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ellitx · 8 months

Text

Pussy Drunk | Venti x Reader

masterlist

art belongs to: 1o8k_

word count: 1.4k

warnings: fem!reader, nsfw content ahead

A warm sensation, trickling wet and warm breath, was what woke you up. You could hardly see in this dark room, with only the faint light from your window being the source, but you could see a dark tousled hair and hear faint hums.

You tried to focus your sight in this dark but once again found that there was something between your legs. That, and your moans had increased since your brain had finally awoken from its deep slumber.

Then your eyes opened fully. You immediately shut them, feeling embarrassed by what you were seeing.

Were you dreaming? Perhaps, but it felt too real to be a dream. A tongue was pushed inside your pussy and you moaned deeply. The other hand found its way to your breast and began kneading it slowly.

You recognized those hands, the way he’d reach up to your chest and fondle them yet you forced yourself to shut your eyes tightly. Venti continued eating you out, moving his face closer to yours until you felt him biting your clit. He must have taken off your panties because now you felt the cool air coming from outside.

And then he lifted his head and looked into your eyes as he smiled wickedly. “The princess finally woke up,” he said with a hint of teasing tone in it.

It was difficult to look at him in the eyes when there were your juices staining his lips and dripping on his chin. He licked his lips, savoring your taste before diving back to his haven.

“Don’t mind me. I was just getting my daily dose of you,” he whispered against your weeping sex. “Did you know you taste so good?” His blunt question made you red, warm, and hot at the same time, you deliberately convulsed.

You didn’t reply but a whimper. Venti smirked and trailed his fingers down your belly to your dripping lips.

He gave it a quick lick before shoving two fingers inside your cunt. You tried to hold back, you wanted him to do it properly but he already seemed too lost in his own pleasure.

“Hmm,” he moaned. “Could do this all day to you, princess.” He thrust his fingers in and out while he lapped your insides. You held onto his head, squirming and shivering and he opened your legs wider to get more access which allowed him to run his tongue upward across your slit—filling his mouth once again with your intoxicating taste.

Reaching your clit, he swirled his tongue around it several times before giving it the light-sucking motion he knew would drive you absolutely crazy.

Not slowing down, he pulled his head back slightly and began to truly eat you out, his tongue flicking over your folds in rapid succession. At the same time, his two fingers deep inside you curled to stimulate your G-spot while his tongue attacked your clit. Venti was determined to make you cum like crazy, to drive you completely insane in a fog of pure pleasure.

Your moans turned loud and louder, your breaths short and ragged. Your climax was almost here, your body trembling.

“Venti…I’m gonna cum!” you gasped as the orgasm hit you. You arched your back, forcing your body forward as your legs gripped Venti’s head.

Venti ravaged you like a madman, leaving no drops behind as he drank all of them. The noisy slurps, the moans vibrating against you, his fingers digging into your skin— it was all too much. You gripped the bedsheets and buried your face in the pillow.

To be woken up like this startled you but that orgasm felt too good. You were so warm and hot, that not even the night breeze was enough to cool your burning post-orgasm body.

But you’re too sheepish to admit it to him, more so to beg and ask him to ravish you more until you won’t feel your legs anymore.

He cleaned up your juices with his tongue before covering your lips in kisses. “You’re so delicious, angel,” he murmured between your thighs as he licked his way up. His hands roamed over your curves, tracing each contour, enjoying the sensation of your soft skin against his fingers.

“Look at me,” though a mess, you hear him faintly. “Look at me, [Name].” He repeated and so you obliged reluctantly, meekly gazing at him below you. You saw his face as his breathing calmed, calm despite the fact he spent minutes on you— probably even hours— and was probably exhausted from lack of sleep.

His gaze went back to your eyes and he let go of your thighs, letting his arms drop to his sides. He crawled over you and lifted your shirt until it rested above your chest.

You shivered from the cool air hitting you, your breasts now in their glorious bareness to him. Venti stroked them gently and moved lower until he reached your core. With one long finger, he dipped into you and you cried out.

“There, there…that feels so good. Let’s see if we can make it feel even better,” he teased you. He slid his finger inside, rubbing around your walls and feeling your inner muscles spasm. Your breathing became heavier and harder as your arousal built up.

He continued, moving his finger deeper each time. He bit your shoulder hard enough to leave marks but he didn’t stop, he simply intensified it. “Gods, you are so fucking cute,” he muttered as he nipped your earlobe.

You moaned, hiding your face in the crook of his neck while you wrapped yourself around him. He softly kissed your jaw, littering it with small kisses and bites, then he traveled downwards to your chest, treating them the same as before but with an added groping and squeezing from his free hand.

With one finger, he circled your nipple and took it between his lips. They puckered instantly at his rough kiss, another moan escaped your lips.

Licking and sucking every inch of them, he teased your nipples constantly switching one to another. He sucked them firmly, tugging lightly while his fingers worked in and out of your slick pussy. The pleasure was building and building, the knot in your tummy beginning to tighten the further he stimulated you.

Venti’s voice was husky, full of lust. “You don’t know the things you do to me,” he groaned when he felt your insides flexing in his fingers. “Sleeping beauty will never sleep again.”

You tightened your grip around his hips, moaning as he circled your sensitive bud. “You love this, right? Love what I’m doing to your body?” he asked, watching you intently as he switched to your other breast.

A soft cry escaped your lips. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was pant and gulp for air as your body racked with tremors. You screamed when he moved his fingers faster and harder in your gummy walls, opening and motioning them in every possible way he could think to reach your depths.

You held onto his shoulders for dear life, tears streaming from your eyes as you cried his name. “Ven—Venti— oh! Hah… Hmm, good. S’good...”

You babbled every praise your poor head could think of amidst these lust-filled thoughts. You crave more of him, more of his mouth and his hands; you want his dick inside of you, pumping away to your clit until you have a mind-blowing orgasm that leaves you limp and helpless on the bed.

Venti kept going, his fingers thrusting into you again and again as his tongue continued to lap, swirl, and lick. The words coming from your lips died off, turning instead to a constant, vibrating moan as your body shook from orgasm after orgasm.

Sweat dripped down on Venti’s forehead. His whole body ached and his limbs were numb. But he didn’t stop moving. He went faster, harder, until you were in a toe-curling state of pleasure from merely his mouth and fingers.

Until you coat his fingers with your cum.

Until he eats and drinks and gulps down all of your womanly essence.

Until his dick throbbed in his shorts from arousal, hardening and dripping with pre-cum.

Until he could fill you with his seeds till the end of the day.

Oh, to turn you in this kind of state is an achievement only he could succeed. In the end, he couldn't help but revel in the satisfaction of his sweet angel begging for the great reverie of her beloved archon.

#elliwrites #genshin impact #venti x reader #genshin impact venti x reader #genshin impact venti #venti brainrot #genshin impact x reader

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literatureloverx · 25 days

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Eeeeh!!! Your writing is just! Too good! This should be your full time job. I think my brain has overloaded with request ideas. I'm sorry...I'll try and contain myself. But..if you want to please either of these...

Fyodor and bondage...please let's go there.

Fyodor general relationship headcanons (guys clearly yandere by nature..but how does that look for his darling.)

❤️

Thank you so much for the huge compliment, dear!♥️ I wish I could live off of this.

I’m so sorry it took me so long to write this. Please, please forgive me.♥️

I’d love to hear all your ideas and requests! I’m a slow writer, so it takes me some time to complete posts, but I’ll get to them eventually. Please don’t hesitate to share—though it may take a while, I’ll get there!♥️

I wrote bondage headcanons + a scenario. I’m not trying to be arrogant, but I think it might be some of my best work so far.

Mdni, yandere!Fyodor, wife!reader, sub!reader, dom!Fyodor, bondage, VERY detailed.

Note: You have a huge mirror on top of your canopy bed. Which means: you can see every single filthy thing he’s about to do to you.

The headcanons are under the first cut, the scenario is under the second cut.

Enjoy.♥️

Fyodor & Bondage

"You and me... your eyes wide open, wrists bound to the bed, and my hands marking every inch of your skin as mine."

Headcanons

Fyodor Dostoyevsky's obsession with control isn't simply a trait—it's a reflection of his very nature, an extension of the meticulous mind that crafts every move in his life like a grand game of chess.

In the bedroom, this need for control manifests in ways that blur the line between cruelty and devotion, creating a deeply intimate yet unsettling dynamic between you.

He doesn't tie you up just for the sake of it; every knot, every piece of silk that binds your wrists to the bedposts, is an act of art in itself.

He takes pleasure in the delicate balance between pain and pleasure, understanding how the tension in the bonds heightens your senses.

The way your chest rises and falls with each breath, constrained by the bindings, is a symphony to his ears—a rhythm he orchestrates with masterful precision.

Fyodor's control is not just physical; it's psychological, a deep-seated need to own not just your body but your mind.

He whispers in your ear as he works, his voice a soft, dangerous lullaby that wraps around you, lacing his words with a poison that makes you crave his touch even more.

He knows your thoughts before you do, anticipates your desires, and then dangles them just out of reach until you're nearly frantic with need.

To him, the act of binding you isn't about restraint; it's about possession.

Each time he ties you down, he's reminding you —and himself— that you are his to keep, his to protect, and his to break if he so wishes.

The marks he leaves on your skin are not just evidence of your encounters but symbols of his ownership—a canvas of bruises and bites that declare to the world that you belong to the Fyodor Dostoyevsky and no one else (though he would never allow you to flaunt them to anyone).

