#the high femme reverence for it…..

[campgender]

Jacqueline looked confused. Then she laughed till tears streamed down her cheeks. “Honey,” she’d start, but she was laughing too hard to continue. “Honey. You can’t learn to fuck from reading Popular Mechanics. That isn’t what makes a butch a good lover.”

This was exactly what I needed to know! “Well, what does make a butch a good lover?” I asked, trying to sound like the answer didn’t mean all that much to me.

Her face softened. “That’s kinda hard to explain. I guess being a good lover means respecting a femme. It means listening to her body. And even if the sex gets a little rough, or whatever, that it’s what she wants too, and inside you’re still coming from a gentle place. Does that make sense?”

It did not. It was less information than I wanted. It turned out, however, to be the information I needed. It just took thinking about it for the rest of my life.

Jacqueline took the rubber cock from my hands. Had I been holding it all this time? She placed it carefully on my thigh. My body temperature rose. She began to touch it gently, like it was something really beautiful.

“You know, you could make a woman feel real good with this thing. Maybe better than she ever felt in her life.” She stopped stroking the dildo. “Or you could really hurt her, and remind her of all the ways she’s ever been hurt in her life. You got to think about that every time you strap this on. Then you’ll be a good lover.”

I waited, hoping there was more. There was not. Jackie got up and puttered around the kitchen. I went to bed. I tried to memorize every word that had been said to me before I fell asleep.

Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg (pg 28-29)

[genderdryad]

they/it/fae/moth xeminagender stone knight femme ace-spike lesbian flag!!

pls credit me if you use- thnx!

[eunseoksimp]

Siren ; Lee Anton

Pairings: Obsessive!Anton x Femme Fatale!Reader

Genre: Angst

Description: at seonghwa academy, you reign like a queen—flawless, untouchable, and cold as ice. your beauty is your weapon, used to control and manipulate those who fall under your spell. but when you catch the eye of anton, a brooding athlete with a quiet intensity, you meet your match. beneath his silence lies a dark obsession, a twisted desire that mirrors your own. as you engage in a dangerous dance of power and control, the line between.

Warnings: manipulation, obsessive behaviour, anton is low-key unhinged, death

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the heart of seoul, hidden away from the prying eyes of the common folk, lay seonghwa academy—a sanctuary for the elite. the school was a sprawling estate, its towering gates adorned with intricate gold designs, a symbol of the wealth and privilege that lay within. beyond the gates, the grounds stretched out in a lavish display of manicured gardens, where ancient cherry blossom trees stood sentinel, their delicate pink petals drifting like snowflakes in the gentle breeze.

the main building of the academy was a marvel of architecture, a blend of traditional korean aesthetics and modern grandeur. its walls were of pristine white stone, polished to a shine, with high windows that allowed sunlight to pour in, casting long, golden rays across the polished marble floors.

inside, the halls were wide and lined with portraits of illustrious alumni, men and women who had gone on to shape the world, all of them linked by the common thread of privilege and power. the ceiling soared above, adorned with chandeliers that glittered like a constellation of stars, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the room.

it was within these halls that you held court, like a queen surveying her kingdom. your presence was a force unto itself, commanding attention without a word, demanding devotion without a single gesture. you moved through the school like a wisp of smoke, impossible to grasp but impossible to ignore. wherever you went, a hush fell over those around you, as if the mere sight of you demanded reverence.

you were beautiful, but not in the way most people imagined when they thought of beauty. it wasn’t just your face, though that was a masterpiece in itself—high cheekbones, a delicate nose, lips that curled into a perfect bow. your skin was like porcelain, flawless and smooth, with a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from within, your hair, a cascade of black silk, framed a face so perfect it seemed almost unreal, like something crafted by the hands of a deity in a moment of unparalleled inspiration. your eyes, dark and mysterious, held a depth that could drown anyone who dared look too long into them, a dangerous promise hidden behind a veil of innocence.

but it was more than just your physical appearance. your beauty was a weapon, and you wielded it with precision. you were calculating, always two steps ahead, your mind a cold, sharp instrument honed to perfection. everything you did was for your own gain, every smile, every glance, every word spoken was a move in the intricate game you played. you took pleasure in your power, in the way others bent to your will without even realizing they were doing so.

and then there was your voice, soft and low, like velvet brushing against bare skin. when you spoke, people listened. they hung onto your every word, eager to please, desperate to be noticed by you.

boys fell over themselves trying to catch your attention, offering gifts, writing love letters, all in the vain hope that you might spare them a glance. you accepted their offerings with a smile that never reached your eyes, always taking, never giving. you played them like instruments, each one serving a purpose, whether it was to boost your social standing, to gain favors, or simply to amuse yourself. all blinded by the allure of being noticed by someone as unattainable as you were.

girls envied and admired you in equal measure, some even attempting to emulate your style, though none could quite capture the effortless elegance that came so naturally to you. they didn’t realize that what they saw was a facade, a carefully constructed image designed to elicit the desired response from those around you. you knew exactly how to dress, how to speak, how to act to keep them all under your thumb, to keep them guessing, to keep them wanting more.

among the crowd of admirers, anton was different.

anton was handsome, that much was undeniable. he had a certain ruggedness to him, a sharpness to his features that contrasted with the softness of yours. his hair, dark and thick, often fell across his forehead in a tousled mess that only seemed to enhance his brooding appeal. his eyes, a piercing shade of blue, stood out against his tanned skin, giving him an intensity that could be felt even from a distance. he was tall and lean, his athletic build a testament to the hours he spent training on the field, every muscle in his body honed to perfection.

but where you were a beacon of light, drawing everyone towards you, anton was a shadow, always lurking at the edges, observing from afar. he was quiet, almost painfully so, his presence more of a whisper than a shout. while others jostled for your attention, anton remained on the periphery, content—or so it seemed—to watch you from a distance. his eyes followed you wherever you went, though he rarely spoke more than a few words to anyone.

his silence made him a mystery, one that no one seemed able to solve. he was a puzzle, each piece carefully guarded, revealing nothing of the whole. few knew anything about him beyond the superficial; he was good at sports, he was handsome, and he kept to himself. only a handful of people could claim to be his friends, and even they struggled to understand the depths of his thoughts.

where others saw an angel, he saw something more—a force of nature, a tempest that he wanted to be caught in, even if it meant his own destruction. his heart beat faster when you were near, the blood in his veins turning to fire as your scent—jasmine and something darker, something that whispered of forbidden things—wafted through the air.

his shyness was a curse in your presence. while others boldly approached you, offering gifts and compliments, anton remained in the background, his love for you a silent, burning thing that threatened to consume him. he longed to speak to you, to make you see him, truly see him, but the fear of rejection, of shattering the perfect image he had of her in his mind, kept him silent.

but you noticed him, of course. how could you not? unlike the others who fell over themselves to win your favor, anton presented a challenge. he was a puzzle you wanted to solve, not out of any genuine interest, but because you hated the idea that someone in your domain could remain untouched by your influence. there was something in the way he looked at you—intense, almost possessive—that sparked a flicker of interest, but more than that, it was the challenge that intrigued you. here was someone who didn’t play by your rules, and that was unacceptable.

one crisp autumn afternoon, as the sun bathed the campus in a warm, golden light, you were making your way across the courtyard. the air was filled with the soft rustle of leaves as they fell from the trees, carpeting the ground in shades of red and gold. your footsteps were almost silent against the cobblestones, the sound barely audible over the murmurs of students passing by.

ahead, you noticed anton standing with a small group of his friends. they were near the edge of the courtyard, leaning casually against the stone balustrade that overlooked the garden below. though his friends were engaged in light conversation, anton seemed distant, his gaze unfocused as if lost in thought. it wasn’t until you were closer that his eyes snapped to you, a flash of something dark and unreadable crossing his features.

“here she comes,” one of anton’s friends, a tall boy with an easy smile, murmured under his breath, though not quietly enough to escape your notice. “the ice queen herself.”

“more like a goddess,” another boy replied, his tone tinged with admiration. “she doesn’t even have to try, does she? it’s like she was born to make us all look bad.”

there was a low chuckle from the group, but anton remained silent, his eyes still fixed on you. you allowed a small, knowing smile to curve your lips, a smile that only deepened the allure you held over them. you knew the effect you had, and you reveled in it. but this smile wasn’t just for them—it was a calculated move, a test to see how anton would react.

as you walked past, you let your gaze flicker towards anton for just a moment, long enough to meet his eyes and see the way they darkened, the intensity of his stare like a physical touch. it was a brief exchange, but it was enough to tell you what you needed to know. he wasn’t immune to you. far from it. he was just better at hiding it.

“careful, anton,” one of his friends teased, noticing the exchange. “she’s not the kind of girl you want to mess with.”

anton finally tore his gaze away from you, a faint smile ghosting across his lips as he replied, his voice low and measured, “i’m not messing with her.”

his friend raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “so what’s the plan, then? you just going to keep watching her from afar? because if you ask me, she’s out of everyone’s league here. untouchable.”

anton didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flickering back to where you had just disappeared around the corner. when he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that his friends had to lean in to catch the words.

“some things are worth waiting for,” he said, his tone laced with a quiet conviction that sent a ripple of unease through the group.

“yeah, well, just be careful you don’t get burned,” the tall boy replied, though there was no real concern in his voice, only the easy camaraderie of someone who didn’t quite understand the depths of his friend’s obsession.

anton offered no reply, his thoughts already drifting back to you. his friends resumed their conversation, but he remained silent, his mind occupied with the image of your smile, the way it had seemed to linger on your lips just a moment too long, as if it had been meant for him alone.

later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the school grounds, you found yourself in the library. it was a vast room, lined with shelves that reached up to the ceiling, filled with books that spanned every subject imaginable. the scent of aged paper hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of polished wood and the crispness of the autumn air that drifted in through the open windows.

you chose this place deliberately—your sanctuary, your throne room, where you could reign undisturbed. the library was usually deserted at this hour, a perfect place to think, to plot your next move. you moved gracefully through the aisles, your fingers trailing lightly over the spines of the books as you walked, until you reached your usual spot, a secluded table tucked away in a corner, hidden from view but with a clear line of sight to the entrance.

you settled into your seat, your back straight, your posture impeccable, as you opened a book—a volume on ancient strategies of war, a fitting choice given the games you played with those around you. but as you began to read, your thoughts kept drifting back to anton, to the way he had looked at you in the courtyard. there was something about him that you couldn’t quite place, something that made him stand out from the others. he was different, and that intrigued you.

you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound barely perceptible, but you were attuned to the slightest disturbance in your surroundings. you didn’t look up, though you knew who it was even before you heard the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching. you continued reading, allowing him to come to you, your expression calm and unreadable.

“strange seeing you here twice in one day,” anton’s voice broke the silence, soft yet edged with something dark, something that hinted at the depths beneath his calm exterior.

you slowly raised your eyes from the book, fixing him with a cool, appraising gaze. “is it?”

he stood at the edge of your table, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused, as if he were trying to decipher the meaning behind your calm demeanor. he didn’t sit down, didn’t make any move to bridge the gap between you, and you respected that. it showed that he wasn’t like the others who would have rushed to fill the silence, eager to be close to you, to bask in your presence.

“you usually avoid places like this,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, as though the library’s quiet demanded a softer tone.

you tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “and yet, here you are.”

anton didn’t respond immediately. his eyes flickered to the book in your hands, his expression thoughtful. “war strategies?” he observed, raising an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “fitting.”

“for what?” you asked, your voice smooth, almost teasing, though there was a hint of steel beneath your words.

“for someone like you,” he replied, his tone flat, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. “someone who always seems to be a step ahead.”

you allowed a soft laugh to escape your lips, though it was devoid of any real warmth. “i find it useful to stay informed,” you said, closing the book with a decisive snap. “knowledge is power, after all.”

anton’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “and you enjoy having power, don’t you?”

you met his gaze, unflinching, your expression unreadable. “wouldn’t you?”

he didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes was enough. he understood, perhaps more than anyone else. in that moment, you saw a reflection of yourself in him—a hunger, a need to control, to dominate. it was rare to find someone who could match you in this way, and it made you wonder just how far you could push him before he would break.

“why are you here, anton?” you asked, your tone light but with an underlying sharpness. “surely you didn’t come all this way just to exchange pleasantries?”

anton took a step closer, leaning slightly over the table, his eyes locked onto yours. “i came to see you.”

“did you?” you replied, feigning surprise, though you were anything but. “and what is it that you want from me?”

he took another step closer, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to penetrate your carefully constructed facade. “you already know the answer to that.”

you leaned back in your chair, creating more distance between you, as if to remind him who was in control. “perhaps,” you said slowly, your voice laced with an almost cruel amusement. “but i want to hear you say it.”

anton’s jaw tightened, the only outward sign of his frustration. he wasn’t used to being played with, and it was clear that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the power dynamic between you. but he held his ground, refusing to be the first to break.

