#hint hint: greed

[honeysuckle-fic-creator]

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

CODE VEIN II!

[patrik6090]

Hey Patrik you should totally tell me whag the rude thing was im uh. Trustworthy.

HEY!

You don't sound trust worthy!

[applealchemist]

so anyways im starting two P5R x HSR AU's because im so very normal about these games i promise

[bibibbon]

If you look closely, the spots on AFO’s hands look like stigmata, which are wounds that resemble the wounds of Christ when His hands were nailed to the cross, which could be a small detail in his character design hinting at AFO having a God Complex.

Oooh I didn't even think of that interpretation!!! So I did some more digging and I came across this really interesting Reddit post that talks about AFO and how there's a lot of religious imagery with his character (Christian and Buddhist)

Also when you think about it the way that all for one rose to power by taking away other people's quirks and supposedly treating them with kindness in a time where discrimination was high is similar to jesus helping the oppressed.

There's also the fact that AFO has a lot of religious poses or just poses that show him in power.

Honestly I recommend reading the Reddit post I linked above because it talks about this so beautifully.

[marinerainbow]

A while ago, when I got into the NiGHTS fandom, I offered my own take on Selph- or as I called them, Mirrage. However, that was while I was still new to posting about my own headcannons, storytelling and character design (not that I'm an expert now). Looking back, I don't like how I made the post or described Mirrage's design too much. So here is my reprised post about;

Selph Mirrage the Forgotten

Story

As we all know, Wizeman was not from the world of dreams. A human with an evil heart trapped in a world where creation is life, it was only inevitable what he'd choose to do. However, as a human who didn't hold any one of the ideya, Wizeman needed to find a way to gain more power. Enough to overthrow the guardians and the firsts and create his own empire. The only thing he could do was to use his own black heart to create a whole new entity. One that would obey his command alone, and could deliver him the essence of the people of the night dimension.

That was the cycle that Mirrage was born. The first false nightmaren.

Mirrage was as cunning and cruel as Wizeman himself was. Perhaps even more so. Being created from greed for power and an insatiable lust, the porcelain nightmaren used their power of reflection and their various abilities to destroy all that were obstacles in their masters path. They had to start little by little, feasting on little pixies and beasts before they were strong enough to destroy a guardian. Every defeat, they would give Wizeman the essence of the fallen, and he would grow more unrecognizable and twisted. Though it never seemed to bother Mirrage, and they continued to do as they were told. Until, one fateful cycle, Wizeman became the tyrant we all know, and was able to take control of half of the night dimension; Nightmare.

Mirrage was meant to be his right and left hand. His sword and shield. When Wizeman took the throne, he made Mirrage his second in command, and even general to his growing army, giving Mirrage the luxury of a true first-class nightmaren. Though not out of respect. He knew Mirrage had to have the same desires he held, being born from his own heart. So this was meant to placate the mirror 'maren, until he could find a way to either break Mirrage down or destroy them.

His suspicions were correct, as Mirrage had never been truly loyal to the tyrant. Not even at the beginning. Every celestial and lunar they killed, they took some of the guardians' power for themselves, which prompted them to believe that not only Wizeman wasn't as powerful as he thought, but they could overthrow him themselves and take what they believed was rightfully theirs. After so long of playing the thankless servant, they were ready to face their creator.

However, they had vastly underestimated Wizeman. Not only had he beat them down, but he had prepared their prison for them by now, too; trapping them in the very mirror labyrinth they had created to lure in and confuse their victims- visitor and dream being alike. Stripped of their status and slowly being forgotten in the night dimension, Wizeman believed that Mirrage would never be an issue for him again... Though there was one thing that Mirrage never told him about their little nightmare.

They had found a way to connect their labyrinth with the reflection realm. They were able to travel throughout all of the night dimension, but only through looking glasses, bodies of water, polished metal, and anything else that held a reflective surface. They were not a part of Nightmare or Nightopia; they could only peer into the world that they once called their land, watching time and people pass by and experience everything they took for granted. While they were cursed to only watch.

And all it did was fuel their rage and vendetta against their prisoner. The cycle that they break free will be the cycle that everyone will be reminded of why they are the greatest nightmare to have ever lived.

Character Design

Mirrages appearance hasn't changed much. This is more or less redoing their suit, as well as a few touches.

Starting with their natural appearance, Mirrage is a nightmaren made out of porcelain and is as white as snow. If you touch them, they feel cool and smooth like a doll. However, their body and 'skin' move like they were made of flesh and blood; there are no visible joints connecting their limbs together. When hit, they crack and can even shatter, though they can always magically repair themselves. They're tall, around 7'9 to be exact, and have a very slim and androgynous body type. Though they can change it if so desired. I'm debating whether they have claws, or finger armor like the picture beneath. Maybe both?

Their eyes are rather unique. At least compared to the other nightmaren we've seen. They have a sapphire blue sclera and a bright yellow iris, and the white pupils are in the shape of a four pointed star. They painted their bottom lip gold and they have cat eye lashes, but that's the extent of their makeup on a normal day. They also do not possess a nose or ears like the other nightmaren, but could easily form themselves those features if desired.

Their cowl/horns extend outwardly and down the sides of their head and curve inward, as if framing their face like a mirrorframe. The cowl is midnight blue, with bright yellow stripes going down the horns and silver borders on both sides of all the stripes. I'm considering maybe a silver fleur swirl design within the yellow and connecting to the silver borders as well, though I'm not sure yet. Also, they have golden caps at the tips of their horns with tear drop shaped jewels attached, acting somewhat like earrings. What color they are, I'm currently debating with my friend Marshmallow. I'll be sure to touch up on this post later.

Their outfit I struggled the most with. I'm not the best at designing clothes, but I think I got it. I took inspiration from Balan from Balan Wonderworld and Jareth from Labyrinth. They have a seamless full body suit that is a sparkling midnight blue, with a lacey ivory cravat and frilled cuffs and chained golden buttons lining the breast. The legs of the body suit turn black in an ombre effect and connect to their sharp, black high heels with silver bottoms. The suit tail is a cut in a sharp V shape and reaches down to just a few inches below the knee. And pinned to their cravat is an oval shaped brooch with the same jewel their cowl jewelery is made of. Again, I'll come back to this later.

And finally, their voice. They technically can have any voice they want and can mimic anybody perfectly. However, they have two true voices that they like to switch between at a whim. Their feminine voice claim is Bayonetta from the game by the same name, and their masculine voice claim is the eel from Padak.

Tid-Bits

Their insides are an inky, coagulated mess. If you can strike hard enough, the black goo will drip out of the crevices. You can see a hint to what lies beneath when they open their mouth; it looks just like a black mamba, aside from their perfectly pearly white fangs- that are also porcelain.

They do have a staff. It was taken from them when they were banished, but they'll be able to summon it again once they are free. It is a gold and blue striped staff with a crystal ball balanced within a bejeweled golden hoop at the top. They can extend it long enough to walk with it, or shorten it to the length of a scepter.