In these moments, as you lie there, every inch of you under his control, you understand something about him that no one else does.

He craves beauty, not just in the art he admires or the music he plays, but in the way he manipulates you, his perfect creation.

He takes you apart piece by piece, only to put you back together again, stronger, more bound to him than ever.

And then there's the mirror—his favorite tool of seduction and domination.

Positioned above your shared kingsize bed, it serves as both a reminder and a revelation.

Fyodor loves to make you watch yourself as he works, forcing you to witness the way your body responds to him.

The sight of you in the mirror, bound, gagged, vulnerable, with his hands marking your skin, is a reflection of his power over you.

He enjoys the way your eyes, those beautiful, expressive eyes he refuses to cover, reflect both your submission and your defiance, the internal battle he has mastered like a seasoned conductor.

Fyodor is not a man of brute force; his strength lies in subtlety, in the way he makes you crave the very bondage that holds you down.

It's in the way he can make a single touch linger on your skin like fire, the way he can make you beg for mercy with nothing more than a glance.

His pleasure comes not just from your surrender but from the knowledge that you choose to surrender to him, time and time again.

He has cultivated your dependence on him with a precision that rivals any strategist's plan, making sure that even in your freedom, you're never truly free.

And yet, in this dark dance of power and submission, there is an undeniable tenderness.

Fyodor cherishes you, his fragile, soft, perfect little wife.

Every time he binds you, it's not just about taking control—it's about giving you something as well.

The security of his dominance, the assurance that he knows exactly what you need, even when you don't.

He molds you, not out of cruelty, but out of love, a love so intense it manifests in ways others might find terrifying.

He knows every inch of your body, every weakness, every secret pleasure.

And he uses this knowledge to break you down, only to build you back up again, shaping you into the perfect reflection of his desires.

It's a process that's as intimate as it is intense, a bond that goes beyond mere physical connection.

In Fyodor's eyes, you are more than just his wife—you are his masterpiece, a living, breathing testament to his power, his control, and his love.

And as he watches you, bound and beautiful beneath him, he knows that this is where you belong—by his side, in his arms, forever under his control.

Scenario

Fyodor Dostoyevsky's mastery over you is a delicate art, a carefully crafted symphony where each note resonates with the tension of control and submission.

As Fyodor watches you from above, your body spread before him like an exquisite canvas, his eyes darken with a possessive intensity.

The mirror reflects every angle of your submission, every quiver of anticipation that runs through you. He revels in this moment, savoring the power he holds, not just over your body but your very soul.

He doesn't rush; every movement, every touch, is measured, as if he's composing a piece of music where you are the instrument, and your body, bound and trembling, plays the melody of his desires.

When he binds you, it's not simply to restrict your movement.

No, for Fyodor, the act of bondage is a ritual, a way to elevate your shared experience to something almost sacred.

The babypink silk ropes he uses are chosen with care, soft against your skin, yet firm enough to hold you in place.

The knots he ties are intricate, each one a reflection of his calculated mind, designed to allow just enough movement to keep you on edge, but never enough to break free.

The ropes bite into your flesh, not painfully, but just enough to remind you of your submission to him.

The tension in the ropes mirrors the tension in your body, a taut line that could snap at any moment, but never does, because Fyodor is in control, always.

Your legs are spread wide, ankles secured to the bedposts, leaving you open and vulnerable to him.

He takes his time, his gaze traveling over every inch of you, as if committing the sight to memory. There's something almost clinical about the way he studies you, but there is a dark hunger in his eyes that betrays the possessiveness underneath.

He moves with the grace of a predator, each action calculated, deliberate.

His hands glide down your sides, his touch light and teasing, sending shivers up your spine. He pauses at the curve of your hips, fingers digging in just enough to leave a mark, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips as he watches your reflection flinch at the sharpness.

It's a reminder—every bruise, every bite he leaves on your pale skin is a declaration of ownership, his signature on the masterpiece that is you.

He reaches up, tangling a hand in your hair, soft strands slipping through his fingers like silk. His grip tightens, and he pulls your head back, exposing your neck, your chest, as if offering them up for him to mark.

"So fragile," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his breath hot against your skin.

There's an odd mix of reverence and cruelty in his tone, as if he's marveling at how easily he could break you, yet relishing the fact that you trust him not to. Not entirely, at least.

Fyodor leans down, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck, before he bites down hard enough to draw a gasp from you. The sting is sharp, sending a rush of heat straight to your core, and you feel his smirk against your skin.

He pulls back to admire the red mark blooming on your neck, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

"Perfect," he says softly, and there's something almost affectionate in his voice, a rare glimpse of the man behind the mask that you know so, so well.

But the softness is fleeting. His hand leaves your hair, trailing down your body, fingers brushing over the marks he's left, over the ropes that hold you in place. He's in no rush, savoring every moment, every reaction he pulls from you.

You feel his hands on your thighs, cool fingers tracing the sensitive skin there, and you can't help the way your breath hitches in anticipation.

His fingers dance over your skin, teasing the sensitive spot there, before moving higher, where you're already wet and aching for him.

He's not even touching you where you need him most, but that's the point, isn't it?

Fyodor revels in your desperation, in the way you squirm under his gaze, every nerve in your body alight with need.

He leans down, his breath hot against your inner thigh, and you shiver at the proximity. But instead of giving you what you crave, he moves away, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Patience, my love," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, the kind that sends a shiver down your spine.

Fyodor enjoys making you wait, dragging out the anticipation until it's nearly unbearable. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows that with every second he makes you wait, your desire for him only grows.

The mirror above you captures everything—the way your body arches off the bed, the way your lips part in a silent plea, the way your eyes, wide and desperate, lock onto his in the reflection. Fyodor makes sure you see it all, makes sure you understand the full extent of your submission.

You are his, bound and laid bare for his pleasure, and the sight of you like this, helpless and needy, fuels his own arousal.

He's still fully clothed, a stark contrast to your nakedness, and that only heightens the sense of power imbalance. He's in control, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

His hands move to your breasts, fingers tracing the curves, brushing over your nipples until they harden under his touch.

He takes one in his mouth, sucking gently at first, then biting down just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you. The pain mingles with pleasure, sending a jolt straight to your core, and you tug at the ropes instinctively, your body craving more.

But Fyodor isn't done teasing you yet. He lavishes attention on your other breast, leaving a trail of bruises in his wake, each mark a reminder of his possession.

When he finally, finally, moves lower, you're a trembling mess, your body practically vibrating with need.

Without warning, his fingers slide over your slick folds, parting them with ease, and he lets out a low hum of approval. Your body arches in response, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

"So wet for me, already, мышка?" he muses, his tone darkly amused.

His fingers dip inside you, curling just right, and you can't stop the moan that escapes your lips. He pumps them slowly, torturously slow, his thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to drive you mad.

"Look at yourself," he commands, and your eyes are drawn back to the mirror. The sight is overwhelming—your body laid bare, trembling under his touch, your face flushed with desire, and his reflection, calm, controlled, a stark contrast to your desperation.

He adds another finger, curling them inside you just so, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

You can feel yourself edging closer and closer to release, but just when you think he'll let you come, he pulls away, leaving you gasping, on the brink but not quite there.

Fyodor's laugh is low, dark, vibrating through you as he watches your frustration build.

"Not yet, my love," he murmurs, his voice like velvet, wrapping around you, suffocating in its intensity.

He watches you, taking in every twitch, every whimper, as you struggle against the bonds, desperate for more. But Fyodor isn't interested in your pleasure now, not entirely.

He's interested in your submission, in the way he can bring you to the edge again and again, only to pull you back, making you beg for him, for his touch, for his mercy.

And he does make you beg. He makes you plead with those beautiful eyes of yours, makes you promise anything, everything, if he'll just let you come.

But your dear husband is disciplined, and he takes his time, drawing out your torture until you're nearly sobbing with need. He loves this—the power he holds over you, the way he can make you lose yourself so completely in him.

It's intoxicating, a heady rush that he will never tire of.

When he finally decides you've had enough, he doesn't give you what you want immediately. He teases you with his length, sliding it against your entrance, rubbing it over your swollen clit, making you writhe beneath him.

"Keep your eyes open," he whispers, his voice a dark, velvety command that sends a thrill of both fear and excitement through you.

Fyodor has no need to raise his voice; the sheer authority laced in his words is enough to ensure your obedience.

"Look at me," he commands. Your eyes flutter open and snap to his, where you see the cold, calculating gleam, before shifting to the mirror.

He wants you to see yourself as he does—beautiful, vulnerable, utterly his.

He shifts, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising force as he lines himself up with you.

But before he pushes in, he pauses, "I want you to watch," he says, his voice low, commanding, brooking no argument. "Watch how I claim what is mine, моя любимая.”

You nod softly, almost pathetically, and watch as he pushes inside you, slow and deliberate, filling you inch by inch until he's seated deep within you.

He thrusts into you, hard and deep, and you can't hold back the cry that escapes your lips. The stretch, the fullness, is overwhelming, and Fyodor doesn't give you a moment to adjust. The sensation is overwhelming as well, and you cry out, your body straining against the bonds, desperate for more.

“The gag…looks so beautiful on you, love..”~

He pulls back only to slam into you again, setting a brutal pace that has you gasping for breath, your body straining against the ropes that bind you.

