Connie Boy

He/Him | 20

[writer-and-lover]

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Latino | Queer | he/him transman

I am generally very busy and very distracted, I may not post very often... I'm a June Gemini and I love volleyball and food.

Main Blog: @lovinglyselfish

Art Blog: @allosaurus005

[Requests: Open]

Currently watching... Good Omens

Currently reading... Castle - Franz Kafka

Currently listening to... Charm - Rema

[tumblr]

Reblogs in a chain now get their own notes

The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve. 

Soon, you'll be able to like, reblog, or reply to any part of a reblog chain, and that note will go to that reblog's author. Each reblog will have its own counts, instead of one aggregated number from every version of the post. And yes, you’ll be able to like multiple posts in one chain.

If a reblog doesn't add anything, the love flows up to the last person in the chain who did. Your post doesn't lose notes just because people spread it quietly.

Past notes will stay on the original post — we're only changing what happens from here on out. Retroactively re-attributing all of them would be... a lot.

This is just the beginning. More changes are coming as we keep building this out – stay tuned!

[tumblr]

Let's talk about reblog notes.

We rolled out a significant change to how notes work on reblogs, and the reaction has been strong. We're not going to pretend otherwise. 

First things first: We're reversing the change. Your feedback in comments, emails, and especially reblogs, made clear that the rollout created problems we need to address before moving forward. We also should have communicated this differently from the start, and we didn't.

We still believe there's a better version of how reblogs can work. One that gives every voice in a chain the credit it deserves. But we want to get there with you.

In the coming days we'll share more on how we plan to do that,  including ways to work directly with some of you on this and future changes before they ship.

Keep an eye on @staff for updates to come soon. 

[justwolosers]

@loverboykirstein @tapiocakisses @astrumidolons @amore-sui @kusahigunanas JUST WOKE UP FROM A BIG BIG NAP AAA SORRY FOR THE TAGGING BUT 🫶💞

[writer-and-lover]

This is genuinely the stupidest fucking update imma nuke this whole site

[writer-and-lover]

Wait nvm i read the post properly

[tumblr]

Reblogs in a chain now get their own notes

The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve. 

Soon, you'll be able to like, reblog, or reply to any part of a reblog chain, and that note will go to that reblog's author. Each reblog will have its own counts, instead of one aggregated number from every version of the post. And yes, you’ll be able to like multiple posts in one chain.

If a reblog doesn't add anything, the love flows up to the last person in the chain who did. Your post doesn't lose notes just because people spread it quietly.

Past notes will stay on the original post — we're only changing what happens from here on out. Retroactively re-attributing all of them would be... a lot.

This is just the beginning. More changes are coming as we keep building this out – stay tuned!

[tumblr]

Let's talk about reblog notes.

We rolled out a significant change to how notes work on reblogs, and the reaction has been strong. We're not going to pretend otherwise. 

First things first: We're reversing the change. Your feedback in comments, emails, and especially reblogs, made clear that the rollout created problems we need to address before moving forward. We also should have communicated this differently from the start, and we didn't.

We still believe there's a better version of how reblogs can work. One that gives every voice in a chain the credit it deserves. But we want to get there with you.

In the coming days we'll share more on how we plan to do that,  including ways to work directly with some of you on this and future changes before they ship.

Keep an eye on @staff for updates to come soon. 

[justwolosers]

@loverboykirstein @tapiocakisses @astrumidolons @amore-sui @kusahigunanas JUST WOKE UP FROM A BIG BIG NAP AAA SORRY FOR THE TAGGING BUT 🫶💞

[writer-and-lover]

This is genuinely the stupidest fucking update imma nuke this whole site

[livingdeadmlm]

Murkoff Brand Kissing Booth

Inspired by a Reddit comment I saw under a post of someone glitched into an insertion gate and the comment said “that’s a Murkoff brand kissing booth.” Ends pretty abruptly because I didn’t know what to do

Perhaps Easterman was beginning to run out of money. Which didn’t bode well, considering he wrote your checks.

Checks that, once you thought about it, didn’t even matter. The money was more for a moral boost than for the actual money-making. It felt nice to pretend to stimulate the economy when you’d spend money at vending machines or little candy machines scattered around the facility. You flipped one of the coins in your hand; it represented “real” money. Used when buying from catalogues that Mirkoff sent to rebuy basics.

That’s probably what this entire thing was. This circus was a moral boost. And clearly, a way to get more rich people whose morals were flexible to support Easterman.

Anything Murkoff-branded that wasn't bloodied, partially destroyed, and gory felt off. There were no bodies or ex pops patrolling the area, just employees and faces you’d never seen before.

Your job being to keep watch, you scanned the fairgrounds closely.

Emily smiled as she gave a vendor money for funnel cake. She hadn’t truly smiled in a very long time.

Noakes seems nervous and skittish as always, but the stands with games kept him busy to stay in the circus anyway.

It felt weird. You were a guard, and this was a time to celebrate and have fun, but you were technically still on the job. Not as a guard, you were specially chosen to work at the kissing booth.

Any earnings you made went to your personal money.

You looked across the walkway to the woman who ran the other kissing booth, and she seemed much happier to be doing this for work, rather than watching the thousandth reagent get drilled or beaten. You couldn’t blame her.

“Hi, dear, how’s the stand going?” Emily’s voice was soft as she leaned onto the wooden booth. Her red lipstick is a lighter pink now, thanks to the powdered sugar.

“Not too bad, I’ve made about $10.” You shook the glass jar you kept the coins in, and Emily let out a delighted noise.

“Well, be sure to get me a bag of licorice when we get back to work, okay? Don’t forget me when you’re rich!” Emily chirped and walked away from your booth.

Two coins were placed in front of your crossed hands. “Hello, handsome.”

It was one of the many nurses hired by Murkoff. Her face looked much softer without the constant fluorescent lighting. “Hi, Nurse Lane.” You smiled, and she leaned over, pursing her lips.

It was mandatory that the kisses be brief; no funny business allowed. So that’s what you did. A quick chaste kiss, and Nurse Lane giggled before saying bye.

You took a coin from the jar and spun it on the table, watching it spin and spin.

“Hey man, this is what they got you doing?” You glanced up to see Noakes.

“Yeah… I mean it’s not a raise but I’ll take it I guess?” Weird. It felt weird to talk like this about your job like it was normal. Felt weird to laugh like this was just a normal office job. But you both chuckled. “I’m guessing you’re not here for a kiss are you Cornelius?”

Noakes eyes widened, as he stumbled over his words, “no! No I uh, I don’t think we can?” His eyes flicked and while you were joking it made you nervous too.

If you sat back and thought about it, Noakes would be a good companion. But of course that was silly, you’re both men.

“All customers, please make your way to the main circus tent for the big show!” a robotic female voice echoed over the circus.

Noakes stuttered out a “bye- see you later.” As he ran off to the main tent

The crowd began to file out. Some of the prime assets were chosen to put on a show for doctors and various wealthy people, showcasing their skills. But you’ve already seen the likes of gooseberry and Coyle do what they do best, no need to see it again.

“(Name)! I’m heading off to watch the show!” Your co-worker waved excitedly as she ran off in the direction of everyone else.

Things began to quiet down, and distant cheers filled the air. You could hear Easterman's voice over the loudspeaker announcing Mother Gooseberry to the stage.

Carnival music played softly over the speakers.

Music, you hardly get to listen to any kind of music anymore. You hardly got to do anything anymore that gives you some sort of joy. “She’s got you beat.” Your head perked up; you knew that voice. It’s not one you expected to hear when there was a crowd of people he should be talking to.

“Dr. Easterman!” You straightened your back up more than what felt possible as the man approached your booth, arms folded behind his back.

“I would’ve thought you’d be in the main tent, I could’ve sworn-” your eyebrows crinkled as hands splayed out onto the small table you were given inside the booth. The wood under your hands was quickly warming up.

“I’m not the main attraction; I think my children's talents can speak for the work their father puts in.” You quickly nodded; it wasn’t often you’d get to see Easterman, or if you did, that you were the focus of his attention. Looking at the jar of the other kissing booth, you realized that while it wasn’t by much, she was beating you out.

If only you had known! If you had known this was a competition, would you have whored yourself out? You shook the thought from your mind.

“I thought you would’ve had this entire circus wrapped around your finger.” He wasn’t as tall as you expected, but you still seemed to lean down. You didn’t think he’d have such expectations of you.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to give it my all once everyone is back out!” Your voice stumbled slightly, Eastermans' much colder hand bumped yours.

You swallowed thickly as you could feel his cold pinky wrap around your thumb. “I think a lot of the women are pretty shy with you know–” his eyes looked at you, truly and honestly looked at you. He saw your flaws, but he admired your talents. “With how public this all is.” Your voice trailed off as you wrapped your fingers around Easterman's pinky.

“Public opinion is a hell of a thing. So many people miss out when they care too much about what others say.” His arms rested on the ledge of your booth. His other hand reached into his pocket, pulling out two coins. They dropped into the jar softly. You nodded to each of his words, hanging onto them like a lifeline.

“Dr. Easterman, you are much too kind.” Your fingers trembled as they stroked his hand. Your thumb tucked nicely under his palm, passing slowly under the skin, much softer than you would’ve thought.

Committing each line, dip, and crease to memory.

Two more coins dropped into the jar.

You wanted to ask, did he want a kiss? But that would be a foolish question; you’re both men. He's just being a good boss and helping you catch up.

“You’re very kind to give me such a boost—”

“I get what I pay for.”

You chewed the soft inside of your lip nervously. You’d get in trouble, two men kissing in public? Unheard of and obscene. But his cold hand held yours. Comfort.

Quick, chaise kisses only.

His lips were soft in the way that it was clear he constantly bit the skin off. Scarred and chapped, but not dry enough for dead skin to scratch you. Air brushing across your face made you shiver, you were still outside in public-

You tried to pull away, lips parted slightly as more coins dropped into the jar. He wants more. “Doctor, I’m not sure this is allowed.” His eyes were cold, deep, and dark as they never moved away from yours. He didn’t have to ask, you pressed another kiss to his lips, just as fast.

He huffed, frustrated but breathless, “you’re like a prince, treating me like a fragile maiden.” His fingers pinned your wrist to the table, you could hear the sound of his knees bumping into the wooden panel of the booth.

“You aren’t pleasing me with ‘gentle’. Nobody wants gentleness from a man like you.” His thin fingers gripped around your wrist.

[writer-and-lover]

@justwolosers

[plutotheplum]

Ain't You My Baby?

sylus x fem!reader

summary: when a mission to retrieve a protocore goes awry, things between you and sylus begin to unravel.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, dry humping, finger sucking, oral sex, vaginal fingering, p in v, belly bulge, size difference, praise kink, spit kink, size kink, spanking, arguing, "who did this to you?"

wc: 11.6k

a/n: hiii, i'm back! missed writing for sylus so this fic is lil chunky! inspired by a request from someone like a year ago... i hope you enjoy!! <3

also on ao3!

Perhaps you’d overestimated your own abilities.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have stayed up all night.

Perhaps you should’ve packed a fucking weapon that worked.

The barrage of thoughts about your shortcomings fills your mind as you press your hand against your side, feeling faint. Blood seeps through your shirt, smearing across your hand, the throb of pain becoming too hard to ignore. Your feet stagger, body lurching forward until you manage to steady yourself by leaning against the trunk of a tree, bile creeping up your throat steadily.

The mission itself had been simple enough – get in, retrieve the protocore, get out and exterminate a few wanderers while you were at it. Although in hindsight, perhaps it had been too simple. 

The protocore had been stashed away in a heavily sealed safe, and yet you’d managed to crack the code without too much effort. Entirely too convenient, you think, muttering a curse under your breath as you glance at the protocore held tightly in your hand.

It was real, there was no doubt about that, and valuable. Your brows furrow when you turn the protocore in your fingers, the magnitude of energy contained inside making your skin tingle. When your Evol flares, the protocore glows, a sharp sound of pain escaping you when its energy prickles across your skin – this time far more intensely.

No wonder the Hunters Association ordered an immediate retrieval. The stupid thing was powerful. 

There’s not enough time to direct further insults towards the protocore, your focus instead directed back to the task of sucking in lungfuls of air to try and dampen the churning in your stomach. It hardly helps, your tongue feeling heavy as you retch unceremoniously, staggering again.

But this was hardly the time to be complacent. It had been an ambush, bullets whizzing past the moment you had touched the protocore, one embedding itself deep into the side of your stomach, another grazing your leg, each one drawing blood. 

Your phone and watch had become unresponsive, blinking glaringly red with signal errors, and your guns had gotten jammed along the way, leaving you injured and effectively, defenseless. 

And now, as pathetic as it was, you were running. 

The sprawling expanse of the base wasn’t exactly helping, the main building you’d infiltrated surrounded by several smaller ones, forming a perimeter, closed off by a thicket of shrubbery and overgrown trees.

Getting out the way you came in wouldn’t work, not when they had so obviously anticipated your arrival. The south end of the base seemed safer, and you’d chosen to go that way without much deliberation. 

The voices searching for you grow louder, jolting you out of your attempt to recuperate, feet beginning to drag pitifully once more as you teeter towards a hopeful escape. It’s exhausting, every little movement sending sparks of sharp pain through your body, teeth sinking into your fist to muffle a scream when you move too quickly.

Your vision swims.

“Fuck,” you murmur under your breath, fingers trembling as you try and press your watch in one last ditch effort.

It’s unresponsive. 

Not a big deal, you think as your knees buckle, giving out under you. Not a big deal, you repeat to yourself, crawling forward on all fours like some sort of desperate animal on the brink of death, foliage and dirt clinging to your hands and knees, dirtying your clothes.

As if you were going to die out here. The fence was right there, visible to you now, lining the perimeter of the base. You crawl towards what you hope is a blind-spot, hidden behind a stack of crates, curling up against the wall. 

