#such alluring imagery

[pencilofawesomeness]

Recently caught up with Code Adam and this goober has been living in my brain. Imagine getting shot, faking your death because you're sick of being feared as the military's living weapon, only knowing violence, and then when you learn friendship you're so emotionally tied up you can't even use violence to save them.

Gold medal to Iantis / Otto for being the narrative's punching bag, so much so that the narrative couldn't even bring it up until later because being forgotten is part of the punch.

I'm so normal about him. So normal.

Original panel I redrew this from under the cut:

[faebriel]

the death note is why schlatt had a heart attack on the dsmp

SO true anon. i've always had a soft spot for the headcanon/au/what have you that quackity was quietly poisoning schlatt throughout manberg as one of the only ways to get back at him and that contributed to schlatt's heart attack. would make a good test of a death note

[technicolorxsn]

if I were to redraw alluring secret black vow as madohomu who would be rin/len and who would be miku?

[janumun]

A Practical Demonstration (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 9.8k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: size difference, oral and vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, mild mentions of stalking (not Sylus or Mephisto for once LOL), inexperienced (NOT virgin) reader, edging, drinking, [im]proper use of evol, explicit sexual content

Summary: When you end up disclosing a mortifying truth to Sylus about your dating life, deep in a drinking session; drowning yourself within a bottle — or three — of alcohol until you black out is the only option left to you to avoid that sharp, intuitive gaze for the rest of the night.  

That is, until Sylus throws a counter offer your way, one that sounds far too tempting to your scrabbled brain. Being the brilliant voice of reason you are tonight, you accept.  

[A fic where Sylus shows you exactly how good sex with a perceptive partner feels like when you confess your less than optimal dating experience.] 

Author’s Notes: Truly clown moment when I believed this fic would not exceed more than 4k words and yet again, here I am sitting on an almost 10k monster. I love what being horny for these men has done for my inspiration. Thank you so much to @chibamari for providing the prompt that birthed this fic. Already working on a religious desecration imagery angsty sex fic with Xavier and Queen MC, based on his first myth, as we speak.

The lingering remnants of your foiled meeting are muted with the press of rouged lips against the cusp of your cool glass, the liquor within, sliding easy down your throat with your fervent swallow.  

Placing it back down with a defeated sigh, you lean your arm against the counter, cradling your warming cheek against the crook of your palm.  

You never should’ve let Tara talk you into an impromptu date with a mutual acquaintance she’d considered ‘the perfect match’ for you; her giddy excitement and enthusiasm to get you a date had been too difficult to turn down. You cursed yourself underneath your breath at your inability to say no to those big, wide eyes and cheery smile; exactly the components that had saddled you deep into the disaster you’d considered that date to be — if it could be called as such.  

You’d excused yourself half-way through the man’s self-absorbed prattling — ruining the taste of the expensive steak in front, one you’d been wanting to try for ages — on excuse of an urgent mission coming up.  

A hand tucking your phone close to your ear, to reinforce your hasty lie while the other had slipped your card to your assigned waiter, making hasty work of settling your end of the bill. You’d swept up your coat and purse, striding out the lavish restaurant on swift-heeled steps before your sputtering date could so much as lift a hand in protest.  

Which is what had now landed you firmly in your current predicament, within the confines of a cosy, well-known bar, not too far from where you’d started.  

Nursing a budding headache within the bitter notes of alcohol, to help ease at long fraught nerves. In between the ever-looming threat of Wanderers and the obstructive wrench thrown into your investigation into the Ever group, along with how busy work usually kept you, you were exhausted, suffice to say. The insignificant man tonight had just been the icing on this long-ruined cake.  

Tara’s suggestion; to put yourself out more and ‘let loose’ for a bit, had ended in mild regret in going along with it, in the first place.  

It had been far too long since you’d been in a relationship — let alone enjoyed a date with a man; your professional obligations kept you busy, coupled along with an extremely low desire to invest yourself into the dating pool, to wade and weed through to one that matched your wavelength.  

A flash of an alluring garnet gaze sparks through your mind’s eye in passing, at the thought, one you physically shake yourself out of.  

Now there was a man entirely on the spectrum opposite to your frequency. Your inability to resonate with him had only been just one of many failures toward mutual understanding.  

“Another one for you, Miss?” The bartender inquires; you’re nodding before you can think it through. 

“Yes, thank—” 

“She’ll have a mojito instead. The usual for me.” A deep, rich voice drifts at your back — before it scotches down, involuntarily and low into your belly — just as the large hand you feel slip across your shoulder in greeting. You close your eyes against the intrusion, hoping the hazy apparitions of your mind would gift you a damn break just once tonight; as if having had him conjured out of mere musings. You shudder.  

The alluring man at your side does not dissipate as you’d direly wished, seating himself down onto the stool next to yours, completely at leisure at having snuck into your space, unannounced once more. You hated how infuriatingly easy the Onychinus head found himself able to pervade your every space, along with each of your thoughts — the latter of which you did not wish to dissect apart tonight. Or, ever, if you had the choice.  

“What are you thinking of, with such a severe frown on your face?” He speaks, as if he does not know the exact reason for your irritation. “You’ll put a permanent knot in there if you don’t stop.”  

You choose to ignore him in lieu of offering a resigned nod to the bartender for the order Sylus had placed on your behalf. You could use a less inebriating drink now, especially so if you were to deal with the man beside you. 

“What’re you doing here, Sylus?” You sigh against the dredges of your last drink, letting the bitter liquid warm your throat.  

“Has the alcohol numbed your memory as well, sweetheart? We had an appointment, did we not?” Your respective orders are deposited in front, just as he moves to take the drink in between long, tapered digits, bringing it up to his mouth for a taste.  

The slow drag of his Adam’s apple against his throat as he drinks, tugs your gaze towards it — an involuntarily reflex you aren’t able to control. Sylus’ scarlet gaze canting sideways to capture yours is what finally has you wrenching away from the delectable sight, cursing your fast settling inebriation for the mis-step.  

He was an attractive man, your mind had long made begrudging peace with the fact, even if you’d both started off on an extremely wrong — horrid, actually — foot. And he’d proven himself to be a reliable companion, when the two of you had caused waves within N109’s criminal hub, in a quest for the Aether Core. His side of the bargain he’d kept, in exchange for your deal to forge a steady resonation with him. One you had no thoughts of reneging on, you’d keep your promise to him for the massive aid he’d provided. And yet, you could not help bemoan the fact that this very man confounded you, to your very core, to the point you weren’t sure what to make of his intentions. And yours.  

But surely, you weren’t this physically deprived that Sylus of all people was beginning to sprout this visceral a reaction from you?  

“And I texted you I couldn’t make it tonight, sweetheart.” You quip, pinching your forehead in between thumb and index. “This really isn’t the time, Sylus.”  

He raises a careful brow at you, and God help you, even that gesture is incredibly beguiling to your slushed brain.  

“And you couldn’t make it because” he prompts, tapered digits drumming against the marbled countertop. “you wished to spend your time out here, dressed to the nines, in a party of one?”  

“So what if I wanted to?” All your prickly response earns you is a discerning gaze, zoned in on you. You exhale hard through your nose, shoulders steeling to utter your next words. “Oh alright, I had a blind date tonight.” You’re not sure why exactly you’re divulging something this private to the man. 

The way his brows shoots in simmering surprise before they bunch in at his forehead in a frown is almost comical, you would’ve snorted at the expression he’s pulling if not for his next words. “So that’s what had that imbecile out there on your trail, lingering at the door for.” He scoffs. “You may not have enjoyed your date but you certainly got yourself a love-struck fool nipping at your heels, kitten.” 

“Wait, what?” Bewilderment wars cold within your mind at the disgusting revelation of the man tonight having possibly followed you and Sylus having caught him dead in the act. “What did you do to him?”  

“It’s fascinating how your first assumption is that I did anything to him.” His pleasant chuckle curls within your ears; a low, throaty burr. And when you give him one of your own looks, “Alright, don’t look at me so. Mephisto presumed you had a far dangerous stalker on hand than that sorry bastard, when he saw him lurking about you.” He swirls his glass of whiskey in between casual fingers. “I gave him some cordial talking to and sent him on his merry way.”  

A million queries hurtle within your mind — what did his “cordial talking to” ensue exactly? Why had Mephisto been trailing you? Why did Sylus feel the need to step in and personally take care of your potential stalker?  

You reach to take a swig of your own glass, feeling that headache pinching once more at your brow. “I don’t appreciate you having your silly crow keep tabs on me, Sylus. But,” Reluctant gratitude stirs at the tip of your tongue as your mind slowly processes the situation at hand. If it hadn’t been for Sylus’ interfering ways, you might’ve been saddled with a problem far worse than the infuriatingly suave Onychinus leader on your hands tonight. “Thank you for taking care of that creep for me, I guess. I appreciate it?”  

You think you catch the strains of barely there surprise within his gaze, along with an amalgamation of emotions you aren’t able to parse before they’re shuttered out of sight. Replaced with a cool smile, he angles at you. “The alcohol has you honest for a change, kitten. I can’t say I dislike it.”  

That infuriating remark has you almost wanting to take back your thanks, almost.  

“Your engagement for the night has scurried off home with his tail in between his legs, leaving you to your celebration of one.” His touch is a flitting, warm caress against the shell of your ear as he folds a stray lock of hair back in place. “Are you going to say why you’re out here by your lonesome yet, furiously downing liquor, instead of back in the safety of your house?”  

A gibe sits sharp across your tongue at his probing, wanting to tell him to back off and out of your business, he had no reason to be asking whether you chose to go out on a date or throw yourself a self-wallowing party, to let loose for one damn night. You weren’t even sure why Sylus pricked at your nerves the way he did — riling you up in the manner he did. Each single touch, every look fraught with meaning. He did and went as he pleased, without a care for what people made of him; self-assured as if the world itself, he held, in between those devious fingers. And he probably did too, his reputation one of absolute power within N109 Zone and without.  

That very same man — the one who’d told you he’d make full use of you, as you did him — perched atop a bar stool by your side, asking you a question that seemed devoid of his usual ribbing. And perhaps, it’s because of that one sole thought that you find your mouth moving — or simply, because the alcohol has sniped your inhibitions. “Tara’s been on my case lately, insisting I need to get laid to blow off some stress.”  

“Oh? That hunter girl with the bob, the very eager one.” Sylus looks immensely amused; your mind sifts through memories to recall how exactly Sylus knew her before it clicks: ah, the company retreat you’d stumbled into Sylus a few weeks back at. How could you ever forget? The day had been a nightmare.  

“The very one,” you blink. “Hence the failed date tonight and my immeasurable disappointment.”  

“Why? Were you planning on sleeping with that loser?”  

You shake your head at him, horrified at the mere thought. “No, it actually went as well as I was expecting it to. Bad, that is.” You take another enthusiastic swig of your drink, a modicum of clarity returning to your stuffed head. “The sorry state of the dating pool at large, for a hunter with limited time on her hands isn’t exactly stellar. Even less so for men who know what they’re doing. And my luck in that regard seems particularly disastrous.”  

In hindsight, you knew you were word vomiting your thoughts out at this point, with way too much candour than was appropriate for the situation, you’d regret it tomorrow perhaps — no, most definitely. But at the moment, underneath the glazed pleasant bubble of alcohol loosening your tongue and the enticement of an extremely alluring man, who had his entire attention focused upon you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.  

He huffs an amused half-laugh. “What sort of men have you been with exactly, kitten?” 

“Not that many.” You retort. “...Two and both during my schooling years, very briefly. I was a giddy teen, excited at the prospect of a loving boyfriend. Both their expectations from the relationship were obvious from a mile away, though.” You scrub a hand through the carefully primmed fall of your hair, not caring for the accessories you knocked askew. “God, I don’t think they even knew what to do with a woman, outside of getting their dicks wet.” You laugh at your own odd joke, tumbling within your brain.  

“It’s actually crazy how I’ve never had a man make me properly come in all my years—” Your words die within your throat at the realization of your horrifying admission.  

Surely, you’d thought them within your own mind and not just blurted your entire sob fest onto the man in front? A wretched sound of dismay leaves your throat at the inscrutable look upon Sylus’ face, shredding apart any sliver of hope you’d had that you had only been musing in thoughts.  

Gods, Tara was right, your idiotic self did need to get laid, you’d gone mad at long last. And made of yourself, a fool in front of the man you were begrudgingly attracted to. There was no coming out of this and you woed the fact that you’d even let yourself drink in the first place. 

“It does seem like your dating life has been rather disastrous up to this point.” Sylus responds, at last, insouciantly plucking his glass of whiskey off the counter for a swig, so at counterpoint to your rioting emotions.  

“Sylus.” 

“What is it?”  

You reach over, a hand securing about his broad shoulder, as you tip precariously close into the man’s space, plucking the glass straight out of his hands.  

“Hey—” Before darting back as far as you’re able, a feat Sylus did not think a woman even half-drunk was capable of.  

Taking a large gulp of the acridly strong liquor down your gullet, in a prayer to knock yourself out like you’d originally intended to before Sylus had walked in all over your small parade. Anything to blot your memory of the knowledge of your mortifying words to Sylus. But curling vines of red and obsidian are cleaving through your plans just as swift, one sliding about your waist to prevent your precipitous tilt upon the narrow stool while the other plucks the liquor clean out of your hands after a single pitiful swig.  

The swirls of misted red disappear just as furtively swift as they’d appeared once they have you righted upon the stool and out of harm’s way.  

A low sigh rings heavy above your head at your absurdity. “That’s enough. We’re leaving.”  

Affording you no room for feeble protests as he slips a cool palm around yours; long, thick fingers reassuring in between your own before he tows you away from the glittering inebriation of night life.  

Clarity from the merciful remnants of your intoxication is unwelcome tonight — like cool gunmetal pressed fast against your temple, siphoning the entirety of the alcoholic flush from your system. Having utterly failed at your attempts at getting hammered so you would’ve had at least an excuse to fake post drunken amnesia in the face of your shame tomorrow.  

Instead, here you were, deep within Zone N109 once more, incarcerated to the room Sylus had appointed temporarily as yours during your first visit to the place. One that had over time, turned into your housing and personal space, indefinitely, for whenever you happened to drop by on business with the Onychinus head. On business, you firmly reminded yourself. Even as the significance of the fact that Sylus had thought it fit to make space for you within his very own — his home — was not lost on you.  

You remembered trying to sweep a kick to the back of his shins, back at the bar, for having you bodily dragged out into the sobering night air and towards where his car awaited, parked by the curb.  

“Let go of me, you big brute.” Those vexing vines of red had curled about your leg mid-motion, tugging you up sharply before your world upended and you’d been tossed unceremoniously like a sodden sack of rice onto the broad expanse of one of his shoulders. You’d dug your nails into his back in punishing protest at his audacity.  

Earning yourself a derisive snort for your efforts. “Continue pawing at me like that and I’ll have you trussed next, kitten.”  

Your mouth had curled into a silent snarl, thumping futile fists against his solid back. “Try me.” 

“Don’t think I won’t.” He’d warned mildly before he’d continued on his merry way, wide stride that had barely faltered with your struggles.  

You sigh in defeat, scrubbing your palms down your face in recollection of the memory — your reflexive annoyance at his actions stemming more from your own mortifying situation than any real anger at him.  

He’d brought you back to his place, closer from where the bar was located, instead of back home, where the two of you risked running into any of your acquaintances, Xavier for one.  

And you couldn’t afford to let the people around you know of the Onychinus head — Sylus understood that instinctually, even if you did not speak of it. Content though he seemed to perpetually keep you in a state of life-threatening heart palpitations with his goading ways; absently recalling how Sylus had been Tara’s first man of choice for her date plan, owing to how he’d found it fit to barge in on their last team retreat.  

Shaking your head, you press a hand against your forehead as you move to wipe your body clean, having opted for one of the more comfortable outfits to change into for the night, you’d brought over from your place to his during one of your earlier visits — amusement sparking at you to witness how Sylus had thought it fit to buy you a couple new dresses, to add to your sparse collection, hanging within your wardrobe. As if you two were something more than acquaintances and professional partners.  

Your mind really seemed to have free reign over mad thoughts tonight.  

A knock resounds through the quiet of the room, effectively piercing your thoughts. “Are you done yet?” His familiar, welcome burr sounds from the other side of the door.  

“I am. Come on in.” The handle glides open, revealing Sylus standing in the doorway, having swiped his outerwear for a casual dark red button down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the firm strength of his forearms; a sight you aren’t able to tear your ogling from, as he steps into the room. He closes the distance in between you in three easy strides. Crowding you within a room that feels too small and sweltering all of a sudden.  

“Feeling any better now?” His voice wrenches your gaze away from the sliver of skin revealed beneath the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened.  

You sigh, cursing at licentious thoughts. This man, in his incinerating, sensual entirety, frustrated you to no end. “I am, Sylus. Thank you.”  

“Good.” He hums. “Because you should stay awhile, a day or two at least.” 

“What? Why?” 

“I have to make sure that weasel you had tagged to you tonight doesn’t try getting too smart. Mephisto caught him lingering close to your streets after the whelp bolted following his wretched stalking attempt.”  

The revelation has nausea stirring at your gut; what had you gotten yourself into with that despicable creep? You were going to throttle Tara the next time you saw her.  

You sigh. “While that is disturbing behaviour and I’m grateful for the concern but I think I could’ve handled that idiot fine on my own.”  

A frown belts at his brow. “He’s a colleague from work, isn’t he? Despite his absolute spinelessness, that weasel is a trained Hunter with an authorized weapon on hand.”  

You raise a questioning brow at him, half inquisitive how exactly he knew your date happened to be a work acquaintance. Barely a few hours spent on his radar and the sorry fool already had all his information scraped and into the Onychinus head’s clutches. You did not envy his position, at the moment, massive creep though he was, having stood witness to how Sylus wiped his enemies clean out of existence. 

“Sure you’re capable, sweetheart, and your weasel is an idiot but do you want to be vigilant, glancing over your shoulder for a stalker, round the clock?” He pitches his head, waiting for your answer.  

His words give you pause, his reasoning not entirely without weightage. You mutter a quick curse underneath your breath, frustrated at how terribly disastrous tonight had turned out to be.  

Sylus’ smile quirks, taking your expletives for the affirmation they are. “And besides,” his hand shifts against your cheek, skimming a thumb down the curve of it, “you did enthusiastically mention your hazardous luck with dates. Might as well take care of this one before the vermin starts to fester.”  

A skitter of irked embarrassment bruises at your ego. “Are you making fun of me right now?” 

“Not in the slightest.” His thumb has switched towards your bottom lip, trekking a ghosting path across the swell of it. A different kind of emotion spurts within your chest along with the simmering annoyance, at his testing touch. “On the contrary, I was going to make an offer, one of mutual benefit.” His voice skims an octave lower and scotches deeper into your belly. “What do you say? Would you like to hear it?” 

His searing touch drifts down your chin, sweeping against your jaw. You’re unsure of the mesh of emotions that are surging through you at his evocative touch; indignation, surprise, reluctance... desire. You can barely focus on the words issuing from his mouth.  

“Well?” He prompts. “I don’t recall taping your mouth shut, sweetie.” His thumb returns to caress a path across your parted lips as if to make a point; a hushed throaty laugh leaving him at the hitch of breath that action elicits. He knows what he’s doing to you and he’s rousing you on purpose; the absolute scoundrel.  

“What’re you trying to say? Speak clearly, Sylus.” Your tongue darts forth to lap a quick path across the bottom of your lip; Sylus’ gaze rolling down your face to settle at your mouth when you do, a sudden simmer of heat flaring within blood-red.  “I despise riddles.” Another deep chuckle issues from his mouth, one that stirs into your belly without permission, much like the man himself.   

“What was it that you said earlier?” The tip of his thumb edges just past your lips. “Ah yes... you’ve never had a man make you come.”  

You flush at the recollection, cursing yourself for the umpteenth time tonight. You’d made a terrible mistake and you swore you’d never drink again, if it meant Sylus would just fucking drop it. Or you would, and the ground would swallow you whole. You’d confided a mortifying secret within a man who confounded you to no end.  

“So what?” A challenging grimace drags at your face, just as you sink a bite into his invading digit, hard. He does not so much as even flinch, his smile tugging wider instead. 

