your eyes shut, thrashing your head from side to side as you choked out your admittance:

"You. I belong to you, Master Sylus."

The curve of his grin cutting through the thin skin of your throat belied his tender nuzzling.

Your entire confession sparking his desires to watch you come undone for him and him alone.

"Good girl," he drawled in his husky baritone, releasing your wrists so you could tangle your hands in his hair.

Drawing you impossibly closer, Sylus's large palms spanning around your waist tilted your lower body, forcing you to take every heavy thrust. Despite the brutal treatment, your pussy withstood the hard-driving surge of his hips; hearts in your eyes from his bruising ministrations.

Sweat dripped down your back, staining his ebony sheets, and you turned your blurry gaze to the ceiling, surprised to find a latest addition to his bedroom.

Sylus playfully nipped your jaw, sensing your distraction.

"Do you like it? Do you like this mirror I installed for us, kitten?"

Your breath lodged right in your throat, your burning eyes unable to tear away from the sinful sight unfurling before you.

The view of his broad back roped with stacks upon stacks of muscles undulating under your paws drew your awe. The red lines from your claws digging into his pale skin created a stark contrast to the bruises in the shape of his mouth littering your neck like sensual, possessive marks.

From this angle, you could plainly see him thrusting into you, the languid roll of his hips fucking you so obscenely filling your head with delirious delight.

You love this, baby? Fuck, I can feel you squeezing down on me so good.

His tongue traced a path from your neck to your jaw, ending at your lips as his final destination.

Sylus wanted this sensation of pleasure to last for days; where you could feel him every time you walked, sat or breathed.

Use me, baby. He nipped your lower lip. I'm all yours to be used.

Your feral instincts took over and you straddled his lap, hovering your wet pussy over his throbbing dick.

Your lover and Master arched a brow at your boldness, his hands slotting naturally onto your hips.

"So, is this how you want to play?"

He hissed, throwing his head back when you controlled the motions, sinking down on him inch by delicious inch. Sylus hadn't expected his dick to be so fucking sensitive.

Oh, fuck, you feel so good, his shaky exhalation boosted your pride.

Move, baby. I need you to move.

Sylus bucked his hips, fucking into you impatiently from below.

His eyes locked onto the ceiling mirror, taking in the sight of your sweet body sitting pretty on his dick, riding it like you only had one chance in your nine lives to make him proud.

Sylus grabbed your leash, using it to guide your rutting hips. He loved how you choked whenever he tugged on it too hard, a smirk etched on his handsome face.

Master...

He knew what you were going to say before you could even say it.

Of course, he did.

Sylus knew his kitten better than anyone else.

"Go ahead, darling. I want you to cum."

A twitch of your hips; your mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Shit, I'm coming—he cursed, tightening his grip around your leash, forcing your head back, his hips stuttering as his orgasm blazed through him.

Sylus nudged you off his dick, using his hand to jerk himself off, groaning at the streaks of white decorating your belly. The last rope of warmth shoots from his spasming head, spurting onto your spent pussy.

Using one dextrous finger, he coated it in cum, swiping off the excess and bringing it to your lips.

"You're too good for me, sweetie," he hummed, eyes darkening when you lapped at his cum-coated finger obediently.

Nuzzling your face into his palm, you practically purred, draping yourself across his chest as you stretched your limbs, the deepset engraving on his name on your collar's pendant stirring his dark, possessive feelings further.

"I liked the little touch with the mirror," you murmured, turning your face slightly to catch the reflection of your slick and naked body atop of his.

Sylus tightened his arms around you, his laughter trailing off into a low growl.

"Anything for my sweet kitten."

His voice softened, tips of his fingers grazing your cheek. A silent I love you he wasn't ready to say just yet.

You might belong to him wholeheartedly, but in this moment, Sylus was as much yours as you were inexplicably his.

a/n: oh to be living a life as sylus's lap kitten, i need to be her STAT

comments and rbs are appreciated <3 your love for my works means the world to me 🫶

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own. do not share across other platforms

[ohnonotnow]

my library

here's some of the best the hobbit/lotr fanfics I've read cuz they can be quite hard to find and I wanna help

will update the list as I read

Thorin

Smoke, iron and Thorin

Fire and Gold

Learning Khuzdul

Braid of Gold

Thorin being soft

The Beauty of Chance

Those Hands

Misunderstanding

The arrival

A king's crown

Covered In Steam

There's just inches in between us

Thorin after a long day of training with his nephews

In This Moment 

Agreement

Symphony of your life

Oh so quiet

Confession

Find Your Way Back

Fili

fili oneshots

Moonrise

The Most Unpleasant, Defective, and Abominable Incident

Stay with me

The Redeemer

Durin's Garage

Restless

Lost My Way

Kili

The book keeper

insecurities

The beauty and the Beast

getting back at Kili for teasing

My Treasure

Madly in love

It's in his kiss

Love Bites

Sway With Me

Wood Carvings

Softly. . .

Sweet like nectar

A Shot in the Dark

Beorn

Early Mornings

Beorn takes care of you when you're injured

Linger

Legolas

Watcher of Wanderers

The Innocence of Brutality

Blessing

Sensitive

Being best friends with Legolas

Hazy Memories

Spellbound

Thranduil

Bookworm

Relax

Best friends father

Fascination

Flower On My Skin

To Meet Under the Stars

Passenger Princess

Autumn Thunderstorm

I Could Love You With My Eyes Closed

Haldir

Gentle Dark

Lindir

My Heart Is In Your Hands

Moonlight

Just a Little Help

Warriors Great Tales

The Fountain

Return to Me

Èomer

Burnt Bread

A Helping Hand

Wildest Dreams

Falling In Love With A Librarian

SFW alphabet

Happiness

A Roll in the Hay

Blessing

Turning Points

More characters

various characters oneshots

Imagine: elves having highly sensitive ears and you finding out by accidently touching them.

