#soli's imagines

[chrollogy]

SILKEN WEB

— chrollo lucilfer x f!reader x hisoka morow

syn: Hisoka’s ‘generosity’ allows Chrollo to fuck you in front of him after he’s seen the way the latter has looked at you. Though, the redhead cannot help but join in on the fun despite being the cuck—he has his ways, he always does.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, porn without plot, cuckolding, voyeurism, threesome, creampie unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (f & m), anal (f), masturbation (m), edging, overstimulation, hisoka uses bungee gum, chrollo might be pining over reader, not beta read.

word count: 2.8k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. the fruit of my late night thoughts nod nod. as per poll results, here’s hisoka as the cuck :3

Fantasizing—a children’s pastime, a mere way to escape from one’s gruelling reality but Chrollo Lucilfer would be lying to himself if he deemed he wasn’t immune to it. Oh, he certainly wasn’t without a doubt; the root of all his wildest dreams, and twisted carnal desires was none other than the woman beneath him, all in her serene nakedness—you.

So breathtakingly exquisite—the epitome of beauty. From the lust-clouded gaze that complimented the colour of your eyes all the way to the dulcet tone of your breaths, this was sinful heaven for Chrollo. Sinful not because of the sharp pleasure kissing down his spine but simply because you weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours. Not lovers, not friends, mere acquaintances, and your heart was reserved for none other than a member of the Troupe he led.

But that never stopped Chrollo from fantasizing about you, about this. Ever the observant fighter, it didn’t take long for Hisoka to catch the former’s lingering stares on you—albeit, as blank as a sheet of paper—whenever he paraded you around. One of the biggest telling signs was that Chrollo had never uttered a word regarding your presence whenever you sat there during their meetings despite the other members’ dismay.

Of course, once something piqued Hisoka’s curiosity, he wouldn’t let go until a solid answer was handed to him on a silver platter. It was a short exchange between the two males, a few sharp retorts from Hisoka’s end but nonetheless, it led to this lewd scene. Per the magician’s words, he gave Chrollo permission to do whatever he pleased to you—to fuck, to make love, to get lost in eye-rolling pleasure within your very walls but only if he got to watch everything unfold.

From the intimate act of undressing, and peeling of clothes all the way to a passionate climax that was sure to vex his very bones, Hisoka was to watch it all.

Faint squeaks of the bed frame paired with yours, and Chrollo’s heated gasps filled every corner of the room; his thrusts were deep, and rapid, body intimately flushed against your own which absolutely left no room for coherent words to come out—with the way his cockhead repeatedly prodded your sweet spot, strings of broken whimpers, and low moans were the best you could muster.

Sex wasn’t something you were foreign with but the ungodly rhythm of Chrollo’s hips was enough to make you feel like a virgin again begging for more, more, more, nothing but pleasure engrained inside your mind, clawing, and running after that blissful sensation.

Chrollo was different from Hisoka, he handled you with the utmost gentleness but that didn’t take away the fact that he pounded you oh-so-passionately into the ivory mattress beneath. On the other hand, Hisoka was rough, and animalistic—purely driven by his wild carnal desires. 

Chrollo’s sweat-lined forehead rested against yours, face mere centimetres from your own as your breaths intertwined in a vulgar dance. The hearts of his palms captured your trembling hands in a firm hold, pinning them on either side of your head, and used as leverage to drive his cock deeper into your sopping cunt—as deep as his desires went for you.

He closed his eyes at the feel of your walls clenching around him, jaw tightening as electric pleasure shot up his spine, “F-fuck . .” God, you felt divine, Chrollo truly wanted to keep you to himself. He could treat you so much better than Hisoka—have you reach new heights of pleasure you’ve never experienced before.

Alas, that was out of the picture, Chrollo would have to settle for the mere intimacy of fucking you beneath these ivory covers, the same ones you, and Hisoka retire under after a long, tiring day. The duvet draped loosely across Chrollo’s back, mirroring a broken angel’s wings, and with the eager thrusts of his hips, it slowly slipped downwards. It was hot, and stuffy beneath the weight of the blanket but he’d do anything to keep the lewd intimacy from a pair of prying eyes.

That’s right, Hisoka sat on a chair not too far off the foot of the bed, an unamused expression plastered on his face but the growing tent between his spreaded legs hinted far from unamused.

Sure, the pornographic sounds bouncing off the walls had his cock hardening but Hisoka was deprived. He clicked his tongue, the sharp sound was enough to reel Chrollo out of his pleasured state followed by a stutter in his thrusts. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Chrollo but I said to give me a show, didn’t I?” What was Hisoka supposed to do with your bodies tucked beneath the covers? 

His view was nothing but the top half of Chrollo’s naked back, and the covers moving along with the latter’s thrusts, other than that, it left everything to Hisoka’s imagination. Of course, he wasn’t going to let it be, not after he generously let Chrollo fuck you like this.

With a swift flick of his index finger, the rubbery bright pink aura extended from the tip of his digit all the way to the ivory covers atop Chrollo’s naked back, attaching itself onto the fabric. A smirk crept its way up to Hisoka’s face as he pulled the covers down, exposing the way your naked bodies intimately tangled with one another.

A rather surprised gasp left your lips as the cool air hugged your fervent body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Naturally, this had also caught Chrollo off guard but didn’t let on, instead, the raven haired male responded by drilling his hips at a much faster pace, pulling a string of broken moans from your throat which only fuelled the excitement embedded in Hisoka’s chest.

Light amber eyes fixated where you and Chrollo met, Hisoka intently watched as the former’s cock disappeared, and reappeared between your coated slit—not to mention the light sheen of your essence around Chrollo’s cock, causing it to glimmer beneath the afternoon rays that seeped through the windows. Now, this was what Hisoka wanted to see—you, and Chrollo all in your filthy glory.

The feeling of blood rapidly rushing down to his cock, and the familiar tingle between his legs made Hisoka’s citrine gaze roll back, not to mention the growing delight on his face—it was anything but an innocent look. Lewd, wet sounds that were once muffled beneath the ivory duvet now reached Hisoka’s ears like an unholy melody; the constant skin slapping, the mixture of high, and low moans—the impurity of it all, your lover revelled in it.

Sounds of the redhead’s shameless pornographic moans intertwined with your own, and Chrollo’s as he teased himself through the fabric of his pants. Excitement shocked every part of his body like electricity, rendering him sensitive to anything, and everything—it was the same sensation as the extreme bloodlust he felt whenever he thirsted for battle.

Chrollo quietly clicked his tongue, not bothering to glance back at Hisoka in annoyance. He needed to focus on you. And he did. Without compromising the pace of his hips, Chrollo hooked his fingers beneath the back of your right knee, and deftly slung your whole leg atop his shoulder. The deeper angle of his cock had your back arching, your hands scrambled for his taut biceps to claw, and dig into as he pushed you further, and further into the borders of insanity.

“C-Chrollo! Fuck—right there! Just like that—haah!”

He let out a low groan as your nails marked him up, leaving streaks of bright red on his skin. By the looks of it, he wasn’t going to last much longer with the way your cunt gripped him like a vice. Nonetheless, Chrollo’s pace didn’t let up despite the resistance of your walls, albeit, it had his legs quivering, and breath hitching—god, Hisoka was so fucking lucky to have this, to have you.

Chrollo closed his eyes, and parted his lips to make way for soft pants, he focused his entire body in chasing yours, and his pleasure, basking in the ultimate bliss his body was currently experiencing.

Yes. Yes. Ye—

“She likes—haah! She likes taking it from behind—ngh!” The raven haired male shot his eyes open at the sound of Hisoka’s wanton voice, the concentration he once held faltering just a bit from the sudden noise.

Despite Chrollo’s better judgement, he hauled you into the position like a mere ragdoll, deftly handling your limp body with equal amounts of roughness, and gentleness. Though, your arms violently shook, and gave out as soon as Chrollo re-entered your cunt. With your torso flush against the ivory sheets, your lower half remained in position—easier for him to drive his cock deeper; you swore you could feel him in your throat.

The redhead let out a low chuckle, eager hands messily pulling his pants down to free his hard cock; Hisoka sighed at the lack of restraint, and threw his head back, exposing the length of his neck. 

With the new position, Chrollo returned to the pace he had set earlier, heavy balls slapping against your clit from each hard thrust. Skin against skin burned like a searing blaze but god did it feel amazing, not to mention how it stimulated your sensitive bud in all the right ways.

Chrollo curled over himself to place wet open-mouthed kisses down the length of your spine, moaning low saccharine praises in between. He pushed, and pushed into your sopping cunt until the coil deep in your stomach violently snapped. With a loud moan of his name muffled against the damp sheets, your back arched as you came around Chrollo—muscles taut, and knuckles a shade of ivory while pleasure gnawed at your skin.

Hisoka unabashedly fisted at his cock, one hand focused on pleasuring himself while the other sunk into the plush of the armchair. He matched the pace of his hand to Chrollo’s hips, imagining that it was your cunt instead of his palm, albeit, your velvety walls absolutely compared to nothing. Oh well, he’ll get a taste of you one way or another.

It didn’t take long for Chrollo to follow suit, driving his hips a couple more times before completely pulling out, and blowing his entire load on your bare back. He let out a shameless moan of your name—the loudest one he’s let out. Thick, milky ribbons of Chrollo’s cum unceremoniously painted your skin white, and all he could do was stare at it in a haze while his chest heaved up, and down.

On the other hand, Hisoka gave himself a few more rough pumps before squeezing the base of his leaking cock, lustily letting out a hiss as the pleasure he’d worked so hard for slowly dissipated. He cursed in between rough pants—the hunger for a sweet release just grew tenfold after depriving himself of an orgasm.

Hisoka had something better in mind than cumming on his hand.

“I guess it’s my turn.” Strong, muscular legs slightly quivered with every step taken towards the bed, cock standing proudly against his abdomen. Chrollo only narrowed his eyes at Hisoka, clearly displeased by his sudden initiative.

The former returned a smile, “Oh, don’t get greedy now, Chrollo. I’ll give you two choices—” He held out two long digits. “Either you sit, and watch or join in on the fun.”

Never in a million years would Chrollo even think to engage in a threesome with you, and Hisoka. He didn’t know what bothered him more, the fact that you were the latter’s lover or the fact that he was on the same bed as Hisoka. Nonetheless, here he was balls deep inside your ass, completely unhindered by inhibitions. Hisoka cursed at the feel of your wet cunt, biting his lips at the lewd sound it made as your hot cum coated his cock.

The redhead laid flat on his back, cunt wrapped around him while you straddled his lap which left Chrollo to take care of your backside. Your body remained slumped against Hisoka’s—limp, and quivering as if one wrong move would have you exploding to bits. Could you really blame yourself? Both men stretched you out like it was their sole purpose, it did nothing but put your body under immense pleasure.

You were sandwiched between Hisoka, and Chrollo as though mimicking a mere fly caught in a spider’s silken web, unable to escape. And that usually meant one thing: to wait for one’s impending doom before the ruthless arachnid strikes.

An experimental thrust of their hips had you wailing in pleasure. Having not given enough time to come down from your high, you were still too sensitive—any form of sexual stimulation immediately had your body uncontrollably shaking, and hot tears lining your eyes. Hisoka cupped your jaw with both hands, lifting your face in front of his own before closing the distance; heated, and rough just how he liked it; the redhead didn’t hesitate shoving his tongue past your lips, intimately exploring the inside of your mouth with the wet muscle.

If anything, the messy kiss was enough to distract you from the sudden rough pistoning of their hips—Hisoka gleefully swallowed your wanton moans, and relished at the burning sensation of your nails scratching down his bare chest. The bed creaked under the weight of their merciless thrusts with the headboard atop Hisoka’s head repeatedly banging the wall behind it; these sounds mixed with the lewd melody the three of you produced filled all four corners of the room.

It was funny, anyone would think that a Hisoka, and Chrollo tandem would be a match made in hell; highly volatile once paired together which would result in utter chaos but this—the two moved in perfect unison as though they shared one mind, one ideal. Even only if it was for this moment that they saw one another eye to eye, a wordless union to bring you to another orgasm.

A thin, translucent string of saliva connected your lips to Hisoka’s as he pulled away for a breather, hot breaths mingling with one another as you panted in eachother's face. A sense of pride bloomed across his crimson-marked chest as he watched your lust-filled eyes roll to the back of your head—Hisoka always had a thing for your expressions during sex, it served as fuel to keep going, to keep fucking you.

You looked beautiful bouncing on their cocks, head falling forward while taking their entire length like a champ; the only thing you could really do was grip onto Hisoka’s shoulders, and moan for your dear life. Chrollo couldn’t help but fixate on the way your ass jolted with every thrust, even just the sight of his cock disappearing, and reappearing between the globes of your ass had his head spinning.

It didn’t take long for you to reach yet another orgasm, and this time, it was more intense than the previous one; hot tears ran down your damp cheeks as your body convulsed from pleasure, a drawn out moan of their names combined scratched at your throat. As though he was punched in the gut, Chrollo curled over himself as you clenched around his cock, and attached his lips on your right shoulder, biting down hard at the bare skin.

Hisoka muttered sweet nothings while stroking your hair, amusement filling his tone; you laid there drowning in pleasure while both men remained chasing their own bliss, hips stuttering. It was filthy, and soaking wet where Chrollo, and Hisoka entered you, arousal mixed with your cum messily dripping down the latter’s balls, and onto the sheets beneath.

Chrollo’s digits dug into your skin, he sheathed his cock all the way inside your ass before emptying all his cum inside; he rode out his orgasm by grinding his hips, earning a dainty gasp of his name. Chrollo violently shuddered before releasing your skin from his teeth, he lapped, and kissed at the marks, helping ease the painful sensation he left.

This left Hisoka to firmly plant his feet on the mattress, and thrust upwards which sent your body bouncing once more; short gasps turned into full blown wanton moans as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your sweet spot, bringing your body into overstimulation. Hisoka groaned loudly as the familiar feeling at the pit of his stomach returned, you could tell he was close from the way his fingers gripped your waist with such desperation.

Strings of colourful curses left your lover’s throat as he came inside you, ribbons of his thick essence filling your walls all the way to the brim ‘til it leaked out, and dripped down his balls.

Heavy pants filled the room, the smell of sinful sex hung heavy in the air. The three of you remained still for a moment to catch your breaths but the short time also allowed your minds to clear of lust, and for the whole situation to actually settle in—of what the three of you just did.

Though, it was safe to say that Chrollo wasn’t going to let you escape from his hold any time soon—as though he had you entangled in bands of swathing silk—especially after finally getting a taste of you.

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[revasserium]

loving you was red

sylus; 4,627 words; fluff, banter, no "y/n", mild spoilers for sylus's main storyline, subtle but not so subtle flirting, nicknames (kitten, little crow), kinda enemies to lovers

summary: the beginning of everything, all in shades of red

a/n: this was supposed to be fun lil drabble; alas, that's not what it turned out to be, but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. i had fun with the banter in this one u__u

001. fire and brimstone

The city below is a shatter of broken stars, and from up this high, none of it seems real. You cannot reconcile the sight of all those scattered, pinpoints of light with the lives you know shine behind them. You cannot imagine sitting in your living room, scrolling through your news-feed, waiting for the water to boil for late night ramen.