It’s a momentary reprieve. When something sparks across the fence, you frown. Feeling around you, your fingers enclose around a rock, flinging it at the fence. Electricity snaps across the length of the fence, sparking brightly for a brief moment. You blink down at the rock, half of it gone, instead reduced to ash. A disbelieving laugh leaves you. 

You were going to die out here. 

A sharp, sudden pain rips up the side of your body, a ragged gasp interrupting your laugh, body curling into itself. When you press your hand against your side, it comes back wet with fresh blood, crimson and sticky, the blurry sight of your own blood enough to make you feel even weaker than you already were. 

You were going to miss Linkon, you think belatedly, too tired to try and staunch the heavy bleeding. You don’t bother listening for footsteps anymore either. It would be a small mercy to not be shot to death. How morbid.

Still, you can’t be bothered to fret over the intricacies of death. Sleep, your mind coaxes, and you find yourself giving in without further thought. The tension bleeds out of your shoulders, previously taut muscles beginning to loosen. Head tipping back against the wall, you let your eyes slip shut. 

But the soothing silence doesn’t seem to last for long, an ill-timed caw sounding in the distance. 

Your head turns sluggishly, a wince escaping you as pain shoots up your side, tears prickling at your eyes. Through your bleary vision, you manage to spot a crow perched on the fence, its feathers slightly ruffled. 

Forget being shot, you were going to be pecked to death by a crow. Great.

You flinch when it swoops down towards you, eyes squeezing shut, ready to feel the piercing peck that would tear apart your flesh. Only the crow does nothing of the sort. You wait a few more minutes, eyes peeling open slowly, to find the crow’s startlingly crimson eyes trained on you.

“Oh,” you breathe out in realization, “it’s you. Hello, Mephie.”

Mephisto lets out a soft clicking sound, his little head tilting to watch you. You give the crow what you hope is a convincing enough smile, although you’re almost sure it looks more like a grimace. 

“Is he watching?” you ask him, managing to lift your hand just enough to stroke a bloody finger over his velvety feathers. A sigh escapes you when Mephisto nuzzles into your hand, his dark feathers now glistening with a tinge of red. “I suppose he is, if you found me.”

You smile hazily when Mephisto flutters up to perch on your shoulder, head tilting away when his beak taps against your cheek as though he were trying to keep you awake. 

“You’re being quite persistent,” you sigh, brows furrowing when he pecks your cheek a little harder, then nuzzles his feathery little head against you. “Ouch. That hurt, Mephie.”

Mephisto caws indignantly, his feathers ruffling as his wings flutter for a moment before he settles down, beak pressing into your cheek again.

“I’m bleeding out to death,” you say, a frown pulling at your lips. “Mephie, you ought to let me go peacefully.” When Mephisto tilts his head, you think he might be rolling his eyes if he could. “I am not being dramatic!” you protest, watching as he flutters to perch on your thigh, his bright eyes blinking at you boredly. 

“You are.”

You flinch when someone emerges through a swirl of red mist, their tall stature casting a shadow upon you. Mephisto trills, and your eyes meet the crimson stare of a man that you’ve become all too familiar with.

“Sylus,” you greet, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, despite sagging like a deflated balloon. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He hums, his sharp gaze assessing your injured form, crouching down before long to stop you from craning your neck. 

“You’re not going to die,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers prying your hand away from your side, lifting your shirt to see your wound. His jaw clenches when he sees the blood smeared across your skin, his fingers tracing across the edges of the wound. 

Your face twists in anguish when he presses his fingers against you a little more firmly, his cool touch doing little to dissipate the heat festering inside of you, a feverish sensation crawling its way across your skin.

“Fine,” you breathe out unconvincingly, peering up into his eyes. “I’m fine, Sylus.”

“Learn your limits, sweetie,” he replies curtly, wiping his blood-stained fingers against his trousers. “This was a foolish endeavour, even for you.”

“Is the leader of Onychinus really lecturing me?” you ask drily, a wave of exhaustion rushing over you, shoulders slumping further. 

You sigh heavily when Sylus doesn’t respond, eyes slipping shut when he reaches out again, his fingers drifting across your face with such tenderness that it leaves an odd feeling in your chest – warm and mellow – and for the first time today, you feel… safe.

His voice softens when he speaks again.

“Who did this to you?”

Sylus clicks his tongue when you slur out an unintelligible response, his fingers sliding over your skin to cup your jaw more firmly.

“Quickly now,” he murmurs, voice laced with soft urgency, his thumb stroking away a stray droplet of blood on your cheek. “Who did this to you?”

You can’t help but think he sounds worried. There’s a furrow in his brow, lips down-turned, crimson eyes holding a depth of emotion that you’re unused to. Even like this, Sylus looks impossibly handsome, the light softening his snowy hair, casting shadows across his face that seem to make his eyes appear brighter. 

“Pretty,” you mumble, leaning into his hand tiredly, enraptured by his eyes.

Sylus’ expression hardens. “Answer my question,” he says roughly, tipping your head up when your eyes begin to droop shut again. “And stay awake.”

You pout, head tilting into the soothing stroke of his thumb against your cheek. “I didn’t see,” you breathe out airily, “I only came here to retrieve a protocore.”

“By yourself?” Sylus murmurs, his eyes narrowing, “I thought the Hunters Association was meant to care for its Hunters, not leave them out to die.” 

“I insisted,” you grumble, trying to lean into his hand further, nuzzling against its warmth like a cat demanding attention. “Besides…” you trail off, letting out another heavy, exhausted sigh, eyes fluttering shut completely, “I was handling it.”

“Handling it,” Sylus echoes, sounding entirely unconvinced. “I suppose if you consider bleeding out to death as handling it, you’ve done a fine job.” 

The thinly concealed jab in his response has you grumbling disgruntledly, a frown settling on your face. There’s a finger tapping against your cheek, much more firmly now, and you peel your eyes open with great effort, blinking to try and clear your vision. It doesn’t help much, little spots appearing and refusing to dissipate when you try and focus, swirls of darkness beginning to cloud your vision.

A harsh noise leaves Sylus, akin to a frustrated sigh, his fingers brushing away the hair that stubbornly clings to your sweat-slicked skin. 

“Get her out of here.”

The hand on your cheek is pulling away and you whine, lurching forward in the absence of the soothing touch. There’s a pair of hands sliding underneath you, taking care not to jostle you too much when you wince softly, face scrunching at the flare of pain. 

“Sylus?” you murmur. 

“Nope! Sorry to disappoint. The boss-man’s gone to uh– take care of things.”

The voice that answers you is slightly deeper. Kieran, you realize, in your injured haze. Someone else speaks – Luke, probably – but the voice sounds so far away that you don’t bother concentrating, head lolling against Kieran’s chest. 

A sudden rush of wind ruffles your hair, a familiar mist of red beginning to curl around you. You ignore the sharp sting of pain and Kieran’s protest as you squirm in his arms, hands landing on his shoulders as you shift to look over his shoulder.

Through your blurry vision you can see Mephisto swooping down, settling down on Sylus’ shoulder. You’re opening your mouth to call out towards him – to warn him, to say something to deter him – but Sylus’ head is already turning, his gaze meeting yours briefly. Even the darkness clouding your vision can’t dim his probing stare, the red in his irises growing in intensity – enough to have you feeling unnerved. 

He stares at you for a moment longer, his expression dark, before he turns away. The air around you shifts when he flicks his fingers back, Kieran’s arms adjusting to keep you secured in place against him. The sensation is strange, as though you’re gently being split apart between two places, time and space bending to the unshakeable will of Sylus’ Evol. 

Kieran’s voice is muffled when he speaks again, and you glance back over his shoulder once more, the base now engulfed by an ominous fog of black and red. Sylus disappears into the thick of it. 

You don’t hear the screams that follow.

-

“You’re awake!”

You groan when you hear Luke’s voice piercing through the fading haze of sleep, sitting up groggily. Nothing hurts, you think sleepily, as you take in your surroundings, finding yourself in Sylus’ room, although the leader of Onychinus is nowhere to be seen.

“Glad you’re awake,” Kieran adds, “we were starting to worry you wouldn’t wake up.”

Your brows furrow as you digest his words, staring at him confusedly.

“What do you mean?” you ask, rubbing at your eyes, “it’s only been a day, hasn’t it?”

“Uh– no,” Luke says slowly, staring at you, concerned flitting over his expression. He shows you his phone. “You were out for nearly a week.”

You stare at him blankly, mouth opening and shutting like a gaping fish until you manage to find the words to articulate yourself properly. “What?” you sputter, kicking the blankets heaped over you in a flurry, stumbling to your feet. “A week? I’ve been in the N109 Zone for a week?”

“Hey, hey–” Kieran is blocking your path before you can dart out of Sylus’ bedroom, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, boss’ orders.”

“I have work!” you protest, gaze darting between the twins frantically, “and not to mention, people are probably wondering where I am!”

“Boss took care of it,” Luke offers, before he gestures towards you, “and… all of your injuries.”

Your movements pause at his words, Kieran letting out a sigh of relief when you stop trying to shove past him. “What do you mean?” you begin, staring down at yourself until it becomes disturbingly clear that nothing hurts and that you’d just practically jumped out of bed with such renewed vigour that only a person bereft of injury could match.

Not your shirt, your mind supplies belatedly, the fabric hanging over your body loosely. The thought of wearing Sylus’ clothes alarms you slightly, although your fingers are working agitatedly before you can dwell on it any longer, yanking up the hem to find that the wound marring the side of your stomach has all but completely healed. A scar lingers, its edges jagged.

You lift your leg, twisting it to find that the wound from earlier no longer exists, rather replaced by another scar, streaking across the side of your leg.

“Well, shit,” you breathe out, rubbing your fingers across your skin.

“He wasn’t happy, you know,” Luke announces, sprawling out on the lounge, his head tipping back over the armrest. 

“I don’t know why anyone would be happy about someone else bleeding out to death, Luke,” you reply pointedly, moving to sit on the edge of Sylus’ bed.

“Boss enjoys it,” Luke muses, waving his hand about, “especially when it’s someone that steps out of line. But with you…” he trails off, his gaze drifting towards Kieran.

“You’re not just anyone,” Kieran finishes, shrugging. “He killed everyone there.”

You stiffen at Kieran’s words, stomach churning uncomfortably. It’s a startling reminder that Sylus is exactly as dangerous as he’s described in the countless reports you’d read before stepping foot into the N109 Zone. You don’t know why you’re so taken aback by the news though, fingers beginning to play with each other as you think of the sinister mist that had surrounded the base on that day.

If the twins see the pensive and conflicted expression on your face, they don’t say anything. Instead, Kieran quietly pushes a tray of food towards you, the silence in the room broken by Mephisto’s arrival. You feed him a small piece of sausage, smiling when he pecks at your fingers gently.

“Where is Sylus?” you ask once you’ve taken a sip of juice, brows furrowing. “If he was so worried, shouldn’t he be here at least?”

“He was,” Luke replies, “while you were asleep. Even Mephisto got in trouble for getting too close to you.”

Mephisto lets out an irritated caw, his feathers puffing up indignantly until Kieran manages to coax the offended crow towards him.

“After that base was destroyed, now everyone in the N109 Zone wants to meet him,” Kieran explains, “they have their own motives obviously, but losing Sylus’ favor would affect business for most of them.”

You hum absentmindedly, picking at a piece of fruit. “So in other words,” you begin, “this whole thing is technically my fault?”

“Yeah!” Luke supplies energetically, no doubt grinning under his mask.

“Boss hasn’t eaten either,” Kieran murmurs under his breath, his fingers petting across Mephisto’s head idly, while Luke twirls a knife between his fingers absentmindedly. “I’ve never seen him so… out of sorts.”

“Not to mention his punching bag,” Luke pipes up, his head tilting animatedly. “It’s in tatters. He nearly wiped out an entire faction the other day.”

“Another one?” you ask exasperatedly, pushing the tray aside and rubbing your aching temples. “Don’t you think he’s going too far? Sylus is far too calculated to just lash out!”

“Not when it comes to you,” the twins say in unison.

You stare at them blankly, shaking your head. “I don’t want to know what that means.”

“Why not, sweetie?”

Your head snaps over to the now opened doors, heart jolting in your chest when you see Sylus standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze dipping over you lazily. Luke scrambles off of the lounge hastily, nearly tripping over his own feet if not for Kieran catching ahold of his shoulder and pulling him up.

“Get out,” Sylus says, his head jerking, “and that includes you, Mephisto.”

Mephisto’s feathers begin to puff up again, and a sense of panic takes a hold of you. “They– they can stay!” you sputter, “Right? Luke, Kieran, stay please.”

The twins stare at you, unsure, their heads turning to meet Sylus’ unwavering gaze. For a moment, you think he might let them, but there’s mist swirling around them and the twins along with Mephisto disappear in a blink.

You swallow nervously when the doors shut, squirming back on the bed when Sylus steps towards you.

“Are you afraid of me?” he drawls, his eyes glinting darkly.

“What?” you retort, “no– no, I’m not scared. I’m simply… exercising caution.”

That draws a laugh out of Sylus, low and deep, and for some strange reason it makes you feel warm, the sound wrapping around you like a long-lost embrace. You clear your throat, curling up under the blankets when he draws closer, peeking out at him as he sits on the edge of his bed.

“I heard you were worried about me,” you murmur, cheek squishing against the pillows. “Really, really worried.”

“Is that what they told you?” Sylus muses, pulling the blankets away from you, “the twins share information far too easily.”

Your eyes widen when he’s reaching for you, a soft gasp escaping you when he grabs a hold of your leg – the one that had been injured – his fingers running over the scar. His fingers are warm, the soft, stroking motions doing little to dampen the heat beginning to fester inside of you. It only gets worse when he draws closer, his fingers pushing at the shirt, rucking it up.

“You– you ought to ask,” you protest, trying to wiggle away but Sylus’ hand is curling over the curve of your waist, examining the scar there too.

“You are in my debt, sweetie,” Sylus replies breezily, his brows furrowing as he checks the now healed wound. “Or did you forget the fact that I saved your life?”