“i want to understand you,” he said finally, the words heavy with meaning.

you raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued now. “understand me?” you echoed, your tone mocking. “how quaint. and why would you want that?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to see through your facade, to find the real person beneath the mask. “because you’re different from the others,” he said, his voice firm. “you don’t care about the things they care about. you’re not like them.”

you felt a flicker of satisfaction at his words, though you kept your expression neutral. “you think you’re different too, don’t you?” you asked, your voice soft, almost a whisper. “that’s why you’re drawn to me. you see something of yourself in me.”

anton didn’t deny it. instead, he straightened, putting more distance between you. “maybe,” he admitted, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice, as if he didn’t want to admit just how much you fascinated him.

you leaned forward, your eyes glinting with something dark, something that spoke of the game you were playing. “but here’s the thing, anton,” you said, your voice low and almost seductive. “just because we’re alike doesn’t mean we’re on the same side.”

anton’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. “are you trying to warn me?”

you smiled then, a smile that held no warmth, no kindness. “no,” you said simply. “i’m just letting you know that you should be careful. you might think you understand me, but you don’t. and trying to get close to me, trying to figure me out, might not end the way you hope.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. anton’s expression remained unreadable, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind, could almost hear the thoughts racing through his head as he tried to decide his next move.

finally, he nodded, as if coming to some kind of internal decision. “i’ll take my chances,” he said, his voice calm, but with a resolve that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

you studied him for a long moment, weighing his words, considering your next move. and then, you smiled again, this time a real smile, one that hinted at something more, something dangerous. “good,” you said softly, leaning back in your chair. “i was hoping you would say that.”

anton didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. he wasn’t afraid of you, and that made him even more interesting. this was going to be fun.

without another word, you stood up, the movement smooth and controlled. you gathered your things, the book you hadn’t read and the bag you carried with you everywhere. you leaned slightly over the table, bringing your face closer to his, your lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

"good luck, anton," you whispered, your voice low and intimate. "you’re going to need it."

and with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, the echo of your parting words lingering in the air. as you left the library, you didn’t look back. you knew he was watching you, just as you knew he would continue to chase the idea of you, to try and uncover the truth you kept hidden behind layers of ice.

but in the end, it didn’t matter. you were always in control. anton might think he was playing the same game as you, but the truth was, he was just another piece on your board. and you? you were always several moves ahead.

the sun had set by the time you stepped outside, the evening air cool against your skin. the sky was a deep, inky blue, dotted with the first stars of the night. as you walked back to your dorm, your thoughts were already shifting to the next day, the next opportunity, the next move. anton was a distraction, an interesting one, but a distraction nonetheless. you had bigger plans, bigger goals, and you wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—stand in your way.

as the door to your dormitory closed behind you, you allowed yourself one last, fleeting thought of anton, of the way his eyes had burned with that cold fire, the way he had tried to match your coldness with his own. it was a futile effort, but it had been amusing, if only for a moment.

and then, with the finality of a chess player making the winning move, you pushed the thought from your mind, focusing instead on the game that truly mattered—the one where you were always the queen, and everyone else was just another pawn.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days began to blur into one another, the once vibrant tapestry of autumn fading into the cold, muted tones of winter. seonghwa academy, with all its grandeur and decadence, seemed almost timeless in its beauty, untouched by the passage of the seasons. the cherry blossoms had long since fallen, leaving the trees bare, their skeletal branches scratching at the sky like bony fingers. the manicured gardens were now coated in a thin layer of frost, a glittering veil that shimmered in the pale morning light.

you moved through the academy like a specter, your presence felt more than seen. the halls were your domain, each corridor a labyrinth where you pulled the strings, where every whisper, every glance was carefully orchestrated. the students, your pawns, fell in line, their lives intertwined with yours in ways they could never fully understand. you held court in the shadows, your influence seeping into every corner, every conversation.

anton was no exception. from the moment he had sought you out in the library, you had known he would be different, a challenge unlike the others. and challenges, you had learned, were meant to be conquered.

he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, his obsession growing with each passing day. it was subtle at first—an extra glance in your direction, a lingering look that held just a bit too long. but soon, it became something more, something palpable. you could feel his eyes on you even when you weren’t looking, could sense his presence lurking at the edge of your awareness like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

you began to toy with him, your moves calculated and deliberate, each interaction becoming a carefully orchestrated dance. the academy, a place of prestige and ambition, provided the perfect backdrop for your machinations. its grand halls and meticulously maintained gardens were a testament to the wealth and power of its patrons, and you knew how to navigate this world with ease.

your interactions with anton began innocently enough. it started with small things—catching his eye in the hallway and holding his gaze just a moment longer than necessary, brushing past him in the crowded corridors, your touch fleeting but deliberate. you could see the effect it had on him, the way his breath hitched, the way his composure faltered ever so slightly. it was intoxicating, the power you held over him, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a look.

one evening, as the first snow of the season began to fall, you found yourself in the school’s music room, a place rarely visited by anyone outside of classes. the room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the sconces on the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the polished wood floors. the air was filled with the faint scent of old sheet music and the lingering notes of a piano that hadn’t been played in years.

you had come here to think, to plot your next move, but the silence was soon broken by the sound of the door creaking open. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. you could feel anton’s presence, the way the air seemed to thicken with his arrival.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice a soft whisper that barely disturbed the quiet.

“neither should you,” he replied, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of something darker, something that hinted at the storm brewing beneath his surface.

you turned slowly to face him, your eyes meeting his with a cool, detached gaze. “i go where i please,” you said simply, as if that explained everything.

anton stepped further into the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. he was dressed in the school’s uniform, but it seemed somehow more disheveled, the tie loosened, the shirt untucked at the edges, as if he had grown careless with his appearance. his hair was tousled, the dark strands falling into his eyes, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

“why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of desperation, as if he were struggling to keep his emotions in check.

you tilted your head slightly, feigning ignorance. “doing what?”

anton’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he took a step closer. “you know what,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “why are you playing with me?”

a smile ghosted across your lips, a smile devoid of any warmth, any humanity. “because i can,” you replied, your tone light, almost mocking. “because it amuses me.”

anton’s eyes darkened, the shadows in the room seeming to grow longer, deeper. “you think this is a game?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly with barely restrained anger.

“everything is a game,” you said, your voice as cold and unfeeling as the snow falling outside. “and you’re just another piece on the board.”

he stared at you, his expression a mixture of anger and something else, something you couldn’t quite place. there was a darkness in him, a darkness that mirrored your own, and for a moment, you almost felt something—a flicker of recognition, of understanding. but you quickly pushed it aside, reminding yourself of who you were, of what you were.

“i don’t want to be your pawn,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“then don’t be,” you replied, your tone dismissive. “no one’s forcing you to play.”

but you both knew that wasn’t true. he was trapped, ensnared in a web of his own making, and there was no escape. not now. not ever.

anton took another step closer, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. “what do you want from me?” he asked, his voice hoarse, as if the words had been dragged from the depths of his soul.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, you felt something stir within you, something you couldn’t quite identify. but then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating detachment that had always served you so well.

“i want to see how far you’ll go,” you said, your voice soft, almost seductive. “how much you’re willing to sacrifice for me.”

anton’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and anger flaring in equal measure. “and what if i’m not willing to give you what you want?” he asked, his voice challenging, daring you to push him further.

you smiled then, a smile that was all sharp edges and hidden dangers. “oh, anton,” you said, your tone dripping with condescension. “you will. you won’t be able to help yourself.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. and then, without warning, anton reached out, his hand gripping your wrist with a force that sent a shock of pain up your arm. his touch was cold, his fingers like iron bands that held you in place, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“don’t underestimate me,” anton said, his voice low, dangerous. “i’m not like the others. i won’t break for you.”

you met his gaze, your eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, you saw the truth in his words. anton wasn’t like the others. he was stronger, more resilient, and that made him dangerous. but it also made the game more interesting, more challenging. and you had never been one to back down from a challenge.

“we’ll see,” you said, your voice steady, unyielding.

anton held your gaze for a moment longer, his grip on your wrist tightening before he finally let go. you watched him as he stepped back, his expression unreadable, the storm in his eyes raging just beneath the surface.

“this isn’t over,” he said, his voice low, filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“no,” you replied, your tone calm, composed. “it’s just beginning.”

with that, anton turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. you watched him go, a small smile playing on your lips, your mind already working, already planning your next move.

the game was far from over, and you had no intention of losing. anton was a challenge, a puzzle that you were determined to solve, no matter what it took. and if you had to break him in the process, then so be it.

after all, in the end, there could only be one winner.

as the days passed, you continued to play your game, each move calculated, each interaction designed to push anton further, to test the limits of his obsession. you gave him tasks, small at first—bring you a book from the library, fetch you a drink from the cafeteria—but each one was a test, a way to gauge just how far he was willing to go for you.

and he did them all, without question, without hesitation. it was almost too easy, the way he bent to your will, the way he followed your every command. but there was something about the way he did it, the way he looked at you with those dark, intense eyes, that told you he wasn’t doing it out of fear, or even out of a desire to please you. no, there was something else driving him, something deeper, something darker.

you began to push him harder, your requests growing more demanding, more invasive. you asked him to skip classes for you, to lie to his friends, to steal things from the other students. and still, he did it all, without a word of protest, without a single sign of reluctance.

it was thrilling, the power you held over him, the way you could make him do anything with nothing more than a smile, a glance, a whispered word. but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you were acutely aware of, but chose to ignore. because the truth was, you weren’t sure how far anton would go, and that uncertainty, that unpredictability, was what made the game so intoxicating.

one night, as the winter winds howled outside, you found yourself alone in your room, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. you were seated at your desk, a glass of wine in hand, when there was a knock at the door. you knew who it was before you even opened it.

anton stood in the doorway, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something different about him, something you couldn’t quite place. his clothes were disheveled, his hair even more tousled than usual, and there was a wildness in his eyes that sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

“come in,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the emotions swirling within you.

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

“what do you want?” you asked, your tone cool, detached.

anton didn’t answer immediately. instead, he took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours, his expression intense, almost desperate.

“i want you,” he said finally, his voice low, hoarse.

you felt your heart skip a beat, the admission catching you off guard. but you quickly recovered, your composure slipping back into place like a well-worn mask.

“you can’t have me,” you replied, your tone cold, unfeeling.

“i know,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but that doesn’t change anything.”

there was a moment of silence, the two of you standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to control his breathing.

“why?” you asked, your voice soft, almost curious.

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them raging just beneath the surface. “because you make me feel alive,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “because i can’t stop thinking about you, even when i know i should.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within you. you had always known that anton was different, that he would be a challenge, but you hadn’t anticipated this, hadn’t expected to be confronted with his raw, unfiltered need for you.

“you’re a fool,” you said finally, your voice sharp, cutting.

anton flinched at your words, but he didn’t back down. instead, he took another step closer, closing the distance between you until there was barely a breath of space between you.

“maybe,” he said, his voice steady, determined. “but i’m your fool.”

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the sheer intensity of his devotion both exhilarating and terrifying. you had played this game a thousand times before, had manipulated countless others, but this—this was different. anton was different.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” you said, your voice low, warning.

anton’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “i know,” he said, his voice soft, resigned. “but i’m already too far gone to stop.”

and in that moment, you knew it was true. anton wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just another pawn on your board, another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored. he was something else, something more. and that realization sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

he hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to find the right words. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted finally, his voice raw with emotion. “you’re all i think about.”

you reached out, placing a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle but possessive. “and what do you think about, anton?”

his breath hitched at your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. “everything. your smile, your voice, the way you move. it’s driving me crazy.”

you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “is that so?” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

he nodded, his eyes opening to meet yours. “yes. i can’t sleep, i can’t focus. all i want is to be near you, to make you happy.”

“then we’ll see how far you’re willing to go,” you said, your voice filled with a dangerous promise.

anton’s eyes locked onto yours, his gaze unwavering, and in that moment, you knew that whatever happened next, there was no going back.

the game was no longer just a game. it was something more, something darker, something that could destroy you both. and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly alive.

as the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, the fire in the hearth casting long shadows on the walls, the only sound the crackling of the flames and the faint whisper of the wind.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the weeks that followed, your manipulation of anton became a carefully orchestrated dance, a twisted ballet where you led with a graceful, calculated precision, and anton followed, oblivious to the strings you pulled. each interaction was a deliberate step in this dark routine, with you guiding him ever deeper into the labyrinth of your control.

your tasks soon grew more intricate, more demanding. you asked him to dig up obscure references for your essays, to track down rare books that could only be found in forgotten corners of the city, to bring you your favorite coffee from a shop miles away from campus. each request was a thread in the web you wove around him, tightening your hold with every act of service.

anton never hesitated. his devotion to you was absolute, a blind, consuming need that drove him to fulfill your every whim without question. it was as if your presence had become a drug, one he couldn’t live without, and the more he did for you, the deeper his addiction grew. you could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you, as if you were the center of his universe, the very air he breathed.

as the days passed, you began to notice the subtle changes in him, changes that you observed with a detached amusement. anton’s once healthy frame grew gaunt, his cheeks hollowing out as he lost weight, the sharp angles of his bones more pronounced beneath his pale skin. dark circles formed under his eyes, a testament to the nights spent sleepless, his mind too consumed by thoughts of you to find rest.

his friends grew concerned, their worried glances and whispered questions following him wherever he went. “are you okay, anton?” they would ask, but he brushed them off with a forced smile, his thoughts always returning to you.

the sharp mind that had once been the pride of his teachers, the envy of his peers, now seemed solely focused on you, on the endless tasks and challenges you set before him. his world had shrunk, until it revolved around you alone.

one crisp afternoon, as the late sun cast a warm, golden hue over the campus, you decided it was time to push anton further. the chill in the air was sharp, a reminder of the winter, but inside the academy’s library, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of old books and the quiet hum of whispered conversations.

you found anton where you expected him, hunched over a thick volume of korean history, his eyes scanning the pages with a fervor that betrayed his exhaustion.

as you approached, he looked up, his gaze lighting up with that familiar, fervent intensity that had become so familiar to you. it was a look that both thrilled and repelled you, a reflection of the power you wielded over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice soft and sweet, a siren’s call that masked the sharpness of your intentions. “i need your help with something.”

he stood immediately, closing the book with a soft thud and giving you his full, undivided attention. “anything,” he said, his voice thick with longing, his eyes searching yours for any sign of approval.

you smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “there’s a fundraiser next week, and i need a partner for the opening dance. will you be my partner?”

his eyes widened in shock and elation, the emotions playing across his features like a silent movie. “of course,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “i’d be honored.”

“good,” you replied, your smile widening just a fraction, enough to make his heart race. “meet me in the ballroom tonight at eight. we need to practice.”

that evening, the academy’s ballroom was a cathedral of opulence and grandeur. chandeliers hung from the high ceiling like glittering constellations, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the polished marble floor. the scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of waxed wood, a testament to the academy’s commitment to luxury and tradition.

you arrived at eight sharp, your entrance a vision of calculated perfection. anton was already there, of course, nervously adjusting his tie as he waited for you. his breath caught as you stepped into the room, the soft rustle of your gown the only sound in the vast, echoing space.

you had chosen a gown of deep crimson, a shade that matched the dark currents of the game you played, the color of blood and desire. it flowed around you like liquid silk, the fabric clinging to your form before cascading to the floor in a pool of rich, dark red. your hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, a few loose tendrils framing your face, and a simple diamond necklace adorned your neck, glittering against your porcelain skin like a single drop of ice.

“you’re early,” you said, your tone light and teasing, as if you hadn’t planned every detail of this encounter down to the second.

“i didn’t want to keep you waiting,” anton replied, his voice filled with a mix of awe and devotion that made your smile widen.

you crossed the room with a deliberate grace, each step measured, each movement designed to captivate. “shall we begin?” you asked, extending your hand to him, your fingers pale against the deep crimson of your gown.

he took your hand, his grip firm yet trembling slightly, the subtle tremor sending a shiver of satisfaction through you. you led him into the dance, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, a testament to the control you exerted over him. anton followed your lead with an intensity that bordered on reverence, his eyes never leaving yours, his focus entirely on you, as if the world beyond your shared steps had ceased to exist.

as the music swelled, you leaned in closer, your breath brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “you’re doing well, anton,” you murmured, your voice a soft, seductive purr. “but you need to loosen up. let go of your fears.”

he nodded, his jaw clenching with determination, the tension in his body palpable beneath your touch. you could feel the rigid control he tried to maintain, the desperate need to please you, to be perfect for you. but you wanted more. you wanted to push him further, to see just how far he would go to prove his devotion.