Although while they're peering into the night dimension they can't touch anything, they still hold some power in their nightmare realm. If you meet them in the labyrinth, you'll find that their reflection could touch or grab yours, or any other object with you, without physically making contact.

Mirrage is a manipulative silver tongued snake, using whatever trick up their sleeve to gain the upper hand. They'll strike deals, make false promises, intimidate, anything. And they'll find a way to use your own words against you, so you better watch what you say around them.

Being created from a human heart, Mirrage is not a stranger to human desires. Not just for materialistic things, but even companionship. You could use this against them, but only if you plan your cards right. As a trickster, they can recognize a poorly thought out ploy attempting to be played on them, but they did also fail to overthrow Wizeman. Remember that. Just don't remind them that.

Being able to travel mostly unnoticed throughout the night dimension, they know many many secrets. I wouldn't recommend making your confessions near a lake or in front of your vanity if you wish for them to be unheard.

As you might have guessed, they use they/them pronouns and can easily change their appearance if they want to look more feminine or masculine. They don't know the meaning of 'cisgender'. They are whatever they like to be.

Since they aided Wizeman in the genocide of the guardians, that makes them and my OC Prism comnected... I may or may not be planning something with this.

Mirrage both respects and envies NiGHTS. They rebelled while still keeping their freedom. And Mirrage knows that that courage ideya shard must have something to do with NiGHTS turning on Wizeman. They think it might even save them from their prison. The trick however, is luring the little rapscallion into their realm in the first place.

When Wizeman finally falls and Reala takes the throne, Mirrage will present themselves to him, offering to help him become a better ruler in exchange for their status back... Though I'm certain we all know what they must be really planning by now.

Jackle... Is rather entertaining. They sometimes find their way to his guillotine and watch him do whatever he's doing at that moment. As far as they know, the failed first level has no idea about their existence.

The name Mirrage is a pun; combining the word mirror and mirage together to point to their character.

And that's my take two on Selph/Mirrage!! I hope you guys like my take ^^

[gravenravens]

ive been putting off writing this Ling & Greed character analysis essay for like a year, im at least in the note taking portion. i needed to flip thru a couple volumes with them but i got too excited seeing their interactions with others and felt this godly desire to finally start it since i have Oh So Many thoughts about their characters and im tired of them all being inside me. just their parallels alone could take me a day to get all this shit out

[kaitoru]

୨୧. nanami fucking his greedy wife from behind.

doggystyle wasn’t a position you and kento frequented, it felt too raw, too unrestrained for a man who thrived on precision and control in every aspect of his life.

nanami was methodical, even in intimacy his touches calculated, his words deliberate, always ensuring you felt cherished.

but on the rare occasions when the two of you surrendered to this primal rhythm, it was like a dam breaking, unleashing a side of him that was wild, and almost overwhelming.

now, in the dim light of your bedroom, the air was thick with heat and unspoken desire, you were on your hands and knees, the mattress dipping under your weight as nanami positioned himself behind you.

the first thrust was slow, his hands gripping your hips with that trademark restraint.

but as you pushed back against him, greedy for more, something shifted.

the room filled with the sharp, rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin, each movement louder and more desperate than the last.

“fuck,” nanami muttered under his breath, his voice low and strained, a rare crack in his composed facade.

you could feel his gaze on you, intense and focused, as you arched your back, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor.

your ass pushed back, chasing the sensation, urging him to let go.

he noticed, how could he not? your eagerness was undeniable, and it was unraveling him. “slow down,” he said, his tone sharp.

“you’re getting too greedy.” his hand came down on your ass with a firm slap, the sting making you gasp.

you glanced over your shoulder, catching the frown on his face his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, but his eyes burned with something deeper, a mix of exasperation and desire.

“what?” you teased, your voice breathless but defiant. “can’t keep up with me, kento?” his frown deepened, and he leaned forward, one hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck gently but firmly.

“you know i can,” he said, his voice low and controlled, each word measured. “but you’re testing my patience. behave.” you smirked, undeterred, and pushed back against him again, harder.

the sound of your bodies colliding echoed in the room, raw and unapologetic.

nanami let out a sharp exhale, almost a growl, and delivered another slap to your ass, this one sharper, making you yelp.

“i said behave,” he repeated, but there was a tremor in his voice, a sign he was fighting to maintain control.

“make me,” you shot back, your words a challenge you knew he’d rise to.

nanami’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he adjusted his angle, thrusting deeper, more forcefully.

the pace quickened, the loud slaps filling the room like a drumbeat, each one driving you closer to the edge.

“shit, you’re impossible,” he muttered, his voice rougher, the stoic mask slipping as he gave in to the rhythm you’d set.

“you want it this bad? fine. take it.” his words were clipped, but the way his hands guided your movements, the way he matched your greed with his own intensity, told you he was just as lost in it as you were.

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound breaking into a moan as he hit just the right spot. “that’s more like it,” you gasped, your fingers clutching the sheets.

“don’t hold back now, kento.” he didn’t. for every thrust you met, he pushed harder, his control fraying with each passing second.

the room was a symphony of your shared desperation your breathless moans, his low grunts, the relentless slap of skin on skin.

his hand came down again, another sharp smack to your ass, and you felt the heat bloom across your skin. “you’re going to regret pushing me,” he said, his voice a mix of warning and promise, but there was a hint of a smile in it, a rare glimpse of the warmth he reserved just for you.

“or maybe you won’t. you’re too damn stubborn.”

“then stop frowning and give me what i want,” you retorted, your voice teasing despite the strain of pleasure.

you arched further, inviting him to let go completely.

nanami’s response was a deep, rumbling chuckle, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“careful what you ask for,” he said, his tone dangerously soft.

he leaned forward again, his chest brushing against your back, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke.

“you want wild? i’ll give you wild. but don’t complain when you can’t walk tomorrow.” the threat only fueled you, and you pushed back with even more fervor, meeting his thrusts with a greed that made him curse under his breath.

the room was a blur of heat and sound, your connection raw and unfiltered.

nanami’s usual restraint was gone, replaced by a ferocity that matched your own, and as the intensity built, you knew this was why these moments were so rare they were too powerful, too consuming, for either of you to handle often.

when it was over, you collapsed onto the bed, breathless and spent, nanami following suit beside you.

[abbzloves]

Hear me out.

The more we learn about Sylus, the more I think he is still a dragon.

The rumours when MC first comes to the N109 zone saying that he had wings and big teeth? Dragon. Rumours he was celebrating his 90th birthday? Dragon. The way he hordes things and his greed? Dragon. The birthday event saying that he shows his affection and love like a predator and animal? Dragon. He still remembers their past? Dragon. His facial features being sharp, and his inner eye corners? Dragon.

EVEN HIS DAMN VOICE SOUNDS LIKE A GROWL!

Sylus was very clearly abandoned by his family. Too human, but also, not human enough. Never fitting in. Never good enough.

