Ginger Spice Latte

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[muvaginger]

Ginger (Gingy, Gigi, Momma Ginger)

།†︶ Formally known as Gingerspicelattemix

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[gingerrootandsoot]

“Choose”

Fiancé!SylusQinxPregnantFiance!Reader

TW: mentions of pregnancy (MC is the “them” mentioned), Angst

“Absolutely not.”

The tone of your voice was stern and absolute with no room for debate. The very fact that this was even brought to as a request irks your nerves and makes you second guess even having the wedding at all. You are already stressed with balancing work, accommodation for the guest list and recently, unknown to Sylus, finding out some unexpected news that could change the trajectory of both your lives. The last thing you need is to worry about that person.

“May I know the reason why?” Sylus says while sitting on the chair across from you. “You know why, Sy.” Your response short. He breathes in deeply and closes his eyes before continuing, making sure his tone is not too harsh due to previous failed attempts at asking for said information. “A more detailed reason would be preferred, love.” You finally look up at him from your computer and stare at him. Half of you wants to scream at him, tell him how uncomfortable his relationship to that person makes you feel and to make him choose between you or them but the other half wishes to keep the peace. Why?

Because you know how much that person means to him.

She has worked along side him for about five years now, their lives practically intertwined. If you would have seen them prior to knowing Sylus, you would have thought they were a couple. The way they interact with each other before you enter the room, as if you were interrupting something sacred. Or their small but intimate talks and how he looks at her as if she’s the only person in his world. It doesn’t just bother you, it enrages you. It makes you feel things you have never felt such as jealousy, envy and the worst of them all, uncertainty. Could you tell your fiancé these things? Probably. But do you think he would actually understand? Truthfully? No. Why?

Because he’s blinded by something, something that you can’t see nor stop. And at this point, it’s useless.

Telling him would only cause an argument. You’ve tried before, though you weren’t in the emotional state to do so, and it ended up you both not speaking for two days and you later finding out that he went to a bar with her to cool down. So not only did he not speak to you for two days while in the same house, he went to the very person who’s causing you stress. You almost cancelled the engagement right then and there but was talked down. It was starting to become too much for you and you didn’t want to cause any unnecessary harm to them.

Them being your babies. Yes, you’re three months pregnant and with twins and surprisingly not showing.

So even mentioning this was too much. You take a deep breath before turning to face your Labtop again. “If my answer isn’t enough, I don’t know what else to say.” You respond curtly, it taking all the strength and remaining sanity to keep yourself from snapping. “She will be a guest. That is all I will accept.” He looks at you for a moment, brows creased and jaw tightening just a tad.

“You do understand it is my wedding too, correct?”

“That I do.” You say, annoyed

“Then how is it that I can not have someone who i consider family by my side as my best women for our big day?”

“Is she really just family, though?”

He looks at you with a tilted head “of course, what else would she be?”

“Oh, I’d say she’s Practically your first wife with how you treat her.” You reply without hesitation, your tone condescending.

“What?”

“Is she wedding dress shopping too or did you do that already with her and the dress you supposedly gifted me was from the discarded ones she didn’t choose?” You say, your anger rising.

“….Y/N, stop.”

“Or Maybe I should just be the wedding planner and allow you two secret lovebirds to become publicly official. How does that sound, Mr Qin?” You continue while now laughing and tearing up, years of unresolved feelings pouring out. “Maybe then I can finally stop competing for your love, your time, fuck for YOU!”

“Y/N!”

You shout,“WHY MARRY ME? Why when you can be with her. WH-“

“I DONT KNOW!” He shouts back.

“W-what? Y-you don’t what??”

You stop, eyes widening in shock at not just how angry he is but him yelling at you. He has never even raised his voice let alone yelled at you. And then to say he doesn’t know? So when he realizes, he stops as well, his gaze is a mixture of hurt and utter disbelief.

“You don’t know why you’re marrying me?” You ask, voice laced with hurt and disbelief

Silence. He knows it’s not what he meant but also knew that it wasn’t a lie. Your feelings about their relationship weren’t misplaced. Anyone with eyes would see what she sees and react the same way. Did he love you? Yes. Did he also love her? Also yes, but in a different way. How could he tell you that she was his wife in a past life? How could he expect you to understand how complicated their relationship was and that even though he could completely understand why you would wanting to cut her off that he simply can’t? Before he could respond, you throw your ring and the ultrasound pictures in his face.

