Flicker ⟡ she/her ⟡ 28 ⟡ minors dni ⟡ pfp by @sweetestflow3rs ⟡ banner by @mieliz ⟡ does a lot of thinking abt writing and not a lot of actually writing ⟡ primarily a DOL blog APPARENTLY
Hello!!! You can call me Flicker (she/her). What was once an niche interest/writing blog has pretty well turned into a Degrees of Lewdity blog. I mostly like writing about OCs (mine and others!) but I've been trying my hand at drawing again, so there might be a bit of that too.
— TAGS —
◈ aster the gutsy — my oc tag
↪ aster's profile
◈ flicker quips — ooc stuff
◈ flicker art — my art
— RULES —
TBA but uhhh minors dni, trigger warning for usual degrees of lewdity mention (SA, regular assault, abuse, etc, etc. . .), ageless blogs will be blocked
Tagged by: @sharpsuite - Ty my lovely dear, thank you for tagging me <3 <3 <3!! This was really fun!
Tagging: @dollya-robinprotector, @just-dol-headshots, @fraternum-momentum, @yariyarebang, @cloudsofteeth, @rosurie, @chronosbled, @m2nlight, @mofuubuns and whoever wants to do this~!! Feel free to just yoink it and tag me ^w^
Damsel is just me with some tweaks I'm not kidding lol. thanks for tagging me deanie!! I love playing around on picrew. too braindead to think of people to tag rn. mooties if you're reading this consider yourself tagged lol.
just some random thoughts about aster's relationship w/ loyalty below the cut while I'm on my work break.
tw: survivor's guilt, unhealthy coping mechanisms, assault and other usual dol-related warnings.
so i think at this point its pretty clear that aster's primary trait is loyalty and protectiveness, but i feel like i havent gotten to delve as deep as id like into the ways its not nearly as 'good' as it seems.
like for instance, for the most part, theres no moral attachment to her protectiveness — you either are an orphan and she'll look out for you, or you aren't and she won't. in that same vein, she could save you one day and in the next instant go help your biggest bully who also happened to be an orphan, and wouldn't feel even like a shred of remorse.
there could even be instances where she leaves a fight between two orphans be, because she doesnt think either of them will do lasting damage and the rationale she has doesnt really have much space for orphan v orphan conflict.
aster doesnt protect people out of a sense of righteousness, its not an empathy thing — in fact, in most cases, shes very emotionally detached from the people shes helping? and thats mostly on purpose, despite how seriously she takes this like self-designated responsibility, she doesn't reqlly want to get attached to her 'charges'.
(its why older!aster doesnt have friends, not counting pcs she gets closer to.)
now ofc theres exceptions! shes fully capable of bonding with people — and once she does, she does so extremely intensely on her end. aster thinks protecting orphans is the only reason she survived the crash that killed her family, and depending what pcs she gets attached to, it is entirely feasible she could completely abandon protecting the orphans and instead pivot to a single person instead — but that kind of single minded devotion does have its own drawbacks (pans gaze to damsel @rosurie ), ranging from the target of her devotion finding it suffocating (or worse) to aster becoming extremely exploitable because she will pick their needs over her own without limits or hesitation.
tldr aster's brand of protectiveness is a self-destructive coping mechanism her mind settled on after losing her family and getting dumped immediately into the orphanage at 16, because she couldn't deal with the idea that it was just pure chance she survived and they didnt 🙃
Continuation of this post that took me a small eternity to finish. It's really just. Almost 4k words of gratuitous smut feat. @thedolmainblog's Blythe and I have 0 regret.
You awake to the cracking of wood and a loud slam, the walls almost seeming to shake from the force of it as you jerk upright in a panic, almost tumbling off the couch in your surprise. It's ingrained instinct to quickly dig beneath the cushion, fingers wrapping around the switchblade stashed underneath as you fight to untangle yourself, adrenaline surging at the heavy stomping bee-lining it towards you—
And then the figure passes through a streak of moonlight, and the fight drains out of you as quickly as it came.
Oh.
It's just Blythe.
. . .It's just Blythe, storming towards you with an unusual fervor, and — once he's close enough for you to see it in the dark living room — a slight scowl. . ?
"Blythe?" Some of that adrenaline returns as your boyfriend stops, breathing hard and looming at the edge of the couch, "What's—"
He interrupts you, both hands coming to grip the couch hard enough to have the leather creaking.
"Your safeword, Aster," Blythe's voice is a rumble, growling the words, "Right now."
(1) Hmm. You might be in danger.
And you just want it on the record that you're not scared of Blythe, even now. There's not a single part of you that really thinks he'd hurt you in any lasting capacity—
But boy did his current vibes send your hind-brain into red alert — you've been a thief too long not be real good at threat assessment, prey sensing predator as you blink up at him with wide brown eyes.
(Even if that threat was almost entirely sexual in nature.)
"You want my—" You're stalling, shifting backwards until your back rests against the opposite armrest — and shivering when even that little movement has the leather squeaking under his fingers, "Why?"
You have a faint suspicion you might know why.
"Why?" The gravel-pitch of Blythe's voice does things to you, ripples of heat making your thighs squeeze together and your heartbeat pulse a little bit faster, "Because apparently you need a lesson on why you don't need toys when you have me."
Fucking Aiden. You can practically sense them giggling at you from here.
"Now, Aster—"
This time, you interrupt him—
"It'sAvery!"
(1) —And then you slip off the couch after confirming your safeword, narrowly avoiding being pounced on as you dart behind it.
Or at least you try to, but apparently Blythe's just been letting you think you're faster than him this whole fucking time, because that's really all that explains the vice-grip that snags the back of your his shirt before you can even start running.
You don't even have time to squeak before you find yourself hauled back onto the couch, air knocked from your lungs. Blythe wastes no time in manhandling you into the position he wants, and by the time you've managed to catch your breath he has you stripped bare beneath him, shirt tossed to the wind and panties a casualty of war.
"Blythe—"
And while you may have wanted to plead your case — especially since you'd likely made things worse with your instinctive escape attempt — your attempts at words catch in your throat as calloused hands hook beneath your thighs and your boyfriend slots himself between them.