Sylus, however, is loving. He was never provided with enough love or support, so, knowing Sylus, he decided to do the opposite. He learned how much he was hurt in his “past life” and how MC was hurt as well and decided to turn around and show unconditional love. His attachment style is so secure, he’s confident and reliable, he supports the autonomy of those around him that he cares about and never allows them to feel not good enough. He never allows them to feel like they don’t belong.

He never forces himself into her life, after he learns that she truly does not remember him. That she was disgusted by him. He gives her time and space. He allows her to come to him. Though I’m sure his greed makes him want to take all of her time and attention and affection, he resists it. He is even willing to leave her life if she wishes.

Even when she was trying to find the aether core, Sylus knew about her. But he let her come to him first. He let her make that decision. He left breadcrumbs to lead her, Elysium being the prime example. It was her decision. Her choice.

She’s also the one that always initiates the physical affection first. He always allows her to kiss him first, he doesn’t want to make her feel pressure.

If I were to place a bet, he would have built Onychinus as a place where he and mc could belong. Where all of the misfits of the world could feel safe.

He is such a kind person. He is such a green flag. I love him your honour!

Edit: there is more. The Lost Oasis card clearly hinted at him still being a dragon! Especially when MC was doodling him as a wanderer and he added horns and a tail-

[ladyshinga]

When it comes to artistic personification of the deadly sins, Lust is usually the ONLY ONE ever designed to be the OBJECT of the sin rather than the sinner. Greed? They tend to design some one who LOOKS greedy. Sloth? Lazy person. A lot of these design choices kinda reveal how the creator views people in general (wow you made Gluttony or Greed fat, how original, so groundbreaking) but LUST? Lust is usually just… a hot chick. Who makes OTHERS lust but she herself often isn't running around acting inappropriately horny or anything. She's just kinda there. Maybe a bit flirty but otherwise the whole intent is to make the AUDIENCE feel attraction and that's how they associate it with lust. The Greed character won't make the viewer feel greedy but by god with Lust this is all we GOT. (Before you ask, I only half-count the FMA versions of these characters since they had these names but their origins were more complicated than Being Literal Sins)

I want all or nothin' here. Make the personifications ALL like Lust, maybe! Make it so their designs are only hinting at these things but the MAIN THING they can do is make OTHERS feel these things. Greed? He's a crypto guy who can manipulate people into screwing over others for easy cash. Sloth? The dude commenting "lol who cares, no one cares, just chill" at even the most horrible tragedies in the news (We can also change this one to Apathy and throw THAT deadly sin in, I just like that concept as a sin), make Wrath a reactionary podcaster or something. Make them make OTHERS sin.

Or, go the other way, and have them all LOOK like the sinners, and include Lust IN THAT. Just design some gooner who hasn't seen a real woman in six weeks and comments on every selfie they see online judging them for not looking like an anime waifu.

COMMIT TO THE BIT, PEOPLE, this mixed-up message is WEAK

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-seven —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex!!! SEX. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

It is difficult to tell who lifts the mask. You think you start it, then he finishes it with a shove up to his nose.  

Your mouth claims his, ivy to stone. His lips part for your tongue as your arms loop around his shoulders. His fingers dig in your scalp, sharp enough to draw a hiss, while his other arm yanks you closer by the waist, heat searing against your bare skin. It's not a kiss—too unruly for that. His tongue grazes your chin; you taste the edge of his nose. The world narrows to the harsh sound of your breathing, the scrape of your teeth, a tangible truth:

You want him, too. 

He pulls back with one great heave of breath just after the tear on your lip is reopened. A strand of pink-tinted saliva connects you. His eyes search your face, hesitation flickering in his gaze. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I clearly just did.”

His jaw tightens. “I need words. Tell me you understand what you—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, voice trembling with a mix of frustration and need. “Don’t act like I can’t make my own decisions. Like I can’t handle you.” Rising on your toes, you bite his lip, hard enough to draw a matching drop of blood. “I’ve handled you before—Simon."

A shudder wrenches his shoulders. Your words rip a growl from his throat, snapping the last of his restraint. His kiss devours you, raw and unforgiving, until everything else fades to red. Not blood, but something else, something you’ve kept hidden for longer than you care to admit. It burns in your chest—the terrifying realization that you might break if you don’t have him here and now.

His grip on your hair shifts to your thigh, lifting you with ease. Tree bark bites into your spine. You trail clumsy kisses down his jaw to the hollow below his ear, ankles locking around his waist, dragging up his shirt. The metal buckle of his belt presses where you ache, the friction drawing a sharp gasp. Even through the layers, he feels impossibly thick.

He forces your neck to the side, mouth sucking down your throat to your collarbone with urgent deliberation, as if he wants to memorize every inch but realizes neither of you possess the patience for it. He licks, then bites, the pain making your hips angle in upward seeking. Your reaction pulls a smirk from him. His teeth and tongue glide lower, and he hikes your damp bra up to expose your breasts.

"Fucking hell." A guttural exhale before hand and mouth devours them.

Thought evaporates as your chest turns sheen with spit. You thrash against the tree, nipple caught between his teeth. He teases it with a graze, then sinks in. Heat punches the pit of your stomach with a ferocity that makes you cry out. You claw at the back of his mask.

"I need...I need—more."

He groans, low, staving the bite mark with his tongue. This time when he rolls the other nipple between teeth, it is in combination with two fingers slipping under your underwear. The muscles in your thigh jerk. A rough finger grinds circles into your clit, and another glides through the wet seam of you. It is impossible not to fight for more. Delirious with greed, you cant your hips down to slip his middle finger inside. 

He takes the hint and works a second finger into you. Your legs tighten around him in unending tremors that must make keeping his arm between your bodies uncomfortable, his wrist straining to reach you. Arousal leaks steadily onto his hand as his fingers pump faster. You turn less vocal now that you're close, vision failing you, and he tongues at the shell of your ear with a growl.

"I'm not going to fuck you until you cum."

"I'm—"

Strong fingertips curl into the sensitive pad within you, coaxing an orgasm much stronger than the one you gave yourself. It beats through your blood in hot bursts, robbing you of the ability to keep your head up. You lean onto his shoulder, feeling it flex as he fucks his fingers once, twice, then three more times before drawing them out. Through the haze, you hear the drag of his tongue over them and then a soft wet release.

"You will give me more of that."

A flush consumes your face. Your lips part to speak, but you can't—

"What happened to my mouthy girl?" he taunts in a murmur.

His tone snaps the world into focus. "She's here."

"I thought she could handle me."

You lift your head to narrow your gaze at his, despising the tick in his brow. "You are insufferable."

"Ah. There she is. I was worried I lost her."

The striking awareness that you are almost naked, while he is fully clothed head-to-toe, suddenly irritates you. You curl your fingers around the fabric bunched by his ear.

"Take this off. I've already seen you. It's pointless now."

"You'll have to take it off yourself."