“I’m pregnant Sylus. And if you’re going to choose her, just like you always do, then we are leaving.” You stand up as you watch his face go through several emotions from shock to disbelief to happiness and horror. “And I’ll be damned if me and my babies are second choices.” As you walk out of the room, face tear stained and scorned, Sylus sits slumped in his chair, speechless for a moment before quickly getting up. His hand finding yours, stopping you mid packing. He tries to explain but you yank your hand away, and calmly turn to him. Eyes red and your face now void of emotion you say to him, “You have a choice to make, Sylus Qin” his stares down at you, eyes widening. “And this will be your one and only chance to make it. I’m done sacrificing my peace for a man who won’t.”

“Her or us. Choose.”

[gingerrootandsoot]

Sylus has never been found of churches. Especially ones that have the enormous crucifixion of Jesus Christ on the cross in them. He’s alway thought it was just obnoxious. Willingly paying someone to recreate someone’s death for an art piece in a building just left a bad taste in his mouth. With all these things considered, he never had the desire to step into one. Well, that wasn’t until now. Now that you’re on deaths door…

Now that there’s a possibility he will lose you.

Having faith in people is one thing but in a person who he can’t even see nor feel? He can barely believe in mankind and the little belief he has is because of you. But a god? Up until this point that was impossible but again, the possibility of losing you is making him do and believe things he never thought in a million years he would believe in and it’s startling him but what else can he do? He’s brought in the best doctors and has you, his beloved wife and reason for his existence, in the best facility money can buy. Even with all these things, his faith is slim and he’s desperate so now…he’s here.

Inside a building that once held no prevalence, on his knees praying to a god he has no relationship with. And hell, he doesn’t even know if this is the right god. He does know that he would pray to every god or goddess possible and devote his life and soul to whoever saves you because quite honestly, you’re the only person keeping him alive and sane. He’s seen you pray once before but not to whom and the face you make after is one of pure peace so why not?

“I’m not a person who prays so excuse me for the lack of…manners. My sincerity, however, is genuine and I only have one thing to ask….” His breath hitches only a tad before he speaks again, trying to keep himself together. “Let her live. I’ll do anything just-just let her live…please.”

Silence engulfs the room, allowing his pleas to echo within. He slowly stands to his feet, dust lightly coating his pant legs where he knelt. Even though he had a lot more he wanted to say, he knew that was all he could muster. Will god answer? He does not know. But he does hope. Hope that you’ll get better and that the hands he entrusted and paid for to make sure you come out better than you went in do their jobs. As he turns to walk out, a single ray of light comes through the stain glass window pitched at the very top Jesus head and lands gently on his shoulder as if god himself laid his hand on his shoulder and on que, his phone rings.

“Hello?” He says while peaking over his shoulder. A brief silence follows before he slowly lowers the phone. He turns slightly and looks back at the statue and smiles. He nods and exits the church.

“I guess there is a god up there.”

[gingerrootandsoot]

LADS IMAGINE: How I Feel the LADS Men Would Mourn/React to Your Death

TW: Death, Childloss, Blood, Mentions of torture, Kidnapping

Zayne: You were found in an alley right next to your favorite pastry shop, a gun shot wound to the chest.

He was held up at a work function four hours away when he received the call. You were rushed to a hospital after a call from a concerned bystander heard a gun shot ring out and rushed to see what it was.

You weren’t supposed to be out that day due to running a slight fever from overworking yourself but due to various reasons, you thought it would be faster to get the items you wanted yourself instead of ordering online. Once the ambulance got there, they took you to a hospital that wasn’t the one he works at but it was the closest to where you were and you ended up dying on the table.

It took them 10 minutes to actually attempt to treat you and by then, it was too late. The justice system had failed at catching the murderers and when the funeral happened, a letter mocking you death came with a box of dead flowers.

Filled with rage, Zayne begins to slowly but swiftly find the men who killed you and one by one, take them out in the most brutal of ways. By the time the authorities caught up to him, Zayne was elderly and living alone in the mountains, a frozen tomb carved with his very hands only a few meters away holding your body as its final resting place.

Sylus: Killed by a drunken driver while on your way home to tell him you were pregnant, basically resulting in yours and the babies lives being lost.

Sylus was in the middle of a high stakes negotiation when Mephisto reported it to him that you were in an hit and run. The way this man almost died himself trying to get to the scene was devastating.