“Debt?” you echo, swatting his hand away and pulling your shirt down, “I didn’t ask for you to save my life, Sylus. You made that choice, all on your own.”

Sylus’ eyes narrow, his hands landing on either side of your head as he stares down at you. “Are you implying that I should have let you die?”

“I didn’t say that!” you say exasperatedly, throwing an arm over your face to cover the heat that was flooding your cheeks with how close he was. He smelled so nice, so inviting, and part of you wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him and bury your face into the crook of his neck.

You peer up at him, concern flooding through you when you finally see just how exhausted Sylus is. His eyes seem duller, missing the brightness that you had gotten accustomed to, his expression looking slightly sunken.

“Kieran told me you weren’t eating,” you announce, voice accusatory, “and I’m awake now, so,” you sit up, pushing at his chest before reaching for your half-eaten tray of breakfast, “eat, Sylus.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, but does as you say, finishing the rest of your breakfast. You stare at him quietly, lips pursing, fingers itching to reach out and brush his hair out of his eyes.

“Thank you,” you say finally, voice soft. “For– for taking care of me.”

Sylus smiles lazily, flicking your forehead. “I’m not so cruel to have left you there,” he says, smiling wider when you glare at him. “Not to mention, you said my eyes were pretty.” He leans in closer, voice lowering, “I’m flattered, sweetie.”

You huff out a breath, rolling your eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” he replies drily, bed dipping when he leans back to rest on his hands.

It doesn’t help that the motion pulls his shirt tighter around his chest, your throat drying when the fabric practically melds to his body. You bite back an indecent noise when you see the outline of his muscled abdomen. What was wrong with you? Here you were sitting with the most dangerous man within the N109 Zone, feeling like some stupid fool with a crush.

Crush? 

You wince as the term pops into your mind, pinching your wrist to vanquish the thought from your mind. You needed to get out of here.

“O– okay,” you breathe out, hands clasping together once you manage to tear your gaze away. “I’m going to go now, you know, back to Linkon. Everyone’s probably missing me and– and I have work so–” you wave your hands nonsensically, tongue feeling embarrassingly loose. 

“So soon?” Sylus murmurs, his fingers curling around your wrist when you begin to stand up. “You didn’t happen to forget that you were in my debt, did you?”

Of course, the asshole was going to hold it over your head – and here you thought Sylus was showing genuine concern.

“What do you want?” you ask stiffly, a frown pulling at your lips.

“Don’t look so sullen,” he muses, thumb soothing over the spot where you had pinched yourself. “The twins had no qualms telling you that you weren’t just anyone to me. Surely you’ve understood that by now, sweetie?”

Your breath hitches at his words, fingers twitching. You’re unsure of what he’s playing at and what he could possibly want from you, apart from the Aether Core embedded in your heart. 

“Because of the Aether Core,” you say finally, “that’s why I’m so important to you, isn’t it? You need it, and by extension, me.”

Sylus’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. For a moment, you think he might snap at you, spying the undercurrent of irritation festering in his eyes, but all he does is let go of your wrist.

“Do you truly think so little of me, sweetie?” Sylus asks, voice sharp, “I thought I had shown you what you meant to me.”

“And what is that?” you retort, feeling off-kilter. “What exactly do I mean to you?”

“You know the answer to that,” he says, his eyes narrowing, “even if you do seem content with making me the villain.”

A sharp scoff leaves you, annoyance growing at his blatant deflection of the question. “Villain? We aren’t in some fairytale, Sylus. You were going to force me into resonating with you.”

“For good reason,” Sylus snaps, his voice harsh, “if only you knew–”

“Knew what?” you interrupt, chest rising and falling rapidly. “If only I knew what?”

“Nothing,” he grits out, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s nothing. And as for what I want,” Sylus fixes you with a stern glare, “Your company, every week. No excuses.”

So he was hiding something from you. Part of you is scared to find out, anxiety beginning to sink its claws into you, stomach feeling queasy. Either way, his request leaves you vexed, fingers tapping against your arm agitatedly.

But in the end, you agree.

You don’t bother telling Sylus that it’s because being with him is the safest you’ve felt in a long time. 

–

Your weekly escapades to the N109 Zone soon turn into routine. 

Sylus sets aside a room for you, and you’ve grown so accustomed to staying there that half of your belongings in Linkon have somehow migrated across the border into your room in Sylus’ home.

The frustrated tension between you and Sylus seems to dissipate over time, and it’s almost startling as to how quickly you both slip back into old habits. Still, his words linger in your mind, and despite your best efforts to conduct your own investigations into whatever it may be that Sylus is hiding, nothing of importance surfaces.

Luke and Kieran are delighted with your practically constant presence, and you find yourself enjoying it too, training and sparring with the twins before lounging in Sylus’ library with Mephisto nestled in your lap.

But Sylus is late tonight.

Usually he’d have come in by now and given Mephisto a treat or two before shooing the crow away to lapse into conversation with you.

“Where is he?” you murmur, fingers stroking across Mephisto’s head. “Hm, Mephie? Where’s your insufferable boss disappeared off to?”

Mephisto trills, his red eyes blinking lazily before his wings flutter. You stand up as he flies away, padding after him through the hallways to find him perched on a stand outside Sylus’ office.

“Thank you, Mephie,” you say, giving the crow a smile and a playful tap to his beak.

He pecks your finger before fluttering away again. You push at the already ajar door to Sylus’ office, poking your head in to find him sitting at his desk, a pile of papers set in front of him.

“You didn’t come to see me,” you say, closing the door behind you, stepping towards him.

“And so you’ve found your way to me,” Sylus says, setting his pen down. “Suddenly everyone wants to fall in line after I… well, took care of things for you.”

“I think our definitions of taking care of things are very, very different,” you reply drily, leaning against his desk. “You didn’t have to kill them.”

He leans back as you take a few papers, watching as you rifle through them. Letters, weapons and protocore trade offers – it seemed as though Kieran was right – they were all vying for Sylus’ favor.

“Sometimes I forget how dangerous you are,” you sigh, setting the papers down.

“The N109 Zone is a cesspool,” Sylus murmurs, “only the strongest survive here, sweetie.”

You bite your lip, considering his words. “The strongest don’t need to survive if they can’t be killed.”

“Perhaps,” he offers, crossing his arms over his chest, “but we choose to devour those who cannot keep up.”

You raise your brows, rocking on your feet, hands landing on the edge of his desk. “So I’m keeping up with you? You haven’t devoured me.”

“No,” Sylus whispers, “not yet.”

Not yet. 

It almost feels like a threat, but the way Sylus says it leaves the words ridden with some sort of palpable hunger that leaves your chest tight. You stare at him blankly, unsure of what to say. Surprise flutters through you when his Evol wraps around you, placing you between Sylus and his desk.

“Stay the night.”

“What?” you ask, drawn out of your haze, “I wouldn’t be able to make it to Linkon in time then.”

“So take the day off work,” Sylus replies, propping his elbow on the armrest of his chair, his thighs spreading slightly. “I’m sure the Hunters Association is more than willing to give their best Hunter a day off.”

Against better judgement, your gaze dips for a moment, tongue feeling heavy at the sight of his spread thighs, his black trousers making it harder for you to look away.

“I– I can’t just call out of work whenever I feel like it, Sylus,” you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest, dragging your gaze back up, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

You glare at him when you see his usual smirk, rolling your eyes when he shifts again, his hips lifting for a moment. Asshole.

“But you don’t want to leave,” he replies smoothly, “do you?”

“Maybe I just like staying in your enormous home,” you shoot back. “Or maybe… I enjoy your company, as insufferable as you are.”

Sylus laughs, his head tilting. “I’ve already made it clear you’re welcome to stay. Why go back to Linkon? The N109 Zone has everything you could possibly want, sweetie.”

“And how would you know what I want?” you ask, hands landing behind you, on his desk as you lean back, raising your brows.

“Because I know you,” Sylus muses, his hand waving as red mist wraps around you, bringing you closer to him, until you’re standing between his spread legs. 

You swallow nervously, a shaky breath leaving you when his hand curls over your hip, sliding upwards over your shirt to rest on your waist. The warmth of his skin bleeds into you, even through the fabric, his crimson eyes burning brighter as he leans towards you.

“What–” you flush when you choke on your own words, embarrassment making you feel hot. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you,” he murmurs, lifting the hem of your shirt to reveal the scar that sits on the side of your stomach.

You stiffen, unsure of what to do with your hands, fingers trembling before you curl your hands into fists tightly, a shiver racking through you when his fingers stroke across the scar.

“You should’ve called for me that day,” Sylus says, voice low. “I would have come for you.”

“My phone–” you sound embarrassingly breathless, “the signal was jammed.”

When he leans closer, you foolishly hope he might kiss the scar that lays against your skin. Instead, he offers you a smile, one so sickeningly soft that you think your knees may buckle under the weight of his gaze – tender and knowing. 

“Did you want something from me, Miss Hunter?”

“N– no.” Yes.

Sylus hums, pulling your shirt back down, his hand moving to rest on your hip once more.

“Are you sure, sweetie?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Yes,” you grit out the lie, feeling faint. “I’m perfectly sure, Sylus.”

“Always so headstrong,” Sylus tuts, and you feel like a scolded child for a moment, until he speaks again, his voice quieter. “Just as you were back then.”

“You keep doing that,” you announce accusingly, “you keep saying things that don’t make sense.”

“Because you refuse to remember,” he says coolly, his hand catching yours, fingers lacing tightly together. “Resonate.”

“What?” you sputter, trying to pull your hand free but to no avail. Sylus’ grip is tight, his other arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. 

“Please,” he breathes out, desperation bleeding into his voice. 

You stare at the man before you, taken aback. Sylus was never like this, never so… vulnerable. It feels almost wrong to see him like this, desperate and pleading, nothing like the ruthless leader of Onychinus who had forced you into that chair in the Odd Workshop.

“I– I can’t,” you say meekly, “it’s not that I don’t want to, there’s– there’s something stopping me. Philip said–”

“I thought we had spent enough time together for you to fix whatever you had against me,” Sylus says, his hand squeezing yours.

Your brows furrow, expression souring at his words. “So that’s why you wanted me here?” You scoff sharply, pulling your hand free from his roughly. “And here I thought you might actually enjoy my company. I thought you– fuck, I thought you cared about me.”

A yelp escapes you when Sylus stands suddenly, crowding in against you until the edge of his desk digs into your lower back, his hands landing on either side of you, on his desk.

“I do care about you,” he hisses, crimson eyes boring into yours, “I care more than you could possibly know.”

Sylus’ words only serve to make you angrier, cheeks flushing hot, an embarrassing lump beginning to swell in your throat. 

“You care about the Aether Core,” you snap, shoving at his chest, causing him to stumble back. “That’s all this has been about.” You wave your hands about wildly, chest rising and falling rapidly as you speak in an exaggerated imitation. “Oh, Miss Hunter, come stay in my ridiculously large home so I can trick you into resonating with me and seduce you along the way!”

“Enough!”

You flinch when Sylus snaps back at you, the sharpness of his voice making you want to squirm away and curl up in the library you had been in moments earlier – warm, cozy and calm.

“You asked me what you meant to me– look at me,” Sylus rasps, his hand shooting out to grab your chin, holding you in place when you avert your gaze. “You mean everything to me.”

The sheer bluntness with which he says it scares you the most. The detached facade that you’ve kept on for so long begins to crack under the weight of his words, body trembling as you process his answer.

“Ask me,” he murmurs roughly, stepping closer, his hand sliding to cup your cheek, “ask me why. Ask me and I shall tell you, sweetie.”

The pet name feels more like an insult this time, stubborn irritation beginning to fester inside you yet again.

“Fine,” you retort, back stiffening. “Why?”

“I am bound to you,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, “when I was on the brink of death, you– you bound my soul to yours. In every lifetime–” Sylus lets out a harsh breath, looking away. “In every lifetime, I am yours.”

There’s hardly any breath left in your lungs, fingers splaying across your throat in an attempt to soothe the still lingering lump there. Sylus isn’t lying, you know that much, as much as you would like to refute, to tell him that he had clearly lost his mind, you can see the unwavering truth in his eyes.

“Oh,” you manage out, letting a heavy, shuddering breath escape, “and– and you remember?”

“Certain memories,” Sylus murmurs, his hand falling from your face, “but you’re there. Always.”

He shifts away from you, shoulders sagging tiredly. You peer up at him, finding exhaustion etched across his face once more. There’s a strange sense of anxiety seizing you, fingers fidgeting absentmindedly as you watch him move away towards the window. There’s snow falling outside, just like when you had released the newly-healed dove and watched the fireworks together. You’d thought he’d kiss you that night.

“Do you love me?” you ask quietly.

“No,” his voice is just as quiet. “But I did, back then at least.”

His answer relieves you. You bite your lip nervously, stepping towards him until you stand beside him. Sylus turns to face you. The dim lighting makes his eyes appear brighter, and your eyes flutter shut when his fingers graze your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You want me to resonate with you so I’ll remember,” you surmise, leaning into the warmth of his palm.

“There’s a chance you won’t remember,” Sylus sighs, stepping closer, his other hand coming to cup your other cheek. 

“And there’s a chance that you’re lying to me,” you counter, peering up at him as he forces you to step back until your back hits the wall.

“You don’t trust me,” he muses, his head dipping low, nose nudging against yours.

“Trusting a man like you would be foolish,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut when his hand slips to the small of your back, causing you to press flush against him. “You’re dangerous,” you continue, head tilting when he squeezes your waist, “unpredictable, at times. Insane, even – who destroys an entire faction?”

“I do,” Sylus says, “yes, the Aether Core is valuable to me, but you–” his teeth graze over your jaw making you gasp, “you are far more valuable to me.”

“Isn’t– ah– isn’t that convenient?” you manage out, heat swirling in your stomach as his lips brush over your ear. “We happen to come together.”