“anton,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper, a breath of wind in the stillness of the ballroom. “do you trust me?”

his eyes widened, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, a tiny crack in the facade of his devotion. but then he nodded, his expression resolute, his voice unwavering. “yes,” he said, the word carrying the weight of a promise, a vow.

“good,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile, a smile that was both a reward and a warning. “then close your eyes and follow my lead.”

he hesitated for the briefest of moments before obeying, his eyes fluttering shut, his trust in you absolute. with his eyes closed, anton’s other senses seemed to heighten, his body attuning to yours with an intensity that bordered on desperation. you could feel his breath quicken, the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, his heartbeat pounding in his chest like the rhythm of the music, a rhythm that echoed the pulse of your own power over him.

you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft caress, a velvet glove over a steel blade. “you’re mine, anton,” you whispered, the words wrapping around him like a chain. “you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

his breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke of both fear and longing, and he nodded, his voice a ragged whisper, his will crumbling under the weight of your command. “yes.”

“good,” you murmured, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through you, a dark current that matched the crimson of your gown. “because i have another task for you.”

he opened his eyes then, his gaze locking onto yours with a desperation that was almost tangible, a need that radiated from him like heat. “anything,” he said, his voice filled with a desperate longing, a need to prove himself worthy of your attention.

you smiled, a slow, predatory smile, the smile of a hunter who knows the prey is already ensnared. “i need you to find out everything you can about professor kim. i have reason to believe he’s hiding something, and i need to know what it is.”

anton’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them, a shadow of the man he was becoming under your influence. “i’ll find out,” he said, his voice firm, the resolve in his tone a reflection of the control you had over him.

you leaned back slightly, your smile widening, your satisfaction evident in the way your eyes glinted in the soft light of the chandeliers. “i knew i could count on you, anton,” you said, your voice a soft purr, a reward for his obedience.

as the music came to an end, you stepped back, breaking the connection between you, your movements fluid, graceful, a dancer stepping away from a completed performance. anton stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and devotion, his mind consumed with thoughts of you.

“same time tomorrow?” you asked, your tone casual, as if you hadn’t just tightened the chains of his obsession, as if this were just another dance, another game.

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours, his heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. “yes,” he replied, his voice steady, but you could hear the undercurrent of desperation, the need to please you, to be everything you wanted him to be.

you turned and walked away, your steps light and graceful, each movement a calculated display of control and power. behind you, anton remained standing in the middle of the ballroom, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind consumed with thoughts of you, with the task you had given him. 

the game was progressing perfectly, each move bringing you closer to your goal, and you reveled in the power you held over him, in the knowledge that anton was yours, body and soul, and that you had no intention of letting him go.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the power dynamics between you and anton had shifted to an almost surreal degree. what began as a subtle manipulation had evolved into a full-blown psychological entanglement, a dangerous dance where you were the undisputed maestro, and anton, the eager but unwitting puppet. 

each interaction was a calculated move, each touch a deliberate action to tighten the threads of control around him. you reveled in the power you held, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a smile or a whispered command.

the academy’s sprawling grounds, with its grandiose architecture and serene gardens, became the stage for your most intricate schemes. the cherry blossoms in the garden, once a symbol of delicate beauty, now seemed to echo the treacherous nature of your relationship with anton. their petals floated down like fragments of innocence lost, each one a testament to the corruption blossoming between you.

one afternoon, you sat on a stone bench beneath a weeping willow. its branches hung low, creating a curtain of green that shielded you from the prying eyes of others. anton approached with the usual mix of eagerness and trepidation, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on worshipful.

“anton,” you called softly, your voice a caress against the backdrop of the rustling leaves. “i need you to handle something for me.”

“of course,” he replied, his voice a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. he was so eager to please, so desperate for your approval, that it was almost painful to watch.

you leaned in slightly, letting the air between you become charged with unspoken expectations. “there’s a student, su-jin. she’s been trying to undermine me in class, and i need you to… persuade her to stop.”

anton’s face darkened at the mention of su-jin. you could see the conflict within him, but it was quickly overshadowed by his desire to comply with your wishes. “what should I do?”

you allowed a slow, satisfied smile to creep across your lips. “find out what she’s planning, and if necessary, convince her to leave me alone. use whatever means you deem necessary.”

his eyes widened with a mixture of shock and determination. “you can count on me.”

as anton walked away, you could see the way his shoulders stiffened with resolve. it was a dangerous game you were playing, but the thrill of exerting such power over him, of watching him bend to your will, was intoxicating. you knew that anton’s obsession with you would lead him down a darker path, but you were content to watch the descent with a detached fascination.

anton’s mental state began to deteriorate as his obsession grew. he became increasingly paranoid, his thoughts consumed by the idea that no one else deserved your attention. his once bright eyes took on a haunted look, and his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a nervous restlessness. he started to isolate himself from friends, pushing them away with brusque words and averted gazes. his world had narrowed to a singular focus— you.

one evening, as the sky turned a deep shade of indigo and the stars began to prick the velvet darkness, you were walking through the gardens again. anton followed a few paces behind, his gaze fixed on you like a shadow that never wavered. he had been quiet for days, his once vibrant conversations now reduced to terse, monosyllabic responses.

“anton,” you said, turning to face him as you paused near a fountain where the water gurgled softly, creating a soothing, rhythmic sound. “you’ve been so quiet lately. is everything alright?”

he looked up, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anxiety and something darker— a possessive intensity that you noted with a hint of amusement. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice trembled slightly. “i’ve just been… focused.”

you could feel the shift in his demeanor, a subtle but unmistakable tension in the air. “focused on what?”

he hesitated, his gaze drifting to the ground before meeting your eyes again. “on making sure that no one else gets in the way of what we have.”

you raised an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. “and what is it that we have, anton?”

he swallowed hard, his throat working as if the words were difficult to form. “i… i want to make sure you’re safe. that no one can harm you or distract you from… us.”

a shiver ran down your spine at the way he said “us,” the possessive undertone clear. you took a step closer, your eyes narrowing as you assessed his state of mind.

 “anton, you know i appreciate your loyalty. but remember, you’re here to support me, not to control the people around me.”

he nodded, but the look in his eyes betrayed a different reality. the shadow of his darker side was beginning to surface more frequently. it was in the way he would flinch if he saw you talking to another student, the way his hands would clench into fists when you mentioned someone else’s name.

like when you conversed with a fellow student, your laughter ringing out in the courtyard, you caught anton’s gaze from across the lawn. his face was a mask of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and stormy. the sight sent a thrill of dark satisfaction through you. you knew that you were pushing him to the brink, but the control you had over him was intoxicating.

afterward, as you walked through the campus, you found anton waiting for you by a secluded alcove. his expression was a volatile mix of anger and desperation. 

“why were you talking to him?” he demanded, his voice low and harsh.

you stopped, turning to face him with a calm composure. “anton, it’s just a conversation. you have nothing to worry about.”

“nothing to worry about?” he spat, his eyes blazing. “i saw the way he looked at you. you were laughing with him, enjoying his attention. what about me?”

you took a deep breath, the thrill of his jealousy and anger washing over you like a wave. “anton, you need to calm down. you’re becoming irrational.”

“irrational?” he echoed, his voice trembling with a barely contained fury. “i’m trying to protect you! you don’t understand—”

“understand what?” you interrupted, stepping closer and placing a hand on his cheek. the touch was intended to soothe, but you could feel the tension beneath his skin. “anton, you’re losing control. you need to trust me.”

he flinched at your touch, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over him. his eyes were wild, and for a moment, you could see the extent of his obsession, the way it had twisted into something darker. 

“i don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i can’t lose you.”

you drew back slightly, the thrill of his turmoil invigorating you. “anton, you’re not losing me. but you need to focus on what’s important.”

his eyes searched yours, desperation evident in every line of his face. “i’ll do anything,” he said, his voice cracking. “just tell me what to do.”

you smiled, a smile that was both reassuring and chilling. “just remember, anton, your loyalty is what matters most. don’t let your feelings get in the way.”

this only spurred anton’s behavior to become increasingly erratic. he would often have vivid fantasies about you, his mind concocting elaborate scenarios where you were entirely his and no one else could share in your attention. these fantasies grew darker and more obsessive, painting a picture of a world where you were trapped in his own twisted vision of devotion.

one night, as the moon cast a silver sheen across the academy grounds, anton sat alone in his dorm room, his thoughts racing. the walls seemed to close in around him, and the quiet of the night was punctuated only by the sound of his own uneven breathing. he had been unable to sleep, his mind a chaotic swirl of images and emotions.

he imagined you, alone and vulnerable, with him as your sole protector. in his fantasies, you were completely dependent on him, your every move dictated by his will. the images were vivid, almost tangible— you sitting by his side, your hand in his, your eyes locked with his as he whispered promises of eternal devotion. 

but these fantasies quickly twisted into darker visions, where he had to fight off other suitors with a ferocity that bordered on violence. in these dreams, he was ruthless, striking out with an intensity that mirrored the storm within him.

when he awoke, drenched in sweat, he could still feel the echoes of his dark fantasies, the haunting intensity of his own thoughts. he stared at the ceiling, his mind struggling to separate fantasy from reality. his heart pounded, the line between his desire and his actions becoming increasingly blurred.

the next day, when you encountered anton, his demeanor was a mask of calmness, but the turmoil beneath was palpable. he tried to hide his paranoia, but the tension in his posture and the shadow in his eyes spoke volumes. he watched you with a possessive gaze, his actions more calculated, his interactions with others strained.

“anton,” you said one afternoon as you found him standing near the fountain, his gaze following you intently. “is everything alright?”

he forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “just… making sure everything is as it should be.”

you studied him, noting the way his eyes darted toward other students, the way his hands clenched into fists. you could feel the control you wielded over him, the way his obsession had morphed into something more dangerous. the thrill of manipulating him, of pushing him to the edge, was a dark pleasure you savored.

“anton,” you said, stepping closer and lowering your voice. “i need you to trust me. I don’t want to see you like this. It’s not healthy.”

his eyes met yours, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his facade. “i just… want to protect you,” he said, his voice a mixture of anguish and resolve.

you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “i know, and I appreciate it. but it’s creeping me out so i need you to stop, okay?”

he nodded, but the shadows in his eyes betrayed the internal struggle he faced. you knew that his descent into obsession was far from over, and as you watched him walk away, you could almost feel the weight of his darkness pressing down on him.

the games you played were dangerous and morally ambiguous, but they had become a twisted form of entertainment for you. you had pushed anton to the brink, watching with a mix of thrill and detachment as he spiraled into obsession. the power you held over him was intoxicating, and though you knew the consequences of your actions, the pleasure of manipulation was too alluring to resist.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days continued to grow colder, the winter tightening its grip on seonghwa academy, transforming the once-golden landscape into a monochrome world of gray skies and snow-blanketed grounds. the chill seeped into the very bones of the school, into the ancient stone walls and the hearts of those within them, as if the academy itself were a living, breathing entity, feeding off the darkness that now hung heavy in the air.

you had been watching anton closely, more closely than ever, though you would never let him know it. there was a darkness in him that intrigued you, a shadow that had grown deeper, more pronounced since that night in your room. it was as if something had awakened in him, something raw and primal, and you could feel its presence lurking just beneath the surface of his carefully composed facade.

it had been a twisted tapestry of obsession, each thread woven with a careful hand, yet fraying at the edges with the weight of something darker. anton’s once-gentle demeanor, that quiet reserve you had once found so easy to manipulate, had slowly unraveled, revealing a shadowy core of obsession and fixation. what began as harmless devotion had curdled into something far more dangerous, an all-consuming fervor that twisted his thoughts and actions until they no longer resembled the man you had first ensnared.

the signs had always been there, lurking beneath the surface like cracks in a fragile facade. at first, they were subtle—a lingering gaze that held too much intensity, an eagerness to please that bordered on desperation. his words, once soft and measured, began to carry an undercurrent of something sharper, a hint of possessiveness that set your instincts on edge. but these were easy to dismiss, easy to overlook in the grander scheme of your game.

yet, as the days turned into weeks, those cracks deepened, splitting wide to reveal the depths of his obsession. his once kind eyes now burned with a fervor that was both unsettling and relentless, like a predator stalking its prey. the change in him was gradual, a slow, insidious transformation that you hadn’t anticipated, until one day you realized that the man before you was no longer the same anton you had once so effortlessly controlled.

what had begun as a game of manipulation had now spiraled into something far more dangerous. you had been playing with fire, testing the limits of his devotion, pushing him further and further, and now, those flames were ready to consume everything in their path. the air around him seemed charged, like the tense silence before a storm, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. you could sense the shift in him, the way his presence felt heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of his obsession had grown too large to contain.

but you didn’t question it. you didn’t need to. after all, whatever was driving anton, whatever darkness had taken root in his soul, it only served to deepen your control over him. and that was all that mattered.

it was a chilly evening, and the academy’s grand library, usually a sanctuary of quiet knowledge, felt different tonight. the air was thick with an unsettling tension. the shadows cast by the flickering lights danced ominously on the rows of ancient, leather-bound books. you had been here often, as much to avoid the prying eyes of others as to indulge in the hidden recesses of knowledge. tonight, however, your curiosity had led you down a path of discovery you hadn’t anticipated.

you were seated in a leather armchair near the back of the library, a book in hand, though your mind was far from the words on the page. instead, your thoughts were occupied by anton, by the strange, twisted game you had been playing with him, and by the gnawing curiosity that had begun to take hold of you.

it was then that you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound pulling you from your thoughts. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. you could feel his presence, as you always could, a dark cloud that seemed to hang over him, shadowing his every step.

anton moved through the library with the same quiet grace that had always characterized him, but there was something different about him now, something that set your nerves on edge. you watched from the corner of your eye as he made his way toward the back of the library, his gaze fixed on something you couldn’t see.

as he drew closer, you noticed that his clothes were disheveled, more so than usual, his hair unkempt, the dark strands falling into his eyes in a way that only added to the air of disarray that clung to him. there was something in his eyes, too, something wild and untamed, a flicker of madness that sent a chill down your spine.

he stopped a few feet away from you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. you met his stare, your expression carefully composed, though you could feel the unease building in the pit of your stomach.

“anton,” you said, your voice calm, measured. “what are you doing here?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he stood there, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths, as if he were trying to keep himself under control. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made your skin prickle.

“i did something for you,” he said, his words clipped, precise.

you raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued despite the unease that was now thrumming through your veins. “oh?” you said, your tone light, almost teasing. “and what might that be?”

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them growing more intense, more dangerous. he took a step closer, his hand reaching into his coat pocket, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

but then he pulled out a small, silver object, holding it out to you with a trembling hand. you looked at it, your heart skipping a beat as you realized what it was.

a locket. a delicate, ornate locket that you recognized immediately, because you had seen it around the neck of one of the students, a girl who had been the object of anton’s silent, simmering jealousy for weeks. she had been one of your pawns, someone you had used to stoke the fires of anton’s obsession, to push him further, to test the limits of his devotion to you.

and now, here it was, in his hand, the chain broken, the locket itself smeared with something dark, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“anton,” you said slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a wild animal. “what did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked down at the locket, his expression unreadable, before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours.

