#this is just going up no categorizing tags

[radiocmyk]

Part Two: Alterhuman Community Intro…?

This post will continue to be edited as necessary. This post is no longer our active bio and I've removed it from our pinned post because I don't update it anymore; we now have a full page on our blog for it rather than a post

So I just posted my writeblr intro and since I’m definitely more active in the alterhuman community than the writeblr community I thought it might be fun to have a nonhuman/plural intro? Might be fun and it also occurred to me/us that most of our followers really only know me since I’m the only occupant of the body itself, and don’t know anything about the rest of the system. I will probably delete this someday if I decide once again I don’t like having my ‘types public depending on if the brainmates want to keep their own bios up. It will also probably change a lot because we tend to do that.

Context. We are a non-dissociative system, we do not switch, we were dæmonic originally meaning that I am the body and communicate with them through faux-visual projection and mental speech (which is why I talk like we're a total found family when they never seem to even say anything -- trust me they do, they just don't have access to the keyboard). We/they consider them all to have separate external bodies. We are quoigenic, not traumagenic or endogenic or mixed origins, only refer to us as the former.

Swift

He/it (they/them only under certain circumstances), bisexual, binary male* but only humans are ever men. I use quoi- ahead of all labels (both queer and alterhuman) in addition. POSIC, mildly objectum/conceptum. I have special interests in: biology, the arts, and the change of technology/art/language/media over time and throughout history (example: history of computer graphics 1950s-1990s <3). Psychospiritual, philosophical and narrative alterhuman. Species-wise: I am a common raven (Corvus corax ssp. principalis), an osprey (Pandion haliaetus ssp. carolinensis), a red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamiacensis (ssp. fuertesi?)), common spotted cuscus (Spilocuscus maculatus), sea slater (Ligia exotica), mosasaur (Mosasaurus sp.), and lastly, Musteloidea sub-superfamily cladotherian (procyonids, ailurids, and mustelids). I’m a Novakid, a species from the game Starbound, which I consider more of a fictional kintype than a fictotype (I prefer alienkin or just otherkin over fictionkin for this ‘type). I am also a computer, specifically an IBM 7090. I also consider myself a kind of entity or manifestation of autumn, I’d just call it “conceptkin with extra steps,” the extra steps being conceptual embodiment in a sort of cryptidlike sleep paralysis shadow-man monster. I am questioning: a stomiiforme (viperfish, bristlemouth or dragonfish) theriotype, a house centipede theriotype, a Nectocaris pteryx theriotype, and my relationship to solar eclipses (conceptkin, symbolism stemming from interacts between other kintypes, both, or something else?) I was a ghost. Now I’m not. It was not a kintype and I did not “deconfirm” it. This affects some things. I am a flickerer with two fictotypes (Link from The Legend of Zelda, every canon game, and the Knight from Hollow Knight). I have three heartedtypes (domestic cats, cephalopods, and ghost type Pokemon) and two hearthomes (the ocean and O’Neill cylinders). I consider dragons, wolves and foxes to be paratypes. I have a profound quasi-religious connection to stars & the night sky that I consider at least marginally alterhuman in nature. I am an archetrope; wanderer, and secondarily a "shapeshifter" and "generalist" which I need better words for both of -- as they say language is like trying to nail down the ocean, and I guess it would be more accurate but less concise to describe them as "one who changes, embodies or becomes" and "one who adapts, branches out, survives or opportunizes." If I ever explain these somewhere I’ll link to it here. I have a lot of playlists including my main 9,000 song one but this is my “Swift vibes” playlist. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/40rzRF67ocIDF2L7mLzNVC?si=20945cccc57942c0

Tetri

I’m Tetri, Swift’s dæmon. I CIE on November 11th, 2020. Pronouns are he/him. I’m comfortably settled as of February 21st, 2021, as an Asian palm civet. We believe this represents Swift’s personality well, even if it was coincidental and we didn’t consciously choose it. I’m a pretty traditional dæmon but I’m not 100% by-the-books and definitely more autonomous than most, just because of the general plurality. I’m ‘hearted with cats and I love going to coffee shops and library cafés and getting a pastry. I also like transport like trains and ferries. Please feel free to initiate a conversation with me. I like to offer advice even if I don’t know you very well. Here’s my playlist of music I like https://open.spotify.com/playlist/73IEcIlekV70adyrkLjeY4 Check out these MyNoise custom generators. I think they’re rather nice .https://mynoise.net/Community/user.php?submission=691c051129d33047b53b0e3d1664468885 https://mynoise.net/Community/user.php?submission=691c051129d33047b53b0e3d1654028735 CIE Day: November 11 2020

Ziv

I’m Ziv. I’m a wolf. Specifically a Himalayan wolf, as well as a Spanish imperial eagle. An adult, not a juvenile, even though juveniles for some reason are the image of our species. Pronouns -- zhe/hir. I’m agender and aroace. I’m autistic and I like weaponry as a special interest, especially medieval blades from all over the world. Also wilderness survival. Jewish philosophy, art and history interest me. I am not spiritual and do not put stock in spiritual beliefs whatsoever. I like heavy music, metal, metalcore, rock, especially punk, but also some folk. This is my playlist. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4cL88XYitlbWeb7wnvkT9W Swift wrote the descriptions for all of our playlists but I like mine so I’m not changing it. CIE Day: November 14 2020

Lumi

Hi! My name is Lumi. I use any and all pronounce and I’m big xenogender pansexual hours. Get zany with it. I love snails, video games, and Greek mythology. I have a special interest in Nintendo. Surprisingly, my favorite game is actually not Kid Icarus. It’s Pokemon. I would love to chat with anyone!!! Send an ask for me. I’m a shapeshifter otherkin. I have no base form so I like to be a lot of different things. Animals, bugs, birds, crabs, mish-mash monsters, dinosaurs, Pokemon, all kinds of crazy stuff. It’s like choosing a jacket for the day to me. I associate with clown, bard etc. archetypes, but I don’t know if I’m exactly an archetrope. Still working on it. And I’m fictionkin, I’m a) Pit from Kid Icarus b) Sky from Wings of Fire and c) a Jester from Lethal Company! Swift wants us all to share our playlists because it’s obsessed with music. So now you have context for the last three intros. Look at my playlist boy https://open.spotify.com/playlist/01Xgx5BnmzVXxv2sIoTScZ CIE Day: December 26 2020

Maz

Hi, I’m Mazel, Maz for short. Resident human. She/her. I originated as a male, I’m a woman now, not sure if that makes me trans or something else, the question is not worth my time. I’m a lesbian. I like sci fi movies, NASA and performance art. I guess that’s it. Am I allowed to go now Swift {She's having a blast, guys} Playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0acN0u6kJrYFEFWycCM3gm CIE Day: April 22 2021

Axel

I’m Axel! I’m Maz’s dæmon. I’m not settled but I like to appear as a rat or a rattlesnake or a king cheetah. Probably some more forms in the future. He/him. Technically I am just a thoughtform but I’m a thoughtform with big transmasc energy, I like to think. I’m obsessed with kaiju and other big monsters and superheroes as well as alt scenes. So my playlist should be obvious https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7Ma2bNC0FlnTsb6DtDFhXc  CIE Day: June 27 2023

Foxglove

I’m Foxglove, otherwise known as Europa. She/her, if you must refer to me. I am a dragon of silver lineage. I have special interests in psychology, botany and mineralogy. I suppose I am autistic in the context of a physically human brain, but it is difficult to recontextualize that to the culture of a draconic biological worldview. I have a great appreciation for baroque and art nouveau architecture and for the aesthetic of vintage fantasy artwork. I would also say I do not believe in anything spiritual and I do believe that everything can be explained scientifically. If we are sharing playlists, here is mine. It is majority progressive and psychedelic rock. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vNU0chHir6XWfpt90jjxu CIE Day: September 21 2021