The mirror reflects it all—the way your body jerks with each thrust, the way your hands clench and unclench in their bindings, the way your eyes, wide and glassy with pleasure, never leave his.

He sets a slow, torturous pace, drawing out every thrust, making sure you feel every inch of him. The pleasure is almost too much, and yet not enough, and you can't help but whimper, begging him with your eyes to go faster, to let you come. But Fyodor is in no hurry.

He watches you, watches the way your face contorts with pleasure, the way your body responds to him, and he drinks it in, savoring the power he has over you.

Fyodor watches you, his gaze never wavering, taking in every detail, every expression, as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice a harsh whisper as he leans down, his breath hot against your ear.

"Taking me so well, so beautifully."

His praise is laced with possession, a dark undercurrent that only heightens your arousal. You can feel the tension building, the coil tightening in your belly, ready to snap at any moment.

Fyodor's thrusts become more erratic, more desperate, as he nears his own release. He shifts his angle slightly, and suddenly he's hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, driving you wild with pleasure.

You can feel yourself teetering on the brink, so close, so achingly close, and you can't help the way your body arches, seeking more, seeking him.

When he finally does let you come, it's with a rough, punishing thrust that sends you spiraling over the edge.

"Come for me," Fyodor orders, his voice rough with need, and it's all you need to push you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashes through you, violent and overwhelming, your vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure rips through you. The orgasm rips through you, powerful and all-consuming, and he doesn't stop, prolonging your pleasure until you're a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him, tears of sheer ecstasy slipping down your cheeks.

He follows soon after, his release shuddering through him, and he holds you close, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs soft, possessive words, claiming you all over again. He holds you there, his grip on your hips almost painful, burying himself deep inside you as he spills into you, a low, guttural moan escaping him as he does, grounding himself in the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still, the only sound the harsh breathing of the two of you, the only movement the slight tremors that still wrack your body.

Then, slowly, Fyodor pulls out, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he takes in the sight of you—utterly spent, bound, marked, and completely his.

He takes his time untying you, his touch surprisingly gentle as he massages your wrists, soothing the marks left by the ropes. He unties you with a tenderness that's almost jarring after the intensity of what you just shared.

He rubs soothing circles into your wrists, kisses the marks he's left on your skin, and pulls you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheeks, as he murmurs words of praise and affection, a stark contrast to the roughness from before.

In the aftermath, as you lie there in his arms, completely exhausted, you feel a strange sense of contentment wash over you.

Fyodor has pushed you to your limits, taken you apart and put you back together, and in doing so, has only strengthened the bond between you.

You are his, in every sense of the word.

Fyodor may be a man who craves control, but he's not without care. He cherishes you, his fragile little wife, and in these moments, when you're sated and secure in his embrace, you understand the depths of his love for you.

You belong to him, body and soul, and as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you know that there's no place you'd rather be.

Fyodor has claimed you, bound you to him in every way that matters, and you wouldn't change a thing.

In his arms, in his control, you are exactly where you belong.

FYODOR’S MASTERLIST => HERE

TO MY OTHER WORKS => HERE

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lizinthebox · 11 months

Text

Work of Art

Pairing: Joshua x Fem Reader

CW: established relationship, sweet lover Joshua, praise, lovemaking, unprotected sex (don’t do this), no pull out (don’t do this), aftercare

A/N: this is not proofread at all, this is the second post of my ot13 series (not being posted in age order), currently listening to MOONDANCE by Jeon Woong and AB6IX, please reblog if you enjoy!

WC: 1k

This was your favorite feeling in the world: your boyfriend hovering over you, whispering infinite praises while he’s deep inside you. You had slept with people before, but it was Joshua who showed you what it meant to make love. The way his hands traced your body, his eyes following close behind, admiring every part of you. He made you feel beautiful. You traced your fingernails lightly down his back, your way of releasing the tension you feel because of how good his cock feels in you. The slight pain you cause him causes him slow his pace a little, making you take your hands off his back in an attempt to get him to fuck you harder again.

“You feel so good baby,” he groans as he lets his fingers intertwine with yours. He loves to watch how you react to him, the way your eyes roll back when he bottoms out in you, the way you bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning too loud. He connects his lips to your jawline, lightly peppering you with kisses, contrasting his slightly rough pace. “I could watch you like this forever,” he says, so close to your ear that it sends chills down your spine.

This time you don’t even try to suppress the sounds Joshua draws out of you. It’s like he knows exactly what you need to hear, like he can read your mind. “Fuck Shua,” you exhale as you turn your head to connect with his lips. You know Joshua loves when you moan in his mouth, so you make sure to do it every time he fucks you. As he kisses you deeper, your focus shifts to your boyfriend’s cock stretching you out. It amazed you from the first time you slept with him how well he fit inside you, like your bodies were made for each other. The sweet burn in your cunt whenever he slides into you for the first time that night never fails to make every inch of your body melt. You completely surrender to his control every time, knowing how well he can take care of you, unlike anyone else could.

“You look so beautiful when I fuck you,” his words shake you back into reality. You open your eyes to look at his swollen lips, glistening from your own saliva. All you can do is stare at him, the way he breaks eye contact with you to look at where your bodies connect, the beads of sweat threatening to fall from his forehead. Everything about him has you entranced, and what makes it even better, even more erotic, is knowing that he feels exactly the same way about you. When he looks back up at you, he nudges his nose against yours, smiling at the way you blush every time he does that. You’ve been dating him for nearly two years now, but somehow every time you have sex it’s like the first time all over again. Joshua always finds a way to show you how much he loves you, even when he’s so focused on his own pleasure. “You’re taking me so well baby I’m getting close,” he exhales as he bends over you and grabs a hold of your hands again.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you reply, knowing he would never stop until you finish, but reminding him anyways. Your words only make him quicken his pace, his cock hitting as far deep inside of you as it possibly could, causing you to let out an even louder plea for him. “I’m gonna fucking cum baby please don’t stop,” you basically shout at him.

“Cum for me, beautiful, show me how good I make you feel,” his words make you completely come undone beneath him. Your legs are shaking at this point, wetness all you can feel between your hot bodies. Before you’ve gone all the way over the edge, Joshua is finishing inside of you.

“Fuck, y/n, I love you so much,” is all he can say as he uncontrollably ruts into you. You feel his cock twitch inside of your aching cunt before he slides out of you. He holds himself up over you and plants soft kisses onto your lips, whispering sweet praises between kisses. “You’re so beautiful, you know that right?” he asks, not expecting an answer, just wanting to remind you how in love with you he is.

A few minutes later, you’re back from the bathroom and Joshua is waiting for you with his shirt and boxers back on. He smiles at you wearing one of his shirts, way too big for you, but one of his favorite things to see you in. You slide into bed with him, immediately cuddling into his arms.

“I love you so much, thank you for being so good for me,” he says softly, never breaking eye contact so you know he means it. You always know he means it because he’s done this every time you’ve slept with him. You never get sick of his reminders, though, shooting him a smile before telling him you love him too. You feel your eyes start to get heavy as Joshua softly rubs your back, kissing your forehead every once in a while. “Goodnight, my love,” is the last thing you hear him say before you fall asleep.

#svt smut #seventeen smut #joshua smut #joshua hong #joshua x reader #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic

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mrs-snape5984 · 4 months

Text

“Can we always be this close…forever and ever?”

“My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue. All's well that ends well to end up with you.” (“Lover” by Taylor Swift)

Today I want to share something more cheerful with all you lovely people of Snapedom, because - to be honest - considering my last few posts on this blog, they could suggest the idea, that I might not be the most zestful person around here. Well…guilty as charged! 😅So, please, take my apologies for my constant venting and complaining about ME/CFS and the ways, in which this bitch of a disease destroyed the life, I’ve known before. But this particular post will be dedicated to LOVE.

I know, I’m using this blog as my personal journal in order to cope with the hardships of my existence, always relying on my 21 years lasting connection with Severus Snape…who is undeniably the one true love of my life. Some of you might judge or mock me for being so pathetically devoted to a fictional character over such a long period of time, but believe me…my love for Severus is my safe haven!

Sure, I’ve tried to give other relationships a shot, but after some really traumatic experiences with men and women, as well as two failed marriages, I’m coming to the conclusion, that I’m better off alone. I must admit, that being doomed to endure a so called life in my bed, only surrounded by darkness and mostly solitude, definitely has an influence on this conviction. Who knows, if I’d have the same beliefs if I weren’t “un-dateable”…but this doesn’t matter anymore, since there’s still no cure for my disease.

And yet… (enter dramatic sigh here 😂)

And yet, I still believe in love, despite my own failures…despite all the pain, the sorrows, the humiliation and the traumas, I’ve been confronted with. I guess, being intelligent (or at least well educated) and overly realistic didn’t prevent me from being a hopeless romantic human being.

My adolescent twins are currently entering the phase of their first “loves”. I’ve taught my three children from the very beginning, that it doesn’t matter, whom they love, unless they’re feeling safe and happy about it. My daughter is proud to have her first girlfriend, even though she’s already facing some difficulties in her environment, due to her frank nature to enjoy her crush. For me - a woman, who’s living openly bisexual 🏳️‍🌈 since I’ve been 14 years old - it’s absolutely unbelievable, that there are still so many people in our society, who seem to stick to their restrained beliefs about sexuality and gender. I will always try to support my children in their journey of self-acceptance and self-discovery.