“i did it for you,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “she was in the way. she was trying to take you from me.”

your heart began to pound in your chest, a cold, creeping dread settling over you. “what did you do, anton?” you repeated, your voice sharper now, more insistent.

anton’s eyes flashed with something dark, something twisted, and he took another step closer, the locket still dangling from his fingers like a macabre trophy.

“i made sure she couldn’t take you from me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i made sure she would never come between us again.”

the realization hit you like a physical blow, the air leaving your lungs in a rush as the full extent of what anton had done sank in. the locket, the dark smears—blood, it was blood. he had killed her, that girl, that innocent pawn in your game, all because of his twisted, obsessive love for you.

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to process the enormity of what had just happened. and yet, even as the horror of it all settled over you, you couldn’t help but feel a strange, twisted thrill of excitement, of power.

anton had killed for you. he had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, all in your name. and in that moment, you realized just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely he had fallen under your spell.

but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you couldn’t ignore. anton was no longer just a pawn in your game. he was something else, something more dangerous, more unpredictable. and you knew that you would have to tread carefully if you were to maintain your control over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, soothing, as if you were trying to calm a wild animal. “you shouldn’t have done that.”

he blinked, his expression faltering for a moment, as if he were struggling to understand your words. “but i did it for you,” he repeated, his voice desperate, pleading. “i did it because i love you.”

you felt a cold, bitter laugh bubble up in your throat, but you forced it down, knowing that now was not the time for mockery. anton was on the edge, teetering on the brink of something dark and terrible, and you needed to pull him back, to regain control before it was too late.

“love?” you said, your voice soft, almost mocking. “you think this is love, anton? what you’ve done, what you’ve become—this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

his eyes widened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker, something more dangerous.

“no,” he said, his voice low, trembling with emotion. “no, you’re wrong. you don’t understand. everything i’ve done, i’ve done for you. because i can’t live without you. because i need you.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to find the right words, the right approach to keep him from slipping further into the darkness. but even as you searched for a way to regain control, you could feel the situation spiraling out of your grasp, slipping through your fingers like sand.

“anton,” you said, your voice sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the air. “listen to me. you’ve gone too far. you’ve crossed a line, and there’s no going back. what you’ve done… it’s unforgivable.”

for a moment, he simply stared at you, his expression blank, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. but then, slowly, something shifted in his eyes, something dark and twisted, something that made your blood run cold.

“unforgivable?” he echoed, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but i did it for you. i did it because i love you. how can that be unforgivable?”

you shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure. “love isn’t supposed to be like this, anton. it’s not supposed to be… destructive.”

his expression twisted into something ugly, something full of pain and anger. “you’re wrong,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “you’re wrong. love is everything. it’s all that matters. and i would do anything—anything—to keep you. to make you mine.”

there was a desperation in his voice, a wildness that sent a shiver down your spine. you had pushed him too far, had played your game too well, and now you were faced with the consequences of your own actions.

but even as the fear gripped you, there was a part of you, a dark, twisted part, that couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement, a perverse satisfaction in knowing just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely you had broken him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “this has to stop. you have to let me go.”

his eyes flashed with something dark, something dangerous, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your arm with a grip that was almost painful.

“no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. you belong to me.”

you felt a cold, creeping dread settle over you, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. anton wasn’t going to let you go. he was too far gone, too consumed by his obsession to see reason. and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to remain calm. “you need to let me go. this isn’t healthy. it’s not right.”

his grip on your arm tightened, his eyes blazing with a wild, desperate intensity. “i don’t care,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i don’t care if it’s not right. i don’t care if it’s not healthy. i need you. and i won’t let you go. not ever.”

the words hung in the air like a dark, ominous cloud, the finality of them sending a shiver down your spine. you had always known that anton was different, that he was dangerous, but now, faced with the full extent of his madness, you realized just how precarious your situation had become.

you were trapped, ensnared in the very web you had so carefully woven, and there was no way out. anton’s obsession had consumed him, had driven him to the edge of sanity, and now, there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “please. let me go.”

but he only shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening, his eyes wild and desperate. “no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. and i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. whatever it takes.”

the words sent a chill down your spine, the cold, creeping dread settling over you like a heavy blanket. anton had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, and there was no going back. the game was over, and you had lost.

and in that moment, you realized just how dangerous obsession could be, just how easily it could consume and destroy. anton had been your pawn, your plaything, but now, he was something else, something darker, something that could destroy you both.

and there was no escape.

“anton,” you said, your voice trembling, your heart pounding in your chest. “this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

but he only smiled, a twisted, broken smile that sent a shiver down your spine, his grip on your arm like a vice, unrelenting and unforgiving.

“maybe,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but it’s our madness.”

and in that moment, you knew that there was no going back, no escape from the darkness that had consumed you both. anton had become something else, something more dangerous, more terrifying, and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

the snow continued to fall outside, the world outside the library quiet and still, as if holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. and in the silence, you could hear the faint whisper of the wind, the crackling of the fire, and the pounding of your own heart, as you stood there, trapped in the darkness, with no way out.

and as the night closed in around you, you knew that this was only the beginning, the first step into a world of darkness and madness from which there would be no return. anton’s obsession had consumed him, and now, it would consume you both, dragging you down into the depths of despair, with no hope of escape.

and as you looked into anton’s eyes, those wild, desperate eyes that had once been so full of life, so full of promise, you knew that you had lost, that you had played your game too well, and now, you were paying the price.

the darkness had won.

[sentinel-prime-after-dark]

Function: Pleasure (AO3 link)

TFO Sentinel Prime X Femme Cybertronian Reader

Word count: 3,063

Tags: sticky sexual interfacing, sex work, oral sex, rough sex, light Dom/sub, aftercare, NO SPOILERS

Summary: Sentinel Prime isn’t the best berth partner…but that’s YOUR job, and you take your job seriously.

Sentinel Prime steps into his opulent private suite, Iacon Tower's grandeur reflected in its golden surfaces. His blue optics scan the empty, quiet space and he lets out an irritated vent. He needs this reprieve from the solar cycle’s tiresome politics. He struts over to the large couch in the living room and sits heavily, leaning back with his thighs spread wider than is proper for a Prime.

     "Airachnid," he calls out.

     The imposing spider-like bot emerges from the shadows, her purple optics glowing with silent acknowledgment.

     "Fetch me the most exquisite pleasurebot from AutoExotic."

     "As you wish, Sentinel," she murmurs.

     She swiftly exits the suite, leaving Sentinel alone with his thoughts.

     Sentinel's optics trace the intricate patterns engraved into the floor and walls as he waits. His processor conjures up images of the delightful high-class creatures from AutoExotic, his flight engines purring in response to the ideas of what he could do with them.

✨✨✨

The door to the suite slides open and Airachnid enters, her movements not quite silent. In tow is a stunning vision of gold and purple, a standard-framed femme who radiates an aura of decadence.

     You.

     "Your requested pleasurebot, Prime," Airachnid says before slinking away.

     You step forward and lower yourself to kneel before the Prime, your plating gently flaring out.

     “Sweetspark, at your service, my Prime.”

     Sentinel Prime’s gaze sweeps over you, appraising you as if you were a fine piece of artwork. His optics glow a little brighter.

     “Stand,” he says with a gentle wave of his servo. “Tell me, Sweetspark, what is your specialty in the art of pleasure?"

     “Your desire is my specialty, Prime,” you say softly as you stand. “I am a trained switch, ready to adapt to your wishes on command.”

     His optics narrow, his armor ruffling slightly.

     “Indeed?” He purrs, leaning back against the couch. “I’ve had many who claim such versatility…only to disappoint. Prove your worth, Sweetspark. Give me a taste of what you can offer.”

     You nod and step forward.

     “As you wish, my Prime,” you purr.

     Your optics narrow to sultry slits as you lower yourself to your knees between Sentinel’s strong silver thighs in one slow, gracefully suggestive movement. Not daring to touch him with your servos without permission, you lean forward and nuzzle his inner thigh, your engine purring as you trail sensual, reverent kisses along his plating towards his interface panel.

     Sentinel watches you, his gaze narrow. As your warm ventilations ghost over his armor, he remains the picture of calm, his posture unyielding. He leans back a little further into the couch, crossing his arms over his chassis.

     "Proceed," the Prime commands.

     With a low hum, you nuzzle up to his interface panel. Then, you look up at him with adoring optics and extend your glossa, giving his panel a broad, slow lick from the bottom to the top.

     Sentinel draws in a quick vent. He watches you, his chassis rising and falling slightly faster. He uncrosses his arms, letting them rest comfortably on the back of the couch.

     You purr at his reaction and lick him again before pressing a kiss to his panel. “I crave your pleasure, mighty Prime. Won’t you let me serve you?”

     "Very well," he says, keeping up his unaffected appearance except for a soft blue glow creeping onto his faceplate.

     His panel clicks and slides open with a clank, allowing his partially pressurized spike to extend.

     With a light blush of your own, you keep your optics on him as you lean in to nuzzle and lick his spike. You trail kisses up the golden plates adorning the underside of his royal blue shaft, purring as you coax him to full pressurization.

     “You have the most magnificent spike, my Prime.”

     "Flattery, Sweetspark?" He asks, trying to maintain his cool demeanor despite his spike's eager responses to your gentle ministrations.

     You hum, leaning up to give the tip of his spike a soft kiss. “If it is not to your liking, Prime, then I shall refrain from praising you.”

     "Don't be absurd,” Sentinel scoffs, his lips curled into a smirk. “I live for flattery.”

     You smile up at him and lick a broad, slow stroke up the underside of his spike, only this time you wrap your lips around the tip when you reach it. You caress the sensitive slit with your glossa, then slowly push your helm down, moaning softly as you demonstrate just how easily you can take a spike into your mouth, even one as long and thick as Sentinel’s.

     The Prime watches you, his optics narrowing in pleasure. He can't help but let out a low groan of satisfaction. His servos tighten slightly on the couch’s back, but he otherwise maintains his outward composure. Even so, you feel him growing harder, his spike reaching its full potential, eager for more.

     Everything you do is with purpose, your focus solely on your beloved Prime’s pleasure. You keep your servos on your own thighs as you service his spike, your helm bobbing up and down while your glossa caresses the underside of his spike. You moan again and take him deeper, deeper, until the helm of his spike is down your throat and your lips are pressed flush to the base.

Sentinel’s optics widen as the pleasure builds within him. Your mouth feels like heaven, your oral skills certainly unmatched by any pleasurebot he's ever encountered. He watches you, venting rapidly as he fights the urge to thrust into your throat. The way you look at Sentinel, your optics full of admiration, makes him feel like the most powerful being in the universe. His groans grow louder.

     You keep your sultry optics on his as you suck him more intently, swallowing around his spike to deliver a dose of pleasureful pressure.

     The Prime’s optics widen at the sensation, and he can't hold back a low, guttural groan. His spike twitches in your mouth, throbbing eagerly.

     "Ah, Sweetspark," he vents. "Your talents are indeed...exceptional."

     You smile around his spike and suck harder, moving with renewed eagerness as you taste the sweet, tangy flavor of pre-fluid leaking from his spike.

     Sentinel’s frame tenses, his vents hitching. He reaches out and grasps the top of your helm.

     "Faster," he grunts.

     You obey immediately, moving your helm up and down with urgency. You moan, sending a burst of vibrations through his spike as you continue to suck him off.

     The blue and gold mech groans, lays his helm back against the couch, and thrusts lightly into your mouth.

     You moan again at his little thrust, your gaze encouraging when you look up at him once more.

     Encouraged by your response, Sentinel Prime grips the sides of your helm with both servos and begins to thrust firmly into your mouth, his own mouth falling open with a deep groan.

     You take him with an ease granted by experience, your optics sliding shut. You’re more than happy to let him frag your mouth to his spark’s content. This is what you’re good for, what you were forged for.

     The feeling of your throat tightening around him is the final straw, and with a an embarrassing noise followed by a loud shout, Sentinel Prime reaches his peak. His servos grip your helm tight as he holds you down to his base, his spike jetting hot transfluid directly into your throat.

     Any other pleasurebot would have gagged on such a tall order, but you keep your throat relaxed and swallow, steadily drinking down everything Sentinel gives you. His overload is intense, his spike pulsing as he empties himself until he lets out a final groan of satisfaction and releases your helm. Panting heavily, he presses back against the couch, his legs stretching out on either side of you and then relaxing with a clank of his peds on the floor.

     You stay put for another moment, enjoying the way his spike twitches with the final spurts of transfluid. Once he’s finished, you slowly pull off of his spike, purring and licking it clean as you set your brightened optics back on his.

     Sentinel’s optics blink open, and he looks down at you. He runs a servo over your helm in a gentle pet.

     "Well…that was quite the performance," he pants.

     You hum, the praise sending a shiver of arousal through you. “Have I proven my worth to you, my Prime?”

     "Indeed, you have, Sweetspark," Sentinel purrs.

     He stands, his towering form casting a shadow over you as he reaches down to gently grasp your chin.

     "Now, let's continue this delightful experience in my berthroom," he says, letting go of your chin and striding towards the adjoining berthroom.

     You stand and follow him, licking the last traces of his transfluid from your lips. The berthroom is already set to a soothing dark blue lighting, the large, plush berth made with a luxurious assortment of golden pillows and soft metal mesh sheets. You glance around, admiring the immaculate golden walls and the well-kept trophies and artworks adorning them. A large mirror hangs above the helm of his berth, taking up an obscene amount of space on the wall.

     “Your berthroom is so lovely, Prime,” you purr. “It is truly an honor to serve you in the privacy of your suite.”

     Sentinel nods. He turns to face you, his spike still semi-pressurized.

     “Please,” he says with a dismissive wave of his servo, “in here, call me Sentinel.“

     You tilt your helm curiously, but don’t question. You just smile and nod.

     “As you wish…Sentinel,” you purr, giving his name a suggestive edge.

     He watches you from the side of the berth, his spike slowly returning to full pressurization.

     “Come here, Sweetspark,” he commands.

     You rev your engine softly and approach him, your optics locked attentively on his.

     With a gesture that speaks of absolute authority, Sentinel Prime points to his grand berth.

     "On your chassis, Sweetspark," he purrs. "Let me show you how a Prime appreciates his shareware."

     You’re quick to obey. You crawl onto the berth and lower your chassis, staying on your knees so your aft is in the air. You look back at Sentinel and bite your lip, wiggling your aft at him.

     The Prime’s optics brighten as he takes in the sight of your raised aft. He steps closer and notices the tiny streaks of viscuous purple from the lubricant that's seeped out of your closed interface panel.