“Trouble sleeping?”

You congratulate yourself on not wincing, on keeping perfectly still.

Sylus joins you by the window, his arms looped lazily in front of his chest, his dark silk robe falling open to reveal his chest. You keep your eyes resolutely on the technicolored skyline.

“Yeah,” you say, feigning a yawn, “just something about being held captive against my will that just… messes with my circadian rhythm, y’know?”

Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling through him, low enough to make you shiver.

“Don’t tell a girl like you still needs someone to sing her to sleep.” He’s teasing. You know he is, and yet you can’t keep the heat from clawing up the back of your neck. You scowl, chewing on the insides of your cheeks.

“What gives you that idea?” you ask, still in your flailing attempt to seem calm, seem collected.

"Nothing in particular… just… the twins found a shocking number of plushies in your room so —”

"You had them go through my stuff?” you round on him, glaring, your fingers clenched into fists.

Sylus shrugs, peering at you out the corner of his eye, an amused grin ticking at his mouth.

“Feisty little kitten, aren’t you? Though for what it’s worth — they didn’t find much on how your Evol works.”

You huff, turning back to the floor to ceiling windows, knitting your arms tightly across your chest.

“You heard the shopkeeper — we have to — to…” you trail off, the words caught in the back of your throat like peach pits, hard and large and impossible to stomach. You flush, biting down on your lips.

“To what, hm?” Sylus sounds amused, and it’s this more than anything that spurs you onwards.

You turn to glare at him, “To not hate each other!”

Sylus cocks a single, arched brow.

“So, do you?”

You blink, feeling the ever-present heat prickling into your cheeks as you stare resolutely at the skyline outside. From this distance, Linkon City could be any other city, with it’s towering skyscrapers and twinkling lights.

“Do I what?” you ask, your voice softer as you try to pinpoint the exact location of where you used to live.

“Hate me.”

You turn; in the dimness, all you can see of Sylus is his firebrand eyes and his stone-cut features. The dark curve of his mouth and the sharp jut of his nose. When he turns to meet your gaze, you can barely stifle your gasp — his eyes are so red, so deep and strange.

“Brimstone…” you say, without really thinking about it.

Confusion flickers across his vulturine features.

“Hm?”

You lick your lips, feeling the dryness that had since collected there.

“Brimstone,” you say again, shaking your head and averting your eyes, only for Sylus to catch your chin in his fingers and force you to look back at him, to be swallowed up by his gaze, “it’s… something from… the ancient religions. It’s — back when they believed in gods and monsters, people would use the word brimstone to signify divine wrath…”

His finger slacken on your chin and you let your head fall as he takes half a step away.

He lets out a mirthless laugh, his eyes faraway as he stares out at Linkon City, laid out before his feet.

“I can’t say I know much about gods, but… monsters?”

You swallow, feeling the imprint of his fingers on your skin.

He turns back to look at you, his gaze soft, but no less startling. You feel an unnamable fire frisson up your spine and skitter back down again.

“Monsters are very, very real,” he leans in, closing gap between your body and his, till he has you nearly caged against the cool glass of the penthouse windows. He shifts to brush away a strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear with too-gentle fingers. His next words are whispered, his voice in a register so low it almost sounds like the shadow of sound — he leans in, his lips brushing by your cheek till you can feel the heat of his breath right next to your ear —

“And they look just like you and me.”

002. lipstick

“So at the auction —”

“Just do as I say, and you’ll get what you want.”

You narrow your eyes in the mirror, staring at the reflection of Sylus fastening a pair of ornate silver cufflinks to his impeccably tailored suit.

“Give me one reason to trust you,” you say.

Sylus looks up, a hand still on his cuffs as he meets your gaze in the mirror, unflinching.

“Since when have I ever asked you to trust me?”

Over on the dresser, Mephisto lets out a soft caw that sounds almost mocking. You swirl to glare at him and he has the decency to flap his mechanical wings, shuffling until he’s hidden from view behind Sylus’s shadow.

Sylus laughs, “Alright — settle down, little crow.”

You frown, “Little crow? What happened to kitten?”

Sylus shrugs, “Changed my mind. Figured little crow fits you a bit better. You know — loud, defiant…” he smirks as his voice trails off.

You don’t try to hide your consternation, “Often associated with murder?”

Behind him, Mephisto lets out an indignant ca-caw.

You try to sidestep Sylus, only to find yourself trapped against the mirror by his strong arms. He grins down at you, his canines flashing over his lower lip as he cocks his head.

“Like I said, fits better, no?” he asks.

You stare up at him, trying to make out what he’s thinking behind those firelight eyes of his.

“Let me go — I still need to finish my makeup,” you say, pressing a palm to his chest. You try not to think about the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch, or the heat of his skin, even through all these layers of clothing.

“What else is there?” he asks, his eyes flickering over your features; you shiver, feeling the weight of his gaze as it sweeps over your face like a sudden flare of heat, “you look pretty finished to me.”

You lick your lips, and feel a strange, savage satisfaction at the tick of his eyes down to your mouth, at the way his pupils dilate, at how they track the slow progress of your tongue as it laves across your bottom lip before disappearing back into your mouth.

“Lipstick,” you say, trying not to sound too smug.

Sylus puffs out a laugh before reaching over to the low dressing table and grabbing a tube of lipstick. He uncaps it with a finger, and twists out the color without once breaking your gaze. Vaguely, you feel your stomach tense, and you ponder the unfairness of this one, single act — how could he look so stupidly attractive doing all this when he’s got you trapped here? Like some sort of exotic songbird in a golden cage.

“T-that’s not the color I wanted —” you say, but even to your own ears, you don’t sound convincing.

Sylus’s smile slackens into a lopsided smirk as he tilts your chin up to press the cream of the lipstick to your lips, dragging it delicately across one way, then back the other.

“Press your lips,” he says, his voice softer and gentler than you’ve ever heard it before.

You do, feeling a stifling thump-thump-thump rise up to beat against the back of your throat as his eyes flick down to watch you.

“Mm… as I thought, this color looks great on you,” he says, pulling back to admire his handiwork.

You feel the air rush back into your lungs in a single, searing breath, caught between the urge to brace your arms against your knees and heave, or to drag your hand across your mouth to rid yourself of the lipstick.

You do neither though, because at that moment, the twins call from outside the door —

“Auction’s about to start!” says Luke.

“Hope you’re both ready!” says Kieran.

Sylus straightens, capping the lipstick with a sharp click. You force yourself to calm down, to focus on your breathing — four counts in, seven counts out.

“Are you ready?” Sylus asks, his tone once more whiskey-smooth and just as potent.

You roll back your shoulders and give a quick nod, speaking to yourself just as much as you’re speaking to him —

“Sure. Let’s get this over with.”

003. blood and roses

There’s blood on your hands and blood on the pavement. The world shimmers around you in wildfire and smoke.

“… so… so much blood…”

“You can’t die here —” Sylus’s voice cuts through the memory like a struck chord, resonating inside you till it’s the only thing you can hear, “that life you owe me? It’s not your time to pay it back yet!”

You reach for him, and the moment you feel your palms connect, a bead of heat pulses out from the center of your clasping hands. Your skin is slick with sweat and blood, but his hand beneath you is oddly cool and smooth.

The charred ashes of the beaten Wanderer fall around you like flakes of misbegotten snow; you wave your free hand to keep the pieces from falling into your eyes. A river of light seeps from the Deepspace Tunnel into the center of your chest, glowing brighter and brighter until it coalesces into a familiar gem-like shape.

It comes to a rest between your fingers seconds before it cracks, the light flickering once along the seam before going out.

“It — the Aether Core —!”

“It’s power is yours now. Why’re you so surprised?” Sylus doesn’t let go of your hand, but realizing this, you pull away first, and he makes no move to stop you.

“D-did you know?” you ask, unable to keep the accusation from seeping into your voice.

“Does it make a difference?”

You clamp down hard on your bottom lip, weighing the answers. It isn’t until you reach up to absently card your hand through your hair that you notice — your wrist and his, linked together by a tangible string of red, pulsing power.

You gasp, “W-what —?”

“Tch.”

You wave your wrist, watching as Sylus’s hand follows the movement. Your cheeks darken as he looks away, sighing audibly.

“If you planned this —!” but your words are cut short by a sudden wave of vertigo — the world spins around you and for a second, all you can see is the pinwheeling stars above you, the bright, pulsating edges of the Deepspace Tunnel, and then — everything fades to a sweet, merciful darkness.

You wake up to the smell of roses, and a warm body next to yours. Groaning, you try to shield your eyes from the light filtering through the massive windows.

It takes you a second to orient yourself, and to realize why your wrist seems so heavy as you try to lift a hand and rub at your eyes.

“Looks like you’re up early, though Mephisto still has you beat.”

You blink blearily up at Sylus, sitting next to you in bed, his back propped up on a fortress of pillows, a tablet in one hand, the other still linked to your wrist, half-raised to your face.

You squeak, ducking down to hide beneath the covers, hurriedly wiping at your eyes and your mouth, a mix of horror and embarrassment mounting in your stomach as you realized you must have been drooling in your sleep.

“What did you do to me?!” you demand, pulling back the covers when you’re somewhat certain that you don’t still have drool-marks at the corners of your mouth.

Sylus, for his part, looks only mildly ruffled by your sudden stint back to wakefulness. He takes his time setting down the tablet with his free hand and picking up the steaming mug of black coffee.

“You fainted,” he says, as if that explains everything, “after the resonance worked. Though it makes sense you would — after finally getting the Aether Core and all —”

“No! I mean —” you gesture desperately between you, the pristine linen sheets twisting around you both like waves on a white-sand beach, “how did I — we — get here? Who changed me?” you ask, your cheeks flaring up even as Sylus sips at his coffee, seemingly content to watch you sputter yourself dry.

“Really? After all that, the first question you have is who changed your clothes?” Sylus asks, a distinct tone of mockery clear in his every word.

“Shut up! You know what I mean!”

“Do I? I don’t think I do — you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” He grins, all splitting lips and too-white teeth. You stare, dumbfounded at his nonchalant expression before huffing and slumping back into your own pile of pillows. You blink, throwing up your free hand to shield yourself from the too-bright light of sunrise, shining straight into your eyes.

Wordlessly, Sylus taps a few buttons on his tablet and the windows darken, filtering out the harsh morning light, leaving the pair of you in a dim, yet luminous shadow.

“I just —” you cut yourself off before you can ask yet another mundane question, and finally, after a few minutes of mulling over what exactly it is you want to ask, you settle on, “what now?”

Sylus shrugs, casting his eyes back down at his tablet, setting his half-drunk cup of coffee on the bedside table.

“Now, we do whatever we want. You have your Aether Core and I have mine,” he lifts up his wrist, shaking yours in the process, “and we try to figure out how to manage this.”

“And if we don’t?” you ask dryly.

Sylus chuckles, “Then, we figure out a way to live with it.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily, “Ugh. Of all the people to be stuck to…” you mutter to yourself. And though you’d said it quiet enough for it to be an afterthought, both of you knew Sylus had been too close not to hear.

He scoffs, pulling you close, tipping you off balance so that you topple face-first into his chest.

“Wake up, little crow,” he says, his tone caught halfway between mocking and maleficence, twisting your face till you’re forced to stare out of the window at the dulled-out skyline below.

“You think you’re so great, being a Hunter and getting rid of Wanderers,” he says, a sharp venom seeping into his words as he speaks, and slowly, he punches a button the tablet that makes the windows un-tint themselves.

You watch as the sunrise bleeds itself dry over Linkon City, the harsh, morning light slicking the entire city in a vapid, orange glow.

“The brighter the light, the darker the shadow — do you really think that just because you and your little Hunter friends are out there killing Wanderers and saving the world, that there isn’t the a need for people like us?” Sylus pushes you away from him. It’s not a harsh move, but it’s not exactly gentle either.

And again, you can’t help feeling the imprint of his fingers, almost as if burned into your skin as your rub at your jaw.

It’s when you turn to glare at him that you meet his gaze and find him staring at you with a look that’s much more haunting than ghost. Much more longing than loathe.

“Well… you’re one of us now. And newsflash, little crow — sometimes, the world just doesn’t want to be saved.”

You let his words sit with you, like river stones, hard and smooth, feeling them sink slowly down the length of your throat to settle somewhere in the wide basin on your stomach. You avert your eyes, and it’s only then that you notice the bouquet of flowers sitting on your bedside table.

“What are the roses for?” you ask, reaching out your free hand to run a thumb along a single, velvet petal. It comes off at your touch, and you watch it fall against the unmarred white marble of the table top.

“A little present,” Sylus says, waving you away, “a thank you - for a job well done last night.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” you say, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone, “it’s not like I had much of a choice.”

“You did,” Sylus says, “you could’ve killed me. And you didn’t.

“I could still kill you now,” you say, though there’s no conviction in your voice at all. Instead, you reach out to tug at another dark red petal. It comes off just as easily as the one before.

“You could. But you haven’t. And don’t you think that warrants a reward?”

004. dawn

“I’ve never hated you, you know.”

You frown, squinting against the early-morning light.

It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself waking up next to him, and you think it won’t be the last. You flip onto your side to face him, feeling a familiar rush of heat crest into your chest as you come nearly nose to nose with him.

Sylus barely even flinches, cocking an eyebrow before reaching out to tug a stray piece of hair from your face.

“What?” you ask, even though you know full well what he’d said. So maybe, you just wanted to hear it again — is that so terrible?

“Hn,” Sylus grins, rolling onto his back to cast his eyes up at the ceiling, “I said you’re getting drool on my pillows.”

You squeak, fumbling to wipe at your face before the realization hits, and you jerk up, pouting.

“That’s not what you said!”

“Then you did hear,” Sylus casts you an amused glance.

You lick your lips, the soft cotton of sleep still muffling the world such that everything except him feels strangely out of focus.

“I — I heard… a word here and there —”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?”

You scowl, whipping around to pin him with a stare, “Where I come from, that’s not a bad thing.”

Sylus’s eyes tick towards you, his expression amused as he appraises you, and not for the first time, you feel yourself go warm beneath the solar-storm fixation of his attention. Like this, you can feel the air between you blistering, as oil to a lit fuse, as his eyes travel over the planes of your face, the curve of your shoulder, the thin silk strap that had since slipped to cling to your upper arm.

“No? I suppose not,” he concedes, pushing himself up, reaching over the bedside table to push at a small button on the far side. Somewhere else in the penthouse, you can hear an alarm bell ring.

“What’s that?” you ask, pointing.

“Coffee,” he answers, and you fall silent again, turning your face away from him to look back at the heartbreak city, carved in shadows against dawn’s liquid light. It’d only been — what — a week? A bit more? And yet you can’t bring yourself to see the city the same.