He clicks his tongue. “Really, sweetie?” Sylus murmurs, his fingers moving to tilt your chin upwards. “How much longer are we going to play this game? I want to love you,” he rasps, nose dragging along your cheek, “I want to possess you, I want to devour you until you know nothing but me.”

“Which is exactly what the Aether Core wants–” you begin to protest, shrieking when Sylus is suddenly gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of his office. “Put– put me down, you brute!” 

An undignified yelp escapes you when he ignores you, instead moving through his home lazily, dumping you face first onto his bed. You glare, muttering a slew of curses under your breath as you slip awkwardly across the silk sheets when you try and sit up.

“I’ll have you know,” you spit, “I could have your little crime ring swarmed–”

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him removing his shirt, watching dazedly as he sits down in a chair, his thighs spreading invitingly. The air prickles across your skin when he props his elbow on the armrest, his head tilting languidly, the motion causing his bicep to flex.

Somehow, Sylus seemed bigger than before, your throat drying at the thought of him settling between your thighs, his weight dropping down onto you while he pounded– 

“If you want something, you need only ask, sweetie,” Sylus says, adjusting once more, thighs spreading a little wider. “Or perhaps… you ought to come here and simply take it.”

“No,” you grouse, crossing your arms over your chest, looking away. 

Your gaze snaps towards the doors when they click, his Evol having locked them. Unable to help yourself, you sneak a glance at him, heart fluttering when you see him smiling.

“Come here, sweetie.”

“No.”

“Let me take care of you, hm?” Sylus coaxes, his voice soft.

“You’re so– so desperate,” you shoot back, trying not to lose yourself in the fog of desire that was beginning to settle over your mind.

“Even the most stubborn kittens crave affection,” he counters, “hissing and spitting until they finally wear themselves out.”

You scoff sharply, eyes flitting around his room for some way to escape. At this rate, you wouldn’t make it back to Linkon in time – although part of you was more than happy to accept that.

“What exactly are you offering?” you ask, peering over at him, thighs squeezing together involuntarily at the sight of him.

“Myself,” Sylus says, his head tilting, “for however long you wish to have me. This is on your terms, sweetie.”

To prove himself trust-worthy, you realize, that’s what he was actually offering. You pretend to consider his words – as though you wouldn’t have said yes weeks ago – pursing your lips.

“And you won’t be hurt when I leave?” you prod further, raising your brows.

Sylus smirks knowingly, his voice a languid purr. “You won’t leave. After all, you’ve kept coming back every week.”

“Because you said I was in your debt–”

“I never held you to it, did I?” Sylus murmurs, leaning forward. “You come here at your own volition, sweetie.”

Shit. 

He had you there. Maybe the whole soulmate thing was starting to hold up, that would explain the itching feeling inside of you to be close to him. Either way, there was no denying you wanted this as much as he did.

“Fine,” you say quietly, “I’ll bite.”

You stand up, padding towards him slowly. His Evol sweeps around you, lifting you gently and placing you in his lap. Cheeks flushing, you squirm, hand landing on his warm, firm chest to steady yourself, swallowing at the sight of his pecs. 

Sylus stares down at you, his arms moving to wrap around your waist tightly. You blink up at him, heart lurching when he lowers his head once more, his nose nudging against yours affectionately.

“Are you scared?” he whispers, lips brushing across your cheek in a fleeting kiss.

“No,” you whisper, swallowing harshly, “yes. I– I don’t know.”

His fingers slide under your chin, thumb stroking across your jaw. When he kisses your cheek again, your eyes flutter shut, hands sliding over his warm skin to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Sylus asks softly, his lips lingering against your cheek.

You decide not to answer, leaning forward instead, heart thudding in your chest violently. It’s quick, your lips meeting his in a shy, chaste kiss before you pull back, peering up into his eyes.

“Another one,” he breathes out, “give me another one, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Hot desire rushes through you when he says that, a desperate eagerness to please flooding your senses, arms tightening around his neck.

You surge forward, inhibitions forgotten, lips pressing against Sylus’ purposefully. The groan that escapes from him has you whining, fingers slipping into his hair when he returns your kiss, lips working against yours hungrily.

It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before – all consuming and so violently right – the chair creaking as you shift on his lap, rising up onto your knees to kiss him deeper. Sylus squeezes at your waist, his hands slipping lower to caress the backs of your bare thighs, his mouth opening at the behest of your tongue.

You lick into his mouth, the motion a little clumsy, but Sylus doesn’t seem to mind, his head tipping back to let you take what you want. A hand settles on your back, pulling you back down, his kisses growing hungrier, taking and taking, until spit is leaking from the sides of your mouth.

Heavy pants leave you when you pull away, lips slick with spit and slightly swollen, eyes hazy. Sylus’ thumb is rubbing at the corner of your mouth, gently cleaning, brushing over your lower lip until he presses his thumb into your mouth. You whine, sucking and mewling, hands curling around his wrist to try and press his thumb in deeper.

“Is this what you wanted?” Sylus murmurs hoarsely, his eyes fluttering shut when you bite the tip of his thumb in a playful tease. “Is this what you were too afraid to ask for?”

“Y– yes,” you gasp out, hips beginning to rock across his lap needily.

A moan leaves you when he grinds his hips up into you, the friction of his trousers creating a pleasurable sensation between your thighs, through the fabric of your panties and sleep shorts. There’s a hand cradling the back of your head to guide you towards him, Sylus stealing your breath with another kiss.

“Yeah?” he rasps, smiling against your lips. “Needy fuckin’ baby, hm? Look at you, grinding all over my lap.”

“Shut– shut up!” you mewl, mouth opening against his as you breath heavily, dragging your hips across his lap before grinding down, biting down on his lower lip in retaliation. “You said this– ah– was on my terms,” you whimper, head tipping back when you feel his hips rising to match your movements, his hands holding you in place.

“Am I not giving you what you want, sweetness?” Sylus asks, hissing lowly when you scratch your nails down his chest.

“My terms means,” you lean forward, cupping his jaw to pull him closer, tongue flicking against his lips, “you shut up and do whatever I say.”

He stares down at you, crimson eyes bright with lust and admiration. “Then use me, sweetheart,” he offers, his own hand cupping your jaw, squishing your cheeks together until your lips pucker out, “make me yours.”

You hardly need any more encouragement. Shifting back, you take the time to stare at his chest and abdomen properly, biting your lip at the sight. Thick pecs, even thicker biceps, and muscled abdomen that was becoming increasingly difficult to tear your eyes away from.

“‘s not fair,” you mutter, staring at him, “I mean, seriously? You’re so big.”

Sylus smiles smugly, shifting back, jostling you in his lap. You reach out, unable to help yourself, squeezing his pec. A soft noise slips out of Sylus, your ears perking up at the sound, leaning closer.

“Did you like that?” you whisper, peering up into his half-lidded eyes.

“I can’t say I’ve ever had a woman grope me before, sweetie,” he breathes out in response, head tipping back when you squeeze his pec again.

“Grope?” you pout, dipping your head to press a kiss to his pec instead, teeth scraping against his skin. “You said I could use you.”

Sylus’ hips buck, a shaky gasp escaping him. You smile against his skin, mouth latching onto his pec stubbornly, sucking and laving your tongue over him until you lean back to find a mark blossoming onto his skin prettily.

“Satisfied?” he rasps, chest rising and falling, unable to keep his hips from rocking up against the friction of your clothed pussy rubbing against him.

“Not quite,” you murmur, leaning forward again, mouth latching on with renewed fervour.

It’s addictive, the way Sylus groans and whines when you bite into him gently, his hands clamping over your hips to keep you against him as he ruts his hips up into you. You moan when he squeezes your ass, arching your back to press more of yourself into his wandering hands, gasping against his throat when his fingers slide down, rubbing you through your sleep shorts.

“My needy baby,” he coos, voice just condescending enough to have you mewling against him, teeth nipping at his throat in retaliation. “I can feel how wet you are, sweetness. Panties must be ruined.”

When he tsks, you bite down harder, relishing in the whimper that leaves Sylus, only for a similar noise to leave you when his fingers press down hard against your swollen, aching clit.

“You’re– oh fuck– you’re so mean,” you whine, hips rocking back against his hand, panting when his hand moves to cup your wet pussy through the fabric, grinding the heel of his hand against you instead.

“How am I being mean if I’m giving you exactly what you need, baby?” Sylus murmurs, his head tilting down to kiss your cheek, trailing a line of kisses across the line of your jaw before he captures your lips once more in a searing kiss.

“Stop talking,” you grouse, eyes squeezing shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you grind back against his hand.

You yelp when his free hand comes down on your ass, jolting at the sensation before an embarrassingly loud moan slips out of you when he spanks you again. Sylus laughs, and you flush hot, hand squirming down between your bodies to press against his hardened cock that was currently straining against his trousers.

Big – like the rest of him.

Your fingers are working faster than your mind, managing to tug his trousers and boxers down just enough with the help of Sylus lifting his hips. Your hands curl around his cock greedily, a shaky breath leaving you when you feel how heavy and thick his cock is.

“‘s that big enough for you?” he whispers against your lips, teeth nipping at your swollen lower lip. “Thick enough?”

“You should really stop asking stupid questions, Sylus,” you pant into his mouth, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, feeling his pre-cum wet your skin.

“Fuck–” he swears under his breath, eyes fluttering shut when you begin to stroke his cock slowly, his fingers still working against your clothed pussy, rubbing at your clit.

“But your cock is really fat,” you whisper into his ear, biting down on his earlobe, smiling when his hips jerk up involuntarily. Your voice lowers, turning airy with the way he rubs at your dripping cunt, your hand working against his cock, fastening your pace. “Bet it’ll be all snug inside me.”

Sylus’ eyes snap open, his hand shooting out to grab your face when you try to hide in the crook of his neck, his eyes darkening.

“You’re filthy,” he hisses, “so fucking filthy, sweetheart, speaking about my cock like that.”

“You’re– nghhh– you’re the one that asked,” you protest, head tilting when he shifts to lean over you, his fingers prying your mouth open.

It’s embarrassing how quickly your tongue lolls out, lapping at his fingers, trying to suck them into your mouth. He doesn’t give them to you, no matter how much you whine and squirm and stroke his cock, instead letting his nose brush against yours, lips pursing together before he spits into your mouth.

You swallow almost immediately, eyes widening when you realize what he’d– no, what you’d done, mouth opening and closing as words fail you.

“You need this– need me,” he growls, lips pressing along the column of your neck in a barrage of heated kisses. “How long have I been neglecting you? I should’ve given you my cock, my fingers, my mouth to you months ago.”

“‘m not some sort of sex addict,” you whine pitifully, although your hand tightens around his cock, squeezing to watch thick globs of pre-cum bead at the tip, rolling over the sides of the head of his cock slowly, wetting your fingers. “You– you just make me feel this way.”

“Because we– shit– belong together,” Sylus whispers, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder when you squeeze at the head of his cock again, his hips rolling to meet your strokes as your thumb swipes over the sensitive tip of his cock. “You will be mine, as I will be yours. Always.”

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging at the soft strands, hips circling down to press against his hand firmly. He lets you, breathing heavily against your shoulder as you twist your wrist, working your hand along the length of his cock purposefully. His head tips back for a moment and your mouth slots over his, eager and desperate, tongue pushing into his mouth.

Sylus groans and you work your other hand between you, cupping his heavy balls in your hand, massaging gently.

“Do you mean that?” you whisper against his lips, tugging at his cock until his hand curls over yours, beginning to guide your pace. “Always?”

“Yes,” Sylus murmurs hoarsely, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “It’s– ah– it’s always been you.”

Violent affection unfurls in your chest, your body surging forward to kiss him again, movements feverish as you stroke him, faster and faster until Sylus’ hips are bucking uncontrollably, his hands curling into fists.

“Then I trust you,” you murmur, tongue lapping at his lips.

That’s all it takes. You squeak in surprise when his cock jerks in your hand, a loud, uneven groan leaving Sylus as he cums, thick, hot cum spilling over your fingers, smearing across his abdomen. You blink, eyes wide, watching as he trembles, his chest heaving with ragged pants.

Sylus’ eyes open a few moments later, his fingers tracing over your cheek shakily, lips pressing against yours gently. 

When he peers down at you – flushed and utterly gone – you can’t help but tease him. A devilish smile spreads across your face as you take your time to make a show of licking your fingers clean. The heady taste of his cum has you feeling emboldened. 

“Who’s the needy fuckin’ baby now?”

All you see is a blur of your surroundings, a shriek escaping you when he picks you up suddenly, tossing you onto his bed. You squirm, squeaking when he’s moving you onto your stomach, tugging your hips up, sleep shorts and panties pulled down roughly.

“Sylus–” you begin, “I didn’t mean to– ah!”

His face is buried between your thighs before you can finish. A loud squeal leaves you, face pressing into his pillows when he presses his face into your dripping pussy, tongue swirling through your puffy folds.

“You’ve had your fun,” Sylus murmurs, his thumbs pulling apart your folds, a broken groan leaving him when he sees the webs of slick clinging to your thighs and folds. “Pretty– pretty fuckin’ pussy, baby.”

You mewl, hips rocking back to meet his tongue, fisting the silk sheets in your hands, mouth opening wantonly against his pillows. You can hardly think straight, eyes drooping shut when he kisses your puffy folds, his fingers beginning to rub against your clit again.

“Does it ache?” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your clit, gently lapping at the swollen bud before kissing it again. “Hm? Does it ache, sweetness? Shall I kiss it better?”

“Y– yes!” you whimper out, trying to press your pussy back into his face, squirming and wiggling your hips desperately. “P– please, Sylus– want– want your mouth!”

“So soft,” he murmurs absentmindedly, fingers stroking over your wet pussy, rubbing your slick into you, a finger pressing inside of you for a moment before he withdraws it. 

“For the love of– oh fuck!”