Journey to Erebor

Hair braiding

Elves + Braiding

What Type of Kisser is Each LoTR Character?

The Hobbit Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

A Headcanon For Each Member of Thorin’s Company

Cuddling With Thorin's Company

Imagine some of the elves of Middle Earth find out how easy it is to make you (a human staying in Rivendell) blush and become aroused.

The LOTR characters reacting to a modern reader

[chosok-amo]

MY BOY SUCH A PRETTY CRIER : GOJO SATORU

my boyfriend has the prettiest eyes,” . . . you love your boyfriend— gojo satoru's eyes, you always have, until you see him crying for the first time, and you can't help but need to see those eyes, glisten with tears, every chance you get.

warning. obsessive! gojo satoru, established relationship, mentioned of suicide, blood mention, obsessive reader, slight dark, toxic! reader.

wc. 6,6k ( art belong to the artist, devider belong to cafekitsune )

it's glisten...

gojo satoru's blue, azure irises glisten under the moonlight like little twinkling stars, silking with his tears. you were mesmerized and for a moment your erotic movement stammered, slower, slower, slower . . . and stopped. it hurt your chest, your lung, like the air just got reap by fingers with pointed nails, or razor-sharped teeth, you named it.

you gasp for air, holding them down inside your reaped lungs. it's suffocating, how his eyes make you feel. and suddenly, you can feel everything, your senses sharpen— the way his heart is beating like thunder underneath your palms, cocoon by his ribcage, the way his girth, his throbbing girth twitching inside you.

“baby...” he breathlessly calls you.

gojo's nail digging is dullest to your chubby rear, silently begging you to move and get back to work, but no.. you stay silent for a moment, drowning in his blue eyes you never realize as blue as the ocean, as deep as one before. you always knew it was pretty, but never as this pretty, it's breathtaking, it's soul-sucking, it's. . . gut wrenching, pain, because you will never have eyes like his, you will never, ever, find eyes like his with other men, other person.

“beautiful..” you whisper.

your trembling hand gently makes its way to kiss his cheek, thumb dancing across the skin to push away the tears selfishly. only you, it's only you who can get this close to his eyes, it is you.

“you are so beautiful,” soft, breathless whisper kissing your lips before you lean closer, skin to skin with his forehead. it was crystal clear, his eyes. . . so celar you can read his mind through it, see his soul laid bare, feel his blood and his heart beating faster each second- looking straight at you like its ready to burst his ribcage open nad run to you with all the blood, the flesh, even the bone.

one blink, two blink, and three blink it takes gojo to clear the glisten effect on his eyes, letting the last tears fall freely down to his cheeks. a small frown makes its way to your forehead, so you found your hips moving slowly, your glisten clit grinding against gojo's skin, his cock twitching and soft moan leaving his pink, swollen lips.

soft mean tear from your throat, past your lips the moment tears flooded in gojo's eyes. “don't close your eyes, baby,” you whisper, like a witch chanted a mantra. gojo nod eagerly, bewitched by you. it was sinister, your smile, drowning in love and something more. the look on your beautiful face, the one where gojo never saw. he was mesmerize with the way you look at him. how your eyes practically sparkling, your cheeks blushing madly, your eyes glue to him like he is the center of your world, and gojo was doomed.

after that unforgettable night, you find yourself completely immersed in the depth of gojo’s eyes, as if drawn into a boundless ocean of their beauty. every nuance of their color becomes an intricate tapestry that you cannot help but unravel. imagine, if you will, the way his eyes might transform under the tender embrace of a sunset, their natural brilliance kissed by hues of molten gold and soft amber, weaving a breathtaking symphony of warmth and light.

“hey, baby,” his voice drifts softly, like a breeze stirring you from the quiet of your thoughts, his words threading through the haze that clouds your mind.

you blink once, then twice, and a third time, as if awakening from a dream spun of shadows and whispers, until your gaze finds his—those eyes, blue as a restless sea, now roiling with a tempest of fury. it’s a sight that steals the breath from your lungs, a depthless anger that crashes like waves against the shores of his calm, threatening to sweep you away. his stare is fierce, wild. . . cannibalism lookalike even, and you feel something shift within you, a fullness that blooms in your chest, heavy and warm. his palm, cold against your flushed skin, cradles your cheek, and you lean into his touch, drawn like a moth to flame, craving the chill that soothes the heat of your racing heart.

his knuckles, adorned in the brutal artistry of bruises, are stained with the blood of those who dared to lay hands upon you, each mark a testament to the violence he’s wrought in your name. once again, his knuckles, oh, they are a map of violence—a testament to the ruin he hath wrought upon those foolish enough to lay a hand upon what he cherishes most: you, oh you. . . the love of his life.. bruises bloom like dark violets upon his skin, and the crimson of blood lingers, a stark reminder of his ferocity, his unrelenting need to protect, to possess, to guard you as fiercely as the lion doth its pride.

they bear the story of his wrath, of a love so vehement it spills over into rage, uncontained and ferocious. he stands as a fortress, unyielding and unbreakable, a sentinel who guards not with words but with fists and fury, and in his eyes, you see a promise—a vow that none shall harm you and live to see the sun again. his touch, a chilled caress upon your cheek, pulls you closer still, and you lean into it, seeking solace in the coolness of his palm, a balm against the heat of his wrath.