The horrible part is that he was there before the paramedics and when he got off his bike and saw you being held together by the streetlight pole he absolutely lost it. Your last words were “we’re pregnant” before dying on the scene. While paramedics and police tried to get to you, others were trying to drag Sylus away. The ultrasound pictures were clenched in his hands as his yells of your name could be heard from miles away. The killer was never found.

It’s said that in later years, he built a garden the size of the taj mahal with a playground attached in yours and the unborn child’s honor and that he sits there everyday for hours just talking to you both and later his body is discovered near your headstones. Later found he died of a broken heart.

Rafayel: He was making a rare appearance at an art exhibition out of town when he found out a crazy fan who worked at the coffee shop near your shared home ended up spiking your coffee resulting in you having a heart attack and dying on your kitchen floor.

Something told him to not go to the event and to send a representative as he has always done but was strong armed into going by his agent. When he found out the news, it had already been three hours after it happened and he found out via the news. Not by his agent, not via phone call or by hospital staff, the damn news channel.

Heartbroken is an understatement when it comes to the pain he felt. Rage, sorrow and utter devastation filled his body and mind. Devastated because you died alone and he wasn’t there to protect you, sorrow because he didn’t listen to his instincts and rage towards not just his agent for strong arming him to go and turning off and holding his phone hostage until after the event but toward the person who took you from him.

People say that his last piece which has now become a part of the greatest art pieces of all time is a portrait of and named after you. The painting is so beautifully tragic that it unsettles those who have laid their eyes upon it. Beautiful because of the color and the contrast between the look in your eyes and how it’s partially unfinished due to him crying so much that permanently damaged his eyes but tragic because your smile never reaches your eyes.

It stays that after he painted it, he disappeared without a trace and only that painting remains. But others have theories that he is the “midsummer killer” who has been killing people who resembles you and takes part of their faces due to him. going mad and leaving a paint stroke on their clothes in your favorite color. But that has yet to be proven.

Xavier: You pass away peacefully in your sleep right beside him and he has no idea until he tries to physically wake you up.

He noticed about a month ago how your energy has been lower than normal but chalked it up to stress and overworking. But when he tries to convince you to rest more, you insist that you’re fine and you promise to fully rest on your day off coming up. He backs off but the feeling of uneasiness won’t shake.

Fast forward to the night before where all you have been doing is lounging and sleeping all day with him. Majority of the day, you’re sleeping in bed and barely getting up unless to eat and use the restroom. He tells you that he’s worried and that you should go to the emergency room because being this tired is not normal but you convince him it’s the ladder. Your last words to him being “I’ll see you in my dreams”.

He never recovers and refuses to sleep. Doctors tell him his body is now dying faster due to the lack of sleep and lack of nutrients but he doesn’t care. As you said, you’ll see him in your dreams so why not speed up the process? He’s found dead inside of your mausoleum, tear streaks permanently staining his face.

Caleb: You were kidnapped and tortured by those who had a vendetta against him.

His job was always dangerous and risky. So he made sure that no one would know that you, his wife, existed. But unfortunately, they found out. You never knew what the nature of his job was but knew it was government affiliated so you respected your husbands privacy. But because of this, your life was taken and it was taken horribly.

They snatched you up while at a vegetable stall. You were buying items for the meal you were going to make to celebrate yours and Caleb’s first wedding anniversary. As you got done paying and started to leave, you were lured by a child and that’s how they got you. Your necklace that he gave you doubled as a gps tracker so when yanked, he receives an alert. Unfortunately, said alert wasn’t noticed until the last moment.

Your death completely unravels him to his core and when your corpse is found, it’s said that six men had to forcibly pry your battered corpse out of his hands. And at the funeral, it is said that he attempted to throw himself into the plot with you, causing an insane amount of damage. The kidnappers were not found by the police until later when their bodies were discovered washed up, brutally beaten and tortured at a lake nearby the city. If not for their names being carved in their chest, they would be unrecognizable.

It’s is unknown where Caleb is now but it is said that after his disappearance, but it is said he is still searching for the ringleader who caused all of this.

Tag list:

@Whittle-beetle @writteninstarlight99 @liveforkny

@freddy-2002-blog @himanitheimagine @cementia

@blessdunrest @dabunnyhop

[gingerrootandsoot]

Do I feel as though Vampire! Sylus would purposely replace all of the mirrors that were once in your room with ones that were made with silver just so that when you two decide to fuck, it looks like you’re fucking yourself? Yes.