Nothing has changed — not really.

But everything’s different, you think, as the door on the far side of the bedroom cracks open and Luke peers in with a smug smile and two steaming cups of coffee.

“Black for the boss, and milk and sugar and all the trimmings for the little crow.”

Sylus tsks, a frown digging itself into the space between his eyebrows, his eyes flashing as he takes the two cups. Luke, to his credit, jerks back, dancing out of Sylus’s reach.

“Ah — sorry, sorry — didn’t know that was a special nickname,” he says, making a show of stooping to apologize, though neither of you miss the jesting crow beneath his voice.

“Out.” Sylus orders, and Luke doesn’t waste time scurrying from the room, cackling beneath his breath like a gleeful child.

You take your cup from his hand and give it a dainty sip, adjusting yourself against the pile of pillows.

“What? I thought that nickname was your idea.”

“It is,” Sylus says, relaxing back. The tether between your wrists sits slack and nearly invisible on the sheets between you. He stares down at the dark liquid surface of his own cup before turning to smirk at you, “doesn’t mean it was meant to be shared.”

You clamp down on another wash of heat, threatening your cheeks as you sink a bit deeper into the luxurious bedding. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to sleep on sheets this nice again once you figure out how to break the tether between you and you’re finally allowed to go home.

“Why say it where other people can hear if you didn’t want them to pick it up?” you shoot back, determined to get the last say, at least in this.

Sylus sets down his cup, cocking his head to look at you, “It’s not a joke if there’s no one around to hear the punchline.”

You level him with a glare, “Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem if I’m just your captor, right?”

You open your mouth to retort, only to find your voice stolen by the sight of him, kissed gold by the rising sun. You’ve never been one to obsess over beauty but even you can’t pretend to be unaffected.

Like this, he looks hewn from marble, a statue at the loving hands of a besotted sculptor — a lazy god rendered into silk and stone. He is smooth skin and burning eyes and a jawline that might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. There’s a base carnality in the way he looks at you (and looks at you) — his gaze so penetrating that somehow, you don’t think you’ve ever been seen this way before.

There’s a damnable elegance to him, even as his lips twitch up into a tell-tale smirk.

“What?” he asks, leaning forward just an inch, but the distance feels exaggerated by your closeness, such that suddenly, you’ve got to lean back to look into his face. He licks his own lips languorously, and you feel your chest tighten on a torque, caught in the turn of his smile.

“Kitten got your tongue?” he asks.

You shake yourself, shifting back slightly, “You’re mixing your metaphors,” you say, trying to keep your eyes from straying back to his face.

“They’re my metaphors to do with as I wish. So. Aren’t you going to answer?”

“Answer what?”

“What you think you heard me say, right before you woke up.”

You cup your palms around your coffee mug, feeling its heat seep steadily into your skin. There’s a familiar tingle at the tips of your ears and you know you’re already blushing.

Stupid coffee, you think, trying hard to school your expression into a frown, stupid Sylus, you add to yourself, taking a long sip and biting back your sigh of relief at the mundane magic of caffeine and sugar.

“Does it matter what I think?” you sidestep the question.

Sylus doesn’t miss a beat, “If it didn’t, would I have asked?”

The torniquet in your chest twists tight enough to make your stomach flip as well. You chew on your bottom lip, mulling over your answer.

“I never hated you…” you say, finally, your voice barely more than a whisper or a breath. And even as the words fall from you like so many rose petals, you’re unsure if you’re repeating his words back at him or making an admission of your own.

Sylus only shifts back to his side of the bed, leaning against his pile of pillows. Your wrists sit atop the sheets, inches apart, and yet you can’t deny the dull pull of gravity between you, as if something beneath your skin is itching to be close to his.

You turn to face him, twisting your fingers in your lap.

The quiet softens around you both, settling until you let out another long breath.

“So…” you drag out the word as Sylus glances up at you, expectant. His eyes flicker with the fire of the rising dawn behind you, and in them, you can see the shadow of yourself, painted in darkness against the light.

“What’s for breakfast?” you ask.

Sylus chuckles, his head listing sideways as he studies you.

“Whatever you’d like.”

“Hm…” you make a show of swinging your legs out of the bed, shivering slightly as your feet come into contact with the cool marble floors, “are there pancakes?”

Sylus stretches his arms over his head, letting out a soft groan that evokes something inside you that you’d rather not examine at the moment. You keep yourself turned resolutely away from him even as you hear the distinct sounds of him getting out of bed as well.

“No, but there can be — you only need ask.”

“Fine, I want pancakes,” you say, finally turning around, only to find him standing right behind you, his silk robe discarded on the floor by the bed, his chest broad and entirely bare. Your breath catches in your throat as he cocks an eyebrow.

“Is that asking?”

You crinkle your nose, forcing air back into your lungs.

“Okay, okay — can we have pancakes?”

Amusement dances behind his eyes as he bends over you, propping a hand casually on the dresser behind you to limit your movements.

“And the magic word?”

You narrow your eyes, “Nevermind!”

“Mm — wrong. Two more tries.”

You try to duck under his arm but he catches you easily, spinning you back around to face him, nearly sweeping Mephisto from his perch on the dresser. The crow lets out an offended caw and flaps off towards the far end of the room, coming to a disgruntled rest on the back of a satin loveseat.

“Let me go!”

“Wrong again — last chance.”

You sink your nails into the skin of his forearm, trying not to think of the taut muscles corded there. He doesn’t even wince, though for a second, the tether between your wrists flares up like a fanned flame.

“Fine! Please!”

Sylus straightens with a satisfied smirk, turning around to make for the bedroom door. Your chest is heaving, and the sudden space between you make your head spin. You blink at his retreating form, and it isn’t till he reaches the door that he turns to glance at you over his shoulder.

“Hope you like raspberry jam.”

You level your breathing and hurry to catch up, clutching your own sleeping robe tighter around your chest as you fall into step next to him.

“I thought you didn’t like sweet things.”

He opens the door and steps aside for you to walk through first.

“I never said it was for me.”

---

be part of my taglist! or read me on ao3

[hansolsticio]

▶ 𝐄𝐏. 𝟎𝟏: "𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐑".

— 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲: multiplayer (𝗣𝟭: leitora × 𝗣𝟮: bang chan). — 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲: 3731. — 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: demônios e variantes, somnophilia, power play, hard sex, degradação, orgasm denial, pain kink, misticismo, spanking, dacryphilia & blasfêmia. — 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: closer — nine inch nails.

Dentre os princípios que regulam a atividade humana (ira, avareza, gula, inveja, orgulho, preguiça e luxúria) e que, inclusive, eram, de maneira muito audaciosa, nomeados como "pecados", você acreditava existir uma sétima norma responsável por reger as demais: a hipocrisia. Esse sétimo pilar é o maior responsável pela existência dos outros seis. A hipocrisia faz com que os outros "pecados" caíam sob o domínio da repressão que, por sua vez, os torna mais cobiçados ainda — o peso de um "não" faz com que a ideia do que poderia acontecer através de um "sim" digna de obsessão.

Repressão e vontade são faces de uma mesma moeda e você sempre sentiu muita satisfação em saber disso. Especialmente porque um dos princípios que regem os humanos é responsável por te mover. A luxúria é alvo muitas interpretações divergentes. Uns descartam o quão prejudicial ela pode ser devido ao seu caráter temporário — se comparada aos outros pecados —, outros a veem como uma instância muito fraca devido a sua mutabilidade: há até a crença de que a luxúria poderia transicionar e tornar-se amor.

Todas essas hipóteses em nada te afetavam. A Luxúria só te servia para uma coisa: te alimentar. E é por isso que você voltava mais uma vez ao mundo humano...

[...]

As três velas dispostas em cantos distintos do cômodo bem como a ausência de espelhos ou de qualquer objeto refletivo explicitavam que ele talvez fosse habituado com esse tipo de situação. Seja por devoção ao Asmodeus ou por ter Lilith como patrona, Chris parecia saber receber bem as suas visitas.

Chris.

Os nomes deles eram a única informação que lhe era dada antes que fosse consumar qualquer ritual. O peso de saber o nome de alguém era inigualável — especialmente quando se é um demônio.

Sentia-se pulsar só de encarar o corpo grande em cima da cama. Estava quente e dolorosamente vazia, a fome irradiava num calafrio teimoso pelo seu ventre. Machucava. Fazia com que você tivesse vontade de se curvar. Precisava desesperadamente de alívio. Precisava levar tudo de Chris. Ele quem te chamou até ali, então ele que lidasse com as consequências das próprias escolhas.

Não era costumeiro que se importasse com a aparência física daqueles que te invocavam, mas era inegável que o homem era atraente. O corpo forte te fazia pensar que talvez ele duraria por mais tempo que a maioria, seria prazeroso destruir cada célula de resistência dele, uma a uma.

Um cobertor fino adornava a cintura do homem. Ele suava, parecia desconfortável com a temperatura do cômodo. Você jogou o tecido de canto, não se surpreendendo ao encontrá-lo completamente nu. Chris não decepcionou suas previsões: era forte e grande em todos os aspectos. O pau semi-ereto fez suas pupilas dilatarem, queria brincar. Não perdeu tempo, abaixando-se entre as pernas dele. Esfregou o narizinho conta as coxas do homem, selando a carne firme logo em seguida. Arrastou os lábios desde as bolas pesadas até a glande rubra.

Levantou os olhos, mas Chris ainda não havia despertado. Agarrou a extensão com as duas mãozinhas. Roçou a bochecha contra a cabecinha, bateu no próprio rostinho com ele — completamente obscena. Finalmente mamou a glande com fome, não ficaria surpresa se já estivesse gotejando de tanto se molhar a esta altura. Fechou as pálpebras, abocanhando mais da extensão, forçava a cabeça para baixo — queria engolir tudo. Movia-se inquieta tentando apertar as perninhas, estava praticamente de quatro no colchão, era uma tarefa difícil.

Os receptores sensíveis notaram quando a energia do quarto se alterou, a promiscuidade no ambiente não era mais só sua — Chris havia acordado. Quis levantar para olhá-lo, porém foi empurrada mais para baixo por duas mãos fortes. Mal engasgou, habituada com a sensação. Mamou com mais fome ainda agora que a luxúria dissipada pelo homem começava a te alimentar. A boquinha percorria toda a extensão, deixava a saliva escorrer. Ele grunhia, puxando os fios do seu cabelo totalmente desmedido.

O gostinho de porra fazia seus olhos revirarem, enfiou uma das mãos no meio das pernas, massageando o clitóris sensível da melhor forma que podia. Retirou-o da boca só para cuspir na pontinha, masturbando a extensão ao que finalmente conseguiu olhar para o homem. Chris tinha a cabeça jogada para trás, dava para ver o pomo-de-adão se movimentando sem controle. Ele espasmava na sua mão, as veias abundantes deixavam claro o que estava por vir. Colocou-o de volta na boca, sugava a cabecinha, batendo uma apertadinha no restante.

Gemia para si própria, impaciente. Queria logo. Precisava engolir tudinho, era uma necessidade fisiológica. Massageou as bolas pesadinhas e foi o suficiente para fazê-lo esporrar na sua boca. Seu corpinho tremeu, sorvendo o semên espesso com devoção. Obcecada pelo gostinho meio amargo, quase não foi capaz de tirá-lo da sua boca, sendo praticamente obrigada pelo homem que precisou te puxar pelo cabelo.

"Você demorou...", ele murmurou. Os olhos estavam fechados e a boca sustentava um sorriso meio grogue. Você não se deu ao trabalho de responder, levantou-se arteira, sentando no abdômen marcadinho. As orbes afiadas o encaravam como se você estivesse prestes a devorá-lo.

Rebolou a cintura, aproveitando o contato gostoso dos gominhos tímidos com seu íntimo molhado. Abriu-se mais por puro instinto, esfregando o pontinho carente com mais força. Apertou os próprios peitos, beliscando e maltratando os biquinhos de um jeito delicioso. A cabeça pendia para os lados, praticamente cavalgando em cima do homem.

Christopher parecia hipnotizado, assistia você se satisfazer totalmente depravada, como se ele sequer estivesse ali — como se fosse indigno de sua atenção. As mãos grandes envolveram sua cintura, mas você foi rápida em afastá-las de você. Fez questão de machucá-lo com as garrinhas pontiagudas, detestava brinquedinhos libertinos. Ao contrário do que ele provavelmente estava pensando, Chris estava ali para te servir — não o inverso.

Estava prestes a liberar os próprios feromônios, precisava deles para colocá-lo à sua mercê. Porém foi jogada em cima da cama num só empurrão. A cadeia de fatos que resultou em você de bruços no colchão com Chris sentado em cima das suas coxas virou um borrão na sua cabeça. Os olhinhos arregalados encarava a cabeceira, cogitou virar a cabeça para trás, mas seus cabelos foram agarrados no mesmo instante, suspendendo seu tronco para fora do estofado. Começava a se sentir perturbada, era como se ele previsse, como se...

"Não é minha primeira vez, _____.", disse com escárnio. A menção tão casual ao seu verdadeiro nome te fez travar, entrou em pânico — não sabia como prosseguir. "Achei que um demônio reconhecesse outro.", ele acrescentou em meio a um risinho sinistro, um calafrio cortou sua espinha. Precisava ir embora.

O corpo grande se debruçou em cima do seu, a respiração quente agora batia na sua nuca. Pela primeira vez em todos os seu séculos de existência, sentiu-se vulnerável. Não tinha ideia do que o homem era capaz de fazer com você.

"Que foi? Assustou? Faz assim não... abre as perninhas, abre.", o timbre grave fez você se molhar, mesmo aterrorizada. Estava presa num limbo confuso, se fosse humana talvez não se sentisse assim, mas o caráter sórdido da situação fazia seu corpinho de demônio queimar de desejo. No fim das contas, tudo em você já havia sido corrompido. "Não é um pedido.", alertou, o pau meladinho roçando contra a carne da sua bunda. Você não viu outra saída senão obedecer, espaçando as pernas para deixar que ele se abrigasse no meio delas.

"Espera, vo-"

"Cê 'tá aqui 'pra eu te usar, não tá?", foi interrompida no segundo que decidiu falar, Chris fez questão de firmar ainda mais o aperto nos fios. "Então fica quietinha.", não esperou que você respondesse. Para ele, a resposta era afirmativa. Fim de conversa.

Um miadinho deixou seus lábios quando ele forçou para entrar, ficava apertadinha nessa posição. O homem não pareceu se importar, socava fundo, indo devagarinho para ser capaz de sentir o jeito que você apertava — era como se não quisesse deixá-lo sair.

Você não pensava mais. Porra, claro que não. Tornava-se uma vadiazinha obcecada por pau no segundo em que tinha um encaixadinho em você. Foda-se que era a porcaria de um demônio em cima do seu corpo nesse momento. Não se importava com as consequências, só queria gozar gostoso. A carne latejava por isso, estava longe de se livrar da dor que a fome causava. Se preciso fosse, morreria por isso também — dada sua natureza, não haviam outras opções.