He grinds down against you, and you can't help but be a little daunted by how big he felt even through his pants — and helplessly turned on, a fact he's just as quick to notice as you bite your lip to keep from moaning, colour staining your cheeks.
(1) You gasp when his hand grips your jaw, thumb pressing hard against your lips until you open them, the glare he levels down at you is nearly baleful as he presses down against your tongue.
"First the toys, and now you're trying to keep quiet?" A particular hard grind of his hips has a startled moan stealing free, the friction of his pants against your cunt wreaking havoc on your composure as you squirm beneath him, "It's like you're trying to piss me off."
And you'd have loved to refute that opinion, but the moment his thumb pulls away, his lips are in yours. The kiss is hot and heavy and noisy — Blythe continues to grind the bulge of his covered cock against your pussy, relishing in the mewls and moans it has spilling into the kiss as your body burns hotter and hotter.
And wetter.
"Is that what this is, love?" Your lips are bruised and glossy when he pulls back to let you breathe, close enough to feel his own lips brush against you with every word rumbling through him, "Were you trying to make me angry? Trying to bait me into punishing you?"
"N. . No—" The shuttered denial is perhaps not your strongest argument, but it's so hard to keep your voice steady when Blythe refuses to give you even an inch of breathing room.
"No?" Displeasure thickens in his voice, the disbelief clear as he ruts against you a little more roughly, fingers bruising marks into your hips, "You really want to add lying to the list, Aster?"
(1) You whine, because it's not fair that his voice could still have want twisting in your middle and wet heat spilling from your pussy, even as he growled out accusations.
You really don't think it's helping your case, either.
Especially not when he manhandles you up and around until you're bent over the leather armrest, your face burning hot as you feel calloused fingers spread you open, his next exhale a hiss as mortification has your eyes squeezing shut.
"It's- it's not what you think," Your words trip into each other as you try and babble out an excuse — because really, your body's licentious response to him even now was his fault, he's all but conditioned you to react like this with how insatiable he is, it really is not your fault! "It's just that— I'm just— Ah!"
Your words choke off into a cry as Blythe spanks you hard, his palm rubbing into the quickly reddening hand-print as he clicks his tongue behind you.
"You expect me to believe that, when I haven't even touched you yet and you're already fucking dripping?" There is a broody edge to his voice before he spanks you again, a twin mark on your other cheek to match the first, "Just like you were when you decided to fuck some cheap silicone cock, even though your pussy belongs to me."
(1) Later, maybe, you'll unpack and puzzle over that, get some more details on a boundary you had possibly misunderstood—
But right now you're stuck grappling with how the blatant possessiveness has your cunt pulsing with heat, squeezing around nothing as you shudder.
"I had plans, you know."
That his voice could be so steady while he pushed two broad fingers past slick folds, sinking so much deeper than your own ever could, felt deeply unfair.
"I was going to take my time with you," His fingers withdrew only to plunge back inside faster, setting a relentless pace right out the gate, "Really show you how much I missed you, missed being able to hug you and kiss you and make you cum."
His next in-stroke finds his fingers curling inside of you, a choked moan tearing free at the bright stab of pleasure.
And then he does it again, and again, and again.
"And how is all my hard work rewarded? All my effort in getting back to you as fast as possible?" His fingers fuck into you with ruthless precision, abusing your g-spot without mercy as your pleasure builds with dizzying speed, "With photo evidence of you trying to replace me with some fucking toys. With that fucking video of you cumming on a cock that wasn't mine."
His growl ripples through you, and you're more than a little mortified at how it threatens to send you tumbling over the edge, already teetering dangerous close—
And then his fingers were gone, and the devastated noise that rips free of you is equal parts mournful and confused, body still quivering with tense anticipation for the climax you'd been about to have.
"Oh, now you want to come for me and not some cheap toy?" Blythe scoffs, the most derisive you think he's ever sounded towards you as he flips you back around and sits back against his haunches, raking a blazing gaze over your faintly trembling form with a vengeful hunger and not even a speck of mercy, "You think you deserve to cum after the shit you pulled, sweetheart? Wouldn't be much of a punishment if I just gave you what you want, now would it?"
(1) You're spared from having to reply as Blythe hauls you over his shoulder with a stinging smack to your ass, and then another when you squirm against his hold.
You bounce atop the bed when he tosses you down upon it more roughly than you're used to, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to the sight of Blythe staring you down with his arms crossed; that he's still clad in his wet work gear only adds to his intimidation.
(And sex appeal.)
—That he doesn't immediately start to strip is downright foreboding.
"How long was that video you sent me?"
It takes you a minute to find your voice, the question catching you off-guard.
"Five minutes. . ?"
(1) You flinch at the way his gaze darkens, immediately wracking your mind to remember if that was correct, before he interrupts your thoughts.
"Five. Minutes."
Blythe makes the two words sound like the most vile of crimes, a seethe to the words from the memory before he seems to force himself into continuing.
"Here's how this is going to work," You squeak as Blythe snags your ankle and drags you towards the end of the bed until your hips are on the edge and your thighs are held apart in his grasp, grip just shy of bruising, "I'm gonna edge you four more times, one for every minute of that fucking video, and you're going to apologize for what you did—"
His fingers squeeze around your upper thighs.
"And if I don't believe you by the end of those five, we're going to do it all over again. As many times as it takes for you to learn your lesson."
His narrow gaze pins you in place as he looms before you; the difference in size and attire between you really hammers in how exposed and vulnerable you feel, fighting not to squirm as a whine builds in your throat.
"Understand?"
You bob your head in a jerky nod, before the sharpening of his glare has you rushing to speak the acknowledgement instead.
"I. . .understand—"
You only just finish speaking when Blythe suddenly drops to his knees, hauling your legs over his shoulders—
(1) You nearly shriek as his lips close around your clit with a harsh suckle, your hips jerking against him — before he pins them to the bed with an iron grip, a growl rumbling through him that has you keening at the vibration.