Anser

Swift here again. Anser is a tricky one. She could and probably would write her own intro, but she’s complicated much like V’vohu and I’d rather explain it in my own words, because I’m not sure hers would be… not too vague. Anser is not fae, nor a kitsune, nor a Huli Jing or any other kind of specific fox myth, rather a fae-like fox spirit who seems to embody multiple fox and faerie mythologies. He originated as a spirit. Sort of. When he first appeared, he may well have been a literal spirit visitor, like V’vohu. But he left, possibly of his own accord, possibly something to do with V’vohu. This Anser is a different entity while being the same individual psychologically, fully formed by whatever mental process formed the other headmates excluding V’vohu, but still also fully psychologically a spirit. Literally the exact same individual in every way except not a literal outside spiritual visitor. He still fully believes in magic and is the most spiritual of all of us. It's complicated. Anyways, she usually appears as a red fox with or without various fantastical attributes, and sometimes as a statue. She/her and he/him only, not they/them. I believe she identifies as bigender or genderfluid, not sure which or if gender means the same thing to her at all that it does to earthly people. Here’s her playlist, like V’vohu’s it’s pretty unique. She’s obsessed with different cultures, religions and folklores around the world, so her music taste is mostly comprised of regional folk, devotional and traditional music and nature noises. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4XIssSbiAwI1e1G3AuiqIX CIE Day: June 13 2022

[quadrantadvisor]

I wish that there was a commonly used tag for like, ghost instincts or whatever. I specifically want to read fics with like, ectoplasmic entities being able sense and communicate with eachother, and having haunts that they feel urged to protect, and making aggressive threat displays and being able to feel eachother's intentions and all that kind of stuff. But it doesn't seem like there's anything in the common tag parlance, unfortunately.

[mister13eyond]

I think people in general would be less weird about gender and trans people if it were just made more clear how incredibly artificial the idea of a human sexual dichotomy really is

External genitalia is the same basic structures configured in slightly different ways, and it's less of a binary set of options than a spectrum between two poles as intersex people fully prove

Secondary sex characteristics are entirely dependent on hormones, which means they a.) already have a wide variety of natal presentations across genders (ex cis women capable of growing facial hair, cis men with breast tissue etc are all completely normal (if slightly uncommon) outcomes) and b.) Are extremely easy to change with HRT

Hormones can affect PHYSICAL reactions to emotions (higher testosterone making anger an easier physical reaction to stress than tears, and higher estrogen vice versa) but it doesn't actually affect the ways you think about or react to things, just what your body does with that emotion.

Social and behavioral differences are EXTREMELY affected by nurture more so than nature and there are no inherent neurological differences between men and women's brains.

Our bodies are so similar to one another that transition- while socially and financially potentially difficult- is MEDICALLY incredibly fucking easy. The fact that we can just alter our secondary sex characteristics with medications and our external genitalia with fairly simple surgeries should be a clue how incredibly close all human bodies are? We Have the possibility to change so easily because there are not inherent, hardwired unmovable differences. The only real difference at this point is the capability to carry and birth children, and with the way science is going that doesn't seem like an impossible breakthrough at this point.

Idk, I'm so tired of seeing discourse from other trans people that upholds that there are fundamental differences between men and women. Until we all start agreeing that these categories are artificially enforced and that they aren't really biologically inherent whatsoever we're never going to get anywhere

[pikslasrce]

pussy so androgynous it causes a major fandom schism approximately 194 times a month

[milfbrainrot]

i hate astrology stuff too but i think this show sometimes misses that the belief systems of different planets aren't usually the problem. the governments based on belief systems are.

[codecicle]

wanted to apologise for possibly being someone who fucked up ur tl with 18+ slime posts (coming to grips with how tagging works on this here webbedsite!) please take my sincerest (anonymous) apologies ur a cool goober 🙏

ay man it's alright!! really!!! i understand most of the 18+ people are coming from websites like twitter or tiktok so they don't quite understand how it functions :-) if you ever need a tutorial or any help with understanding the culture here, shoot me an ask! it's insanely different from other social media and i completely understand its weird to adjust to and navigate. peace and love + have fun with your slimeposting ✌️

[arctic-hands]

Related to my tags on the Irish American reblog, how long have bastardized "Celtic" crosses been neo-Nazi symbols? I wasn't aware of this stupid use until I was an adult and my father was equally unaware until I learned about it, and in our Celtic (American) Pride we often used Celtic cross imagery in decor and accessories. Granted these usually did resemble actually woven/knotted crosses (which by no means meant they were authentic. At best a few came from local Celtic Pride fests–which as I said in those tags was plagued by Confederate and Nazi imagery), but most of them came from like JoAnn's or Michael's or Walmart whenever Saint Paddy's Day rolled around. That said, the woven pattern of a Celtic cross is a bitch to draw especially when you have yet to nurture or be nurtured in any art skills, so when my borderline-Gothic ass would doodle graveyards in my school notebooks I would often doodle simplified Celtic crosses as grave markers, which unfortunately just meant a simple cross with a simple circle in it, unfortunately reminiscent of the neo-Nazi symbol.

Me and my family were staunchly Indiana liberals (to be fair that wasn't that shocking in our democrat enclave city) and have only become more leftist as time goes on, so those who knew me well would know I didn't mean anything by it, but like I have to wonder/worry that those who didn't know me well (like most of my classmates. I was pretty lonely in high school) or people who would briefly visit my home or come across us while we were wearing Celtic pins that day or something came away with the wrong impression. I'm especially dismayed at the thought that the kids I knew to be actual neo-Nazis might thought I was one of them

For the record I left school in like twenty eleven and had been doodling graveyards for years and wearing Celtic imagery for even longer. I can't really find out when the "Celtic" cross became a dogwhistle

[spark1edog]

throwback to the time that abusive homeless person my family let stay at my house for like 5 weeks was leaving with my mom to go ??? somewhere i forget and i was in the bathroom.

he was like oh no i have to say goodbye to you before i leave! and he was like “open the bathroom door young man!” (makes me wan t to fucking kms typing that) and i was just silent for like. 30 seconds trying to think of what to say and i just said.

“i’m shitting.”

“…..oh”

he just sped out the door lol

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

tfw you want to write up a proper post detailing What the Fuck about a particular thing about a character, but you're too exhausted and out of sorts to figure out the best way to format it and you'd rather make an actual concise, relatively coherent post instead of just reblogging it over and over with 'jesus fucking christ'

[thatsalotofdragons]

man. talking about suicide is so scary

[resonabilis-echo]

.

[neverendingford]

.

[solardrop]

mean drunk.

aaron hotchner x fem!reader.

summary: after a bau night on the town your boyfriend tries to get you to admit to being mean when you drink. But he can't seem to keep his hands to himself either... (or hotch says you're a mean drunk and you say 'nuh uh") tags: smut NSFW 18+ alcohol use. dubious consent because both parties are drunk but 'consenting'. oral m/f receiving. unprotected p in v. spitting. literally like 2 seconds of anal. word count: ~2.6k a/n: be nice to me you aren't allowed to be mean this is my first time writing a fic since the finnick odair x oc fic i posted on ff.net when I was like 12 LMAO. first smut in general too so. yeah. all divider creds. to @cafekitsune

The two of you stumbled into the entryway of Hotch's bedroom with your faces all but glued together. Thick hands grasped at the small patch of skin revealed as your shirt rode up your back. 

You lean into his chest and grips a handful of your breast in his hand appreciatively before walking you backwards to the plush comfort of his bed. Suddenly, he pulls away from you completely and boyishly smiles down at you perched  on the edge of his bed.

His lips and neck are covered in a glittery brown sheen from your lip gloss. Black hair spiking in unnatural directions. The powder blue dress shirt he wore haphazardly wrinkled from your efforts to untuck the crisp fabric from his now tightening dress pant. You could eat him from the top down. But he was just standing there. Smiling at you instead of stripping. 