And do I also feel as though he would use his Evol to also manipulate reality just a little just so that it looks like a shadow version of you is breaking your back and turning you every way but loose? Also yes.

Don’t ask me why but I do and now I want to write it lol

[gingerrootandsoot]

Just imagined Pregnant! reader being approached by the twins with adoption papers one quiet afternoon while waiting for Sylus to get home from whatever mission he was on.

Like they’re just lounging there, reading to their belly bump and the usually two mischievous guys that always have something up their sleeves are now nervously approaching them and stuttering about talking about something “super important” to them. Reader stops reading and slowly takes the papers and one of them tries to remember the speech they were going to give while the other shuffles around the room like a nervous wreck and by the time they actually get to the point, the other twin pops up with this big as poster board and balloons that says “Will you adopt us?” In bold colorful letters.

And when you finally put two and two together, you’re just a bawling mess because of course you would want nothing more but to adopt them but they think you’re saying no but you correct them and everyone’s crying and Sylus just comes into the house confused because he has no idea what’s going on but when told, he just sighs and smirks lol

[gingerrootandsoot]

“Wait”

TW: Child Loss & Depression

Husband!SylusQinXWife!Reader

Because Sylus would do anything to take this pain from you.

The heartache, the emptiness, the guilt and the feeling that all of this, the loss of your child, was your fault. He wanted to take all of it away. And what breaks him the most is seeing his love cry quietly in the middle of the night while hugging the stuffed toy version of Mephisto that you both had created with a sound box inside that every time it’s hugged, it’s the both of you and the twins saying “We love you, Birdy” come from it. Every squeeze making the loss harder seeing how excited you all were and how many takes it took to have it sound just right. It was heartbreaking to see,m and he felt not just helpless but useless.

Useless because every time he tried to talk to you, you would turn away and or look completely empty inside, void of feeling. Useless because when the doctors gave you the news that the possibility of having another was slim, he couldn’t stop the shooting pain in your chest from happening as your dreams of having a family were shattered. Useless in a way that he felt like less of a man because he as your husband wasn’t able to shield you from all of this and it took a lot of convincing and talking from others who care for the both of you for him to realize that he wasn’t useless and that you both needed each other more than ever.

He would give his life for you to not feel this way and for you to be able to understand that it wasn’t and that life simply isn’t fair but he know that no matter how many times friend, family, doctors and himself say it, you’ll never not feel this way and it hurts. He wants you scream, shout, break things and cling onto him for support but knowing that grief is different for everyone, he can’t force you. And he won’t. So the next best thing?

He will wait.

Wait on you beck and call while respecting your need for space. Being there even if it’s in the other room while you bawl your eyes out in the very room you both painstakingly and happily planned for your baby to live in for the fifth time that day. Love you when you no longer want or have the capacity to love for yourself. He will wait And while he waits, he will also mourn so that then when you’re ready, he can be there and you both can mourn and grow together because that is what must be done and what he wants and needs to do.

He wishes he could take the pain from you but knows the only way to be there for you is to wait.

[o6frog]

festive choso ❄️〜（ゝ。∂）

[muvaginger]

Happy new year yall. It’s been a while.

Updates on my life (no one asked but whatever lol): I’m getting foot surgery next week so that sucks and is scary but hey, hopefully all goes well.

Also, I’m finally out of my writing funk so..yay? lol anyway that’s all for now.

Hope everyone has a better year than last, that your health (mental and physical) improves and your creativity shines. 🤍

Updated pictures below:

[crisp-art]

late night hashira doodlin ✨️

[muvaginger]

My god

[comatosebunny09-deactivated2025]

heavy | sylus q.

— summary: who takes care of the person busy caring for everyone else? sylus. the answer is sylus. — cw: female!reader, fingering, unprotected intercourse, naughty things done in a bathtub, creampie, alcohol mention, pet names, slight choking, allusions to depression and anxiety, explicit language, praise kink, not proofread, kinda rough sex, mdni — wc: ~3.4K — dividers by: @grabby-smitten — now playing: truman show - merges & l3gion

It begins with a steady pressure behind your eyes. 

Untreated, it blossoms into something more intense, seeping through your temples like spilled liquid, and the pain borders unbearable. You can’t focus on your work, the harsh glow of your monitor worsening your plight.

You snatch your glasses from your face. Attempt to ease the pressure with kneading fingers. Pinch the bridge of your nose. Sigh. It’s useless; your vision blurs around the edges, and your head is pounding as if your brain’s seeking release from your skull.