You've known Blythe is good, beyond good, with his mouth since the very beginning — but knowing he had absolutely no intention of letting you cum turns his attention into a special kind of torture. One where you struggle to decide if you ought to try and restrain yourself, to try and slow the climb to inevitable denial as much as possible.
Only to quickly realize even that decision is out of your hands as your spine arches with a shuddering moan, fisting your fingers tight into the sheets as each curl and swipe of his tongue had your restraint crumbling like a house of cards on a windy day. Your heels press against his shoulder-blades as delicious tension winds tighter in your belly, toes curling as your breath began to catch on shuttered little cries—
And even though you knew it was coming, the sudden loss of his mouth still has you keening in distress, unable to even buck or writhe with how firmly he keeps your hips pinned down.
"I'm s-sorry. . !"
A punishing bite to your thigh has your voice pitching high on a cry.
"Sorry for what?"
"I'm sorry I-I used toys while you were away!"
Blythe gives a decidedly neutral hum as he slides your legs off his shoulders and stands. Echoes of your thwarted climax shiver through you, flustered as you squeeze your thighs together when his gazes slides down between them.
(1) This, as it turns out, is another mistake.
Blythe makes another low noise of displeasure in the back of his throat before taking a seat on the bed — and manhandling you over his lap as easy as breathing.
Your middle rests against his thighs while your chest presses against the blankets, a bewildered little squeak escaping as Blythe shifts and the motions lifts your ass higher into the air.
The implication of your position hits you just a moment before he does, your answering yelp more shock than pain. It's hardly the first time he's ever smacked your ass — he'd done it only a few minutes ago — but it is certainly the first time he's ever bent you over his knee.
Embarrassment burns through you, fingers clutching the blankets in front of you with a white knuckled grip, tensing as Blythe rubs his hand over the latest red mark, trying to ignore how the lingering heat seemed sink straight between your legs as you brace yourself for the next strike—
(1) You fail, voice pitching high when the next fall of his hand hits harder than the last, falling into something as a rhythm as you desperately try to keep from squirming, not wanting to give him any more reasons to be mad at you.
But it's hard, because even when the sharp sting of it has tears flecking your lashes, the burning heat lingers after each stroke only grows, a damning shine to your thighs as they squeeze restlessly together.
You can't say it's surprising that Blythe notices, but you still had rather he hadn't.
(This really wasn't your day.)
"For someone who claimed she didn't mean to make me angry," You know what's coming before he does it, but you still can't help the way your whole body jolts in his lap as his fingers slide through slick folds, "You seem to be enjoying yourself."
And because you'd rather die then admit out-loud that no, you still didn't mean to make him angry, you apparently just liked being spanked — you give a jerky shake of your head instead, denying both.
Blythe scoffs, another sharp smack punctuating his disbelief. It's seems you given him a new bone to pick, because he settles into a new rhythm that makes you wonder if maybe honesty was a virtue.
Because interspersed with the fall of his hand comes the teasing of his fingers, a torment that only becomes more effective the hotter you burn, until you're squirming in his lap for reasons other than discomfort. It will mortify you later, that this build up was not any slower than the last — that you may have even found yourself pushed to the edge even faster this time.
Later, because being denied this time is not any better than the other times, just worse. A distressed noise warbles free of you as you slump across his knees, shaking all over as your would-be climax fades away.
"Blythe, I really wasn't trying to make you mad—" Need clouds your judgment as you try to plead your case, the thought of two more denials seeming unbearable, "I was just—"
(1) And then you find yourself hauled up all at once, straddling Blythe's lap and wincing at the drag of fabric against your ass, a tenderness not likely to fade anytime soon. You can't quite seem to make yourself look him in the face now that you're closer to eye-level, uncharacteristically timid, knowing he's angry with you—
And are quickly forced to get the fuck over that as he raises you higher with one hand against your ass, the distinct sound of a zipper quickly explaining what the other was doing as you curl your fingers tight into the straps over his chest.
"Was just what? Trying to replace me?"
Any attempt to argue is stolen as both hands settle on your hips and he grinds you down against his cock, at last freed from the confines of his trousers. He's achingly hard against your cunt, wet enough to make it easy for him to rut against you, yours ears burning at the wet, slick sound.
But there wasn't enough embarrassment in the world that would let you ignore how good it felt, hips rocking mindlessly against him as a moan slips from you unbidden. Blythe's fingers dig into your hips, keeping you in line with the rhythm he set, moving you himself whenever you may have slowed or stuttered.
“B-Blythe, Blythe please—” The words escape you before you can stop yourself, unable to keep from pleading as you feel yourself getting hotter, wetter with every roll of your hips, his cock glancing off your clit and making you keen as all at once you find yourself on the edge, “I'm sorry, o-okay? Please just let me—”
“My poor little love.”
Your boyfriend sighs the words against your ear, grinding you deliciously hard against his cock, surely noticing how every inch of you tenses, breath catching in your throat — and then he lifts you up, cutting you off at the very last second as you all but wail, shaking like a leaf against him.
“You're nearly there — Have you learned your lesson yet, Aster?”
(1) You don't think he can possibly mean for you to reply, because Blythe hardly even waits for you to come down before he shifts, fingers squeezing more marks into your hips before sinking you down — on his cock, this time.
And proof that your boyfriend’s mean streak runs deeper than you'd have ever imagined, Blythe gives you only the barest seconds to adjust before he’s bouncing you in his lap, watching the rise and fall of your body with such intensity it only makes you burn that much hotter.
And it's good, it's so good — he feels so good, because it's been days and you missed him and you missed this and it's been four times already — that it's really no surprise that you find yourself about to peak in what feels like seconds, your arms slinging around his neck in some desperate bid to cling tighter to him in some vain hope that he won't—
That he'll let you—
(1) You can't take anymore—
And then he stops, for the fifth time, not even bothering to pull out — and some part of you just breaks.
"—I'm sorry!" Tears flood your eyes and spill over your cheeks as you sob, at last hitting your breaking point, "I-I'm really sorry, please forgive me, I won't— I won't do it again I promise, j-just please—"
The words fall from you in a hiccuping, tearful babble, so wickedly overstimulated yet so terribly unfulfilled as you cry into the crook of Blythe's shoulder, terrified he might not believe you.