"Aaron, I swear if you dont fucking touch me I'll kill you-"

He giggles as he unbuttons his shirt, "Very mean drunk."

A successful case led the entire team to a night of drinks at O'Keefe's. Penelope was all but pouring shots down everyone's throats; she somehow even managed to get Hotch to down a few extra glasses of scotch than his typical. Unsurprisingly the result was everyone being absolutely sloshed. Everyone was giggly and free, playing stupid drinking games before the topic of 'drunk personalities' came to the table. 

JJ declared herself a sleepy drunk, while Derek, Garcia, and Emily all admitted to being more flirty. Spencer and David started going back and forth about the psychological implications of the human personality traits while intoxicated. So their categorization as chatty drunks went without saying. You were starting to agree with JJ on being sleepy when your annoying man decided to cut you off and say you were mean when drunk. 

Sure, liquid courage did loosen your tongue a bit. You were guilty of causing few hurt feelings after a night out. And maybe Aaron had to whisk you away from a few bar fights with people you couldn't take without your handgun. But you were not a mean drunk!

An uncharacteristic back and forth bounces between you for the remainder of the night. Only ceasing when he smashes his lips against yours in the taxi home. 

His calloused hands flip you around roughly. Propping your hips up towards his face. Your face heats as he presses his face into your wetness, inhaling deeply and moaning at the scent of you.

"So pretty.." He spreads your lips apart with his thumbs, the moisture there almost holding them together. 

Your head was spinning, now from more than just the alcohol. The position was just embarrassing. You were almost completely upside down and your back arched shamelessly. Hell, you couldn't even see Aaron's pretty face like this. His strong thighs and thickening length weren't bad to look at either but you wanted to see him. 

you crane your neck around to tell him as much when he closes his lips around your clit and sucks greedily. 

"Aar-" you gasp. 

You squirm in the grasp he has on your hips. He tightens his hands around you, preventing your from escape. the warmth of his lips travel up from your nub to lick a few long stripes against your slit. 

"Oh fuck off-" you start.

He was going to kill you like this. Your face and neck were too hot, your back was starting to ache. The alcohol and your arousal swirling your mind into a fog.  Hotch continues his attack on your sex. Sucking and licking with whatever intensity he pleased. His words slur together as he praises you. The sound so intelligible you're convinced that they're more for himself than you. 

When the warmth of his tongue prods at your entrance, you fall forward. The wiry hairs along his thigh press into your cheek as your face is squished there. The invasion has you moaning and wailing, bucking your hips closer to him now; begging for him to delve deeper. Your desperation must amuse him because you feel a short puff of air and the semblance of a smile against you. What an absolute drunken ass. 

With a renewed burst of energy, you lean over without warning and suck the head of his length into your mouth. The strong, salty flavor of him spreads along your tongue as you circle the muscle around his tip. 

"Fucking hell-" he rips his mouth from you and yelps out. 

He jerks at your stimulation. His hips thrust into your mouth reflexively, the erratic movement causing his shaft to slip deeper into your mouth. You allow it, pressing your face closer and closer to him until the coarse patch of curls above his length pressed against your chin. 

He's always been so thick. But being held like this, he felt even heavier and stiffer in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks to pull off of him almost completely, the remaining glitter on your lips streaking up his shaft, before quickly pressing yourself down to the hilt. His tip taps against the back of your throat, you welcome the intrusion and swallow around him. 

He stutters your name out, the syllables melting together as you bob your head along him. You giggle at his lack of articulation. The mean, pristine, crime-fighting machine Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. Reduced to nothing but a gasping mess from a moment in your mouth and a few glasses of whiskey. A hum vibrates from your chest when you pull of to stroke him with a taunt. A string of saliva still connecting your lips to his swollen pink tip.

"See honey? if I was such a meanie drunk," a bead of precum weeps from his slip, you tongue darts out to collect it, "I would take such good care of you like this. Right?"

You slip back down to bask in your self-proclaimed victory. Savoring the heady taste of him before Aaron abruptly drives two thick fingers into you. 

Your eyes snap open and the sound that rips from your throat reverberates around the room, even muffled by the length of him. He picks up a rapid pace. The wet sounds of your pleasure winding you up even further than you thought possible. His girth slips with a pop. Moaninh against his calf as your body slides from its arched position to lay almost flat against his outstretched legs.

"Aar- '' you cry. "Aar this is so- Baby I- I don't think I can-"

You jump as he spits on your lips and grinds a thumb into your nub. As if you needed to be any slicker. The tight circles he makes are punishing. His saliva cooling against your folds doing little to waver the heat building between your legs. His fingers slam into you over and over, sometimes curling down and brushing that soft, sweet spot deep inside you. 

"Uh uh. The gorgeous girl I know can do anything," he presses an additional finger into you, "isn't that right?" 

You buck your hips back into him, the praise sending a shock to your core. You chance a glance over your shoulder at him, and you have to screw your eyes shut again and groan at the sight. The entire lower half of his face was covered in you. The bottom lip tucked between his lips shiny, red, and swollen. His eyes were low, hyperfocused on the movement of his hands between your legs.  Pale face still red from the night of festivities. He looked absolutely entranced. Completely pleased himself and they way he was wrecking you. 

"Aaron, Please just-" He wickedly pinches your clit between his thumb and forefinger and you squeal. 

"Hm? That attitude" he says as he pinches you again.

"Fuck-"

"See?" Another pinch. " I told you, you're a mean drunk," he does it again. 

Tears prickle in your eyes, sweat along your forehead clinging your curls to your warm skin. You thrash and cry as he continues his onslaught.  He was sitting beneath you, pushing and twisting and gripping your body in any way he wanted while you cried and you were the mean drunk?

You try to slip away from him, the pleasure too much, yet not enough to send you over the edge. But he slips his fingers out of you to grab you by the hips, spreading the globes of ass apart to spit on you again. 

Except this time the cold shock landed right on the pucker of your asshole. 

"Aaron!" you whimper

"If only my baby was nicer to me," he has the nerve to sigh wistfully, "I'm so damn hard, if she asked me politely I'd fuck her so good she'd lose it..." 

He rubbed his thumb over your hole, not pushing in, but applying enough pressure to have you keening in pleasure. 

He sighs again, completely ignoring your pants and cries. "But I think I can finish without touching just like this, hm? Maybe in 30? An hour?"

No. Nope. Absolutely not. 

If you had a lick of sense left in your brain right now you'd realize he was fucking with you. You'd recognize his words and the creeping smile on his face as the bullshit they were. But right now all your muddled mind was registering was the danger of being held shaking and pained for an hour without release. You would never finish like this, you couldn't. You needed to look into his eyes, feel his lips graze along your face as you came.  You wouldn't get that, not like this, you'd be stuck like this.

"Pleaseplease Aaron- Aar- fuck. Please I need you, Aar. Please-" 

He breathes out a laugh. Finally granting you mercy from his wicked hands. He grunts a little at the effort of pulling himself up around you, kissing your shoulder as his face finally nears yours. 

"I thought you'd never ask" he smiles, "Where do you want me gorgeous?"

You twist to move on your back, and Hotch shifts to allow you more space. You face him for the first time in a while, and your heat clenches almost automatically when his eyes meet yours. 

It was fucking sick how he had the nerve to call you gorgeous when he looked so positively delicious himself. His lids were still low and his cheeks were still tinged pink. But now you had a true view of the slick coating his mouth and chin. A crooked smile beamed off his face, smile lines deepening at the gesture. 

"Like this," You hold his face in your palms, pulling him down to peck on the lips quickly, "I want to see you, please."

"Anything you want, legs up for me." He playfully taps his hand on the side of your ass. Your legs shoot up quickly, and his eyes crinkle with laughter at your desperation when he props your knees on his shoulders. 