Chris parecia tão sendento quanto, o quadril batia contra a sua bunda sem piedade alguma. Assistia à suas tentativas patéticas de rebolar contra ele, a cinturinha não tinha força alguma para ser páreo contra o peso do corpo masculino. Socou com mais força, fazendo questão de enfiar até a base — te deixaria larguinha se era isso que você queria.

"Você gosta tanto assim?", o questionamento saiu meio ofegante. Um gemidinho manhoso foi tudo o que você foi capaz de oferecer como resposta. O homem riu em desdenho. "É patético como a classe de vocês é inferior. Lilith deveria treinar as cadelinhas dela melhor.", o tom era degradante. A ofensa deveria ser suficiente para pisar no seu ego, mas já se sentia tão estúpida para gozar que mal tinha certeza do que ouviu.

Com muito esforço conseguiu colocar a mãozinha em baixo do próprio corpo. Os dedinhos desesperados esfregaram o clitóris com força. Massageava, apertava, até mesmo beliscava na tentativa de se fazer chegar lá, mas nada surtia efeito. Estava presa na borda, sentia o aperto gostoso do orgasmo bem no meio do seu ventre. Porra, queria tanto isso... era absurdo, mas queria tanto gozar pro pau de outro demônio, queria melar ele inteirinho

"Não percebeu ainda, putinha?", o homem interrompeu seus devaneios. Outra vez, se melou mais com o timbre dominante. "Você não goza. Não até eu deixar.", esclareceu.

Não.

Porra, não, não. Isso não.

Não teria como ele ser capaz de fazer algo assim, teria? Era injusto. Não fazia sentido.

"Vai dar 'pra mim caladinha até quando eu quiser. Não é isso que vocês fazem?", forçou sua cabeça contra o colchão ao que se retirou do seu buraquinho. Você quis chorar, bater nele, foder sua bucetinha com os dedos até gozar por conta própria... tudo ao mesmo tempo. O peso de um orgasmo arruinado machucava mais do que deveria. Era patético o jeito que seus buraquinhos se apertavam, carentinhos, precisavam de qualquer coisa.

Ele te virou com a mesma força que usou anteriormente. Sequer olhava na direção, as mãos abrindo suas pernas de um jeito rude — como se você não passasse de uma buceta que ele estava prestes a usar. Tudo nele causava desejo na sua cabecinha depravada. E agora que tinha noção da verdadeira natureza de Chris, sentia-se curiosa com o fato dele falar de maneira tão secular — a forma humana escolhida por ele deveria ter a personalidade mais resistente do que aparentava. Duvidava de tudo, da maneira com a qual ele conseguiu te trazer até ali, do fato de você não ter percebido antes, duvidava até mesmo se o nome dele era mesmo 'Chris'...

Tão grosseiro quanto antes, enfiou-se de uma vez só. Você se perdia no rosto austero, tenso, como se te odiasse, como se sentisse nojo de você. Não pôde deixar de rir baixinho, apertando-se com o quão gostosas todas as circunstâncias faziam aquilo parecer. Chris forçou seu pescoço para baixo num movimento só, cortando parte do seu ar. Seus olhinhos foram parar atrás da cabeça, choramingando burrinha de tesão.

"Quer que eu pare, hm?"

"N-não... Chris, eu... mais...", as palavras saíram entrecortadas, incapaz de se expressar com coerência.

"Fala direito comigo então. 'Tá agindo como se nunca tivesse dado a porra da buceta.", rude. Seu buraquinho se apertou mais. Arrepiava-se, a pele queimava. "Tá assim porque quer gozar, é?", bingo. "Caralho, eu sei... dói 'pra cacete, não dói? É uma delícia.", sussurrava embriagado, agora ia lentinho. Um sorriso maldoso adornou os lábios grossos. "Quer descobrir uma coisa, vadia?", outra vez, não te deixou responder: "Dói mais ainda se eu te deixar sem nada...", retirou-se num movimento só e foi como se tivessem levado um pedaço da sua própria carne. A sensação de vazio fazia sua visão ficar turva, era quase desesperador — e totalmente antinatural, deveria ser feito do outro demônio presente.

"Espera! Espera... Não-", a garganta coçava com a sensação, tudo em você agora parecia dependente daquilo. "Chris! Chris, porra... por favor...", engasgava-se com as próprias palavras, forçando o quadril contra o nada, incapaz de fazê-lo entrar outra vez.

"Você é uma puta tão patética, nem dá 'pra ser chamada de demônio.", zombou ao que ria do seu estado. "Que porra de súcubo que fica burra por pica, hein? Não faz o menor sentido.", entrou mais uma vez e você jura que quis chorar com o quão delicioso foi tê-lo de volta. Não sabe que porra de poder ele tinha, mas ia acabar de te matando se não fosse capaz de impedir. Queria raciocinar, mas quase se babou inteira com o jeito que o pau gostoso estava abrindo sua entradinha. Inferno, jurava nunca ter sido comida tão bem assim — se pudesse foderia com outros demônios pelo resto dos seus dias.

Entretanto, precisava voltar a si. Mostrar a que veio. Seria enxotada pelo Asmodeus se ele ao menos cogitasse que isso aconteceu e que, muito pior, você se deixou ser usada — droga, provavelmente nem sobreviveria para ser expurgada. Resolveu voltar ao princípio, se liberasse feromônios suficientes talvez fosse capaz de sair dessa situação. Só precisava ser rápida, só...

"Tenta qualquer gracinha e eu acabo contigo.", a ameaça veio acompanhada de um tapa firme no rosto. Seus olhinhos reviraram. "Te mando arruinada 'pro seu mestre, nem que 'pra isso eu tenha que te arrastar pelos nove infernos.", rosnou as palavras, acertando um tapa do outro lado ao que sentiu você espasmar. Estava definitivamente estúpida, choramingando com a ardência gostosa que sentia na pele machucada. "Porra, quer gozar até quando apanha... Que brinquedo de merda que você é. Não serve nem 'pra isso.", desdenhou. Porém você estava distante. Reduzida a nada, envergonhava a própria espécie. Não racionava, mal ouvia, sequer respirava.

A visão turva fez um péssimo trabalho em te deixar ver o momento no qual ele se aproximou novamente. O nariz foi pressionado contra a pele do seu pescoço, arrastou-se pela pele quente sondando seu cheiro como um animal faminto. Sentiu a língua áspera rastejando por ali logo em seguida, o corpo inteiro encolheu-se, os olhinhos reviraram mais uma vez. Chris grunhia, parecia mostrar apreciação pelo gosto do seu suor.

Era confuso. Sentia-se cheia e drenada ao mesmo tempo. Não aguentava um mais segundo sequer, porém precisava que ele te libertasse, que te desse o que você tanto ansiava. Queria que Chris acabasse com aquilo de uma vez, que fizesse doer. A cabeça movia-se de um jeito inerte na tentativa de acompanhar os movimentos da boca dele.

O homem soltou seus pulsos, a destra pressionou seu baixo-ventre contra o colchão — um esforço inútil, não é como se você pudesse se mexer. A canhota esfregou seu íntimo sem delicadeza, estava encharcada, a entradinha minava uma mistura de líquidos diferentes. Tentou fechar as perninhas, mas o corpo grande no meio delas te impediu. Chris moveu a mão com mais velocidade após sua tentativa, fazia um barulho pegajoso, nojento. Ele sorriu ao te ver tremendo, as mãozinhas molengas indo até os pulsos do homem, forçando as unhas afiadas contra a carne.

Queria chorar, a garganta arranhava no ímpeto de implorar por clemência, mas não o faria — não era da sua natureza, sequer sabia como fazê-lo. Queria ele longe de você. Queria ele dentro de você.Te tomando, te enchendo de tanta luxúria até que você não fosse mais capaz de raciocinar. As pernas abriram-se, forçou o quadril para cima com a força restante que tinha, ofereceu-se mais uma vez. Precisava de mais. Mais um pouco.

"Vai deixar eu acabar com você, não vai?", o timbre cortou seu corpo num arrepio. A glande avantajada roçou contra as dobrinhas maltratadas. E você sorriu. Droga, parecia certo. Só sorriu, completamente mole. Chris soltou um risinho anasalado. "É a puta mais burra que eu já comi.", entrou de uma só vez, como se te punisse pelo seu comportamento. Novamente, você quis se curvar com o impacto, mas a mão que pesava no meio do seu corpo não te deixava sair do lugar.

Caiu totalmente fraca no colchão quando ele voltou a estocar, balançava junto com o movimento. Parecia não acostumar, ele te abria gostoso 'pra caralho. A boquinha já abria novamente para gemer, os lábios tão secos quanto a garganta. Tentou forçar a bucetinha por conta própria, estava embriagada de prazer, mas não parecia suficiente. As mãos dele te agarraram pela cintura, suspendendo parte do seu corpo para fora do colchão. Movia-o como bem queria, fodendo contigo sozinho, como se fosse um brinquedo.

Era rude, o impacto fazia sua pele arder. Sentia-se tão perto da borda, todos os músculos do seu corpo se contraíam. Mas conseguia ver no sorrisinho dele o quão longe do alívio você estava. Patética, queria chorar. Qualquer resquício de força parecia deixar seu corpo, estava mole, totalmente maleável. Só notou os próprios olhinhos se fechando quando recebeu um tapinha no rosto.

"Não desmaia, porra. Aguenta.", ele cuspiu entre-dentes, impiedoso.

"Chris... eu tô- hm...", praticamente soluçou. Estava tão certa de que iria gozar que quase chorou quando sentiu a sensação se afastar novamente. Os olhos arderam, a boquinha tremeu — merda, não, não, não! Não podia. Era a porra de um demônio. Agir como uma humana ridícula e quebrada te colocaria num dos níveis mais baixos dentro de qualquer categoria. Significaria assinar seu atestado de fraqueza. Mas se sentia tão rendida à sensação, só precisava...

Levou uma das mãozinhas fracas até os seus seios. Tontinha de tanto tesão, ansiava por qualquer estímulo. Beliscou os biquinhos, recolhendo a própria saliva para esfregar contra os a carne macia. A entradinha pulsava, sentia ela vazar. Mesmo tão cheinha, parecia não ser suficiente. A mão grande circulou seu pescoço novamente, você sabia o que estava por vir. Os olhinhos se apertaram assim que Chris esporrou mais uma vez, era quente demais, se arrepiou inteirinha. Sua cabeça girava só de pensar, tinha tanto dentro de você... sentia o fluido pegajoso escorrendo entre as suas pernas.

O corpo agiu por conta própria, levou os dedinhos até o clitóris sensível, estimulando-o sem ter dó. Ignorou o aperto contra o seu pescoço ao que se fodeu contra o falo pesado dentro de você. Agia do jeitinho que Chris havia te descrito, como uma cadela desesperada. A língua escapava para fora da boca, quase babava, choramingando uma série de palavras desconexas. Comportava-se de uma maneira desprezível. Convulsionava por prazer, por tesão, por não ser mais capaz de suportar... não sabia.

"Porra, Chris... deixa... deixa eu- Ah!"

Ele debruçou-se por cima de você, o rosto agora próximo, a mão ainda no seu pescoço — fodia como se não sentisse nada.

"Deixar o quê, sua puta do caralho?", se fez de desentendido, quase rosnando as palavras contra o seu rosto.

"Seu- hm! filho da puta... seu- porra, eu vou acabar contigo...", sequer sabia mais o que falava. Sentia raiva, queria torturá-lo da pior forma, tirar qualquer resquício de 'vida' existente dentro do corpo dele. "Gozar, porra, me deixa gozar...", choramingou, os dedos esfregando o pontinho sensível com mais força. Chris gargalhou, você era ridícula.

"Eu 'tô deixando, não tô?", desdenhou. Socou o pau com mais força ainda, ia fundo, machucando o buraquinho com gosto. "Anda, _____. Goza vai.", ordenou, tendo a plena consciência de que ainda te impedia.

Um senso de fúria te encheu, detestava ser alvo de escárnio — aquilo feria seu orgulho da pior maneira. Quando foi capaz de perceber, já estapeava o rosto acima do seu. Descontrolada, arrastava as unhas afiadas pelas costas dele com força. Chris sequer se movia, o risinho insistente ainda zombava de toda a situação. As sobrancelhas do homem franziram ao sentir um tapa mais severo no rosto — e você definitivamente não era fraca —, a cabeça dele caiu para frente. Você gemeu ao senti-lo te encher pela enésima vez.

"Porra de puta gostosa...", grunhiu baixinho, ainda sentindo os efeitos do próprio orgasmo. Seu corpo amoleceu ao que praticamente experienciou o prazer junto com ele. Era a parte mais desalentadora de ser um súcubo, um orgasmo é a expressão mais elevada de luxúria — a sensação te embriagava todas as vezes. "Bate de novo, vagabunda.", ordenou, mas sua mente lerdinha não foi capaz de processar. "Bate, porra! Tô mandando.", soltou seu pescoço, balançando seu rostinho com uma das mãos. Você finalmente obedeceu, acertando o rosto dele num só lance — Chris não pareceu impressionado. "Mais forte.", murmurou. Outra tentativa, a cabeça fraquinha só conseguia se concentrar na porra dele escorrendo para fora de você e ele não demorou a notar. "Cacete, você é tão estúpida...", sussurrou com escárnio "Bate direito e eu te faço gozar. Anda.", sabia que agora você era incapaz de negar.

Respirou fundo tentando agrupar algum pensamento coerente. Dessa vez, pesou a mãozinha, batendo com toda a força que tinha. O impacto fez o homem tombar o rosto, sorrindo satisfeito. Você também não deixou passar despercebido o jeitinho que o pau dele espasmou, liberando mais um pouco do líquido viscoso. Sua buceta se apertou toda carentinha, molhou-se ainda mais, porém sequer tinha espaço para vazar a lubrificação quentinha. Olhou-o em forma de súplica, sentia o ventre arder. Doía de tanta vontade...

Chris tomou seus lábios num solavanco. A língua serpenteou para dentro da sua boca de um jeito caloroso, fazia a garganta queimar. Seu rosto ardia com o sal das próprias lágrimas. Estava liberta, finalmente. Era excruciante, sentia o homem rastejando dentro de cada parte do seu corpo. Sentia-se pertencente a ele e isso não era, de maneira alguma, natural. Mas era tão... gostoso, gostoso 'pra caralho. Sim, era muito mais do que você podia suportar. Não conseguia respirar, sugando desesperadamente a língua do homem acima de você. A saliva escorrendo pelos cantos dos lábios, por mais que você tentasse engolir cada gotinha.

O corpo parecia envolvido por um líquido gelatinoso e quente.

A mente se apagava e talvez...

Só talvez.

Você não acordasse outra vez.

# — © 2024 hansolsticio ᯓ★ masterlist.

[bleaksqueak]

Audric is so damn pretty!!!! Have you ever thought about drawing genderswap versions of your chars for fun?

Big sis Audrelia with little sis Elisa?