You’re about to move when he pins your wrist to the tree, then the other. A silent challenge. You squirm, but it only drags the belt across your sensitive cunt, making you hiss. You've been here before—restrained by him. But this time, his weakness is clear, a heavy, undeniable pressure pressing against you.

After wetting your lips, you nudge your nose against his and kiss the taste of yourself from his mouth with slow, ribbing strokes of your tongue. The change in pace makes him sigh into you. You give a teasing swirl of your hips, grinding into him, staggering his breath. When he moves again, pressing for relief at the juncture of your hip and thigh, you still your movements, leaving him hanging.

A growl vibrates in his chest and he squeezes your wrists. On his next attempt, you swiftly unlock your ankle and jab your knee into his ribs.

He flinches, but doesn't loosen his grip, laughing softly. "A valiant attempt," he mutters.

"Shut up," you mumble, breath huffing out of you.

"Was that your entire plan?"

"I'm not fucking you until it's off, you know."

"Make more of an effort, then."

Fine.

Your teeth catch on your lip and you offer another shift of your hips. "You are needy for this, too, Simon. Don't act like I am the only one." Your voice comes out hoarse, almost foreign. You move your hips in a steady rhythm, your lips finding the tender skin just above his collarbone. His throat bobs, a quick, instinctive response. "I bet I could make you cum, just like this. You won't even need to be inside me."

It is an experiment, really, but the thundering of his heart confirms your claim. With your panties bunched to the side, your arousal glides over him, staining his jeans. He matches your movements with firm presses at the base of his clothed-cock; he would be fucking you if it weren't for the layers in the way. You taste the pulsing vein beneath your tongue, swirling and nibbling, a smoldering heat blossoming in your stomach once more.

"I touched myself thinking about you," you whisper into his skin, ego swelling when his breath stills, then rushes out from his nose. "My fingers didn't feel nearly as good as yours." You purposely moan, almost a whine and impossibly, he feels harder. Swelling towards release. You nose the underside of his jaw, feeling the temperature of his skin inch higher. "You're going to cum soon, aren't you? I can tell. I haven't even taken off any of your clothes yet and you're going to cum. How does it feel to be weak for me?"

His jowls flex from your words and his hips buck with a mindlessness that makes you smile. The heat between you is obliterating, almost enough to crumble your vengeance. But when he digs his nails into your wrists with a slight tremble, ashen lashes fluttering, you interrupt the moment before he can finish.

You bite the skin where his throat meets his jaw and kick his ribs again. His eyes snap open, his hold faltering. He stumbles back, and you grapple his shoulders, forcing him to the ground. You fall on top of him, knees bracketing his hips, fingers moving swiftly to tear off the mask. You exhale a breath over his nose, lips twitching at the corners.

"Gotcha."

For a few seconds, you merely stare at each other, deer to hunter.

Face to face, truly, for the first time.

His face, flushed red, is even more handsome like this—rugged and scarred, bared at your mercy beneath you. It makes your heart falter over a beat. His hands drag down the notches of your spine before fiercely gripping your hips, never breaking eye contact. Because you’re paying such close attention, you catch it—a sweeping glint in his gaze. Admiration, maybe. Or just lust.

You swallow thickly and give a tug to his shirt.

He rips it over his head.

You finish yanking the damp bra off.

Your underwear is next.

When you're both bare, exposed and raw, jeans bunched awkwardly at his ankles, the game ends. Neither of you are willing to play anymore. His fingers dig into your hips as you grip his cock, heavy and slick with the evidence of the edge he was pulled from. You drag the fat head of him through your folds, just once to make him shudder, before lining him up with your hole and sinking down.

Pain flares. Either because it has been years since you've been stretched like this, or because he is just that thick. You hiss through your teeth and pause halfway down, scratching over the hard plane of his chest in search of relief. You feel him deep already, uncomfortably so, and his touch softens over your skin despite the veins sticking out in his neck.

"Take it slow."

"I can handle it."

"It's alright if you can't," his voice softens over the gravel in it.

"I can."

Stubbornly, you take another centimeter, then another, before slamming all the way down, the full length of him breaking through the last layer of resistance until you are fully seated. The press of his fingers into your ass is as rough as the exhale that follows. You feel him twitch within you, his balls heavy and tight, but he allows you the time to adjust, slowly rocking your hips until the discomfort teeters toward pleasure.

He is so big that the tip of him reaches a crevice between your inner wall and cervix. When your pace quickens, the pressure of his pubic bone on your clit makes your body quake with one fierce tremor. You fail to keep yourself upright, the jolt of it bringing your face to his neck. Strong arms tighten around you, hands pressing firmly against your shoulder blades, holding you anchored to his chest as his hips rise to drive him even deeper. He is in you and around you. All at once. Every inch of grey rot living in you is replaced with damning hunger for him. You swirl and grind and bite his neck, breaking capillaries. 

"That's it, yeah." The raw grit in his voice makes your muscles clench around the base of him. "Take what you need." 

He grips your ass firmly, supporting you as his upward thrusts meet your flesh with echoing smacks. You feel the curls of hair at the base of him, soaked with your arousal, each time you slam back down. When his firm, neatly corded muscles begin to quiver, his movements begin to lose their precision. He is trying to hold back from the ledge you left him on. His hand tangles in your hair, yanking you back from his neck, and his teeth sink into the tender skin below your ear as a distraction. His breaths come hot and quick, cooling the sweat slicking your skin. 

You feel like a conglomerate of broken pieces about to be shattered, every carefully stitched seam straining, ready to snap. Your eyes roll back. Your toes flex and curl. You are so close—

Without warning, and all too soon, he lifts you off. 

"Fuck—"

His cock bobs between your bodies, liquid heat frothing over your stomach in pulses. His eyes are screwed shut, lips parted to let out a noisy rush of air, all of the hardened lines on his face unwoven in the wake of pleasure. You hover over him, blades of grass indented into your knees, watching with silent fascination despite the frustrated fizzle of your own approaching orgasm. When his eyes reopen, they are glazed and unfocused, yet somehow he had more wherewithal to remember pulling out than you did.

Then, he flips you over with a heaving push, cock still hard. You are neatly caged by the sprawl of his muscle, reminded that he easily could've overtaken you before if he wanted to.

"I can go again." It sounds as if he has to dig the words out with great effort, still breathless. 

You reach between your bodies to keep his slippery cock at bay near your thigh. "We can't. It wouldn't be safe after you just—just came."

His lashes flutter in resignation, a firm nod as he dips his head to your collarbones. He rests it there for a moment, likely ignoring the ache in his cock that vies for more attention, and you stare down at the flexing brawn of his back, at the firm swell of his ass. Then he kisses your sternum, over your heart, and sucks his way down the soft curve of your abdomen, gentle, chapped lips against faded bruises.  

When he reaches the raw flesh between your thighs, he lifts your legs and urges your feet on his back. His nose nudges your clit, inhaling deeply the scent of where you'd just been joined, and your breath hitches in anticipation. 