     “So eager for your Prime’s attentions?” He asks, his voice a low, aroused growl.

     Sensing your Prime’s presence behind her, his optics on your aft…it’s all so intoxicating. You let a soft whimper escape you, leaning into his dominant demeanor.

     “Yes, Sentinel.”

     Sentinel Prime leans over you, his servo gliding down your spinal strut and over your aft to rest on your interface panel.

     “Open,” he orders.

     You carefully back up towards him as you allow your panel to slide open, only stopping once your knee struts are on the edge of the berth. You clench your valve, moaning softly as a gush of lubricant drips out of you.

     Sentinel admires the view of your slick valve, his spike twitching with interest.

     “Mmm,” he rumbles, “what a pretty bot you are.”

     He steps closer, placing one servo on your hip and using the other to align his spike with your entrance.

     Had he been any other client, you would have suggested that he prepare you first, but you wouldn’t dream of trying to correct Sentinel Primeon how to properly interface. So, you just spread your legs wider and grip the sheets.

     His servo on your hip tightens as he guides the tip of his spike to your waiting valve. He presses forward with a gentle but rushed firmness, venting at the wet heat of your frame’s embrace.

     "So tight," he grunts.

     Your mouth falls open in a gasp as his shaft immediately stretches your valve. You moan for his pleasure, dutifully ignoring the discomfort that comes with unprepared penetration from his larger frame type.

     “Yes, Sentinel...”

     You glance over at the mirror. Sentinel Prime is watching his own reflection in the mirror, a smug look on his faceplate as he observes his spike sliding into your valve. His servo leaves your hip to caress his own chassis, his engine purring as he admires the sight of himself mounting you.

     You wince when he pushes fully into you, but manage to replace any pained noise you might have made with an erotic, dramatically feminine moan.

     Sentinel starts to move, his spike sliding in and out of your valve with a steady rhythm. His gaze locks onto the sight of his spike disappearing into you and he groans, his frame shuddering before his thrusts quicken.

     You force out a moan on every languid thrust, but you can’t help but let out an airy chuckle between them as you watch him watch himself.

     His rhythm falters slightly, his gaze snapping to the back of your helm.

     "Is something amusing, Sweetspark?" he asks, stilling his hips.

     You gasp and lower your helm to the berth, a deep blush creeping onto your faceplate.

     “N-no, Sentinel,” you whimper. "You're just so...so handsome..."

     Sentinel’s spike stirs within you. He slowly leans over you, his servos sliding down your sides and firmly grasping your hips.

     With a smugness that's almost endearing, he purrs, “I sure am.”

     He slowly pulls his hips back until only the helm of his spike remains inside you, then slams back in.

     “AH-hah! Oh! Sentinel!”

     You tighten your grip on the sheets, moaning as the brief jolt of pain fades into a pleasureful ache.

     Sentinel’s smirk widens as he watches your reaction, his hips rolling against your aft in a sensual rhythm that’s not nearly as pleasurable as it is punishing.

     "Your screams are music to my audios, Sweetspark," he growls.

     You let out a pitifully desperate moan as he grinds into you, rubbing your faceplate into the sheets in imitation of a preening gesture.

     "Look at yourself," he commands, flight engines revving. "Watch me take you."

     “Ahh…”

     You turn your helm toward the mirror, your optics narrow in half-real pleasure as you obediently observe his reflection.

     Flight engines purring, he tightens his hold on your pelvic armor and sets a vigorous pace, his spike sliding in and out of you with the slick sounds of your lubricant.

     "That's it," he grunts. "Watch yourself be claimed by your Prime."

     You moan louder and squeeze him with your valve, drawing a staticky groan from his vocalizer. You know you aren’t ready to take the roughness his larger frame type is capable of, but you also know your client will enjoy being encouraged, and right now, you’re on duty.

     “Ohh, Sentinel,” you moan loudly. “Yes…! Claim me harder…!”

     Sentinel’s gaze returns to the mirror, a deep rumble emanating from his chassis as he watches you perform for him. He slides one servo up your back and pins you down by your shoulder, leaning over you. His hips piston into you faster.

     "Oh, yeah," he pants. "Show me how much you want it!"

     You writhe under him, clawing at the berth and making a vocal show of your pleasure.

     “Ah! Ah! Yes! Ooh, yes, Sentinel! Please, more!”

     His optics brighten as he watches himself in the mirror, plunging into your valve with increasing force.

     "Your screams only make me harder, Sweetspark," he growls.

     You continue to moan and cry out for him, your armor flaring to dump the heat from your frame. You arch your back and push against his thrusts, taking him deeper. Your optics squeeze shut and you pant heavily between your desperate cries for his spike. Finally, he was getting you close.

     “Sentinel! I’m- ahh! I’m gonna-!”

     "Overload," he commands, his voice a dark, demanding growl in your audio receptors. " Now ."

     You let out a loud, drawn-out moan and squeeze your valve around his spike, boosting the stimulation as he ruts into you. Your frame goes rigid and you overload, purposefully ensuring that your scream of ecstasy is loud enough to be heard even by the two guards stationed outside of the Prime’s suite. Lubricant gushes out around Sentinel’s spike, easing his thrusts despite the constriction.

     Sentinel thrusts into you one final time and hits his peak with a triumphant roar. His grip slightly dents your hip and shoulder armor, but it’s fine. His spike jets hot transfluid into the depths of your valve and he groans softly, his armor ruffling as his frame relaxes with the relief of his tension.

     You mewl pathetically as you feel his transfluid dripping from your valve before he’s even finished. You knead the berth with your servos as you relax, a soft moan escaping you between heavy panting.

     Sentinel Prime finally tears his gaze away from the mirror, looking down at you. He takes a moment to admire the sight before pulling his thick spike out of you with a wet slide of metal on metal that drags another quiet moan from your lips. He steps back, his slowly depressurizing spike glistening with your combined fluids.

     "I think I’ve found my new favorite piece of shareware," he rumbles.

     You take a moment to catch your breath, then carefully push yourself up and turn over to sit on the edge of the berth. You blush at the sight of your lubricant mixed with the Prime’s transfluid on the berth, your thighs, and his spike. You gaze up at him with adoring optics.

     “It is a delight to serve you, Sentinel.”

     He hums in agreement. He steps back, giving you a moment to recover. He runs a servo over his own heaving chassis, smoothing his plating down from its flared position. He frowns when his gaze reaches the mess on his thighs. When he sees you preparing to slide off of the berth, he gestures to the berthroom door with one lazy servo.

     “You are dismissed,” Sentinel says, already walking toward his private washrack. “You may use the guest washrack before you leave. Airachnid will give you my payment information.”

     The door slides open, making you jump and your panel snap shut. Airachnid stands just outside, her multi-optic gaze locked onto you as you walk out of the berthroom. She looks you up and down and, without a trace of emotion, points down the hallway.

     “First door on the right.”

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 42, 17 octobre 1896, Paris. No. 10. — Costumes d'automne et d'hiver. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(1) Chapeau Alexandre, en velours vert myrte, orné en dessus par des coques de ruban vieil or retenues par une broche brillant. Devant, longue plume amazone couchée; sur le sommet deux hautes plumes d'autruche.

(1) Alexander hat, in myrtle green velvet, decorated on top with shells of old gold ribbon held by a shiny brooch. In front, long recumbent amazone feather; on the top two tall ostrich feathers.

—

(2) Petite toque de velours rubis, faisant pouf derrière, ornée devant d'un large nœud alsacien, coupé par un papillon cachant le pied d'une aigrette paradis.

(2) Small ruby ​​velvet hat, pouf-shaped at the back, decorated in front with a large Alsatian bow, cut by a butterfly hiding the foot of a paradise egret.

—

(3) Collet de chèvre de Mongolie, monté sur empiècement de castor; grand col Médicis roulant en Mongolie. Chapeau Chouberski en feutre noir, avec nœud alsacien retenu par une boucle, orné de quatre grandes plumes d'autruche.

(3) Mongolian goat collar, mounted on a beaver insert; large rolling Medici collar in Mongolia. Chouberski hat in black felt, with Alsatian bow held by a buckle, decorated with four large ostrich feathers.

—

(4) Chapeau bonne femme, entouré par une ruche de dentelle avec gros pouf de mousseline de soie sur chaque côté.

(4) Bonnet hat, surrounded by a lace ruffle with large chiffon pouf on each side.

—

(5) Toilette de visite en peau de soie abricot et satin noir. Corsage à pointe, montant et brodé, à col de dentelle montant; suede corsage, draperies en bretelles retenues par un chou de satin noir semblable. Manches papillon en satin noir sur manches peau de soie brodées; dessus de bras et ceinture corselet également en satin. Jupe nouvelle, plissée derrière, brodée dans le bas.

Petit canotier relevé orné de velours en jarretières et de grandes plumes en aigrettes.

(5) Visiting dress in apricot peau de soie and black satin. Pointed bodice, high and embroidered, with high lace collar; suede bodice, draperies in straps held by a similar black satin cabbage. Butterfly sleeves in black satin on embroidered peau de soie sleeves; upper arms and bodice belt also in satin. New skirt, pleated behind, embroidered at the bottom.

Small raised boater decorated with velvet in garters and large feathers in aigrettes.

Métrage: 14 mètres peau de soie, 3 mètres satin noir.

—

(6) Toilette de promenade, en lainage un vert émeraude. Corsage-plastron uni, boléro orné de boutons et garni tout autour par un galon russe. Jockeys à créneaux sur manches nouvelles à parements de galons; ceinture corselet semblable; ruche crénelée en galon autour du cou. Jupe plate, plissée derrière.

Toque de velours vert, ornée de rangs de perles, avec froufroutage de mousseline de soie et deux plumes princesse de Galles en dessus.

(6) Promenade dress, in emerald green wool. Plain bodice-plastron, bolero decorated with buttons and trimmed all around with Russian braid. Jockeys with crenellations on new sleeves with braid facings; similar corset belt; crenellated braid ruffle around the neck. Flat skirt, pleated behind.

Green velvet toque, decorated with rows of pearls, with silk muslin frills and two Princess of Wales feathers above.

Métrage: 10 mètres lainage grande largeur.

—

(7) Jaquette sac tout droite, coupée en long par des galons russes et reliée devant par deux pattes boutonnées. Le drap de la jaquette est relevé par de grands revers carrés et un col Médicis roulant en velours noir. Chapeau Louis XVI à bords retournés avec cache peigne en coques de ruban et grandes plumes d'autruche, posées en groupe s'élevant en aigrette au-dessus.

(7) Straight sack jacket, cut lengthwise with Russian braid and connected in front by two buttoned tabs. The fabric of the jacket is raised by large square lapels and a rolling Medici collar in black velvet. Louis XVI hat with turned-up edges with a comb cover in ribbon shells and large ostrich feathers, placed in a group rising in an aigrette above.

[cyberrose2001]

I'm tired of hiding behind anon. It's time I fess up to how down bad I am for Optimus Prime.

I want a Matrix and Synth-En powered Optimus to rearrange my guts and keep me round with his sparklings. I want Optimus to use me to singlehandedly repopulate Cybertron, keep me as his personal breeding toy.

Being the Prime's mate would be such a high honor/position. You'd be treated like a Prime yourself, human or not; especially once you've obtained a sacred womb tattoo. Optimus himself would pamper you, femmes and mechs alike would envy you; the council could chew nails and spit fire at the fact you hold more say than they do, just because you fuck Primus' chosen one.

I'd say a lot more, but I'd probably either be sent to jail, or the nut house.

Tl,dr; I would let Optimus Prime do horrendous things to me. I am a mentally unwell individual.

oh HELL yeah!!! confess your sins my child

If you're gonna help a Prime repopulate Cybertron, you have to expect the most lavish pampering. The most expensive silks and gowns that allow your rounded figure to be on display at all times, a private penthouse/quarters with a birthing suite that give the best views Cybertron has to offer

I'd never think to bring the council into it, but I have to agree that they would be less then enthused that a human is granted some kind of power over them, not just because you're fucking Optimus Prime (which holds power in itself) but because the damn matrix has imprinted on you too which is one step above any kind of power that the Council wields and they hate it

And the mechs and femmes that'd flutter around you like groupies anytime they get a glimpse of you in public. You'd be revered like a celebrity for being the Primes mate and due to you being the first human they've ever laid optics on, coming in crowds just to bask in your essence, or to stare at you in disgust. Some Cybertronians might even get a chance to feel your baby bump.

I too, have a lot of things to say but I'm limiting myself to a couple paragraphs FJJDKS

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Cassie: Friend, Soulmate, and Self-Regenerating Muse

One of the ongoing themes of my multi-book series is The Muse: the consciousness, archetype, and ways of moving and being of the Muse, who is the Muse and why this energetic matrix is important for every femme to embody for her aliveness and manifestation potential. I made a major edit in this chapter after randomly meeting someone one warm day in Amsterdam recently. The chapter now opens with a story about her.

Cassie is her name and she is stunning. I don’t know what it is about Amsterdam but I rarely—meaning—never —meet people I feel a deep soul kinship with. To be fair, I spend more time biking in Amsterdam instead of walking because the weather is often trashy. But walking is my favorite exercise and I tend to walk a whole lot more in other cities when I’m traveling because, hello, beautiful weather. But on this warm beautiful Sunday in Amsterdam, I joyfully walked everywhere. That’s how I met Cassie, an Indonesian and Surinamese (Black) 38 year old Goddess as she was lightheartedly and confidently sashaying down the street in her short denim dress with peak-a-boo air holes cut out on the sides which illuminated her waist.

She was alone with no cell phone or bag, casually strollin' to her own rhythms while licking a vanilla ice cream cone and delighting in her own innocence and pleasure after walking through the city for hours I would later find out. That is so me—walking for hours in a city and getting lost without a cell phone on me. It was like seeing myself and one of my favorite Minnie Riperton album covers come to life in full-size, "Perfect Angel," the one where she is holding a dripping ice cream cone while smiling so sweetly. Suddenly Cassie made a u-turn and sat on the bench directly across from me. I knew I had to say something to her.

The first thing I said was “you must tell me what you do to have that kind of body.” She responded “you must tell what YOU do to have that kind of body.” She reminded me of me so much—it was dreamy and surreal as watching a Maya Deren “black and white” film yet it was as real as human flesh and a beating heart. You know what her answer was?! “I don’t workout my body. I just workout my mindset and emotional body.” I responded with all manners of celebration “you magical neuroscience quantum theory Gawddddd.” We both laughed! We ended up talking for 4 whole hours— nerding out on everything from quantum physics and metaphysics to speaking about our dreams, love, farm life, and why high-quality, non-extractive penetration (when mutual love and reverence are present regardless of the 'relationship status' between the two) is essential for the healthy shape of a woman’s body and to liberate the deeper coiled wisdom living in her female tissues that no male guru in India could ever possibly understand or teach. It felt like Cassie and I had only been sitting there for only 30 minutes. She was my muse and I was hers. We went on a real journey together.