And otherwise - how would they react to seeing their brother genderswapped suddenly?

ahaha ty! He has an unfair advantage with the gift of his parents' genetics. (Lyra acting like an unhinged goblin in the bg, but her beauty shines through.) Hmm... honestly I don't think anyone would even notice with Elias. Not at first, anyway.

[skitskatdacat63]

“Amore et Timore” - King Fernando I “El Animoso”

[oceanfalls-official]

Oceanfalls and Antino go extremely hard, I'm impressed with your work on it.

What would you do if you met characters like everybody in Oceanfalls, (Counting multiple iterations of Nino's behavior as separate or the same depending on what you want). People extremely similar to them, but not actually them in real life, but similar to the point of you questioning everything's sense of humor.

Thank you Anon! I am glad you enjoy it.

Uhmm, I guess it could be fun to befriend such people? Some of the Oceanfalls characters have personalities I would get along with really well IRL. For example I would probably go out of my way to get to know someone like Aria or Reed better, despite normally being a pretty reserved person myself.

[akaviri-dovah]

"undignified in certain circles" ... like the Thalmor, and/or the upper classes of Alinor society? though she was raised in a minor noble house and underwent decades of training as an agent for the Thalmor, my Aevalinwe still has... quite a bit of trouble with keeping her ears under control, much to her chagrin. yes, she has mastered keeping them still during moments of annoyance or disappointment, wherein they would normally pull backwards or droop... but alas, as if being easily flustered was not enough, having such be on display for all of Nirn to see with perked-up ears blushing so intensely as to be just a few shades lighter than her hair? poor Aeva wishes her soul would leave her body during those moments - those are feelings she wants to hide for a reason, darn it! even moreso when a certain someone picks up on it and teases her about it!!

sometimes she wonders why she didn't get the hooded variant of the Thalmor uniform that she sees quite a few of her comrades wearing, which (in my headcanon design) has pockets on each side of the hood to comfortably fit the wearer's ears. while the pockets themselves have some space inside to allow for subtle wiggles and twitches, they are made from the same leather as the rest of the hood and coat and are thus too rigid to move in accordance with the aforementioned drooping/perking-up/pulling-back etc. very useful for maintaining a professional, cold, intimidating air for those who want to have their comrades pay attention to them, and come off as virtually unapproachable to any and all non-Thalmor's.

i like to imagine mer with very expressive ears—though it's probably considered undignified in certain circles. elentari might be a breton (albeit one descended from snow elves) with comparatively little ears, but they wiggle a lot when she's happy, twitch when she's focusing, and go bright pink when she's flustered. don't point it out to her or she'll hurry to strategically rearrange her hair so you can't see them.

my dunmer, meanwhile, have long, curved ears (which turn out to be perfectly suited for flicking ash away). due to the untold amount of time he spent as a thrall, solis has unconsciously trained his not to move as much, but vanna can tell when he's annoyed or otherwise agitated because one or both will start twitching like a grumpy cat's.

"what's gotten into you? and don't you try to deny it; you're almost causing a draught in here—"

[ohnoitstbskyen]

What’s the difference between Ascended, Aspects, Freljordian demigods, Aurelian Sol, and whatever Soraka’s got going on? Are they all just different varieties of League gods?

Hoo boy, okay, so. First of all, Riot have been pretty adamant that there are no gods in Runeterra, every god-like being that exists in that universe is actually a spirit or just a very powerful being of some kind, but definitely no real gods, no matter how much it seems like they are definitely writing these characters to be actual literal gods.

I don't 100% know why they are so insistent on this, but I imagine it has something to do with censorship and ratings agencies, or maybe they just don't want to have to establish any actual theology on Runeterra. Volibear isn't the god of storms for real, he's just a super powerful spirit that can create storms in the Freljord, but not all of them, so please don't ask us whether every single thunderstorm in the Freljord was something he did deliberately. That sort of vibe.

To go through them point by point:

Celestials & Aspects

The Celestials are beings like Aurelion Sol and Bard, which exist as cosmic entities operating on levels of power and motivation beyond human understanding. They came into existence with the universe itself, and tend to busy themselves governing various parts of its operation. They are, again not gods (Riot is very insistent on this), but Aurelion Sol literally made every star in the galaxy, he's functionally the progenitor god of Creation.

Some of them, though, like to interfere in the mortal world of Runetera in various ways, and they tend to use mortal vessels to do it. That's where we get Aspects: Aspects are mortals who are chosen by the Celestials that live on Mount Targon to contain their power and be their avatars in the mortal world.

Leona is the Aspect of a Sun celestial, Diana of the Moon celestial, Pantheon is the Aspect of War (or he was, until Aatrox killed it, but he retains access to many of its powers), and Zoe is the Aspect of Twilight, and so on.

Soraka is another Celestial in mortal form, but she is NOT an Ascended. Rather than possess a mortal, she created a mortal body for herself and poured the whole of her being into it, which is causing her body to permanently burn up from the inside while she regenerates it with her magic. She lives on Runeterra and acts as a mysterious mystical wise guide and mentor to mortals who need it.

Ascended & Darkin

Ascended are somewhat similar in kind to the Aspects, but usually lesser in power. The Ascended are also human beings infused with Celestial magic and power, specifically with the power of the Sun, although as far as I know, that power is drawn not from the Celestial of the Sun who empowers Leona, but directly from the physical Sun itself. This means the Ascended aren't possessed by Celestials and retain full free will, at the cost (or let's be real: benefit) of being transformed into furries, which extremely coincidentally just so happen to closely resemble the gods of the Egyptian pantheon. but again, they are definitely not gods, please don't put it in the newspaper that they are gods.

I don't know exactly how canon Riot considers this anymore, but the lore was that the Aspects of Mount Targon gifted the power of Ascension to Shurima in order to produce Ascended that could serve as shock-troops in the war against the Void, which is a swarm of extradimensional horrors that are constantly trying to eat the world. Whatever the case, the Ascended DID fight the Void, and it traumatized and corrupted them so badly that they degenerated into body-horror blood monsters called the Darkin.

The Darkin fell into civil war and it got so bad that The Aspect of Twilight (not Zoe but her predecessor in the role) decided to use some magical trickery to imprison them all in their weapons, which is where they've stayed for a few thousand years, getting even more traumatized and mentally destabilized by the total sensory deprivation and solitary confinement. If any mortal touches a Darkin weapon, it immediately assimilates them and uses their flesh as a new host, and then goes on a killing rampage about it. That's where you get your Aatrox, your Varus and (eventually, once he devours Kayn) your Rhaast.

Gods, Spirits & Demons

This is the category for Ornn, Anivia, Volibear, The Seal Sister and so on. The Freljordian people worship them as gods, but they are, technically, only extremely powerful nature spirits, manifestations of the nature of the Freljord itself, which draw power from the land and to a lesser extent from their worshipers. There are many, many lesser nature spirits, which might be worshiped as gods by particular tribes or hold power over particular areas, but Ornn, Anivia, Volibear, The Seal Sister and the Iron Boar are the most powerful and most widely revered.

On a similar note, Ionia is absolutely choked to the gills with spirits, because those lands are soaked in magic. They are usually not worshiped as gods specifically, but take the shape of everything from dragons to living trees to sprites and will-o-wisps and which roam fairly freely in Ionia. This includes characters like Lillia, who is the daughter of a magical tree of dreams on whose branches the dreams of mortals grow and mature, and it includes Ivern, who is an extremely powerful and ancient nature spirit formed from the soul of a magical tree.

Demons are distinct from spirits, in that rather than drawing on the power of the land or fountains of magic, they draw on the emotions of living things for their powers. The most powerful demons are known as The Ten, who get their power from the most primal emotions that living things feel. Fiddlesticks is the demon of Fear, and Nilah somehow draws her strength from Ashlesh, the Demon of Joy, whom her order has imprisoned. We don't know who the rest of the Ten are yet, but Riot seems to have that worked out somewhere in their internal deep lore.

Swain has a lesser (but still powerful) demon of secrets called Raum bound in his arm through some sort of deal, Evelynn is a demon of anguish and pain, Tahm Kench is a demon of addiction, and Nocturne is a demon of nightmares.

Besides those, there are an untold number of lesser demons, who feed on more and more specific feelings, and thus are less and less powerful because there's simply less of that stuff around to feed on. They are often called Azakana, and may be demons that feed on feelings as niche as, like, noblemen's fear of their extramarital affairs with handsome commoners being discovered. Yone hunts the Azakana and collects their mask, although even he doesn't know quite what for.

Death

This is where we place the Kindred. Technically they are merely Spirits of Death, but more than perhaps any other category of creature, Riot keeps writing them as Literal Gods of death and I don't think it makes sense to think of them any other way.

The Kindred take on many different shapes all across Runeterra, seemingly influenced in large part by the expectations of the people or creatures who are dying, but their most popular visage is that of a Lamb and a Wolf, hunting together. Lamb's merciful arrow ends your life if you accept that your time is up and go gently into that good night, but Wolf hunts you down and rips you to shreds if you resist and fight to your last breath, destiny be damned.

The Kindred are there for every death on Runeterra, they are the mediators (as far as we know) of all forms of death everywhere, and by far the most classically "anthropomorphic embodiment of universal existence" style god in the lore that we know of. Where a god like Anivia only really has power in the Freljord, the Kindred have power everywhere there is life. Only the undead escape them, and even then, only temporarily.

In Conclusion

YES Runeterra has tons of gods, it obviously has gods, you can't walk five feet in that universe without tripping on a god, but they tend to be gods with hard limitations on their power and influence, and rarely have powers on the level of bending reality itself.

Even Aurelion Sol, who literally makes stars, can't snap his fingers and undo causality, for example, or suspend the laws of physics wholesale.

Riot's weird insistence on "no gods in Runeterra" is more of an affectation, a bit of a put-on, than an actual narrative principle, and most of the gods of Runeterra can be understood very comfortably through the lens of various non-Christian religions like Norse or Greek mythology, or the hero/god characters of something like Polynesian myth.

[chrollogy]

MORE, MORE, MORE

— mammon x f!reader

syn: One orgasm is never enough for Mammon, he’s greedy for it. Well, he’s the Avatar of Greed after all. He lives up to the name, of course, proudly so.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, unprotected sex, implied multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cervix fucking, demon fucking, implied cum eating, pet names (my sweetheart, my treasure, my darling) divider: cafekitsune.

word count: 1.2k

notes: this is a repost from my deactivated acc + now cross-posted on my ao3 !

“Ma—ah fuck. . ! M-Mammon, can’t—ngh!” “Aah shit. . ! Just one more f’me, my sweetheart.” Mammon let out a heated gasp, his rosy lips parted before burying his face in the junction of your neck—soft breaths ghosting over the sensitive skin of your sweaty neck. Your vision was met with his snowy strands that your fingers dug into, occasionally tugging at the roots, and earning groans from Mammon as he ploughs into your cunt.

‘Just one more’ you knew that was nothing but a blatant lie, especially coming from the greediest demon himself—it was never just one more when it came to sex, sometimes Mammon would go to the extent where both of you were as overstimulated as you could get; silent screams as pleasure took over your bodies, the coil deep in your stomach snapping oh so deliciously that it was almost painful, his balls emptying the last bit of load he has after all the rounds.

Your head spun, the corners of your teary vision slowly filled with dark spots that disappeared as quickly as they formed. You’ve already came twice around his cock, and you’ve lost count of how many times Mammon brought you to your orgasm with his tongue and fingers, so your body was already sensitive to any kind of touch.

You could feel your legs trembling as Mammon pushed and pulled his hard cock over and over again, the way your walls clamped around his shaft, allowing you to feel every ridge of it. It was sticky, damp, and stuffy.

The mixture of your’s and his cum dripped out of your sopping cunt and down to the mattress, creating loud, wet noises that bounced around the walls of his room. Mammon’s heavy balls slapped against your sweaty skin, making a sticky mess down where the two of you connected.

His king-sized bed squeaked with each desperate thrust of his hips, the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall as if it was locked in a rhythmic curse.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Mammon was sure his brothers could hear the deafening thuds of his headboard but he couldn’t care less. Another strained groaned left his throat as you scratched your nails down his bare muscled back, hands running through an evident bump on it—his wings were starting to come out. His horns were also becoming visible, the ebony spirals emerging from his snowy hair.

Mammon growled as he felt himself shift into his demon form due to the immense pleasure that washed over his whole body. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, causing pleasurable pain to shoot up to your neck as his canines grew in size.

“Aah. . Mammon . . !” “Haah! T-that’s it, my treasure. . Moan for me.”

Mammon lifted his head from your neck, an evident deep crimson blush spread on his cheeks as he met your gaze—his pupils were blown with lust, eyes also teary from the never-ending pleasure. Fuck, you could stare at his eyes all day; the way his blue irises faded into a golden yellow at the bottom, like the ocean meeting the citrine sky as the sun dips below the horizon.

Before you could close your eyes shut from the way Mammon’s blunt tip repeatedly hit your cervix, you noticed a faint flapping sound over the ringing of your ears—something slicing through the damp atmosphere of the room and blowing hot air. It didn’t take you long to notice the full-grown pair of wings on his back, flapping with every eager thrust of his hips—it’s bat-like structure proudly stretching out to reveal it’s entire length.

The white markings across his tanned torso were now evident too, Mammon was in his full demon form. It was always like this with him whenever he reached overstimulation, the immense pleasure his body held was too much that it often resorted to him unintentionally transforming.

His wings moved in synched with his hard thrusts, allowing him to pound harder and reach deeper into you. Mammon threw his head back, a heated gasp leaving his lips as he felt your walls tighten around him. A small, desperate cry of your name hung in the thick air before he buried his face near your ear once again.

Mammon let out shallow pants, incoherent sentences going straight to your left ear; he managed to stutter out a praise, his voice shaky, and breathless from all the fucking he’s doing. The sweet praise went straight to your cunt, and that was all it took for you reach yet another orgasm.

This time, it was significantly more intense than the previous ones mammon had given you. Your whole body trembled as the coil in the pit of your stomach snapped for the nth time that night, face contorting in raw bliss as your lips parted in a silent scream.

Mammon didn’t even have to look at your face to know what you looked like as you came, he’s got in engrained in his mind—the way your pretty eyes roll to the back of your head, swollen lips parted, brows tightly knitted together and tears rolling down your warm cheeks.

The thought of your erotic expression brought mammon to another climax shortly after you. His muscles turned taut, wings stilling in a stretch as he sheathed his cock deep inside you before cumming. He moaned into your sweaty skin, a string of curses leaving his throat as waves of pleasure fully consumed him.

The two of you fell into a unison, filling the room with nothing but lewd sounds as your bodies jolted from the after shocks of a mind blowing orgasm. Mammon held you tight—his bare chest flush against your own—to keep himself grounded from the immense pleasure.

You didn’t know how he was still able to cum inside you with such volume, given how many times he’s orgasmed already—Mammon filled your cunt to the brim, swearing under his breath as a squelching noise came from your cunt, his seed seeping out and dripping down to his balls and the mattress.