So, yes, I still believe in love…no matter how this love might look like. Even though I’m confined to this prison, which is formed by my disease, I was allowed to find some kind of deep love in my friends. I want to share a short poem with you (written by Whitney Hanson for her book “Harmony”) which reminds me of the love, that I feel for these friends of mine:

I have always loved the way

Music could make the world feel

Like it doesn’t exist

As if suddenly all my fears

Are swept away

Who knew

That there are people out there

Who could make me feel the same way

Another love, which makes my heart swell with joy, is my love to all those amazingly talented artists of Snapedom, for whom I’m rolling out the red carpet on my blog, by using their art as my very personal soothing balm for my troubled heart and soul. This time, I’ve commissioned the lovely @kruzbr for the very first time. I’ve been fallen for their Severitus comics, so I asked them to help me out with making my own version of Severitus, together with my undeniably self-inspired OC Jules, come to life.

Anderson, your understanding of my ideas and your kindness made it a pleasure for me to join the process of creating this mesmerising masterpiece of art. I’m beyond grateful for your service and I can assure you, that this won’t be the last time, I will commission you for another adventure of Sevy & Jules. The next idea is already stuck in my mind, so keep an eye on your postbox! Thank you for everything, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

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sp00kymulderr · 6 months

Note

gideon!!!! congratulations on the milestone!!! absolutely so so deserved and i’m sorry I just now saw the post! 🖤

💭i’d like to request ''stay tonight.'' from the prompt list, maybe with ezra?? I miss him 🫶🏻

wonderful Liv! I'm so sorry this has been in my inbox since January. Me and Ezra were having a moment, but things are all good now. I humbly offer you this:

Starlit

sex worker!Ezra x afab!reader

694 words

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI. sex work, oral (reader receiving)

He is always the first thing on your mind when you arrive here.

The beautiful silver-tongued man with starlight in his eyes. Known by many and more than once by you, memories of him seared both on your flesh and in your mind.

Standards of travel have left you wanting, needing. Your fingers never work you the way another can, your touch never grips the way a lover can. Worst of all, the remembered whisper of his voice in your ear leaves you without the comfort of his warmth and sincere affection.

Ezra advertises his services as comfort. He sells sex, yes, but moreso he sells a few needed hours of companionship to the weary traveller, the tired prospector, the anguished fringeling far from home. He is generous with what he gives, not just in passion but in succour, in the intimacy of his whispered weaving stories as he holds you - he offers a piece of himself. Ezra provides comfort, and pleasure, and it is always more than worth the cost.

He is like an artist, you think. His art is being able to relieve the tired ache of your bones, and leaving your soul a modicum lighter than it felt upon arrival here.

There’s a stream of sunlight warming the bed as Ezra works between your thighs today. Your fingers hold in his soft hair with a gentle tug as he works what you can only describe as magic, that silver tongue finding it's way towards your second release of the day.

Your breath comes shallow; the way he flattens his tongue against you and stretches you on his fingers at the same time makes your legs shake in assailing delectation. He is a god, divinity in pleasure, and you thank you star that you came to find him on this miserable planet again.

You are, of course, just one of many but you like to think he doesn't look at the others the way he does you, the way his sparkling eyes meet yours as you look down upon him now, as he eats you like a blessed repast.

Your back arches, a gripping feeling of closeness tightening your core. His fingers curl, his plush lips sucks until you cry out and pull again. The room is hot and your bodies are warm, sticky. His own hips rut against the mattress as yours rise in increasing desperation. This gift of his, it takes you over. You are stardust as your body trembles, heart pumping wildly. The sweetness of release finally lays itself upon you. Oh. He is a god. Some spirit of heavenly pleasure.

You wish he could be yours forever.

You whimper his name over and over as you come down from a high unlike any other.

"Ezra...Ezra...my Ezra"

He kisses your twitching clit a few times more, never quite ready to give up your taste – he had told you before that he doesn’t do this only for the money but also for his own desires.

Finally he rises to lay over you, his body heavy and hot on yours, the hardness of him grinding against your soaked centre as he eyes you curiously.

"Yours?" He whispers, a devilish smile on his lips that makes you quiver again lustfully.

"Yes, mine...tonight?" You whisper, thankful that he understands it when you words are staccato and flustered.

You've never had him stay for more than a few hours. Never been so lavish with hard earned credits, but money feels no object right now as your cunt flutters and pulses at the thought of a full night with him. To wake up beside him is an experience worth all the money in the universe, you imagine.

Your fingers play in the white-blonde patch of hair. Curious, like him. You know little of this man and yet you want him in your bed for as long as you can possibly keep him.

He is a symphony of raucous desire.

“Stay tonight” You murmur, pulling him in to a searing kiss as soon he nods his agreement.

You know so little of him, but what you do know if that one night with this starlit man - even though it makes you poorer - will make you richer in heart and soul.

#ezra prospect x reader #sp00ky follower celebration #💭

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dark-omegaverse · 7 months

Text

Omega!Itachi x Alpha!reader

Summary: As the leader of your country, finding a husband was a big deal. Itachi was from a strong, loyal family, devastatingly pretty, and versed in literature and art. He was perfect. The only thing left before you signed the contract was his medical exam. You were sure he wouldn't mind if watched. Sub!Itachi x Dom!reader.

Warnings: Mean!reader, non-con situations, but no sex, power difference, watersports (pissing in container), reader bullies and humiliates Itachi for their own personal pleasure. (The first part of this was posted on my other blog, I didn't steal it 😉)

“His heartbeat is strong,” your head medic said, moving the stethoscope away from Itachi’s bare chest. “There’s no issue I can hear.”

“Excellent news,” you said idly, not even slightly surprised. As the son of such an important family, he would have gone through these sorts of medical exams before they put him up to compete to marry you.

The doctor left the examination table and went to note down the results of this test. Itachi’s parents were standing stoically in the corner of the room, personally chaperoning the exam to ensure their son was treated fairly and his innocence kept in tact until you had signed the marriage contracts. You paid them no mind; there were better things to be looking at, mainly the beauty on the examination table, who looked like he was doing everything in his power to refrain from fidgeting.

His robe was still tied at the waist, but his chest was completely bare, having removed his arms from the sleeves at your instruction. Unsurprisingly, his nipples were pebbled. You had to suppress a smirk; you set up this examination in a room without a fireplace for a reason. You weren’t allowed to touch him, not yet, but you could still have your fun.

He was simply the sweetest little thing, how could you resist?

The doctor returned to the examination table and crouched down so that his face was level with Itachi’s chest. Itachi stiffened imperceptibly before attempting to at least appear relaxed. The poor darling was clearly uncomfortable.

“It is not ideal for your nipples to be hard at this moment,” the doctor said, exactly as you’d instructed him to. “It will interfere with my examination.”

Itachi jolted, looking over to his parents for a moment, before swallowing nervously.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in a soft voice. He cleared his throat awkwardly and the next words came out a little stronger. “It is very cold in this room.”

“Perhaps we can-” Fugaku started, but you cut him off with a hand, standing from your chair.

“I have a solution, don’t worry,” you said, heading over to the door. You pulled it open widely, and while you couldn’t see him, you could hear the little gasp from the sweet man on the examination table at the thought of his body being on display for whoever happened to walk past. You addressed the servant waiting outside in a low voice.

"Fetch what I have requested, quickly."

She nodded, and then quickly disappeared around the corner, the echoes of her feet slapping against the stone following.

With that taken care of, you entered back into the room, purposefully leaving the door wide open. The position of the examination table had him as the first thing anyone would see if they happened to walk past.

“My servant will be back shortly, but she is not allowed to knock on doors like these, lest she interrupt something important, so the door will remain open until her return.”

This time you got to watch Itachi react. The little bit of panic in his eyes, the way his breathing was increasing at the thought of being seen. You watched him subtly lean forward, attempting to hide his bare chest with his hair. How adorable. He would have to get over such compulsions once you were married though; you had a bad habit of flaunting your beautiful lovers for everyone to see, and you had no intention of stopping even if this lover would be your husband.

“Your majesty,” the servant said, announcing himself as he walked back in with a bowl of hot water and some cloths. She had been extraordinarily rapid, but of course, you had instructed her to be prepared in advance.

“Thank you, you are excused, please shut the door on your way out.”

“This will help relax your nipples,” the doctor said, taking on the the cloths and dipping it into the hot water. He made a show of draining the excess water, but you had explicitly asked him to leave the cloth as wet as he could.

With the cloth in hand, the doctor walked over to Itachi and pressed it firmly against his left nipple. Itachi sucked in a breath at the temperature change, but your favourite part came a few moments later. Droplets of warm water started to run down his chest, finding their way down to his stomach before soaking into the robe tied around his waist. Itachi’s stomach jumped at the ticklish feeling of the water but both you and the doctor pretended not to notice.

A minute later, the doctor removed the cloth, revealing the glistening, soft nipple to the air. Quickly, before the cold air pebbled it once more, the doctor instructed Itachi to put his left arm up and began prodding, poking and squeezing at his chest.

Itachi’s breath quickened and his eyes closed. You wondered if he was feeling good or embarrassed, perhaps both. The little squeaks he was letting out were music to your ears, though, regardless of their cause.

Over in the corner, his parents shuffled uncomfortably and his father averted his eyes.

The doctor repeated the process with the other nipple before speaking.