Overwhelmed by the sudden overflow of emotion — the only outlet your body could find for all the tension he'd wound up in you — it takes you a moment to even notice the hand stroking down your spine, each pass easing the way your body shook, sobs ebbing to mere sniffles.
"I forgive you, love," The words are a warm croon against your temple, the anger from before nowhere to be seen and replaced by a contentment that might almost seem smug, if you had the mental capacity to really scrutinize it — but you do not, not even close, "I know you'll keep your promise, you're a good girl."
The unspoken 'or else' lingers, the silent threat clear.
(1) And then you find your world spinning, blinking blearily to find yourself laid out over his bed as Blythe kneels, your legs hitched over his thighs.
Something hot flares in his eyes as he takes in the state of you: lashes wet and cheeks damp, glassy-eyed and docile, a treasure trove of the various marks he'd left on you.
His tail winds around your thigh as he tugs you closer, wasting no time at all in pushing back inside of you with a full-throated groan, your own whimper a quieter echo.
(Look, your vocal chords had taken a lot of abuse tonight.)
"Does it hurt?" Blythe runs his hand down your front and over your middle — your whole body arches like you've been shocked as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your sensitive clit, mewling senselessly as your eyes squeeze shut, "Don't worry, love — I'll make it all better."
(1) And it's all you can do to remember to keep breathing as Blythe rocks into you, even the softer pace enough to knock the air from you.
Your body feels like one electrified nerve, every inch he sinks back inside of you making you shudder and shake. He continues to tease your clit, fresh tears spilling over your cheeks because you're so hyper-sensitive it hurts, but you think you might actually die if he stops.
You don't even notice the babbling little pleas spilling from you until Blythe leans down to kiss you, your gaze watery as you open your eyes to meet the loving blaze of his own.
"I've got you, Aster," His lips brush against yours with every word, "—Cum."
(1) And with a shuddering keen that can only be called relief, you do.
The pleasure that crashes through you as at last you're allowed over the edge — the one you'd been dangling over all night — is nothing short of all-consuming as Blythe fucks you through your orgasm with the same relentless focus he approaches most things with.
It feels as if all the pleasure you'd been denied has all at once between released, tearing loud, shaking cries from you that you can't hope to hold back, your entire world reducing to heat and sensation as your climax goes on and on and on.
Above you, Blythe moans, a burst of heat adding to the sensations you're drowning in, and it occurs to you — absently, because the pleasure robs you of thinking about much of anything too closely — that he'd been denying himself this whole time, too.
The aftermath has you slumping against the sheets, limbs turned weak and shaky after such devastating bliss; it's all you can do to try and catch your breath, lashes heavy as fatigue began to catch up with you all at once — like everything you had went into that singular orgasm.
"Are you tired, babe?"
And though you easily catch the teasing behind the fond words, there's an undercurrent of something that has you nodding anyway, blurry eyes peering open just enough to peek up at him.
His tail squeezes lightly around your thigh as Blythe smiles down at you, the affection in his gaze only rivalled by the ravenous hunger still glinting in his eyes.
You shiver — and can't help but notice he's still hard inside of you.
"It's alright if you fall asleep, love," A broad hand sweeps up and down your side, and you're sensitive enough that even that little motion has you shuddering, pulsing around his cock as Blythe gives a low groan, "You just relax — I'll take care of everything."
(1) You're never listening to any of Aiden's ideas ever, ever again.
Or at the very least, you'll know exactly what you're getting yourself into if you do.
(1) You can't help but wonder if you've gotten in over your head.
Pt. 2 of this post, feat. @thedolmainblog's Aiden. DIDN'T FUCK THE TAG UP THIS TIME.
gratuitous smut below the cut.
The blindfold is silky and soft as they slide it over your eyes, smoothing their thumbs across your cheeks as you take a shaky inhale. The darkness is all-encompassing, more so than you could have anticipated, and for a few tenuous moments you struggle not to be overwhelmed. Bound and blinded, this is more control than you've ever willingly given up before, and it's hard to ignore the whispers of fear that tighten in your chest.
"Breathe."
You exhale. Their voice is a welcome balm, giving your poor understimulated yet overwhelmed senses something to focus on beyond your uncertainty.
"Do you remember your safe word?"
"Avery."
"Good girl."
Aiden chuckles at your ensuing flush, and you huff at them, quietly grateful for the moment of playfulness as their hands move from your cheeks to your shoulders, sweeping down your sides just lightly enough to make you squirm a little, ticklish.
"The drug will take effect soon," Their hands settle on your hips, rubbing soft circles into your hips, "It's normal to feel hot, foggy, even a little dizzy, but let me know if you start feeling sick — the antidote is in my pocket. Understand?"
(1) You bob your head in a nod throughout their explanation — and startle when they pinch your hip, though not hard enough to even really sting.
This time.
"I want you to use your words when I tell you something, alright?"
For all that their voice is as pleasant as it always is, there is no questioning the command clear in their words.
"Yes."
"Yes. . ?"
"Yes Aiden, I understand."
"Keep that up, sweet girl," You hear them shift before their lips press against your jaw, smiling against your skin, "And you'll do just fine."
(1) Aiden, you find, is quite easy with the praise — a fact that's flustered you from the first, but is starting to really get to you right now.
Heat builds beneath your skin, your mind turning their approval around and around in your mind, something hot and tight twisting in your middle that has your thighs squeeing closer together.
Above you, Aiden laughs, the sound distinctly pleased as ther hands ghost featherlight atop your thighs.
"I want you to keep these spread nice and wide, pet, can you do that for me?"
"Yes," You'd been nodding before they'd even finished speaking, only just barely recalling what they'd said about using your words, "Ah, I mean, yes Aiden."
Even blind, you can almost feel the approval radiating off of them as they reward you with a proper kiss, leaving you more than a little short of breath by the time they pull away, lips trailing a blazing path down your throat—
"Ah!"