“What a spirited kitten I’ve lured into my hands.” He muses. “I like the face you’re making right now.”  

His eyes crinkle in at the corners, a mild thread of tenderness you think you catch streak through the simmering heat of his garnet gaze. It makes you want to turn away from the look, not wanting him to scrabble your heart any more than he has.  

“No,” A tapered index and thumb curve about your chin, firmly tempting your gaze back to him. “Don’t look away, keep your eyes on me.” 

And for that one instant, you listen. “My proposition is earnest, sweetie. Despite what your consensus may be, I’m quite fond of you, more so than you think.” Your breath snags in your throat at the admission; you’d be blind to not catch the clear insinuation in his words.  

His mouth skews into a smile. “Would you be averse to the idea of me showing you how it’s done?” He swipes at the swell of your bottom lip, his voice several octaves lower. Yes?” A sensual caress in the opposing direction. “No?” Your eyes flitter in hooded desire at the allure of his rich voice, scotching low into your belly to pool in between your clenched legs. 

You take a moment to inhale, slow, processing his words. Reaching a hand out to trace careful fingers against the strength of his jaw. “Do you realize the weight of what you’re implying, Sylus?” An inane question by all means. You’ve never known a man more self-assured in what he desires; you admit it’s rather arousing. 

“Oh, I do.” The distracting curve of his smirk pulls wider. “But do you, sweetheart?”  

Your fingers leave his face to drift across the open collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “You’ve been lodged in my mind for a long time.” You allow him a moment of that infuriating self-pleased smile. “Even without that pesky Evol of yours invading my skull.” Before you’re fisting his collar to rise on the tips of your toes to press your lips hard against that irksome, delicious mouth. 

Sylus’ hands curve about the give of your waist, fitting you firmer against the hard planes of him, without hesitance. He allows you free reign for a while before he chases your retreating mouth with his own, not sparing a moment of reprieve for the hungering breath you try and draw back into your lungs. His tongue slipping past your lips instead, granting you a taste and breath of what he alone affords you in that moment.  

Your hand flies to grip about the base of his neck, appreciating the firm musculature of his upper back that flexes beneath your touch when he moves to snare an arm about your waist. Fingers sinking harsh into your hip as he grinds you impossibly close to his body, siphoning the rest of your breath from your lungs.  

You’re near dizzy with the way his tongue licks into your mouth, tip teasing its way across the roof before it withdraws to slick a path against your wet bottom lip. You insist your grip harder against the back of his neck, dragging him back to you in the swelling smile he presses against your damp sighs — the drench of them flaming across your chest to pool low into your belly and settle deep in between your legs.  

Sylus lets out a low grunt against your skin — a sound that has your insides clenching in on desire — before his clutch upon the flare of your hip tightens, hand curving downwards about the swell of your ass before he lifts you up entirely on the strength of one firm muscled arm. The whimper you’re unable to tamp even against the aggression of his mouth, at his show of unrestrained desire.  

“Hold on tight now, sweetie.” He murmurs, sultry, against your lips. 

Sylus strides you both further into the room without breaking your kiss, the corded strength of his arm sturdy beneath your ass and you take that moment to appreciate what the position allows you access to, fully. Covetous fingers you run through the hair at the base of his neck to tug him into the kiss as you wish — his rewarding grunt in answer, warming your belly — against your mouth.  

Rushing down the buttoned line of his shirt, making quick work of undoing more of his buttons. A hand you slip past the edges of his shirt once the cloth against his chest is no longer impeding you, caressing your fingers against the hard planes of his pectorals. Sylus’ chuckle reverberates deep within your mouth, your fingers flexing into his shoulder at the sound. “Someone’s eager.”  

He stops at your bedside before he tosses you back onto the soft of your sheets. Not giving you the chance to even hoist yourself up on your arms before he’s towering over your body — crowded against his large frame.  

Chest heaving from the earlier stretch of your kisses and how he’d hurled you back onto the bed, you press a halting hand against his torso, playing at the lower buttons you weren’t able to undo earlier. Making hasty work of your remaining task before your fingers slide in welcome against the defined warmth of his abdomen.  

Your mouth parts in breathless wonder, eyes drinking him in voracious need, before they slip lower towards the straining length of his arousal through the placket of his pants — a sizeable bulge visible even through the pitch-black material. “Like you’re one to talk about being eager.” you quip, inquisitive digits dipping lower to ghost across the clothed length of him.  

His breath deepens at the touch, a thick chuckle slipping past his lips. “Point taken.” 

Your hand slips to curve against the swell of his cock above cloth, once more, feeling for the shape of him; larger than any you’ve had before, it sets a flitter of nervous anticipation into your chest. You want to see it, him.  

Sylus cocks his head at your inquisitive touches but doesn’t move to stop when your fingers work at the confines of his pants, until his arousal is far prominent beneath the remaining layer of his briefs. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight — he truly is big. Rather intimidating, entirely exciting.  

“Having fun?” He inquires, capturing your fingers in between long, tapered digits to bring them up to his mouth in a brushing kiss, a keen garnet gaze that refuses to relent from yours.  

“Yes,” you answer honestly.  

“That’s a good start.” He hums. “My turn.”  

Red and obsidian spiral about the length of your body, toying at the straps of your camisole, the edges of it at your belly before they’re dragging the material up across your body, and with the reveal of skin, Sylus’ eyes follow; the serrated intensity of his heated gaze, enough to have you try to squeeze your legs together on instinct to relieve some of the overbearing burn in between them.  

You can feel how mortifyingly wet you are, and yet in that moment, your mind cannot seem to muster shame.  

His thick fingers trail next across the waistband of your shorts — vined red making quick work of the ribboned bindings of the silken material before Sylus’ thumbs hook on either side, to drag your shorts and panties, torturously slow, down the plush of your thighs in one go.  

He’s hunching over to overshadow you entirely before you can make sense of it, face sinking close into the space in between your legs, hot gaze drinking in the sight of the thin strings of arousal that stretch from your pussy to your underwear before they bow and break into the sheets beneath. You watch him hum his approval, your head raised to observe the erotic picture he paints, in between your legs.  

A moan scratches free of your throat, your head falling back in shuddered pleasure when Sylus does not waste a single moment in ruining you; the broad pressure of his tongue you feel against the length of your quivering cunt as he swipes up a taste for himself before withdrawing once more.  

“Sylus.” You protest, fingers rushing to catch at his hair to pull.  

His gravelly laughter is devious against the inside of your thigh — so close to where you want him. “That’s a beautiful sound you’re making there, kitten.” He blows a hot breath against your centre, your pussy spasming at that bare action. “Let’s see if you’ve got any more of those for me.” 

“Sylus.” You try and let the irritation ring in your tone this time but all it sounds to your ears is a licentious plead.  

“I hear you, sweetheart.” He pulses a kiss against your outer folds. “I made you a deal, didn’t I?” He wrests his now loose shirt off his body before his touch returns to you once more, this time without the barrier of clothes in between you both.  

You're entirely vulnerable and naked underneath him, held to his mercies as his forearms flex about the pliance of your thighs as he hooks them about his broad shoulders. “You’re going to let me make good on my word tonight,” your legs spasm against his back — useless — as he keeps them held within steeled grips at your knees; large fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “and witness it too, with your entire body.”  

You feel the corded, hard strength of the muscles of his back flexing beneath the heels of your feet as Sylus ducks closer to your slit to suck at the pleasured bead of your apex. Your hips fly up on instinct at that first brush of stimulation, a moan crippled free of your lips. His smug smile you feel buried against your pussy when it gushes further against the skewed stretch of those lips.  “And you know I never renege on an agreement once made.” 

Your thoughts blank entirely the next time that adroit tongue lands against your drenched folds, his mouth swallowing you up entirely as he works at your slick with all the practised propensity of a devil set to wrecking you within your sheets.  

You’ve never had a man’s mouth down there before; you didn’t quite think it were possible to feel anything remotely close to what he was doing with your body at the moment.  

Sparks of jolting pleasure thrum throughout the length of your body, you’re not even fully aware of how hard you buck against his mouth. How Sylus thwarts each unconscious attempt of escape by dragging your pussy back to his mouth each time you squirm from the overwhelming sensation.  

His growl of pleasure is what drags part of your hazy attentions back to how white knuckled your grip is within his hair, tugging at the strands as if they were your sole lifeline to sanity. And you were beginning to suspect they were.  

Sylus’ knuckles brush against your tightened clit, knocking a groan of pleasure out of your throat. “You’re so wet.” He hooks a thick, tapered index up into your walls, clenching at his filthy words. “That’s it, sweetheart, keep doing that for me.” His laughter is a deep, hoarse sound. “I’m going to take all you’ve got for me.”  

He laps a path up against the junction of your thigh; a second finger teasing at the rim of your slit before it joins the first, in a slick easy slide.  

“Sylus,” You’re no longer caring; to your sounds, to the fact you’re dripping enough you’ve wet the sheets beneath his thrusting fingers. “Oh God, don’t stop. O-oh. God.” Not caring for the slight twinge of heat that sparks with the roll of your head to catch Sylus watching your entire downfall from in between the space of your legs; fervid scarlet gaze fixated to yours, the bow of your mouth in a constant, pleasured O curve as moans of senseless appreciation and babbled curses tumble from it. Even as his tongue laps a languid path against your outer folds, at screeching odds to the deft fingers he works into you.  

“Yes,” his growl is vehement, pleased. “Scream louder, no one’s going to hear you mewl down here, kitten. Let go.” The squelch of your arousal is loud within your ears, the pads of his terrifyingly nimble digits lighting up nerves against that one spongy spot deep within you that has stars wheeling within your wide gaze.  

And just as you think this is how he’s going to end you — the pinnacle of pleasure — he betrays your expectations once more with the hot slide of his tongue back against your clit. You nearly sob at the stimulation, a silent scream clawing up your bruised throat at how close you feel to breaking.  

“I-If you—” your words are garbled, hard to breathe. You're so, so close to a peak you’ve never fallen off of, in this manner before. “—I’m... hah, going to come.” Never had your own toys or hand or even another human, scrabbled your brains out this hard; a height so vehemently approaching, you’re afraid to fall. 

Sylus seems to understand you even through your incoherent babbling, stretching you open on his fingers in harder thrusts. “Then do it. Come on my tongue, darling.”  His mouth sucks the abused flesh of your clit deep into his mouth. A peak so in sight, you hurtle into it, your pussy spasming about his fingers, his mouth so hard, you’re near thrashing your limbs about the broad strength of his shoulders. Sylus creeps a hand beneath your ass, to lift your back and shove up deeper against his mouth as you sob out his name in senseless prayer.  

“That’s it, you’re so hot like this, you know that, kitten?” His guttural words, muted within your pussy and lost through the white daze of your prolonged orgasmic haze. Sylus continues to lap at you until you’re tumbling into buzzing overstimulation; the heavy weight of him like iron fetters at your legs as you weakly push at his face, his steeled shoulders in whimpered protest.  

“I— give me a break, Sylus.”  

He affords you a modicum of mercy, glistening mouth and chin withdrawing to rise from between the confines of your legs to fix a skewed grin at you. And when you meet his gaze, he makes a deliberate, erotic show of sweeping the broad of his tongue, slow, feral, against the edge of his upper lip.  

His fingers maintain their languid position still within your sensitive walls, each measured thrust has you shivering against the intrusion.  

You cup a hand about his strong neck, dragging him down towards your mouth. His voice low, heated in between the taste of yourself he sweeps into your mouth. “Enjoying yourself?” 

You secrete a hushed sound of approval against his exploring tongue. “I’ve never come this hard in my life,” you confess, breathless. “You’re crazy.”  

“I’ll take that as an enthusiastic compliment.” Knocking that smug grin of his only wider. And then, a softer whisper settles against your wet mouth. “You’re so good for me, sweetie. You drive me insane.”  

You withdraw from him to catch the simmering heat of his fervid desires and affection commingled within that scarlet gaze you’re so taken with. Sweeping a thumb at the clinging wetness of arousal, against the angle of his jaw, you marvel at the sensual sight he paints. “...I’m no different.” You meet his gaze, your honesty heavy on your tongue. 

He chuckles at the confession, canting his head to catch the plush of your thumb against his teeth, worrying at the flesh as he laves it up into his mouth on an obscene suck.  

The way he looks at you has arousal flushing anew within your cheeks; your insides clenching in on the fingers that languorously thrust into you, stretching you open. Lashes nearly trembling shut when his thumb traces a whispered touch against your clit before withdrawing, having your hips juddering up into his hand.  

Restless digits quiver down the length of his sculpted torso, working at releasing him from the rest of his un-wanted clothing; cut, well-tailored pants you’d more than once found yourself admiring him in but at the moment, you couldn’t survive a second longer without uncovering the entirety of his captivating body to your gaze. Sylus gently pulls out of your pussy to help you along, thick fingers running along yours at his buckle to slide is smooth out its confines before his Evol curls about the belt to toss it easy, at the side of his bed. His pants and briefs follow soon after and you nearly choke at the sight of him revealed at last to your gaze. 

Sylus’ cock is a devastating thing of beauty; thick and intimidating enough it has you salivating at the mere sight of it. You’ve never seen a man this big, blessed in both length and girth, it has your cunt clenching in on need at the sight of him. You wonder how he’d feel against your tongue if you tried taking him in, parched lips you wet with a swipe of tongue, parting at the thought.  

“Like what you see?” His self-pleased words wrench you out of your self-imposed stupor until you see that smug grin painting his face too. Your fingers delicately curve about the girth of him in a gentle squeeze; has grin falling open in a low, breathy laugh of arousal.  

Your fingers unable to wrap him up entirely within a fist, even as you stroke a slow, steady path up across his length. “You’re right,” you murmur in wanton desire. “I do like what I see.”  

“Such an honest tongue.” he groans low, in pleasure at your languid ministrations. Hooking a thumb at your bottom lip to tease it into your mouth and onto the wet muscle.  

“Honesty isn’t the only thing it can provide, you know.” You bait, in breathless, risqué whispers around the intrusion of his thumb in your mouth, sucking at him in imitation of what you truly desire from him. 

Sylus hums a pleased sound, withdrawing his finger to sweep it across your swollen lips. “Later.” He silences your protests with the wet ingress of his digits back into your walls. “You’ll have me, you have my word. But right now...” Your broken moan mingles with the guttural sigh that tumbles from his lips to witness your face shatter in pleasure. “we’re here to see how good I can make you feel, aren’t we, kitten? So, lay back.” He eases the flat of his palm in between your breasts to push. “And watch how else I ruin you tonight.” 

You moan at his filthy threat of a promise, hips rolling into the fingers he’s pressed into you, their rhythmic propulsions turning faster with each moment until he has your crest building once more. 

“Sylus.” you gasp out, fingers spasming around the wrist buried in between your quaking legs. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” He draws down closer, body crowding yours against the sheets, the heat of his breath sultry against your sweat soaked skin. You feel the weight of his arousal ghost a searing path against your thigh and jump at the stimulation. 

“You.” you plead. “I need you so stop teasing me now, Sylus. I’ll—” 

His lips capture yours in an incendiary kiss, a violent clash of tongue, drinking your startled mewls up into his own as his fingers curl about the back of your head to hold steady underneath his assault. “You sure you’re ready for it?” He rolls his hips against yours once more in emphasis, making you shiver underneath the intimidating heat of his arousal. 

“I am, I can take it.” you insist against his wet tongue. “And even if I can’t, you promised you’d show me how good it can get, didn’t you?” You shiver. “So quit edging me any longer and put it inside me.” Your back arches in need at a particularly adept press of his fingers. “Sylus.” 

His answering groan at your fervent desires burns you higher, his soaked fingers dragging out of your clenching walls. “You really do know how to rile me up, don’t you, sweetheart?” Large hands settle about the swell of your hips as Sylus presses himself in between your legs. Letting the head of his cock, at long last, stroke at the wetness of your cunt, gathering moisture on to it. So close. 

His hips undulate in languid pleasurable strokes in between the fall of your legs, and each time the flared head of his cock bumps up at the tight bead at your apex, your hips try and jump against the caged strength of his hands holding you down. Every single stroke — up, down — has your breaths turning laboured in need, each single time he brushes down close to your hole, you clench in on instinctual emptiness, wanting to pull him deeper into you.  

“Some restraint, kitten. We don’t want you too overwhelmed too fast.” A low sound of disapproval soughs past his lips at your squirming. “Impatience is not a good look on a Hunter of your repute.” 

Your mouth falls open on a silent groan; hooking a leg about the snatch of his waist, you try and urge him into you. Earning an amused, guttural laugh for your efforts. “You’ve had me plenty ready. You’re just baiting me at this point.” 

“But you like me being this way, don’t you?” And God help you, if your brain wasn’t entirely mushed at what he’s done to you, you would’ve tried refute his observations with a lie of your own. But in this moment, you let him have his victory.  

Sylus curves a palm about the crook of your leg, fingers ghosting the underside of sensitive skin, up, until his hold catches at your knee. Keeping you fixed firm down onto the bed with the other, while he rolls his hips against you once more. “Keep holding tight,” he taps at your knee hooked at his back one last time before his hand drifts to curl about the base of his cock, pressing more of your slick up against the bulbous head.  

The first breach of him burns you open in pleasurable bliss, you hiss at the intrusion, back arching on instinctual chase of the man you’re so drunk on. Just the head in has you dizzy around him, grateful for the anchor of his large hand holding you grounded, at your hip.  

More of his member pushes past your rim; Sylus’ grunt of pleasure breaking in the tight scrunch of his brow in concentration. A thumb flits about your pinched bottom lip, end to end, before he’s coaxing it open with a firmer press of the pad of his digit against it. “Breathe for me, sweetheart.” You don’t think your body is capable of drawing air in at all but you try and trudge past the closure of your throat, gulping in a few, needed breaths. “That’s it, yeah, take me in. Slowly now.”  

It’s only when your body shudders underneath his with the ingress of almost his entire length settled into you do you realize the sheer, unyielding size of him inside, Sylus’ throaty groan of arousal, he bites into the sensitive skin of your wrist he’s had curled in between thick digits. Your cunt feels stretched impossibly wide around the shape of him, in a manner that has you whimpering on his next few testing strokes up into your walls. Sending him curling impossibly deep on each long, heavy thrust up into you until you feel him nudging, as if at the very ends of you.  

Your head rolls in restless need across the down of your pillows, your fingers skittering up the length of his arms, sinking harsh into the taut muscles of his biceps. Angry crescents you’re sure you’re marking into the skin but all it seems to do to him is make him push into you with greater need, approval heavy in the fervid grunts that issue from his mouth.  

One of his hands steals beneath your body to press in between your shoulder blades, guiding your body deeper against his as his hips piston into you. The wet squelch of your arousal heavy in the space, commingling with your damp, thick groans.  

Sylus withdraws from your body on his next slide, nearly all the way out, before he pulses back, slick, without resistance; each time, your body taken by the pleasant shock of how fully he sheathes himself into you, the stretch sending you into a dizzying spiral of mounting need.

And despite it all —  the hazy pleasure, his long, deep strokes into you — your ravenous body needs this man closer, a desire you aren’t able to word coherently. 

Sylus’ diligent handling of you — although, a gesture appreciated — is not what you require of him in the moment. He’s your first in so, so long; desires shuttered in since forever, along with the intense need to be thoroughly loved over by this man; your need to have him fuck you without restraint, after a heart so long spent in warring against its yearning for him, overflowing off the cusp of your poor control. Manifesting in the fingers you rush about the angled cut of his hips to squeeze, your legs tightening their hold at the back of his waist to pull deeper inside.  

Your eyes meet his in fevered haze; a slip of your tongue to drench parched lips, falling open to voice your desires before Sylus’ face crowds your vision. His mouth pulsing a quick kiss of violence against yours, it siphons your entire breath from your lungs at the aggressive curl of his tongue into you. “Alright,” he utters on a wet, hoarse whisper against your lips. No more questions, no more unsurety. “I’ll give you what you need.”  

He’s gingerly worked himself into you up to the near base of him when large hands move to grip on either side of your abdomen, the pads of them pulsing into the pliance of your skin — heated scaffoldings of flesh. Heralding the slow, squelching withdrawal of his cock from your depths up to the tip. Until Sylus plunges back into you with a force vehement enough you see stars white the scape of your vision with the audible slap of hips meeting the back of your ass.  