He kisses you here, a curious circle of his tongue around your clit that mimics his finger, before sliding through the slippery seam. When you fist his hair and dig your heels into his shoulders, his gentleness ceases. He closes his entire mouth on you, working furiously to reignite the heat from your spine, which arches off the ground in desperation, driving your puffy cunt harder against the pad of muscle. You grind your hips in combination with pulling on his hair, keeping his tongue right where you need it. It strokes your hole, pushing in and out.

"That's so good, Ghost. So good. I'm—"

You cum hard on his tongue, free hand fisting the grass. It is less of a precipice that you fall off of, and more a crashing wave, like the one you nearly drowned in, but this time you let it sweep you, searing white through the backs of your eyelids. He keeps his tongue there to catch the leakage with an obscenely wet sound you barely hear over the ringing in your ears. By the time it fades, you feel wrecked, spit out on the shore, your mind blank. The wave recedes. 

You hear a soft grunt and then his forehead drops on your sticky belly. The tremor in his shoulders indicates his own release, which he emptied in the grass.

You lay together like this for minutes, recovering your breath.

Fingers against his scalp.

Staring at the sky.

It’s as if you’re drifting through a dream, aware only of the heavy thrum of your heartbeat and the measured breathing of the person nestled between your legs.

Finally, awareness seeps in as the sound of fluttering birds and the quiet ripples over the creak. 

The hum of life returns around you. You'd almost forgotten where you were or how you got here. How long has it been? Your fingers slacken in his hair as you gaze around, the silent trees your only witness, and the sun beginning to dip toward the horizon. The understanding sinks in that you are both absent, and returning together at dark would—

The thought is tucked away when strong arms lift you up, scooping under the crook of your knees.

He is able to walk steadily even when you aren't certain you could.

He carries the mess of your body to the water. The peaceful warmth of it converges over you, highlighting the soreness that you were able to ignore in the throes of it all. Wordlessly, and with a thoughtful crease between his brow, he holds you up with one arm while scrubbing your stomach with the other, rinsing off his essence. It is not an uncomfortable silence, just a thick one, only broken by little drips of water as he cleans you with more intent than you did the first time.

You try to piece together everything in your mind, but the thoughts slip through your fingers like the water. You don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling—a stark contrast to the clarity you found in the heat of him only minutes ago. His body has always been the more decipherable part of him, but now even the stiffness in his shoulders feels like a cipher you can’t crack.

When he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your damp hair, it doesn’t feel affectionate, exactly. It’s not distant, either—just tender in a way you’re not sure how to interpret. The gnawing questions fill your brain: When was the last time he did this with someone? How many more times will you do it together? Not just once, he said. But what does that mean?

Why do you feel hesitant to ask, even though you were just brindled with confidence while riding his cock?

You try to wipe his own stomach but he brushes your fingers away and does it himself, nodding his chin toward your clothes. "Get dressed. You'll go first."

"Huh?"

"They think I am scouting up ahead right now. I'll be back later."

"Oh," you say, not able to conjure a meaningful response.

He raises an eyebrow at you but offers nothing else except a gentle thumbing over hair that sticks to your cheek. You follow his directions, returning to the grassy bank while the cool air prickles your wet skin. You feel his heavy stare as he watches you towel off, trying to ignore the obvious marks on your hips, stomach, ass, and collarbones. They taunt you with a blush to your cheeks. Luckily, when you slip on the oversized shirt, the majority of them are concealed, your hair finishing the job of covering your neck.

You've no idea what hour it could be when you return, feigning nonchalance, but the setting sun means Ghost won't be out there much longer. In his absence, you feel colder than the temperature truly is. The deep ache that ebbs and flows with each step proves him right. There is no going back after this. No—you will still be able to feel him, like a phantom, even when the soreness between your legs fades. What you are meant to do about that fact is something you can sort through later when you have the state of mind for it. 

Will you ever have the state of mind for it?

You push the voice away and keep your gaze lowered as you approach Nereida, returning the borrowed soaps. The others are gathered around the fire—Kyle eating, Blue and Ari laughing about something, while Price hunches over the map, finalizing tomorrow’s route.

"Was it relaxing?" she asks.

"Hm?"

You blink, bringing your gaze to her, and only now realizing that it is still rather droopy and blurred, the look in her eyes barely in focus as she tilts her head. "Your bath," she clarifies.

"Oh. Mhm." You nod, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, it was just what I needed. I'm actually, um, rather tired now. I think I will sleep early."

She drags her eyes over you, causing your weight to shift, before she returns the smile. "Sounds like a good idea. Long day tomorrow. You should eat first, though."

"Right," you concede, tongue to cheek.

Ghost returns in the midst of you shoveling beans into your mouth, knees tucked to your chest in front of the flames, and his silence as usual. He reports to Price about the clear motorway, his voice clinical, but you catch the subtle roughness beneath it—something no one else would notice, the only detectable trace of what you shared. What you told Nereida wasn't a lie, you feel robbed of energy, and can hardly muster the strength to tie your dried hair in two braids before tucking yourself in a sleeping bag, staring dazedly at the oncoming stars. 

[ridiriditwoshoes]

I can tell you're making him a good boi but I'd love a hint more of that lil shit eating grin from the middle reference XD They look great though.

Had to doodle more Olimar, he’s living rent free in my head

[mojogojocasahouse]

unexpected visitor

jiyan x f!reader

Jiyan sneaks home to your bed in desperate need of a soft touch and sleep

c: NSFW 18+ only, smut, oral f-receiving, creampie, tacet marks are sensitive I don't make the rules, not beta'd

He slips in like a whisper, an unexpected secret cradled by the black of night. At first, you mistake him for the rustling of a rabbit outside the window and a burst of wind swirling beneath the clear moon, but then there was the clanking of metal buckles and the rustling of heavy robes falling to the floor. There was only one source of those sounds.

Jiyan.

Two weeks had passed since he’d left, and according to him, he was supposed to have been gone for much longer. Now, the mattress is dipping as he falls into bed behind you, a strong, warm arm circling your middle and pulling you flush against a broad, muscled chest, lips pressing to the curve of your neck.

“You’re home early,” you whisper, reaching back and threading your fingers through long, teal hair.

“Only for tonight,” he sighs, nuzzling his nose to the hollow behind your ear, “No one knows I’m away. I’ll have to leave before first light.”

“And what will you tell them?” you ask with a mischievous lilt.

“That I needed to sleep.”

Those words have you turning, his piercing gold eyes meeting yours and pleading for what only you can give him. He’s always said he can only sleep here, in the sanctuary of your bed. He doesn’t even have a home of his own anymore, it’s a tent on the front lines or this small cottage in the village. He has little in the way of belongings, but he leaves hints of himself around that you find and smile fondly at. Though nothing compares to the sight of him basking in white light, gazing at you as if you hung those very stars in the sky.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you soothe, brushing his bangs from his eyes. You already know the answer, but still, you ask every time in case he changes his mind.