“baby, are you alright?” he asks, his voice a deep, soft rumble that vibrates through your very bones, soothing and stirring all at once. it washes over you, a tide that pulls you under, and suddenly your legs betray you, trembling beneath the weight of it all, the sheer intensity of his presence. you feel yourself melt, your knees weak, the world spinning as if gravity has turned traitor, and you begin to sink. but he is there, always there, swift and sure, catching you in the safety of his embrace, his strong arms wrapping around your trembling form, pulling you flush against the solid heat of his chest.

“please, hold me,” you whisper, voice barely a breath, still lost in the storm that rages within his gaze. there’s a desperation in your plea, a need to be held, to be anchored amidst the chaos that threatens to drown you both. his hold tightens, as if he could fuse you to him, make you one with his own flesh and bone, and you feel the world steady under the weight of his arms. his scent, warm and familiar, envelops you, a heady mix of comfort and danger that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

there is an obsession in the way he looks at you now, an all-consuming need that borders on madness, a love that knows no bounds, no reason, no restraint. for in that gaze, you are not merely seen—you are worshipped, adored, the very center of his universe, hell, you are a god to gojo satoru. his eyes, burning with the light of a thousand suns, speak not of mere affection but of a devotion so profound that it eclipses all else. every breath you take, every beat of your heart, is caught up in the maelstrom of his love, swirling endlessly in the vortex of his gaze.

he holds you so close, close enough that you can feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, a fierce, steady drum that matches the frantic cadence of your own. your hands find their way around his neck, fingers threading through the silken strands of his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until there is no space left between you. your lips meet his in a fervent kiss, a clash of need and hunger, tongues dancing in a tangled, breathless frenzy. it is a kiss that speaks of survival, of gratitude, of a love that is both a sanctuary and a storm.

he tastes like fury and devotion, a bitter-sweetness that lingers on your tongue, and you drink him in, greedy for more. his grip on you is unrelenting, as if letting go would mean losing you to the abyss of his own making, and you cling to him with equal fervor, your bodies a tangled mess of limbs and longing. in that moment, there is no past, no future—only the now, the heady rush of his breath mingling with yours, the feel of his hands on your skin, the unspoken promises that pass between you with every stolen breath.

he holds you as if you are the very air he breathes- well, indeed you are, as if he could will you into his soul and keep you there, keeping warm and alive unthe the flesh of his ribcage, close to his heart, safe and cherished, forevermore. his eyes, still brimming with that furious fire, soften at the edges as he kisses you back with a reverence that makes your heart ache. it’s a kiss that binds, that claims, that seals you to him in a way that words never could, and as you pull away, breathless and dazed, you know that this is where you belong—wrapped in his arms, lost in the depths of his gaze, loved with a passion that burns brighter than the stars.

when he pulls away, a thin, glistening thread of desire still lingers, stretching between your parted lips over the tongue—a tether that binds you in this shared breath, this dangerous dance. his gaze meets yours, those blue eyes still ablaze with a furious tempest, but within their storm, there flickers a flame of love, fierce and unyielding. he looks down at you, a twisted smile curling at his lips, a grin that speaks of chaos and carnage, of a madness that holds the world at bay. “i'm sorry those fools dared to lay hands upon you, but they will trouble you no more, my love,” he murmurs, voice low and threaded with menace, a vow spoken with a lover’s gentleness yet edged in steel. his hands, calloused and sure, cup your cheeks, cradling you as though you are the most precious, fragile thing in all the realms.

together, you both cast your gaze down upon the bodies sprawled upon the cold, unforgiving ground, their forms marred by bruises and the remnants of his wrath. they lie there, wet and lifeless as fallen leaves, scattered by the tempest of his fury, no longer a threat but mere echoes of their own folly. and yet, even amidst the wreckage of his rage, there is a strange beauty in the chaos he has wrought—a dark symphony of love and violence, a tribute to his devotion, twisted and true.

“come, let me take you home, my love,” he murmurs once more, the words a soft caress against your skin, as his lips find yours in a kiss that seals the promise of his protection. you are stunned, breathless, and your eyes glisten with a fervor that matches his own—a wild, consuming adoration for the man before you, this maniacal figure who stands between you and the world. to love him is to dance on the edge of a blade, a perilous waltz that thrills and terrifies in equal measure.

you look up at him, smiling so, so, so sweetly, mirror the same menace, at satoru gojo, your beautiful, dangerous obsession, and your heart swells with a love so potent it feels as if it might burst from your chest. it is sick, this mutual madness that binds you, a passion laced with peril and an affection born of fury. he is a storm wrapped in human form, a threat to all that dares to stand in his path, yet to you, he is a haven, a divine madness that sets your soul alight.

his eyes—ah, those orbs of azure fire! they are the boundless seas wherein your soul doth drown a thousand times. in calmer tides you have known them—playful, serene, a gentle mirth that sparkles like sunlight upon the morn’s dew. yet now, behold, they blaze with tempest’s fury, aflame with wrath as the heavens in their ire. 'tis as though the very stars have kindled rage within those depths, a storm that seethes and seizes all that dare to meet its gaze. and in that wild and furious tempest, you, undone, do find your heart ensnared anew, aflutter as a wanton moth to flame.