You squeal again when he buries his face back into you, clawing at the sheets with broken, wanton noises, body jerking back when Sylus pulls you towards him, his nose pressing into you in the most delicious way. You’re seeing stars – maybe the entire universe – with the way his tongue is moving, swirling and flicking, his fingers joining the fray soon after.

A dazed gasp escapes you, drool seeping from your mouth, wetting his pillows. His fingers are thick, already beginning to stretch you out as he works one after the other, the two digits enough to have you feeling full.

“Good girl. My good girl,” Sylus whispers, his teeth scraping across your inner thighs in faux gentleness before he bites down hard enough to have you moaning again. “Take what I give you.”

You’re too busy drooling into the pillows to response, mind feeling like mush as he sinks his fingers into you repeatedly, his mouth placing measured, affectionate kisses to your clit every now and then. You can feel his smile against your dripping pussy, the curve of his lips making you smile hazily to yourself.

“Wanna– ngh– c–cum,” you mumble, pouting, “please? You said you’d– oh– take care of me, Sylus.”

He hums into your cunt, the vibration enough to have your toes curling. The loss of his fingers has you whining softly, until they press against your aching clit, rubbing against it in fast circles, whilst his tongue laps at your fluttering pussy.

It feels so awfully obscene, but this entire thing has left you strung so tight that you feel like you might combust if you don’t cum.

“I could keep you like this for days,” Sylus says, pressing a kiss to the fat of your ass, “on my fingers and tongue.” He sighs, drawing back until you feel him spit onto your cunt, the lewd sensation making your knees tremble. “You liked it,” he whispers, tongue sliding through your puffy folds, drinking down your slick, “in my memories… always begging for more of my cock.”

“Probably ‘cause it’s so big,” you slur, “like you.” You bite the pillow, face shoving deeper, voice muffled. “I like you.” 

“I know,” he soothes, a hand sliding over your thigh to squeeze gently, his lips drifting across your ass as you arch your back a little more, wanting to feel his mouth on you again. “I lo– like you too.”

A drunken giggle slips out of you, teeth sinking into your lower lip when Sylus’ tongue presses into your aching cunt. He fucks it in and out you, the fingers on your clit only adding to the mounting pleasure in your lower stomach, pussy clenching around his tongue.

“Oh fuck,” you begin to chant when his tongue laves over your pussy again, fingers replacing his tongue once more as he presses them in, curling them up against you. “Fuck– ah– nghh– fuck, fuck, fuck–”

“That’s it,” he breathes out, sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking against the swollen bud, “that’s it, sweetness. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Sylus sucks harshly at your clit at the same time his fingers sink into you, hard and fast, the combined motions making you cry out, thighs shaking violently. Your knees give out under you, pussy fluttering and clenching around his fingers as you cum, hand shoving down between your thighs when his fingers don’t stop moving.

“Sylus,” you mewl, “‘s too much!”

“You can handle it, baby,” Sylus says, mouth latching onto your clit again, “doing so good for me.”

The praise curls around you, slow and syrupy, cheek squishing against the pillow as you twitch against his sheets, hips rolling back to meet his fingers and the kisses he peppers to your clit. 

Sylus gently turns you onto your back when he’s had his fill, your hazy eyes meeting his, gaze drifting to find the lower half of his face and lips shining with your slick. It makes your heart flutter, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, uncaring of the way you tasted yourself on his tongue.

He pulls away and you pout, letting him tug your shirt up over your head, along with your bra. His hair is soft as you slide your fingers into it, playing with the soft strands as he trails kisses down your chest, over your breasts.

Your back arches to meet his kisses, thighs squeezing together when Sylus lets his tongue swirl over an aerola, sucking your breast into his mouth before he switches to the other, teeth tugging at a nipple. A whimper leaves you when he bites down measuredly, the sensation sending a thrill down through your stomach, a dull ache beginning to flare again in your cunt.

A pout pulls at your lips when he pulls away, watching as he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Oh,” you whisper, thighs beginning to shut when you see his heavy, fat cock, hard once again and somehow more intimidating than earlier when you had stroked it in your hand. “That’s–” you shake your head, biting back a moan when his hand curls around his cock, beginning to stroke it lazily, “that’s not going to fit, Sylus.”

“No?” he murmurs, his hand grasping your ankle, sliding over your calf to gently pry your thighs apart again. “It happened to fit in my dreams, sweetness.”

You flush, trembling when his head dips, brushing a kiss to the scar streaking across the side of your leg. “You’ve had dreams about me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he sighs, staring at your puffy pussy once more as though entranced.

His hand works along the length of his cock for a few more moments, your cunt clenching when he shifts over you, letting the thick globs of pre-cum drip onto your pussy and clit. You bite your lip, hazy eyes meeting his as you let your hand drift lower, rubbing his cum into your clit lazily.

Sylus’ throat bobs at the sight, his cock twitching in his hand. You tilt your head, hoping the motion is sultry enough, spreading your thighs a little wider. 

“I’ve had dreams about you too,” you whisper airily, fingers splaying against your pussy, spreading yourself open for him before you rub his pre-cum into you, letting your fingers press inside of your needy cunt briefly. You pout a little, lips puckering out as you play with your pussy, your other hand squeezing at your breast. “‘m so empty, Sylus.”

And Sylus unravels.

You yelp when he pulls your hand away, his mouth slotting over yours hungrily, stealing your breath. He pants into your mouth, ragged and uneven, and your hips buck when you feel the head of his cock press against your clit.

“Should I fill this little cunt up?” he murmurs, teeth scraping at your lower lip, letting his cock slip between your folds before he slaps it against your pussy. “Flood it with my cum? Claim you?”

“Nghh– yes,” you whine, dragging the word out, nails already beginning to scrape down his broad back.

Sylus slaps his cock against your pussy and you jerk, moaning as you feel the weight of it against you, heavy and hot. 

“Take it then, baby,” Sylus growls, his lips pressing against your cheek as he rocks his hips forward, notching the head of his cock against you. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock.”

Something between a gasp and a squeal leaves you, your back arching when he begins to sink his cock into you, already splitting you open. He hushes you, open-mouthed kisses pressed along your neck as he buries his face into the crook of it, body curling over yours while his cock sinks into you, inch by inch.

“Just a– fuck– just a little more,” he breathes out, rolling his hips, hands squeezing at your hips with desperation. “So fucking tight around me, sweetheart.”

You whimper, throwing your arm over your face, cunt fluttering around his cock uncontrollably in an attempt to accommodate his size. You feel so terribly full, the aching emptiness from earlier dissipating with every inch he gives you.

“Look,” he rasps, pulling back to stare at where he’s inside you, balls flush against your ass. “Look at how we fit.”

You crane your neck, blinking blearily, mewling when you see the slight bulge in your stomach moving when he draws his hips back, thrusting them forward lazily. 

“Oh,” you whisper, feeling utterly gone.

Sylus laughs, the sound hoarse and scratchy, his nose nudging against yours. “What was it you said, sweetness?” he kisses you, slow and deep. “Nice and… snug.”

“I really– oh– really hate you,” you whine out, although your legs are wrapping around his waist tightly, heels digging into his ass when he laughs again, the deep velvety sound only adding to the heat between your thighs, causing your cunt to clench.

“Yeah?” he hums, his hand sliding over your eyes, breath fanning across your lips. “You seem cockdrunk to me, baby. Squirming all over my cock like a little brat.”

You let out a noise of protest only for him to silence you, muffling your noises with a gentle kiss. It’s difficult to understand what’s happening for a moment, body seizing up in the darkness surrounding you until something in the air shifts.

A soft moan escapes you when you feel something light caress you – Sylus’ Evol – the streaks of mist somehow manifesting into something more tangible. It strokes across you fleetingly, over the curves of your sides, against your thighs, over your breasts.

“What– what are you doing?” you whimper, legs tightening around him as he drives his cock into you, the measured thrusts enough to have you seeing stars.

“Giving you everything,” he whispers, mouth drifting over your chest, teeth tugging at a nipple. “Feel this– feel me, sweetheart.”

And you do feel. It’s strange, the sensations that pour through you – pleasure, affection, and something much deeper that curls itself around your heart, as though trying to lodge itself into the beating muscle much like the protocore. 

“Sylus–” you gasp, clawing at his back, breath hitching when he drops his weight onto you, the heat of his body melting, swirling into yours.

“Feel me,” Sylus rasps, his hand finding yours, squeezing it tightly whilst his Evol washes over you. 

It does something to you, the combined motions of his cock thrusting into you, his hand in yours, body pressed tightly over yours. For a moment, something in your mind cracks open –  a flash of red, a field of crimson flowers in bloom, Sylus – before it disappears as quickly as it came. When his hand slips away, you peer up into his eyes searchingly. You know him, you realize, fingers slipping over his jaw and cheeks. You know him.

“Good girl,” Sylus whispers, seeing the look in your eyes, his hips beginning to pick up the pace as you cry out. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Your head tips back and Sylus follows, his lips finding yours, the kiss messy and sloppy. His balls slap against your ass, the sounds so lewd that you’d be ridden with embarrassment if not for the fact that his hand was still in yours.

You reach out blindly, hand cupping his jaw to kiss him better, whining and mewling into his mouth, hips trying to roll back to meet his thrusts. There’s a muscled arm sliding under you, his hand curling over your hip as he hauls you against him, fucking his cock into you. It hits the very place you need, his fat cock burying itself so deep inside that Sylus is moaning into your mouth as he feels the bulge his cock forms in your stomach pressing against his.

“‘m gonna–” you whimper, back arching, “‘m gonna cum, Sylus!”

“Then– fuck– then cum for me,” Sylus snarls, the muscles in his back flexing as he shifts, hips snapping forward as he pounds his cock into you, thumb slipping to find your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles against it.

An embarrassingly loud moan leaves you, body seizing up as the coil in your lower stomach winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps. Every part of you trembles, cunt fluttering and clenching uncontrollably around Sylus’ cock, your hands clawing and squeezing at whatever you can grab – the sheets, Sylus’ biceps – teeth sinking into his shoulder, body thrashing as the force of your orgasm slams into you.

“Shit,” he whispers raggedly, “baby– sweetheart–”

“Inside,” you slur, heels digging into him when he tries to pull out, “p– please, want you inside, Sylus.”

He groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck, hips jerking unevenly as he holds you flush against him. Sylus curses under his breath, and you can feel his cock throb, mewling when you feel hot, thick cum spill into you.

Sylus’s hips stutter, despite his body still moving lazily, stuffing his cock inside of you in the wake of his own orgasm, the coarse hair laying past his navel rubbing against you in a way that makes your pussy flutter tiredly. 

He slumps over you, hand stroking over your hair and you smile, trying to nuzzle against him. It has him letting out a soft laugh, his lips brushing over your cheek gently before he rolls off of you.

“I suppose I won’t be going back to Linkon after all,” you sigh, playing with his hair as he turns into you, laying soft kisses over your face, neck, shoulders.

“No, I suppose not,” he agrees.

His lips trail lower, your heart lurching when his fingers brush over the scar on the side of your stomach.

“You should know… I was scared that day,” Sylus confesses lowly, tracing the edges of the scar with his fingers. “I thought–” a shuddering breath escapes him, his brows furrowing as he shakes his head. “I didn’t– don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper, gently brushing his hair out of his eyes, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Emotion swells up inside of you when his lips press against the scar firmly, his lips lingering in a silent promise. Your lower lip trembles for a moment, eyes slipping shut when he kisses it again tenderly.

“I adore you,” he whispers across your skin, calloused fingers tracing the curve of your hip.

“Stop saying things like that. You make this sound real.” The lump in your throat makes you sound choked. 

There’s a smile pulling at his lips, his arms curling around you to pull you into his chest, his lips brushing across your forehead.

“This is real,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers finding yours, lacing together tightly. 

You squeeze his hand tightly, face pressing into his chest to hide the glassy look in your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He stays quiet, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand.

“Do you promise?” you ask quietly, pressing closer, your head tilting to kiss his cheek.

“Yes,” Sylus says, his lips brushing over yours, tentatively at first and then deeper and deeper until you can feel the weight of his answer behind every motion of his lips.

Your arms wrap around his neck when he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His voice is much quieter when he speaks again, his arms tightening around you.

“I’ll find my way to you, no matter what.”

[enchanthings-a]

◦˚~ ANIMATED STARS DIVIDERS by enchanthings ~˚◦

Info: these were all drawn & animated by me. please reblog/like if use!

[writer-and-lover]

Boot-Shaped Bruises

Kinktober Day 3: Boot Worship | Bukakke. Genital torture (not extreme, some hard grinding), drool, degradations, general perverseness from reader.

Tw: British Slang

Hobie Brown’s concerts truly encompassed the sort of person he was. They were bright, colourful in so many different ways that they usually left you dazed. Set up in a small underground venue, it’s cosy and relaxed despite the crowd and the noise. Posters litter the walls, pictures of different bands and artists who’ve played before. In the middle of one wall, you can see Hobie’s band poster clearly. You’d made them yourself. Two pillars frame the stage, each one covered in heaps of stickers and doodles. Small standing areas surround the stage, capable of holding maybe a hundred or two hundred people. The stage itself is slightly elevated, made of solid flooring covered in a black carpet. The instruments are all set up already, with the exception of any basses or guitars the groups may be using. Behind the stage, several large speakers hang from the ceiling, with smaller ones wrapping around the room to create a gorgeous noise-surrounding experience. It’s high quality, despite being on the smaller side. You’d know, since you were the one to pick it.

You know the roster like the back of your hand at this point. You’d memorised it beforehand since you were too excited to sleep. The opening band were good at what they did, music catchy and with an amazing beat. Good enough to get the crowd hyped up. There would be several other opening artists on stage, which gave you enough time to see-

“Early bird, I see.”