And it isn’t until he starts driving into you in that punishing pace, manoeuvring your body as if you were a mere doll meant to house his cock do you realize with primal joy that you love how he’s taking you. You’re delirious on the feeling of his cock ramming up into your walls — the massive stretch of him, each single inch of hot, unyielding flesh — hard enough he’s driving you up the sheets, your voice you do not realize is a shrill scream of pleasure.  

Everything — you, him, your hot, clenching insides around him — is all too much, all of a sudden, you’re drowning in the ecstasy of the feeling of him overwhelming your senses.  

And the man above, an unfettered beast; he folds you deeper into the mattress with the ardent swing of his hips, large hands gripping hard onto your waist as he guides your own weak thrusts back onto his cock with ferocious precision. Each single glide of the swollen head of his cock dragging him deliciously against that one spot inside that has you quivering apart around him. A deliberate assault of your sweet weakness. Truly, he knows your body as if he’d had you before several times already; the thought is as exhilarating as it is terrifying, having your pussy spasm around him on instinct, dragging a vicious growl out of him that has you whimpering at the sound.  

The sweat slicked concentration and fervid arousal that knits at his powerful brows is addictive, the heated flush of pleasure and effortless exertion — all of him an erotic sight, meant to throttle you into finishing ruin. The violent tatters of your orgasm you feel crumpling within your belly, fast approaching.  

You try and buck against his hips faster, pace paling in comparison to the near bestial propulsion of his cock into your depths. Sylus groans at a particularly harsh squeeze of your cunt; a hand leaving your waist to feather his knuckles against the drenched slide of sweat and tears at your cheeks you know are ruddy in desire. “You’re taking me so well, kitten, so deep inside that small body.” You might’ve offered a word of approval if your throat wasn’t so swollen from the breathless moans and ruinous pleas he’s knocking out of you instead. “You’re clamping so hard around my cock. Do you not want to let me go?” His large hand drifting against the lower stretch of your abdomen, before he presses the flat of his palm in deep, as if he could feel for the place his cock pounds up as if against your very womb, angling his hips to brush at the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex and you nearly weep at the tight stimulation.  

“C-Clo—” is all the words your battered throat can manage out before your head’s falling back against the pillows, tear-strained gaze blown wide with the unrelenting intensity of his pillage of your body.  

But Sylus groans in approval, understanding of your broken prompts. “I’ve got you. Let that pretty pussy of yours weep more for me, sweetheart.” 

You moan unabated at the filth that issues from his lips, your body immediately moving to obey his instruction in the spasm of your walls.  

His hand slides against the length of your hooked leg to hoist it up and over a broad shoulder as his large frame arches over you, nearly folding you in half. The new angle driving each of his wild thrusts hard against your swollen clit. Your back nearly snapping with the force of its curve up towards him with your next shrill scream of his name. “What a perfect, perfect girl for me.”  

You're no longer coherent, a garbled speech and cotton head your constant companions — only dimly aware of the muted sounds of wood striking against concrete walls as Sylus drives your body violently up against the headboard. The distant absence of pain you only realize is possible when your cheek curls sideways to sink against the simmering warmth of the red and obsidian mesh of his Evol, keeping your head pillowed against the strength of his thrusts.  

His face descends towards you, a thick hand easing beneath sweat soaked locks to grip at your neck, holding firm for the ravenous mouth that plunders yours, choking your moans against his tongue. Your spit trails useless past swollen lips, Sylus’ tongue immediately following a broad path against your jaw, your chin to lick at the combined essence of sweat and spit. His guttural moan at the taste, sending you nearly into your orgasm, so close at hand, you’re spasming useless about the great length of him. 

Long, tapered digits flex about the delicate expanse of your neck, coaxing your pleasure-drunk gaze up towards his.  “The way you’re looking right now...” You catch the flex of his other arm at the corners of your vision as it slinks in between your bodies. “a man could get addicted, sweetie.” His thumb presses against the abused bead of your apex in that instant, knocking a scream free of your parched throat, body arching in the slick slide of your breasts pressed flush against the broad planes of his chest. Even that stimulation at your nipples is too much; the heat in between your legs tempered to an inferno.  

The precise, perfect strikes of his cock into your walls, along with the insistent pinch and press of your clit in between adroit index and thumb has your crest rising. White hot heat undulates through your entire body. The merciless sting of a delicious bite you feel Sylus sink at your straining neck, right beneath your jaw, “Come for me now, sweetheart,” accompanying the hammering thrusts of his cock, his thumb at your bundle of nerves is what finally has you ripping apart on an orgasm so intense your gaze blanks entirely.  

Jaw falling open on a shriek so unlike yours, you do not recognize the sound of your own battered voice until Sylus presses two thick digits into your slack mouth to toy at your wet tongue as if he could capture that sound for himself. “You’re so damn beautiful.” His pace unrelenting through the violence of your orgasm, stretching your own peak so long, spasming about the wet heat of him until Sylus’ hips too stutter as he finds his release into your welcoming depths.  

Pulse after pulse of ejaculate so abundant, hot, it drives you into another release — or perhaps, you’d never even stopped coming — a pinnacle so high, your fall from it is prolonged, pleasurable. Your mouth sucking hard at his fingers, willing them to serve your anchor.  

Sylus’ gaze meets yours from across the small pocket of space in between your faces, heated and stifled with your breaths. Scarlet eyes, simmering, pupils blown so wide in low settling arousal as the two of you breathe deep in unison. Several moments of reprieve, you allow your bodies as you come down from your highs.  

A small part of you distantly realizes a single session with Sylus has effectively ruined you for life and you’re unsure if you’re bemoaning the fact or thrilling in delight at it. You think you just might be far more infatuated with this infuriating man than you’d initially thought and the notion of being this adoring of him mildly terrifies you. Just as the sliver of tenderness that threads through that garnet gaze as he pushes back sweat soaked strands from your face to study you. “You alright there, sweetie?”  

You can’t deny it any longer. “Never been better.” you wheeze past a sore throat. And God help you, the grin that skews at his beautiful mouth at your answer has your heart refusing to settle into rest, even after your mind-numbing release.  

“That good, was it?” You do not have the energy to refute him, settling for a light slap at his bicep. 

His arms flex about your body before he rolls you both over. Releasing himself, slow, from your depths — you groan weakly at the muted stimulation before he hoists himself onto his arm.  

You reach a hand forwards, curving it about his face, thumb sketching at the angle of his jaw. “Stay with me tonight.” you ask of him quietly.  

Mild surprise flickers within blood-red garnet before it’s replaced by the tender quirk of a strong brow. “Didn’t plan on leaving, sweetheart.” He tips his head further into the crook of your palm, pulsing a quick kiss onto the skin. “Sleep tight, now. Your eyes are glazing over.” 

And for that one moment, you listen, letting the warmth of his engulfing embrace shepherd you into dreams of scarlet eyes and amused smiles — the only ones you’ve been able to think about for a long time now. 

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @chocomii-chan

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM!

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

Usually when you envision a "dad" you see someone dorky. Someone with the same sense of humor as a child, someone with a lot of energy who keeps up with toddlers running him ragged, someone with a desk job to provide for his family. The stereotypical "dad" imagery dissipates at the sight of BABY DADDY!JASON TODD interacting with his daughter.

He's not around a lot—it's not feasible to be—but when he comes over, you tilt your head at how different he looks than what one would expect. Sometimes you forget that he's a father at all, since he appears so far removed from one. He's dangerous, and untameable. Nothing like any dad you've known. Wild hair, that striking white streak pluming proudly from his hairline. He hasn't gotten a cut in a while, and it looks too good on him. He wears clothes you'd think a father wouldn't like, the kind of biker jackets and big boots that would make a father forbid his daughter from seeing that rebellious boyfriend. Brief memories of riding around town on the back of his motorcycle or staying up late to fuck brings a smile to your face despite how mad you still are at him.

There's something hopelessly alluring about him, keeps you forgiving him every time he tracks you down when you've hidden yourself and your daughter away. No matter where you move, it doesn't take him long to find you.

"Dad! Dad! Watch this, watch me!" the shrill voice of your daughter cuts through your thoughts, demanding Jason's attention as she stands wobbly on the couch cushion.

He towers next to you, halfway facing you and your daughter, dividing his attention. Hands rest on his hips, shaping his leather jacket exquisitely as he nods to her to let her know he's watching. She leaps from the cushion to land on the floor, flipping her hair up to beam at him, waiting for his approval.

"You're a regular acrobat, you know that? Just like your old man." he commends casually as she chases his leg, latching on with her full body to peer up at him. Carefully, he extracts her, picking her up by her arm like a monkey until he can settle her on his hip. Your gaze scans his figure, having bulked up since you last saw him. You knew bits and pieces about his past, specifically his time as a Robin. He was flexible then, flying through the air like a bullet. Now he's much more solid, as immovable as a mountain and less agile which he makes up for in sheer strength. You don't want to imagine your daughter growing up in the same way he did.

[thrashkink-coven]

Things for beginners to know before starting demonolatry or demonology practices

1. The classifications of demons were written by humans, not demons.

Different occult schools of thought will have different understandings of the Hierarchies of Hell, whether Hell even exists, and what attributes are associated with each demon. In some sects Lucifer reigns supreme Emperor of Hell, in others it is Sammael, Moloch, or Baal. It all depends on the perspective of the practitioner. All of these models are equally correct and incorrect. Documentation of de(a)mons were often written by right hand practitioners who saw them as evil, therefore their negative attitudes are emphasized. Other times devotees have documented the same entity as being very kind and affectionate. It is incredibly important to take into account who is speaking whenever you read about demons. No single book or author can deliver to you the most **objective** facts about these demons or the model of reality, if they claim to, they’re lying to you. You as the practitioner must discover and decide what reins true in your reality. Teachers and gurus may influence you but ultimately you must make the decision for yourself.

2. Assume all spirits are multi dimensional

Lucifer, the light bringer, is also the spirit of darkness. He is the sweet prince and the adversary, he is a devil and an angel. It is extremely rare that you will encounter a spirit that is only one thing. There is a little bit of truth to everyone’s interactions. To a Luciferian, Lucifer is a guide, a companion, and a positive presence. To a Christian he is an adversary, a tempter, liar and bringer of evil ; and there is an entire rainbow of other experiences that contribute to the understanding of “Lucifer”. Demons are not all good nor are they all bad, trying to paint them in only one light will only lead to disappointment and confusion. It is just as foolish to assume that a so called angel will always be pleasant and nice, as it is to assume a so called demon will be terrible and mean. Every energy interacts with every person uniquely.

3. Scary and intimidating doesn’t automatically mean “evil”

Nice and pleasing doesn’t automatically mean “good”

If you’re interacting with demons or spirits associated with death, it shouldn’t be very surprising that they’re dark, mysterious, or have a frightening appearance. If you’re dealing with demons or spirits of sex and lust, it shouldn’t be very surprising that they’re alluring, attractive, or beautiful. This doesn’t mean that the scary demon is going to kill you, and this doesn’t mean that the sexy demon is going to fuck you. There are very likely going to be times when your demons will scare you. This doesn’t mean that they’re going to hurt you or possess you (they shouldn’t be frightening you to the point of constant paranoia, but seeing some “disturbing” or strange imagery isn’t out of the norm when you’re contacting a de(a)mon).

If you enter a deep dark cave looking for a bear, don’t be surprised when you see sharp teeth. Demons of violence may summon gory imagery. Demons of death my feel cold and distant. A large part of demonolatry is understanding your fear and overcoming it.

4. Yeah, it’s intense.

Okay. This is hard for me to explain. Infernal spirits and angels alike are entities that force you to confront your innermost self and change. It’s not always spooky and scary and whimsical. Sometimes it’s losing your dead end job, having a serious breakup, losing toxic friends, or having a personal epiphany. When I say it’s intense, I don’t mean that I’m levitating and seeing gnarly gory shit and summoning demons while covered in blood all the time. I have dreams and experiences of course, but seeing a demon work is not about the theatrics. Are you ready to confront the things you rrrrreeaaaaalllly don’t want to think about? Your trauma, the lies you tell yourself to get through the day, and the toxic cycles you comfort yourself with?

Lord Lucifer has made me cry many MANY times. But it was never because he hurt or scared me. I’ve seen many demonolaters refer to Lucifer as a therapist and I couldn’t agree more. He not only changes your understanding of yourself, but others and the world. Through this understanding you can change yourself, and others, and the world.

5. You as the practitioner need to be able to withstand the symptoms of your demonic relationships

Being in a relationship with Lilith or Asmoday is not an excuse to develop a porn addiction. Being in a relationship with Lucifer does not give you the right to psychoanalyze all of your friends, being in a relationship with Eligos is not an excuse to destroy all of your relationships or be cruel towards others. Demons represent energies and concepts that are unfavourable to the masses. When working with Astaroth I will feel more lustful, just by being in her proximity. That is not justification to cheat on my partner or force myself onto him. As much as demons like Lucifer for example can inspire us to be wise and sharp, he can also influence us to be vein and narcissistic. We must always be aware of these effects and resist them, working with demons and shadows does not mean becoming the worst version of ourselves, quite the contrary. Interacting with these negative aspects is meant to show you how to overcome them.

6. Demons cannot and will not replace your relationships with humans

I am very pro godspousing and having friendly and affectionate relationships with demons and spirits. Having said that, as much as our spirits may love us and care for us, they will not be the ones to text you good morning. They will not make you soup when you’re sick, or buy you flowers after a hard day. Demons are guides and companions, but they are not people. Trying to use demons to solve your loneliness will only lead to heart ache. You very much can have a sincere relationship with a demon or other spirit, but be aware that that relationship will not mimic your relationships with humans, and it shouldn’t. Gods and demons are not humans, therefore your relationships with them will not feel human.

7. There’s always more to learn

Devotion to any spirit is an endeavour that can take years or even a lifetime. Your work is not done because you read 3 books and browsed the Occult Wiki for an hour and a half. Become very dedicated to learning about your demons of interest and the culture that surrounds them. Yes, this means boring, tedious research.

8. No, ______ is not mad at you. Please talk to them

You will at some point inevitably do something wrong, especially if you are freshly initiated. Demons understand that we are human, we make mistakes. Instead of becoming paranoid and avoiding your demon out of fear of consequences, put on your big boy pants and confront them directly. Understand what you did wrong and learn from your mistake. There may or may not be consequences, every demon is different. But making yourself sick thinking they’re going to smite you down doesn’t make anything better. I guarantee you that talking to them about it will serve you a million times better than running away.

9. You need to know your boundaries BEFORE you reach out

As important as it is to research your demons, it is equally important to research yourself. You need to have strict boundaries that you will not negotiate. These boundaries should be outlined in your contract if you have one. If blood magic is uncomfortable for you, don’t allow any demon or spirit to coerce you into giving it until you are ready. If you’re a minor you’re more than allowed to not do sex magic. This relationship belongs to you as much as it does your demon(s). If it doesn’t serve you, simply refuse it.

10. On that note, demons can and will reject you. You can and will reject them as well.

On many occasions I have approached spirits who did not want to work with me at the moment. Sometimes they end up showing up later in my life, other times they never do. Oftentimes this is because of an incongruency on an alchemical level, we just aren’t meant for each other. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re doing anything wrong. Sometimes you are, but your demon or deity will usually make that clear to you in some way. Don’t force it. If I’m already terribly preoccupied with life or other spiritual relationships, I’m within my right to reject another demon trying to enter my circle. That isn’t a rude thing to do. I’m within my right to deny a ritual I don’t have the energy or resources for. We can put it on the back burner for now.

Likewise, if a demon or spirit is repeatedly overstepping my boundaries or harming me in any way, I can (and should) leave that demon. If I’m not doing enough or causing insult, that demon can leave me. As binding as devotional contracts can be, we are not trapped with each other if we choose not to be.

11. Protection shouldn’t only be against spirits. Be very aware of your surroundings and the people around you

Learn the power of secrecy. As a Luciferian living in an extremely conservative area, I have to be extremely careful about when my pendants are visible. I have to be careful when entering certain places because I don’t want to be hate crimed or harassed. Yes, being out and proud of my demonic relationships is very important to me, but it is not worth risking real danger from bigots, or risking my employment. When I go to work, I have to leave my Lucifer ring at home, not because my work is discriminatory, but because I don’t know when I’m speaking to a christofascist grandma who would make a complaint to my boss because she saw my devotional ring. I don’t know which of my coworkers would make my life more difficult if they knew about my practice. If you are visible, people will approach you and make comments. Now, there are those of us who don’t give a fuck, and on most days I don’t. But for those of us who are vulnerable to that kind of discrimination, please be aware.

12. Self mutilation is not demonolatry

If you choose to offer blood it should be no more than a few drops. You should be using safe tools like a lancet, and disinfecting the area you extract from. This should be done in the least harmful manner possible. Devotional markings or tattoos should be done by a professional.

13. This stuff takes time. Relax

These relationships don’t develop in 24 hours. It takes a tremendous amount of repeated effort to gain the favour of a demon or spirit. If you’re not getting the results you want, take a break, reevaluate your methods, and try again later.

[jibunbosh]

Mesmerizer is a satire of TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and the rest of the modern short-form vertical video format

A brief thematic analysis.

I'm sure there are countless people already interpreting the imagery and details in this wonderful song & MV, like here and here, so I won't spend too much time retreading that ground. Miku and Teto are dancing. Miku gets hypnotized. Teto signals for help, but gets hypnotized at the end as well.

That part is obvious enough, but that's still pretty surface-level. What is this seemingly hyperspatial horror scenario supposed to mean to us?

While checking to see if anyone before me's already come to the same conclusions as I did and if I should bother not writing this text post at all (lol), I came across udin's great analysis video. She comes to the conclusion that the song tackles themes of disillusionment with reality and the ways we indulge in escapism to relieve ourselves of the pains of the world.

I agree with that reading! From practically the very beginning, we have Miku call to us - the viewer - to push away our true feelings. Teto comes in to peddle a solution, inviting us to surrender and empty our minds - in her words, "pretending to know nothing."

You, the viewer, are a critical character in this masquerade. For nearly the entire video, Miku and Teto's eyes are unfailingly trained on you. Or, well... perhaps they can't actually see you, but they can see a camera, or whatever other aperture the point of view is supposed to be from. And they know they're being watched. (Who else would Teto be sending distress signals to?)

Let's put a pin on that for later.

udin notes very early on that Miku and Teto are, conspicuously, kept in vertical frames - very similar to the video formats of TikTok (and Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts, and whatever other clones of the format exist.) You know, just like the animator Caststation's Rabbit Hole fan MV that went viral some months ago.

Hey wouldn't it be crazy if the song's producer, 32ki, released Mesmerizer shorts too haha. Wouldn't that be crazy.

Wow, wild.

These short-term vertical videos are captivating & alluring. If you're reading this, it's more likely than not that you've also found yourself caught up in them at least once, scrolling through the infinite algorithmic slurry and forgetting about the real-life issues you have at hand. Would you say, then, that you felt hypnotized? Mesmerized, even?

And so these two invite us to join their world and focus on the... uh... rectangle.

Their dances are repetitive, following the same loop. Their outfits are distinct, but their choreography isn't. They're copying the same formula, repeating it ad nauseam to the best of their ability.

They're doing a fucking TikTok dance.

Back to the pin I told you about earlier, with Miku and Teto looking at a camera.

Miku sways with the camera, eyes looking directly at it like a swinging pocket watch. She's been looking at it the entire time, after all. We've been seeing her via our screen this entire time, but, again, she doesn't necessarily see us. She's beholden to the camera, which she dances for day after day, caught up in its spell. She's hypnotized by it. Eventually, she breaks.

Teto, on the other hand, resists. For a while, anyway.

Despite her being the one jumping to us with the "solution" at the beginning of the MV, there's very quickly good reason to question how much agency she has in this. She dances for the camera as well, but she doesn't want to. She's signalling for help. She wants out.