He gave a few shallow thrusts to ride out both your orgasms before pulling out, a whine coming from you and Mammon at the loss of contact—he watched as your hole dripped with his and your cum, biting down at his bottom lip.

How filthy.

“I’m far from being done with you. .” Mammon breathlessly laughed as he saw your eyes fluttering shut. You opened your lids to see that he’s made his way down to the apex of your legs, where all the mess was.

“Mhm, I’m going to suck this out of you.”

He gave an experimental lick at your sensitive cunt, causing you to instinctively attempt to close your legs. Mammon held your legs apart and gave you a smirk before diving in—your hands flew to his spiralled horns, gripping them for your dear life as he shoved his tongue inside you.

“Just can’t get enough of you, my darlin’..” Mammon whispered against your skin. “Mhm—aah! Y’so greedy, M-Mammon.” you moaned. He couldn’t help but snicker at your response, a sense of pride swelling in his chest at the choice of your words.

“Now, I’d be worried if I wasn’t.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

[revasserium]

you

hayato suo; 5,844 words; fluff and angst, semi!dark content, obsessive behavior, stalking, emotional manipulation, stalker!suo,big brother!togame

summary: fool me once, shame on me. fool me twice, shame on you.

a/n: this was written for both @pixelcafe-network's challenge friday prompt (i got the song 'shinunoga e-wa' which... well.) as well as @peachsukii's wonderful horror event! pls proceed with caution!

It is not a healthy obsession.

But obsessions rarely are.

The first time he sees you is through the hazy mist of a Monday morning, walking to school with Sakura and Nirei trailing behind him, bickering about a possible pop quiz in Japanese Literature that afternoon. Suo grins, his fingers laced behind his back as he nods along. He’ll do fine even if there is a pop-quiz. He knows, he knows —

And then, there you are, caught in the glimmer of sunrise, your cheeks brushed pink by rosy-fingered dawn — standing across the street, a tinkling conglomeration of phone charms dangling from your wrist. You’re turned to one side, laughing with someone he can’t quite see — and in that moment, Suo Hayato learns the meaning of the word jealousy.

He thought he had known it before but he knew then that every emotion he’d felt prior to this has been a mere shadow, a weak and straggling imitation of the real thing — curiosity, jealousy, fear, want —

“Suo-san?” Nirei’s voice is an unwanted interruption to his intense study of you, but he has a reputation to upkeep, so he turns and grins.

“Hm?”

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Sakura supplies over Nirei’s hitched hesitation.

Suo turns back towards where you were standing just a second ago, but you’re not there anymore. For a stomach-wrenching moment, he thinks he’s lost you, and he scans the street desperately for the shape of you until — ah — there.

“Who is that?” Suo asks, taking care to keep his voice casual, leaning over to bump Nirei with his shoulder. Nirei goes red at the contact before whipping out his little black booklet and flipping through the pages, clearing his throat.

“She just moved here!” Nirei supplies after announcing your name, “seems like she’s good friends with Togame from —”

“Shishitoren,” Suo finishes, his voice falling flat. His eyes catch on the sweep of your skirt as you casually loop your arm through Togame’s, leaning into his body as he ruffles your hair. Suo wonders, briefly, if he’d have been able to beat Togame had they been paired together in the faceoff and for a second, he resents Sakura for being the one chosen to fight him.

That night, he dreams of the softness of your touch, the tenderness of your palms, warm against his, and the intoxicating sweep of your eyelashes. He dreams of the milky skin of your thighs, of the candy-cane sweetness of your breath when you lean in to whisper something in his ear.

He wakes up sated and tempered, and he resolves to find out everything about you.

And it’s not difficult, not with a friend like Nirei.

You’re a childhood friend of Togame’s, a recent addition to the Shishitoren roster, though you’re not a fighter yourself. You remind him of Kotoha and he can already imagine you quipping back at his good-natured banter, how you’d flick your bangs from across your eyes.

He wanders across the borders on purpose, just to see you, but he’s good enough to stay out of sight. Though, even if he were found out, things between Boufuurin and Shishitoren are good now, aren’t they? There’s no reason he shouldn’t act as liaison, and build some new bridges between the two, is there?

“You were so serious for a while, Jou,” he overhears you say, hidden behind a hedge at a nearby park, his back pressed to the large tree under which you and Togame are, the pair of you on the park bench just beneath it’s shade.

“Was I? Yeah… guess I was. Went through a bad patch there,” Togame’s voice is deep, churning Suo’s stomach till it goes sour. Suo wonders if you like guys like this — all whisky and smoke and lazy Sundays. Somehow, he thinks you’d be more into guys like him —

Guys who would hold your hand like it’s the only thing they were put on this earth to do right. Guys who might kiss you and keep kissing you till he’s sure it’s perfect. He feels a gut-deep hatred of Togame, of the careless way he slings his arm around your shoulders, or the way he reaches out to ruffle your hair, mussing up your bangs.

Suo closes his eyes and leans back against the thick tree trunk and to anyone else, it might’ve looked like napping, or an afternoon meditation session. But in the theatre of Suo’s mind, he can see the way he would comb his fingers through your hair, how he’d treasure each silken tress, how he might press his nose into the crown of your head and breathe in deep — he can almost smell the citrus and coconut scent of your shampoo — he’d seen it when he paused by your house earlier that week.

It had been such an easy thing, and you’re so, so trusting. Leaving your front door unlocked, hurrying out because you were late for an afterschool cram session. Suo had followed you all the way from underneath the train tracks, telling himself that he was only watching out for you, like any good gentleman might do. He couldn’t exactly count on the ruffians from Shishitoren to look out for you — not like he would.

He’d slipped into your small house, easy as pushing through the door. And immediately, he’s caught by the scent of you — the slightly musty smell of wood and tatami mats, the floral, milky scent of your body cream, the damp trail that undoubtedly leads into your bathroom, where you’d just taken a shower (he’s sure; your hair was still wet when you ran out the door). He’d wandered through your house as if walking through a dream, lingering over the plastic wrappers in your garbage, from convenience store sandwiches. He frowns — a girl like you should have a more balanced diet, and he makes a mental note to change that.

He’d gone from room to room, pausing over this and that, tracing his fingers over the corners of your cabinets, the thin wooden railing along the steep flight of stairs leading to the second floor. He’d paused by your bedroom just to take it in — the girlishness of it, the pink bedsheets, patterned with tiny flowers, the stuffed animals toppled one over the other, the indent where you’d probably sat as you dried your hair. It’s not as neat as his own room, but there’s an orderliness that pleases him. He smiles as he notices a pair of discarded sleep shorts, crumpled by the bed; he toys with the idea of picking it up before thinking better of it.

Not now — not yet.

He takes careful stock of your medicine cabinet in your bathroom, memorizes the shampoo and conditioner bottles. He uncaps your favorite bottle of perfume (the one that’s almost finished) and breathes in deep, his senses sizzling within him as he feels his body prickling with heat, a swirling desire crystalizing at the base of his stomach.

Carefully, he unscrews the top and dabs a drop on each of his wrists before capping the bottle and placing it back exactly as it was.

And now, sitting here, listening to you and Togame talk, he feels a deep sense of satisfaction as he pulls a fresh bottle of the perfume from his pocket, turning the little bottle over and over in his palm. He’d found it easily enough, it’s a well-known brand, and not overly expensive.

“Oh — thanks for the fruits, by the way,” you say, “it had all my favorites!”

“Ah… fruits?” Togame asks.

“Mm — the basket that was sitting outside my door… wasn’t it from you? Or maybe Chouji… but anyways, it was nice! I had almost finished the lychee in one sitting — had to stop myself before it gave me a stomach ache.”

You laugh and Suo basks in the sound.

Togame chuckles, though there’s a distinct note of uncertainty that makes Suo’s lips twist.

“You used to eat them until you gave yourself nosebleeds,” he says, and there’s the distinct sounds of a tussle. You yelp, the sound dovetailing into a laugh as the smile slips off Suo’s face. His eyes snap open — he can almost see it, how Togame might reach over to pinch at your cheeks, how you might duck or swat him away.

Suo himself would never be so unruly.

“I gotta get to the bookstore — I’m covering for Momo’s shift today.”

He hears you getting to your feet, Togame following suit. Togame offers to walk you but you decline. And then you separate, each going your own ways. Suo waits till he’s sure you’re both gone before slowly getting to his feet, tucking the bottle of perfume back into his pocket.

The bookshop is a quaint little thing, tucked into a row of storefronts, all family owned and run. He takes a deep breath before ducking in, hitching a pleasant smile onto his face.

“Welcome!” your voice is bright as silver bells, “can I help you find anything today?”

Suo makes a show of looking around, eyes scanning the rows and rows of books, and then the manga section in the back. He points.

“Actually, yes — there’s a manga series that I love and I’m waiting for the next installment.”

You grin, “Sure! What’s the name? We don’t carry a huge stock, but I can definitely check for you!”

Suo delights in the blush that seeps into your cheeks as he mentions the name of your favorite shoujou manga (he’d seen the volumes at your house, the latest volume left open on your bed).

“O-oh! You like that one too?” you ask, your eyes scanning his face, as if this all might be a joke.

“Yeah!” Suo answers, linking his hands behind his back as you round the front table and lead him towards the manga section, “I think the art is nice but mostly, I like the slow development of romance between the two main characters — even though you know from the beginning they’re meant for each other.”

He’d done his homework; it’d taken a few days for him to read through the entire series, but he’d done it. For you, he would’ve done that and more.

You turn towards him, eyes wide and bright and excited.

“Yes! That’s so true! Here — this is the newest one, just came out three days ago —”

Suo takes it, letting his fingers skim by yours, reveling in the way your skin feels against his. Of course, he’s already read the latest volume, but he clutches it to his chest anyway and follows you to the front, content to listen to you chatter about the series and the reasons you love it.

“— just… I know it’s a shoujou series, and the main guy is meant to be lovable but — it’s just so realistic! Like he’s not perfect, but he just wants to do his best to protect the girl, y’know? And it’s so cute —”

Suo nods, reaching into his pocket for some cash.

You flap him away, “You can have that one! Think of it as a bribe — to keep you coming back for the next one,” you say, twin patches of darkness riding high in your cheeks.

Suo schools his expression into a bashful grin, “Are you sure? I can pay — I mean, I’d never turn down a gift from a pretty girl but —”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fiddling with your fingers, “I’m sure! Just… promise you’ll come back when you finish it so we can talk about it, okay?”

Suo nods, curling his fingers into the cover of the book, his heartbeat in his throat.

“Alright then. It’s a date.”

That night, he places the manga volume and the bottle of perfume next to each other on his shelf, leaning back to admire his handiwork. He brings his wrist up to his nose, taking a long breath — it’s not the same, the perfume against his skin as it would be against yours, but it’s enough for now — enough to pretend.

It does not take long after that, not with his frequent visits to the bookshop (he’s long since memorized your work schedule) and the growing friendship between Shishitoren and Boufuurin — it’s almost easy. Too easy.

And you are so perfect, so naive — so easy to manipulate that Suo almost feels bad — almost. When he leans in to kiss you for the first time, the pair of you tucked in the far stacks of the bookstore, him under the guise of helping you reach the upper shelves, he nearly loses himself in the way you gasp against his lips, your fingers curling into the front of his uniform.

He feels the reckless hunger that has been threatening to tear him apart every night since he first saw you that morning across the street coiling up the back of his throat as he curls his fingers into your hair and presses you to him.

When he forces himself to pull away, he’s pleased to find your eyes glassy, your lips dark and kiss-bruised, slick with spit and parted. You’re panting, your chest heaving with the sheer force of the kiss.

Suo leans down to press his forehead to yours.

“Finish your shift… I don’t want to distract you from your work.”

You nearly whine as you bury your face in his chest.

“What if — what if I want you to distract me?”

It’s a horribly cliche thing to say — in fact, Suo is certain that it’s a line lifted straight from your shoujou manga. He swallows down a groan at the thought of pushing you into the back closet and having his way with you then and there but — he reels in his mind and takes a breath, shaking his head.

“Finish your shift first,” he says, playing the part of the ever-considerate boyfriend, “then… I’ve got a present for you.”

He tugs away to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger, before pulling away completely and bending down to pick up a stack of books that still need to be shelved.

You heave a long sigh, but don’t complain as you follow after him, trying your best to hide a smile that nevertheless pulls at your cheeks.

Outside the bookshop, Suo presents you with the bottle of perfume.

“I know it’s not very expensive but… for some reason, the scent made me think of you,” Suo says, his voice the perfect timber between hopeful and hesitant. You gasp, looking down at the label.

“Hayato! This is my favorite perfume! How… how did you know?”

Suo shrugs, smiling that enigmatic smile of his, “I didn’t — I just… I saw it at the store and thought of you,” he lets the heat flush into his cheeks, pursing his lips in a perfect imitation of bashfulness.

You throw your arms around him and press your lips to his cheek.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! And I was so close to finishing my own bottle too! Ugh — this is just too perfect!” you sink back to your feet, your arms still looped around his neck.

Suo lets his hands settle around your waist, laughing as you smile up at him. And then — you’re tugging him down by the collar of his uniform, your lips finding his, and all coherent thought leaves him again.

It isn’t till someone coughs that the pair of you pull apart.

“Ah… if it isn’t Suo-san,” Togame’s voice is at once amused and slightly suspicious. Suo peers over your head and shoots him an unassuming grin.

“Togame-san — it’s been a while.”

“Jou… I didn’t know you were coming over today,” you say, ducking your head as you surreptitiously wipe at your lips with the back of your hand.

“I wasn’t, but I found myself in the area so I thought I’d drop by,” Togame’s eyes flicker between you and Suo before settling on you. There’s a curious tick to his eyebrows as you refuse to meet his gaze.

You chew on your bottom lip for a good second before saying, “So… you guys have met before, right?”

Suo nods, “Yep! It was quite a meeting, but I think we all came out of it pretty okay.”

Togame lets out a low chuckle, “Sure. You could say that. How’s Sakura doing?”

Suo shrugs, “He’s fine — but there’s not much that’ll get him down. I heard Tomiyama-san’s doing much better now too.”

Togame bobs his head, tucking his hands into his pockets, “Yeah, he is. Uh listen… I didn’t mean to intrude or anything — just wanted to check in on my uh — friend here —” he jerks his head in your direction, smirking as you blush, looking anywhere but at his face.

“I’m fine Jou — I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Dunno, you still act plenty like a baby sometimes.”

You pout, eyes flashing as you turn to glare at him. There’s an easy tease in the lilt of Togame’s voice that sets Suo’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t like how close you and Togame are — never have — but he supposes there’s nothing he can do about it. Not right now, at least.

“Okay well we were just leaving —” you say, tugging on Suo’s sleeve.

“Yeah? Where to?” Togame asks, casual as anything, sauntering over to keep pace with the pair of you as you start down the street.