for every glance he grants, each furious flicker of those eyes, doth pull you deeper still, till all the world is but a distant whisper, and you are lost—utterly, wholly—in the unfathomable blue of his gaze. to see him thus, to feel his ire burn not at you but for you, sets your blood to riotous fervor, and lo, your cheeks do bloom with that sweet crimson of youth’s first fond blush. oh, what madness is this! to love so fiercely, to find in rage a tender, quiet adoration that makes you very breath catch, your heart sing out its foolish tune of love renewed.

his eyes are not mere mirrors of his soul; they are the very tempest that doth rage within his breast, a tumult of love and wrath entwined. 'tis a sight both fearsome and fair, for in his fury lies the pledge of his protection, a devotion that doth border upon the divine. how can i resist? his gaze is your sun, your moon, your guiding star, and you, poor wretch, are but a humble worshipper at the altar of his gaze. to see him thus, to know his anger burns for you, not against you, is to be wrapped in the warm embrace of his fiercest love.

aye, 'tis true—each time those eyes, so fierce, so wild, do meet your own, your heart doth flutter as a captive bird newly freed. in those depths, you see not just the fury of the storm, but the quiet promise of a love that will not fade, that will not falter. it is obsession, a fire that consumes and yet does not destroy, but rather, sanctifies. and so you fall, endlessly, hopelessly, into that blue abyss, where anger and love are but two sides of the same coin, where you are his, and he is yours, and the world may be damned, so long as his eyes remain your haven, your undoing, your everlasting delight.

in his arms, you are both prisoner and queen, worshipped in the sanctuary of his embrace, held aloft by the sheer force of his adoration. it is a love that defies reason, a devotion that flirts with destruction, and yet, it is the most beautiful thing you have ever known. for in his fury, you find a devotion unbroken, and in his danger, a divinity that shines brighter than the stars. it is wild, it is reckless, it is divine—and you would have it no other way.

you open the door, and there he stands, drenched from head to toe, rain pouring down like a curtain of sorrow, clinging to him as if the heavens themselves weep for his misfortune. gojo satoru, usually so untouchable, now a figure cut from despair, shivers in the chill of the storm, his white hair plastered to his forehead, rivulets of water tracing the sharp lines of his face. his eyes, usually alight with mischief and boundless confidence, are now dimmed, clouded with a sadness so deep it seems to swallow the very light that once defined him.

“go home, satoru,” you say, your voice firm, though your heart clenches at the sight of him.

he doesn’t move, just stands there on your doorstep, trembling from the cold, every shiver of his body a silent plea for your warmth, your forgiveness, oh, your love. his gaze locks onto yours, and in those azure depths, you see a man unraveled, a soul laid bare. he looks so lost, as if every ounce of the bravado that once shielded him has been stripped away, leaving only raw, aching need. he is like a stray pup, kicked and abandoned in the dead of night, caught in a relentless downpour with nowhere to turn but to you.

“please,” his eyes seem to say, though his lips do not move, as if the very act of speaking would shatter what little remains of his pride. the sadness in his gaze is a weight, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on your chest until it hurts to breathe. he stands there, drenched and desperate, the rain mingling with what you can’t tell are tears or the relentless downpour, and you can’t help but feel your resolve waver.

he’s begging you without words, a silent supplication for the love he once held so carelessly, now desperate to grasp it again as if it were the last tether to his fading light. and in that moment, you see him not as the invincible person, not as the man who commands respect and fear, but as someone who is utterly, devastatingly human—broken and yearning, with eyes that plead for a mercy only you can grant.

his body trembles, not just from the cold, but from the unbearable burden of your absence, his breath hitching in the back of his throat as he stands before you, stripped of all bravado. his eyes, usually so filled with boundless confidence, are now heavy with the weight of his own despair, looking up at you with a sadness so profound it seems to echo through the storm. he caught in the relentless fury of the night, shivering and soaked, eyes pleading for the warmth and solace of your embrace—a creature lost in the dark, cast adrift without the guiding light of your love.

“just go home, i don't want to be with you,” you say, voice cutting through the rain like a cruel, deliberate blade.

and just like that, the dam breaks. the tears well up in his eyes, those brilliant blue pools now shimmering with unshed sorrow, glistening in the dim light like shards of broken glass. it’s a sight you’ve longed to see, a vulnerability that he so rarely shows, and for a fleeting moment, you feel a sick satisfaction bloom within you. his pain, raw and unfiltered, stirs something deep, something dark, as you watch the strongest sorcerer reduced to nothing more than a man undone by the weight of his own emotions.

his eyes, usually so full of power and certainty, now shimmer with a desperate plea, tears spilling over as he chokes back a sob. you've never seen anything more beautiful, and in this twisted, fevered moment, you’ve never felt more alive, never fallen harder for him than right now, with his pride in ruins at your feet.