Many content creators (as much as I personally loathe the non-specificity and soullessness of the term) have struggled with the adaptation to the short-form video format, and the preference the algorithm has had for these captivating, bite-sized videos. They're catchy, and easily drive up metrics. Practically anyone who's publishing their work via video format online needs to learn to adapt or fall behind, even if that means whittling their content down to fit the frame, the time, and people's shortening attention spans. Sometimes, that means compromising on specificity and completeness... or, in other words, the true representation of a full work.

The song's writer, 32ki, has been releasing songs on YouTube for several years. Their first YouTube Short, however, was posted only a year ago: a short, whittled-down segment of their previous song, CIRCUS PANIC!!!, hoping for it to win the ProsekaNEXT song contest. It was their first song to achieve widespread popularity and hit a million views.

The shorts, however, aren't the "true" versions of the song. The full song just won't fit.

We're being mesmerized as consumers of this endless stream of content, rather than appreciators of music and art. However, that relationship isn't completely symmetrical across the plane that is the 4th wall. Miku and Teto are trapped not by their attention spans, but by a compulsion to project their "truthful acting" and peddle that window into a colorful, problem-free world.

We, as the collective audience, need not dwell on any one thing for too long - we need only swipe, and move on to the next video. However, Miku and Teto are trapped behind the screen for eternity, day after day.

They're the only characters we get to see, of course. There's no evil 3rd voice synth character that's plotting to keep them trapped in there. We can't put a face to whatever force is hypnotizing them and trapping them behind the screen. It's faceless - like the inscrutable algorithms of YouTube recommendations or the TikTok For You page, or the impersonal corporations that develop & maintain those aforementioned apps. Miku and Teto's likenesses, on the other hand, are being exploited and extracted from for their entertainment value, being strung along by that metaphorical hypnotizing force like puppets on a string.

Many people, represented by Miku, enjoy their success on such platforms. It's freeing and liberating to throw oneself wholeheartedly into such an endeavor, of course! Others, represented by Teto, harbor their doubts of the emotional veracity of such a medium, but know they have little choice lest they face destruction... perhaps not literally as a person, but as an idea.

Wouldn't it be easier just to let oneself be swept away by it and give in?

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Rita Moreno (Singin' in the Rain, West Side Story)—She’s an EGOT, an absolute legend for how she navigated her career as a woman of color in the fifties and sixties. Her performance as Anita in West Side Story is why I go back to that movie so many times. She is an icon and she is the moment.

Marlene Dietrich (Shanghai Express, Witness for the Prosecution, Morocco)—Bisexual icon, super hot when dressed both masculine and feminine, lived up her life in the queer Berlin scene of the 1920s, central to the 'sewing circle' of the secret sapphic actresses of Old Hollywood, refused lucrative offers by the Nazis and helped Jews and others under persecution to escape Nazi Germany, the love of my life

We are in the quarterfinals of the Hot & Vintage Movie Women Tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Propaganda is not my own and is on a submission basis. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Rita Moreno propaganda:

"Amazing showstopping actress in her one big memorable role as Anita in West Side Story. She sings and dances with unmatched joy and energy, and then breaks your heart with her acting. Rita took a role that felt as a stereotype to latina women and made it compelling and multifaceted. Her subsequent career was filled with mostly side roles, but she still managed to excel in whatever Hollywood threw at her."

"It’s Rita!! The EGOT herself! She can act, she can sing, she can dance, a triple threat. Obviously absolutely iconic as Anita in West Side Story (her part of the Tonight Quintet is the sexiest part of the film, fight me). But before that she was the amazing Zelda in Singin’ In the Rain!?! Thanks Zelda, you’re a real pal."

"She continues to be amazing but also she's got legs for days."

"THEE iconic rita moreno, EGOT winner, civil rights activist, theatre legend. watch her documentary "Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It". also her rendition of "fever" on the muppet show"

Marlene Dietrich:

ms dietrich....ms dietrich pls.....sit on my face

its marlene dietrich!!!! queer legend, easily the hottest person to ever wear a tuxedo, that hot hot voice, those glamorous glamorous movies…. most famously she starred in a string of movies directed by josef von sternberg throughout the 1930s, beginning with the blue angel which catapulted her to stardom in the role of the cabaret singer lola lola. known for his exquisite eye for lighting, texture, imagery, von sternberg devoted himself over the course of their collaborations to acquiring exceptional skill at photographing dietrich herself in particular, a worthy direction in which to expend effort im sure we can all agree. she collaborated with many other great directors of the era as well, including rouben mamoulian (song of songs), frank borzage (desire), ernst lubitsch (angel), fritz lang (rancho notorious), and billy wilder (witness for the prosecution). the encyclopedia britannica entry im looking at while compiling this propaganda describes her as having an “aura of sophistication and languid sexuality” which✔️💯. born marie magdalene dietrich, she combined her first and middle names to coin the moniker “marlene”. she was a trendsetter in her incorporation of trousers, suits, and menswear into her wardrobe and her androgynous allure was often remarked upon. critic kenneth tynan wrote, “She has sex, but no particular gender. She has the bearing of a man; the characters she plays love power and wear trousers. Her masculinity appeals to women and her sexuality to men.” in the 1920s she enjoyed the vibrant queer nightlife of weimar berlin, visiting gay bars and drag balls, and in hollywood her love affairs with men and women were an open secret. she was an ardent opponent of nazi germany, refusing lucrative contacts offered her to make films there, raising money with billy wilder to help jews and dissidents escape, and undertaking extensive USO tours to entertain soldiers with an act that included her a playing musical saw and doing a mindreading routine she learned from orson welles. starting in the 50s and continuing into the mid-70s she worked largely as a cabaret artist touring the world to large audiences, employing burt bacharach as her musical arranger.

First of all, there are those publicity photos of her in a tux. Second of all, I have never been the same since knowing that she sent copies of those photos to her Berlin lovers signed "Daddy Marlene." Not only is she hot in all circumstances, but she can do everything from earthy to ice queen. Also, she kept getting sexy romantic lead parts in Hollywood after the age of 40, which would be rare even now. She hated Nazis, loved her friends, and had a sapphic social circle in Hollywood. She also had cheekbones that could cut glass and a voice that could melt you.

Her GENDER her looks her voice her everything

“In her films and record-breaking cabaret performances, Miss Dietrich artfully projected cool sophistication, self-mockery and infinite experience. Her sexuality was audacious, her wit was insolent and her manner was ageless. With a world-weary charm and a diaphanous gown showing off her celebrated legs, she was the quintessential cabaret entertainer of Weimar-era Germany.”

The bar scene in Morocco awoke something in me and ultimately changed my gender

"Her manner, the critic Kenneth Tynan wrote, was that of ‘a serpentine lasso whereby her voice casually winds itself around our most vulnerable fantasies.’ Her friend Maurice Chevalier said: ‘Dietrich is something that never existed before and may never exist again.’”

"Songstress, photographer, fashion icon, out bisexual phenom (notoriously stole Lupe Velez and Joan Crawford's men, and Errol Flynn's wife, had a torrid affair with Greta Garbo that ended in a 60-year feud, other notable conquests including Erich Maria Remarque -yes, the guy who wrote All Quiet on the Western Front- Douglas Fairbanks Junior, Claudette Colbert, Mercedes de Acosta, Edith Piaf), anti-Nazi activist. Marlene was a bitch - she had an open marriage for decades and one of her favorite things was making catty commentary about her current lover with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter was painful- but she was also immensely talented, a hard worker, an opponent of fascism and the hottest ice queen in Hollywood for a long time."

"She can sing! She can act! She told the Nazis to fuck off and became a US citizen out of spite! She worked with other German exiles to create a fund to help Jews and German dissidents escape (she donated an entire movie salary, about $450k, to the cause). She looks REALLY GOOD in a suit. If you're not convinced, please listen to her sing "Lili Marlene". Absolutely gorgeous woman with a gorgeous voice."

Gifset link

"Bisexual icon and Nazi-hater. Looks absolutely stunning in the suits she liked to wear. 'I dress for the image. Not for myself, not for the public, not for fashion, not for men'."

"would you not let her walk on you?"

[cutiepieloves131]

Rohini Nakshatra 10°00′ - 23°20′

Rohini translates to “The Red One”, “The Growing One”, “A Star”, “Cow”, and “Ascending” which signifies beauty, charm, abundance, and sensuality of this nakshatra.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ The symbol of this nakshatra is an Ox Cart or a Chariot meaning movement, the people born in the Rohini therefore love to travel. Anybody born in the 4th constellation will get name, fame, and all the luxuries in their lives.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ Rohini was known as the favorite wife and the most beautiful, but because of the favoritism jealousy was brought upon her. This is why Rohini individuals deal with a lot of envy and jealousy from others it could be their beauty, the things they own, wealth, success, etc.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ People born in Rohini birth star are attractive, charming, tantalizing, have strong family values, charismatic, popular, nature-loving, receptive, respected by others, nurturing, smooth talkers, and magnetic.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ Rohinis are very beautiful and captivating, they naturally attract attention from the masses. Their energy is so alluring, seductive, and enticing, also they tend to be the centre of magnetism and the favorites.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ Rohini is inclined towards relationships and materialistic pleasures. They're fond of luxury and beauteous things within the world, since this is an earthy nakshatra everything gravitates to them.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ I noticed that Rohinis have star quality, it all makes sense because it's called "A Star" and has correlations to the royal star "Aldebaran" which grants intelligence, fame, wealth, eloquence, honor, steadfastness, recognition, and leadership. However on the on the negative side it can bring violence and destruction.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ Not only that but they can be incredibly gifted in the arts, fashion, makeup, and have a career in the entertainment industry, they're natural creators putting anything together and beautifying things, many of these individuals have an amazing sense of style and can make it anything with their beauty, talents, and charisma.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ Another thing is Rohinis has a tendency of being “The Arouser” stirring up extreme reactions, feelings, and obsession in people knowingly or unknowingly, it even goes far to stalking, possessiveness, and mayhem. Love triangles are very prominent in this nakshatra, along with attracting unwanted attention and secret admirers.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ The yoni animal of Rohini is the male cobra natives are hypnotic, desirable, and enthralling. They possess compelling and hypnotizing eyes capable of putting anyone into a trance, to put it in a simple way they have the power of attraction. You cannot resist their charm, you're immediately hooked.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ Flowers are associated with Rohini you'll always see flower imagery, print, and gardens used or worned by celebrities birthed into this nakshatra. Food, sweets, and desserts are also connected to Rohini, this is the nakshatra of indulgence so treat themselves to the world's tastiest treats and finest foods, but too much of something can cause harm to the body.

˚⋆୨🍭୧⋆˚ Rohini is ruled by Moon and Venus, the Moon rules mind, emotions, instincts, and intuition, while Venus rules love, beauty, art, aesthetics, and pleasure with this combination it makes a person drop-dead gorgeous, romantic, creative, tenderhearted, irresistible, nurturing, graceful, and have a magnetic personality.

[diejager]

Hi! I got the notification that your requests are open skjsjsjs so exciting, can you do something about the noodle dragon with Monster!Task Force 141 please? That would be all, thank you and have a nice day! ❤️✨

Cw: canon-typical violence, weird water magic, weird dragon/monster shit and lore, death, crash, tell me if I missed any.

They’d gotten used to you over the month, watching you prance around them like a graceful panther in hunt, stalking around them with that cheeky smile of yours and a clawed hand always ready to patch someone up. You were a might dragon, a warm to some classifications and an Asian one to others, but the consensus was that you weren’t one to be trifled with —as most dragons were, but if anything, you were so a feline in a body of a dragon than the ferocious monster you were. Always prowling and on guard, watchful and observant, aware of the events transpiring around you like a protective cat.

They took well to you, forgoing the paranoia and apprehension at your eagerness to help them and you openness, your long tail, hard scales protecting the thick cords of sinewy muscles curled ever so softly around them, and the tuff of fur tickling any naked piece of skin. And however tender and soft-hearted you were, they’d seen the dangerous part of you, the draconic one with a strange affinity to water rather than the destructive fire they were so familiar with. Whereas Price was a chaotic force, burning everything on his path and leaving nothing but cinder and ash, you were an unmoving force of water, a typhoon and cyclone that would crash the land and leave broken pieces of what remained, cold and drowned —the calm before the storm as people said, a perfect imagery of you.

Yet there was a lingering suspicion that it was all, that there was a more monstrous part of you hidden away from their eyes. Horangi had shared such thoughts - another mythical creature of sacredness and nobility - and showed them what hehad heard of eastern dragons: giant snake-like creatures with the faces of lions and crowns of graceful antlers, born with lustrous manes and hard but flexible scales that let them dance and twirl as they wished it. Destructive beauty, Horangihad mumbled, a creature who’s image is drawn to represent beauty and nobility. 

They knew, they were fully aware, that you had more to show, yet they couldn’t hold back the awe and amazement that followed the gut-deep fear and worry after they saw you fall, your figure shrinking as you plummeted into the dark and silent ocean, gone into the wide, open sea. Rather than seeing your head pop out, gasping for air while they clung to their straps and helicopter, Nikolai screaming through the comma about holding onto something, swirling left and right to avoid being hit a second time by the war ship, it was calm, a smooth plain growing in darkness, a shape forming beneath the veil of a blue ocean. 

Then, before they knew it, a majestic serpent erupted from the sea, wet scales gleaming under the sun while you rose into the sky in a spiral, white fur floating like you hadn’t just come out of water. You were swift, curling in the air, your magicworking it’s wonder when you flew, stubby arms and legs moving as if you were swimming, looping around them to shield them from being narrowly hit. It was as Horangi gushed, water rose and fell with you, tendrils of salty water reaching out to curl around you, rising high to swarm the enemy ship the same way you did, circling around it until it was left submerged, swallowed up by your hydromancy. You had drowned warship in the depth of the abyss, a dark and cold pit that promised a lonely death, forgotten and painful. You had caused the deaths of hundreds with a twirling dance, an alluring, yet deadly show, like an oleander.

You made no show of joining them in the aircraft, keeping your distance from them, adequate enough to protect them from further damage without becoming a danger to them. They - especially Price, since he had never seen an eastern dragon, only from files and catalogues - gawked, gazing at your head-sized eye, blinking owlishly at them with a narrowed eyes, slitted pupil gleaming with glee at their admiration. You purred, a growling rumble that shook your gills, a deep sound shuddering through them like thunder, low and booming, but it was a happy sound, meant to comfort them from the near sinking that you’d saved them from.

Even in this situation, where they’d been saved by you, you were still trying to comfort them and reassure them despite having taken a hit or two. They were glad Laswell found you.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird-kamakse @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

We got each other (and that's a lot)

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 18

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Rated: M

CW: Violent imagery; aftermath of injury

Tags: Steve got vecna'd (he's okay, though); Angst; Trauma; Fluff

Notes: Continued from day 3. They'll be fine, they just need to kiss some and get a lot of therapy, probably.

Wanna see these soft, broken boys sleeping? Check out the heartwrenching art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Eddie drifts.

Inky blackness surrounds him like cotton, every sound, every thought muffled. His neck and fingers and arms still hurt, but it's the dull kind that comes with exhaustion, the tingle of adrenaline finally rushing from his body. Some distant part of him is still stirring, demanding that they stay alert … but the darkness is warm and soft and alluring as it pulls him under. 

Something cold touches his hand. 

Eddie flinches awake, heart kickstarting in his chest, fear zapping into his limbs like an electric current.

He fell asleep, he realizes, and the terror of it claws its way up his throat like a slimy, rotten tangle of vines. He fell asleep and when he opens his eyes it'll be to find Steve floating under the ceiling again, to find Steve's mangled corpse on the bed, eyes sucked from their sockets, face twisted in an eternal, grotesque scream, it's too late and he fell asleep, he fucking fell asleep while- 

Steve is awake. 

Steve is awake and he's looking at him and he's alive and his hand is lying on top of Eddie’s. It's cold and there's a needle in it from the IV cord and he's ghastly pale against the sheets, but he's smiling softly and he's alive, he's alive and Eddie wants to scream, to cry, to kiss him and never stop, to hold him and never let go-

"Hey," Steve whispers. 

"Hey," Eddie croaks. "You look like shit, man."

"Aw," says Steve, and the corners of his mouth twitch and Eddie thought he'd never see his smile again and shitshitshit don't cry, Munson, don't cry. "Thought I was pulling it off real well." 

He jerks his head in the general direction of the cast on his right leg, the one on his left arm. Eddie thinks he'll hear the sound of the bones breaking in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

"Typical," is what he says. "Half dead and still worried about your looks." 

Steve hums a not-quite-laugh. His fingers caress the back of Eddie’s hand. 

"Is he …?" 

"Dead," Eddie blurts. "For real this time. It's over." 

"The kids?" Steve's fingers twitch.

"Fine," Eddie says, watches how Steve's entire form sags with relief. "Buckley and Wheeler, too. And everyone else. It's over." 

"I- good." Steve screws his eyes shut, gulps. Draws a shuddering breath. "That's good." 

Eddie watches how his shoulders start shaking. Following a sudden impulse, he flips his hand and tangles his hand with Steve's, careful not to upset the needle. Steve blinks down at their entwined fingers. 

Eddie forces himself to smile and rambles on before either of them can question the gesture. 

"El was so fucking metal, you should've seen her. Like, the way she obliterated that douchebag? Remind me to never get on that girl's bad side! Seriously, man, I don't think any of us would be here if she hadn't-" 

"Well, I don't think I would be here …" says Steve. "... if it hadn't been for you." 

Eddie’s words barrel to a stop. Steve’s fingers tighten against his, trace the callouses on his hands. Steve’s smile is small and soft, but his eyes are serious, trained stubbornly on the ugly pattern of his hospital gown. 

"I thought you hated Bon Jovi." 

Eddie huffs. "Fuck, yeah, I do. Forcing me to besmirch my Sweetheart's strings with that mainstream shit? You owe me big time, man. Better start thinking of ways to pay me back."

"Yeah?" Steve raises their tangled hands lightly. "How's this for a start?" 

And then, before Eddie can even wonder what he's about to do, he ducks his head and presses a kiss to his knuckles. His lips are soft and warm. 

Eddie blinks. Waits for the world to stop spinning. 

"For … a start?" he repeats dumbly. 

Steve's eyebrow quirks. 

"Dude, I'd like to do so much more, but I'm glad I managed to lift your hand, to be honest. We should also first talk about stuff, I guess." 

"Oh," Eddie says intelligently. "You mean … like that thing you wanted to tell me?" 

"Yeah, like tha- … that thing." Steve needs to interrupt himself for a huge yawn halfway through. Since one of his arms is in a cast and the other hand is refusing to let go of Eddie’s, it ends up open-mouthed and adorable. "Probably'll have to sleep some more b'fore that, though …"

"Sure thing," Eddie is out of his chair and fussing with the pillow before he realizes what he's doing. Steve's eyes are already drooping as he helps him settle down. "I'll … I'll be outside, tell the others you're-" 

"Eddie?" Steve's grip around his wrist is light as a feather, but he still stops like he's been tethered in place. When he turns, there's fear swimming in those pretty eyes. "Stay? I don't … I'd rather not be alone." 

Eddie is back in his chair before Steve can finish the sentence. 

"Can you…" Steve's eyes are slipping shut again and his words are slurred, so that Eddie must lean closer to catch them. "D’you think you can sing? So I can find my way back, if- … Your voice is like light."

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if there's anything he could possibly say to that. So he says nothing. Just swallows around the lump in his throat and takes Steve's hand and starts singing softly. 

By the time Steve's breath evens out and his fingers go limp, Eddie’s other hand has found its way into his hair. 

Eddie keeps singing for a long while.

For as long as he's here, Steve will always have someone to guide him back.

Part 3

All my holiday drabbles

[sluttywonwoo]

color me like you || l.jh

pairing: lee jihoon x f reader

summary: you put your heart into every piece of jewelry you make, so why does it only hurt when they're for him?

warnings: swearing, some jealousy, smidgen of religious imagery, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: oral (f receiving), protected sex

word count: 5.3k

author’s note(s): for @sluttywoozi's birthday <33 ilyyy

this was the hardest fic i've ever written ;-; idk why but it just kept fighting me the whole time // also did not mean to be so heavy-handed with the rubies it just sort of happened

“What would you pick?” 

Every single fucking time. It was like he didn’t know what he was doing by asking you that. And maybe he didn’t. 