You jerk beneath them as they suck a bruising mark into your pulse, breath catching on a shuddery little noise as you feel them pull away.
The faint rustle of fabric is the only warning you get before silk is sliding around your neck, hyper-aware of every brush of their fingers against your throat. They tie it off in what feels like a bow, your pulse jumping beneath their touch as they admire their handiwork.
"It suits you — green does go so very well with pink."
(1) That they raise a hand to sweep their thumb across your cheek as they said that has you flushing all the rosier, knowing they weren't just talking about your hair.
Bound and blind, you only become more and more sensitive as they take their time with you, each moment just more time for the aphrodisiac to sink it's claws deeper inside of you.
Soon, even their featherlight touches are enough to have you whimpering, heat pulsing between your legs as you felt a familiar coil tighten in your middle. Their lips brush against your breast, fingers teasing along your thighs, so close yet so far from where you burn for more.
And then, after what feels like an eternity of faint, barely there grazes, their fingers swirl over your clit once, twice—
And then their touch is gone, and with it the climax you'd been so close to falling into.
The sudden denial takes you by surprise, a sharp cry tearing free as you struggle to comprehend what just happened. You strain against your bindings, disoriented and confused, still so caught up on the ever-growing blaze of pure need coursing through you.
"None of that now, darling," Aiden's voice only just pierces through the haze of your thoughts, aided by the feel of their palm running up and down your sides, the leather of their glove a balm to your frenzied senses, "Relax."
(1) And, despite the way the aphrodisiac has pure desire licking up your spine, despite how your denied pleasure only makes your need that much sharper, you obey.
You feel adrift in a veritable sea of sensation as you force your body to settle, trembling with the effort of staying still — and yet the thought of disobeying them does not even cross your mind.
How could it, when they felt like your only anchor, their presence all that kept you from drowning?
(That they were simultaneously responsible for your current predicament was ignored, second fiddle to the comfort and praise they provided.)
“Well done, Aster."
(1) You shudder, a sound perilously close to a whine catching in your throat — a sound that sharpens into a gasp as Aiden begins their teasing anew, beginning a cycle of delicious torment.
Your chest is still heaving, struggling to catch your breath against the sharp ache left behind by the denial, when you suddenly feel the bed shift and hear the soft whisper of Aiden's steps as they stroll away from the bed. It's perhaps a bit of a blessing that you're a little too far gone to panic, too distracted by feverish just to get anxious at being left like this.
(It probably helps that you know Blythe would never leave earshot with you in this state.)
It doesn't take them long at all to return, and you hear them drop a handle of things on the bed beside you as they drag a hand over your body, a line of heat following the path of their gloved palm. It lifts just before the dip between your thighs, and it's only when you slump back against the bed that you realize you'd arched up into their touch.
(1) You'd never been denied before — least of all while drugged — and you can't say you were prepared for the ravenous need that clouds your mind.
Even those thoughts scatter like light through a prism when you feel Aiden's hands beneath your thighs, spreading them a little wider as they settle comfortably between them, enjoying the way your legs quiver under their hands.
"How're we doing, pet? Having fun?" The question is coy, teasing as they ran their hands up your inner thighs, delighting in how you jolt as their thumbs brush against your dripping cunt — how even now you have the capacity to fluster as they spread your lips apart, the heat searing across your face rivalled only by the blaze winding tight in your middle, "You certainly look like you're having fun."
You open your mouth to reply — you're good, you remembered, you want to be good — only for your words to get stuck in your throat, replaced by a choked off mewl as they rub sudden, deliberate circles around your clit.
When they stop, you whine.
(1) You can feel them smirking down at you, even if you can't see it.
"What was that, Aster?" Their voice is sly, and you can feel the tips of their hair tickle against your skin as they lean forward towards you, "Were you saying something?"
And though you know a trap when you see one, what else can you do but fall into it?
"I— It's—"
Again you try, and again you fail.
The moment you start to speak, they resume their teasing — from rubbing soft circles around your clit to teasing fingers against your entrance, all of your attempts at speech crumble away the moment they start touching you. All you can think about is the need burning bright in your core, the way each teasing denial makes you that much more desperate for their touch.
The aphrodisiac has narrowed your world down to want and desire — and with every touch, Aiden narrows it further, down to pure, unrivalled need.
"Are you forgetting something, pet?" They click their tongue at you, tutting, something sly in their voice even as they sigh down at you, "And you were doing so well up until now. . ."
And even knowing they're playing with you does little to lessen the effect of their supposed disappointment, a plaintive noise tumbling free of you.
"And here I was, just about to reward you being such a good girl," They coo as you whimper, sweeping a thumb across your cheekbone - the gesture has no right to be as comforting as it is, considering how happily they'd led you into this little trap, "I suppose you'll just have to wait a little longer, hmm?"
(1) And wait you do.
As they roll you onto your stomach and discover a reaction you'll later wish they hadn't, no matter how the smack of their gloved palm against your ass has you mewling into their sheets, the line between pleasure and pain stretched gossamer thin as you fall deeper and deeper into your lust.
As they sink two fingers inside of you in the aftermath of your 'punishment'; There's something about the burn of pain that makes the pleasure all the sweeter, keening as your hips push back their fingers as they fuck you to the edge.
As they introduce you to something they strongly believe you're missing out on, all too eager to give you a practical demonstration as they tease a vibrator against your cunt and make a game of seeing just how quickly they can bring you to the edge, over and over again.
(1) You lose count of the number of times they bring you to the brink and leave you dangling there, time losing its meaning when all you can think about is the relief always hovering just out of reach, your entire world reduced to pleasure, need, and desperation.
Aiden's hands are cool against your face — damp from sweat and tears as you shake and sob through the effects of being denied once more — as they sweep their thumbs across your cheeks, lips brushing just beneath the edge of the blindfold.
It takes you far too long to realize they've removed their gloves.
"You've done so well, pet. So well. Are you ready for your reward?"
Their praise is warm honey down a sore throat, all that kept the sharp edge of need from becoming truly too much to bear — you don't notice the loosening of your blindfold until they're pulling it away, the dim light of their room all the brighter for how long you'd been blinded.