“please, baby,” he whispers, voice cracking under the strain, “i’ll be less annoying, i'll lest of anything that driving you away from me, i’ll do whatever you want—just, please.” the words tumble out, desperate and frantic, as he promises to change, to bend, to be whatever version of himself you demand. he stands before you, a king stripped of his crown, reduced to nothing but a man begging at your mercy, and the sight of it sends a shiver of dark delight down your spine.

it’s sick, the way you revel in this power over him, the way his tears make your heart race and your lips curl into the faintest of smiles. you are obsessed with this dance, this twisted game where his suffering is your satisfaction, where his pleading eyes are the sweetest of victories. he is yours, wholly and completely, and you know that he would break a thousand times over just to keep you from walking away. you will be the death of him, and once, you whisper and spitting on his grave, everyone will watch him crawling back from the death, and once again, he will be lying on your feet for your mercy, for you to love him, all bones and flesh.

and yet, you find yourself pushing further, testing the limits of his devotion, just to see how far he will go. it is a cruel, intoxicating power, to have someone like satoru gojo reduced to tears, and you drink it in like a forbidden elixir, sweet and heady. he is beautiful in his despair, and as he stands there, drenched and pleading, you can’t help but fall for him all over again, tangled in the twisted love that binds you both in this endless, obsessive dance.

gojo falls to his knees, the mighty sorcerer brought low, his arms winding around your legs with a grip that trembles like a leaf caught in a tempest. his body shakes with the cold and the weight of his despair, his once towering presence now reduced to a man clinging to the last threads of hope. he presses his forehead against your knees, rain-soaked and broken, as if your touch alone could redeem him, could stitch together the fragments of his shattered pride.

he looks up at you, eyes glistening with unshed tears, a kaleidoscope of heartbreak and desperation painted across his face—a portrait of a man undone. there is something so exquisitely pathetic in his gaze, a rawness that strips away the veneer of invincibility, leaving only the bare, trembling truth of his need for you. his eyes, those brilliant blue oceans, are now brimming with tears that spill over, tracing a path down his cheeks like the first rains of spring breaking the drought, each drop glistening like a jewel in the pale light.

and you, standing above him, feel a dark, intoxicating thrill twist within you. it is the beauty of his suffering that ensnares your heart, the way his tears catch the light like shattered stars, casting shadows of sorrow and longing. you are captivated by the sight of him, the strongest man you know brought to his knees, eyes pleading, voice breaking as he begs for the one thing he cannot command—your love.

“please,” he murmurs, the word a fragile whisper, his breath warm against your skin, “love me again.” his voice cracks, a jagged sound that splinters the air, and his tears fall faster, the dam of his restraint collapsing in the face of his need. he is beautiful in his anguish, a vision of tragic grace, and you cannot help but fall in love all over again, lost in the raw, unguarded emotion that spills from him like a river bursting its banks.

to see him like this, vulnerable and pleading, is to witness the unraveling of a myth—a god brought to earth, stripped of all but his humanity. and in this moment, he is more magnificent than ever, his sorrow a canvas on which your love paints itself anew. his tears are a symphony of the heart, each drop a note that sings to your darkest desires, pulling you deeper into the depths of this obsessive, all-consuming devotion.

his eyes, those eyes that have seen worlds beyond, now reflect only you, and in their tear-streaked depths, you find a love so fierce, so fervent, that it threatens to consume you whole. it is a love that does not ask, but demands; a love that kneels at your feet and begs for mercy, not for itself, but for the man who weeps before you. and as you look down at him, his tear-stained face so achingly beautiful, you know that you are lost to him—lost to this love that is as twisted and fragile as the threads of his tears, a love that binds you both in a dance of pain and passion that neither of you can bear to end.

as he stumbles forward, falling to his knees with a shudder that ripples through his entire body, the rain pouring down on him like the heavens themselves are weeping for his plight. his hands grasp at your legs, fingers clinging to you with a desperate strength, as though you are the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. his head bows low, forehead pressing against your knees, and his breath comes in ragged, frantic gasps, each one a struggle against the sobs that threaten to tear him apart.

“please,” he begs, voice fractured and raw, as if the words themselves are tearing through him, leaving him gasping for air. “please don’t turn me away. i can’t—i can’t do this without you. i’m dying, i swear, i’m dying without you,” his voice breaks on the last word, shattering into a desperate wail that pierces through the rain, his body convulsing with the force of his sobs.

“i’ll be anything, anyone you need me to be,” he continues, his eyes wild with a terror that’s almost primal, like a man staring into the abyss. “i’ll change, i’ll never be too much again, just… just don’t leave me here, not like this. i can’t breathe, i can’t even think without you. please, i’m begging you—don’t let go of me.” his words come out in a rush, frantic and broken, his voice thick with tears that he no longer bothers to hide.

the world seeming to tilt on its axis, his pride scattered like the raindrops that pool around him. his fingers find your hand, clutching with a desperation that makes your heart stutter, his grip fierce as though you are the last tether to a life he can no longer navigate without you. his head bows low, forehead pressing against your knees, and the sound of his breath is a ragged, broken thing, a symphony of despair that rises with the rhythm of the rain.

“i'm sorry,” he rasps, his voice a mere whisper against the howl of the storm, but there is a rawness in it that slices through the night, a vulnerability that lays him bare. “please, don’t do this. i am undone without you. every breath is agony, every beat of my heart a hollow echo. i am nothing—nothing without your love to guide me.” his words are a litany of longing, each syllable soaked in the salt of unshed tears, his gaze lifting to meet yours with the fragile hope of a man on the brink of ruin.

he looks up at you, eyes wide and shining with tears, the blue of them dull and hollow without the spark of your love. they are the eyes of a man on the brink, staring down the barrel of a life without the only thing that has ever truly mattered. his breath stutters, each exhale a choked, desperate plea, and his fingers dig into the fabric of your clothes, clinging to you as if the very act of holding on is the only thing keeping his heart beating.

his eyes, those brilliant blue depths that once held the light of a thousand stars, now brim with the bleakness of a sky stripped bare, his tears mingling with the rain that slides down his cheeks. he is a man unmade, all bravado stripped away, leaving only the raw ache of his need, the sheer, unrelenting force of his devotion that coils around your heart like ivy.