Lee Jihoon’s consultations were your least favorite part of (nearly) every month. And it wasn’t because he was a rude customer or a schmuck just looking to blow his money or anything like that- but because month after month he waltzed into your place of work and bought a custom piece for someone who wasn’t you even though he never failed to ask you that god damn question.

It wasn’t like it was uncommon for jewelers to get asked that. In fact, it was rather common. Men tended to view women as a monolith, accepting any opinion from whoever was nearest as a reflection of their partners’ solely based on the other party’s gender. 

But with Jihoon it’s different. It was like Jihoon actually cared what you had to say about it, like it mattered what you thought of his decisions even though you were the one designing the piece and not receiving it. 

It sends you into a mini spiral every time. Every time he walks through the door, eyes automatically searching for you. Every time he sits down in front of you and leans over your desk to get a closer look at your work and you catch a whiff of the expensive cologne dotted at his pulse points. Every time you have to gaze into his deep brown eyes and swallow the jealousy rising in your throat as you bare your soul to him laid out on a satin pillow for him to take and give to someone else. 

You already know who it is once you see that the VIP Room is booked on your schedule. You groan internally, cursing the man as you run through all of your preparations. There isn’t much to do because almost everything is already ready for you but you try to stay busy anyway, finding yourself checking the clock on the wall over and over again until the bell above the door finally chimes to signal his arrival. 

Your back is to the door and you don’t turn around right away even though you know he’s seen you. You can feel his gaze on you. It’s piercing yet magnetic in the way things like glass and icicles are-  deceptively alluring, sharp enough to draw blood. 

When you do finally turn to face him, you note that he’s flanked by a security guard, not unusual for him but unsettling to you nonetheless. You don’t know what he does for work. You’ve never asked. Better not to get attached is what you told yourself, not that you were having much luck with that. 

Jihoon smiles politely at you and you return the nicety, gesturing to the door behind the counter for him to follow you. 

The lights in the showroom are dim as always. The dark, velveted walls seem to be absorbing what little light the decorative lamps are effusing. The walls are lined with built-in display cases, illuminating their contents and nothing else. 

In the middle of the room sits a desk, with a chair on either side. You take your place behind the desk and wait for Jihoon to sit before doing the same. He’s ditched his shadow so the two of you are alone, something you try not to think about as you organize your tools in front of you. 

“How have you been?” Jihoon asks, his voice breaking the silence but doing little to ease the tension between you. 

“I’ve been well,” you answer. It’s an honest answer, for the most part. “And yourself?”

“Busy,” he sighs, “but good.”

You fold your hands on the desktop in front of you, letting its cold surface ground you. You can already feel yourself starting to sweat even though the showroom’s the coldest place in the store. “So, what are we doing today?”

“A bracelet,” Jihoon says. 

“For you or someone else?”

You never ask your clients who their orders are for. In your profession, you’ve learned that being too nosy, even in good conscience, can be dangerous. You’ll ask if the piece is for the client themselves,  if it’s to celebrate a specific occasion, and what the person’s tastes are but little else. If they offer the information voluntarily, so be it. 

“Someone else.”

You grit your teeth as you ask the next question. “Do you have their measurements?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer right away. 

“Not exactly. It doesn’t need to be a perfect fit. They, uh, have about the same size wrist as me.”

“Then I’ll ask you to hold out your wrist for me…”

He extends his arm across the space between you, pale skin almost translucent under your Circline light. 

“Which way,” he turns his hand for you, “palm up or down?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He leaves his palm skyward like he’s waiting for you to take his hand but you wrap the tapeline around his wrist instead, bringing the magnifier closer to get an exact measurement. You make a mental note of the number and definitely not of the way his fingers are long and calloused and-

“That’s really pretty.”

Jihoon’s voice startles you out of your unprofessional thoughts, making you jump a little in your seat. He grins apologetically. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to tell you how pretty I think your ring is.”

Your eyes flit down to the piece of jewelry on your finger, a thin gold band looped around a few times like a wiry piece of thread. In between the strands of gold are three gems, diamond, alexandrite, and tourmaline, set in what looks to be random spots. You’ve worn it every day since you finished it but no one had ever commented on it until now. 

“Was it a gift?” Jihoon asks. 

“No, I made it.”

“I should’ve known,” he sighs. 

You want to ask him what he means by that but you know his answer will only make you more delusional. 

You release the end of the measuring tape and roll it back up, replacing it in its spot in your drawer and pulling out a leather bound notebook instead. You flip to a blank page and jot down Jihoon’s measurements along with the few details he’s told you thus far about the piece he wants made. 

“Do you have an idea of what you want your bracelet to look like?” you ask, swiftly changing the subject. “Or should I show you some of my previous designs?”

“I think I have an idea but I don’t know how to describe it.”

“How about I show you some pieces and you tell me if they’re similar to what you had in mind?”

“That sounds perfect.”

You stand from the desk and turn around to face the display cases behind you. There’s an assortment of original jewelry pieces made by you and your colleagues to choose from but you only select ones you’ve made, knowing Jihoon would instantly be able to tell the difference. It’s happened enough times before. 

You walk him through each of your selections, making note of what he points out about each of them. From his musings, you gather that he wants an argentium silver chain— thick enough to be inlaid with stones but not too thick that it would become too heavy or gaudy. 

Listening to him talk about the piece made you smile despite the envy twisted around your heart. He had started to pick up on the terminology after coming here for so many months and seemed so much more confident about his knowledge of it all. It was apparent in the way he held himself now during consultations. 

You get all of the initial details about the body of the piece squared away before moving on to the finer ones. Categorizing the steps like this helps you stay organized.  

“And do you know which stones you want embedded in the bracelet?” you ask. 

Jihoon rubs his thumb across his lips in thought. “I thought I did, but after seeing that,” he pauses to point at a necklace you’d shown him, “I’m having second thoughts.” The necklace he’s referring to is set similarly to the style of the bracelet, only gold and lined with rubies. 

“What was your first choice?” 

“Amethyst. Since it’s a birthday gift, I thought I’d go with their birthstone, but now I’m torn. What would you pick?”

There it was, the dreaded question. It was like he’d been holding a knife to your throat this entire time and finally decided to draw blood. Still, you answer like you always do. 

“I’m partial to amethyst,”  you admit, “and there’s the added significance of it being their birthstone, but the rubies would make more of a statement. It really depends on what kind of person you’re buying for. Are they a sentimental person or a flashy person?”

“They’re both,” Jihoon groans, putting his head in his hands. Then, after a moment, he sits back up. “But I think they’d like the rubies more. I feel like those evoke a more dramatic aura, if that makes sense.”

“It does. Rubies are associated with power and passion.” They’re also associated with romance but you choose not to mention that part. “In some cultures, they were believed to protect the wearers as well.”

“That’s perfect then.”

You clasp your hands together and force a smile. “Great! Do you want them around the entire band of the bracelet? From clasp to clasp?”

“What would two-thirds look like?”

“Let me show you.”

You discuss the size, cut, and spacing of the stones before calculating a price and timeline for the piece. You give Jihoon the receipt that states how much he owes today and how much he’ll owe when he comes to pick it up, circling the pick up date with your pen. 

He pays with his black card, the one you’ve become accustomed to swiping every time you see him. You expect him to leave promptly after the payment, that’s what usually happens, but he doesn’t. He lingers a little awkwardly as you put the jewelry back in their display cases, hesitating by the door like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Jihoon?” you ask him eventually, “is everything okay?”

You refer to most of your clients by their surnames but Jihoon had asked you not to the very first time you met. “It makes me feel old,” he’d explained with a laugh. 

Now, he laughs again. This time, it’s a nervous laugh, one that draws confusion and sets your own nerves on edge. 

He swallows harshly. “I know this may be entirely inappropriate, but I promised myself I wouldn’t leave today without asking if you would go to dinner with me.”

“W-what?”

“Go to dinner with me?” he repeats, this time in the form of an actual question. 

You blink. “For real?”

“Um, yes? Unless your answer is no, then no, not for real.”

You put both hands on your desk to brace yourself, unsure what to make of his request. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused. Why would you want to go to dinner with me?”

“Because I want to take you on a date.”

“A date?!”

Jihoon clears his throat a little bashfully. “Yes, I thought that was implied when I invited you to dinner.”

“Dinner could mean a lot of things! Maybe it was a business proposal.”

He chuckles. “I’m a music producer, I don’t know what kind of business I’d have with a jeweler.”

It doesn’t even dawn on you that you’ve finally found out what he does for work because you’re so overwhelmed by the fact that he’s asking you out to comprehend anything else. You can hardly comprehend this. 

“You want to go on a date with me?”

“I- uh, I’ve been coming here for months just to see you. I mean, I was really getting gifts for people but they don’t give a fuck about what I buy them for their birthdays as long as it’s expensive... they don’t really care about the different gems and settings and shit.” You’re still processing his words when Jihoon lifts his head to peek at your reaction. “Are you... upset?”

“Upset? No, I’m relieved!”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“This whole time I thought you were getting gifts for your partner, or partners, I thought you were taken.”

You watch the corners of Jihoon’s mouth quirk up into a smile as he realizes what you’re saying. “And that upset you?”

“Yes,” you mumble. 

“You like me back?” 

“Yes. It’s been terrible.”

“Pardon?” he chokes out. 

“Imagine the roles were reversed,” you explain, “I’m coming to you every month, getting to know you better and you’re learning more and more about me, I’m flirting with you, you’re starting to feel like we’re getting closer-”

“Only for you to buy the jewelry for someone else,” he concludes for you with a grimace, “presumably a romantic partner. Yeah, okay I can see how that would be miserable.”

“But then, who have these even been for this whole time?!” you blurt out, finally breaking your number one rule. 

“I’ll explain everything over dinner,” Jihoon promises. 

“But when is dinner?”

“What time does your shift end?”

-

Jihoon does explain everything over dinner, as promised. He gave you some time after work to get ready for the date and then picked you up from your place in a town car. He’d told you before that he’s never felt the need to get a drivers license, that public transport and ride services were plenty to get him to where he needed to go, and that he seldom left the house anyway. You offered to drive to dinner since you did have both a car and a license but Jihoon astutely refused, saying that while he wasn’t very old fashioned, he was the one who asked you out and he’s always liked the idea of a more traditional first date. 

Dinner is at a restaurant you’ve never even heard of but apparently has a Michelin star. The food and mocktails are delicious, but truthfully the last thing on your mind as you stare across the table at your date. He’s dressed in all black, like usual, but had chosen an outfit that was much more formal than what you were used to seeing him in: pressed slacks and a dress shirt that was buttoned just low enough to show off a hint of collarbone, cleavage, and a chain you recognize as one you’d crafted for him almost a year ago. 

He almost always wore a hat when visiting your store but tonight he’s forgone the baseball cap and swept his long hair back in a half up, half down sort of manner. There’s product in it but a few wisps of his bangs have escaped the hold of the gel and hang in front of his eyes. 

You briefly wonder if he’d let you style his hair, if he’d let you braid it back. He’d look so pretty with french braids-

At the end of the meal, after he’s paid, he asks the question. Not the question, the one you’re always dreading, but a new one that makes your heart beat just as fast. 

“Are you doing anything after this?” 

You take a sip of your drink, ignoring the watered down taste in order to keep the air of suspense. “That depends, what are you doing?”

-

Jihoon’s apartment is closer than yours. It’s in the middle of the city, nestled safely above the bustling crowds and chaos of the streets beneath it. You would call it a penthouse but it isn’t on the top floor of the building nor does it have a terrace- the point is, it’s bigger than the house you grew up in. You can tell just from standing in the doorway with all the lights off. The floor to ceiling windows lined all along the far wall give it away. They let in just enough light from the billboards and neon street signs below to cast shadows in the corners of the room that emphasize its depth. 

There’s music playing softly throughout the apartment when you enter.

“I wasn’t expecting this to happen,” Jihoon insists as he scrambles to turn on some lamps. “I swear, I just always have music playing.”

“Sure,” you tease him, bending down to slip out of your heels. 

You’re still a few inches taller than him without them on but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. You certainly don’t. “I can turn it off if you’d prefer,” he offers. 

“No, that’s okay. I like having it on when-” you stop yourself mid-sentence, cheeks blooming with heat. You had been about to say, ‘when I’m having sex,’ and Jihoon seems to fill in the blank himself from the way he smirks at you. 

“Really? That’s good to know.”

You’re too flustered to think of a witty response so you just pucker your lips like you do when you don’t know what to say and hope he can’t tell how insane with lust his answer just made you. 

The lapse in his gentlemanly manner is brief and before things can go too far he takes your coat and purse and leads you to the couch in the living room. You sit and watch as he crouches in front of the fireplace, rolling up his sleeves. It’s a gas fireplace so all he has to do is turn the dial to the desired strength, there’s no soot or ash or really anything that would make him dirty, but you appreciate the view of his arms nonetheless. 

You know Jihoon is a big fitness buff. It’s one of the first things he ever told you, apologizing for how sweaty he was as he shook your hand and introduced himself. It’s been hard not to let that knowledge distract you whenever you see him now. You’ve caught yourself ogling his biceps and quads (and ass) an unhealthy amount of times in your consultations. You can let yourself get distracted tonight, though. Now that he’s not your client and you’re the girl he’s brought home. Now that he’s got his forearms out on display specifically for you to ogle. 

He joins you on the couch a moment later, creating a respectful distance between you. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” he asks suddenly. “I don’t have any alcohol in the house because I don’t really drink but I could make you something like we had at dinner. I also have Coke Zero and water and-”

You put your hand out to stop him, relieved to know he’s just as nervous as you are. “Water would be great, thanks.” 

“Ice?”

“If you have it.”

“I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t,” he points out. 

“Right. That’s... right.”

He laughs affectionately and touches your knee as he goes to stand from the sofa. His hand is warmer than you expect, making you suck in a quick breath that makes you both freeze. Your eyes meet his before his gaze shifts to your lips. 

“Do you... still want that water?” 

Your mouth does feel dry but for an entirely different reason. 

“Maybe later.”

-

He’s on top of you as soon as your back hits the mattress, strong thighs straddling your hips. His hair falls into his eyes and subsequently yours as he leans down and gently cups your face. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, kiss me,” you gasp, pulling him into you before he does. 

Jihoon groans the instant your lips touch his, grinding into you almost involuntarily. It isn’t long until you’re moaning too, practically writhing underneath him as he kisses you like he’s found God.

Everything about him is soft, except his hands. His voice, his tongue, his touch. His hands leave your cheeks and start to explore the rest of your body, grazing your chest and hips over your dress. 

His fingers skim the hem of it and dip just below the seam, lifting the fabric from your thighs before letting it float back down.You don’t know if he’s teasing you on purpose but it’s driving you crazy. You’ve wanted him for so long now that his self control feels cruel, like he’s dangling himself just out of reach. 

“I’m sorry, I got carried away,” he says, running a hand through his hair. 

“I honestly wanted you to get more carried away,” you admit.

“Really?”

“I thought I was making it obvious.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” he mumbles through a smug grin, “and I didn’t know how far you wanted to go tonight.”

“I want to go as far as you want to go,” you assure him. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

You’re not typically one to sleep with someone on a first date, not for any religious, moral (or internally misogynistic) reason, you just don’t like being that vulnerable with someone you’ve just met. You’ve also found sex to be a lot more enjoyable with someone you feel connected to. 

So even though it’s technically your first date with Jihoon, you’ve known him for what feels like half of an eternity and craved him for every single moment of it. You aren’t going to deny yourself what you’ve longed for for ages. 

“In that case, can I eat you out?” he asks.

“Fuck yeah you can.”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs as he positions himself between your legs and pushes your dress up to your hips.

“Really?” you sigh.

Jihoon kisses the inside of your thigh and then hums against it. “Mhm, every single time we were alone in that dark room I’d just think about crawling under that table and spreading your legs apart...” 

“You should have.”

Jihoon scoffs. “You would have gotten fired.”

“Worth it.”

“But isn’t this much better?” he asks, pressing his tongue over your panties. “I can take my time with you and you can be as loud as you want...”

Jihoon repeats the motion with his tongue and you whimper as if to prove his point. He’s barely done anything and your panties are already soaked through. To be fair, you’ve been wet since dinner but that was his doing too. All he had to do was look pretty and you were melting for him. 

“Want me to take these off?” he asks.

“God, please.”

“Here, lift up for me then, perfect. Now put your legs over my shoulders... good, just like that.”

He drowns himself in you, worshiping your cunt with his lips and his tongue and his entire being. He takes his time tasting all of you before moving on to what he knows you’re actually waiting for. You try to be patient, you know he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have, and it feels good... you just need more. 

He does give you more, eventually. His tongue dips inside of you when you’re least expecting it and your thighs clamp around his head in surprise. He’s completely unfazed by this, and pries them apart with ease, holding your legs open as he continues to drink you in. 

He switches between tongue fucking you and sucking on your clit a few times to figure out which you like more, settling on a pattern that has his name echoing off the walls of his bedroom. 

You can barely hear the music playing over the obscene sounds he’s making as he eats you out but you find you actually prefer them anyway. 

His mumbling is incoherent, muffled by you in every sense of the word. Still, you can tell he’s praising you, encouraging you to surrender to the pleasure. 

It doesn’t take much convincing because he has you on the edge in record time. No man has ever gotten you so close so fast, you don’t even think you’ve made yourself cum this fast and you have that shit down to a science. It’s over for you as soon as he adds his fingers into the mix. You wanted to hold off a little longer just to prove a point but Jihoon has his own point to prove.

You don’t necessarily need penetration to get off but having something to cum around does make orgasms stronger for you. He must know this, or at least have an inkling, because he pushes two fingers inside of you right when your breath catches in your throat and your body locks up and your vision starts to blur…

-

“Baby- is it okay if I call you baby? Are you alright?”

It’s more than okay, you think to yourself and then you realize the disembodied voice that sounds a lot like Jihoon’s is actually expecting an answer.

You open your eyes the tiniest bit to see a very wet, very concerned-looking Jihoon hovering above you. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” you tell him. 

“That wasn’t really the important question out of the two,” he sighs. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great!”

He breathes a sigh of relief and collapses against your shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” you laugh. “Aren’t we going to keep going?” 

Jihoon lifts his head and gives you a look. “You just came so hard you blacked out, don’t you want to take a break?” 

You shake your head. “No? Why would I?” 

His lips part and he sputters, “because you just-”

“It’s sweet that you’re worried about me, but I promise I’m fine. I’ve never been better.” 

“Never?” 

“Never ever.”

“So… I can kiss you again?” 

“As many times as you want.” 

The power you’ve bestowed on him in that one sentence immediately goes to his head and he spends the next several minutes pressing kisses into your skin as he undresses both you and himself. 

He kisses you in between every piece of clothing that comes off, every button of his shirt that he undoes, dragging out every moment until you’re both completely naked save for your ring and his necklace (and a condom). 

He’s huge, unsurprisingly. What is surprising is how hard he is already. You knew he was turned on, you could feel him through his pants when you were making out and he was grinding into you, but you didn’t realize it was like this. You haven’t even touched him and his cock is rock hard and flushed at the tip. Did he get that worked up just from giving you head? Just when you thought he couldn’t get any hotter...

He pumps himself a few times before easing into you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he struggles to keep his composure. You aren’t faring any better, hands flying to his biceps when he bottoms out. The stretch is more intense than you’re expecting. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your head. All you can do is lay there on the satin sheets and feel as Jihoon makes himself a part of you.     

“Are you okay?” you hear him ask distantly, voice trembling. 

“I’m perfect,” you manage to respond. 

“You are,” he agrees.

Your brows wrinkle in confusion as you try to blink him back into focus. Hm?”

He just smiles and pets your hair gently. “Don’t worry about it.”

“O-okay.”

“Am I good to start moving?” 

“Yes, yes please fuck me.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull his body even closer just in case he needs further convincing, gasping in relief when he finally does start to move. It’s slow at first, experimental. You’re still sensitive from cumming so every sensation is heightened. Every stroke feels better than the last and you can only hope it feels just as good for Jihoon. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, “how are you so fucking wet?”

“I really like you,” you laugh, “and you’re so good at, like, everything! It’s unfair and it’s, fuck, not my fault.”