Hobie. He was one of the first artists you’d met when you began coordinating. He was tall and skinny, but somehow he made it work. It didn’t make him seem awkward at all, instead making him seem elegant. Smooth. He was wearing his signature wicks. The collar around his neck was spiked, as well as his jacket. He also seemed to have spiked bicep arms, which you haven’t seen before. His whole outfit is definitely raised to max on the street punk sub-style. What caught your eye though, was the new boots he sported. A simple, gorgeous black colour; the boots came up to his mid-calf. They had chains replacing any buckle or lace, which was uncharacteristic of him. The leather was smooth with a matte finish. On each side, it had decorative belt buckles that kept each chain up. Most interestingly of all, the chains had large spikes in the middle of them. The vamp of the heel had an extra piece of glossy black leather, designed in the shape of a flame with rough stitching all around it. Definitely done by hand. They were- they were weirdly sexy on him. Boosting his height (albeit, unnecessarily) whilst also finalising his entire punk look.

“Of course, I had to beat the crowds to make sure everything was up ‘n’ runnin’,” you comment. Your eyes still haven’t strayed from the boots. The heel counter seems to also have a matching flame design. How cute. “I see you went to that cobbler I recommended you.”

He looks down at his boots, raising his foot up so you can look at the sole. It’s got symmetrical ridges.

“Yeah, he was a real nice bloke. Gave me a discount ‘cause I told him you sent me.”

You hum. “Yeah, we’re close like that.” You check some things on your clipboard, before looking at Hobie again. “Maybe later you can show me those boots more close up.”

He stares at you for a beat. His eyes look intense, or maybe it’s just the kohl he applied on his waterline. You stare at each other for a moment, before he smiles. He looks wicked, like he’d planned something.

“Why wait? There’s a tiny little changing room backstage that I’m sure can fit us both.”

You gape at the insinuation. If you were a stronger person, you’d probably say no outright. Call him crazy and leave him in the middle of the crowded venue to hide your flustered reaction. But you weren’t. Instead, you considered it. Instead, you thought about having him so close to you. Instead, you winced knowing you wouldn’t fight back.

“Hobie I-, the shows about to start in five minutes! I need to supervise it y’know that-”

“The opening show doesn’t need constant supervision, c’mon darling,” he coos, “just gimme 15 minutes. Give you a good look at these kicks. Won’t take long at all.”

You groan. God, you’re so weak to those dark eyes of his.

“I’m giving you ten, you bloody slag.”

He grins, grabbing you by the arm. He drags you through the crowd, uncaring for how many people he pushes past or steps on in his hurry to get to the room. You apologise as he drags you, cringing at the annoyed murmurs you get. As you get closer to the backroom, you pass the stage. He waves at his bandmates, who begin wolf-whistling and cheering on as soon as they saw you right behind him. The red curtain looms ahead, and you have half the mind to change your mind and run away. You’d been flirting with each other for months, but you never thought- you didn’t think you’d ever-

He shoves you in the backroom, barely pulling the curtain open beforehand. He follows eagerly, smiling wide. His large hand holds you against the furthest wall, splayed out and damn near spanning the entirety of your chest. It’s a small, cramped space. Big enough to just about hold the both of you with a tiny sliver of space left. This close to his face, you can see clearly the shiny rings of his snake bites, and the spiked barbells on his eyebrows. You loved his punk style, the astounding history behind it. But you also loved how sexy he made it look. Maybe you’d always liked that bad boy style, but Hobie really took it to another level. He was such an odd combination of teasing and caring. Every teasing remark, every playful jab or comment sent your head spinning, especially when he’d follow them up with a check-up glance or a soft touch. Making sure you knew he was joking. Making sure that you were into it.

“Don’t think you’ll be able to see the boots really well from up here, yeah?”

You blink at him, mouth slightly gaping open.

“You gone daft?” 

You stammer, indignantly pushing him back slightly. He smiles, watching you raptly. Taking a deep breath, you drop to your knees. Maybe. Just maybe, you miscalculated a bit. Because now his boots are right between your thighs, way too close to your own crotch for you to feel comfortable with it. It’s true that you can see the boots better this way. And you can definitely see how clean they are, taken great care of. But…

“Have you polished them recently?”

Hobie thinks, making a face. “Nah.” He grins again, canine teeth glinting in the dim light. “You can polish them for me, no?” 

You frown, “Hobs, I don’t have any polishing materials. Hell, I don’t remember the last time I polished my own footwear-”

“Who said anything about polish?”

You blink at him, eyes furrowed. How else would you-. Oh. The realisation hits you in the face. He means for you to… to- You swallow, tilting your head down to look at his boots. Flustered as you are, it’s so- so damn tempting to do it. It’s degrading. Degenerate. Even so, you wrap your hands gently under the sole of it, feeling the weight of the boot. Of Hobie’s foot. Of his gaze. It’s so damn humiliating, you don’t want to look up at him. But you’re shameless enough to wrap your other hand around his ankle to bring the boot closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you gently lick at the leather of the vamp. It’s bitter, the taste making your boot scrunch up. But a soft nudge at your mouth with it encourages you to press your tongue harder against it on the second pass. Your body feels hot, like you’re being overcome by a lust-filled fever. You kiss the boot wetly, a strand of saliva connecting your lips to the boot. You hear a groan and you almost look up at him. But eye contact would be too much for you right now. A small movement just above your head makes you open your eyes. His hand, decked in silver rings, palms at the bulge in his pants. It’s a gentle motion, almost teasing. For both you and him. The sight makes you moan, even as you flatten out your tongue to give a broad lick to the side of the boot. Your eyes are glassy, disoriented. So focused on looking good. The small noises he makes are encouraging. You’re turning more sloppy with it, so consumed with need that thinking isn’t possible.

The boot moves out your hands, the sole pushing harshly against your face. The low laugh that comes out of Hobie's mouth sounds so mean, so cruel. It makes you pulse in your underwear. And you feel yourself pulse again when you think of the fact that you’ll probably have a mark of his boot for the whole night. God, you feel so dirty. You moan softly. The boot comes down your chest, pressing gently against it and trailing down to your crotch. He presses hard against your inner thigh, and you can clearly see the mark of his boot against your clothes. It rips a gasp out your chest, cut off by the feel of his boot bruising the opposite thigh, higher up than before. You can see where he’s going with it, and looking up, you can see his dark eyes narrowed down at you. So calculating. His grin is wiped off, and instead he’s biting at his snake bites. The sight is so hot, you feel like you’re drooling. Like a dog. You lick your lips, leaning back to give Hobie more space. All whilst spreading your legs more.

“Fuckkkk. So pretty, songbird. Gonna moan for me, yeah?”

You moan shakily, eyes squeezed shut. You’re biting harshly at your lip. Even though you can hear one of the opening artists playing outside, you’re so scared that they’ll hear you. That you’ll be depraved enough to make it known what you and Hobie are up to. 

“Thought you were going to par me when I tried dragging you here,” he admitted, “but you were so easy. You’ve been trying to chirps me, yeah? Poor thing.”

That gets a loud moan out of you. The teasing. A boot against your crotch cuts you off, instead pulling a yell out of you. The pressure is immense, almost painful. But it feels so good, especially when you grind up against it. You can’t help but get louder with each twist of your hips. 

“Shh, you’re being loud, songbird.”

He pushes your head back with the palm of his palm, dragging it down to sink two ringed fingers into your wet mouth. You moan wetly around them, drool spilling out your mouth and dribbling on your chin and down your front. You’re so messy, but Hobie doesn’t let you look away. He yanks your face back with the fingers hooked in your mouth, gently slapping your cheek when you close your eyes.

“How about you make me feel good too?”

You look at him, eyes half-lidded. You’re half gone, but God it feels good to listen to what Hobie says. So as he slips his fingers out your mouth, your hand reaches up shakily towards Hobie's trousers. He'd been kind enough to undo the many chains and complicated belt-ropes that held his trousers up at some point. But he had his normal, spiked belt still buckled. So you do the honor of wrapping shaky fingers around it, unbuckling it as fast as you can. You undo his zip and button, excited. In a perverse way, you're looking forward to mouthing at the outline of his dick through his underwear. To inhale his sweat-addled smell as subtly as you can. Except, that he's not wearing any underwear. You can see his dark skin straight away, a thick happy trail leading down to the thick hair surrounding the base of his dick. You blink up at him. 

"Going commando, Hobs?"

He smirks, grabbing you by the back of your head. 

"Just wanted to make it easier for my biggest fan. That's all."

You shiver, gently dragging his trousers and pants down to his mid-thigh, letting his dick flop down over your face. Gently, you mouth up the shaft of his dick, and shyly sink your tongue into Hobie’s foreskin to taste at his skin. He curses, grabbing at both sides of your head. You close your eyes, trusting Hobie to guide you into making him feel good. You drag your tongue against the spongy tip, moaning breathlessly at the taste. Now it’s Hobie who can’t keep his eyes open, torn between looking at the way you tease him and shutting them to enjoy it to the fullest. You wrap your lips around the exposed tip, sucking at it gently. He shudders, head falling back against the wall. His breathing is loud, ragged moans pulling straight out from his chest. The warm, wet mouth around his dick too good to be true. You inch down his cock slowly, lips stretched to accommodate his size. 

A knock to the doorframe shakes you both out of your reverie.

“Five minutes, boss!”

One of Hobie’s bandmates. It’s said full of amusement and future teasing, but it brings a curse out of Hobie.

“Fuck- I’ll be there!”

He pushes your mouth completely off of his dick, instead jerking it off rapidly right in front of you. It makes you remember that he’s still digging his foot into your crotch, although it’d loosened up some time ago. You grab his ankle with both hands and pull his boot further into your crotch, sobbing at the pleasure and pain that it brings. Your clothes are dirtied to all hell. You probably won’t be able to take the marks out of it. But that excites you. You’ll probably paint over them with some sort of dark fabric paint. The hand on the side of your head tightens, and you look up at Hobie, mouth gaping, right as he comes over your face. You flinch, closing your eyes as you feel it get on your face, in your mouth and in your hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He digs his boot further into your crotch, grinding it against your sensitive spots. It’s too much for you, and you come with a loud cry. You slump back against the wall, panting harshly. Hobie moves his boot away before crouching infront of you. He passes a soft cloth (some poor bastards lost shirt or something) over your face and hair, as you swallow what you got in your mouth. Your eyes open, hazy. He winces slightly, before smiling. 

“Good job, songbird.” He pats your face lovingly. “I can’t get the boot mark out though.”

You jerk up at that, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck do you mean,” you harshly whisper, “that you can’t get the boot mark out?”

“C’mon. I’m sure noone’s gonna notice, it’s all chill, innit?” 

“You goddamn wasteman, I’m gonna KILL YOU-”

The rest of the show is a success. Hobie had managed to run out the backroom before you’d either strangled him or ripped his dick off. He strutted over to the stage, a big smile on his face. His bandmates hollered and whooped, seeing his happy demeanour. Until they saw your own, fuming face. Each one wincing and whipping their faces away, focusing instead on their instruments. The boot mark on your face was so glaringly obvious, as well as the ones all over the front of your clothes. A few patrons pointed them out to you, waggling their eyebrows at you or sending you cheeky glances.

“Ey, that’s jokes mate,” a particularly young lad cackled, wrapping his arm around you, “you and your bird being bare bait with all that here, huh?”

“Allow it.” You hissed, pushing him away. 

It was a great goddamn show.

[writer-and-lover]

I will be officially updating this (+ other fics) sometime this year or next. This blog is back up :3

[justwolosers]

'15 // SHOTGUNNING + TEMP PLAY WITH GHOSTFACE (NB).

CHEEKY CONTENT AHEAD - if you decide to press on the keep reading link, you are actively engaging with lewd content, if that's not your cup of tea, please don't hesitate to scroll past etc

ABOUT ;; as a fair warning, this has heavy NON-CON, DUB-CON THEMES, if this isn't your cup of tea, don't hesitate to click out of this post, thank you. also !! this is a little on the silly ISH side, if you can interpret it that way ?? art GCSE >>>> AHSKAJ update yes I don't know what this is really.

tags - cigarette burning, sadomasochism, masochism, sadism, temperature play, strong language, ghostface is not nice in this, bondage and restraints, degradation, dumbification, praise kink somewhat, threats, roleplay, CNC roleplay etc

by justwolosers 2023. do not steal, copy or repost.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST OR WEEK THREE OVERVIEW.

FEM VERS | MALE VERS

GHOSTFACE X GN READER ;;

“C’mon, toots, it ain’t that bad. Quickfire question, you still countin’?”

Gaze heavy, slick, gloved forefingers slip inside yet again with relative ease; hooking and curling upwards, persistently nudging up along ribbed, gummy walls. Pressing again and again at that sweet little spot of yours. Glossy strands of lube and saliva thin and bead with each scissoring motion, sinking further inside, stretching you open.

You were doing better than he’d imagined - you seemed like the type to fall apart at the first touch. That’s not to say you weren’t touch-starved, if anything, out of sheer will you seemed to be refusing to give him a reaction, a response. Instead, opting to look away, eyes honed in on the three blotted out, used cigarettes, a small distance away on rotten floorboards. Which was, to say the least, frustrating.

He wanted you to look at him, only him; to pay attention. Your gaze always seemed to be elsewhere, naturally excited by anything deemed bright and shiny. A petty euphemism for your friends, who’d you’d risk tooth and nail for within matches, even when he’d have them strung up and strung apart, a bloody mess - you wouldn’t look at him. But, you would, in due time.

Kindness was never his strong suit, and it could only get you so far, couldn’t it? Manners could only do so much to really push a point across. You understood that, right? He’d been patient.

With his free hand, he kneads his gloved thumb painfully into the head of your sex, swollen and overworked, and slides his forefinger around the opposite side, slowly applying pressure as he pinches and tugs at the engorged head.

The reaction is immediate, endearing even; eyes wide and watery, a high pitched keen forces its way out, muffled through the saliva soaked gag. Your thighs tense and contract, drawing upwards, toes curling as you twitch weakly, being guided yet again through another orgasm.