“please,” he whispers again, his voice so faint it’s almost lost to the sound of the rain. “i need you. more than air, more than anything. without you, there’s nothing. there’s no me, no us, no world i want to live in. i’m dying here, right in front of you, and the only thing that can save me is you. i fucking swear to god, baby, i will kill you and then kill myself if you don't love me again.”

his head drops, forehead pressing into the cold, wet ground as his body shakes with the force of his sobs, each one wrenching through him like a violent storm. he clutches at you with a desperation that borders on madness, his entire being consumed by the need to feel your arms around him, to hear you say that everything will be okay. he is a man unraveling, a soul laid bare in the rain, and all he has left is this—this pitiful, desperate plea for the one thing that could mend his shattered heart.

“i love you,” he chokes out, his voice breaking, his hands trembling against your legs. “i love you so much it hurts. please… i can’t—i can’t do this without you. i’d rather die right here, right now, than spend another second without you in my arms.” and as he kneels there, drenched and broken, begging for a mercy only you can grant, you see the truth etched in every tear-streaked line of his face: without you, he is nothing but a man lost to the storm, drowning in a sea of his own despair.

he bows his head lower, his sobs blending with the symphony of the rain, each drop a soft requiem for the love he fears he has lost. he clings to you as if you are his salvation, his lifeline, the only thing standing between him and the abyss. and in the depth of his gaze, you see it—the unspoken truth that without you, satoru gojo is not the invincible, untouchable force the world sees, but a man who is willing to lay down everything, even his pride, for just one more chance to be held in the light of your love.

your fingers weave through the silver strands of his hair, gripping tightly as if tethering yourself to the very essence of him. the tension draws a soft, desperate whine from his lips, a sound so sweet it echoes through your veins, setting your blood aflame. your bodies, bared to the night's whisper, tangle together in a dance of unspoken need, your breath hitching in rhythm with his as you find solace in the storm of each other's presence.

perched upon his lap, you feel the solid strength of him beneath you, his muscles taut and trembling, his arms wrapped around your waist with a fervor that speaks of a desperate, consuming devotion. you lean closer, your breaths mingling in the scant space between, and capture his lips in a fervent kiss, tongues entwining like vines that have waited lifetimes to grow together. it’s a collision of hunger and longing, a silent plea wrapped in the taste of him that floods your senses and drowns you in the depths of his presence.

“oh, baby— fuck, ’miss you,” he grunt, his cock twitching inside you— losing his mind how divine your gummy walls hugging him.

his grip tightens as though the very essence of his existence hinges on holding you close, as if the mere thought of losing you again would shatter him beyond repair. his eyes, half-lidded and hazy with longing, mirror the fervor that burns in your own, each glance a shared promise that defies the world's attempts to pull you apart. your breaths mingle in the space between, warm and uneven, and the quiet sounds of pleasure that escape your lips mingle with his, a symphony of yearning that drowns out the rain still drumming against the windowpanes.

his hair, still wet from the downpour, clings to his forehead in unruly strands, a testament to the chaos of moments past and your fingers trace the delicate line of his jaw, committing every inch of him to memory as if to carve him into the very fabric of your soul. yet even in the wild disarray, there is a beauty to him that makes your heart stutter—a raw, vulnerable magnificence that only you are privy to in these stolen moments.

his lips part, tremble against yours, a soft gasp escaping as your bodies move in tandem, meet, a slow and deliberate rhythm that leaves no room for anything but the two of you, a slow and deliberate mingling of desire and desperation, each motion a silent plea that neither of you will ever let go. you feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, wild and unsteady, beating in time with the pounding of your own heart—a symphony of obsession that neither of you could ever hope to silence.

“s— ‘toru,” you whimper in his lips, leaving his breath hitches, and you feel the tremor of it against your skin, a shiver that ripples through the both of you, binding you even tighter together. his eyes, glistening and fervent, drink you in as if you are the only thing that can quench his unending thirst. and your own gaze, locked onto his, speaks volumes of the quiet, relentless obsession that ties your souls in knots too intricate to ever untangle.

every sigh, every gasp is a testament to the fervent reunion of souls that cannot be torn asunder, no matter how the world may try. your cheeks are flushed, mirroring the heat in his own, and there’s a delirious pleasure in knowing that he is yours again, has always been yours, will always be yours. in this moment, tangled and breathless, you both become a living prayer, a hymn to the unbreakable, unyielding force of a love that borders on madness.

his hands, desperate and sure, press into the small of your back, fingers splayed as though marking you, branding you as his own. and in the low, heady hum of your shared breaths, the world outside ceases to exist. here, there is only the two of you—obsessed, entwined, and utterly consumed by the fire that refuses to burn out. you are his sanctuary, his obsession, and as he holds you close, he knows with a fierce, undeniable certainty that he is yours in every possible way, now and always.

your fingers thread through his silver locks, tugging them with a possessive fervor that draws a breathless whine from his lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. you lean closer, your breath mingling with his, and capture his mouth in a searing kiss once again, tongues tangling in a desperate dance of need and familiarity. the taste of him is intoxicating, like the first sip of a forbidden wine, and you drink him in as though he were the very air you need to survive.