You don’t notice Captain Jenna behind you. Jump when she comes to you in the form of a firm hand on your shoulder, voice soft. “You should go home to get some rest,” she suggests through a pitying smile.

You don’t protest. There’s more to her words than a simple plea. It’s an order, and you’re smiling small, already gathering your things and slinking out of your cubicle. 

You’re grateful for the reprieve. Maybe a restart will help ease the weight off your shoulders.

—

Something smells divine.

It jumpstarts your appetite, the rich scent of herbs and meat seeping through the cracks of your apartment door. You didn’t realize how hungry you were, your stomach snarling whilst you ease your key into the lock. 

You can’t remember if you left something in the oven. Can’t be bothered to recall much of anything, your head still pulsing like a war drum. Your curiosities are sated once you slide into your home, and the aroma is stronger here. Hearty, nearly lifting you into the air to carry you to the kitchen like one of those old-school cartoons.

You meander into your kitchen after dropping your pack by the door—by a pair of designer, red-stained loafers twice the size of your own feet. Your suspicions are confirmed when you catch sight of a familiar shock of white and broad shoulders nestled between your humble decor and drab cabinets.

Never mind how he got here because you’re reining in a giggle. He’s wearing the frilly Kiss Me apron you got him as a joke gift a few months back. Humming something, bobbing his head before he acknowledges you over a broad shoulder. His scarlet eyes are mirthful, and the soft grate of his voice is enough to put you to sleep.

“You’re home early.”

You smile, tired and swollen-eyed, leaning against the doorframe. Study him over crossed arms. He’s busy with something on the stove. Concocting something delicious, and your stomach reminds you that it’s empty and you’re cruel.

“Jenna kicked me out.”

His shoulders shake with a chuckle when he returns his attention to the pot and wooden spoon in his hands. “Good. I take it you’ve only sustained yourself on coffee and air today.” Stopping, he peers at you again, a knowing lift to his brow. 

You sputter, the heat of embarrassment prickling your neck. He knows you too well. You’re an ass who often neglects yourself, pushing food and sleep to the backburner in favor of shouldering everyone else’s burdens. 

You pout, caught red-handed. The man in your kitchen chuckles. Sets the spoon down, and you watch him stride across the tiles for something. 

He comes to you with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, already pouring the red, viscid fluid into a wine glass. Slender fingers brush over yours when he eases the glass into your hand. He angles himself to kiss you, full-bodied and red-blooded on the lips. A kiss that leaves you reeling. Craving more, the warm scent of his skin hijacking your senses as you tug on the collar of his shirt.

You whine when he pulls away, and he’s all smug smiles that crease the corners of his eyes when he steps back to tend to dinner.

A tide of warmth wades over your skin. You smile against the rim of your glass, grateful to have someone who knows you sometimes better than you know yourself.

Drinking might not be the best decision for you right now. But you haven’t the heart to tell him, watching with all the fondness of the world as he buzzes around the kitchen like a Disney princess.

—

Dinner will be ready in 30.

In the meantime, Sylus shepherds you into your bathroom, insisting you settle in with a bath. 

It’s lavender-scented inside your bathroom, the warm, wet steam washing over your cheeks. Greeted by the dull hum of the ventilation and the sound of rain lazily falling onto the world beyond your window.

You’re exhausted and hanging on by a thread. Don’t think you could manage the task of undressing on your own. So, he’s gentle as he props you on your counter, stripping you of your clothes, touching you like something to be revered.

His lashes bow when he swoops in to adorn your bare shoulders and the swell of your chest with kisses. Your body responds in kind when he nears your pebbling nipples, though he doesn’t grace them with the lazy drag of his lips. 

He promised you he would be good. At least until you’re washed up, fed, and comfortable.

He brands your skin to the crooks of your elbows, down to your wrists, your fingers. Catches your gaze when he kisses between the peaks and valleys of your knuckles, and the fire that burns beneath his irises sets your insides alight. 

Broad palms move down your sides, perch on your hips. He hefts you up with one hand fastened to your rear, and your arms and legs unconsciously shoot out to encircle him. He chuckles, swinging you ‘round, walking you to the tub. You’re the biggest baby when you’re tired, but he would never complain. He prefers you like this—all supple and pliant, desperate for the feel of his body against yours.