He presses his lips to yours again before shifting all his weight to one arm, the muscle there flexing while he reaches down to grip himself with his free hand.

He runs the tip of his length along your folds, every brush causing you to twitch with sensitivity. Special attention is given to your already swollen clit, nudging his hips forward to swipe against the delicate bundle of nerves.  He pulls away and slots his lips above yours to kiss you fully. 

You eagerly press yourself closer to him, deepening the kiss. His tongue presses into your mouth and you groan when the taste of your wetness mingles with the familiar bite of the dark liquor on his tongue. 

He notches himself at your entrance, massaging but still failing to push inside of you. A whine bubbled from the back of your throat. 

"Baby, I promise I'm already wet enou- Oh!" your murmuring is cut short by Aaron thrusting into you all at once. 

He doesn't even move before your wretched body betrays you. the abrupt force and fullness pushing a white-hot pleasure throughout your entire being. Your thighs beg to snap shut, but the spread of your knees on his shoulders denies them. Your walls lock around him in a vice, causing him to grunt above you. You're saying something, probably some warbled nonsense, but you can't even hear yourself above the heartbeat in your ears. 

Aaron presses his face into the crook of your neck as you come down from your high. Whispering your name and 'i love you', 'so beautiful's into your skin. 

The fluttering of your core begins to slow when he pulls almost completely out of you, only the head remaining within your warmth. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly, when your breath catches.

"We're not done here are we? Best one of two?" He doesn't wait for an answer before pushing into you, this time much slower.

you mewl at the firm stretch of him. Your hands reach up to grip the back of his neck, pressing his forehead to your own. Your eyes bounce around his features, burning each one into every empty space in your mind like you could ever forget. The precious mole you loved to kiss on his cheek. The unruly hairs sticking up on his temples. His pretty jet-black lashes flutterinh as he struggles to keep his eyes open for you.

His pace intensifies as he gets closer to his own climax, ramming into you. Every push tickles your clit with the thatch of curls that crown his shaft. 

"Such a good girl for me," he tries to hold back a moan causing him to stutter, " Y-you have one more in you I know it." 

The rough sensation of his calloused hands running up your side makes you shiver. You feel it again as he continues to bully his way through your center, the intense warmth pooling in your toes before creeping upwards. You nod your head at him, begging him to keep going, go faster, fuck into you deeper, love you fully. He complies with every soft cry, kissing and biting at your jaw as he forces you over into your second orgasm. 

You were almost completely gone for this one. Screaming into Aaron's mouth as he continues to chase his own release using your body. Your body shakes and you grip his biceps until the crescent marks of your fingernails are guaranteed to become a permanent fixture on his body. 

The breathless whimpering in your ear is what helps slowly bring you back down from your own world. You could tell he was close, his eyes screwing shut and his hips bucking into you out of pace every few beats. Using the last of your strength you push your hips up to meet his thrusts, fucking him back. You press a kiss on his good ear. 

"You treat me so well Honey," you murmur, "Come for me, you're so, so good to me, let me have you"

You suck the lobe of his ear into your mouth and bite down. He punches into you with one final thrust before you feel him twitch, bursts of his warm release spurting deeply inside you. He gasps your name out like a prayer as he comes down. 

Normailly his hardness slipping out of you after a session would cause you to cringe, but right now you were so fucking tired you barely even took note of the sensation. Clearly he was just as out of it as he plopped unceremoniously next to you in silence instead of his normal bossy demands for you to get up and pee after he wore you out. Before you even realize it both of you are drifting off into the best sleep you've had in a while. 

This had to be the worst sleep Aaron's had in a while. His mouth was dry, his head pounding, and his skin felt parched and scratchy despite the sweat that slicked off him. Not to mention the very obvious lack of clothes he was sporting under his bed sheet. 

Before he could grab his phone to send Strauss a termination request form for Garcia (the one he kept saved in his files, yes for moments just like this) you burst into the bedroom and flip the bright lights on. He groans as the rays stab him in the back of the head. You giggle, his pain clearly amusing to you. You saunter over, place a glass of water on the nightstand and press a kiss to his beating forehead. 

"I was wrong, you aren't a mean drunk. You're just mean." he sighs.

You throw your head back in glee

"I'm fine with being the mean drunk," you shrug, "at least we know for sure you're the horny drunk."

[aerinis]

The three types of racing chocobo names:

1.) named after the chocobo’s coat color (ex. Violet Valentine, Azure Sea)

2.) dirty joke (ex. Uranus Destroyer)

3.) JoJo reference (ex. Stardust Crusader, Star Platinum)

[laterreurofficial]

LT Doodle Stream Recap/Questions!

(Part 1/Part 2)

Hello everyone! Wisteriasymphony here. Yesterday the LT hivemind had the wonderful experience of our first doodle stream together!

For the purposes of cataloging all of the questions we answered on our stream (because somebody doesn't know how streaming works yet *COUGH COUGH*), I'm going to be answering them all here!

La Terreur takes place in 2002, and the events of the timeline last about a year. Of course, it's a retrofuturistic cyberpunk-y 2002, which explains later developments like the alliance ring and so on.

They're the same au! Miracle Exposure has just been a tag Silu has used to categorize talking about the effects of the miraculous, but it all happens within LT.

Hawkmoth is already a pretty solid design as is. Shadowmoth and Monarch will probably get overhauls later on, but why fix what isn't broken? Hawkmoth is already just the right amount of gross and creepy and fancy and bald, so no need to revamp that.

The consensus to far is that Felix arrived before the quarantine was instated, but he could easily have bribed officials into letting him into Paris if he needed to. The quarantine is mostly to keep people in, and if some idiot with a death wish high-paying member of the british aristocracy is willing to give money to a dying city just for a ticket in, then why wouldn't they let him?

@gaussiansphere put it quite nicely in the stream when he said that the heroes aren't trapped in Paris physically, but mentally. There's nothing theoretically stopping Ladybug from blowing a hole in the defenses of Paris and going on the run, but she has a moral obligation to protect her city. Everyone else feels roughly the same way, though we did discuss the idea of having the concept of migration fit Max better by virtue of his big goals in life involving getting out of Paris.

Also, the miraculous will likely be passed out differently. We're not following exact episodes, only storylines.

On a similar note....

Ladybug will probably alternate who she gives all of the minor miraculous to multiple times over the course of the story. She would find it ridiculous to pass them out to people "for keeps", as @sillysiluriforme put it, and before a certain point in the story will favor adult holders over teen holders. (Not saying why this changes though heehee, spoilers.)

MUCHAS GRACIAS!!!!!!!!!! Los ships no son un foco de La Terreur, pero.. Adrigaminette 100% mejor del mundo JAJAJAJA XP. de lo contrario es lo mismo que el canon.

Opinions de los kwamis hacia sus portadores es q los ven como niños. Son indiferentes a la humanidad en realidad. Los kwamis también los vicios q usan sus portadores para obtener. (Adrien huele a tabaco Y queso apestoso :/ Marinette no se afectada porque Tikki quiere el sabores dulces en su vaporizador).

#wispanol arc hehe. also YES you saw that right English audience, the kwamis are smokers. Marinette has to ask Luka's bandmates for vapes because the closest bodega to her house is run by a sweet Chinese grandma who her mom likes talking to, so if she bought from there she'd be absolutely screwed. Adrien just buys all of the tobacco as Chat, though.

We're not planning on having Aspik show up in LT, at least as far as we have planned. If he did, however, his rat eating desire would definitely go through the roof. He'd probably try and time his rat-eating specifically for when he's Chat Noir, just to make things easier for himself. (Until he eats one as Adrien by accident and has to live with the mental baggage for the rest of his miserable little life...)

Well.. there are a lot of characters that really don't need redesigns! Or where redesigns would be extremely minimal. Marinette's dad only really needs to get proportional legs and then that's it, and the same philosophy extends to most of the other minor characters.