“Everything feels in order,” he said, moving away to wipe his hands on a towel before jotting down his findings. “No abnormalities nor anything that would suggest he will have trouble providing milk for any children in the case that you decide against a wet nurse.”

“That is wonderful,” you demurred, eyes fixed on Itachi even though he wouldn’t look at you. “I’ve always wanted my husband to feed our children himself. It is uncommon in high society, but I think there are many… benefits… to that sort of arrangement.”

No one in the room responded, so you carried on.

“However, my dearest doctor, you seem to have neglected to drain the cloths sufficiently, you’ve left poor Itachi soaking.”

“Ah,” the doctor said, as if he’d just noticed the massive wet patch on Itachi's lap. “My apologies. On the bright side, I was just about to ask you to remove your robe, anyway.”

“Of course,” Itachi said quietly. He looked to his parents for support, and at their encouraging nods he slipped off the table and tentatively untied the robe from his waist, revealing everything to your eager eyes. The doctor quietly took the robe while you busied yourself taking in the sights.

His thighs were very delicate looking, and pale in a way that suggested they had never seen the sun. You wouldn’t be surprised if that were in fact the case. The divots in his hips drew your eyes next; they looked like perfect places to grab. But of course, the star of the show was the little, soft cock sitting between his legs.

Itachi could see where you were staring and immediately flushed bright red, his thighs and arms twitching as though he were having to consciously refrain from hiding himself from your admittedly predatory gaze.

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad though… It was in the nature of a tiger to prey on the little lambs.

The doctor wasted no time in grabbing the tape measure from his desk and getting to work measuring around his hips, thighs and waist, and everywhere he needed. It would be great to finally have his exact measurements to send off to your seamstress. You had a frankly impressive collection of sketches and ideas of outfits you were going to fill your husbands new wardrobe with. The Uchiha were such a modest clan, and so you couldn’t imagine any of his current wardrobe would be suitable.

The first outfit that came to mind was the one you’d been sketching last night. The base of the outfit was similar to a purple bikini, although the fabric designed to run between the legs was actually two pieces of fabric held together with a couple of tiny buttons that could be undone at any time. On top, you designed a silver body chain, although looking at Itachi naked here in front of you, you made a note to change it to gold; it would suit him better. Finally, on top would be a dress made of gauze. It would give the illusion of a proper outfit, a classy silhouette, while of course being entirely see through.

It was not your most creative idea, but still one of your favourites. Perhaps you would get him to wear that to the birthday party you were throwing for him a few weeks after your marriage date.

“Just under 3 inches soft,” the doctor announced, delicately measuring Itachi’s limp penis.

Ah, that was another measurement you needed. You wouldn’t want his first chastity cage to be ill fitting.

You looked up to Itachi’s face to see that he was no longer attempting to close his eyes, but had now seemingly picked a random spot on the wall to focus on instead.

“Right,” the doctor said, standing up and jolting Itachi’s attention to him. “There’s only one more thing we need to do before we get you up onto the table and into the stirrups.”

Itachi visibly gulped, but your stomach lurched. This was one of your favourite parts.

The doctor pulled out an unassuming container, about five cm deep and 10 cm wide, and placed it on the floor in front of Itachi.

“We need a urine sample.”

There was silence in the room before Mikoto spoke up.

“Is there a private room for him provide it?”

“Unfortunately not,” the doctor said with fake sadness. “We had issues last year with a man who managed to fake the sample once he was alone, so it is pertinent that the sample be collected with witnesses.”

The dark haired beauty in front of you was almost shaking. How cute.

His parents did not look happy, but ultimately this wouldn’t be worth fighting the reigning monarch over, so they backed down.

“I know this can be difficult, but we have other tests to proceed with, so please try to be as fast as you can,” the doctor said. He placed the plastic container on the floor at Itachi's feet and then stepped back to his desk.

You could hardly contain your excitement as you watched the panic quickly build in Itachi's eyes as he realised he'd be getting no privacy. He didn't seem to know what to do, and you certainly didn't provide instructions. You wanted to see what his natural inclination was. Would he pick up the container or would he squat over it?

The silence continued, and the omega made no move to do as he was asked.

"Itachi," a rosy-cheeked Fugaku said. Itachi startled and looked up at his father. "Go on."

"If you need some help, I'm sure my doctor can-"

"No!" Itachi cut you off immediately. You smirked at the response. So shy. "I - I can do it."

With the threat of another person coming to help him, Itachi gingerly picked the plastic container off the floor and held it at his crotch height. He slightly opened his thighs to make room for the pot, and used his free hand to gently point his little cock. His head was hanging down, covering his face with his hair, and his thighs were shaking with humiliation.

You tilted your head, watching as he struggled to pee, but refusing to interrupt. You heard a couple of quiet sniffles and you wondered if he was crying. This was another thing he would have to get more comfortable with if he wanted to be married to you. You loved making them perform like this. Perhaps at your wedding you would have him wet his wedding outfit?

You considered it for a moment. Yes, you liked that. It would be symbolic to have him ruin the last piece of Uchiha clothing that he would be allowed.

Right now though, he would have to piss in the container.

So gently that you weren't even sure if you were imagining it at first, a tiny trickle flowed out of Itachi and down into the container. Clearly, once he had forced the first little bit out, the floodgates opened.

You hid your grin as you watched him piss, the loud spattering sound ricocheting off the stone walls and making it seem louder than it was. Slowly, the container filled up, and for a glorious twenty seconds, everyone in the room watched in silence at the beautiful spectacle, until his stream slowly petered off.

With his legs shaking so much, you were surprised (and slightly disappointed) that he hadn't made more of a mess.

"There," your doctor said, voice condescending. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He took the pot and put it on his desk.

Itachi said nothing as he tried to discreetly wipe his eyes.

"Now, it's time to get you in the stirrups. Hop back onto the table for me."

#itachi #itachi x reader #a/b/o #omegaverse #n-sfw #p/iss #alpha!reader #alpha reader

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kotelok16 · 3 months

Note

Hii so I’m new here and haven’t touched danganronpa in years, so I’m just curious as to what got you into komamiki? My mind is blown whenever I see a ship that’s not implied in canon, so seeing your art was like woah!!!! And I just like getting people to infodump about stuff they love 💕

Thanks a lot for the question, anon! This is gonna be a long post, be prepared

In fact, I remember very poorly the moment when I got involved in this pairing. As I understand it, I saw one piece of art and just fell in love with this couple? That is, my brain clicked and was like, "Listen, I like it, there's something in this!"

If you still asking "why" I liked this pairing, then the main reason is an interesting dynamic. Yes, yes, komamiki haters, I know about the ending of the third trial and that these two "hate each other" (as they usually write). But... Isn't there a special charm in this? Has the path from hate to love stopped being a thing? I mean, at the end of the trial, it was shown how well Mikan caught Nagito's weakness. She could have left him speechless with a precise phrase. She understood Nagito.

Isn't there some spice in the fact that you are best understood by the person you dislike now? And everyone you admire didn't even try to understand you?? (yes, Hajime tried in free-time events. I know, I don't deny it. Just for now we are talking about the main plot).

Of course, I can think too much like any other fan of any other pairing. But this dynamic is driving me crazy!

It gives me pleasure to reflect on how difficult it would be for komamiki to restore a neutral relationship to begin with after the events of the game. And it's going to be difficult, as it's going to be difficult for all the killers and victims to talk about what happened, you know? And the difficulties are ✨interesting✨.

What I also like about komamiki is that they are two broken people who can understand each other. They both need psychological (and not only) help, okay?? But in this path of recovery, they can become each other's support.

Mikan is emotional, reads the general atmosphere and someone else's mood very easily, worries a lot. Nagito is actually more detached and calm (unless we're talking about hope-). He knows how to show the emotions needed at the moment, but he does not always read the general atmosphere (and does not always consider it necessary, he is on his own mind). In total, we have two broken people, one is very emotional and reads people well, and the second is calm, which adjusts to the mood of people. And both have low self-esteem and are very, let's call it, helpful. "I will do anything, just don't hate me!" and "I will do everything to become your stepping stone to hope!"

At the same time, they can learn a lot from each other and take care of each other. Mikan, of course, as a nurse. I like to think too much that she put all her strength into Nagito's life after him waking up from the New World Program. Komaeda, in turn, is sharp-tongued, and can protect his emotional girlfriend from unwanted comments verbally. He also knows how to express admiration, I think such words won't hurt Mikan. Tsumiki can also express in words and actions the importance of Nagito's life to her. Uh, a mutual aid circle??

Will such a relationship be difficult? OF COURSE, absolutely. But do you really think that any relationship does not involve difficulties? Including healthy relationships, which are being talked about a lot now? Like, guys, psychologists identify the crisis stages that ANY married couple goes through. The question is not what kind of problems are in the relationship, but how they will be solved. But I got off the subject.

If I think again about the post-canon, then I am hooked by the idea that the Class 77 will become the world's enemy. Not without reason, let's be honest. But, you see, there is no one left in their world who would accept them, except classmates (no, Makoto, don't look at me like that-). "In this world, we only have each other." Isn't this a bit dramatic, tragic and romantic?! (tragic for the most part, but we love it here)

Uh, I think this post is already quite long, it's worth taking stock. I love komamiki, I see an interesting, complex dynamic between them. Most of the time I draw them cute, gentle, romantic, well, because I like to draw them like that. I'm interested in thinking about their relationship, but drawing all sorts of cute things gives me peace of mind. Thanks again for the question, anon! It's always a joy to talk about your favorite couple^^

#komamiki #mikan tsumiki #nagito komaeda #Kotelok talks #infodamping is healing my mind

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nyxshadowhawk · 1 year

Text

Art and Hedonism

Dorian Gray Weekly is over, so it’s finally time for me to post my analysis of my favorite gothic novel!