To open yourself up to The Muse and allow this regenerative consciousness to be your lighthouse in the world requires devotion and a kind of playful endurance and resiliency where you begin to hold a quality of self-worth that does not allow you to give up before the miracles start to happen in your life. Being able to follow a dream -your heart's desires and big visions, capable of trusting the process of what is being divinely asked of you to do and not give up, truly embodying the mindset of a divine being, yield a greater energy of pure power. And what I know about energy is that everything is sourced from it, even though it appears physical to our eyes.

Of course, if you desire to work through the physical/3D world/matter, those things you can logically track and measure, you can. But the truth is that you access more infinite power to shift your body and whole life when you begin to tune into E-N-E-R-G-Y, the subtle, immaterial, and invisible, the spirit that lies beneath the surface, like blessing your food and directing it to travel to the parts of your body you’d like for it to energize or nourish, to make more shapely or healthy. Also, getting into energy work and metaphysics, the essences of your chi, makes you prettier like a beauty ritual, more naturally attractive, magnetic, and wiser. I can’t wait to finalize this chapter and share a snippet here. Yum!—India Ame’ye

[liminalpebble]

Between the Lines, Chapter 2

Masterlist

Summary: The exchange of concubines amongst the noble houses of Asgard is nothing new to the royal family, however, it is to Asgard's solitary younger prince. Since Loki had always openly declared the tradition barbaric and loathsome, he shocks the court to its core when he changes his mind.

The trickster had yet another surprise in store when he selected you, a librarian from a noble house to occupy his bed.

You're stunned, intimidated, even afraid, of the sly second prince, but you know as well as anyone that to deny a royal decree is to court death.

And so you go, only to find that this mysterious man is not at all what you expected.

Pairing: Femme reader x Loki Pre-Thor 1 AU

CW: Allusions to sexual slavery dubcon/noncon within the society. Power imbalance. Eventual smut with questionable consent. Minors DNI.

AN: This will be a multi-parter but not a particularly long one, so if I leave you hanging between chapters, I promise it won't be particularly long before it all comes together.

Chapter 2

“Come. It will be a long night, and we have so much to learn.”

He takes your hand firmly, but delicately, as if leading you to a ballroom for a waltz. The tenderness of it catches you off guard. You expected to be yanked over to his bed and ravished, left with bruises, and disposed of. That's what everyone told you to expect.

Instead, he guides you through lavish double doors to what appears to be his personal library. You crane your neck up, straining to see the top of the high, dark shelves and rolling ladders, all intricately carved with braided motifs, interwoven with mysterious runes and imagery. You have the dizzying sense that this room is centuries older than you, possibly even older than the god beside you. A stained glass skylight (a mandala of daggers) drenches the large parlor with eerie, icy moonlight. It tangles with the warm glow of the candles below in swirls of subtle blue and gold.

Loki feels his heart thaw ever so slightly at your glowing innocent wonder; the pure love and reverence in your eyes for those tomes, for the history of beings telling each other stories and truths, fantastical or factual...of people reading to know they are not alone. People, like you and him, who so often felt alone, who felt the painful singularity of your existence like a needle through the heart.

He smiles with furtive satisfaction. Oh yes. He has done very well to pluck this librarian from her life, like a flower from a secret garden of rarities. He watches as you walked in small uncertain steps, trance-like, towards the nearest shelves, raising your hand to graze the spines as you read them. Suddenly, you remember your situation, and turn to your prince asking, “I'm sorry. May I touch them?”

He chuckles, and sweeps his hands out from where he had them clasped behind his back; palms out in an open, gracious, gesture. “Of course. What good is a library, after all, if no one uses it?”

You nod, feeling a shy smile peek out from behind your nerves. He watches, radiant with longing. Those luminous eyes follow your careful fingers, brushing the spines so lovingly...the same way he ached for you to stroke along the iron pillar of his own, smelting him sweetly into something softer.

He swallows, blinks the thought away, and dons his inscrutable mask again.

“Would you like something more comfortable?”

“More...more comfortable?”

“Well, yes. As absolutely ravishing as you look in that gown, I don't imagine it's very pleasant to wear.”

The way his deep voice dripped like honey around that “r” sends a liquid, sugary, excitement coursing through your veins. An emotion you didn't yet have a name or category for; something teetering between fear and arousal.

He leaves the room in quick steps, returning with a robe of lush green velvet, placing it gently into your hands.

Loki gives a dangerous smile and a charming wink. “And don't worry, darling. I'll avert my eyes.”

He does as he says, turning his broad back to you. The prince leans against the door frame feigning a relaxed indifference that he couldn't feel further from.

It takes some time to free yourself of all the panels and boning of the intricate dress. You wonder how something so revealing could actually have so many layers. You curse under your breath as you fiddle with a latch for the fifth time, then sigh with relief as it finally gives way.

He...snickers. The terrifying tactician, master of blades and battle, the ambitious dark prince of Asgard snickers at you and you can't help but snicker back. It was funny. You probably would have laughed harder if you weren't still stiff and stifled by fear.

Finally, you shed the last of the layers. The gown falls around you like dead leaves, as you swaddle yourself in the verdant drape of his robe, reviving ever-so-slightly.

You take a deep inhale (your first since this stressful day began). The fabric holds his fragrance; earthy, snow-laden pine trees on the darkest night of the year, sharp clean mint, and something dark and hypnotic you can't place, like an ancient poisonous flower. It lulls you into a cool comfort, stills your breath, and soothes your chafed skin. You wonder if his touch would feel like this, but even better, and the thought makes the blood rush to your cheeks.

“Better?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Yes. Much. Thank you, Sire.”

As you tie the gold cord, you observe the shelves in front of you: Cummings, Eliot, Shakespeare, Milton, Whitman, and Blake...Midgardian literature. Forbidden Midgardian literature.

You turn and say, “You have Midgardian books?”

“Yes,” he answers, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought they were forbidden.”

He drifts closer, gradually dominating your space. As his shadow envelops you, he say, “Indeed they are for ordinary citizens. Not for a prince of the realms.”

You nod and feel your face grow hot with embarrassment. Of course. Silly question.

“But,” he purrs with a lilt of mischief, “that does beg the question...how are you familiar with them?”

You fidget, suddenly feeling that the oversized robe is overwhelming your naked body beneath it as it swallows you whole.

“I am...was...a royal librarian and archivist. We have special dispensations.”

“Ah. Yesss.” he says with a sneaky hiss. It's not the whole truth and he knows it, but he decides to play with his food a bit longer before going in for the kill. He loves to bite, but he much prefers to kiss beforehand; lips before tongue, tongue before teeth, taking his careful time to taste.

His broad hand slides around your waist. The other arm gestures to the expanse of shelves. He leans down, nose and lips nuzzling ever-so-slightly into your hairline as he whispers, “please, select a book, darling. Whatever your heart desires. I want you to read to me.”

@mischief2sarawr @mischiefmaker615 @litaloni @ladyofthestayingpower @gigglingtiggerv2 @smolvenger @lokischambermaid @sweetsigyn @alexakeyloveloki @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @goblingirlsarah @lokisgoodgirl @coldnique @icytrickster17 @loopsisloops @muddyorbs @sailorholly @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @unlucky-number-13 @thedistractedagglomeration @thenerdyoldersister @mochie85 @peaches1958 @acidcasualties @mischief-dream

[stickytrigger69]

Hey! Could you write a love letter confession from TFP Shockwave to femme cybertronian reader? Like, what would the letter say once she opened it up and reads it? Have a good day or night! <3

TFP Shockwave x Femme Cybertronian Reader

Reader is femme, she/her

This is just straight up fluff

Reader frame type, paint job, optic color, etc. are unspecified

Thanks for the well wishes, hope you're doing well also 😊

Sorry the end kinda sucked, and that its so short lol, it was quite the challenge to write a love letter from Shockwave but I think it's good? Hope you like it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

You've had a very busy day. As the only femme on the nemesis that is currently conscious, you have to walk around the ship, taking this to him or that to the other him on the other side of the ship. That isn't even the worst thing about this Pit forsaken ship either. All of the mechs tip toe around you like you're the plague. You feel so.

Alone.

The only bots that talk to you like you're friends are Knockout and Breakdown but they're gone most of the time. You honestly find Soundwave to be good company but you always get in the way while he's working. Megatron is respectful of you and actually likes to show you off to those who find their way on the nemesis. He told Optimus, er, Orion, all about you. And when Shockwave arrived he would not stop finding a way to brag about his, "elite femme".

Because of the pedestal Megatron placed you on with his words and reverence, Shockwave acknowledges that you are intelligent and competent. There are often times where he will share progress with you and even ask for your insight if something is troubling him. Your logic is somewhat fourth dimensional compared to his being third dimensional. Your logic often backed by your feelings rather than strictly being scientific. He likes hearing you say it too, "I feel like...", and then you give your opinion.

Your opinion is personal and he finds it rather refreshing. It's odd but he actually starts to like you, he will ask that you stay in the lab with him for just a bit longer or his servo will linger on yours when you hand him something. You don't notice that he likes you, to you, it looks more like he appreciates you; or that he's overworking himself. But then again, the lack of a faceplate with derma and two optics masks what he's feeling perfectly. Knowing the way he thinks though, you kind of doubt that he feels much of anything and if he does it's a very basic, diluted level of it.

Despite all of that, you find no reason to be suspicious of him or his intents, he always has plausible reasons for his actions so you don't ever question it. At least you didn't until you finally entered your hab. The lights flickering on as you stepped inside. Just a few steps to your left on your desk was a data pad and a small assortment of crystals. A couple, you realized, were of Cybertronian origin, the colors gave them a more distinguished look compared to the earth borne crystals.

You held one up closer to your face to get a better look at it before turning your attention to the data pad. You pick up the data pad with your empty servo, carefully twirling the crystal while the data pad glows. Your optics widen the more you read.

(Y/N),

The more I ponder, the more I am compelled to examine my thoughts and the feelings that come entangled in them, I begin to realize that, as inappropriate as it may be, I find you alluring. You are a femme of high caliber; you are intelligent, strong, above all, compassionate. I have seen it first hand, the way you interact with my predacon, and it makes my spark swell with pride. Your presence in the lab is one I have begun to look forward to. The distinct sound of your pedes is cause to increase efficiency in my work.

I have lain myself upon a slab and have taken myself apart, analyzing and experimenting to see just what exactly I felt about you. With time I have gotten the results I desired. The process was tedious but in the end I feel it was worth every step. (Y/N), I have a fondness for you and have chosen the most logical course of action regarding said fondness. Your frame is as desirable as your intellect and the softness in your optics after working so hard is truly a sight.

I wish to have you close to me. As close as you will allow. I understand you are more than just a femme, but a scientist and even a warrior with great honor. A femme who is worthy of respect. Thus, I leave the decision to you.

If you truly feel in your spark that you no longer wish to associate yourself with me I will not try to force you to face me. I will leave you be unless we must interact. I will bury these feelings and proceed with a professional attitude. But, if you are willing, I would like to try being more personal with you and share tender moments like I have observed from you and my predacon. Please, do respond to me in any way you deem fitting to your standards.

I patiently await your response,

Shockwave

You are at a loss. Shockwave? He really feels this way? Your optics snap up and you stare at the crystal in your other servo, everything has begun to click. Puzzle pieces falling into place.

The lingering touches, the long conversations, the slight change in his tone when he addresses you, and his requests for you to remain in the lab for even just a klik more. His entire demeanor changes when he speaks to you. Even if he is already calm, he gets even softer when he turns to you. It makes a smile creep to your faceplate. Your spark thumps in your chassis.

You can say that you do find the large mech to be attractive, his frame is strong, even for a scientist. His voice often soothes the dull ache in your processor after staring at the purple displays of the lab. So many thoughts race through your processor, you ask yourself a dozen questions. You look from the items in your servos to the rest of the crystals on your table while you continue to think. Finally, you turn your helm to look at your berth.

You decide to "sleep with it", or whatever human thing Knockout likes to say. As you begin to drift into recharge you make up your mind. You will reciprocate. You will tell Shockwave just how you feel as well. That you admire him and that you would trust no other mech with your most vulnerable self.

You're just not sure how or when you'll tell him.

[elithilanor]

Delayed Gratification

This is pure filth. And so much longer than I intended it to be? Like short story length??

Surprisingly (Sadly?), this is my first piece of sapphic anything put out into the world, so I’m definitely open to constructive criticism, but please don’t be an asshole about it. Also, there’s a dearth of good wlw um anything so let’s fucking fix it (as sapphic and wlw people - nonbinary and trans inclusive)!

Anyway, Happy Pride, everyone!!!! Enjoy! :)

Tags: Arwen x Female! Elf! Reader (ITS HER WIFE ARWEN GETS A WIFE), dildos, fingering, I would say a healthy amount of d/s - dommy and possessive Arwen, exhibitionism, married sex (this is solely here to reiterate Arwen’s WIFE), femme 4 femme, orgasm denial and edging but mostly off-screen, begging, being restrained in place, biting

This is a healthy, happy, relationship with well-established exhibitionist scenes at play; discussed off-screen. I’ve probably over tagged, but I like to be safe.

Sapphic tag-list (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed): @starlady66 @glassgulls @wareagleofthemountain

Word Count: 1,411

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“Tease each other, but with love.” -costar

.

.

.

You gasp as a cold snap hits your face as you finally manage your way out of one of the circle dances stomping through the Hall of Fire and into the frigid, snow-dusted, air.

Truly, you think blankly, as you force your numb and shaking legs across the courtyard and onto one of secluded paths, the Solstice festivities this year are something to behold and your-House-by-marriage have outdone themselves in preparation and execution.

There was only so much dancing you were able to take, however, given not only the now late hour, but also considering your adornment for this evening.

Luckily, once you reach the back gardens, you have long passed any elves wandering from the blazing heat in the celebratory hall, allowing you to safely collapse onto a bench without fear of being seen. You quickly loosen the top of your dress and curl your legs under yourself while hiking up your skirt in the hopes that the brisk bite of winter would soothe your flushed and overheated skin.

Trying in vain to regain some sort of equilibrium, you gaze up at the indigo sky and breathe.

Peppered in with the silver stars, the sickle moon hangs high in the sky. You watch your warm, released breaths float back out into the darkness and you wrap your arms around your legs.  

Slowly - ever so gently as if she almost regretted disturbing your peace- soft arms draped in luxurious silks wrap around you from behind and pull you against an indulgent frame. Your wife’s honeyed voice murmurs against your skin,

“I had wondered where you might have gone when I saw you leave the Hall.” She nips the tip of your ear as she tightens her hold on you, her fabric-obscured muscles ensnaring you and ensuring you won’t be free until she decides to release you.