Here are some of @clemnoir's designs for the rest of the class, though!

In fact, her lovely annotations somewhat answer another question we received....

We haven't figured out everyone yet, but the scholarships group so far is: Kim, Max, Ivan, Rose, Nathaniel, and Mylene. Adrien, Chloe, Sabrina, Alix, and Marinette are all paid tuition.

There could be! The ancient miraculous are indeed destroyed, much like the infinite amount of others like them, Bearinette and Lambdrien are just explorations of what it would be like if they hadn't been. The bear and lamb miraculous are not canon to LT, nor would any future ancients be. If we get any good ideas, you'll see them.

[wis is biting all of her fingers to prevent herself from talking about the coyote....]

The big issue Marinette has with being Multimouse is that she's no longer respected as the leader, at least as much as she's used to. Because she sees Ladybug as more of a responsibility than fun superpowers, her side effects are more psychological by consequence, whereas Adrien's are more physical. She also feels some sense of jealousy towards Scarabella, as well as general insecurity over not being the leader when she's Multimouse... but despite this she continues to use the Mouse Miraculous more often than in canon just for the sake of "training" Alya.

Silu dice muchas gracias!!!!! ...No conocen sus identidades fsgdss. Exposición al milagros del raton causa disocociación, duplicación no literal para Marinette jajaj. (Pero, no puedo decir si dos Marinettes aparecen en LT..... tal vez, tal vez no? huummmm)

Tambien, ellos comiendo ratones en privado. Nadie los trae en su almuerzo. Todos ellos tratan con sus síntomas en secreto.

Violence and misery and horror and class dynamics. I'll get into it more in Part 2, but characters' relationships to power is a huge part of this AU, both of the magical and non-magical variety.

[sailorrhansol]

ok ok requesting a treat for all of us, honestly

sleep demon seungcheol. extra sprinkling of nasty if possible. i want you to out-zaddy you know who.

>:) ok smooch smooch have fun!!!! I LOVE HALIWEEEEEN

Pairing: Incubus!Choi Seungcheol x afab reader

Summary: You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t visiting promises he can help. 

Word Count: 6,239

Genre: Supernatural

Type: Smut, PWP

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Mentions of insomnia including side effects like exhaustion, dysfunction, derealization, feeling out of it/in weird headspaces, time is not supposed to feel linear in this and it’s supposed to feel kind of liminal-space in places, reader is often confused/thoughts are a little scattered and feels out of it because of proximity to an entity, there are creepy vibes in this, Seungcheol doesn’t always appear the same/mentions of feeling like in danger or on edge around him instinctually, explicit language, sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, a lot of spit and cum, nipple play, reference to subspace or an adjacent, choking, oral (f. and m. receiving) multiple orgasms, biting and scratching, I wouldn’t categorize this as explicit dom/sub dynamics but there are power dynamics in some places, mean Seungcheol in spots, like very light humiliation if you squint in one section, overall just…. Weird ass vibes and reccouring scenes/reader not remembering things. 

A/N: Hi Jolene Wolene Folene - thank you for requesting this thing that we totally didn’t talk about before I started Haliween and definitely maybe sort of giving me the outlet to write this weird little liminal space demon that I love doing so dearly. Pls enjoy spooky ooky kooky Cheol and his weird little obsession with reader :) 

A/N 2: This fic is a part of my Haliween writing event that I’m hosting September - October. 

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Haliween

Nothing feels real. Your eyes burn as you stare at the computer screen, the letters and the buttons on your email becoming blurry as they swim out of focus. The dull sounds of your office feel as though they’re several rooms over, faint hums heard through walls of plaster. 

Pushing away from the desk, you head to the break room, in desperate need of coffee. You know drinking caffeine this late in the afternoon will only further exacerbate your insomnia, and yet you need it if you’re going to get through the next three hours at work.

You’ve hit the point in your endless nights of no sleep where everything feels off, like you’re experiencing things in the third person. You’re there but you don’t feel like it, navigating your day knowing that it’s you doing and saying things at work without really registering that you’re doing or saying those things. 

Coffee hisses from the machine into your cup. You stare at it, vision going unfocused again as the smell wafts up to you. Time passes. You stand and stare. 

Someone walks into the room, bringing you back to reality as you look over your shoulder and see your coworker come in to fill up their water bottle. They raise their brows at you as though to ask if you’re okay, and you grin, gesturing to the coffee like that’s some sort of answer.

Really, you’re not okay. You have ventured past the threshold of tired into something else entirely. Something that is lesser than, something base and nearly inhuman. 

Derealization. It’s a word your doctor had used when you described what it was like for you after so many nights without sleep, the disconnected feeling to the world around you. Even as you walk to your desk, it doesn’t feel real. You logically know that it is, that you exist in a specific time and space.

And yet… you remain buoyed in that space, totally untethered from everything around you. Floating. Lost. 

Back at your desk, the words on the computer screen blur again. Come into focus. You type and email. The keyboard makes sounds, but you don’t really register them. 

At some point, the day ends. 

A bright neon sign burns against the darkness of the alleyway. You blink rapidly, holding your hand in front of your eyes to block out some of the light. Looking around, you don’t see anyone else. The sound of the city is muted and far away, but you smell the burning of fuel and the smell of stagnant water under a dripping window air conditioning unit. 

You don’t remember walking here. You lower your hand as your eyes adjust to the burning pink above the door. Looking down at your clothes, you’re at least relieved to discover you put on jeans and a t-shirt before going out on an adventure out on the town.

Police sirens wail in the distance. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, thankful you brought it. 

“Fuck,” you swear, flashing the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning and you know immediately you’ve sleepwalked your way to this strange, unfamiliar alleyway. 

It’s a vicious circle: go days without sleep feeling like you’re a step away from death, or take just enough sleep medication to knock you out but make you sleepwalk. 

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you look back up at the neon sign, reading it for the first time. Hush. A shiver goes down your spine at the name, eyes flicking to the blue crescent moon attached to the pink cursive. 

There’s a magnetism about the sign. Your eyes dropdown to the door under it, a nondescript metal entrance to what you think is a bar. There’s nothing to indicate that it is a bar, just a gut feeling. Your gut feeling is also whispering at you to go inside, to open the door and step into the cool space of Hush. 

Licking your lips, you take one hesitant step forward. The tingling in your spine increases and you feel static in the air. Heart racing, you take another step. Then another. Before you realize it, you’re at the door with your hand on the knob, cool to the touch.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside. 

It’s even darker inside than the alleyway. Gentle piano music plays somewhere in the room and you swivel left and right, trying to gain your bearings as your eyes adjust. When they do, you see a very small room with a single piano in the corner, two booths, a bar at the back, and three stools pulled up to its counter.

A single person sits at the bar. You hesitate in the entrance, drinking in the stranger. It appears to be a man in a dark purple suit, his broad shoulders hunched over where he leans against the wooden bar top. You can’t make out much else beyond the wide shape of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist, but you can see the crimson hair that glows like flame underneath the dull, flickering light above his head.

“You gonna stand there all night?” His voice is soft, a gentle pur. He turns his head to the side, his profile shadowed. “I don’t bite.” You hear the smirk in his voice when he tacks on, “Not often, anyway.” 

Carefully, you approach the bar. There doesn’t appear to be a bartender of any sort or anyone else in the bar, for that matter. You realize that there’s piano music but no pianist, but decide not to focus on it as you enter the man’s line of focus. 

When he looks at you, the world stops. It’s like stepping into a bubble, everything else ceasing to exist. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your pulse hammer in your throat as you stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him.

He’s beautiful but it’s not that. His eyes are dark, but there is something more there. Something swimming in the depth of the darkness that you cannot place, something ancient and curious and awake. You feel pinned under his gaze, eyes darting to drink in the rest of his features: soft, pouty lips the color of berries, sharp jawline, thick, angular brows. 