You watch the rose petals he sprinkled in your bathwater cling to your skin once you’re inside. And it works as a soothing balm through your person, the frothy water embracing you like a warm hug at the end of a tedious day. 

You sigh heavily, leaning back against the tub’s wall. Your eyes slide shut. You’re about to succumb to the pretty girls of slumber when the sound of shifting fabric alarms you. 

Sylus moves to leave, but your hands dart out to ensnare his wrist. He glances at you over his shoulder, a question hanging between his brows. 

“Stay,” you urge with a pout. Throw in watering puppy eyes for dramatic effect, laying the guilt on thick. 

He chuckles something hearty, settling onto the floor beside you. “I figured you could use some alone time. Besides, I’ve got dinner going. Do you want me to burn it? Cajun wasn’t on tonight’s menu, sweetheart.”

You huff. “You set a timer, right? It’ll be fine.” 

Truth is, he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane right now. A constant in a world filled with turmoil. Your security blanket. You never mind him impeding on your time, your space.

“Shall I help you bathe, then?” He doesn’t await your response, already reaching across you for your body wash and loofah. 

He’s tender as he works the soap into a rich lather over your shoulders. Honey-slow, dipping between the valley of your breasts, snickering when you instinctively arch into his touch when the material catches on your nipples. Once he’s satisfied your upper body is thoroughly saturated with suds, he maneuvers himself onto his haunches on the floor.

“Sit up,” Sylus instructs. You sluggishly obey, bowing forward to grant him access to your back. 

Lids shuttered, a content hum eases from your throat as he works out the knots and strain of your back. Smooths the loofah down the ridges of your spine, encircling one shoulder blade before moving onto the other. He’s gifted, trained in the art of your body. Knows just where to touch, to massage to get the cogs in your mind turning and your breaths evening out.

He dips the loofah into the water, and you giggle as it slides between the swell of your ass and the tub’s floor.

“Well, I can’t exactly get you clean when you’re sitting down like this.” 

Your gaze shifts to his. His eyes darken with something familiar, a smirk curving one corner of his lips as he salaciously cocks his head. 

You feel a pull in your tummy, and your lashes flutter, lips parting slightly. Without thinking, you position yourself onto your hands and knees, the water lazily sloshing about and licking your thighs. Curiously, you peer at him from over your shoulder and waggle your ass, playfully signaling for him to finish up.

Resigned, amused, Sylus works the loofah over the globes of your ass. Up and down the backs of your thighs. And it’s purposeful when, with each pass, he grazes your fat labia, peeking through the plush of your thighs. You shudder each time, a pleasant sigh escaping your mouth, and you wiggle to chase the harsh drag of the loofah, if only for him to mistakingly graze your clit with it.

He tsks behind you. “Sweetheart, we agreed this would only be a harmless little bath.”

How harmless could he expect it to be with him looking at you like that? Touching you like that, his palm branding your thigh whilst an errant thumb kneads the muscle there, dangerously close to the outskirts of your cunt?

“I changed my mind,” you relent in a breathy, needy whisper. And you’re rocking your hips this way and that, trying to lure his thumb into the catch of your pussy.

He laughs again, the sound of it murky, and you feel it furling in your chest. “As you wish.”

Your body vibrates with anticipation. You’re not made to wait long, a virile, wide palm stroking your legs apart. Soon after, you feel his thumb stroking down the expanse of your slit, and you jump, a shudder racking through you.

“Easy, darling,” he coos. Voice is thick as bourbon, and his thumb even thicker as he dips just the tip of it into your puckering sex.

He moves maddeningly slow as he collects some of your nectar on his thumb, smoothing it between your folds in search of your clit. He finds it with laser precision, stroking the distended pearl to life with meticulous circles that leave you baring down on nothing and moaning against the grit of your teeth.

A hand fastens around your hip. Massages one of your cheeks, holding you steady whilst he fucks his thumb into you slow and consistent, and the sticky squelch of your cunt soon fills the atmosphere as he works you into a mess of shaking tendons and sighs of “yes, yes, please. More. Fuck.”

Spurred by your words, he alternates between fingering you—trading out his thumb for his index and middle digits—and rubbing your clit. Ducks in to blister your rear with kisses, and you jerk, hypersensitive to every sensation, every sound. He pants softly behind you. Enjoys himself, watching you fall apart around his fingers, his girth pushing against the seam of his pants. He palms himself, kissing closer to your labia, the scent of it bewitching, and he wills himself not to add his tongue into the fray.  