“No.” It’s a polite but curt response, “You need not hear of the troubles of war.”

“But you’re troubles–”

“Are mine to bear.”

That will be the end of that discussion, as it always is. With a sigh, you cup the back of his head and pull him in, his lips so gentle and cautious as you welcome him home even if it is only for a moment. It’s your tongue that asks for entrance first, sliding along his bottom lip slowly, and he opens with a sigh. Large hands pull you in closer, your leg winding around his waist and you can feel his erection pressing against your thinly clothed slit. He’s opted to sleep with nothing on, as usual, and you curse the thin shorts you’d decided to wear. The grip he has on your side is hard enough to bruise, and you hope he has every intention of making sure you feel him tomorrow when you wake up in the bed alone almost as if he’d never come. Like this was all a fever dream. You’re still not sure if it is.

The tips of your fingers gently trace the Tacet Mark on his upper spine, his breath hitching as he flips you to your back. He kisses you like a man starved, nipping and licking into your mouth with greed and gluttony, his hips pulsing into your damp center as he slowly begins to lose that steadfast composure he holds so dear. You want him to lose it, too. He deserves to take for once, and you’ll let him bleed you dry.

As your teeth bite down onto his lower lip, he groans, taking one last parting peck before sliding down your body. The shirt you’re wearing is torn down the middle, and he latches onto one of your stiffened buds, his hands moving to cradle your other breast as if he hasn’t touched anything soft in weeks. His touch is so reverent and desperate that you’re whimpering as his tongue swirls and lips purse, your hands tangled in his locks as he descends lower, pecking a trail down your stomach until he’s pulling your shorts and panties off in one quick tug. 

Mingling moans echo off the walls as he locks onto your clit, your back arching off the bed as he suckles hard, worrying it between his lips before lapping at your soaked slit. You know you’re soaked, your inner thighs wet with what has already leaked free, and he takes it upon himself to not miss a single drop. As he’s tasting the sweetness sticking to your legs, you spread them further, inviting him back to bury his tongue in your cunt. And he does, happily, pulling you so tightly down onto his face you’re not sure he can breathe.

Muffled grunts and hums of bliss rumble deep in his throat, the vibration enough to have you keening in his hold. His talented mouth alternates between teasing your swollen bundle of nerves and enjoying the nectars of his labor, his face smeared and glistening every time he comes up for air. You want more, but you don’t dare stop him. If this is what he needs, this is what he can have, all you can do is scrape your nails soothingly against his scalp and try to quiet the roiling storm building in your belly. 

He’s waiting for you to come, you know that, but still, you try and stop the balloon threatening to burst. The sooner this is the over the sooner he’s gone again. And while you feign bravery and understanding of his long, frequent absences, deep down it breaks you every day to walk around town and see the couples together doing mundane tasks. They’re shopping, enjoying a meal, laughing and walking, and you’re…alone. You sacrifice the one you love so they can have this life, and while you’ve come to peace with this, no part of you has convinced you that you have to like it.

When he adds a finger, then two, you’re pulling his mouth back to your core by his hair, his smile stretched across your skin as the tip of his tongue prods so skillfully.

“That’s it,” he praises, “That’s what I want. Let me have it, baby.”

All he ever has to do is ask. Your orgasm washes over you gently like the waves on the shore, nowhere near as explosive as you’d been expecting, but you assume that was his intention. He knew you well enough to have discovered which of his ministrations caused which reaction and now he was almost tactile. It’s a little unfair.

No time is wasted, you’ve barely registered the end of your descent into the clouds and you can feel the soft head of his cock pushing into your cunt, your slippery walls giving no resistance as he bottoms out. He gives you a moment to adjust, taking advantage of your parted, panting lips to drag you into a messy kiss you can taste yourself on. You’ve missed the way he feels stuffed inside of you, bullying its way into a space too tight to accommodate his length and girth, but the burn subsides quickly and you let him know with a quick roll of your hips to urge him on.

The course hairs at his base are already soaked with your arousal as he begins to snap his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping and breathy moans like a forbidden song drifting off into the night. His forehead is pressed to yours, the only air you can breathe is each other’s, and he entwines his fingers with yours and pins your hands to either side of your head, opening you up to his new, brutal pace. He can’t help himself, he’s long gone, drowning in the way your pussy clamps down around him every time he lets a whine slip out. You’d think he’d have learned by now and let his blissed sounds free, but he hasn’t. Maybe he never will.

“Jiyan,” you mewl, gripping him so tightly your knuckles turn white, “harder.”

It’s like something snaps, with a groan, he pushes himself up to sit on his knees, his hands claiming your waist as his hips begin to piston so hard his hold is the only thing keeping you in place. Your tits bouncing wildly hold his gaze as you cry out loud enough for anyone in the surrounding area to hear.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, regret in his voice because he can’t do it himself, “Come on my cock.”

Your two middle fingers dive to rub frantic circles on your clit, but you’re unable to focus as you dip your touch down to feel where he’s mercilessly thrusting into your hole. You can feel how stretched you are, how swollen, you’re moments away from release.

“Come with me,” you beg, your nails scraping down the firm dips and swells of his stomach, “Come with me, please.”

He looks wrecked as he lets himself lose control. His head falls back, his hair splaying across his shoulders, long enough to have the ends dancing over your skin. The way he glistens with sweat makes him look damn near ethereal, with green markings accentuating his clenched jaw as he tries to draw out what he knows is coming to an end. 

The molten pleasure boiling in your belly finally spills over, running through your veins until every muscle is tensed in anticipation and then released with a shrieking cry, his feral snarl joining you as he spurts hot, thick ropes of cum into your cunt. 

It’s a moment of stillness as you both catch your breath, his grip loosening as he fucks his seed deeper, enjoying how easily his softening cock slips through your channel. You’re so sensitive it almost hurts, but you’re not ready to lose the weight and stretch of him inside of you just yet.

“You need to sleep, my love,” you coo as he pulls out, immediately walking off to get a warm cloth to clean you with.

“Mm,” he hums, wiping what’s leaking from your fucked out hole, “In a moment.”

When he curls up behind you, there’s no stopping how you turn and bury yourself in his chest. It’ll be harder this way when he has to leave, but you haven’t heard the steady beating of his heart in too long. He chuckles as he wraps you up tightly, tucking your head beneath his chin, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your bruised hip. 

It’ll be just a few hours, and as much as you want to stay awake and relish in this rare time, you can’t. Sleep finds you easily swaddled in his arms, the faint arid, earthy smell of him the most comforting scent. When you wake, you’re alone, not that you expected anything different. However, one thing that wasn’t there the night before catches your eye–a single Pecok flower in a vase.

A promise to return home.

[faestunna]

WHAT IF…Remmick listened to you sing?