Stunning. Dangerous. Alluring. 

“Hi,” he says, mouth stretching into a grin. His teeth aren’t sharp, but you have the distinct feeling that they should be. “You’re a pretty thing.” 

“Um, hi.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

“How can you tell?”

His grin spreads, wicked and cutting. “I have a feeling about those things.” His dark eyes drop to the seat next to him. “Have a seat. Maybe I can help.”

Tentatively, you sit down next to him. “You can help me sleep?” 

“What if I said I can?” 

Sitting next to him is oppressive. His presence weighs down on you, a physical entity that you can’t see. Static buzzes in your mind and your thoughts feel a little sticky, like just being close to him disrupts your frequency. 

He smells like jasmine, immediately soothing. You feel your eyes grow heavy as you blink a few times, settling on the stool as you angle yourself toward him. 

You’d misjudged his size when you walked in. He’d seemed broad when you first walked in, but you don’t think you fully understood the width of him. The weight of him. Or maybe it just feels that way when you look at him, your perception of him flickering like a bad TV signal. 

“Tell me about your sleep problems.”

You shrug. “They’re like any other sleep problems.”

“Not all sleep problems are the same, Pretty.” 

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t really know what causes them. I just… can’t fall asleep and then I start getting worried I won’t sleep, so it makes it worse. I want to sleep so bad but it’s like… wanting to sleep only makes it avoid me more.”

“Mmm. Sleep is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” 

“My doctors give me meds but the normal dose doesn’t work and the stronger dose… makes me walk around.” 

He pouts. “You poor, sweet thing.” 

Something about his sympathy makes you flush. You sulk, looking down at the countertop as you pick absently at the peeling varnish on the wood. “I know,” you murmur. “I just want to be normal.” 

“I can help. If you want it.” 

You glance at him. His eyes are dancing dangerously. Half of you screams yes while the other screams run. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re in a bar alone with a strange man who knows you’re sleep deprived. No one would help you if you screamed. You don’t know where you would run.

His dark eyes seem to read your thoughts and he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to pick up his drink from the bar. “I’m not that sort of creature.”

“How would you help me sleep?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

His question hangs in the air between the two of you. The piano music has stopped, but you don’t remember when it did. Overhead, the light still flickers. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoff-

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” His voice is kind. Warm. Soft like your blankets, cozy like your bed. “You’re always free to make your own decision.” 

“I want help,” you agree slowly. “I really do.”

His red mouth curves into a smile and again, you’re struck by the thought that his teeth should be sharp. “Good. I’ll help you, Pretty.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Seungcheol.” You give him your name and he tilts his head, drinking you in. “I know.” 

“How are you going to help me sleep?”

Seungcheol finishes his drink. You watch him swallow thickly, suddenly fascinated with the way his throat bobs as he does. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming as he leans in, stopping an inch away from you.

The static increases. You feel your blood buzz pleasantly. 

“Close your eyes for me,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking at you through silky lashes. “I promise everything will be okay.” 

For a moment, you stare at him, the air charged. He doesn’t hurry you along, content to study your face with that same uncanny darkness swimming in his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you do what Seungcheol says, and you close your eyes. 

Sunlight wakes you up. You roll over in your bed, squinting up at the window. Your blackout curtains are open, letting the morning beam in on where you’re tangled in your comforter and sheets. 

Sighing heavily, you close your eyes again, content to lay in the warm sun. Just as you start to drift to sleep again, you recall a pair of dark eyes and fiery hair. You jolt upright, heart hammering as you remember the exchange. 

Snatching your phone from your nightstand, you open your walking app to look at where the hell you went last night, but there’s nothing there. Frowning, you pull the sheets off your body. You’re in pajamas and fuzzy socks that you don’t remember putting on. 

Hauling yourself out of bed, you lean halfway into the laundry basket to claw through your clothing. None of the things you wore last night are there, so you go to your closet to wrench the doors open and search. 

The shirt from last night and the exact pair of jeans are hanging, completely unworn. Your frown deepens as your confusion rises. Turning away from the closet, you open your phone again and try to get any sort of sense of where you went last night, but there’s no text threads. No signs you used public transportation. Nothing in any of your tracking apps that indicate you left at all. 

“Was it a fucking dream?” you mutter to yourself, perplexed. 

Sitting down on your bed, you try to look up Hush on the internet. You can find nothing in your city that indicates a bar or establishment like the one you discovered Seungcheol in. You even try social media to look him up - Reddit, neighborhood pages, anything to try and find the stranger from last night.

It seems Hush and Seungcheol don’t exist.

And yet… you don’t remember going to sleep last night after he agreed to help you. And you feel rested today. 

Puzzled and a little freaked out, you give up your search. A dream is a dream, and you’re content that you finally feel a little less exhausted and a little more awake. You’ll take the win, getting up to start your day with a little bit of pep in your step. 

By midday, you’ve mostly forgotten about the bar and the man in it, only remembering those dark eyes and that red hair. 

Heat creeps up your spine. You nuzzle against the warmth behind you, the smell of jasmine coaxing you deeper into the embrace. You feel the vibration of laughter against your back, your nerves tingling as you feel feather-light fingers brush up your thighs. 

“Tired?” 

Immediately you know it’s Seungcheol’s deep voice, that same velvet purr whispered right in your ear. You shake your head no, suddenly not wanting to sleep at all. You press into him further, feeling the way his arms tighten around you as he chuckles, mouth pressing chastely against the spot under your ear. 

“Liar,” he teases. 

You pout. It might be true, but he could have the decency to pretend it’s not. You open your eyes and look up at him. His hair is like spilled blood in the dark of your room. The curtains are closed, blocking out all light from the moon and street, but your salt lamp still burns in the corner. 

Seungcheol looks like the devil in the low, orange light. He’s in a black t-shirt, which is somehow more deadly than the fine cut suit. Your stomach flutters and you squeeze your thighs shut when you realize his hands are brushing up and down your thighs, touch slow. 

“Thought you were a dream,” you mumble, words a little thick. “Thought you weren’t real.”

“Dreams can’t be real?” That makes you frown and he laughs, jostling you against his chest. His hands squeeze your thighs and you let out a breathy sound as he nudges you with his nose. “You don’t know anything about dreams, Pretty. Can I show you?” 

More than anything you want him to show you. Suddenly your desire for him outweighs any sort of sleepiness, your nerves sparking and coming to life as you nod helplessly against his chest, trying to lean as close as possible. 

“Needy,” he chides. He presses a wet kiss to your jawline and you preen, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I’ll go easy so you remember this time, alright?” 

“Cheol.” 

The nickname sounds familiar. Intimate. Like you’ve said it before - something tells you that you have said it before. You don’t remember where or when, but it’s with familiarity that you moan the nickname again as he nips at your neck, one hand drifting between your legs to pry them open. 

He murmurs praise against your ear when your legs drift apart, spreading to accommodate his seeking touch. You’re wearing shorts but it feels entirely too hot under the blankets pooled around your waist. You kick at them and whine, managing to get them down to your knees before he huffs and presses forward, temporarily bending you in half to toss them. 

When he settles back against your headboard, you follow him, turning your head to press your mouth to the corner of his. His lips twitch in a smirk, shifting to catch your mouth fully with his. 

Seungcheol kisses you like he knows how you like to be kissed - devouring, consuming, hungry. His tongue brushes against yours as he drinks you in as his hand presses between your leagues, applying pressure to your clothed cunt.

You whine into the kiss and he grins against your mouth. A line of spit connects your lips when you pull away panting, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His fingers circle your clit gently and your hips buck in his hold against the stimulation. 

“Not enough,” you whisper. You grip his wrist with one hand, the other gripping the sheets to bunch them in your fist. “Cheol, please.”

“Hush,” he scolds, biting your jaw. His free hand comes up to your neck, gripping you under your jaw to angle your mouth back to his. “Kiss me.” 