He curls and pistons his fingers inside you, a frothy ring of lubricant collecting around the base of his digits. He eases a palm over the curve of your stomach to massage your tits and pluck your nipples, sweltering breaths fanning across your spine. 

You’re pushed closer to the precipice, towards that slurry edge of bliss. He murmurs words of praise against your skin, and you hump against his fingers like a beast in heat, chasing that sparkling rush. Chasing that crest of pleasure in your stomach, eyes screwed shut. Just a little longer. Just—

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Sylus quietly demands, pressing against that unfathomable knot of pleasure inside you. 

And as if he has some sort of hold on your body, the world falls away from you at his behest. Your orgasm ripples through you, spilling like lava, pooling in your stomach, and dripping to your extremities. Your mouth opens with a gasp. A shaky exhale with his name in it, and you pitch forward, catching yourself on your hands last minute before you nosedive into the water. 

He laughs behind you, roosting one hand on your hip and the other on your stomach to steady you. “Good girl,” he croons, rubbing your pulsing cunt with his fingers. “You look so fucking sexy when cum like that.”

You shiver, clearly overstimulated, and he resigns to help ease you back onto your rear in the bathtub, kissing the sensitive space behind your ear. 

He lures you into a languid kiss with gentle fingers beneath your chin. Licks into your mouth, groaning his approval as you lazily return his affections, loose-limbed and spent.

You prop the back of your head on the tub’s rim, lips still sealed to his, and Sylus rubs up and down your body to encourage you back down from the clouds. You whimper into his mouth when he pinches your nipples, catching his hands to twine your fingers together, the stimulation too much. 

He greedily milks what remains of your voice from your throat before drawing away from your lips with a sticky click to pepper your throat and shoulder with apologetic kisses. 

When your heart beats something steady, and your labored breaths slide into something more even, Sylus peels away. “Dinner’s ready,” he purrs, grin all toothy, smug.

You track his movements to the door through hooded eyes, a satisfied cant to your lips whilst you sink to your chin into the water, mind a delicious slurry and the tension between your shoulders nearly gone.

—

“You’re insatiable,” he breathes, hot and wanton, against your hinged-open mouth. 

You have him notched between your splayed legs on the kitchen counter, and his hands are on an unhurried mission over your thighs whilst you kiss him. Your arms snake about his shoulders, fingers, easing into delicate locks of white, and you slant your mouth possessively over his, sealing your bodies together.

Dinner cools on the stovetop. Stuffed chicken breasts, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus. All a labor of love that you promise to consume after you’ve consumed him, pushing your greedy tongue into his mouth.

His groan vibrates your tongue whilst his thumbs ease over the inner cut of your thighs, and he grazes your outer labia with each pass, sending satisfying jolts of electricity throughout.

The bath renewed you. Cleared the fog from your mind, stoked the fire of your libido. Which is why you ambushed him in the kitchen, seducing him into fucking you when he was just about to set the table. 

Your body rolls like waves licking the shore against his, your nipples rubbing against the harsh fabric of his shirt. 

He’d peeled the straps of your negligee down your shoulders, bunching the neckline beneath your tits. 

“Fuck me,” you exhale, grappling with the catch of his belt. Hands perched on your waist, he peers into your eyes, brows knit with the strain of reining in his desire.

“Can I at least get you to the bed first,” he breathes, gritting his teeth when your lips brand his Adam’s apple.

“Nope.” You finally pull his belt free, and you busy yourself with unbuttoning his pants.

He chuckles darkly. Shakily, propping his hands on the countertop on either side of your thighs, letting you do terribly distracting things to his neck with your mouth. He sucks in a breath when you palm him, hand hot and searing against the cotton of his briefs. Cranes his head back, and you exhale all triumphantly against his throat, hand dipping beneath the elastic waistband to fish him from the confines of his underwear.

“Fuck,” he curses through swollen lips. Cheeks dust with a pretty shade of crimson, and he twitches each time your hand smooths over the leaking tip of his cock. Each time you stroke down the shaft, back up to thumb his slit, smearing his pre-cum over him.

“Fuck me,” you order once more, licking behind his ear. Draw his lobe into your mouth to nibble it, and he groans something bitten off, a pliant mess of muscle and sinew beneath the artful glide of your hand.

With no further goading, Sylus encases your hips with his hands. Drags you impossibly closer toward the edge of the counter, replacing your hand on his cock with his. 