(1) You peer up at them, eyes wet and glassy, and it's fortunate they mean it this time because right now you're struggling to comprehend more than just their tone, nevermind being able to actually reply like they'd so deviously demanded earlier.
Aiden carasses your cheek and you rub against their palm like a trembling, touch-starved kitten.
"Aren't you a sweet little thing?" They croon, rewarding you with a kiss that has you melting beneath them despite the depths of your lust, mind too hazy to be anything but grateful for their affection, "Some pets get bratty and defiant when they're this needy, but not you, hmm? You're wired a little differently, aren't you?"
They drag their lips up to your ear, and you can feel their lips curve into a smile more sin than sincerity.
"If I told you I didn't want you to cum at all tonight, if keeping you all pent-up and desperate is what would please me the most," Their hands slide down your bust, your whole body jolting at the lightest pinch of their fingers, "You'd obey, wouldn't you, Aster? Even with all this need trapped inside of you, just begging to be released, you'd choose pleasing me over yourself."
And even though the thought has a perilous little cry tumbling past your lips, fresh tears blurring your vision at the thought of being made to stay like this even longer—
(1) You nod, because they're right.
You don't even hesitate.
Aiden groans in your ear before they pull back, eyes bright and cheeks flushed as they stare down at you with an undeniable hunger.
"I can't believe Blythe's been hoarding you all to himself all this time," They coo, rewarding you with another breathless kiss, "What a treat you are."
Their hands skate down your body, fingers dipping between your thighs with a single-minded purpose. Tension thrums through you, a bow strung too tightly and fit to snap as you try to brace yourself for another denial with an anxious whimper—
"You can relax, darling."
Aiden sighs the words down at you, sounding downright smitten — a tone at odds with the way they sink their fingers inside of you with a curl that makes your voice crack on a keen. Their fingers fuck into you at a pace that has you straining against your bonds, anxiety striking through you at how quickly your pleasure climbs. You would never be able to hold your own pleasure at bay, not now, not like this — but it didn't feel like they were about to stop, and the idea that you'd fail them this far in has a sob catching on your throat—
So caught up in your aroused anguish, you almost miss Aiden's words.
Almost.
"—Cum, Aster."
(1) And like that, your entire world fractures into white as you obey. You shake and squirm and scream as white-hot relief courses through you, intense enough to have yet more tears spilling down your face as you're finally, finally granted mercy.
It feels like absolution.
It feels like an eternity's past when last your senses begin to trickle back to you, a faint buzz to your senses that makes you wonder if you'd nearly passed out from the intensity. Aiden is there when you open your eyes again, a soothing smile on their face when you finally manage to open your eyes.
"That feels better, doesn't it?" Even the removal of their fingers has you quivering around them, beyond sensitive in the aftermath of such delayed gratification, "Don't worry, I know just one is hardly enough of a reward, what with how good you were for me."
You struggle to place their meaning, glassy eyes watching as they reach past you — your wrists are freed within moments, before Aiden slides out of bed with mild reluctance.
Which is confusing, considering what they'd said. What—?
Your head turned to watch as Aiden settles into the comfy armchair beside the bed, you aren't at all expecting the new hands — hot and rough and familiar — settling on your hips.
Blythe.
Your eyes meet — and you've seen the look currently on his face exactly once before.
Uh oh.
"Don't fret, love."
Black has swallowed much of the gold in his eyes as the full weight of his gaze settles on you — and it's only when the hot grind of his cock against your cunt has your whole body flinching with an overwhelmed mewl that you realize he's naked.
"I'll help you work the rest of that pesky drug out of your system in no time."
Oh God.
(1) When people had said drugs could kill you, you hadn't expect this would be the way you'd go.
very slight smut, TBC with MORE smut tomorrow, feat. @thedolmainblog's Blythe because THEY DESERVE NICE THINGS
(1) Follow Aiden's advice despite the gut feeling something was a little fishy about it.
You stare at the small bounty of toys currently spread out across the bed with mild trepidation.
You knew how they all worked, between Aiden's sprawling collection and Sirris's overly helpful commentary when you'd bought them, but you can't help but feel a little nervous.
Aiden's words whisper in the back of your mind.
"Why don't you send Blythe a little motivation? He's probably miserable being away so long — I'd be willing to bet he'd get home even faster if he saw you using these."
And while everything Aiden said always seems a little suspicious, a little too much mischief in their genial smile, you hadn't been able to really fault their logic, and, well.
Blythe getting home sooner was a win-win, right?
(1) It takes you a little while to warm up, muster your courage, and then figure out how the hell to set up your phone at a good angle, but eventually you do it.
Your phone gallery becomes a treasure trove of mortifying pictures you plan on deleting as soon as you pick the ones to send to Blythe.
Each and every one has you dressed in only one of his shirts, unbuttoned all the way down, lounging against his bed in an array of alluring poses—
Each putting to good use one of the several different toys you'd purchased for this specific goal, from the small bullet vibe to the dildo that had most reminded you of his actual cock.
And then there's the video.
(1) A full five minutes of you riding your new toy in full view of your phone's camera, breasts bouncing as you fucked yourself to a shuddering, mewling finish.
And because you're you, and you have no intention of seeing his reaction in real time, lest you actually spontaneously combust — you schedule the texts to your boyfriend, timing each one about thirty minutes apart and finishing off your pseudo-care package with the video for last.
And then you take a shower, change into a different of Blythe's shirts, and fall asleep on his couch (because you get a little too lonely sleeping in his bed without him).
Your phone sits, forgotten on the bathroom counter, too far to be heard no matter how much it buzzes and vibrates.
(1) You have no idea what you've just set into motion.
(1) You can't help but wonder if you've gotten in over your head.
Pt. 2 of this post, feat. @thedolmainblog's Aiden. DIDN'T FUCK THE TAG UP THIS TIME.
gratuitous smut below the cut.