One of her hands dips down to dance unhurriedly across your inner thighs. You whimper as her lips brush against your neck. “And yet here you are: already spread open and waiting for me.”

She grins and trails her fingers higher, dragging your skirt with her hand and exposing more of your skin to the night air.

“Vanimelda.” Arwen whispers reverently as she seals your lips together for the first time in an incredibly long evening. You clutch at her arm and press back against her, your shoulders flush against her chest. Ridiculous, she was Vanimelda, not yourself.

But all thoughts escape you as you lose yourself in the taste of Arwen. She kisses you again and again and again. Deeper. Longer. You could swear her lips were softer than when you kissed this morning.

You chase the next one.

“Have you any idea how resplendent you look tonight?” The next kiss is harsher and you want, oh, how much you need her. “How much I craved to touch you in the firelight, but could not?”

“Could not?! You - !” She swiftly kisses you again, cutting off your complaint, and she begins working apart the laces that held closed the front of your gown. You had opted to not wear your shift for this banquet.

“Arwen,” You whimper when her fingers brush roughly against your chest. “Arwen, we are not secluded. Anyone could find us.” She pauses, a slight uncertainty written across her features. She presses a questioning kiss to your nose and without a moment’s hesitation, you return it. She lovingly kisses the top of your head and easily slips back into her role.

“Let them.” She growls, giving a hard pull at the last of the lace. Your breasts spill out of your bodice and you gasp, nipples pebbling quickly in the frosty evening. Her eyes are as dark as thunderclouds on the grasslands and her words ring with more truth than they do not.

“Let them look but know that you only belong to me. Let them see how you belong to me. You are mine and no others’.” You stare at her and swallow, mouth dry.

“Perhaps we should go to bed.” She hisses. “My lady wife should only be seen in this state by me and no one else. Let them look from a distance and not the next bush over.”

With this declaration, however, you snap.

“Arwen Elrenniel, I swear by the Valar above that if you do not take me now that I will find someone else to fill me and you will never touch me again!” You snarl, finally at the end of your patience, despite the game being played. Arwen laughs, the sound like bells filling the sky.

“It has been four hours and I will not pass another in this state!” You hiss angrily.

“I have been unkind.” She acknowledges, her voice gentle as it normally is outside of bed-sport. Her thick thigh presses forcefully between your legs, forcing them apart.

It drives you mad and she knows it.

“Arwen, please!” you whine, desperate.

With this, she finally presses down on the phallus you’ve carried inside of you since you dressed for the festival. Since your wife had bent you over your bed’s side and ordered that you didn’t remove it despite the constantly shifting and aching pleasure it caused within you. It had been designed for your body alone, but just under the size and length necessary to bring you to your peak. Without question, it’s her favorite toy to use on you.

You cry out and strain against her arms, breathing hard.

“Poor thing.” She hums and smiles beautifully, the stars shining in her eyes. “Look how wet you are and I’ve not even touched you today.”

You’d glare if you could, but all you feel is relief. You spread your legs wider and arch into her hand, whining. “Please? Please please please, arimelda.”

“Hush, my love,” she sighs against your lips. “You wouldn’t want anyone to hear you now would you?”

With that, she dips her head and takes your nipple into her mouth, biting hard at the flesh. Your cry is cut short with her hand on your mouth as her cruel wonderful dexterous fingers press and rub directly against your clit.

You tremble in her arms, the sensations completely overwhelming you and silencing any and all thought in your brain.

You cant your hips against her hand on your sex. You try to close your legs.

You clutch at her arms, trying to drag her away. You press your breast closer to her lips.

Arwen, you gasp through your marriage bond, mouth locked as it is. Arwen, Vanimelda! I’m so another gasp as she bites you again, harder than before, I’m s-so close.

“Is this not what you asked of me, melethril?” She breathes softly, teasingly as she runs her tongue over your smarting flesh. “To finally bring you to climax and end your suffering?”

She slips a finger into you besides the phallus and increases the pace of her thumb. You arch into her arms, hips rocking and head falling back against her shoulder.  

“That’s it, arimelda. Come for me. Let the whole of our House hear how you belong to me.”

She catches your lips with hers to swallow your screams as a sharp twist to your swollen nipples has you thrusting wildly against her hand as you come undone, your much delayed orgasm overtaking you and flooding your bond with white-hot, aching pleasure.  

Arwen gasps and quickly slips one of her hands to touch herself, rubbing against you as she brings you both to another release, your body stuttering wildly as you clench hard around the toy and soak her wrist, voice lifting in the still air.

You slowly come back to yourself after several, long, moments to find yourself cradled in your wife’s arms and your head pillowed on her breasts. Your mouth is dry and you’re warm in her arms, your clothes having been re-tied in your post-release haze.

Arwen presses a soft kiss to your temple and brushes your hair away from your sweaty face. “Hello, meleth.” She says, voice quiet and silken in your senses. “You did so wonderfully and so beautifully for me. Thank you.”

Warmth floods your veins and you smile tiredly at her. Love you, s’good. Great. Mhm. You mentally send her way as your eyes slowly slip closed against your wishes, exhaustion creeping in your bones.

Her tinkling laugh soothes the aches in your limbs. Sleep, meleth. I’ll get you to bed.

Despite all her teasing, you know she will.

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.

.

Thanks for reading!

[black-arcana]

EXIT EDEN Reveal New Single ‘Run!’ Feat. Marko Hietala + Announce New Album “Femmes Fatales”

[photo credit: Stephan Heilemann]

Symphonic metal supergroup EXIT EDEN, feat. Clémentine Delauney (Visions of Atlantis), Anna Brunner (League of Distortion) and Marina La Torraca (Phantom Elite), are back to mesmerize audiences with their second studio album – illustrating strength and female empowerment with the title Femmes Fatales – set for release on January 12, 2024 via Napalm Records. EXIT EDEN’s new masterpiece contains its own original compositions as well as covers of international hits, and refers to the “femme fatale” as a symbol of women taking control of their own narratives with autonomy, intelligence and independence, and bringing pure feminine energy back into the world. 

With their debut, Rhapsodies in Black (2017), entering the German album charts at #15 and millions of views on their previous official videos, the trio presents the new single “Run!”, featuring a magical guest appearance by matchless vocalist Marko Hietala (ex-Nightwish). Written by Anna Brunner and Hannes Braun (Kissin’ Dynamite), original track “Run!” showcases another astonishing facet of the album by bringing a folk-ish vibe alongside the outstanding appearance of Hietala, gracing the track with his distinctive voice. The haunting song arrives with a high quality official video, luring the listener into the mesmerizing world of EXIT EDEN.

EXIT EDEN state:                            “We are back and very excited to re-introduce EXIT EDEN, starting with the single ‘Run!’ – our very first original song ever. It features the legendary Marko Hietala (ex-Nightwish), and we couldn’t be more honored! This is only one of the many facets of our new album, ‘Femmes Fatales’, and we can’t wait to share all of them with you.”

When Clémentine Delauney, Anna Brunner, Marina La Torraca and Amanda Somerville came together to form EXIT EDEN, topped by the release of their first album, Rhapsodies in Black, in summer 2017, it became immediately clear that this combination would be both powerful and magical! These four outstanding and independent female vocalists proved that symphonic heaviness can go hand in hand with pop music – dressing well-known classics in a yet unheard soundscape, and evoking more than just a covers album!   Now performing as a trio, EXIT EDEN‘s new full-length follows the path of its predecessor, as it contains six cover versions of famous cross-generational super-hits, but this time also shines by offering six original compositions. With one exception (“Dying in my Dreams”, co-written by Marina La Torraca), the remaining five original songs were brought to life by Anna Brunner and Hannes Braun (Kissin’ Dynamite), who is also responsible for recording, production and mixing, whereas the album was mastered by Jacob Hansen (Delain, Amaranthe, Volbeat, Destruction and many more).

Pre-order your copy of Femmes Fatales NOW

Self-confidently leading straight into the tempting world of EXIT EDEN, opening “Femme Fatale”,  “Buried in the Past” and “Hold Back Your Fear” conjure a mystical atmosphere with strings and orchestral elements, topped by complementary vocals uniting the sonic diversity of the all-femme trio. “Dying In My Dreams” and album closing “Elysium” set the tone as captivating mid-tempo tracks with intense choruses that speak straight to the heart. Moving further along the path where Rhapsodies in Black left off, EXIT EDEN picked the next selection of international super-hits – transforming them into their very own creation, yet still paying reverence to the originals on Femmes Fatales. “It’s a Sin” (Pet Shop Boys), “Separate Ways” (Journey), “Desanchantée” (Mylène Farmer), “Poison” (Alice Cooper), “Alone” (Heart) and “Kayleigh” (Marilion), re-arranged as undoubtably striking rock/symphonic metal compositions, form the common thread between the debut and Femmes Fatales.

With stellar vocals, an exceptional concept and high-quality production, EXIT EDEN have crafted another standout album that absolutely succeeds in expanding the identity of the supergroup even more, and gives fans the chance to experience three of the most beautiful and talented women in metal united as one on Femmes Fatales.

Femmes Fatales tracklisting: 1    Femme Fatale 2    It’s a Sin 3    Run! (feat. Marko Hietala) 4    Separate Ways 5    Buried in the Past 6    Désenchantée 7    Dying in my Dreams 8    Poison 9    Alone 10  Hold Back Your Fear 11  Kayleigh 12  Elysium        

[mvnvgedmischief]

i personally would like to see the butch/femme dorlene headcanons 👀

don't tempt me with a good time!!

marlene:

our favorite little butch lesbian marlene loves to work with her hands

her hands are calloused from building and making things. when sirius brought home the bike as a passion project, marlene was the only other person who was allowed to work on it. the two of them would spend hours working on fixing the bike, and for as much as sirius wanted to use magic to repair the bike itself, marlene really talked him out of that

marlene doesn't let dorcas walk on the outside of the sidewalk, she is always putting herself between dorcas and oncoming traffic, for fear of her girlfriend walking right into the street (not that dorcas ever would, and marlene knows that)

her hands are calloused to all hell because she loves using them to make things. while her magic can conjure up anything she wants, there is a much simpler, beautiful magic to creating things that marlene reveres

the wrangler cowboy cut jean is her favorite pair of pants she's ever owned

mullet. enough said.

she loves to bring dorcas flowers, and makes sure to study up on their meanings and magical uses before bringing her lover a bouquet.

when anyone would ask her who dorcas was to her, the answer was always my girl. it was the 80s, so she wasn't exactly going to be able to marry her, but "girlfriend" felt to informal

absolutely a hot head when it comes to anyone but dorcas. always willing to throw down

loves music, any kind really

lives in her boots. specifically work boots. she has a pair of military jump boots she found in some charity shop while traveling

constantly the handyman in her own apartment. refuses to call the super for anything

I firmly believe for all of our gay wizards they don't spend their twenties entirely in the wizarding world, and instead have one foot in muggle culture. that is particularly true for marlene, as a butch lesbian, because of the implications of nonconformity in a closed society

super close with her brothers, grew up playing with them outside even though it was "unbecoming of a young lady"

has known she was gay and butch since she was a young teenager, but couldn't comfortably act on that outside of the private rooms and hallways she found herself in with a pretty girl

never lets dorcas pay for dates, even though she's more than capable

kind of an idiot when it comes to other people: essentially dorcas had to tell her straight up "I want to date you" after being a situationship

a bit of a lady killer. always had a schoolgirl crush on dorcas, but was worried about ruining the friendship or coming off as predatory, so she waited for dorcas to make the first move. once they got together, she never waited that long again.

tall, like at least 5'11

played a very remedial version of quidditch before going out for the team at hogwarts, and finally cementing herself on dorcas's radar

dorcas:

took a while to figure out her sexuality. for a long time she confused her attraction to masculinity with an attraction to men

didn't call herself a femme until she was out of hogwarts living it up

healer who is always there when marlene accidentally hits herself in the hand with a hammer or a permanent sticking charm goes haywire

short. 5'4.

loves a high heel. spent her free time practicing walking around in them in the dorms. her friends always thought she was trying to impress some boy, but she was trying to find a comfortable way to portray herself to the world

spent a long time (in her mind) pining over a butch to sweep her off her feet. when she finally met marlene in all of her authenticity, wasn't sure if she conjured her in her mind or if she was real

always makes the first move to hold marlene's hand. loves that they are so rough and calloused

loves to cook dinner for marlene and have it ready when she gets home from work. usually their schedules overlap too much for that to work out, so when she can pull it off it feels like a real treat

pays attention to soccer/football because marlene likes it

loves terms of endearment & compliments, especially masculine-leaning ones, for marlene because she loves the way marlene blushes and stares down at her hands when she hears them.

will hide in marlene's shoulder if they're watching something scary. loves to feel protected

never pays because she likes the way marlene beams when putting down cash to get the bill

makes marlene wash her face with actual face soap. dorcas has a whole morning and night time skin routine, but she'll settle for marlene washing her face with something other than a bar of Irish spring or some other such nonsense

plays piano, thinks she's bad at it

explains plant meanings to marlene, and takes note of the fact that marlene will recite the information back to her as it relates to the flowers in a bouquet

owns a black cat

loves scented candles, and owns far too many of them probably

wears a necklace with MM emblazoned on it, loves to be someone's girl

quite shy with her affection, it took a lot of nerve to make the first move on marlene

likes to be persued romantically, doesn't like to be the persuer

bubbly script handwriting

loves to watch marlene fix something

loves being arm candy

takes the time to match her outfits to marlene's when they're going out on a date

plans really thoughtful dates like picnics and walking tour esque events

always wakes up first and does her hair before marlene ever wakes up. likes to feel like she's getting dolled up in the morning, but doesn't always like to wear makeup

really passionate about jewelry

[female-malice]

(abt your comment ont the cassandra comic) oh my god yes, thank you. im so tired of everyone coddling and being borderline reverent of the high/stone femme identity bc "muh rich and long history". like, im sorry, but you ARE selfish, and your butch gfs deserve so much better than being treated like a sex toy to get you off with no reciprocity bc you think lying still with a face full of makeup is the same as actually desiring and showing attraction to your partner. i feel like a lot of them don't want to admit it, but theyre exactly like the girl in the comic: they dont mind their partners being female, but definitely dont like it either, they "love" their butch as long as they can imagine her as some sexy masc androgyne with no identifiable female characteristics or desires of her own.

Homophobia has a rich and long history. Misogyny has a rich and long history.

Many of the things LGB people were doing in the past were maladaptive coping mechanisms. They invented ways to hold on to homophobia and misogyny while finding quick outlets for same-sex desire. And some LGB people still do that today. They're intrigued by historical maladaptive coping mechanisms because they feel they need that in their own lives. And sometimes they take it even further and call these maladaptive coping mechanisms "gay culture" or "lesbian culture."