“Uhm…” you start, clearly not having thought this through, but Suo swoops in gallantly, reaching down to lace your fingers through his in a smooth, familiar motion.

“We were going to her place — to watch a movie.”

“Yeah?” Togame peers at you from over the rims of his tinted shades.

“Yeah!” you answer, perking up as you give Suo’s hand a grateful squeeze, “there’s one we’ve been meaning to watch —”

“The Talented Mr. Ripley,” Suo supplies, easy as anything.

You blink up at him, startled, but he only grins. A moment later, you blush, eyes flickering back towards Togame.

“Y-yeah — that one —”

Togame’s gaze ping-pongs between you and Suo, his brows ticking up ever so slightly.

“Yeah… I’ve seen that one — about a guy who pretends to be someone he’s not, right?”

You frown, but Suo squeezes your hand.

“Yep, that’s the one. It’s got a great roster of A-list actors, and the cinematography is really good.”

Togame nods, his eyes settling on you. You lick your lips, nodding along with Suo, flashing Togame a smile that he doesn’t return.

He walks all the way to the end of the street with the pair of you before pausing, cocking his head to watch you turn down the right with Suo at your side. You glance over your shoulder and catch his eyes; there’s a strange glimmer in them that you can’t name but it roils your stomach and makes your heart sputter like a blown out candle in your chest.

You don’t end up watching a movie at yours, but you do laze against Suo’s chest, his fingers threading through your hair as you flip through your favorite volume of your shoujou manga. Suo shifts, his nose pressing into your hair.

“I’ve always loved the scent of your shampoo — you’re almost out though, right?”

You nod absently, “Yeah, I need to buy more…”

You flip another page, and then another. In the intricately drawn manga panels, the protagonist blushes as the male lead traces his fingers along her jawline, tipping her head back for a kiss.

Suo trails deft fingers along your jaw, twisting you around. The manga falls face-down on the worn tatami mat as he covers your lips with his. There’s always been a ferocity to his kisses, but while at the bookshop, he tried to keep his decorum. Here, however, he makes no attempt to mask his hunger, his urgency as he digs his fingers into the skin of your cheek, holding you so tightly you nearly gasp at the sting.

You’re breathless when you pull back, and so is he, his eyes unfocused, his fingers curling into your hair till you wince.

“H-Hayato?” you ask, pressing a palm to his chest.

“Hm?” his single eye flickers wildly over your face, as if desperate to capture the image of you, as if might never be enough just to see you, but to carve you into his memory —

“How… how did you know about my shampoo?” you ask, tilting your head, a tiny frown creasing your forehead.

“What… what do you mean?” he asks, tugging you back down to graze his lips along yours, his words soft and distracted. You groan as he kisses you again, hoisting you up till you’re sitting over his lap, your thighs straddling his.

But you pull back, shaking your head, laughing as he chases you.

“No — I was just — I don’t think I’ve ever told you about my shampoo running low.”

Suo’s frown mirrors your own, his expression one of perfect, innocent confusion.

“Hadn’t you? Maybe I saw it the last time I was in the bathroom.”

You purse your lips, but decide not to think too hard on it. You’d probably mentioned it to him in passing — you’d spent so much time together in the past few weeks. It’s not an impossible thing.

He does so love to listen to you talk, about anything, about everything.

It isn’t till he leaves much later that night that you flick on the light in your bathroom and pull back your shower curtains.

There sit your shampoo and conditioner bottles, lined up along the wall just as they’ve always been. And, just as you remember — the bottles are definitely not see-through.

Little things start to go missing after that — your favorite hair tie, one of your well-used pencils, a single earring, a pair of sleep shorts. Though when you complain to Suo that you seem to be losing more things than usual lately, all he’d done was grin and take you to the shopping center, promising to buy whatever it is that you’d lost.

He helps you pick a new hair tie, a new set of pencils, new earrings that sparkle just as well as the first pair. You blush as he leads you towards the loungewear section, but he presses a reassuring kiss to your temple and tells you that he likes shopping with you — for you.

He whispers against the shell of your ear that he likes the thought of you in things he’s picked out for you.

You shiver at his words, all thoughts about your lost items forgotten.

Togame, though, does not seem to share your optimism about the relationship.

“Dunno — I thought he was alright when I first met him but — even then…” he trails off, casting his eyes up at the light-specked canopy of the large tree you’re both sitting under. You’d wanted to do a picnic before the weather gets too cold for one, and he’d begrudgingly agreed.

You reflect, vaguely, that you’d been seeing less and less of him these days too.

“You’re just mad that I’m spending more time with someone from Boufuurin,” you say with a determined, teasing smile. Togame fixes you with a look over his customary shades, holding your gaze till you flush and look away.

“Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”

You huff, folding your arms, “He’s not that bad! He’s actually really nice to me!”

Togame chuckles, “I believe it, it’s just… nice isn’t exactly the same as good.”

You scowl at him, “What does that even mean?” but something crystalizes in the back of your mind, hardening into a dark speck of suspicion.

You try not to think about it, try not to let it invade your thoughts — but sometimes, when you’re at the bookshop, or even when you’re home alone at night, you’d feel it — the sense that something isn’t right, that someone might be watching you.

But every time you’d turn around, you’d find yourself alone — the bookshop empty, the house quiet, except for the ancient creak of wood and the shuffle of tiny little critters beneath the floorboards.

“Why do we never go to your place?” you ask one day, over steaming bowls of noodles, the wind outside howling something fierce. Suo looks up, blinking.

He swallows his mouthful of ramen and wipes his mouth with pristine, practiced motions.

“Ah — it’s honestly a little embarrassing but… my place is a bit uh —” he shrugs, “a bit messy.”

You frown, “But… you told me that you hated mess. And there was that one time you offered to help me organize the books at the bookstore alphabetically because you said that’s how you organized them at home… right?”

Suo stares, something very much like annoyance flickering behind his eye. But a second later, he lets out a bright laugh.

“No, you’re right! It’s just — it’s not very clean right now — but if you want to see my place, you’re more welcome to see it.”

You nod, trying to convince yourself that you’d been worried for nothing.

“Yeah, I’d love to see it! And you don’t have to clean stuff up for me — I won’t judge you, I promise!” you grin, and lower your eyes back to your own bowl of ramen.

“Sure, you can come over tomorrow if you’d like,” Suo says, watching you slurp at your noodles with an indulgent grin.

You nod, flushing as you almost choke on your mouthful of noodles in your eagerness.

“Y-yeah! I’d love to! We can — we can watch that movie you were talking about.”

“Hm? Which movie?”

“Oh — that one you mentioned to Jou that one time —”

Again, that flicker of something like annoyance, sharp as a knife’s edge, and gone just as quick.

Suo’s smile is impeccable as he calls for the check, “Oh yes — it’s a great movie, one of my favorites. And I think you’ll like it too.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will! Our tastes are so similar,” you say, grinning as the waiter brings over the check and Suo sets a stack of immaculately folded bills on the table.

“You don’t always have to pay for things, you know,” you say as he laces your hands, the pair of you ducking out into the mid-autumn chill. He reaches out to pull on your collar, adjusting your muffler, tracing the line of your cheek with an affectionate finger.

The muffler, he’d given to you as a gift only two weeks prior, saying that he’d seen it at a sale. It’s your favorite color — but just last week, you’re sure you’d passed by a storefront with the exact same muffler, touting the season’s latest fashions, with a price tag that had made your stomach drop clear out of your body.

You’d convinced yourself that there’s no way he’d spent that kind of money on a gift for you. You’re both still in school — where would he have gotten the cash? Briefly, you consider that he might’ve stolen it.

But you quickly discard that line of thought as well, berating yourself internally for doubting your own boyfriend like this.

“I know,” Suo says, grinning as he leans down for a kiss, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” And he sounds so earnest, so utterly besotted that you don’t have the heart to doubt anything else.

“You’re too good to me,” you say, shy as the pair of you start on the now familiar walk back to your tiny, two story apartment.

“Banish the notion,” Suo declares, his voice gallant, and you laugh. But he tugs you close to wrap an arm around your middle and press chilly lips to your cold-kissed cheek, “there’s no such thing.”

You flush with a delighted warmth and lean into the comfort of his embrace.

The next day, Suo brings you to his place, just as he’s promised. And just as you’d expected, it’s impeccable to the point of derision. You bite your lips, looking around at the immaculate walls and floors, the perfectly lined shelves, the cupboards stocked and stacked as if by a rather neurotic military sergeant.

“So… I’m guessing you cleaned?” you ask, setting down your bag by the door and toeing off your shoes.

Suo laughs, nodding, “Just a bit, yes.”

“A bit?”

He grins, leading you into the living room, where a tea service is set up and water is already boiling in the kitchen.

“How… what —” you’re at a loss for words as Suo kneels by the low table and washes the tea with the boiling water.

“Can you blame me? It’s my girlfriend’s first visit to my place — I had to make it perfect.”

By the time he puts on the movie, you’re already heavy with an amazing dinner and sleepy with hot tea. You lean against him, drowsing as the movie picks up and a gorgeous, dirty-blond man chats up an equally gorgeous platinum blond woman.

“Mm… which one’s the bathroom?” you ask, your voice sleepy as you totter to your feet.

“Just down the hall — second door to your right,” Suo calls.

You nod as you patter down the dark hallway, keeping one hand on the wall to steady yourself. At the first door, you twist the knob out of reflex, only to find it locked.

Frowning, you twist it again, feeling the old lock jiggling in the door frame.

Suddenly, all hints of drowisness gone, you go still, a strange, vibrating giddiness welling up inside you at the thought of seeing Suo’s bedroom.

Why would he keep it locked? What embarrassing things might you find?

You twist the doorknob slowly, putting pressure on the bottom of the knob till you feel the lock give and the door swings open into a dark, nebulous space. And with one last glance over your shoulder, you slip inside.

The bedroom is small, and neat to the point of sparseness. There’s a writing desk sitting beneath a small window, and a small bookcase tucked against the opposite wall, next to a chest of drawers.

There are no posters on the wall, but there does seem to be a map of some sort. And at first, you think it’s one of those artistic print-maps of Tokyo or some bigger city, but as your eyes adjust to the dimness, you notice tiny little flag markers, and streets that are all too familiar.

You creep closer, as if drawn by an invisible string, until you’re almost nose to nose with the map — and seeing it clearly now, your breath deadens inside your chest.

You know these streets because they’re the streets of this city — of your city, and Suo’s as well. But it’s the thin lines that connect a series of tiny flags that makes your chest go cold — spot markers of your house, your cram school, the bookstore you work at, your favorite shops and restaurants, even the park that you and Togame always go to on weekends.

And the thin lines between them — the routes you take, day in and day out, all meticulously mapped.

Dizzy, you spin around, your eyes catching on the bookshelf, where a series of little trinkets sit in succession —

An empty perfume bottle, a volume of shoujou manga, a hair tie, a pencil stub, and a single glimmering earring.

Blood thunders behind your ears as you brace yourself against the writing desk, the wood creaking slightly beneath your palms.

Your eyes catch next on the chest of drawers, and a single article of clothing crumpled, sitting at the very top — a pair of sleep shorts, thin and worn and trimmed in lace.

Yours.

“I thought you needed to use the restroom.”

You jump at the sound of Suo’s voice, soft and calm and unnaturally steady.

You press a hand to your mouth to stifle what would’ve been a scream as Suo steps into the room and closes the door with a snap behind him.

“You know… it’s not very good manners to go into someone’s bedroom without their permission.���

You lick your lips, shaking your head.

“Hayato… what —” but you can’t the words — because there are no words. Instead, you gesture at the strange collection of baubles on his shelves before turning back to motion at the giant map tacked to the wall.

Suo nods, his hands laced behind his back, his expression amiable.

“What… is all this?” he asks, taking a few steps towards you. You scramble back, but find yourself already cornered against his writing desk. He makes no sudden movements, even as you look wildly around for any kind of escape route, your heart battering against your ribs, a scream building just beneath your lungs.

“It’s… a testament, I suppose,” he says, opening his arms, sighing, “to my feelings for you —” he takes a few more steps, closing the distance between you and him in a single, shuddering heartbeat.

His eye glitters almost red in the iridescent darkness.

“Because… don’t you see?” he asks, his voice now nothing more than a whisper as he reaches out to cup your cheek. You go still beneath his touch, as a deer caught beneath the bright beam of a hunter’s light.

“It’s always been you…” he says, crooning the words into your ears as he trails his fingers along the line of your jaw down to your throat, his thumb dipping into the hollow there before his fingers dig themselves into the nape of your neck.

You let out a soft whimper, feeling the hard crescents of his finger nails as they sink into your skin.

“I love you,” he says, his voice smooth as silk and sweet as poison, “and I wanted — no… I needed you to love me too.”

be part of my taglist!

[cncowitcher]

82. ENZO VOGRINCIC IMAGINE +18

ᡣ𐭩 ─ enzo vogrincic × leitora.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ gênero: smut. 🍷

ᡣ𐭩 ─ número de palavras: 521.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ notas da autora: oioi meus aneizinhos de saturno, como vão? esse imagine é a continuação desse daqui. espero que gostem viu? se cuidem e bebam água, um beijo. 😽💌

A entradinha de S/n sugava cada vez mais o pau de Enzo para dentro conforme ela sentava com força no colo dele.

O uruguaio não estava mesmo para brincadeira. Assim que o segundo filme escolhido por todos acabou, Esteban Kukuriczka se voluntariou a levar seus amigos até os devidos apartamentos.

─ Que isso, Kuku, não precisa disso não. A gente espera você chegar pra irmos embora. ─ Vogrincic diz terminando de tomar uma Sprite gelada e colocando a latinha no porta-copos do braço do sofá.

Os argentinos mais novos se entreolharam soltaram uma risadinha quando Esteban disse, carismático:

─ Espero encontrar minha casa em pé e do jeitinho que eu deixei viu?

Bem, de fato Kuku iria encontrar ─ na volta ─ a sua casa do jeito que deixou, mas obviamente nunca, jamais, em hipótese alguma, saberia o que o casal latino aprontou naquele sofá e o motivo dele ter ficado quente é pouco úmido.

Assim que os homens saíram e Enzo escutou duas buzinas e o carro se distanciando aos poucos, puxou sua mulher para se sentar em suas coxas grossas. Em segundos Vogrincic esfregava seu pau na bocetinha de sua garota e passava a cabecinha no cuzinho dela, não demorando muito para sentir a segunda entrada começar a pulsar.

O uruguaio calou S/n com um beijo ao perceber que ela estava quase soltando um grito de dor ao sentir o caralho duro de seu namorado entrando nela.

Mas sabem de uma coisa? Enzo Vogrincic desde que conheceu a brasileira em frente ao Teatro Solis sabia que poderia usar, macetar de dia e de noite, a hora que ele quisesse, o quanto que ele quisesse sua mulher. Pois a mesma já disse várias vezes à ele que ama ser tratada como putinha, o que rendeu apelidos para ela como “Depósito Particular de Porra de Enzo Vogrincic” e até mesmo “Chiquita brasileña que ama levar rola do seu uruguaio”.