The blindfold is silky and soft as they slide it over your eyes, smoothing their thumbs across your cheeks as you take a shaky inhale. The darkness is all-encompassing, more so than you could have anticipated, and for a few tenuous moments you struggle not to be overwhelmed. Bound and blinded, this is more control than you've ever willingly given up before, and it's hard to ignore the whispers of fear that tighten in your chest.
"Breathe."
You exhale. Their voice is a welcome balm, giving your poor understimulated yet overwhelmed senses something to focus on beyond your uncertainty.
"Do you remember your safe word?"
"Avery."
"Good girl."
Aiden chuckles at your ensuing flush, and you huff at them, quietly grateful for the moment of playfulness as their hands move from your cheeks to your shoulders, sweeping down your sides just lightly enough to make you squirm a little, ticklish.
"The drug will take effect soon," Their hands settle on your hips, rubbing soft circles into your hips, "It's normal to feel hot, foggy, even a little dizzy, but let me know if you start feeling sick — the antidote is in my pocket. Understand?"
(1) You bob your head in a nod throughout their explanation — and startle when they pinch your hip, though not hard enough to even really sting.
This time.
"I want you to use your words when I tell you something, alright?"
For all that their voice is as pleasant as it always is, there is no questioning the command clear in their words.
"Yes."
"Yes. . ?"
"Yes Aiden, I understand."
"Keep that up, sweet girl," You hear them shift before their lips press against your jaw, smiling against your skin, "And you'll do just fine."
(1) Aiden, you find, is quite easy with the praise — a fact that's flustered you from the first, but is starting to really get to you right now.
Heat builds beneath your skin, your mind turning their approval around and around in your mind, something hot and tight twisting in your middle that has your thighs squeeing closer together.
Above you, Aiden laughs, the sound distinctly pleased as ther hands ghost featherlight atop your thighs.
"I want you to keep these spread nice and wide, pet, can you do that for me?"
"Yes," You'd been nodding before they'd even finished speaking, only just barely recalling what they'd said about using your words, "Ah, I mean, yes Aiden."
Even blind, you can almost feel the approval radiating off of them as they reward you with a proper kiss, leaving you more than a little short of breath by the time they pull away, lips trailing a blazing path down your throat—
"Ah!"
You jerk beneath them as they suck a bruising mark into your pulse, breath catching on a shuddery little noise as you feel them pull away.
The faint rustle of fabric is the only warning you get before silk is sliding around your neck, hyper-aware of every brush of their fingers against your throat. They tie it off in what feels like a bow, your pulse jumping beneath their touch as they admire their handiwork.
"It suits you — green does go so very well with pink."
(1) That they raise a hand to sweep their thumb across your cheek as they said that has you flushing all the rosier, knowing they weren't just talking about your hair.
Bound and blind, you only become more and more sensitive as they take their time with you, each moment just more time for the aphrodisiac to sink it's claws deeper inside of you.
Soon, even their featherlight touches are enough to have you whimpering, heat pulsing between your legs as you felt a familiar coil tighten in your middle. Their lips brush against your breast, fingers teasing along your thighs, so close yet so far from where you burn for more.
And then, after what feels like an eternity of faint, barely there grazes, their fingers swirl over your clit once, twice—
And then their touch is gone, and with it the climax you'd been so close to falling into.
The sudden denial takes you by surprise, a sharp cry tearing free as you struggle to comprehend what just happened. You strain against your bindings, disoriented and confused, still so caught up on the ever-growing blaze of pure need coursing through you.
"None of that now, darling," Aiden's voice only just pierces through the haze of your thoughts, aided by the feel of their palm running up and down your sides, the leather of their glove a balm to your frenzied senses, "Relax."
(1) And, despite the way the aphrodisiac has pure desire licking up your spine, despite how your denied pleasure only makes your need that much sharper, you obey.
You feel adrift in a veritable sea of sensation as you force your body to settle, trembling with the effort of staying still — and yet the thought of disobeying them does not even cross your mind.
How could it, when they felt like your only anchor, their presence all that kept you from drowning?
(That they were simultaneously responsible for your current predicament was ignored, second fiddle to the comfort and praise they provided.)
“Well done, Aster."
(1) You shudder, a sound perilously close to a whine catching in your throat — a sound that sharpens into a gasp as Aiden begins their teasing anew, beginning a cycle of delicious torment.
Your chest is still heaving, struggling to catch your breath against the sharp ache left behind by the denial, when you suddenly feel the bed shift and hear the soft whisper of Aiden's steps as they stroll away from the bed. It's perhaps a bit of a blessing that you're a little too far gone to panic, too distracted by feverish just to get anxious at being left like this.
(It probably helps that you know Blythe would never leave earshot with you in this state.)
It doesn't take them long at all to return, and you hear them drop a handle of things on the bed beside you as they drag a hand over your body, a line of heat following the path of their gloved palm. It lifts just before the dip between your thighs, and it's only when you slump back against the bed that you realize you'd arched up into their touch.
(1) You'd never been denied before — least of all while drugged — and you can't say you were prepared for the ravenous need that clouds your mind.
Even those thoughts scatter like light through a prism when you feel Aiden's hands beneath your thighs, spreading them a little wider as they settle comfortably between them, enjoying the way your legs quiver under their hands.
"How're we doing, pet? Having fun?" The question is coy, teasing as they ran their hands up your inner thighs, delighting in how you jolt as their thumbs brush against your dripping cunt — how even now you have the capacity to fluster as they spread your lips apart, the heat searing across your face rivalled only by the blaze winding tight in your middle, "You certainly look like you're having fun."
You open your mouth to reply — you're good, you remembered, you want to be good — only for your words to get stuck in your throat, replaced by a choked off mewl as they rub sudden, deliberate circles around your clit.
When they stop, you whine.
(1) You can feel them smirking down at you, even if you can't see it.
"What was that, Aster?" Their voice is sly, and you can feel the tips of their hair tickle against your skin as they lean forward towards you, "Were you saying something?"
And though you know a trap when you see one, what else can you do but fall into it?
"I— It's—"
Again you try, and again you fail.