He strokes himself so well. Your mouth waters from the sight, your sticky, bare pussy clenching with anticipation. The predatory gleam in his eyes reads as one of restrained desire. Like a beast subdued behind a cage, giving you an out, a chance to escape.

You merely swallow, enraptured by the sight of him so desperate for you. So eager when, moments ago, he was resistant to your temptation. He fists himself once more, his weighted hand swallowing up the bulk of his cock. He taps his heavy dick against your folds, the sensation curving your spine and siphoning an unbidden whimper from your lips.

He undulates his hips, rubbing himself between your folds, saturating his turgid flesh with your essence. And oh, it feels so good when his tip bumps the pucker of your pussy. He teases you with the prospect of fucking you proper, drawing himself out to repeat the motion from before, each time digging a little deeper.

When he finally eases home, nestled deep in the hot channel of your sex, your rigid walls ravenously sucking him in, you share a breath out. His chest heaves when he looks at you. The need that lurks behind his gaze makes your cunt flutter, and his responding groan is strained with the effort of keeping still inside you.

You lean back on your hands. Give him the go-ahead with a flicker of your lashes, and then he’s moving inside you. Fucking into you like a well-oiled machine, and he lifts the hem of his shirt to watch your union. 

You watch the steady ripple of his abs, wanting to chase the sweat that beads between them with your tongue. For now, you’ll settle for enjoying the feel of him. Throw your head back, your heels hooking into the backs of his thighs, keeping him in motion. Refusing to let him go. 

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Fuck, do you know what you do to me?” 

A sweltering hand curls around your neck, squeezing with enough pressure to bring your pulse thrumming to your ears. His thumb finds the hang of your bottom lip, drawing your mouth open to ease it inside. Your tongue darts out to sample the taste of it. Wraps around the worn pad, and you close your lips around it to suck. 

He fucks into you harder, your eyes rolling back as his balls knock against your ass. Reluctantly draws his finger from the hot suction of your mouth, splaying his fingers down your sternum to where your bodies convulge. 

“You feel so fucking good, kitten,” Sylus breathes. Thumbs your clit, your body convulsing. “So good, squeezing me like that. Taking me like such a big girl. Look at you. So fucking good. Ah, fuck.”

That sparkling feeling pools in your stomach again. You grit your teeth, bowing forward to roost a hand on his shoulder. Your gazes interlock, and he’s so fucking beautiful like this, that carefully constructed composure giving way to something primal. Animalistic, and his hair falls into his face as he grips your hip to the point of bruising, mooring you to the countertop. Keeping you steady for him to ravage you.

After some time of skin slapping and desperate moans saturating the air, he twitches inside you. Hips stutter. Head falls back while his mouth hangs open, and he sighs, so relieved with one final stroke, molten spurts of cum painting your insides a gooey white. Branding down the inner cut of your thighs, puddling on the countertop.

You tug him into your arms, blistering his neck with open-mouthed kisses and the soft rake of your teeth. He shudders, leaning into you, propped on his hands on the counter, face nestled between your breasts.

You share a laugh as you massage his scalp. Relieved. And you’re patient as he softens inside you, stroking over the broad expanse of his back, cooing affectionate words against the crown of his head.

[ravenyibi]

[redundantz]

Sketch requests

[v0id-clawz]

'Oh wow, I wonder who gave me all these notes?'

The faithful mutual:

[americonecookiedoughdream]

I saw them posting their art on here too already blocked them but as an FYI

Links to the threads:

[sinnabarmoth]

Their usename rn is @ anatheriaart BLOCK THEM!

Currently no blatantly racist art on their profile to report, most likely due to their known reputation. Still block them! There are so many talented and wonderful artists that aren't huge pieces of shit to support!

[muvaginger]

Just imagined Cryptid!Kyojuro quietly perched by a tree watching reader soak in their bath. Like you haven’t notice that he’s been there since earlier and he’s just enjoying the way the Jasmin and rose petals cling to your skin as the once steamy room and iridescent bubbles slowly fade out of existence. He is a creature but there is still some of his human traits lingering in there and the very thought of seeing your complete naked body made him stiff so he waits till you look away so that he can leave without being noticed, not knowing that the entire time,you were putting on a show and really wanting him to see you in your entirety.

[daftpunkenthusiast]

I’m so thankful I’m a black woman like this is literally what dreams are made out of and nobody can convince me otherwise.