On the surface, The Picture of Dorian Gray seems to be a tragedy about what happens when you give yourself over to self-indulgence and sin. Dorian has been granted eternal youth so as to live out all his passions, and he spends his life becoming progressively more depraved until his conscience weighs upon him to the point of madness, and he destroys his own horcrux. Hedonism is bad, right? But it’s a little counter-intuitive for such a moral to come from Oscar Wilde. Why would Oscar Wilde, of all people, write a story that seems to condemn hedonism? Well… I don’t think he does. The book just doesn’t read that way. It’s a luxuriously self-indulgent, sensual book! I wouldn’t like it so much if it boiled down to “hedonism is bad.”

I think that this book is a metatextual critique of Wilde’s own philosophy. The Picture of Dorian Gray is not really about beauty, or pleasure, or sin. It is about art. It is about the nature of art and it’s relationship to the artist, and to the audience. It is a cautionary tale not about the dangers of hedonism, but the dangers of taking art too seriously. At least, that seems to be what it is according to its author. I’m not saying that I know definitively what the author’s intentions were, or that authors’ interpretations of their work are the only true and correct ones. Ultimately, an author’s interpretation of his or her own work is just one interpretation among many, and any true piece of art can be interpreted many different ways. But, looking at Dorian Gray through the lens of its own author might be the best way to answer this question. So, I am going to analyze that. For fun!

At first glance, Wilde’s preface doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the story. It’s a really short philosophical argument. Actually, it reads more like a pretentious internet comment, by making a bunch of beautifully-worded controversial claims and then sitting back and waiting for you to respond to them, almost as if it’s daring you to argue.

The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

[…]

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself. We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art is quite useless.

There’s a lot more philosophical rambling that I cut out, but the short of it is this — art exists for its own sake. It exists to be admired, to be enjoyed. It exists to be beautiful, and that’s it. Anything that anyone else gets from it is simply what they get from it, and it says more about them than it does about the art. Creating art for any other primary purpose misses the point, if it isn’t outright dangerous.

Now, generally in literary analysis it’s a faux pas to psychoanalyze the author based on their work (which Wilde would probably agree with, since he writes that art should “conceal the artist”). There’s a lot of weird philosophy in this book, mostly put forth by the character of Lord Henry Wotton. Although Wilde identifies Lord Henry as something of a caricature of himself, we cannot say whether anything Lord Henry says is what Wilde really thinks. But this? The preface is written without the voice of a character or the context of a story. This is the author speaking as himself, in his own words, and therefore we can conclude that this is what he really thinks. That means that the only thing we can really say about Wilde and his philosophy based on this book alone comes from this preface.

Why is this preface even here? Why is it attached to this book? It might just be a futile attempt to cover his own ass, since he says things like “There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book” and “Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.” That’s basically facing down the inevitable controversy that this book generated and saying, “don’t look at me, it’s just a story. It’s your fault for taking it seriously.” But, we could also use it as a framework within which to interpret the following story. Or, actually, wait, we’re not supposed to interpret it because it exists for its own sake, right? But why else would the this be the preface to Dorian Gray, if the story wasn’t meant to prove the preface’s point?

One more bit of metatextual content I want to bring up: Wilde said this about his characters:

Basil Hallward is what I think I am: Lord Henry what the world thinks me: Dorian what I would like to be — in other ages, perhaps.

(I am way too proud of this outdated meme.)

So, all three of Dorian Gray’s main characters are meant to represent the author himself from various perspectives. Basil, the innocent and lovelorn painter, is how Wilde perceives himself. Lord Henry is how society perceives Wilde; he smoothly makes controversial philosophical statements about hedonism and beauty and whatnot, but doesn’t actually believe most of what he’s saying. And what a cryptic thing to say about Dorian, the naive-boy-turned-corrupt libertine. I guess I could interpret that as Wilde saying that he’d theoretically like to have the sheer daring and shamelessness needed to actually live out all of Henry’s philosophies. So… if that’s the case, then that puts a big question mark over Dorian’s entire character. If the message of the book is “hedonism is bad,” then why would Wilde want to be Dorian, even hypothetically? Dorian’s depravity is clearly a bad thing, right? Why would Wilde write him that way, then?

Because the book’s moral isn’t about hedonism, it’s about art.

Wilde warns the reader, “All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.” But… that’s exactly what I plan to do. Sorry, Oscar.

So, let’s actually talk about the story now.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is a weirdly paradoxical work for the reasons I just spelled out — it seems like it should be condemning hedonism, but it doesn’t quite. It seems like it is a story about a man whose life steadily ruined by pleasure-seeking at the expense of all else, and yet… it’s just so decadent, this book. It’s full of philosophy about hedonism and the nature of good and evil, and it’s hard to tell just how much is espoused by its author and how much is condemned. Often the philosophy comes through Lord Henry, but sometimes it’s just there in the narration. And I love this book for that reason. I love thinking about stuff like that, so much. I love that this book practically smells like opium and tastes like rich chocolate.

The reason why I’m so interested in Wilde’s relationship to his own work here is because I agree with a lot of the philosophy presented in it. I know that Dorian Gray is being corrupted by Lord Henry’s influence, and I can see how that happens. But… still. This book is interesting to me because it seems to simultaneously espouse and decry the philosophy presented in it, which is why I think it’s a critique. “Let’s let this philosophy play a bit, and see what it does.” What if someone really did live the kind of life that Wilde himself was accused of living? When is hedonism healthy, and when is it not? Where are the limits?

Henry is Wilde’s caricature of himself. A lot of readers hate him for just how infuriating he is. All Lord Henry really does is spout controversial and kind of offensive statements. I’m sure we all know at least one person like that on the internet. Henry’s like the super intellectual version of a troll; he just says stuff to make people deeply uncomfortable and see how they’ll react. But he’s also persuasive — he’s a Mephistophelian character with a “low, musical” voice. He views Dorian almost like a science experiment. He admits that influence is evil, but then actively goes after an impressionable and naive boy to turn him into… well, whatever that portrait looked like in the last chapter. In chapter 2, he makes a long speech about how a man should “live out his life fully and completely […] give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream.” In short, screw Victorian morality. Life is to be experienced, so drink deeply of all it has to offer instead of wasting it constraining yourself. His best line, in my opinion, is:

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.

—Chapter 2

I kind of agree with this. Kind of. I do think that temptation is impossible to resist. The more you attempt to repress your desires, the more intensely you feel those desires. The best thing to do to avoid being tempted by genuinely dangerous things is to either satisfy the temptation using some safer outlet (or otherwise redirect it), or to avoid potential temptations altogether. The second line of this quote makes it clear that what Henry is really saying here is, “don’t let society’s stupid restrictions keep you from living your best life.”

And… yeah. If society shames you for being gay, whip out the rainbow colors! A lot of things (especially “sexual deviancy”) are only “temptations” because society and culture says that they’re wrong, not because they’re actually morally wrong. That’s an important distinction. We’ll get back to that. I believe that the difference between a temptation and a desire is that you can only be tempted by something dangerous and forbidden. If feeling lust as a young woman or man is considered morally wrong, then sex is a “temptation” — as soon as it’s considered a normal part of existing as a human, then it’s suddenly not a “temptation,” it’s just desire, and is a lot easier to deal with. You can find a safe outlet for it without feeling any shame, and without making any dumb mistakes out of sheer desperation.

Another thing Harry says is,

The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly — that is what each of us is here for.

—Chapter 2

Yes! I have no argument here. None at all. However, reading between the lines, it seems as though Harry’s definition of “realizing one’s nature perfectly” is just experiencing everything in life and living it to its fullest, literally without distinguishing between good and bad experiences, or good and evil deeds. “Every experience is of value,” he says at one point. I don’t define self-development this way. My definition is complete self-awareness. If you’re self-aware, then you can be as self-indulgent as you want because you know where your limits are. Drinking at a party is fine, but you have to know your alcohol tolerance.

Dorian buys into this philosophy pretty hard. By chapter 11, his whole life has become one of pleasure, and… I’m still not disagreeing with a lot of the philosophy put forth by this novel:

The worship of the senses has often, and with much justice, been decried, men feeling a natural instinct of terror about passions and sensations that seem stranger than themselves […] But it appeared to Dorian Gray that the true nature of the senses had never been understood, and that they had remained savage and animal merely because the world had sought to starve them into submission or to kill them by pain, instead of aiming at making them elements of a new spirituality, of which a fine instinct for beauty was to be the dominant characteristic.

—Chapter 11

This is why I love this novel. I agree with this too. I have a fine instinct for beauty myself. Here, Dorian considers that maybe people in his society consider sensuality to be animalistic and savage only because they haven’t engaged with it at all, so it appears strange and dangerous. I also think that sensuality has been unfairly demonized for far too long, sometimes to the point where enjoying anything is sinful. I think it’s important to confront one’s passions (i.e. desires and emotions) and find a way to deal with them that’s both safe and satisfying. Like Dorian, I don’t have much patience for asceticism, or at least for the notion that it’s the most moral and spiritual way to live one’s life. Dorian attends church sometimes just out of curiosity, just becuase he finds it enjoyable or interesting, and he jumps around between different spiritualities the same way he collects jewels, textiles, and perfume:

But he [Dorian] never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual development by any formal acceptance of creed or system […] no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself. […] He knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have their spiritual mysteries to reveal.