“I really like you too,” he confesses, starting to fuck you harder. You expect him to elaborate but he doesn’t, not right away. Instead, he lets his body do the talking for him while he busies his mouth with yours. You can still taste yourself on his lips along with traces of your lipgloss and chapstick that he’d long since kissed off. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating.

When he raises his head and puts a hand on the headboard to steady himself, the necklace you’d made him dangles right in front of your face, the cross pendant just inches from your nose. He grabs it with his free hand and puts the charm between his teeth so that it won’t hit you, smirking at the way your eyes roll back.

“You like that?” 

 “Fuck you.”

He laughs, then mumbles, “God, you’re so hot. I’m so fucking close already.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back down to you, down into another kiss. The chain still in his mouth presses into your lips, the cold metal a striking difference from the heat of your bodies. 

“Please tell me you’re close too,” he whispers.  

“So fucking close.”

You just need a little more to get you over that edge again. You release one of your arms from around his neck and snake it in between yourselves to rub your clit but Jihoon pushes it away and replaces it with his own. He repeats the same motions with his fingers that he’d done with his tongue, begging you to cum with him. 

“Let go for me, baby,” he urges, “wanna cum together. Please let me feel you.”

You don’t black out this time but you do cry, fingernails digging into his back as you fall apart under him. Jihoon fucks you through it, helping you both ride it out. He’s shaking by the time the aftershocks pass and carefully lays himself on top of you like a blanket so that you can both catch your breath. 

“S-sorry, I thought I’d last a lot longer,” he apologizes sheepishly. “Next time I will. Maybe. Your pussy is crazy though so you can’t hold me to that.”

“You’ve got such a way with words,” you scoff. 

“What can I say, I’m a songwriter. It’s in my blood.” 

You snort and push him off you, searching your phone. Your best friend had probably alerted you missing to the authorities by now after not hearing from you for however many hours it’d been since you last updated her. You find your phone under one of the pillows and see a barrage of texts from her and the groupchat just like you predicted. Snitch. You would have to grovel later, though, because Jihoon had gotten up to start the shower and returned to get you now that the water was warm. 

He helps you step into the basin and shows you how to adjust the temperature in case it isn’t to your liking before asking if you want him to stay. You do, and you point out that he needs to shower too so it would be more efficient if you showered together anyway. 

He joins you without a second’s hesitation, kissing your shoulder from behind as he begins to gently lather your body with soap. You return the favor after he’s done with you and soon enough he’s wrapping you and himself up in plush white towels he’d grabbed from the warmer next to the shower.  

“Stay the night?” he asks as he dries you off.

You don’t have anything you need with you because you hadn’t planned on spending the night. It’s usually impossible to sleep without your overnight essentials but you’re honestly so exhausted you think you could fall asleep standing up. 

“Don’t feel like you have to,” he adds when he senses your hesitation. 

“No, I want to,” you assure him. “I just wasn’t expecting to have a sleepover so I don’t have any of my things.”

“I have an extra toothbrush,” he supplies helpfully, like that’s the only thing that could have been preventing you from making a decision. 

You smile, trying not to laugh. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

He smiles back. “Anything for you.”

this was something kind of different but i hope you liked it bestie <3 can't wait to hear your thoughts i love youuuu

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 7 - Magical Fleshlight

Mountain x Reader

Fuck… why does this feel so real? It’s so… wet. Holy shit.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 6k.

Reading Time: 24 min.

Warnings: elements of crack!fic, masturbation, multiple orgasms, noncon, non-discussed sexual activity, public, PIV sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Mountain slumped onto the bed, sighing heavily as he bounced softly on the plush springs. The day had dragged on endlessly, each hour dragging him further into a storm of stress and fatigue. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the tight knots in his back that throbbed with every movement, and the cramping beginning to form in his legs, a testament to the physically demanding tasks he’d faced. All he wanted was to escape into the soothing embrace of sleep.

Curling up onto his side, he nestled into the cool sheets, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the roughness of his day. As he logged onto Instagram, the flickering glow of his phone illuminated the dim room, casting playful shadows against the walls. It was a moment of solace, a brief respite from the chaos of the outside world.

Then, your most recent picture appeared on his timeline, and a jolt of electricity surged through him. You were stunning, radiating a captivating allure that pulled him in like a moth to a flame. The memory of the dress you wore last night flickered in his mind—a form-fitting creation that hugged your curves perfectly, its delicate fabric accentuating every feature that drove him wild. He could almost see it bunched up around your waist, his imagination running riot as he pictured the scene.

His heart raced at the thought, and he cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he tried to dispel the imagery. No. He couldn’t think like that. Not now, not when he was exhausted and vulnerable. But the temptation lingered, clawing at the edges of his mind like an unquenchable fire. He longed to reach out, to hold you close, to forget the weight of the world for just a moment.

He swiped through your photos, each one more intoxicating than the last—your smile, your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. Each image only deepened his frustration and desire, intertwining with the stress of the day, creating a tangled web of emotions he found hard to unravel. The solitude of his room felt stifling, an echo of his longing that was now amplified by your presence on his screen.

Mountain’s thoughts drifted, his body still heavy with weariness yet somehow ignited by an unshakeable yearning. The contrast of his physical exhaustion and the vivid allure of you made his chest tighten. He wanted to rest, to forget his troubles, but he also craved something more—something electric, passionate, and intoxicating.

With a deep breath, he set his phone down, staring at the ceiling as he tried to clear his head. The images of you still danced in his mind, teasing him mercilessly. Perhaps a little distraction would help? A warm shower, a drink, or maybe… just maybe, a little bit of magic to soothe his aching body and restless thoughts. He could picture you there beside him, laughter filling the air, and a shiver of anticipation raced down his spine.

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to scrub the image of you beneath him from his mind, but it was too late. The fantasy had taken root, blossoming into something far too vivid to ignore. His body was already responding, a heat rising in him that seemed to defy his efforts to suppress it.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up, his heart pounding as he fought to regain control. The bed felt too soft, too inviting, and his thoughts were spiralling into tantalising possibilities. The way you had looked in that dress—the way it had clung to your body, accentuating your curves—sent a rush of heat coursing through him. He could almost feel your skin beneath his fingertips, the way your body would yield to his touch, inviting him in, urging him to explore.

Mountain clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms as if to ground himself. He was all too aware of the growing tension in his lower abdomen, a primal response that stirred within him, demanding attention. It was maddening. No, he thought firmly, pushing back against the wave of desire. He needed to focus on anything else—work, the tasks ahead, the mess he’d need to clean—but his mind was relentless, cycling back to you.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room as he tried to shake off the intrusive thoughts. Each step seemed to echo with the memory of your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief, and the intoxicating scent of your perfume. It wrapped around him like a fog, clouding his judgment and amplifying his longing.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, the words barely making it past clenched teeth. But as he turned, his gaze fell upon the fleshlight sitting innocently on the bedside table—a recent acquisition, born of desperation and curiosity. The relic hummed softly, as if it sensed his turmoil, and suddenly, he felt a magnetic pull toward it.

Could it really help him escape the throbbing desire that gripped him so tightly? With a tentative hand, he reached for the enchanted device, the cool surface grounding him momentarily as he contemplated his options. It had been whispered among friends that this magical relic could bring fantasies to life, enabling a connection that was both intimate and otherworldly.

Magic? As if. That sounded like the plot of a shitty smutty novel. There was no magic in the real world.

He glanced back at his phone, at your radiant smile, and felt a surge of determination wash over him. Why not give it a try? Perhaps, just this once, he could indulge in a fantasy—a fleeting moment of pleasure that could distract him from the gnawing stress of the day.

With a deep breath, Mountain took a seat on the edge of the bed, the tension still simmering within him as he examined the magical fleshlight in his hands. If there was ever a time to explore the boundary between reality and fantasy, it was now. He was ready to surrender, if only for a little while.

He ran his finger over the fleshlight’s clitoris, the smooth surface cool against his heated skin. The mere touch sent a shiver down his spine, igniting a flicker of anticipation in his belly. The magical device seemed to hum with energy, almost as if it were alive, responding to his touch and urging him to let go of his inhibitions. As his imagination began to weave vivid images of you, he closed his eyes, allowing the fantasy to envelop him.

*

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with dusty tomes and parchment scrolls. The warm, golden light from the lamps cast a comforting glow, but it did little to dispel the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin. Traveling for the Ministry had worn you out, leaving a mountain of work to tackle. You felt as if you were drowning beneath the weight of it all, buried under reports and briefings that demanded your attention.

Determined to catch up, you hunched over your desk, your quill scratching furiously against the parchment. The words began to blur together as your mind wandered, drawn back to thoughts of Mountain. You couldn’t shake the image of him, powerful and stoic, but with an undeniable softness lurking beneath the surface. That intense gaze of his always made your heart race, igniting a warmth that spread through you.

It was maddening, really, how one thought of him could send your concentration spiraling. You shifted in your chair, the tension in your back protesting the long hours spent hunched over your work. A sigh escaped your lips as you glanced at the clock, realising how late it had grown. The library felt even quieter now, the stillness pressing in around you, amplifying your restlessness.

But that was when you felt it. A sudden, electrifying swipe over your clitoris, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You froze, your pen hovering above the notebook, heart racing as confusion and curiosity battled within you. What on earth was happening?

You glanced around the library, half-expecting to see someone teasing you, but the room remained empty, the silence thick with the weight of ancient knowledge. The sensation pulsed again, rhythmic and insistent, as if someone—something—was touching you beneath your clothes. Your breath caught in your throat, the combination of surprise and intrigue igniting a warmth deep within. You stood up and moved seats, thinking that was the problem, but when the swipe came a second time, you almost screamed. It felt so good, somehow?

With every pulse, the sensation felt more intense and quicker, drawing you deeper into an exhilarating haze. You clenched your thighs together, instinctively searching for relief as you fought to maintain your composure. The rhythmic touches seemed to dance along your most sensitive areas, teasing and inviting with each electric caress.

Your breath hitched as you pressed your legs together, seeking some form of control, but the warmth pooled low in your belly, a heated pressure that was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the paper in front of you, but the words swam before your eyes, fading into the background as your entire being concentrated on the sensation that was almost overwhelming.

What if it was Mountain? The thought sent a shiver through you. You had shared so many lingering glances, those moments charged with unspoken desire. Your brain kept showing you images of him next to you, hands beneath your habit and flicking over your clit so expertly, you were getting closer and closer to the precipice by the second.

Another pulse shot through you, sharper and more insistent than before. You gasped, gripping the edge of the desk for support. Your mind raced, torn between the fantasy of Mountain orchestrating this and the reality of being in the library, surrounded by centuries of knowledge and solitude.

The teasing sensation flickered again, and you could feel it mirroring the rhythm of your heartbeat, tugging at your very core. You could hardly contain yourself; a soft moan escaped your lips, echoing against the high ceilings of the library. The sound startled you, and you quickly glanced around, but there was still no one in sight.

Swallowing hard, you weighed your options. You could leave the library, escape this unexpected spell, or you could embrace it, surrender to the sensations that were taking over your body. The tension in your back seemed to dissipate, replaced by a throbbing warmth that surged through you with every pulse.

You took a deep breath, heart pounding in anticipation. What would happen if you let yourself explore this strange new sensation? What if this was a glimpse into something deeper, something shared with Mountain that had yet to be spoken?

Finally, you settled back into your seat, heart racing as you surrendered to the unknown. With each wave of pleasure, you began to ride the rhythm, feeling the magic course through you. The lines of reality blurred as you imagined Mountain’s hands—strong yet gentle—working their magic on you. The fantasies you had buried deep within began to surface, filling your mind with images of him, of you, lost in a world of desire.

As you surrendered to the sensations, a part of you still wondered how long you could remain in this secret world, caught between the throes of pleasure and the reality of your surroundings. But for now, all that mattered was the intoxicating feeling of the unknown, and the powerful connection that pulsed between you and Mountain, drawing you ever closer.

The sensations grew stronger, more insistent, every pulse of pleasure pushing you closer to the edge. Your grip tightened on the edge of the desk, knuckles white as you fought to keep silent, your breath coming in shallow, shaky gasps. The magical teasing seemed to know exactly where to touch, how to drive you wild without mercy, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. You could barely focus on anything but the pressure building inside you, hot and unbearable.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to stifle the moans threatening to escape your lips. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to walk in and find you like this, overwhelmed by invisible hands, pleasure coursing through you in the middle of the quiet library. But the thought of being caught only seemed to heighten the thrill, a dangerous mix of arousal and anticipation that made the heat within you coil tighter.

The rhythm became more relentless, the electric pulses caressing your clitoris and sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. You pressed your thighs together again, trying to ease the tension, but it only made the feeling more intense, more impossible to resist. Your body was trembling, your heart pounding in your chest, your breaths coming in quick, ragged bursts as the wave of ecstasy swelled higher and higher.

Your mind was a blur, filled with images of Mountain—his hands on you, his body pressed against yours. You could almost feel him there, his touch, his breath on your skin. The fantasy had completely taken over, and you no longer cared about anything but the release that was building inside you, stronger and stronger with each passing second.

And then, it hit.

A final pulse, stronger and more intense than before, surged through you, and suddenly, you were there, on the edge of oblivion. You gasped, your back arching as your entire body tensed, the pleasure overwhelming, almost too much to bear. The climax washed over you in powerful waves, each one more intense than the last, leaving you trembling, breathless, your mind utterly consumed by the moment.

Your hands clutched the desk, your thighs clamped together as the pleasure coursed through you, your heart pounding in your ears as you rode the waves of ecstasy. You couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body shaking as you finally surrendered to the release you’d been fighting.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Everything was still, your mind lost in the afterglow, your body limp and sated. The heat slowly began to ebb away, leaving a warm, languid feeling in its wake. You slumped in your chair, chest heaving, your skin flushed and your limbs heavy. The library was silent once again, save for the sound of your ragged breathing as you came down from the high.

You opened your eyes, still dazed, your body tingling with the remnants of pleasure. The magic had faded, leaving you alone once more. You glanced around, half-expecting someone to have noticed, but the library remained as quiet and still as ever. No one had witnessed your moment of ecstasy, and for that, you were grateful.

*

Mountain felt the fleshlight twitch in his hands, the silicone pulsing rhythmically under his touch. It was strange, almost unnerving, how lifelike it felt—warm and supple, as though it had a mind of its own. He reasoned it must have been designed that way, engineered to feel as close to the real thing as possible. After all, the material had to have some give; otherwise, it would be difficult to fuck.

But this… this felt different. Too real.

Curiosity burned within him, and without thinking, he removed his thumb from the fleshlight’s clit and slid a finger into the vaginal hole. He half-expected to feel nothing but cold silicone or mechanical resistance, but the moment his fingertip pressed inside, he froze.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his breath catching in his throat.

The interior was silky smooth, impossibly warm, and slick with wetness, as though it had already been perfectly lubricated just for him. His finger sank deeper, and he swore he felt the walls subtly pulse around him, hugging his digit with a grip that sent a jolt of arousal straight through his core. It felt as though he had slipped his finger inside a real pussy—alive, warm, and so damn wet.

It was too much.

The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, sending a rush of blood straight to his length, which was already half-hard, now straining against his trousers. He glanced down, feeling the growing pressure, but his mind couldn’t tear away from the fleshlight and its surreal sensations. His pulse quickened as he slowly curled his finger inside the toy, feeling the textured inner walls respond to his every movement, as if the toy were reacting, pulling him in.

“Holy shit…” he whispered under his breath, barely able to believe what he was experiencing.

The slickness inside only made his cock throb with more need, the pressure building rapidly in his groin. His mind wandered back to the vivid images of you that had plagued him all night. He imagined it wasn’t just his finger inside this magical device, but his cock, sinking deep into that same warmth, feeling your body move beneath him, wrapped around him. He could almost hear the sound of your breath hitching in pleasure, see the way your body would react to every thrust.

His arousal was becoming impossible to ignore, his length now fully hard, aching to be touched. The wetness coating his finger made him desperate to feel more, to know what it would be like to sink himself completely into the impossible magic of this fleshlight.

But something nagged at him in the back of his mind. Why did this feel so different? So personal? It wasn’t just a toy; it was something more, something… connected.

Mountain exhaled sharply, pulling his finger out and wiping it on his trousers as he debated whether to continue. His cock twitched in anticipation, and the need for release was undeniable. He had to know just how far this could go.

His hand drifted to the waistband of his trousers, the decision already made.

*

You had felt the initial intrusion, the unexpected presence inside you, no thicker than a finger. It wasn’t moving with any intent to please, merely exploring your most intimate space, as if testing the waters, feeling out your warmth. A breath caught in your throat, and you slumped over the desk, your hand flying to your mouth, desperate to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. Your body shivered in response, torn between confusion and the undeniable arousal that was building deep within you.

The slow, teasing movements left you trembling, and while it wasn’t enough to satisfy the aching need between your legs, the anticipation was maddening. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to create some friction, something to ease the growing heat. But the moment you began to settle into the sensation, it stopped. The presence withdrew, and you were left empty, unsatisfied, your slick, needy cunt clenching around nothing.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, muffled by the back of your hand. A part of you was disappointed, frustrated even, that it had left. Your body was throbbing, aching for more—more of whatever that was, more of what it had been building toward. Your pulse was racing, and the quiet library around you suddenly felt too confining, too stifling. You couldn’t stay here, not like this.

Your legs felt weak as you stood, the lingering heat between your thighs making every movement feel laboured. You glanced around the empty room, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks as if someone might have seen your inner turmoil, but the library remained silent and still. The quiet was too much now, the weight of your arousal pressing down on you, urging you to seek relief. You needed more than just that teasing touch; you needed release. And you needed it now.

Quickly, you began packing up your things, your fingers fumbling as you tried to gather your quill and parchment. Your mind was already somewhere else, picturing what awaited you once you could find privacy. The thought of it—of taking care of yourself, of chasing the release that had been cruelly denied in the library—sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

With your belongings hastily stuffed into your bag, you headed toward the door, your breath uneven as you made your way out of the library. The cool air of the hallway did little to calm the fire raging inside you. You had to find somewhere—anywhere—you could be alone and finish what had been started.

Your legs moved quickly beneath you, instinct driving you toward the nearest private space, your heart pounding with anticipation as the memory of that teasing touch replayed in your mind.

You left the library in a hurry, taking a sharp left down the corridor toward your room, your mind laser-focused on finding relief. Each step was torture, your knees weak and trembling, barely able to support your body as the weight of your arousal pressed down on you. The cool air of the hallway did nothing to ease the growing heat between your thighs, and you quickened your pace, desperate to reach the privacy of your room.

But just as you rounded the corner, a new sensation hit you.

Dread pooled in your stomach as you felt your folds part, something heavy and hard sliding between them. You gasped, eyes widening in shock, feeling a thick pressure press against your clit. It wasn’t the slow, teasing touch from before—it was urgent, insistent, and so overwhelmingly real that you couldn’t hold back the shaky moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was distracting, too distracting, and in your attempt to keep moving, you stumbled.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and with a gasp, you fell to the ground, your belongings scattering across the wooden floor. Pens, paper and books slipped from your grasp, your bag tumbling open as you struggled to regain control of your body. The thick presence between your legs remained, rubbing insistently against your clit with every movement, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you as you lay there, heart racing and breath ragged.

Your hands shot down instinctively, as though to push whatever it was away, but there was nothing tangible, nothing you could grasp. It was as if some invisible force was teasing you, pressing into you with an unrelenting rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.

You tried to stand, pushing yourself up with trembling arms, but the pleasure was so intense that you collapsed again, your knees refusing to support your weight. Another shudder ran through you, your body betraying you as the rubbing against your clit continued, the sensation almost unbearable. You squeezed your thighs together, but it only seemed to make it worse, the pressure building with every second.

“Fuck…” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breathless gasp. You had no control over your body anymore. The sensation between your legs had taken over, and all you could do was grip the floor beneath you, helpless against the mounting pleasure.

The hallway was empty, but you were still exposed, vulnerable. You needed to get up, needed to reach your room where you could finally give in to what your body craved. But as another pulse of pleasure shot through you, you weren’t sure you’d even make it.

A stroke of luck emerged, catching your eye in the midst of your frantic struggle—the door to a cleaning closet, left slightly ajar. Relief mixed with desperation as you quickly gathered your scattered belongings, your hands shaking as you scrambled to your feet. You couldn’t make it much further; your knees were barely holding you upright as it was, and the relentless pressure between your thighs was making it impossible to think straight.