Com a boceta chorando de tesão e sendo preenchida por dois dedos do mais velho e com o cuzinho sendo judiado pelo pau de Enzo, a moça acabou atingido mais um orgasmo naquela noite e jogou seu corpo pra frente, se deitando no ombro de seu namorado, stands alguns gemidinhos por conta da sensibilidade que sentia. 

Isso foi a uma estrela no céu de Van Gogh para Vogrincic, que sentiu seu orgasmo se aproximar e acabou enchendo sua garota de porra, do jeito que ela gosta.

E quando Kuku chegou, se deparou com os dois agarradinhos ─ já vestidos ─ no sofá enquanto dormiam. A louça que eles sujaram estava lavada e guardada, o que fez Kukuriczka sorrir alegremente depois que fechou a porta e foi até a cozinha, tomar um pouco de água.

─ Que maravilha, sem louça para lavar. ─ O argentino murmura consigo mesmo depois que ingere o líquido transparente e lava o copo.

Enzo e S/n acabaram dormindo na casa de Esteban mesmo. Ele levou um cobertor frequento para eles e os cobriu. Sem contar que também levantou a cabeça de ambos para colocar o travesseiro macio para eles não terem dores quando acordarem. ♡

[animebw]

It is 3 AM, I have work in the morning, and my brain is keeping me awake agonizing over how Reina's crush on Taki-sensei has been set up for the most brutal reality check imaginable in Hibike season 3 and how much it's going to hurt when it finally arrives.

Like, here's the thing about Reina: when she loves someone, she has absolute, unconditional faith in them. All throughout this season, she's said over and over that she thinks Kumiko's playing is second to none. And all throughout the series, she's been willing to shank anyone who so much as questions Taki-sensei's dental hygiene. When Reina Kousaka loves someone, that person can basically do no wrong in her eyes. In a way, it's an extension of her own sense of ego: "I believe I am special, so anyone I love must also be special." And she will suck you into her vortex and make you believe it right alongside her because her conviction is just that strong.

But now we've been set on a collision course. With all the foreshadowing around Mayu, it's basically inevitable that she's going to steal at least one of the soli auditions out from under Kumiko's nose. And because of Taki-sensei choosing an inexperienced freshman over a more consistent junior in episode 6, we've already been set up to wonder if his judgement is actually as infallible as we've so often assumed. Which means it's all but guaranteed that at some point- probably in the very next audition, I predict- Taki-sensei is not going to choose Kumiko to play the eupho part in the soli. And suddenly, Reina will be forced to confront a situation where one of these two people she loves is wrong. Either Kumiko isn't actually good enough a player to stand alongside her, or Taki-sensei made the wrong call.

And she's going to have to decide where her faith truly lies: with faraway dream she's been futilely chasing for years... or the girl who actually had the courage to answer her confession of love.

[trupowieszcz-moved]

have you ever wondered what people ate in 17th century poland? me neither, but my dad has and since he's a historical reenactor and has reenactor friends, they managed to dig out a cooking book from the period, called Compendium Ferculorum.

this book contains possibly the weirdest recipe i have ever fucking seen, enigmatically called "dish with pancakes", to lull you into a false sense of security. the weirdest thing about it is that it actually tastes really good, and not at all like you would imagine when you initially hear what goes into it.

i understand most of you aren't able to read 17th century polish in a gothic font, so here's the direct transcription:

LXXVI. Potráwá z Naleśnikami Weźmiy Kapłona álbo Cielęćiny, álbo Báránka, porąb, wymocz, ociągniy, odbierz, poley Rosołem, ułoż másłá, pietruszki, soli, warż, á gdy dowiera, wley rosołu, wley Octu winnego, Cukru, pieprzu, Szafránu, Cynamonu, przywarz. Zrob Naleśniki, w materią wsyp trochę Száfranu y Cukru, uwarz Ryżu albo Jaieśnicę usmasz, wsyp Száfranu, Rożenkow drybnych, zawiiay tę máteryą w Naleśniki, w ktorą y Cukru przydasz, zrob z Jáiec máteryą, to iest: rozbiy Jáiec, maczay końce tych Naleśnikow w Jáycách rozbitych, puszczay ná gorące másło, a gdy odrętwiesz, daway te potráwę, a Naleśniki ná wierzch kładź, a zalewáiąc day ciepło.

which, loosely "translated" to modern polish, would be:

76. Potrawa z naleśnikami Weź kurczaka, cielęcinę lub baranka, poćwiartuj, wymocz, oskóruj, odbierz [to nie wiem co mogło oznaczać niestety], zalej rosołem, dołóż masła, pietruszki i soli, gotuj, a gdy zawrze, wlej resztę rosołu, ocet winny, cukier, pieprz, szafran i cynamon, gotuj dalej. Zrób naleśniki, do ciasta dosyp trochę szafranu i cukru, ugotuj ryż lub usmaż jajecznicę, wsyp szafran, drobne rodzynki i zawiń to nadzienie w naleśniki; w rozbełtanych jajkach z dodatkiem cukru zamocz końce naleśników i podsmaż na maśle, a gdy jajko się zetnie, podawaj potrawę z naleśnikami na górze, zalanymi gorącą zupą.

and in english:

76. Pancake dish Take a chicken, veal or lamb, quarter it, soak it, skin it, pick it up [this I don't know what it could mean unfortunately], pour broth over it, add butter, parsley and salt, cook it, and when it boils, pour in the rest of the broth, wine vinegar, sugar, black pepper, saffron and cinnamon, continue cooking. Make pancakes, add a little saffron and sugar to the batter, cook rice or scrambled eggs, add saffron, small raisins and wrap this filling in the pancakes; dip the ends of the pancakes in beaten eggs with added sugar and fry in butter, and when the egg has set, serve the dish with the pancakes on top, drenched in hot soup.

lo and behold, this is what it looks like:

maybe it's not the most appetizing thing in the world, but please trust me when i say that this slaps. this is so fucking good. it has no right of being this good, but it is. why would they eat it back in the day if it wasn't good? this was for high-ranking nobles' kitchens. it had to slap. it had to be over the top and weird.

since the original recipe isn't very descriptive of how much of what you have to add, i'm gonna write it out with as many details as i can for those who aren't as kitchen-savvy and wish to try to make this tasty abomination. unfortunately i forgot to take pictures along the way, so no illustrations, sorry.

Ingredients (for about... 4 servings? I don't know. We had 2 and there was still a lot left):

for the pancakes:

500g of all-purpose flour

4-5 eggs (3 for the batter, 1-2 for later shenanigans)

like a cup of milk

2-3 spoons of sugar (brown sugar would probably be more historically accurate)

saffron (the more the better but watch out, it's expensive as shit)

some water if it turns out too thick

for the broth:

1.5 liters of water

3 stock cubes (if the package says one per 0.5l; otherwise just check what it says)

or you can just make broth from scratch if you want to roleplay a 17th century cook

3-4 chicken drumsticks (or an equivalent amount of veal or lamb)

cinnamon

black pepper

m o r e s a f f r o n

around 120g of butter (half a package if you're polish and know what i'm talking about)

one parsley root

3-4 tablespoons of wine vinegar

a... handful? of sugar. around 2-3 tablespoons, I guess

for the scrambled eggs:

4 eggs (or more; 1 per pancake)

a little bit of milk

1 tablespoon of sugar

e v e n m o r e s a f f r o n if you can afford it

raisins (or dried cranberries or whatever you want that has a similar taste size and texture)

you can also try to make this with rice instead of scrambled eggs. i imagine it can't be that hard.

the steps (there's a lot.):

Sieve the flour and add every other pancake ingredient into it; make sure the saffron is crushed into smaller bits

mix that shit with a hand mixer. it should be the consistency of like, sour cream, so if it's too thick, add a bit of water and check again. it's gotta be generally thick though, make sure it's not too runny (if the consistency is beginning to resemble banana juice, it's too runny already).

heat up the pan, put a little bit of oil on it with a folded paper towel (so you don't burn yourself on accident) and cook the pancakes until they're a bit golden, but not yet brownish in the spots that stick to the pan the most. basically just don't burn them. add a little oil the same way every 2 pancakes.

there's your pancakes, set them aside and move on to other stuff - it's broth time

boil the stock with the parsley root and your meat of choice, but don't add any spices yet, just the fuckton of butter. let it simmer for like an hour. yes, an hour. good soup takes time.

once the time has passed, you can add the spices. notice how i didn't really specify how much of the spices you have to add, and this is because you have to follow your heart and add as much as you can possibly handle eating. no, it's not gonna be too much. add that shit. add 3/4 of a 15g pepper packet. add almost the entire 15 grams of cinnamon. add like a bit of salt, but not a lot this time, just like 2 pinches. ADD THE SAFFRON. add the sugar. add more vinegar than you think would be enough normally. it's gonna boil away anyway.

mix it and let it simmer for even longer. taste it every now and then to see if you can handle it. if a few minutes after doing the dark magic listed above the taste is still very strong, that's good. if it's so strong your throat starts burning, you may be entitled to some more water in there, but if you don't start crying, leave it be. for like another hour.

time for scrambled eggs. rule of the thumb is 1 egg per 1 pancake and 2 pancakes per serving, so if you're cooking for 2, use 4 eggs. easy. add everything that i listed, but if you miss the sugar or the raisins, those can be added after you cook it.

once you have cooked the scrambled eggs, put it on a plate and wash your pan if you don't have another one/don't want to use another one. mix two remaining eggs in a bowl.

put the scrambled eggs with raisins (or whatever you decided to put in there) in your pancakes and roll them as tightly as you can manage. heat up your pan and put some butter on it.

CAREFULLY dip the ends of the pancakes in the mixed eggs and transfer them to the pan with butter. it may be easier to put them on the pan first and pour a little bit of the egg over the ends then, so if you're not sure you can dip them without the entire filling falling out suddenly, do that instead.

fry the pancakes on both sides until the egg is no longer in liquid form.

now, the serving:

pour a ladle of soup into a soup plate

put a piece of your meat in there too if it hasn't disintegrated completely and just started floating around in pieces

put two pancakes in the soup

now you can eat this thing. smacznego :)

I would also like to thank @slavicafire for posting weird old recipes sometimes and inspiring me to take the time to write all of this out :^)

[bleaksqueak]

In coming silly question: How gender is Elias? Would he wear a dress casually? A skirt?

Gender for Elias is "yes", but also "no", as well as "Sure", and sometimes "Don't worry about it" (his own words, not mine) It isn't really much of something he thinks about. He's comfortable and uses he/him, but it feels wrong to say he skews masculine at the same time. He dresses according to taste, practicality and comfort when out of uniform, but if someone handed him a dress/skirt he'd wear it at least partially out of the usual curiosity for trying on something new, and partially out of an enjoyment for dressing up that he never quite grew out of. They aren't quite his style, but that's more only down to the reasoning of preferring pants than it is for any reason of gender "norms" when it comes to clothing.

[lexie-squirrel]

Sherlock Holmes is autistic

- “...he had contrived, with that cat-like love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics”. (HOUN) -  “I have [...] an abnormally acute set of senses” (BLAN) - “My friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand” (SOLI) - “I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed much with the men of my year" (GLOR) -  “Who could come tonight? Some friend of yours, perhaps?” “Except yourself I have none, - he answered. - I do not encourage visitors” (FIVE) - “...his disinclination to form new friendships...” (GREE) - “Without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation. There was no trace then of the horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration, but his face showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees the crystals falling into position from his over-saturated solution” (VALL) Low empathy - “He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits“ (CREE) - “He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases [...] Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner” (MUSG) - “He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge “(STUD) - “...never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, and shards” (DEVI) special interest/infodumping - “'My dear doctor,' said he, kindly, 'pray accept my apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch” (SIGN) low empathy - “Arrest you!' said Holmes. 'This is really most grati - most interesting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?” (NORD) low empathy -  “We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a library where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in early English charters” (3STUD) special interest - “My friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man” (3STUD)  - “Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects - on miracle plays, on mediæval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the warships of the future - handling each as though he had made a special study of it” (SIGN) special interest/infodumping - “His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors” (STUD) - “He is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him” (STUD) - 'Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes - it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects” (STUD) low empathy - “He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge” (STUD) - “He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working” (STUD) personal space problems - “With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room, and closed the door behind me” (REDH)  personal space problems - “...his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair...” (DISA) stimming - “He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture” (BRUC) stimming - “He began biting his nails and staring blankly out of the window” (STOC) stimming - “Yes, I have been guilty of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for example, is one "Upon the Distinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos." In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette, and pipe tobacco, with coloured plates illustrating the difference in the ash” (SIGN) special interest - “'Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound of his footstep” [...]  “I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread...” (SIGN) stimming - “...in his nervous restlessness, he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him” (THOR) stimming - “He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century” (STUD) special interest - “When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee” (STUD) stimming? - “But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening halfpenny paper as there could be between your Negro and your Esquimaux” (HOUN) special interest - “'You are hungry”, I remarked. “Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since breakfast”.''Nothing?'' “Not a bite. I had no time to think of it” (FIVE) eating problems - “...for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night” (STUD) a shutdown? - “My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition” (NORW) eating problems - “But how do you know that it is hereditary?” ''Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do” [...] “He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the Government departments“. [...] . There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. [...] My brother was one of the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere”. [GREE] autism run in families - “We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins” (CARD) special interest/infodumping - “For two hours the strange business in which we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was entirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian masters. He would talk of nothing but art, of which he had the crudest ideas” (HOUN) special interest/infodumping - “I remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus” [...] “As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject” (BRUC) special interest - “Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,' murmured Holmes, without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information” (SCAN) - “Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime” (FIVE) - “The first day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made his hobby - the music of the Middle Ages” (BRUC) special interest - “An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction” (MUSG) - “Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind would go for days, and even for a week, without rest” (TWIS) sleep problems - “The mere sight of his excellent appetite was an assurance of success, for I had very clear recollections of days and nights without a thought of food” (VALL) eating problems - “You are knocking yourself up, old man,' I remarked. 'I heard you marching about in the night”. ''No, I could not sleep”, he answered” (SIGN) sleeping problems - “I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them” (NORW) sleep problems

[dairy-farmer]

Hello 🖐

I am amira from Gaza, an application programmer and a lecturer at the university. I lost my job, my house, and everything I owned in the war. Can you help me spread my story so that I can protect my family from danger?

https://www.gofundme.com/f/amiras-story-between-hope-and-resilience-a-call-for-soli

link to donate to amira's go fundme is here

Amira is at €9,080 of her €20,000 goal, she is in an impossible situation with her family. One that I don't think many of us are capable of imagining being in. Amira is responsible for getting her family of four out of a deadly situation, and that's something everyone reading this has the pure, random luck of not knowing what that's like.

donate if you can, reblog if you can't please.

I'm crushed to even have to say it but Amira and her family are real and were verified here by user palestinian-fundraising before their account was deactivated