—Chapter 11

I feel called out by this. This concept of jumping around between different belief systems, using belief as a tool… that’s basically Chaos Magic in a nutshell. “Nothing is true, everything is permitted” definitely sounds like something Lord Henry would say. And I certainly don’t think that sensuality and spirituality are mutually exclusive, in fact, I think that the former can be a means of experiencing the latter. I worship Dionysus, for crying out loud. Often, the answer I give when someone on the internet asks me why I believe in magic or gods or anything else without evidence is “it’s fun,” i.e. pleasure.

And yet… my life could not be more different from Dorian’s. Perhaps the darkest part of my mind is something like Dorian, but in real life, I look like a stereotypical Victorian ingenue who’s always the first to die in a gothic novel like this one, and I’m quite pure and unsullied. I don’t do anything but sit in my dorm room and write on the internet all day. At parties, I freeze up and don’t speak to anyone. I’m still not much of a drinker, despite having been legally allowed to drink for several years now. My only real vice is sugar. I have no love life or sex life. I value pleasure becuase I can’t enjoy myself for the life of me, because I worry about everything all the time and waste energy on it. I’m not Dorian, and that’s probably why I can get away with hedonism.

Here’s the thing about our protagonist: he takes Harry much more seriously than he should. Harry doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying. He just says stuff, to be controversial and shocking. That’s what he does. But Dorian buys it, hard. Harry’s waxing lyrical about how there’s nothing in the world but youth and Dorian has the whole world at his fingertips because he’s pretty, makes Dorian obsessively concerned with his appearance. He barters his soul on a whim. And, then he proceeds to live the kind of lifestyle that Harry advocates for but doesn’t have the balls to actually commit to. Dorian is beautiful, rich, and able to do whatever he likes, which he often does. He has it all, but the truth is, he’s not really getting anything out of any experience. He goes through life like a passive spectator. This is probably because of the hedonism paradox, but it could also be because Dorian uses hedonism and collecting beautiful things as a means of escapism:

For these treasures, and everything that he collected in his lovely house, were to be to him a means of forgetfulness, modes by which he could escape, for a season, from the fear that seemed to him at times to be almost too great to bear.

— Chapter 11

Congratulations, Dorian, you ruined it for yourself.

I like beautiful things. I have more resin statues than I have space for. I have more perfumes than I actually wear. I spend a lot of my free time scrolling through artwork on Pinterest. I genuinely like museums and ballets and operas. I like dressing up in fancy Goth outfits even without an occasion. I like soft blankets. I like neoclassical music. I like decorating for holidays and making elaborate table displays and giving everything a distinctive theme. I deeply appreciate beauty. I don’t think it poisons me. I collect all these things because they make me happy, and that’s all. I think that happiness or pleasure is a worthy goal for its own sake.

But it has to be for its own sake, not for the sake of avoiding your problems, or to ignore the feeling of your sins crawling on your back. It’s like the difference between having a few drinks at a party for the fun of it, and becoming an alcoholic because you can’t come to terms with your psychological issues. Collect beautiful things because they make you happy, not because you hope they might fill the gaping void in your soul left behind by a portrait. Dorian definitely isn’t happy:

I have never searched for happiness. Who wants happiness? I have searched for pleasure.

—Chapter 18

Dorian’s whole life has been what I call “empty pleasure,” pleasure that is ultimately unfulfilling because it’s covering up a problem instead of being enjoyed for its own sake. If you indulge for the sake of avoiding something, you’re not enjoying the thing for what it is, you’re just desperately trying to take your mind off the thing you want to avoid nagging at the back of your brain, and the result is that you can’t really enjoy anything. Another example is gorging yourself on a delicious feast because it’s delicious, as opposed to binge eating. Or having sex with several people that you feel genuine affection for, as opposed to people you can’t even remember the names of. “Empty pleasure” is bad for the soul, but pleasure itself is not. The threat of “empty pleasure” is what has caused pleasure itself to be demonized for so long. It’s not the pleasure that’s bad, it’s the avoidance. Pleasure can’t be spiritual at all if its so superficial. Dorian’s hedonism is hollow and meaningless, so it corrupts his soul.

Confront your damn problems, don’t lock them in your attic! Once you’ve done that, you can really get the most out of life.

Thank you for allowing me all of that gratuitous philosophizing. Where was I? Oh, right — this book is a warning about art. Right.

Lord Henry’s last real contribution to Dorian’s corruption is giving him the mysterious “yellow book.” The “yellow book” is often speculated to be À rebours by Joris-Karl Huysmans. The book itself doesn’t really matter; what matters is the effect that it has on Dorian in-universe. It cements his hedonistic philosophy that had already been implanted by Lord Henry, and it seems to really drive him over the edge.

Dorian Gray had been poisoned by a book. There were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realize his conception of beauty.

— Chapter 11

So, there is no good and evil, only beauty. Dorian doesn’t really have a concept of good and evil anymore, just experiences in life, just whether things are beautiful or not. This is another pretty big problem with Dorian’s approach towards hedonism — he has no moral compass.

This idea that the book is “poisonous” seems to directly contradict the point that Wilde makes in the preface. “There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.” Why the contradiction? Dorian has made the mistake of taking art too seriously. The yellow book is “poisonous” not because of anything about the book itself, but because of how Dorian responds to it — because he takes it too seriously. The book wouldn’t be immoral if he just enjoyed it at face-value and didn’t take it to heart, would it? The fact that he becomes so obsessed with it is another nail in his coffin.

The first nail in the coffin comes much earlier. The scene where Dorian dumps Sibyl is critical. First, there’s Sibyl’s explanation of her perspective on her art:

The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real. You came — oh, by beautiful love! — and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is. The stillness of the empty pageant in which I had always played. […] You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection. You had made me understand what love really is. My love! My love! Prince Charming! Prince of life! I have grown sick of shadows. You are more to me than all art can ever be.

— Chapter 7

Until she met Dorian, Sibyl had been living through her plays. She quite literally “became” Juliet or Ophelia or whoever she was playing inside her mind, completely suspending her disbelief, because she just didn’t have much of a life outside of her acting. This made her a phenomenal actress, because watching an actor who’s that immersed in their role is also immersive for the audience. But when she met Dorian, life suddenly became more real to her and more meaningful to her than art. Sibyl completely lost that suspension of disbelief, and her acting skills along with it.

Dorian dumps her for saying so, in the most brutal way possible:

…you have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination, Now you don’t even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid. My God! how mad I was to love you! What a fool I have been! You mean nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I will never think of you. […] Without your art, you are nothing. […] A third-rate actress with a pretty face.

Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here. Both Sibyl and Dorian have made the fatal mistake of taking art too seriously. On Sybil’s end, she’s been living through her art in a way that’s unhealthy. She doesn’t have a life or an identity beyond the persona that she adopts on stage. It’s like if your entire life was online, and the only people you’ve ever been in love with are fictional characters, and you didn’t have any life to speak of beyond that — oh. Okay, well, at least I have a sense of myself. Sibyl doesn’t have an identity of her own, so she borrows her identity from Shakespeare characters. Dorian, meanwhile, has fallen in love with this false identity. He doesn’t actually care about the person Sibyl actually is, because there’s nothing really there. When Sibyl feels like she’s finally found herself and become a person, Dorian is disgusted with her because she can no longer act, and she’s no longer interesting to him. Sibyl became an art piece and Dorian loved that art piece, not the person beneath.

This scene is so often misrepresented in adaptations. In most adaptations, the breakup is Harry’s fault, usually through giving him bad romance advice and teaching him to devalue women. For example, in the 2009 adaptation, Harry tempts Dorian to go to a brothel instead of seeing Sibyl perform, and Sibyl is concerned that she’s just another whore to Dorian. That becomes the focus of their breakup. Blaming the breakup on Harry makes it about hedonism; Sibyl feeling like Dorian is exploiting her for sex makes it about hedonism. It’s not about hedonism, it’s about art, which relates back to the preface. In the book, the breakup is entirely Dorian’s fault. It’s also the first time we see any real cruelty out of Dorian, which is then reflected by the portrait. Because this has nothing to do with Harry’s influence, I consider it proof that Dorian was never really that good of a person to begin with. He completely lacks empathy for Sibyl.

This is what results in tragedy. Sibyl commits suicide because she’s the pretty and innocent blond ingenue who’s always the first to die in a gothic novel, and Dorian officially begins his downward slide. Sibyl’s death is absolutely Dorian’s fault in every way. He doesn’t dive headfirst into hedonism until after that happens, and his hedonism is “empty” because he’s trying to numb the pain of Sibyl’s death. And it’s all downhill from there.

When Basil finally comes to see Dorian again, he’s appalled by Dorian’s reputation. Apparently, everything Dorian touches rots from the inside, so to speak. Sibyl becomes the first of many. Every person he’s involved with ends up too ashamed to show themselves in public, if they don’t commit suicide.

“…you were a man whom no pure-minded girl should be allowed to know, and whom no chaste woman should sit in the same room with. […] Why is your friendship so fatal to young men?” [Basil proceeds to describe several men whom Dorian was “inseparable” with who then ended up with disgraced reputations.] They say that you corrupt everyone with whom you become intimate.”