Without a second thought, you rushed toward the open door, heart pounding in your chest. As soon as you stumbled inside, you slammed it shut behind you, pressing your back against the wood. There was no lock, but if you could just stay quiet—if you could hold out here for a few moments—you might make it through this without being caught. The small space was dimly lit, filled with shelves of cleaning supplies, and the air smelled faintly of soap and lavender.

You barely had time to catch your breath before it happened.

A sharp, overwhelming sensation took hold of you as you felt something push into you—deep, filling your already throbbing, aching hole. The intrusion was sudden, and you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry of pleasure that threatened to burst out. It was thick, stretching you in a way that was both shocking and satisfying, as though whatever it was had been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to be alone, vulnerable, and desperate.

It was definitely a cock - but it was fucking huge.

*

Mountain sank into the fleshlight, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as the tightness enveloped him. He was a big man in every sense of the word, and his length was no exception—thick, heavy, and aching for relief. As he pressed deeper, the silicone walls yielded, but only just enough, hugging him in a way that felt almost too real. The sensation was overwhelming, warm and snug, gripping him with the perfect balance of resistance and give, as though the toy had been made just for him.

His breath hitched as he sank further, the heat surrounding him sending shivers down his spine. Every inch of him was enveloped in that wet, warm tightness, and it felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before. His hips rolled instinctively, testing the limits of the toy’s grip, and the way it clung to him made his cock throb with need. It was almost maddening how good it felt—too good, in fact. The slickness inside, combined with the soft, textured ridges, made every movement feel as though he was buried deep inside something alive.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands tightening around the base of the fleshlight as his hips moved again, slower this time, savouring the way it squeezed him with every thrust.

The heat, the wetness, the way it pulsed around him—it was almost too much to bear. He couldn’t help but picture you, the way your body would feel wrapped around him like this, clenching down on him, pulling him in. The thought of you, mixed with the intensity of the sensation, made his control slip. His pace quickened, driven by the growing pressure building in his groin, his need for release clawing at him.

Each thrust into the toy felt more urgent, the friction deliciously overwhelming. He could feel the tension building, his length throbbing inside the slick, tight tunnel. Every stroke was bringing him closer to the edge, the pleasure so intense it made his vision blur. The way the fleshlight clung to him was impossibly real, and the thought of sinking into your warmth instead made his pulse race even faster.

He was too far gone to stop now, completely lost in the sensation, the need for release overtaking him as his hips bucked into the toy with reckless abandon.

*

Your legs gave out entirely, and you collapsed against the shelves, your body trembling as the force inside you began to move. Slow, deliberate strokes, in and out, dragging along your sensitive walls and making you shudder with each thrust. You bit down on your hand, trying to stay quiet, but the sensation was so intense, so perfectly maddening, that small, helpless whimpers slipped past your lips despite your best efforts.

The sensation wasn’t just physical; it was connected. Every movement inside you felt purposeful, like whoever—or whatever—was controlling this was in sync with your body, knowing exactly how to make you fall apart. Your pussy clenched around it, soaking wet, the slickness only making the thrusts more fluid, more relentless.

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, the rhythm of your body matching the relentless thrusts that were driving you closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke pushed deeper, dragging against your most sensitive spots, and the heat building inside you was becoming unbearable. Your mind was spinning, the world around you fading into a blur as the pressure inside you mounted, thick and heavy.

You could feel yourself trembling, your body taut with anticipation, the pleasure coiling tighter with every thrust. Your nails dug into your palms, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, to hold on just a little longer—but it was no use.

It felt so good.

Too good.

You sat up a little and spread your legs, pulling your panties off from beneath your habit and throwing them somewhere in the dark, your middle finger immediately moving to your swollen and sensitive clit. Rubbing furiously at it, you let out a loud gasp, the feeling of the cock fucking into you, now at a violent pace. You grasped onto the shelf behind you with your free hard, trying to find something to ground you as much as possible, but nothing was working. Something invisible was pounding relentlessly into your cunt, using your body for their own pleasure and you were so wound up tight - you liked it.

Your body was already betraying you, your pussy tightening around the force inside you as the tension built to a breaking point. It was hitting all the right spots, fucking into you like no one else had managed to before. You bit on your bottom lip trying to remain quiet, but at this point your moans and pants were coming out so loudly, you were sure passers by could hear you.

*

Mountain’s breath was ragged as he thrust into the fleshlight, his large hands gripping it tightly, the soft silicone giving way under his force but clinging to him in the most maddening way. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as the slickness inside seemed to pulse in time with his movements. Every stroke felt too real, too perfect—as if it were more than just a toy, something alive and responding to him.

His cock was fully buried now, his hips rolling slowly at first, but the tightness had him on edge, making it impossible to hold back. His groans grew louder, deep and rough, as he set a more urgent pace. The fleshlight gripped him harder, the wet warmth inside making every stroke smoother, more fluid, but also more intense. It felt better than it should have, the sensation almost too much for him to handle.

“Fuck…” he hissed under his breath, his length throbbing with need. Each thrust sent a pulse of pleasure through his body, his mind clouded with desire as he imagined you beneath him instead. The way you would look, your body writhing in pleasure as he buried himself inside you, the soft sounds of your moans filling the air. The thought made his cock twitch inside the toy, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the fantasy.

But then, something strange happened.

The fleshlight pulsed. It wasn’t just responding to his thrusts anymore—it was as if it had a life of its own, squeezing him, rippling around his length in a way that was too real, too connected. His eyes flew open, a gasp escaping him as he stilled for a moment, looking down at the toy in his hands.

“What the…?”

He felt it again, the sensation tightening, as if the fleshlight was reacting not to his body, but to something else entirely. The pulsing grew stronger, almost rhythmic, and it sent a jolt of pleasure through him so intense he nearly doubled over. He could feel the slick walls inside moving, as though mimicking the contractions of an actual body—your body.

Mountain’s heart raced, his mind spinning. There was no way this was just a toy anymore. He could feel it—feel you—somehow, in some way. It was impossible, but there was no denying the connection. The more he moved, the more the fleshlight reacted, tightening around him with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his core.

His hips bucked involuntarily, the sensations overtaking him, his mind now filled with images of you. He imagined you trembling, the way your body would shake as he pushed into you, the look of desperation in your eyes as you tried to hold back your release. His pace became frantic, thrusting into the toy with abandon, the tight, wet warmth driving him to the edge.

He was so close. He could feel his orgasm building, his entire body tensing with the need for release. The pulsing around his cock grew more intense, as though it were pulling him deeper, milking him for everything he had.

“Fuck…” he groaned your name, unable to stop himself now. He was lost in the sensation, lost in the thought of you, the connection between you both tightening with every second.

*

You could feel the climax rushing toward you, unstoppable, consuming every part of you. And as the force inside you thrust again, harder this time, it finally sent you over the edge.

A wave of pure ecstasy crashed over you, the intensity of your orgasm ripping through you in shuddering waves. Your walls clenched down around the presence inside you, your body convulsing as pleasure coursed through you, lighting up every nerve. The release was overwhelming, and you bit down harder on your hand, stifling the moan that tore from your throat as your climax consumed you.

But the relentless pounding didn’t stop. Whoever was fucking you wasn’t done with you just yet.

*

Mountain felt you reach your peak, the pulsing sensation inside the fleshlight intensifying to a point that left him breathless. The way your body clenched around him, as if you were riding the wave of ecstasy, sent a jolt of raw pleasure straight to his core. He could almost hear your moans, soft and desperate, echoing in his mind as he envisioned you lost in your climax, your body trembling beneath him.

With every thrust, he was drawn closer to the edge, the need for release building within him like a tidal wave, crashing and surging. The connection felt electric, transcending the physical boundaries of your separate spaces, and it was almost overwhelming. As you shuddered in pleasure, he could feel the warmth radiating from the fleshlight, as if it were feeding off your climax, drawing him in.

“Fuck!” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. The fleshlight tightened around him, almost as if it was responding to your release, and the sensation drove him wild. He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, a primal urge that had him gasping for air.

As you soared through your orgasm, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He thrust deeper, faster, losing himself completely in the moment. The world around him faded away, the only thing that mattered was the relentless pleasure coursing through him, the sensation of the silicone hugging him so tightly that it felt almost like a second skin.

With one final, powerful thrust, he reached his own peak. A wave of ecstasy crashed over him, his body convulsing as he spilled himself into the fleshlight. A deep, guttural groan escaped his lips as he rode out the intense waves of pleasure, feeling as if he were floating in a sea of bliss.

His hips stuttered as he felt the last tremors of his release, each pulse sending shockwaves of satisfaction through him. The connection, the overwhelming sensations—it was all too much, and he reveled in it, letting it consume him entirely.

Panting, he collapsed back against the bed, still reeling from the intensity of it all. The fleshlight lay discarded beside him, the warmth and slickness inside a reminder of the wild connection they had just shared. He could still feel the lingering echoes of your climax intertwining with his own, leaving him breathless and yearning for more.

What had just happened? It felt like more than just a fantasy—it felt like something deeper, something that blurred the lines of reality and desire. He found himself staring at the ceiling, a mix of confusion and exhilaration coursing through him. The next time he saw you, everything would change.

Prev./Next

[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ Closer ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Armed Detective Agency: Osamu Dazai

a/n: inspired by the morning voice post by @lovedazai (THIS), nin, and curiosity about how dazai would f#@% in the morning

genre: nasty and a sprinkle of fluff. (early) established relationship.

content warning: f!reader. MDNI! nasty ahead! some edging, begging, and praise. body worship + oral sex (m! and f! receiving for both. everyone wins!). religious imagery. you've been warned.

summary: in the morning, dazai likes to spoil you in bed ♡

just as you're about to get out of bed, you're stopped by soft lips against the nape of your neck, gently traveling across your skin as slender fingers grasp at your hips, coaxing you back into the futon and into a warm embrace. a quiet yawn into your shoulder is followed by a series of loving kisses up and down your spine – dazai's morning ritual as he tries to persuade you to stay in bed just a little longer, linger in his arms for just a minute or two more. in the mornings, he's always so resistant to getting up, so clingy and attached and so determined to not go into work. why waste his time laboring away at the ada when he can waste his life away in the arms of a beautiful woman instead?

"good morning, pretty girl." his voice is deeper, richer, in the morning, slightly raspy from a good sleep brought from being tangled in one another's bodies the night before. it's alluring, sexy, even, the way that he whispers in your ear and pulls you closer tight against his chest, as though he can't get enough as you, tracing circles into your naked back with his fingertips, etching his initials into your skin as if to remind you that your his and his alone, his lips lingering on your earlobe, his breath tickling your neck –

– and he pulls you closer, closer,

and closer.

it's never quite enough for him.

molding into your body and seeking your warmth, "won't you pay attention to me~?" he coos, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties teasingly. you feel him adjust your hips slightly, and at this angle you can feel him now – all of him. the heat that emanates from his skin, the firmness of his chest pressed against yours, and most of all, the hardness in his boxers as he pushes up against you – you can sense him just smirking once he knows that you can feel him there.

"i hope you know how much i like you," he whispers, and his voice is so tempting, almost as tempting as the way that his hands smooth over your stomach and the way that they grasp your waist. those hands fit so perfectly around your body, around your breasts, around your hips. you feel him squeeze you, sighing into your skin, and you melt into his touch. ever since dazai started dating you, it's been impossible for him to keep his hands off of you – touching you felt ritualistic, like going to church. it was like a necessary reminder that you're real, that you exist, that you're alive.

being able to bask in your light, to soak in your vitality –

it felt like breathing – like living, even.

as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder, tangling his fingers in your hair, you can feel his warm breath against your neck. "mm, your body feels so soft," he murmurs affectionately, continuing to pamper you with soft, gentle kisses. these innocent touches might satisfy him for now, but it's never long until he's impassioned to get on top of you – and that's exactly what he does, shifting his weight until you're underneath him, ensnared in his bandaged arms.

"do you want me?" he asks you teasingly, swiping his tongue across his lips. there's this wicked grin on his face as he bats his long, thick lashes at you knowingly – there are no secrets you can keep from dazai. "you always feel so soft, especially here," he whispers sweetly in your ear, lips lingering on your earlobe as he nudges your legs apart with his knee. you can feel warmth spread wildly across your skin as you grow wet from just his subtle touch. he brings his fingers between your legs only to trail them along the side of your thighs until you're writhing underneath him, then those same slender fingers are brushing 'accidentally' against the place you want him most. it's fleeting – a moment gone too soon, yet you find your hips impulsively moving, desperately trying to chase after him.

"you know, that was pretty perverted of you..." he says tauntingly, eyes glinting with amusement. you flush with embarrassment, but it's not long until you feel his fingers press against your entrance for real, this time tracing your folds through the cotton of your panties, deliberately dampening the fabric with your arousal. "so dirty, huh." he's eyeing you like a wolf as he lowers himself onto your body, soft brown bangs falling into his darkened eyes as he grins at you smugly.

kissing down your body, along your collarbone and the curve of your shoulders, his large hands grasp your breasts, massaging them and lavishing them with gentle kisses. you gasp as his tongue encircles around a nipple, as he sucks hickies into your chest, as he molds his hands around your shape. then, continuing down your body, he stops below your navel, glancing up at you – "you want me here?"

you nod, then you feel his hands on you once more, slowly peeling your panties down your legs.

dazai holds you're sacred, like you're the source of life itself, laying his head down in front of you as though there's some altar hidden between your thighs. for a moment, all you can feel is his warm breath against your skin – nothing more.

then, everything at once –

– that heavenly feeling of his tongue, licking you so agonizingly slowly, so sweetly, so sinfully. you feel him ease a finger inside of you, then two, his delicate, beautiful fingers reaching somewhere you could never. then, pulling you flush against his mouth, he laps at you thirstily, tongue swirling around your clit until you're moaning out his name, until you're melting on his saliva. "dazai–" you hardly manage to stammer out, panting helplessly. "i want you... please... i want you in my mouth, too..."

you get on your knees as though to worship him. shuffling his boxers down his legs, you're desperate to just to touch him now – to finally taste him on your tongue. you feel its warmth against your skin as you press his length against your face, smear the precum that's pearling from the tip against your cheek, licking up the shaft seductively as you gaze up at him with doe eyes that are intent on having him watch you... but of course, he's going to watch you – focusing on your every movement with these half-lidded eyes that are clouded over with sheer desire and wanton lust. his hands tangle in your hair as he bites back a soft moan, enamored by the way you're rubbing his dick all over your sweet, innocent face. you can just feel him throbbing in your hands. how he aches for more, for you to put him in your mouth and devour him completely.

you stroke him gently, placing loving kisses on that pretty tip of his before sloppily wrapping your lips around him. saliva drips from your mouth, dribbles down your chin as you try to deepthroat him, and you gag as you feel the head hit the back of your throat. "that's it," he sighs pleasurably, throwing his head back. "god, you're good to me."

determined to finish him, you pick up the pace before you can choke on him – but he pulls himself out of your mouth suddenly with a soft laugh, resigning to stroking himself lazily with one hand. "fuck," you hear him curse under his breath, exasperated. "i'm already close.” he grins up at you playfully, then reaches across the bedside table for a condom, rolling it down his length before mindlessly tossing the plastic wrapper aside. then, grabbing you by the wrists, he tugs you into his lap to straddle him. "–not until i have you first."

there's a renewed wickedness in this eyes now, like he's up to no good. you watch him in anticipation as he starts guiding the blunt head inside of you... only to slide it back out of your slick folds, slipping the tip in and out of you teasingly, listening to the deliciously wet sound of your squeezing around nothing at all. "don't.. tease...!" you plead, but it's no use. your thighs give out as you feel him slap it lightly against your slick, hips spasming at the sudden impact, however slight. then, he laughs a sort of devious laugh, delighting in the needy way you squirm for him.

"tell me how badly you want it first," he insists, his voice a low, erotic whisper in your ear, his tongue tracing a line along the lobe. you can feel just the tip prodding at your entrance once more. as you try to roll your hips forward to meet his, his firm hands keep you in place. you whine out his name – not good enough, it seems.

so, you cry out, beg pathetically – beg for more and more. dazai watches you intently, wonder gleaming in those deep brown eyes of his as you struggle to feel him, to touch him, your body coming alive for him –

as you urge him to pull you closer, closer,

and closer.

it's never quite enough for you.

then, when he just can't help himself anymore, he sinks you onto him and fills you completely, pressing his body against yours until you're tangled so perfectly in his arms.

being close to you like this – it's started to feel a bit more like breathing to him,

– like living, even.

© BSDAWGZ 2024. Do not steal or repost ANY of my works! That’s plagiarism, and it’s mean. :(( Beautiful dividers by @ v6que!

[hongism]

DUNE. - p. seonghwa (m)

➼ genre; smut ➼ pairing; seonghwa x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw/biker!seonghwa, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut, vaping mention ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 5.4k

Your excursions with Seonghwa are never anything holy despite how sacred the time shared between you feels at times.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

────────────

➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, public sex (ie outdoors and on a motorcycle), oral: m, hair pulling, dirty talk, marking/biting, face fucking, deepthroating, slight edging, petnames: princess, kitten & doll, breeding kink, creampie, some religious imagery, slight objectification

────────────

“You bastard.”

Dressed in nothing but a towel to keep you modest, you exit the bathroom in your far too small apartment expecting nothing but the simple task of getting your nightclothes from your bedroom. That, however, seems to be an impossibly tall order given what’s waiting for you in the living room. Sitting on your couch. With his stupid dirty boots all over your best piece of furniture in the house. So you can’t very well be blamed for your outburst upon seeing him, especially given the fact that he’s dared to show his face here and now like this.

The window adjacent to your couch is cracked as well, letting the evening air and likely every bug in the city into your home too.

“It’s been two months,” you snap before you can think through the lengthy list of things you’d like to rip into him about.

Seonghwa drops his head on the back of the couch and shifts to smile over at you, lopsided and dorky and all-around infuriating. Even more humiliating is the fact that you missed the sight of that grin, of him on your couch and in your home, and you dearly missed knowing when he would come back to you.

“And?”

“Did you use the fire escape to get in here again?” You thought that you had latched and locked the windows particularly well after you settled with the fact that Seonghwa wasn’t coming back. And yet here he is, and your windows are unlocked again. The man laughs, bringing his head off the couch and leaning forward in a way that makes his slicked-back black hair shift and fall around his face. This is a dangerously unwell situation for you to be in. Shutting your eyes, you turn towards your bedroom, hand tightening at the towel around your body. If you look at him a moment longer, you’re well and truly going to jump his bones. While that’s not the worst fate you could think of, you’d like to seem a little more upset at him before you give into both your desires and his.

You hear the couch creak then the soft scuffs of his boots over wood flooring as you pull clothes out of the dresser. He’s not in the doorway when you turn around, which does surprise you somewhat, but you take advantage of the brief moment of privacy to change into the tee and jeans you just pulled out. You toss your towel at the doorway once you’re safely under the comfort of clothes, and half of Seonghwa’s face peeks around the corner.

“You going somewhere?” He asks the question so innocently that you nearly think he’s changed in the past two months. Still, he’s leaning fully against the door frame now with one hand pressed high up along the wood and leaning over the edge into your bedroom, and the seduction is still there. His allure with all its perks and twists and all the ease he performs his enticement with are on full display before your eyes.

“Aren’t we?” you offer in response, too impatient to bother with playing your usual push-and-pull game with him.

“You still know me well, huh?” Now that you’re closer to him and can look at him head-on, you see the all too familiar jacket clinging to his broad shoulders, the tight tank top beneath it that shows off a hint of his muscled arms and chest. Seonghwa must see something across your expression that you aren’t consciously aware of because he hooks his index finger under your chin and lifts your head to look you in the eye. “You’re irresistible when you pout, kitten.”

A hand reaches up to cup the back of his neck, skating across the fabric of his shirt as you move upwards, and when you grab hold of him, he’s already leaning down to meet you on your path to his lips.

“I’m still mad at you, by the way,” you murmur before laying a kiss against him. Seonghwa laughs into your mouth as his tongue breaks the seam and finds yours. He tastes like the same stupid flavor of vape juice you remember, which means he hasn’t quit like he said he would last time you spoke, but he seems to have kept using your favorite flavor. “It’s past curfew.”