PAIRING: remmick x singer!reader

WC: 619

WARNINGS: fluff if you squint, mentions of death, sexual insinuation/language, fantasizing

A/N: this is the gif i was hunting for, this little smile has me WEAK. ty to my wifey @eternalstrigoii for hyping me up on this 🫶🏻 this would def be a one shot if i wasn’t on vacation so enjoy this tiny blurb!

masterlist

Despite his hunt for the power to see his ancestors, Remmick truly loves music. He loves to hear it live, through the radio, or on a record. And don’t ask him which kind he prefers. He’ll always have a soft spot for the jigs and sean-nós of his home, but he admires almost any genre.

He’s strolling the woods at night when he hears a gentle tune playing in the wind. But it’s different from the song of a filidh.

He finds that it doesn’t leave him with a greed for more—just a simple curiosity as to who could possibly be singing so beautifully. He approaches the iron-fence of a cemetery, and the sound grows stronger. He can’t even control his own footsteps as he enters.

The whispery fog swallows him whole as he follows the sound. It isn’t long before he can slowly make out the words and the gentle strum of a guitar.

Lay me down ’neath the willow tree,

Where the wind don’t cry and the crows don’t see

Your voice brushes past the tombstones like a breeze. Then, he spots the source of the song. You, in a long white nightgown looking nearly like a ghost, sit by the edge of an old stone fountain. You don’t notice Remmick as he watches from afar while you continue your ballad.

They buried your name in the dirt and stone,

But I know your hands, I knew your bones.

Sleep don’t come when the heart still aches—

So I sing to hush what the silence takes.

He wonders who you’re singing about. A lover? A sibling? Grief runs deep within the sound of your voice; Remmick knows that feeling well. But you don’t appear to be sad.

His feet begin to carry him away from behind a gravestone, slowly approaching where you sang. You notice a figure in the corner of your eye, but you didn’t glance or gasp. As if you were used to the creatures that haunted the night.

Come ‘round, love, if you still roam—

The gate swings wide and the night’s your home.

Don’t need a light if you hear my song…

Follow it low, you’ve been gone too long.

Once you finish, your fingers settling on the side of the guitar, you take a deep breath to begin again. He stands a few feet away from you now, and your eyes finally meet his.

“Evenin’, Miss.” Remmick nods, stopping in his tracks once he’s across from you. “That’s a lovely voice you’ve got.”

You smile gratefully, but there’s a hint of sorrow in your eyes. “Thank you, sir.” You look down at the guitar in your arms, and Remmick’s takes the chance to notice how your nightgown draped over your chest so perfectly.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s seen a ghost. “That your song?”

“Wrote it myself,” you hum.

“Pretty voice like that,” Remmick stepped a little closer, his hands casually in his pockets. “Shouldn’t be hidden.”

When your eyes flutter up to him, he swoons, far too weak in the knees than any girl had ever made him before. He lets his mind wander then…

How wide your eyes would go from just his lips over your cunt. How your mouth would drop open once he licked, or how your hands would pull his hair if he devoured you. Remmick imagined the sweet sound you’d make, maybe even a few tears would slip down your cheek from the stretch of his cock inside you.

There’s a hint of hesitance in your eyes. Fair enough. It was smart for a girl as beautiful as you to be cautious at a stranger in the dark….though Remmick didn’t plan on being a stranger for very long.

“I don’t often sing for a crowd,” you say slowly.

“Just the ghosts?” He teases, and he doesn’t expect you to answer. “Why don’t you sing for me?”

How delicious your pleasure would taste around him, how softly your tongue would lap it up. How you’d shake as he dragged the blades of his teeth across your neck. He doesn’t even want your blood to satiate his hunger.

He just wants to be inside you as much as possible.

Make music with me, sweet lamb. He thinks as you adjust the guitar in your arms, taking a deep breath. His lips curve ever so softly as he tilts his head. His mouth is partially open in awe. I wanna hear you sing.

© faestunna 2025.

[rxmye]

" 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 — pristine and perfect, filled with grace and elegance, yet tainted with greed . . greed for you . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / slight religious themes?, I suppose it's a fictional religion, I'm still world-building / pathetic and submissive yandere / suggestive content? / he paints the reader as a source of comfort / stalking, which is conveniently described as 'adorable' and 'innocent' behavior /

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: ok so the person mentioned is supposed to be the God of this world, their introduction will also be out soon enough . . currently dropping hints here because world-building fun!!

Takamoto was an Arch-angel, one of the highest ranked angels in heaven—he was pure and truly the definition of elegance, he was never greedy, and he was almost always seen smiling or happy. For he, was truly contempt with his life, and position.

Takamoto was always someone who had truly been satisfied with all that he was given, he never craved more—he always thought and frankly believed, that he had received all that he deserved and that he should be contempt with what he has. He never really had any passion or desire for anything more—he was grateful with everything—he believed all his hardships had reasoning behind it, and that it will all eventually be solved. In fact a part of him believed he deserved any hardship he came by.

Many would believe he was naive for that sort of mindset, and many angels did truly believe him to be just that, yet against all odds he rose up the ranks fairly quickly for this sort of mindset, and of course his loyalty to his beliefs. Takamoto was sweet, he'd help everyone out, and would introduce new souls, and angels throughout the lands of heaven on his free time, he'd help guide souls and his fellow angels everywhere he could . . yet things slowly changed when he first met you . .

Takamoto was visiting, what could only be described as the countryside of heaven, with vast green fields, cozy homes, acres of farmland, etc . . He was checking in for this years harvest, as per high courts orders . . when he saw you, you were so graceful, your wings sparkled in the light, you were radiant, you're eyes glimmered as both of your eyes met for a brief moment . . he felt his heart skip a beat. . his face was heating up slightly, his face dusted with shades of bright pink.

His mouth hung slightly open, as his gaze lingered on you figure, taking in the sight—your wings were lovely, much smaller than his . . were you a new soul? Perhaps you were a lower ranked angel and hence why you both never quite met . . He wanted to know more about you—he need to know more about you—where were you going? . . . and before he knew it, he found himself following you, trailing behind you silently.

He found himself frequenting areas he last saw you, it was all so innocent at first, many of his fellow coworkers described him as a young schoolboy in love, teasing him for his oh so adorable behavior . .

Takamoto didn't notice how much you were invading his life, he hadn't even been able to hold a proper sentence with you yet . . . but even then his thoughts consumed of you, whenever he did paperwork, he'd doodle your face, his room was filled with various portraits of you . .

He found himself overtime growing desperate, impure thoughts flooding his mind, greed sinking its claws into his sensitive and naive hurt—he was the utter picture of perfection, just look at him, he was everything an angel . . a human, anyone should be!?!? Why aren't you looking his way!— . . he took deep breaths, his own fingers digging into his skin, as he tried calming himself.

Gold drips from his arm, the bruise left from his fingers still fresh—golden blood stained his pretty pale fingers—pupils dilating as he took deep breaths, a ruined portrait of your face on the aisle, paint splatters surrounded him, tainting his legs, as a mirror lay broken on the floor.