You melt in Seungcheol’s grip. His tongue tastes sweet, his grip on you making you dizzy. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist as he works you up, his touch teasing and not enough through layers of fabric. 

He knows it’s not enough, content to string you along until you’re writhing against him, back shifting against his chest as you squirm. His kisses drift from your mouth to your jaw, open-mouthed and spit-slicked as his tongue darts out to taste your skin while he goes. 

Seungheol’s grip on your chin slides down toward the base of your neck, his fingers pressed tight against your pulse. You can feel your heartbeat slamming in his grasp as he bends your head away from him, lips attaching to the softness of your throat. 

His name escapes your lips in a whisper. He hums a pleased sound, tongue dragging up your neck to your ear where he nibbles. “So good for me,” he whispers. “I’ll reward you.” 

You follow with an urgent nod, pleased when his hand slides down the waistband of your shorts and underwear. When his fingers brush against the flushed, sticky folds of your cunt, you keen loudly, unable to keep it together.

“So needy.” You can’t tell if it’s an insult or not the way he growls the word against your ear, grip on your throat tightening. “Need my help that bad, huh?” 

“Yes, god.”

“I am not god,” he grinds out, voice dark. For a second, the illusion shatters and you glance up at him. His eyes are endless, an ancient thing looking back at you. You freeze in his hold, a prey caught in a trap. Then he softens, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Tell me what you need, Pretty.” 

“Hands. Need your hands.” 

A bolt of pleasure goes through you when Seungcheol’s middle finger circles your clit. Your nails dig into his wrist, leaving little crescent moons behind. His ministrations are leisurely, giving you what you want but not as fast as you want it. 

That’s Seungcheol’s game. He’ll give you what you want, only when he feels like it. You feel a sense of deja vu, realizing that you’ve been here before. Snatches of memories flash through your mind. They pass through your grip like sand, none of them firm enough to grab onto. 

“Missed you,” you mumble. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Ah, there it is.” 

Seungcheol is pleased with your recollection. You can tell when he relents his teasing touches, fingers drifting down to press a single digit into your heat. Your stomach flips when he does, relief sweeping through you as he shallowly fucks you with a single finger.

It’s not enough but it’s better. You shiver in his hold, going a little slack in his arms, hips twitching. He’s content to have you like this, working your cunt slowly, watching your reactions as your breathing catches and restarts. 

“Feel good?” 

“So good.” You can barely get the reply out, words faint. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Pretty.” 

His kiss is soft against your cheekbone, at odds with the grip he still has on your throat. You feel his hand like a comforting weight, loving the feel of it resting against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze or choke you, content just to hold you against him. 

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, the wet squelch obscene. “Take this shit off for me,” he tells you, pulling at your shorts. 

His heavy hand rests on your collarbone as your hands shoot to your shorts. Hooking your thumbs in them, you shimmy down, lifting your hips with his help to kick them down your thighs and legs to the floor. 

Cool air hits your heat as you settle against his chest again. He nestles against your neck, fingers resuming the task of peeling you apart as he sinks his pointer and ring finger into you. You clench around him, loving the stretch and the feeling of his fingers pressing against your g-spot as he slowly strokes you, breath hot against your ear. 

Being unable to remember your previous encounter with him feels cruel. Seungcheol knows exactly how to work you toward your high. The slick sound of his fingers between your legs accompanied with his lips pressed against your neck drives you insane. 

Unable to keep still, your hips come up off the bed to meet his hand. The hand not fucking you to insanity slides under your shirt. Heat trails his touch. He traces the curve of your breast and your breath stutters, catching in your throat. His nails scrape against sensitive skin, moving higher until he drags his touch over your nipple. 

The heel of Seungcheol’s hand presses firmly into your clit. You mewl, thrashing against him, closer and closer to your peak. His strokes turn harsh, finger-fucking you at a brutal pace while his other hand tweaks your nipple, the pleasure-sting making you quake. 

“Come on,” he urges, voice deep. Sharp teeth scrape against your throat. “Come for me, Pretty.” 

Everything turns to static as you clench around his fingers. You squeeze so tight he can barely continue stroking you through your peak. There’s a high-pitched ring in your ears as you pant through it, vaguely aware that Seungcheol is muttering something against your ear that you don’t understand. 

As your orgasm fades, so do you. The world becomes soft at the edges. You feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat against your back and smell jasmine, but you slowly drift away from him, barely able to catch his growl of remember me next time before you’re gone. 

Cold granite countertop digs into your knees. You barely register the pain, one hand pressed flat to the counter, the other reaching behind you to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair. Your hot breath skates across the surface, the cool stone not enough to combat the heat of your skin. 

Seungcheol’s face is pressed as far as he can go into your cunt, the flat of his tongue dragging from top to bottom. You’re nearly catatonic, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as he fucks you with his tongue. 

He grunts when your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he sucks harshly at you. He’s loud as he eats you out, his hunger something more demonic and fiendish than you’re used to. You don’t care, pressing back into him as he mouths at you. 

His hands firmly pry you open, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You can feel the bruising way he holds you, uncaring as he works you toward another high, so desperate for it that you’re begging. 

Begging for what, you don’t know. None of the words that fall from your mouth really make sense. You’re a rambling disaster under the mastery of his mouth, and as you tiptoe the line of your high, it feels like you’ll never unscramble your thoughts again.

You come again, feeling the way you flood his mouth. He doesn’t care, growling low in his throat as his mouth becomes more insistent, fingers pressing into you even harder. Something takes over him in that moment, his grip on you so fierce that you think you might break.

But you don’t. You never do. 

“Pretty,” Seungcheol murmurs, cocking his head to the side. Your mouth aches where it’s stretched harshly around his cock, spit leaking from the side of your lips. His thumb brushes across the spilled fluid, grinning as he leisurely pops it into his mouth and sucks. “Such a pretty thing, mouth full of cock.”

You hum around him eagerly, shifting back and forth on your knees. He’s got you on the floor of your bedroom in front of your bed, hands linked obediently behind your back while he stands in front of you. His stomach ripples as he flexes his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

Your throat seizes around him again and you feel yourself gag. He pouts and pulls back, letting you gasp for breath. Your mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, wet and sore and battered. You don’t care, looking up at him with watery eyes and sticky lips.

“So important to me,” he whispers, nodding as though to assure you. Your stomach flips and you shuffle toward him eagerly, mouth open. “So perfect for me.” 

Instead of using words, you stick your tongue out, eager. Seungcheol grins and the room darkens. There is a buzz in the back of your mind that you can’t place, ignoring the feeling in favor of watching him slowly slide back in, letting your tongue scrape the bottom of his shaft.

Seungcheol sighs, tilting his head back as he sets a slow pace, using your mouth as he pleases. He’s beautiful like this, all tan skin, heaving chest, sweat sliding down his neck, red hair damp. His eyes are closed but his mouth is open, cherry lips parted sweetly to show his sharp little fangs as he pants. 

So pretty, you think. Even with teeth sharper than they should be.  

You’re standing in front of a bar named Hush. The pink neon burns bright against the gritty night, hurting your eyes. Turning around in a circle, you notice there’s no one else in the alleyway. There’s a certain charge to the air, a hum that you can’t place, but grows stronger when you turn to face the bar again. 

A single door sits under the sign, closed and waiting to be opened. Chewing your bottom lip, you stride toward the door, unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side. 

With a hard yank, you pull the door open and step into the darkness of the room beyond. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the single, flickering light over the bar, but once they do, you see it’s a tiny room. A single piano sits in the corner near two booths, and there’s only one bar top in the back, a few stools in front of it. 

A single man sits at the bar but he’s facing you, leaning back on his elbows as he drinks you in. He’s in a purple suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and his red hair is bright enough to light the night like a flame. 