“No it’s not,” he denies quickly, and you pull off his mouth completely just so he can see how hard you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s past curfew.”

“Fifteen minutes outside the city—” a firmly planted kiss that keeps you from responding “—twenty tops, it’s fine. You can even drive if you want? You know how hot I find it seeing you on my bike.” Now that you’ve broken the seal, Seonghwa can’t seem to pull his lips away from yours for even a full sentence with the way he keeps rushing to lick into your mouth between every few words.

“If this—ah, hey!” He nips the corner of your mouth, grin cheeky at best when you squeeze the back of his neck hard. “If this is what we’re going to do then why not just stay here?”

“Because I have something to show you.” When suspicion starts to overcome your features, Seonghwa leans down and bumps his forehead against yours. “And we haven’t checked the bike’s sturdiness in over two months… what if my baby isn’t as sturdy as she used to be, huh? She’s not getting as much practice as she used to.”

“And I wonder whose fault that is.”

“Mine and no one else’s, princess.” He’s giving you that damn smile that makes you cave every time without fail — the upturned lip one that makes his laugh lines appear — and you groan purposefully loud like it’ll change the outcome of the night you’ve already handed yourself over to. Everyone close to you in your life would rush to call you a doormat for this man, and you can’t say that they’re horribly wrong on any front. Maybe if they knew exactly how good the dick and banter are they would cut you some slack though.

“Fine, you win.” You pull him into another open-mouthed kiss that lets you have another taste. “But you’re driving there, I’ll drive back.”

Seonghwa grins like he’s just won the lottery of life, hand snapping to brace yours against his chest as he guides you to the window where he made his grandiose entrance. There are many questions at the forefront of your mind admittedly, but you opt not to bring any of them up quite yet solely because you don’t want to cause any headaches this early on in the night. If he decides to turn tail and run upon being confronted then what? You’ll have wasted your night on this man for no reason and it’ll be totally unfulfilling for the both of you, so you imagine he wants to keep the mediocre peace as much as possible too. You have no trouble leaving the window unlocked now, mostly because Seonghwa is the only person who has dared to break in in your area of town, and he doesn’t do so with the intention of taking any of your belongings: just you and your poor fragile heart.

His motorcycle sits alone in the alleyway your fire escape leads down to, and you watch him pop the small box trunk attached to the back of it for a few seconds before realizing that you truly are what he came for. He pulls a helmet out — the same one he used to always make you wear that fits you just right and you used to be convinced that he bought it solely for you, but he denied it so heavily you gave up on that notion a long time ago. He never carries it around unless he knows he’s coming to you because he’s always claimed to need the space for “work” related things if you can even call it that given the rather illegal nature of what he does with this very bike. You don’t mind that part one bit; Night City has gone to shit anyway, and the government keeps finding new ways to impose absurd laws on all of you. If Seonghwa wants to mess with their new world order a bit and piss all over their business, then you’re all for it. You hope he and whoever he works with bring them down a few notches while they’re at it. But you do want him to be safe, and you want to know he’s okay and alive out there, and you don’t want months of radio silence that leaves you wondering if you did something to run him off or if he got captured by the guardians or worse—

“Hey.”

You inhale sharply. Seonghwa slides the helmet down over your head then braces his hands on either side of it to lay a kiss on where your forehead would be if not for the protection. Behind the visor, you shut your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open them again, Seonghwa is perched on the bike, pulling his own helmet on, and you admire the pretty slope of his nose mere seconds before it disappears.

Unspoken rule #1: you don’t ask about his little foray into anarchy.

“I don’t even believe in any god yet I pray for your safety every time you leave.”

He reached across the space between your bodies on the couch that night and squeezed your thigh.

“I’ll give you something to believe in.”

That night he buried his face between your thighs and ate you out like a man worshiping at the altar on the cold floor in front of your TV.

Tonight, you’re more than okay with that.

Seonghwa’s body is like a furnace when you wrap yourself around him. He’s warm and comfortable in the most familiar of ways, and you can still taste him on the inside of your lips. You smile despite yourself, clinging to him harder as the motorcycle lurches into action. Seonghwa never wastes time, though there’s an added layer of danger tonight with curfew, but you have it in good faith that the whole notion is just a little scare tactic to keep people in line. Even months ago there were no patrols or active guardians wandering the streets at night. Whatever drones do monitor from the sky don’t do anything except spook citizens.

In retrospect, you should have stolen Seonghwa’s jacket off his back or brought your own because the night air whips your shirt and leaves you cold. The man in front of you isn’t much of a meat shield against it either, yet the combination of your shivering and the ever-increasing speed of the bike makes adrenaline drop in your gut. You could chase this feeling for the rest of your life but still not be able to capture it unless it’s with Seonghwa, and as much as you hate to admit that sort of dependency, you also revel in the knowledge that he only gets it from you as well. Maybe you’re more religious than you thought with the exchanged reverence and devotion you two hold for one another. A sort of sacrality permeates every touch and breath between your lips. It reaches you in full when Seonghwa pulls the bike to a stop at what must be his chosen destination. He eases your helmet off first before ridding himself of his own. The moment his lips are within reach, you find them with your fingers and trace over the soft skin there like he himself is holy text to be studied and recited.

“Come,” he says with a hand stretched out towards you. Like a sheep following its shepherd, you sling your leg over the bike and come to stand beside him. He’s brought you to a hill, just beyond the outskirts of the city, but the spot where it overlooks showcases something as fascinating as it is beautiful. Beyond the fences surrounding Night City, there is a clearing of simple dirt yet it’s full of light and life. Crowds upon crowds of people occupy the space, though they look more like ants from where you’re perched, yet even in the distance you can see how they move about. Dancing. “That’s one of the only spots the people in this hellhole can still be free.”

“Are…” You clear your throat and glance at your companion briefly. “Is that where your coworkers are?”

“There are others, yes. Many of them. Our bike crew likes to show off some nights and do tricks around the lot when we know the government is gonna be busy with other problems. But for the most part, people go there to listen to music and dance and sing… to enjoy the things every rich prick is trying to take away from us.” Seonghwa sighs. He brings a hand to his hair and runs his fingers through the strands to the point of disarray. “It’s not an excuse, but this is why I’ve been away from you for so many weeks. Trying to get some solid plans in motion and all that. You knowing too much would just put you at risk, and that simply wouldn’t do, princess. I need you safe and sound. I can’t be the reason you get hurt or suffer, especially not at their hands.”

“But… you hurt me.”

“I thought it would be easier to disappear entirely than to come up with some lie as to why I couldn’t come around anymore.” He draws his arms up in a rather clear act of defensiveness but he turns to face you directly as he relays the information. “And I knew that the second I showed up at your door with a lie figured out, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. I guess everyone has a point in saying you’re my soft spot.”

One corner of your lips pulls up to form a crude smile, laugh exhaling out your nose in a rush of air. You reach for Seonghwa’s wrists.

“Cm’here.”

“What?” he complies nonetheless, matching your grin as you pull his arms away from his chest. His hands move around your body to tug you into his personal space like it’s just an extension of simple human movements, and you match the gentle affection with your own soft touches across his chest. Tracing upwards, you seek his jacket and secure your hands around the collar.

“Don’t lie and don’t hide from me again. If you can’t tell me, that’s fine. I’m okay with that. We can play house and do whatever when we’re together, then when the revolution comes knocking, we’ll deal with that too.” This is as close to I love you as you can go.

“Okay, princess. That’s a deal I’m gonna hold you to though.” Seonghwa leans against your body, and you let his weight sink down onto you with a quiet sigh. The lingering pass of silence lets you indulge in the feeling of him as he exhales heavily down your neck. He drifts lower until his lips ghost over the juncture of your neck, and the pressure in your chest increases tenfold with each feathering touch. When his teeth drag across your skin, you gasp out loud. Goosebumps rush across your body, a moan pulls from your lips, and Seonghwa sucks at your neck like he wants to pull the blood right out of you.

“H-Hwa.”

“Want you,” he murmurs. You have other things on your mind right now, however, and you doubt he’s going to be opposed to your suggestions so you tug yourself away from his wandering hands and tighten your grip on his jacket. His body is lax as you pull him around and lean him against the seat of his motorcycle. “Princess…” Seonghwa already looks to be in a daze when you sink to your knees between his legs, hands sliding across the firm muscles of his legs that are hidden beneath faux leather. His lips part in silent wonder, and his gaze follows yours with such intense focus that it feels like you’re the only two people on earth. You watch his mouth move but no noise comes out, no words, and whatever thoughts he’s having right now are lost on you because you can’t read his lips. It doesn’t deter you from your current goal — you have his zipper caught between your fingers already, and his button comes undone just as easily.

His shame knows no bounds, apparently, because you peel back his pants to bare skin with nothing between.

“You been thinking about me all day?” you tease, teeth toying with your lower lip as you flutter your lashes at him on purpose, but he sweeps you away with his hasty and breathless response.

“All day. All week. Every day since the last time I saw you.” A hopeless romantic, after all. You work his pants down his hips just enough to pull his half-hard length out, putting your lips around him without wasting any more time than you have to. Seonghwa moans from the first touch as your wet heat surrounds his cock and buries all the way in your throat. You take him in until he nudges the back of your throat and threatens to make you choke. Similar to how he laid between your legs and worshiped at your alter, you do the same now — on your knees for him with hands clasped around the base of his cock, you blink up at his strained face with glistening eyes and a prayer on your lips.

Seonghwa brings a shaky hand to the back of your head, but he finds his confidence the moment he grabs hold of your hair and guides your mouth to take his dick deeper. His tip pushes into your throat, and you’re quick to adjust your breathing, focus snapping away from his face so that you can steady your breath and bring air into your lungs. Wetness touches your lashes as your eyes fall closed. You tap his crotch twice, and he understands the signal immediately. It’s hard to believe two months have passed when you fall back into usual and familiar routines with such ease. Seonghwa tightens his hold on your hair, burying his fingers closer to your scalp, and air whistles through his teeth. He pulls out of your mouth suddenly, until the head of his cock lays heavy against your lips. You missed the taste of him desperately, even more so in this filthy and hedonistic way, but that realization quickly turns into an afterthought as you suck at his tip.

“Fuck, doll, missed using you like this,” Seonghwa groans above you, and you respond by swiping your tongue along the bit of his cock that he lets you touch. “You always let me fill your pretty little mouth so well. Could use you like a toy forever, fuck.”

“Then do it.” You grin against his cock head, chin tilting down so that you can press a kiss to the same spot. The noise that tears from Seonghwa is close to animalistic as he jerks his hips towards your mouth. You’re forced to drop your jaw as quickly as you can but it doesn’t fully keep your teeth from snagging at his skin, though that seems to do nothing but drive Seonghwa further into insanity as he thrusts hard into your mouth.

“Shit, my little doll, look at you.” You force your eyes open against better judgment just to look at Seonghwa’s face. He coos, free hand reaching around to cup your face, and he swipes his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “Such a messy doll you are, tears and spit all over that pretty face.” You gag, only for it to turn into a sob as he fucks your mouth like it's just another hole to use. “I’ll grant you your veneration, princess, if only you give me my absolution.” He still treats you as though you’re something holy after all this time too, it seems. His balls knock against your chin with each one of his thrusts, until you grow totally accustomed to the rhythm. You had been certain that he would stop before coming undone, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem keen on stopping any time soon with the way he’s enjoying your mouth, wet and warm around his dick. You want to drive him to completion now — the cotton fuzz in your brain that’s starting to block all thoughts outside of him and your arousal demands more, and you crave the feeling of his cock twitching on your tongue. You wish to taste his seed on the back of your tongue, to watch his legs tremble and buckle under his pleasure at your hands.

You hum around the weight on your tongue, and Seonghwa lets his hand go loose on your hair, swinging it back to catch on the seat of his bike so he can steady himself better. He hands over control to you in the same moment and gives you the blessed initiative that makes you splay your hands across his hips and brace yourself over his length as you take some time to catch your breath. It makes you acutely aware of your wrecked state too because you can feel the moisture all over your face, both from tears and the trails of saliva that Seonghwa caused. He leans back and pushes the bike further against its side-stand; not to the point of immediate concern but he is testing that sturdiness as he claimed he wished to earlier. You lick along the underside of Seonghwa’s cock, relishing in the way he twitches against your tongue.

“Are you close?” you ask. You aren’t expecting how horribly wrecked your voice is or how it sounds like you’ve chewed and tried to swallow gravel actually. Seonghwa makes no comment on it himself and instead just nods several times over as he gulps down greedy breaths of air. “Do you wanna cum in my mouth?”

“Jesus, princess, how can you just — say that with a straight face like that, christ.” Seonghwa brushes hair away from your forehead, pulling it back to be out of the way.

“You can keep going, right?” Your fingers curl around the base of his dick just to squeeze him a little bit to tease and stimulate him some more. “You’ll still be able to fuck me if you cum once, won’t you?”

“Baby—”

“Or can you still not finish without breeding me?” Seonghwa’s whole body reacts to your statement, and you hear the audible choke that overtakes him when you flatten your palm on his cock and press it against his stomach. His fingers extend while trembling then he draws them back into fists so tight his knuckles bleed white. You drive the heel of your hand further into his length, coming up halfway to let your fingers curl up over his tip. Taking precum onto your fingertips, you pull the same digits into your mouth and lick them clean, eyes glinting as you watch Seonghwa’s lips part in either want or wonder.

His mouth stays agape even after you stand up and press your body firmly on his. Your nipples clearly show through your top, bra forgone in your rush to get dressed when you saw him, and Seonghwa lets his hands wander up to pinch at them through the thin cotton.

“I take that as a no,” you whisper close to his mouth, letting your breath huff out across his lips. He moves against you with more force now and takes your lips with his own. You’re distracted despite the kiss on account of your hands being busy with your pants and unable to maintain contact without having to pull away to separate your shoes and pants from your body entirely. Seonghwa wraps an arm around your waist to bring you back to him, already attaching himself to your neck and nipping at the mark he left not long ago. “H-How?”

“Ride me—” he twists at the waist “—on the bike.” You’re taken aback by the request, but it also shouldn’t come as much of a surprise given the long list of delightful positions Seonghwa’s taken you in previously. Still, when he pats the back of the seat and slings his own leg over the body, you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to manage this at all. Over the back of the bike? Sure, you’ve done that many times. He’s bent you over the handles several times too, but never like this — with his back to the handlebars and you crawling up to his lap in what feels like a rather precarious position. “I’ve got you, kitten, come on.” Securing a hand on his shoulder, you let Seonghwa hoist you up over his spread legs, fingernails digging into your ass as he brings you down to his lap. You reach down to grab hold of his cock and guide him to your pussy. Normally, you’d love to have some sort of prep, especially with his dick and its size, but that’s far from your concern right now. You’ll regret it tomorrow when you’re sore and aching; by then, you’ll have him in your bed, looking after you and taking care of you, and you can make that his problem to sort out. Right now, you want him inside you and filling you up with a burn and a sting to remember him by.

Seonghwa takes great care to ease you down his length, hands holding you steady and firm. You hiss at the stretch of your walls around him.

“Feet on the rests, kitten, I’ve got you.” You hear the words and react accordingly, but your mind is elsewhere — focused on relaxing as best you can to accommodate his size. When he bottoms out at last, you lean your forehead against his, and he drags his hands up from your ass to massage along your lower back. “Don’t hold onto me, okay? Grab the handlebars.” Your firm glare is hard to miss, especially with your proximity to one another, but it just makes Seonghwa laugh into your cheek. “I’ll keep the bike steady no problem. Gotta put my long legs to use somehow, right?”

“Can’t believe you’re making me do all the work when you were the asshat who disappeared for two months!”

“It’s not too late for me to fuck you face first into the ground, doll, if that’s what you’re wanting,” Seonghwa purrs against the corner of your lips, and you reply with a cheeky kiss that involves you biting the tip of his tongue gently when he tries to explore your mouth.

“Don’t get too excited, baby. It’s my treat tonight.” You feel him twitch inside you as you reach around his body to grab for the handlebars, and the motion forces you to pull up from his cock a bit. He’s watching you with rapt focus, the same unholy expression as before paints his features again now, and it’s borderline intoxicating to see him unravel as you drop back down on his length. The noises of passion between you are reduced to exchanged moans and heavy breaths. For a man who always has something dirty to say, if only to rile you up further, he’s fallen to a mess of stuttered groans and pants that make you bounce on his cock faster and faster.

“Do I feel as — as good as y-you remember?” you ask through the sounds of skin slapping skin. Seonghwa’s whole face contorts and he throws his head back, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He scrambles to grab at your waist.

“Even better, s-so much fucking better.”

You tilt your chin towards the sky and laugh through a choppy moan. It’s then that Seonghwa catches you off guard: he eases you back along the seat of the motorcycle, forcing your hands to release the handles and laying you along the length of the seat. It’s not quite long enough to accommodate the position he’s going for, but you understand better when he pulls you down to meet his cock. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust further, driving his cock into you with a rabid passion that fills your stomach with fire and desire. Your dangling feet move to brace against the handlebar, and you plant them firmly against the flat of your foot just as Seonghwa pulls you down some more. Either you can’t control your noises as well like this or he’s simply fucking you better than ever because every thrust knocks a whiny moan out of you. There’s nothing for you to grab onto like this either — not above or around your head at least — so you have to settle for reaching down between your legs and bracing your hands on Seonghwa’s forearms.

“D-Dear fucking god, Hwa,” you whine.

“Touch yourself, touch yourself now, doll, I’m gonna cum soon.” You think you’re just as close yourself, to the point where a minute touch might make you cum embarrassingly quick, but you do as told, moving one of your hands down to roll firm circles around your clit in time with his thrusts. You don’t really have to move at all because his movements are doing the work for you. So when the climbing sensation of an impending orgasm starts to overwhelm you, you bring your fingers to a halt and let them press into your clit instead, where Seonghwa’s thrusts can jerk your hand against yourself in a crude form of masturbation.

“P-Please hurry, cum quick please, I’m about to—” your thoughts come to a grinding halt. Your mind goes blank, turning to an empty canvas, then the pleasure explodes and the orgasm shakes your entire body. Your toes curl around the handles in the same way that your back curls away from the seat.

“Inside? Do you want me to cum inside or — fuck, not? In or out?” Seonghwa’s voice is wound so tight that it sounds painful to the ears. You fist the sleeve of his jacket.

“Breed me? In, in, in, please breed me, Hwa.” He doesn’t need more instruction than that. A groan rips through him in time with his finish, and the sensation of his cock releasing hot spurts of cum makes you shiver. He leans back, your legs fall away from the handles, and the afterglow of your sex feels warm and heady. Hands are on your bare thighs, fingers rub deep into your muscles and work against the lingering tremble in them, and the air turns into a song of both your breathing. The whole atmosphere around you two feels sacred once more. You don’t want a single thing to disturb this carefully found peace, not even for a second. Folding your fingers around Seonghwa’s wrist, you use him as leverage to pull yourself up to a sitting position across from him.

All it takes is one quick beckoning motion for him to fall against your lips, granting you the kiss you’re after and securing you in his hold at the same time.

Seonghwa rights himself but keeps a hand firm on your hip as he climbs off the bike, only letting his touch fall away once he’s certain you’re steady and safe on your perch. You watch him tuck his softened dick back into his pants without exchanging words. You’re dazed yet exceptionally and thoroughly satisfied, and that feeling persists for some time. You don’t opt to speak until Seonghwa is bent over and grabbing your pants from the ground.

“Will you stay with me when we get back home?”

Seonghwa jerks his head in your direction. His dark eyes are wide, and you can see the contemplation cross his features even in the low light.

“Yeah, I think I will this time.”

────────────

please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

[jessamine-rose]

Aahh thank you so much, dear!! This reblog is long overdue and for that, I apologize. I hope my comments in the tags make up for it ^^;

So I decided to redraw damsel again since I still occasionally come back on read @jessamine-rose and @bye-bye-sunbird 's fanfics, which I've read too much of

So here's damsel and another drawing of her :3 and also an extra doodle of damsel

And her eye colour, which I may change later on to red, I will most likely draw either saviour or kitty next