The moment you start to speak, they resume their teasing — from rubbing soft circles around your clit to teasing fingers against your entrance, all of your attempts at speech crumble away the moment they start touching you. All you can think about is the need burning bright in your core, the way each teasing denial makes you that much more desperate for their touch.
The aphrodisiac has narrowed your world down to want and desire — and with every touch, Aiden narrows it further, down to pure, unrivalled need.
"Are you forgetting something, pet?" They click their tongue at you, tutting, something sly in their voice even as they sigh down at you, "And you were doing so well up until now. . ."
And even knowing they're playing with you does little to lessen the effect of their supposed disappointment, a plaintive noise tumbling free of you.
"And here I was, just about to reward you being such a good girl," They coo as you whimper, sweeping a thumb across your cheekbone - the gesture has no right to be as comforting as it is, considering how happily they'd led you into this little trap, "I suppose you'll just have to wait a little longer, hmm?"
(1) And wait you do.
As they roll you onto your stomach and discover a reaction you'll later wish they hadn't, no matter how the smack of their gloved palm against your ass has you mewling into their sheets, the line between pleasure and pain stretched gossamer thin as you fall deeper and deeper into your lust.
As they sink two fingers inside of you in the aftermath of your 'punishment'; There's something about the burn of pain that makes the pleasure all the sweeter, keening as your hips push back their fingers as they fuck you to the edge.
As they introduce you to something they strongly believe you're missing out on, all too eager to give you a practical demonstration as they tease a vibrator against your cunt and make a game of seeing just how quickly they can bring you to the edge, over and over again.
(1) You lose count of the number of times they bring you to the brink and leave you dangling there, time losing its meaning when all you can think about is the relief always hovering just out of reach, your entire world reduced to pleasure, need, and desperation.
Aiden's hands are cool against your face — damp from sweat and tears as you shake and sob through the effects of being denied once more — as they sweep their thumbs across your cheeks, lips brushing just beneath the edge of the blindfold.
It takes you far too long to realize they've removed their gloves.
"You've done so well, pet. So well. Are you ready for your reward?"
Their praise is warm honey down a sore throat, all that kept the sharp edge of need from becoming truly too much to bear — you don't notice the loosening of your blindfold until they're pulling it away, the dim light of their room all the brighter for how long you'd been blinded.
(1) You peer up at them, eyes wet and glassy, and it's fortunate they mean it this time because right now you're struggling to comprehend more than just their tone, nevermind being able to actually reply like they'd so deviously demanded earlier.
Aiden carasses your cheek and you rub against their palm like a trembling, touch-starved kitten.
"Aren't you a sweet little thing?" They croon, rewarding you with a kiss that has you melting beneath them despite the depths of your lust, mind too hazy to be anything but grateful for their affection, "Some pets get bratty and defiant when they're this needy, but not you, hmm? You're wired a little differently, aren't you?"
They drag their lips up to your ear, and you can feel their lips curve into a smile more sin than sincerity.
"If I told you I didn't want you to cum at all tonight, if keeping you all pent-up and desperate is what would please me the most," Their hands slide down your bust, your whole body jolting at the lightest pinch of their fingers, "You'd obey, wouldn't you, Aster? Even with all this need trapped inside of you, just begging to be released, you'd choose pleasing me over yourself."
And even though the thought has a perilous little cry tumbling past your lips, fresh tears blurring your vision at the thought of being made to stay like this even longer—
(1) You nod, because they're right.
You don't even hesitate.
Aiden groans in your ear before they pull back, eyes bright and cheeks flushed as they stare down at you with an undeniable hunger.
"I can't believe Blythe's been hoarding you all to himself all this time," They coo, rewarding you with another breathless kiss, "What a treat you are."
Their hands skate down your body, fingers dipping between your thighs with a single-minded purpose. Tension thrums through you, a bow strung too tightly and fit to snap as you try to brace yourself for another denial with an anxious whimper—
"You can relax, darling."
Aiden sighs the words down at you, sounding downright smitten — a tone at odds with the way they sink their fingers inside of you with a curl that makes your voice crack on a keen. Their fingers fuck into you at a pace that has you straining against your bonds, anxiety striking through you at how quickly your pleasure climbs. You would never be able to hold your own pleasure at bay, not now, not like this — but it didn't feel like they were about to stop, and the idea that you'd fail them this far in has a sob catching on your throat—
So caught up in your aroused anguish, you almost miss Aiden's words.
Almost.
"—Cum, Aster."
(1) And like that, your entire world fractures into white as you obey. You shake and squirm and scream as white-hot relief courses through you, intense enough to have yet more tears spilling down your face as you're finally, finally granted mercy.
It feels like absolution.
It feels like an eternity's past when last your senses begin to trickle back to you, a faint buzz to your senses that makes you wonder if you'd nearly passed out from the intensity. Aiden is there when you open your eyes again, a soothing smile on their face when you finally manage to open your eyes.
"That feels better, doesn't it?" Even the removal of their fingers has you quivering around them, beyond sensitive in the aftermath of such delayed gratification, "Don't worry, I know just one is hardly enough of a reward, what with how good you were for me."
You struggle to place their meaning, glassy eyes watching as they reach past you — your wrists are freed within moments, before Aiden slides out of bed with mild reluctance.
Which is confusing, considering what they'd said. What—?
Your head turned to watch as Aiden settles into the comfy armchair beside the bed, you aren't at all expecting the new hands — hot and rough and familiar — settling on your hips.
Blythe.
Your eyes meet — and you've seen the look currently on his face exactly once before.
Uh oh.
"Don't fret, love."
Black has swallowed much of the gold in his eyes as the full weight of his gaze settles on you — and it's only when the hot grind of his cock against your cunt has your whole body flinching with an overwhelmed mewl that you realize he's naked.
"I'll help you work the rest of that pesky drug out of your system in no time."
Oh God.
(1) When people had said drugs could kill you, you hadn't expect this would be the way you'd go.
silly little girl who tried to live forever,
to live forever
gave away her soul to buy a bit of pleasure,
oh, the bitter pleasure
— the wolf & the sheep, alec benjamin