Historical lesbian hook-up dynamics are not "lesbian culture." I don't even believe there is a unique lesbian culture. Every woman belongs to the culture she was born into. Our cultural perspectives are largely shaped by the first 10 years of our lives. And 99% of us do not have lesbian parents. So how can there be a lesbian culture? There's only the culture you were born into and the methods you develop to reject or incorporate your culture's homophobia.

[crvwncd]

࣪𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         chienna filomeno,  27,  demi woman,  she / they.    announcing  the  arrival  of  MALAYA  of  house  DAGAREON,  the  PRINCESS  of  ESSOS.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  QUIXOTIC  and  PUGNACIOUS  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  horse rearing and astronomy.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  responsibilities seen and attempted of sharing with disposition far wiser than age, sprinkle of dusted sunlight following each footstep with lofty dreams scribbled to never be reality, familial loyalty stretched to the ends of time itself.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  THE EMPEROR OF ESSOS. 

basics.

full  name:  malaya  dagareon. title:  princess  of  essos.      alias(es):  aya. age:  twenty  seven. birthplace:  essos. gender   &   pronouns:  demi  woman,  she  &  they.           orientation:  bisexual,  leans  towards  women  /  femmes.          allegiance:  essos,  the  dagareon  family. spoken    languages:  high  valyrian,  common  tongue  of  westeros.   accent:  essosian. moniker:  the cuprite. date of birth:  feb 10th.

appearance.

faceclaim:  chienna filomeno. ethnicity:  valryian & andal. eye  color:  hazel  /  green. hair  color:  natural  black,  hints  of  brown  weaved  through. height:  five feet, seven inches. build:  slender. scent:  oranges, sunshine, & rosemary. allergies:  none. notable  characteristics:  dimples,  freckles,  small  scar  to  the  right  of  her  lips  from  falling  off  of  a  horse. dominant  hand:  left. clothing style:  essosian fashions.

introspection.

positive:  quixotic,  loyal,  poised,  charming,  helpful. negative:  pugnacious,  rigid,  judgmental,  self  sacrificing,  aloof. moral  alignment:  true  neutral. parallels:  ophelia  (  hamlet  ),  sansa  stark  (  game  of  thrones  ),  eloise  bridgerton  (  bridgerton  ). label:  the saccharine. mbti:  infp - the mediator. enneagram:  the helper. element:  air. star sign:  aquarius. temperament:  sanguine. deadly sin:  pride. heavenly virtue:  humility. godly parent:  demeter.

drives.

hobbies:  horse rearing, astronomy, & swimming religion:  r'hllor the lord of light personal goals:  return to essos without their family being as fractured as it is now would they choose family or power:  family, always.

familial ties.

parent one:  emperor illyrio dagareon.  relationship:  father.  parent two:  empress sarala drahar. relationship:  mother. prince kusa dagareon: brother.  princess adhika dagareon: sister.  princess catraena dagareon: sister.  prince dantae dagareon: brother. 

brief  history.

not the eldest, not the youngest, yet the perfect in between. the last daughter of the emperor, privy to fanciful whimsey that elder siblings weren't afforded ━━ acted as if opposite all the same. malaya convinced herself to be a listening ear, one that could be pages of a diary personified for the blessings, gratitude, lamentations of their siblings ; each act she committed pondered upon to the last as to if it would have lasting consequences for her siblings to suffer. at no point was it required for you to mature to a woman so quickly, things of a child pushed off in favor of what others ; the elders, did. revered with a younger sister's inability to see their siblings to do wrong, chosen parents despite your own alive, and well.

horses, astronomy, swimming are the few things to spark childlike joy in malaya's eyes, where they find most people outside of their family to be quite exhausting. manners of the court required by position, practiced and employed with ease though many claim there is often a hint of a bite to the youngest dagareon princess's words. not many can call themself a friend to them, often unaware of their standing with malaya as they prefer to deal with many at a healthy distance.

connections.

best friend - name: platonic.

a muse from essos or one that frequents there often enough for them to have formed a bond. malaya relies on this person to help with decisions, and is a rock for them as they are for her. inspo : x, x.

lover ( s ) - name: romantic.

malaya prefers women / femme presenting people, however, there's occasionally been others that they've been attracted to. these wouldn't be serious and more of just a fling.

ladies in waiting - name: platonic.

either chosen by their parents or picked by malaya herself, these people are part of her entourage that know malaya the best, and it's rare that they're seen without each other.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 26, 28 juin 1902, Paris. Toilettes d'été pour dames et jeunes filles. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(13) Corsage de dîners pour jeune femme ou dame d'un certain âge, en dentelle arabe agrémentée de petits velours noirs et de choux. Guimpe et dessous de manche en linon de soie soufre à plis fins. Manche pagode ornée de choux comme le devant du corsage.

(13) Dinner corsage for young women or ladies of a certain age, in Arabic lace decorated with small black velvets and cabbages. Guimpe and under sleeve in finely pleated sulfur silk lawn. Pagoda sleeve decorated with cabbages like the front of the bodice.

Matériaux: Dentelle en laize; 2 mètres de linon soufre.

—

(14) Robe élégante pour jeune femme. Jupe en forme, en crêpe rose-pastel, ornée au bas d'une bande plissée, encadrée d'entre-deux en broderie de soie noire sur fond rose. Corsage de dentelle à longue basque rapportée; ceinture rose. Boléro à manches courtes, en crêpe rose plissé et entouré de bandes brodées. Empiècement plat et col montant en dentelle; devant, choux de velours noirs et bouts tombants terminés par des glands de perles.

(14) Elegant dress for young women. Shaped skirt, in pastel pink crepe, decorated at the bottom with a pleated band, framed by black silk embroidery inserts on a pink background. Lace bodice with long basque attached; pink belt. Short-sleeved bolero, in pleated pink crepe and surrounded by embroidered bands. Flat yoke and high lace collar; in front, black velvet puffs and falling ends finished with pearl tassels.

Matériaux: 10 mètres de crêpe; dentelle en laize.

—

(15) Robe de visites pour jeune femme. Princesse en drap souple vert-Nil. Le bas est un volant à repincés sur lequel passent des biais piqués. Le corsage à repincés et biais piqués est décolleté en rond et ouvert sur un dessous en linon de soie à plis fins piqués. Col en forme en taffetas blancs à dessins roses. Manche évasée, conçue dans le même esprit que la jupe, écourtée sur un bouffant de soie pareille au col. Les biais du corsage se terminent sous des boucles.

(15) Visiting dress for young women. Princess in soft Nile green cloth. The bottom is a ruffle with stitched bias binding. The bodice with stitched bias binding has a round neckline and opens onto a silk lawn underside with fine stitched pleats. Shaped collar in white taffeta with pink designs. Flared sleeve, designed in the same spirit as the skirt, cropped on a silk bouffant similar to the collar. The bodice bias ends under buckles.

Matériaux: 0m,50 de drap vert; 2 mètres de linon de soie; 1 mètre de soie à dessins roses.

—

(16) Robe simple pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en homespum d'été bleu clair moucheté de noir. Jupe composée de volants en forme taillés en pointe devant et ornés d'une fine passementerie noire. Corsage orné de pattes de velours noir et de passementerie. Manche à trois pèlerines. Grand col de linon plissé orné de broderie. Col et ceinture en panne émeraude.

La même toilette serait jolie en toile ou en piqué.

(16) Simple dress for young women or girls, in light blue summer homespun speckled with black. Skirt composed of shaped ruffles cut into a point at the front and decorated with fine black trimmings. Bodice decorated with black velvet tabs and trimmings. Sleeve with three capes. Large pleated lawn collar decorated with embroidery. Emerald pan collar and belt.

The same toilet would look pretty in canvas or pique.

Matériaux: 6m,20 d'homespum; 1 mètre de panne.

—

(17) Robe de campagne pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en toile gris pâle. Jupe en forme faite de volants pèlerine superposés. Longue basque rapportée, ornée de poches en toile brodées de cotons lavables ou appliquées de fleurs et de feuillages en cretonne. Boléro très ajusté enguirlandé de la même façon. Guimpe rayée de ganses noirs. Nœud en mousseline de soie blanche lisérée de noir. Manche à revers brodés.

La même toilette en lainage léger et appliques; la guimpe en pékiné.

(17) Country dress for young women or girls, in pale gray canvas. Shaped skirt made of layered pelerine ruffles. Long attached peplum, decorated with canvas pockets embroidered with washable cotton or applied with cretonne flowers and foliage. Very fitted bolero garlanded in the same way. Guimpe striped with black braid. Bow in white silk chiffon edged in black. Sleeve with embroidered cuffs.

The same ensemble in light wool and appliques; the wimple in pekiné.

Matériaux: 8m,50 de toile.

—

(18) Robe de visites pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en foulard japonais blanc et rouge clair. Jupe en forme garnie de trois petits volants lisérés d'un dépassant en pékiné noir et blanc. Corsage à basque rapportée, entourée d'un biais en pékiné, ouvert sur un gilet de taffetas, lui-même ouvert sur un plastron de soie rouge. Col dentelé en soie blanche rayé de velours noir. Grand col de dentelle; manche élargie, très courte sur un volant de dentelle. Ceinture en taffetas pékiné.

(18) Visiting dress for young woman or girl, in white and light red Japanese foulard. Shaped skirt trimmed with three small ruffles edged with a black and white pekiné overhang. Bodice with attached peplum, surrounded by a pekiné bias, open on a taffeta vest, itself open on a red silk bib. Serrated collar in white silk striped with black velvet. Large lace collar; enlarged sleeve, very short on a lace flounce. Belt in pekiné taffeta.

Matériaux: 12 mètres de foulard; 2 mètres de taffetas à rayures; 0m,60 de soie rouge.

—

(19) Manteau de promenade pour dame d'âge moyen. Collet de drap gris-clair, bordé d'un biais passent des pattes claires, volant brodé d'incrustations, de découpures en drap gris clair sur panne ou taffetas gris foncé. Col brodé pareil au volant. Deux pattes ferment en croisant.

(19) Walking coat for middle-aged lady. Collar of light gray cloth, edged with a bias pass of light tabs, flounce embroidered with inlays, cutouts in light gray cloth on panne or dark gray taffeta. Embroidered collar similar to the ruffle. Two legs close by crossing.

Matériaux: 2m,75 de drap gris clair; 2 mètres de taffetas ou de panne gris foncé.

Le chapeau est un tricorne de paille brûlée, enroulé de dentelle blanche et piqué de deux ailes noires.

The hat is a tricorn of burnt straw, wrapped in white lace and adorned with two black wings.

[kinkyviciousguy]

Writing this post because i'm fed up and so damned annoyed but all the sly people that message me asking money!!! I'm here for chatting exchanging opinions and new ideas for fucking and know new people for play virtual GRATIS,OK? UNDERSTAND? TELLING GRATIS AND NO MERCENARY in horny and exciting sex and fetish/bdsm plays but that, after know them and they know me well,if for all we this is ok, after meet us,can be real play! I'm openminded and respect all, i like Girls,Gurls,Women,Ladyboys,Ladies,Sissies,Mistresses,Bimbos, Goddesses,Femboys,Queens,Mommies,Trans,Trav,Shemales, Princesses,Whores,Sluts,Femmes Fatale,Executrix,Bitches, Dominatrix,Females,Maids,Lesbians,Couples,Masters,Guys,Bisex,Gays,Men, Males,Boys! I'm open for new experiences and for experiment new practices,i like sex very much with women and also with all the genders but only in active role,no in passive,i like fucking, no to be fucked in my asshole like a female,i like my male gender and don't like to be a female,like i respect all You,please all You respect me don't ask me Sissy,Slut and with other female name,thank You! I like very much also fetish/bdsm in sub/masochist role but in old school way:like a male slave! I like crawl at feet and kiss,lick,caress and worship them if are naked or weared with stocking,high heels shoes,sandals and boots also overknees,kneel down kissing hands naked or weared with gloves,to be punish,dominated,tortured and humiliated,love,obey,worship,serve and revere,leather,latex,rubber, satin and nylon sexy lingerie,stocking with garter belt suspender, gloves,boots,high heels,smoking fetish with or without holder but no human ashtray, spitting,golden shower also if i'm not crazy for this, trampling,handcuffs,collar with leash,slapping,whipping,flogging, caning,paddling,scratching,all the roleplays in sub role,also incest play with mommy,mommy dom,aunt,sister,daughter,mother in law,grandmother and other,i like also gunplay where the Lady shoot me unload all the mag of Her pistol in my belly,with a softair or other toy,no really of course! No other like dangerous play that can kill or give permanent damages,that can sign permanent my skin,no scat,vomiting,blood and clinical play and most important,no feminilization,don't wish become a Sissy, wish only fucking Them,no cocks,strapons or dildos in my asshole! I like the Mistresses very much but no if dominate in this new way wishing sissies slaves,if wishing me like Yours slave i enjoy for this but only like a male slave,i'll never be and never wish become a Sissy, like i respect all,please also You respect me don't ask me Sissy, Slut or other,because i'm happy in my male gender i like so much to be a masculine bull gifted with 20 cm. cock and no wish change, thank for understand this! Other,i'm here for play GRATIS,NO PAYING! I DON'T SEND TRIBUTES,NOTHING TRIBUTE, DON'T LIKE FINDOM,MONEY MISTRESSES,MERCENARIES AND ALL SEX WORKERS OR SLY PEOPLE THAT WANT FRAUD OTHER PEOPLE,I'M NOT SILLY OR STUPID,YOU LOST YOURS TIME WITH ME,I'M NO CROCKED,NO HUNCHBACK,NO CRIPPLE,NO UNLUCKY BUT CUTE AND HAVE IN MY REAL LIFE A LOT OF WOMEN FOR FUCKING,SOMEONE IS ALSO MISTRESS AND A PAIR PLAY ALSO AT GUNFETISH,MY PREFERITED PRACTICE, TOGETHER ME. I DON'T NEED TO PAY FOR FUCKING UNDERSTAND? ALL THE PEOPLE THAT WANT ASK ME MONEY OR TRIBUTE KEEP AWAY TO ME,STAY AT YOURS HOME AND GO WORKING IF WANT MONEY! ALL THE OTHERS THAT MESSAGE,CHAT OR WANT PLAY WITH ME ,FOR ENJOY AND NO FOR MONEY,ARE WELCOME! i'm here because seeking someone for to play chatting satisfying my 3 preferited fetishes: a Woman or Trans or a Couple or Other,chatting telling that like smoking while shooting me,wearing the black leather gloves. The most exciting thing for me is fucking with a partner that smoking, wearing the gloves,shooting me enjoying all excited,unloading all the mag in my belly while i cumming having the orgasm. Send my regards to all