your other hand traces down, fingers curling into the tender flesh of his thigh, nails digging crescents into his skin with a fervor that borders on reverence and possession. each mark you leave is a silent declaration—he is yours to hold, yours to break, yours to ruin, yours to love in this raw, unfettered way. his breath stutters— his body responding to the sting of your touch, every nerve alight with the electric thrill of your shared desire, a sharp intake that lingers in the air, mingling with the rhythm of your heartbeats that drum like a battle cry in the quiet room. his eyes, a storm of love and desperation, gaze up at you as if you are the moon and the sun, his salvation and his undoing. his arms tighten around your waist, holding you as if you are the center of his universe, the axis upon which his world spins.

you rock your hips slowly, a deliberate and torturous rhythm that pulls soft gasps from his parted lips, each sound a sweet symphony that fills the space between your bodies— a slow, deliberate rocking that pulls soft moans from the both of you, the sound mingling like a hymn of devotion sung only for the night to hear. his eyes, half-lidded and burning with a mix of love and lust, meet yours, and in that gaze, you see the depths of his devotion laid bare. he is yours—utterly, entirely, irrevocably—and there is a heady power in knowing that he would lay the world at your feet if you only asked.

his hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with the intensity of a man holding on to his last breath, as if releasing you would be akin to the world losing its light. the way his body arches into yours, meeting each movement with a silent vow, speaks of a love that teeters on the edge of madness—a need so profound it eclipses reason.

“i love you,” you whisper against his lips, the words a soft, fervent prayer, slipping free like a sacred vow, a quiet affirmation of the bond that binds you both, unbreakable and infinite. his breath shudders as he pulls you even closer, his response a muffled moan as your movements grow more insistent, the heat between you building like a slow-burning flame that refuses to be quenched.

his eyes flutter shut at your confession, as if savoring the weight of it, letting it sink into his bones. he trembles beneath your touch, his body singing with the quiet, desperate need for more—more of your touch, your love, your presence that he clings to like a drowning man reaching for the surface. every breath you share feels like a stolen promise, each kiss a sacred bond that reaffirms the feverish connection that neither of you can ever escape.

your hands, one still tangled in his hair, the other gripping his thigh, hold him to you as if to anchor him in place, to remind him that this, here and now, is all that matters. his lips curve into a breathless smile against yours, his body arching into every touch, every caress, his own whispered confessions of love mingling with the soft, reverent sounds of your shared longing.

in this moment, every touch, every kiss, every whispered word is a testament to the fierce, unrelenting need that pulls you back to him time and time again. you are tangled in each other’s orbit, bound by an obsession that runs deeper than blood, stronger than any force that might try to tear you apart. and as you lose yourselves in the slow, deliberate rhythm of your of your bodies.

and as his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, you realize that this—this wild, chaotic, all-consuming love—is the very marrow of your existence. in his embrace, you find the echoes of every past longing, every unspoken promise, and the undeniable truth that he is yours, irrevocably and eternally. and as you move together, lost in the poetry of each other’s touch, you know that no force in this world or the next could be sever the bond that holds you— two souls bound by the beautiful relentless obsession of love.

as you move slowly on his lap, the friction and intensity make gojo’s breath hitch. a guttural, involuntary grunt escapes him, the sound a raw, visceral expression of the pleasure and need surging through him. his grip tightens around your waist, each movement of yours driving him further into a state of blissful surrender.

his eyes, clouded with a potent mix of passion and adoration, lock onto yours. “fuck,” he groans, the word slipping from his lips in a low, reverent murmur. the sound is both a plea and a confession, his body trembling with the weight of his overwhelming emotions.

he stutters, his voice faltering as he tries to articulate the depth of his feelings amidst the relentless pleasure. “i… i love you too,” he finally breathes out, the words trembling on his lips, laden with both desperation and devotion. his gaze is unwavering, filled with an intense, unspoken promise. “you are everything to me… every touch, every whisper… it’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ll ever need.”

his breath comes in ragged bursts, each one a testament to the consuming nature of his love and desire. he pulls you closer, his entire being attuned to the rhythm of your movements, the declaration of his love etched into every shudder, every gasp, as he loses himself in the exquisite intensity of the moment.

[triplesmoon]

IT’S TIME, Y’ALL! The newest Uncut SSSkillplay on Momodora 4 is out! Come have a look, I bet you’ll like it! https://youtu.be/GMlnWIB_SKk

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Kinktober - Day 3

3rd — quickie, Toto Wolff

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

Prompt: They had met a few months prior at a high-profile charity gala in Paris. Toto, being a prominent businessman and philanthropist, was a guest of honor, and you were part of the event planning team. Now months apart, you guys meet up at a welcome party in Monaco, before the Monaco Grand-prix. 

You’re struggling to hold in your breath as Toto's large hands grip your waist. You grip onto the rail of the stairwell the two of you are standing in, biting your lip and eyes clouded with lust. Toto leans in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Mmm, you’re not here for the cars, are you?” He nips at your earlobe, his large hands squeezing your sides. “I must admit, I’m glad.” His hands slowly slide down to your backside, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You know, I've seen you around the paddock before," he murmurs, "But you've never caught my eye like this." His fingers trace the hem of your skirt, teasing the skin beneath. Toto's touch grows bolder, his hands sliding up your thighs and lifting your skirt. His touch is gentle, yet firm, commanding your body to obey. "I want you," he growls, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Right here, right now." His large hands grip your backside, lifting you up and pushing you against the cold metal wall. His body grinds against yours, his hard length is obvious through his tailored suit pants. "Wrap your legs around me," he demands, his voice low and gruff.