“That got your attention, didn’t it?” Blinking drowsily, you tilt your head in his direction from where it had been hanging weakly, confusion apparent. “I guess you wouldn’t do too well with pop quizzes; that reaction time is awful, toots! We’ll work on that though, pinky promise. Now, I asked you a question, yeah? Wanna give me an answer?”

Your hands, secured uncomfortably to a rusty, worn pipe above your head, instinctively clasp tightly into one another. The coarse rope no doubt chafing into smooth skin. He assumes you were trying to comfort yourself in some way, self soothing; whatever it implied, your attention was on him again.

Eyelashes damp and dewy, you blink unsurely once more, before recognition flickers in your eyes. A gradual mixture of understanding, panic and then finally fear, settling in.

You shake your head erratically, shrinking into yourself with the limited movement you have, whining pathetically.

“Toooooots,” it’s chipper, drawn out in a jovial singsong tone, “You gotta give me an answer. Pretty please. You agreed to; one correct answer and I ease up on you, yeah?”

In actuality, you didn’t - not really. If anything it was a ego boost for him, hearing you plead and stumble over what he could make out from your unintelligible words; and it was clear you were beginning to pick up on that pattern from the previous attempts you’d made to answer him, in hopes of having a break from the relentless stimulation.

You shake your head once more, chest heaving as if you were-

“Awh, you cryin’? Really, for me? I feel a ‘lil honoured, honestly. That’s cute, real cute. Now, is that a no, then? You don't wanna give me your final answer?"

Another shaky refusal.

With a final squeeze and a dramatic sigh, he releases the painful hold on your sex, patting at it playfully before swiping down his palms on his cloak, rubbing away any fluids. Leaning over, he reaches towards the discarded cigarette packet, a few sticks remaining and ready to be lit.

Maybe he could finally finish off etching his name into your skin - a small motif, signing off his work. Picking out one from the worn packet with one hand, he twirls the cigarette across his knuckles smoothly; the other hand, clasped around a small lighter.

“How about another lesson in pointillism, toots?”

[spiderrrling]

I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can't remember

[what-even-is-thiss]

*wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat*

WAIT IT’S CALLED A THROW PILLOW

[holorifle]

here is a super helpful website for this kinda thing!

the first result isn’t always the one you’re looking for but when you press enter it’ll give you a ton of words related to your query that’ll probably have what you’re wanting, or something better

here’s some examples:

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Reblog to save a writer's sanity.

[salted-delights-deactivated2021]

T h a n k y o u k i n d s i r .

[officialleehadan]

THANK YOU REBLOG TO SAVE A LIFE

[writer-and-lover]

I

I've given up on Kinktober, too many sexy sexy ideas and not enough brainpower to complete 'em.

However! I'll be finishing up the requests I'd gotten and hopefully posting them sometime this week

[writer-and-lover]

Jumping the Gun

Kinktober Day 7: Stuck in a wall | Virginity. Sex club, BDSM club, restraints, clear consent, overstimulation and sex toys.

You were not the smartest person in the club, you were sure. And your friends, you decided, where dickheads for suggesting this. You’d asked your friends for a way to lose your virginity. Surely, there was some sort of club signal for wanting to get laid or something. Or a specific drink that would get rid of your innate ability to overthink and send you out into somebody’s open arms and warm bed. But no, your friends had gone with the worst possible solution.

The club they had chosen was not a simple one you could find around the corner. No, this one was specifically a sex one. A BDSM club that they loved to frequent and they swore up and down that it would help you finally lose your virginity. And the idiot you were, you agreed to it happily. When you’d first walked to the place, you’d been amazed. Star-eyed. Everything was so new, so casual and yet so intimate. You weren’t sure how much you could look at, so you tried your best to keep your gaze down. One of your friends guided you along, as the others scattered to do their respective things. He explained all the amazing activities to be done in this sort of club. It almost felt like a depraved fairy-tale, the way told them with so much magic. And poor little old you, you were so easily convinced.

And so you ended up here, half way in a hole in the wall.

Of course, you’d been reassured over and over again that it’d be safe for you. Everyone was checked to be clean (you’d been asked to bring recent medical proof of being clean, too) and you’d be supervised. Plus, you had your safeword in case anything suddenly became way too much for you. And so you’d cluelessly agreed to it. Guided through the hole, your hands cuffed to the corners of the box you’d been put in. Right in front of you, a small TV showed you how your lower body looked, from your feet to your butt. Your legs had also been cuffed at the ankles, allowing for a small range of movement but preventing you from kicking out at all. Your shaggy tail had been left alone, thanks to your weak request. It drooped down now, curled up between your legs in nervousness and slight fear. You’d been stripped before-hand, so anyone who walked by could see everything. You felt so so vulnerable and alone in this dark box. You looked away from the screen.

It felt like you’d been panting and squirming for hours before you feel the first touch. It makes you squeak. Body tense. A rough, growl-like laugh in your ear. The box had speakers? A hand squeezes the base of your tail, sending a harsh jolt through you. It wasn’t exactly painful. It felt good, electric pleasure running up your spine and sending you shaking. You stare up at the screen, looking at the absolutely massive clawed hand grabbing at your tail. It was weirdly smooth, an blue-tinted black that contrasted with the man’s white suit. His body would’ve covered the camera if it hadn’t been for the weird angle it was placed at. He’s huge, maybe double your size. There’s a long cape covering his back, the same colour of his skin. The next touch surprises you, a gentle graze of his claws along your hip bone. You shiver. His hands feel cold, and kind of humid.

His hands move, squeezing at your waist in a bruising grip. His thumbs rest against the small of your back, tips of his claws sinking slightly into your spine. He seems to be feeling out the strength of your body. His large hands drag down your skin, his left one pulling your thighs apart as the right one cups at your sex. You flinch hard and he steadies your body with a mean hand on your side. You let out a cry at the touches, so overly sensitive from the lack of stimulation for so many years. He rubs harshly against the underside of your sex, ignoring your weak cries and muffled moans. A soft, blunt force presses against your hole, making you tense up. What you think is lube drips down the toy over your taint, and covers your thighs. It’s most likely one of the offered sex toys. You doubt he’d shove his claws into you. You hope he won’t shove his claws into you. You open your eyes, struggling, and stare at the screen. Looking at the small looking dildo press against your hole. The toy presses more and more insistently against you, until your hole opens up against the insistence. It feels- good. It makes your eyes roll into the back of your head as you come. It’s so sudden, the sudden orgasm that just having this small dildo penetrate you is giving you. Your body goes limp, and the man takes advantage of it. He leans down, and you can see him more clearly. He’s got a mutation quirk. An Orca quirk. No wonder he was so huge. He opens his mouth and lets out a long, broad tongue lap at your skin. The wet muscle drags down towards your entrance, where the dildo is being move slowly forward and backwards. The dildo stops, and you feel the blunt edge of the tongue push in alongside it. You scream, trying and failing to kick out despite the cuffs keeping your legs in place. Closing your thighs does nothing but annoy the man, and make him digs his claws into the soft fat of your thighs to keep them apart. You sob, damn near writhing in place. It goes on for a while, the new mind-numbing pleasure that makes you come over and over again. The dildos change, getting bigger in size and pulling more intense orgasm out of you.

Then suddenly the newest dildo is pulled out, and something warm and tapered presses against your hole.

You tremble at the feeling. It’s hot, nearly burning. And it feels big despite the pointed tip of it. You pant into the silence of the box, gently pulling at your cuffs. You’re so scared, but… you don’t want to safeword out. This man has made you feel so good, so far. This is just that one step further. The last step.

“Relax, pup.”

It’s the only warning you get. The feeling of his cock slowly and gently forcing you open melts your mind. Your mouth drops open, eyes wide open but rolled to the back of your head. Each gentle push makes you grunt softly, incapable of anything more. It feels unending, the burning hot pressure forcing it’s way inside you. And looking at the screen, you sob. It’s nowhere near half-way in. But he doesn’t seem satisfied in stopping now. Each shallow thrust pushes more and more of his spongy cock inside of you, driving you more and more mindless. You don’t know how long you lay there, legs shaking with effort. But you feel the material of his slacks brush against your skin, and you keen.

“Shh, nearly there.”

A small hum echoes through your body, making you stiffen. You- you can’t move. Can’t push back or away from this stranger’s cock. And yet, you’re not worried at all. Maybe it’s the intense pleasure of feeling his cock reach the deepest parts of yourself, parts you never thought you had. Or maybe he’s just got a special power about him. With a sharp snap of his hips, he sheathes himself completely in you. And you come. His cock presses into every single sweet spot inside of you. You feel spent, more like a fleshlight than a human being at this point. He starts thrusting now, clawed hands back at the dip of your hips. They squeeze you with a bruising hold. Pulling you back and forth on his cock, as much as the cuffs around your wrists and ankles allow him to. The drag drives you insane, slow paced and gentle. You beg, sobbing for more, more. Maybe he can’t hear you, despite the speakers you know they keep outside. Or maybe he’s just ignoring you, relishing in the warm, tight hole that could finally fit him in. Because he keeps the same insanity-inducing pace. His thrusts turn sloppy, pace picking up slightly as he begins chasing his impeding orgasm. It makes you howl, tail smacking hard against his arm. He grabs it, scratching at the base just to feel you come again with the loudest scream you’d ever let out in your life. And he sinks in fully to the hilt, filling you up with warm, thick seed.

You’re floating. Mind completely gone. You can feel the loss of pressure, the empty feeling when he pulls out. But you don’t have the energy to react. To beg him to stay. His come drips down your thighs, covering them in a disgusting manner. Some of it splatters to the floor.

He slips a small business card through the gap in the wall to your side of the box and disappears.

[kanonkitastuff]

Sometimes asking friends to beta PWP is just like, "Do you want to see... the smut? The filth? The dirt that I have shaken from my soul? Wouldst thou care to gaze upon this wretched thing with me and tell me if it dost set thy loins aflame as it did mine own?"

And then they're like, "Sure."

And that's real friendship there, man.

[qtipcottonbuds]

u so swag @lovinglyselfish best best best best

[justwolosers]

Reblogging this again because you @writer-and-lover ar ejusr 🥺 LOBE YOU AND O LOVE WHEN HOU SHARE WITH ME IT MAKES ME ALL EEEEEEOSNWK LIKE YES THE TRUST THERE <33 THAY I CSN FEEL COMFRY WJD YOU CSN FREL COMFY

[writer-and-lover]

Behind Bars

Kinktober day 6: Chastity | Frottage. Contains mean reader, cocky Atsumu and the slightest bit of dubcon. Dw, he enjoyed it a lot.

Miya Atsumu. The most arrogant, cocky brat you’re ever meet in your life. Loud and insistent, Miya Atsumu rose to the Black Jackals with determination and too much hubris inside his big, stupid head. It was true, he was definitely from the monster era, his skills as a setter rivalled only by Kageyama Tobio. But that wasn’t good enough for Miya, he just had to make a competition of everything. Cooking with his twin turned into “who can cut the vegetables faster”, simple sets with his teammates turned into “who can do the most sets in the set amount of time” and casual games with your team turned into full blown tournament level matches.

Unfortunately, he was your cocky brat. Fortunately, it meant you could put him in his place.

Waiting for him at the entrance to the building, you frown when you see his self-satisfied smirk. It ticks you off, knowing he’d knowingly cheated to get a chance to win. The sly cunt. But as soon as he got close enough, you wrapped your hand around his wrist and pulled him along with you. Taking him to your apartment. His face pissed you off. Like the cat who got the cream, so goddamn happy with himself.

“I didn’t know y’played so badly, baby,” he purrs. “You need extra training, you were way too distracted.”

“And you need a behaviour adjustment, Miya.”

He flinches and blanches. You only called him Miya when he was in deep, deep trouble.

“Haha… C’mon, pumpkin! Yer not serious, right? It was just a funny little joke, just trynna see where yer head’s at!”

“That isn’t helping your case.”

You shove him into your apartment building, essentially manhandling him all the way to your bedroom. You throw him on the bed, making sure to threaten him into staying still. He’s pouting as you look through your wardrobe, looking through boxes and through clothes. You hum in victory when you find what you need, before making your way back to Atsumu.

“What you got the- mm!”

You interrupt him with a kiss, biting at his lower lip. He’s so easy to break. He melts into your hands like warm butter, opening his mouth obediently for you to shove your tongue into. He sounds so pretty, as you run your hands up his sides and grab a hold of his bright yellow hair. You’re mean to him, biting at his lip and sucking roughly on his tongue. And he eats it up, preening like a goddamn bird with the rough treatment. You wrestle him out of his clothes, and he doesn’t even lift a finger, only taunts you. But he isn’t expecting the cock cage you lock on him. And he fights it. He whines, begs, bribes. But you simply hold him down, a hand bruising his jaw. Licking into his mouth is so easy, he merely moans.

“If you’d been a good boy, I would’ve fucked you in the locker rooms,” you emphasise this with a roll of your hips against Atsumu’s. He whines, bucking his hips hard against yours. You just laugh, as he sniffles. He can only feel the pressure of your hips against his, he can’t feel the delicious friction on his locked little prick. You let out a groan, grinding harder against him, feeling yourself twitch and grow more aroused. You kissed him harder, playing with the belts of his cock cage. He clawed at your back and hips, desperate to feel any sort of pleasure.

“P-please- c’mon. Yer gonna fuck me, right? At least?” His voice is shaky, eyes watery and half-shut.

“Of course not, Miya,” you murmur against his mouth, kissing at the corner, “it wouldn’t be a punishment if you enjoyed it.”

[justwolosers]

me and the miguel/aizawa fics ;;

[writer-and-lover]

Pro-Wrestling Novice

Kinktober day 5: Collaring | Sweat

Also contains handjobs, a kind of submissive Hugo Vega and brief mentions of other characters.