He cocks his head to the side, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hi,” he greets. “Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?” 

“I’m familiar with these things.” 

He looks like a devil. You can’t place your finger on what exactly about his face makes you think so. His eyes are dark as the depths of the ocean and when he smiles, you swear his teeth are sharp. “Need some help?” 

You do need help sleeping. The doctors can’t help you. Therapy doesn’t help you. Something tells you maybe this stranger can help you. 

“Please.”

“It would be my pleasure, Pretty.” 

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, hand flying to his wrist to grip him. “Fuck, holy shit.” 

Fuck is absolutely right. His hand tightens around your throat, placed just right to make it harder for you to breathe. Your thoughts swim as he fucks into you, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as his strokes grow harsher. 

Your knees slide on the bed under the strength of his thrusts. He growls at you to keep up and you whimper, flexing your thighs to remain upright as he drives his cock into you at a pace that sends you hurtling toward your peak. 

“So fucking difficult,” he grunts in your ear. His teeth nip your ear lobe and you whine, intoxicated by the smell of jasmine and the tightening knot in your stomach. “You’re always so difficult.” 

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t think it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that from him. Your thoughts turn to liquid you come around him though, feeling the way you grip his cock like a vice, seizing in his hold.

Everything turns to nothing. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but static. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

And then you're gasping for air, lungs burning as you gulp it down. Falling forward, you crash into the sheets and into complete darkness. 

“Why do you come and go so often?” 

Seungcheol lifts his head from the bed to turn and look at you. He’s still naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, crimson hair clinging to his forehead. He’s on his stomach laying opposite of you, his head by your feet. 

Something sparks in his eyes at your question, his heavy brows pulling together, cherry lips downturning. “I only come as often as you let me.” 

“What do you mean?”

His face twitches in what you think might be annoyance. “You have a complicated relationship with me.” 

“We have a relationship?” 

He snorts and turns away from you, resting his chin on his arms as he settles back down, closing his eyes. He reminds you of a cat - a particularly dangerous cat, you think. “I suppose. Most people couldn’t say they have a relationship with me, and yet I keep letting you invite me back.”

“Invite you?” 

“Hush. Stop asking questions.” 

“But I don’t… understand.” 

“Good,” he quips. “Because every time you do, you send me away only to invite me back in.” 

“Come on,” Seungcheol teases. “You wanted it, so do the work.” 

Your thighs ache. A pitiful sound leaves you as you nod, putting your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as you lift your hips, legs shaking. You’re exhausted and burned out, but the ache you need filled as you slowly slide up his cock drives you to keep going. 

Dropping back down in his lap, you feel sparks. Your movements are slow. Seungcheol’s hands are tucked behind his head where he leans back on your pillows, fathomless eyes watching you as you ride him, a little uncoordinated and weak from the exertion he’s put you through all evening.

“Cheol, my thighs,” you protest, instead trying to grind into him. He raises a brow and you pout. “Please.”

“No. Come on, Pretty, you can do it. You can fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come. Come on.” 

“Cheol.”

“No. Do it yourself.” 

Gritting your teeth, you let your annoyance fuel you. Anger burns right alongside pleasure as you find the strength to do exactly as he tells you. Leveraging your hold on his shoulders, you continue to spear yourself on him at a steady pace and slowly, your anger is replaced with bliss.

Seungcheol feels incredible. He’s hard to take, stretching you to the max and at this position, he’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You keep going, nails biting into his skin and drawing blood but you don’t care. 

Fire burns in his eyes as he watches you. You stare right back, seething at the way he’s making you do it yourself, a little bit of humiliation stinging the edges of your pride. You can tell he thrives on this, satisfied that what you want outweighs any sort of desire to be stubborn.

Somehow, he always wins like this. Always manages to get you to do what he wants. He’s sneaky like that, knowing just what button to press to get you where he wants you. 

Sometimes you feel like you’re a puppet whose strings are connected to his fingertips. 

Either way, you manage to drive yourself to an orgasm, shuddering around him as you seat yourself fully in his lap, throbbing around him. He lets out a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as he struggles to keep his composure.

Leaning back against his knees, you catch your breath. He’s still painfully hard inside of you, and when his eyes open, you see his hunger isn’t sated. Your heart lips when he surges forward, fast as an adder. His mouth crashes into yours hungrily and you let him have you, eager at the flutter in your stomach as he shifts, altering the angle. 

“I’m not done,” he mutters, kisses turning into sharp bites. “So hush while I take what’s mine.” 

Something wakes you up from sleep. It’s too dark in your room to see, but your heart is hammering and your hands are quivering. Leaning toward your nightstand, you search for your phone. All you feel is cool wood, no device anywhere.

The dark is oppressive. You don’t remember your room being this dark, the blackout curtains serving as a good device to keep out the city and streetlights, but never so much that you feel swallowed whole. Lost. Devoured.

A tingle buzzes at the back of your neck. You freeze in bed, looking into the never ending darkness. Silence roars in your ears, the outside world completely removed. You can’t even hear your own pulse or breath, the quiet so heavy that panic starts to rise in your throat.

You can’t see but you know you’re not alone - can feel the solid press of something else in the room. 

Too afraid to make noise, you resume the search for your phone, fingers moving slowly across the top of your night stand. You can’t find it. 

Something presses into the mattress at the end of your bed. You feel the dip under its weight but can’t hear the creek of springs. You give up the search for your phone, snatching your hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It’s a dream, you tell yourself. It’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s- 

The thing in your room moves closer. A scream works its way up your throat where it gets stuck, lodged and unmoving. You squeeze your eyes shut harder, fireworks of color exploding behind your eyelids as you do. 

“I know you’re awake, Pretty.” The voice is so low you can barely make out the words. They scrape against you like claws. “You can’t keep doing this,” it says, almost a sigh in its voice. “You know what this is. What I am.” 

“Go away,” you whisper, voice weak. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t do this again.” 

“Go away, Seungcheol.” 

There’s a low growl that you can feel as it vibrates the air. “As you wish.”

The neon sign above the door says Hush. It burns bright and pink against the night sky. You look around, unsure how you got here. Sighing, you pull out your phone to check the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning, which means you’re probably a victim of your sleep walking again. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you look up at the sign again. There’s a little blue moon to accompany the pink cursive neon, and though you don’t think you’ve ever seen this bar before, there's a magnetism about it that draws you in. 

Curious, you walk up to the door and go in. The lights are dim and you have trouble seeing at first, but you can make out that there’s a piano in the corner, two booths and a small bar with some stools. A man sits at the bar, his back turned to you. 

“We’re closed,” he grumbles without turning to look at you. You frown, cocking your head as you drink him in. 

The purple suit he wears is an odd choice. His hair is the color of blood, slicked back and a surprisingly nice contrast to the bright color of his suit. A single light flickers above him, painting him in a gold hue.

“What is this place?” you ask, ignoring the fact that it’s closed. 

He doesn’t answer for a second. You think he’s going to ignore you, but finally he says, “Do you have trouble sleeping?” 

You’re surprised by the question. “Yes, actually.” 

“I can help.” 

“Really?” You step further into the bar, watching as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is painfully pretty, the kind of beauty that reminds you of old paintings of Lucifer. “How?” 

“Are you accepting my help?” 

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes.” 

His cherry red lips twitch and he shakes his head. Picking up his drink, he polishes it off before standing to turn you fully. The weight of his presence presses down on you like an invisible blanket, weighing you down.

“Of course you do.” He strides toward you and though your instincts tell you to run, something else tells you to stay. He looks down at you with a pair of eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you let them. His lashes are silky and long, a delicate balance to his heavy gaze. “You always need me, right, Pretty?” 

You nod, a word - a name - buzzing on your tongue as he looms over you. “Please,” you whisper, thoughts a little cottony, a little dizzy. “Seungcheol.”

He grins, revealing sharp teeth. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.” 

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