You comply, wrapping your legs around his waist as he hikes up your skirt. His hands slip under your thighs, spreading you wider. He grinds against you again, a low growl escaping his throat. "You feel that?” 

​​"That's me, wanting to bury myself deep inside you." His lips claim yours in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth. His hands release your backside, unbuttoning his suit pants and freeing himself. He tears your underwear aside, his thick tip prodding at your entrance.

If you had a clear head, you’d never be here, in this place and under his grasp. It’s a mistake to feel the warmth from his skin. He’s the big bad Wolff, and you know it, but like a moth to moonlight, you still find yourself drawn to him. 

“I hate you,” you murmur as he slides the head of his cock over your slit, using your slick as lubrication.

He smirks at your desperate whimper, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. "Mmmm, that's what I thought. You need this, need me to fill you up and make you forget everything but my name."

You sigh out dreamily and struggle to not buck against him, your heart pounding heavily in your chest. You grip the rail even tighter, your fingers running over the worn away paint. “Shut up and fuck me.”

Toto chuckles darkly, relishing your desperation. "As you wish." With one swift, powerful thrust, he sheathes himself fully inside you, stretching you deliciously. He sets a hard, fast pace, pounding into you relentlessly against the wall. His powerful body slams against yours, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the garage. He looks down at where they're connected, his thick length disappearing into your tight, soaked pussy. "Fuck, you're so damn tight. I can feel your little clit rubbing against my pelvis with every thrust." Toto's pace intensifies, his hips snapping forward with brutal efficiency. The stairwell fills with the vulgar symphony of your moans and the lewd squelching of his cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt. "Take it," he snarls, his voice raw with lust. "Take my fucking cock, you desperate little thing. You're mine, right here, right now." He reaches between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it furiously in time with his thrusts. The coil of pleasure in your core winds tighter and tighter as Toto works you relentlessly. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you with every plunge, and his fingers on your clit have you seeing stars. "That's it," he grunts, his thrusts growing erratic, as he chases his own climax. "Come on my cock, now. Fucking come all over my dick like the desperate little slut you are." His words are the final straw, and you shatter apart, your pussy clenching around his cock in a vice-like grip as you scream in ecstasy. Toto hilts himself deep as your pussy spasms around him, triggering his own intense orgasm. He groans long and low, his cock pulsing as he pumps you full of his hot, thick seed. "Fuck yes, take my cum. Milk me dry with this greedy little cunt." As the last of his release finds its way into you, he buries his face in the curve of your neck, his ragged breaths fanning across your damp skin. "Good girl," he praises, nuzzling against you. His lips find yours in a softer, more tender kiss than before. Gently, he unwinds your legs from around his waist and sets you down on unsteady feet. He rights your clothing, smoothing out wrinkles and tucking you back together. "There you are," he says softly, tucking a strand of hair back into place. "You're perfect." Toto steps back, tucking himself away and rebuttoning his suit pants. He straightens his tie, regaining that air of refined composure he usually carries. "Now," he says, all traces of the crude, demanding lover gone from his voice. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek. " You, my dear, will go to the team dinner and pretend we both didn't just get up to no good in this stairwell." ​​His thumb brushes across your lower lip, his eyes smoldering with barely restrained desire. "But don't think for a second that I'm done with you. Later tonight, I expect you in my hotel room. We have unfinished business to attend to."

Taglist: @formula1-motogpfan @iamafootballfanmiasanmia @arian-directioner @annimausi @mythicalmaven @lucycowr @hamilton-mount @Chuxk-leclerk @landosgirl @Kikiaaaay @iluvvmeeee @stars4me @starz4me1 @fxrmuladaydreams @Ashleyo1611 @ln-fours @cloud-55 @neo-stay @mysteriesincorporated @nzygftoji @dinodumbass @qxeenjen @lilmacabe @9fi @sya-skies @toriiez @jud-3 @ryl-xoxo @fandomz-queenie @gracie23x @kr1sblog @b-law @F1fan24 @taylorsdoratheafr @missevrythingg @salma @cherrypopsicle @toasterpiastri @uhhvictoria @01rrdbull @aracelys-stuff @horseymchorse3 @lou-ghoul @unknownmystery22 @thisbitxhs-blog @toxicdreamer296 @maxivstappen @si1ver06 @mendes-bae @bestgirlie @mbioooo0000 @depressedgiftedburnout @lieslostinsilence @chaoticversion @kaydesssssssss @maryelizaart @milkyymelanine @bisrae @carlando4 @mystichandspruneshark @sweetwh0re @larastark3107 @fiveyjustin @moonchildlec @bicrazybabe @maximumflaps @sainzwife @i--sa @liviav @nitonan-blog @moodymoony71 @horrible-decision @verstappenluv111 @Meyla123X @bea-stilinksi24 @Hayley125 @imjustme-n @elizamoe133 @bernelflo @evie-likes-stuff @anne1444444 @celtis--vr @rockytheluver @orlafitz1664 @aliceespector @ricciadosredbull @novelant @briannamh07 @oliveswiftly @hotlapshottakes @sinners-98-world @ramenblutte @fallenlunar @little-nando14 @fore45fore @importantduckhumanoidpatrol @eroselless @strabunny @sydneyhlove @jkdaddy01 @multi-fandom5 @f1-hoff @kittylolly4 @reguluscrystals @uhhvictoria @arian-directioner @forza-dolce @dukeofjjune @vimayxo @ilove-tswizzle @peachapat119