After that first time Hugo and you had play-fought in his little wrestling themed room, you’d made it a habit. Once a week, you’d go out to trivia night and order a charcuterie board for the both of you. Then you’d split the winnings with each other (splitting the discount for fixing your respective cars) and head to Hugo’s house. You’d spend most of the evening talking about anything and everything. You’ve pretty much told him the whole history of the elephantidae evolution tree and the different branches. And you’re sure he’s damn near memorised every single literature book detailing the most famous or underrated artists in each art era. He’d fallen in love with Asian elephants, calling them sweet old buddies so he could watch you smile. You’d fallen in love with Monet’s paintings and how Hugo seemed to be able to analyse every single paint stroke.

As the night went on and Ernest went over to Lucien’s house, you both made your way over into the beloved room. The biggest opening to Hugo’s heart. It was stunning, so much effort and dedication placed into such a dear thing. It brought wonder into your eyes every single time. There was enough space in the middle of the room for you both to play and wrestle as long as you both wanted. Both of you would always end up breathless in laughter, the joy of acting and getting to be so carefree with each other addicting. And it was great to learn so much about the sport, the history of it, the moves. Especially the moves.

Maybe you were just a pervert. Maybe what you felt for Hugo was more than just romance. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind it either, you were both grown men, God’s sake!

But sometimes, just being close to Hugo made you feel hot. Dizzy. It made you feel gross in a way. And these little play sessions- You hate to admit it, but more often than not, you’d hope that you were a braver man. That you could ask Hugo for something more than just these cute dates and more on the lines of bend you over in half. Not that it would be safe. You’re sure your back would snap in half. You’d felt the strength in that man, especially during that one trivia night. The effortless way he’d picked you up from the pure joy of seeing those wrestling tickets.

So maybe when tonight you chose to wear something different with the excuse of having accompanied Matt’s young friend to a concert beforehand, you actually had less innocent intentions in mind. You’d asked Mary, rather shyly, what the best way to hint at a man into having… “relations” would be. Her suggestion, pretty crude if you may say so yourself, was essentially to throw yourself naked at him to finally “get a good fuck.” You then went to find Matt, and beg for his more sane advice. His good advice.

Which led you to tonight. Dressed up in tight, glossy, black leather pants and a black muscle hoodie. And a collar around your neck. It had been a very last minute addition, a sudden find that Matt had insisted you wore. Something about having known Hugo for long enough to know he’d like the look of it. You didn’t understand what would be so appealing about a collar, but you trusted Matt’s judgement. With a simple ring in the middle and about eight evenly placed d-rings, the collar seemed to you to be pretty basic. Something simple you’d bought when you were younger and stupider. The buckles and spikes were a plus, adding to your obvious punk/ska aesthetic. Cute. The whole outfit was simple enough to seem legit. Plus, you had promised to take Pablo. So it wasn’t an actual lie. But there had been no need for it.

With excited encouragement from Mary, Matt and Pablo, you made your way with Matt to the trivia night. To Hugo.

Hugo’s reaction had sent nerves through you at first. His wide eyes had been the first thing you’d noticed. The second being the way his back straightened more than it already had. It had felt almost like that first date you’d both gone to. His eyes never strayed from you, even as you both answered questions where you could. But every time you looked back at him, he looked away in such a cute, bashful way. He didn’t seem to eat a lot either, nearly half of the board being eaten by you. You’d have eaten more if it hadn’t been due to your nerves.

The walk back to his house had been fun, at least. Hugo’s nervous rushed speaking made you less anxious, ironically. You loved teasing him, playfully.

But when you got to the house, everything seemed to ease slowly. Maybe it was the familiar environment, or the many number of distractions. But Hugo eased considerably. Just like always, you both talked and talked and talked. Of silly little nothings, of the compositions of stars and how music could be translated into it. Until Ernest bravely stomped down the stairs and out the front door, with a simple goodbye wave.

The tension hit like a train. Hugo nervously grinned and guided you back to his wrestling room. You did your best to crack jokes once you got there, doing silly little stretches to make Hugo relax again. But Hugo seemed so distracted, gaze averted somewhere on you. But you paid it no mind. Once you deemed yourself sufficiently warmed up and stretched, you bounced on the balls of your feet.

“C’mon, J.D Slamminger. Show me some new moves!”

Hugo laughed, “you think you can handle the power of literature?”

And so the playfighting begins.

It lasts a long time, grunts and laughter filling the room at each others theatrics. But at some point, you realise that this is very quickly turning from innocent to a bit sexual. Hugo’s shirt is bunched up around his waist, the first few buttons having popped off after a particularly hard tug from you. His pants are riding low on his hips, giving you a sneaky glimpse to the edge of his underwear. You’d always noticed that Hugo seemed to have a very good amount of body hair. Now, it’s glaringly obvious. His chest and stomach are covered in the thick, dark strands. And he’s got a very unholy happy trail disappearing into the waistline of his trousers, and you really can’t help but wonder. Where else does he have this much hair? You’re both sweating gallons. But your eyes trace the way sweat drips down his neck and clings to his skin, to his chest hair-

He takes advantage of your distraction and lunges at you. It’s so damn sudden, that you can only yell as your world turns upside down in the matter of seconds. When you blink away the black spots in your vision, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Hugo’s face is right in front of yours, a crooked smile and effort squinted eyes staring at you in such pure innocent joy. His face is flushed, hair messy and matted down from the sweat pouring down his face. He’s pinning you down with all his weight, making you grunt. He’s incredibly good at this game, smart to see where you could definitely break out of the hold. You’re essentially half-pushed up against the wall, upper back resting against the cold material. His knees pin your hands to the floor, preventing you from pushing him off. But worst of all, he’s got your legs pinned right to your shoulders. Hell- you didn’t think you were still capable of bending like this, although your back is complaining. His hands are pushing up against the back of your knees, and despite how hard you try to kick off or push back Hugo is just too strong. It’s messing with your head-

“I- uh- don’t think this counts as a pin, Hugo,” you breathe out.

Hugo lights up, “you remembered! No it doesn’t, because your shoulders aren’t touching the floor.”

You tremble slightly in the hold, feeling sweat pour down your neck and gathering at the leather of your collar. Fuck, you must make a sight, your legs essentially framing the collar around your neck. You look up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Then why- are you holding me down like this?”

His smile drops into a look of confusion, until it seems his brain catches up with him. And he seems to choke on his breath, hurriedly dropping your legs and letting you out the pin. He’s wringing his hands, so utterly nervous. Poor guy. You’d comfort him, but you’re still panting for breath on the floor. You let your face hand a bit, and your legs stretch out in front of you. Sweat drips off your face onto the floor in a disgusting puddle.

“L-look, I’m. I’m sorry, really. I hadn’t meant to put you in such an uncomfortable situation and I understand if you’re-”

“Hugo.”

“- mad at me or- or if you don’t want to come back! It was improper of me, to put you in such a weird position-”

“Hugo-”

“- I swear, it won’t happen aga-”

“Hugo!”

His mouth snaps shut, and he stares at you with the guiltiest puppy eyes. You stare back at him, unapologetic and unwavering.

“You know,” you whispered, “I’ve been wanting you to show me how to do a Rana pin.”

You were scared that maybe you’d gone a bit too far, but the look on Hugo’s face is worth the fear. You both know that he isn’t going to be teaching you any moves right now, and you know you wouldn’t be able to learn it anyways. So when comes back to kneel in front of you again, you’re expecting the tentative hands skimming over your skin. The touch is so soft, it sends subconscious shivers up your skin. He traces up your sides, rough hands wrapping around your shoulders and brushing up the curve of your neck. They pause at the edge of your collar, slipping two fingers gently under the leather and tugging. You breathe out a gasp, closing your eyes and letting your head drop backwards. His hands are restless but gentle, his right index hooked on the O-ring at the front. Hugo pulls you close by it, shyly bringing you in for a kiss. It’s pretty chaste and simple, until you playfully bite at his lower lip. He huffs, opening his mouth for you to slip your tongue in. The kiss gets deeper and more frantic. Hands clawing at each others clothes, hastily pulling them off each other.

Once you pull Hugo’s shirt off, you can’t help but sink your face into his chest. You nuzzle into it, relishing in the softness of his muscle and the scratchiness of his chest hair. He gasps, moving his hands down to squeeze at your sides. You lick at the sweat-addled skin, eyes fluttering at the taste of Hugo. You let out a sigh when Hugo’s hand moves past the waistband of your trousers and gropes at your sex. The whimper he lets out sends you dizzy with want. You’d forgone underwear all together, and you’re sure he can tell. His hand feels good despite how gentle and slow it is, so you buck your hips against it to get more friction. In exchange,, you bite and suck at his chest. Leaving marks that’ll eventually turn into bruises. Your hand sneaks down to Hugo’s formal trousers, unbuttoning them deftly and undoing the fly. You shimmy your own hand into his underwear, wrapping your hand around his dick and giving it a gentle squeeze. And God, he’s so sensitive, whining at the feeling of your dry hand around his dick. The sweat that had accumulated eases the slide a bit, but you still pull back to lick at your hand. It tastes salty, his sweat clinging to your hand. You make sure to let enough spit cover your hand, so when you wrap your hand back around Hugo’s dick it glides much more smoothly than before.

He’s desperate, rocking his hips weakly into your hand as you grind against his. You push your face further down his body, sucking at his nipples harshly and making him cry out. Although you can’t see his cock, you can feel veins wrapping around it as you pump it in the rhythm of his thrusts. It’s thick, enough to keep your fingertips away from each other. It’s a bit longer than average too. Soon, he curls up around you and spills into your hand. Shaking like a leaf ontop of you. You grind harder and harder into his hand. He kisses you, whimpering as he licks into your mouth with desperation. He pulls hard at your collar, thinning your breathing and making you come with a loud cry. You slump back against the wall and, as you stare at each other, you both begin to laugh.

[blushroom-goddess-deactivated20]

fzn picrew

♡ personal, non-commercial use only / ok to use for pfp/references, just leave credit / please don't remove the credit / don't edit or trace

[justwolosers]

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[writer-and-lover]

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[writer-and-lover]

The Demon in My Bed

Day 4 of Kinktober: Terato | Rimming, demon fucking, demon/human, tit sucking, bruising, slight dacryphilia, slight scent kink, balls, cock, foreskin (tw) and fat man 💗💗💗

The whole thing felt like an old fairy-tale, although it definitely made you into the villain. The villain that dragged the little protagonist into his demise, into your bed. Shane had been so sweet recently, now that you had gotten married. Even sweeter, despite knowing that you were a clever little incubi. Trying to reassure you, probably. He was still mean at times, maybe because he knew how much you loved it. That means look on his face. But tonight, you took advantage of that honeymoon period. Shaking off your human cover, letting your human legs fade into the hooves you were more used to. Letting your tail unravel and appear, hooked around Shane’s ankle.

His hands wrapped around your horns, tight enough to hold him up. You trailed your mouth across his throat, pressing big teeth against the gentle pulse of his veins. So tempting. Maybe another day. Your clawed hands couldn’t help but roam Shane’s body. Dragging your claws down his soft sides, before groping into the soft flesh there. You groaned, leaning up from where’d you sank your head down into the juncture of Shane’s neck. His scruffy face was flushed, eyes glassy. You grinned at him.

“Enjoying having a big bad demon in your bed?”

He frowns, pushing your face away. “Shut up. Either make me feel good or get out my bed.” He winces at that, but you just laugh sharply, eyes darker.

“As you wish.”

You bow your back, face sinking into Shane’s fat pecs. The squeak he lets out is undignified and so is the face he makes once he feels your hot mouth round his nipple. The soft moans are littered with curses, as you suck and bite at the sensitive skin. You swap sides, giving Shane’s other pec the same attention. You can feel his hips buck and grind against yours, his dick leaking heavily against your skin. You growl happily, leaving his gorgeous fat tits and trailing down his stomach. You grope the soft fat on his stomach, biting at it happily and sucking each part of his skin. You lick up his stomach, from the very bottom of it right up to his sternum. Showing off, to him. Your tongue drags heavily against his skin, elongating. The end of it is split, up to a quarter of the way. Each end moving independently. And Shane- his eyes laser focused on it. Eyes wide and face flushed a deep deep scarlet.

“You- fuck- get that thing in me, please-!”

You groan at the mere thought, the mere suggestion. You were fulling expecting to ride this huge man to oblivion, maybe make him cum till he’s shooting blanks. But getting your tongue in him? And for him to ask for it so nicely? It was too good to pass up. You wriggled down the bed, wings fluttering and tail wagging behind you. You made sure to arch your back insanely low, giving Shane an eyeful of what more he could have. His dick, although average in length, is tantalisingly thick and uncircumsized. It makes you drool, seeing the soft beads of precum gather at his tip before leaking over the edge of his foreskin. You dig your tongue into it, wrapping both ends of it round the tip beneath the foreskin and squeezing. It pulls a yell out of him and thick, calloused hands dig into your head, pulling your hair harshly and making you hiss loudly. He sobs, apologizing and grabbing clumps of the bedsheets instead.

You move even lower, mouthing at his heavy balls and running a teasing hint of teeth over the sensitive. It makes him flinch. You laugh. You suck at one of his balls, groaning at the heady taste of musk. You lap at them for a while, ignoring Shane’s pleading and sobs. Slowly and subtly, you let your tongue stretch and reach towards Shane’s hole. As soon as the tip of his tongue touches the rim, he lets out a yell. His hips buck up against your face, forcing you to pin them down. You dig your nails there, letting the sharp tips dig into the skin. You pull your face below Shane’s sack, letting it rest against your face as well as his cock. You press the fat part of your tongue against the tight rim, sending Shane sobbing again.

“Ah- c’mon- you’re so fucking meaaan. Stop teasing me, oh Yoba, please! Stop stop stop.”

You laugh, teeth pressing against Shane’s skin. You let the tips of your tongue spear Shane’s hole, stretching him slowly over it before pulling back and pressing a dirty kiss over his rim. You suck at it gently, grazing teeth into the sensitive skin and listening intently to Shane’s reactions. He’s closed his hands over your wings, making you purr into his hole and wracking more sobs out of him.

A deal with a devil.