"Fuck", he cussed softly, tears threatening to spill, his usually well-kept hair was a mess . . "why can't I draw them . . ?", he asked, his voice hoarse, as he tried his best to contain the anger he felt at that moment, "why can't I fucking draw them??", his nails dig into the floor, as the door creaked open.

You need to love him, you need to see him. He had never craved someone's validation, he deserved this, he deserved you! He could offer you everything, he was perfect! Everyone he knows, envied that about him . . surely you'd notice, you have too . .

He turned to face the person at the door, tears now dripping down his cheek, he mumbled something under his breath, before he started begging, "Please, please, help me . . my lord"

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[satorurize]

Show me who you are..(p✩rnstar!)

Pornstar au; Sylus and Rafayel + a special bonus at the end <3

Warning: 18+, smut, MDNI, this is self indulgent and pure hornball energy, reader is fem

♡ Sylus

Definitely a solo performer, is infamous for his pov videos. Doesn't show his face since he's also the leader of the Onychinus and revealing his beautiful face would put him in a vulnerable situation.

He's got all the gears, the whips, harnesses, ropes. Soft BDSM was his forte. Initially he only did talk throughs for his massive and largely female audience, his subscriber count soaring through the roof just after his first video. His deep, raspy voice, ripped body and big cock did it for him.

But then, you came along, a captivated fan who sometimes took out time from your busy schedule as a hunter to indulge yourself in his videos, having no idea that it was actually the man you had encountered in the N109 zone. You had a hint, so you weren't too surprised when Sylus obliged to his dear fan to do a video together. He wasn't going to collaborate with anyone else besides you anyway.

He made sure you were blind folded with a lacy fabric which was enough for people to be able to recognise you.

He had you on your knees, hands tied onto your back with a clean knot, your beautiful bare body on display for him and his audience to enjoy.

Sylus dragged the tip of the cane tantalizingly, maybe perhaps with a playful sense of revenge from that one time you had him on his knees.

Your nipples were caressed beneath the leather of the cane, body shuddering at the cool sensation while heat pooled between your legs, you were embarrassingly wet with your inner thighs coated with your nectar.

Seeing a small trickle of your wetness down your thigh, Sylus immediately had an amused expression on his face. A smirk lacing his lips while he rubbed the leather now onto your soaked folds.

"Mh..please..more.." you pleaded in desperation, which was immediately followed by a soft spank with the cane onto your pussy, enough to make you jolt at the impact.

"Please what kitten..? Use your words." You let out a shaky breath at his sterness, it turning you on beyond measure.

"Please..sir.." Sylus was pleased with this switched dynamic, letting out a hum of approval as his fingers replaced the cane. The cacophony of your moans and the squelching from your wetness as he plunged his fingers within your cunt echoed the room.

Your body was worn as the man pulled orgasm and orgasm out of you. The floor a puddle of your juices as he made you squirt, over and over again. His greed really couldn't be satiated.

Some people were clearly envious of this very special guest but majority seemed to enjoy the new addition, the number of subscribers soared for him exponentially.

♡ Rafayel

Famous for his pretty face and passionate fucking. The way he did things in the bedroom were pure fun. Rafayel was providing his subscribers what most people weren't, and that was unadulterated romance between you and him.

The artist that he was, Rafayel shooting porn with you was always cinematic. The lighting, the angles where always set up in a manner that it would make the viewers even appreciate the aesthetics of it.

His sense of humor was incorporated in how he fucked, making his you laugh while he rearranged your guts and while managing to maintain his seductiveness. Took skill for most people, but Rafayel was a natural with his innate ability to be so..magnetic.

Anyone who craved watching "passionate sex", your and Rafayel's channel fit every single parameter of that genre.

Recently, the two of you were recorded a video in his bathtub, titled 'fucking my sweet girlfriend after a long day at work.'

Your back rested against his chest, his warmth merging with yours as he fondled with your breasts, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You giggled as you felt the tip of leaky cock brush against your folds and you decided to toy with him a little, pressing your thumb on his slit, with a glint of mischief in your eyes. A very evident throb passing between your legs when you heard him whimper for you.

That didn't really make you stop, now having your hand pump his length while you had your head turned to have your eyes gazing into his half-lidded ones, hazy with your touch.

It didn't take time for him to switch on you, making you face him with your thighs straddled onto him, with you positioned on top but the one to pull the strings was him, his hand settled onto your waist as you rode him slowly, but sensually. Each vein of his cock discerned against your cloying walls as you made love for the camera, that you forgot even existed.

He always made sure to give you a nice creampie by the end of it, or paint his cum onto your tits as the vision seemed to entice him. His videos were always inclusive of aftercare with him peppering kisses all over your body that appeared like worship. His and your fans always ate it up.

♡ Bonus! Sylus & Rafayel

You don't know what came over you, but you did not expect your beloved lemurian boyfriend to agree sharing you with Sylus for a video. There was some animosity in the beginning between the two, the bantering and both of them unleashing their sass upon each other.

However, all of it was soon wiped away when you were stuffed with Sylus' cock in your walls while your mouth skillfully worked on Rafayel's, hands placed onto his thighs for support. Things were a bit slow and steady at the beginning, neither of them really releasing their inhibitions until you begged them to be rougher.

Rafayel knew you could handle it, observing how well you took the other mans cock. He did feel a sense of pride in the end that you belonged to him.

"She can handle it, look at her..practically soaking your cock." He assured pulling out from your the hot cavern of your mouth. Rafayel leaned down nudging his nose on yours. "You can handle it, can't you cutie..?" You frantically nodded, all sense of shame already left body the moment the duo had you positioned between them on your knees. "Yes I want it..I want it so bad.." Sylus leaned in to plant kisses all over your back, tracing his fingers onto the cleft of your spine before he set a rougher pace as you asked. "Is this to your liking sweetie..?" Your replies only being a string of yeses and honeyed moans before your boyfriend gently guided on his cock again.

The two of them ruined you with pleasure together, leaving you to be a well fucked mess by the end of it.

Let's just say, this video remained too exclusive to be uploaded anywhere.

[urfavstan]

Bodyguard Sylus!—is professional. Painstakingly so. At least that’s what your family believes, and what they don’t know definitely won’t hurt them.

It’s not like you intended to get involved with him. Who plans these things? That’s certainly beyond you.

Regardless, you regret nothing—not when he’s in your bed and the sheets linger with his scent: amber with a hint of vanilla, something you could bask in for hours, tangled limb to limb with him.

Lips locked passionately as the room filled with a thick tension that enveloped you both, his fingers restless and eager to explore the expanse of your body.

Never once had you become so overwhelmed—with need, with greed—not like this.

He was surprisingly tender for his size, careful with every movement, only wanting you to experience the utmost pleasure.

Even in his wildest dreams, nothing could compare to the feeling of being within you.

The days spent with him were filled with endless bliss, a world away from the mundanity that had defined your life before him.