— Chapter 12

Dorian’s reputation is so sordid that all of the young women and men who become intimate with Dorian (interesting word choice) all end up ruined in some way or another. The same is said of Alan Campbell, the young chemist Dorian blackmails into deposing of Basil’s body. Apparently, they were “almost inseparable, indeed. Then the intimacy had come suddenly to an end.” Do I really need to spell this out? What does Dorian blackmail Allan with? We don’t know. It’s never said. But it’s heavily implied to be something about the very gay stuff that they almost definitely did together.

But — and this is one of the things that made the book so scandalous for its time — Dorian isn’t depraved because he’s bi. He’s just a bad person, and all of the poor young people who become involved with him suffer for it. Other characters in the story who are implied to be queer are not depicted as being evil. Basil, the most unambiguously gay character in the novel, is also one of the most innocent and the most undeserving of Dorian’s cruelty. Alan, too, is an innocent victim of Dorian, whatever he and Dorian might have done together in the past. During the scene in which Dorian blackmails Alan, his behavior implies that he is abusive as a partner, even outside the extraordinary circumstance of covering up a murder. Specifically, the “you made me do this” lines that he keeps throwing at Alan:

I tried to spare you. You will do me the justice to admit that. You were stern, harsh, offensive. You treated me as no man has ever dared to treat me—no living man, at any rate. I bore it all. Now it is for me to dictate terms.

— Chapter 14

How many other people has Dorian treated like this? How many of his lovers has he gaslit into believing that his abuse is their fault? How many people has he threatened with social ruin if they don’t do what he wants? (His own reputation can’t get any worse, after all.) He gives Alan a “look of pity,” as if to say, “this will hurt you way more than it hurts me.” Until the very end, Dorian seems completely oblivious (perhaps willingly so) to the effect that his actions have on other people, or worse, he actively enjoys it.

So, that brings me to Basil Hallward. Poor, poor Basil.

Basil knows his fatal flaw, and here we come back to taking art too seriously:

Dorian, from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you. You became to me the visible incarnation of that unseen ideal whose memory haunts us like an exquisite dream. I worshipped you. […] I was only happy when I was with you. When you were away from me, you were still present in my art…. […] One day, a fatal day I sometimes think, I determined to paint a wonderful portrait of you as you actually are, not in the costume of dead ages, but in your own dress and your own time. […] …I know that as I worked on it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. I grew afraid that others would know of my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much, that I had put too much of myself into it. […] Well, after a few days the thing left my studio, and as soon as I had gotten rid of the intolerable fascination of its presence, it seemed to me that I had been foolish in imagining that I had seen anything in it, more than that you were extremely good-looking and that I could paint. Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work that one creates. Art is always more abstract than we fancy. Form and colour tell us of form and colour — that is all. It often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more than it reveals him.

— Chapter 9

This is all one paragraph, by the way, and the whole thing spans an entire page. It is probably the gayest paragraph of the entire body of Victorian literature. Basil is clearly infatuated. He becomes so obsessed with Dorian that it’s almost unhealthy. This anguished declaration of love obviously echoes the preface, which is to be expected if Wilde sees Basil as a representation of himself. “To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.” Basil is afraid that the portrait doesn’t reveal Dorian as he is, instead revealing Basil’s salacious crush on Dorian. But he ultimately comes to the same conclusion as the preface — that art conceals the artist and simply exists for its own sake. Anyone is able to project onto art and see anything they want in it, but art simply is what it is, and taking it too seriously results in peril. Perhaps the true tragic figure of this book isn’t Dorian, it’s Basil, for having invested so much in this portrait. He doesn’t paint it for the sake of creating a beautiful thing, but for the sake of glorifying his crush. He treated Dorian like a god, and could not see past his projection of perfection to see that Dorian was becoming a monster until it was much too late. When Basil sees what has become of the portrait, he acknowledges that this is the only thing anyone is punished for in this novel: “I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished.”

Dorian himself kind of becomes an art piece. He literally switches places with the portrait. The portrait shows the corruption of Dorian’s soul, and Dorian himself becomes a projection of both Harry “poisonous” philosophy and Basil’s unhealthy projection. He is admired intensely. He exists just to be beautiful, like an art piece, and no one can really see past his beauty. The novel’s premise is based around the idea that people’s sins are written across their face, and that beauty equals goodness. No one can believe anything bad about Dorian when they see him because he just looks so innocent and angelic. Before he learns the truth, Basil is disturbed by Dorian’s reputation but just can’t believe it: “But you, Dorian, with your pure, bright, innocent face, and your marvellous untroubled youth—I can’t believe anything against you.” Similar comments are made by other characters. Dorian is just too pretty to be as evil as he is. The subversiveness of the book comes from that premise. How often are beautiful people able to get away with anything in society, just because people tend to assume they’re innocent? It’s no wonder that Dorian is completely narcissistic.

Even Harry is incredulous when Dorian all but admits to having murdered Basil, thinking that he’s not capable of murder: “Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders […] I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations.” Comparing crime to art is really interesting, to say the least. Most people would say that there’s nothing artistic about crime, but Harry isn’t most people, he’s a troll. And the only reason he gets off scot-free in this book is because he never commits the sin of taking art too seriously! Apparently, according to him, Dorian cannot commit a crime because he’s basically an art piece, and he just doesn’t have any need to kill someone. There’s another comment that Harry makes towards the end that suggests that he views Dorian as an art piece:

I am so glad that you have never done anything, never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything outside of yourself! Life has been your art. You have set yourself to music. Your days are your sonnets.

—Chapter 19

This echoes an earlier comment that he made about Basil being boring because everything that’s interesting about him, he puts into his art. Dorian’s life is vibrant because he directs all that same creative energy into living instead of into an art piece. Dorian himself is an art piece. And yet, while Harry is saying this, Dorian is feeling Basil’s murder weighing upon him.

The title refers not to Dorian himself, but to the portrait — a piece of art. The portrait drives the story, and even Dorian himself realizes this. Dorian’s undoing is that he can’t live with the guilt of his reckless murder and probably all his other sins, especially when he has a literal conscience staring back at him. He would have gotten away with murder just for being pretty, if he didn’t have a conscience. It’s far too late for him to redeem himself, so he decides to destroy the conscience. And… we know how that turns out.

The true “moral” of this book is really hard to parse out, which is maybe why we shouldn’t attempt to read the symbol and just take the whole book at face-value, right? There’s a lot going on here. There’s the inability to face up to one’s problems and deal with them in a way that’s healthy, resulting in any form of enjoyment being “empty.” There’s the idolization of beauty, always assuming the best of beautiful people even when they’re really quite awful. And there’s art — treating art like life or life like art is always going to come back to bite you in the end. That would make this a cautionary tale about what happens when art isn’t appreciated for its own sake, and is projected on so much that one confuses it with life, or sought as a source of morality. Art is not moral, it just is — reading (or writing!) a book from the perspective of a serial killer will not make you a bad person. This book is not a bad influence, it just is.

Even after having written all of that, I’m still not really sure what Wilde was trying to say about hedonism, so let’s ask him. According to Wilde himself, the moral of The Picture of Dorian Gray is, “All excess, as well as all renunciation, brings its own punishment.”

Both extremes are bad. Indulge in life, but make sure you do so with empathy, and for the right reasons! Find some middle ground. And most of all, don’t be afraid of your own portrait.

#dorian gray #the picture of dorian gray #dorian gray weekly #oscar wilde #literary analysis #gothic literature #gothic lit #art #hedonism #tpodg

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actuallysaiyan · 2 years

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sticky situation~

warnings: smut, creampies, mentions of cum, overstimulation, multiple fandom, hickies, slight subspace, Agedup! characters

a/n: this is just a fun little thing I wanted to try out. Also the art isn't mine, but where do people find those sexy manga panels? I don't want anything too suggestive, but it would be nice for a multifandom post like this. There will be a part 2. I wanna tag @beneathstarryskies for helping me with this one.

fandoms: Naruto, DBZ, JJK, Castlevania, DMC, Demon Slayer, FF7/Crisis Core, Ranma 1/2, Chainsaw man

His lips are on your neck, nipping at the tender flesh there. He intends to leave a mark on you, But he finds himself faltering as the way your walls flutter around him for the umpteenth time sends him close to another mind blowing orgasm. He whines, a sound not uncommon to grace your ears. It makes you moan in response, and your walls clench around him again. Another nip at your neck, and this time he sinks his teeth in a little more to try to ground himself.

“S’too good,” he lets out between breaths. “Stop it,”

You giggle again, and he swears he’s fucking the devil right now. You’re too damn fucking sexy for your own good, and you make him go crazy whenever you fuck like this. It’s been a few hours and the bed is definitely wet and sticky with your mixed juices. How you haven’t been completely fucked out this whole time is a mystery to him. He’s just not able to really hold on for long periods of time, and he just keeps cumming in your pussy.

Your labia is all puffy and red, and you’re absolutely leaking his seed. It started as a slow dribble, coating his red cock, and then it smears all over your labia and his pelvic area. It’s so sticky and wet, and only adding to the lust and arousal you both are feeling right now. Strings of your mixed juices keep you connected, stretching slightly with every shaky thrust he takes.

“Y’gonna make me cum,” he whines once more, and you know he isn’t lying.

“Cum for me, my sweet baby.”

Your voice is so mocking, and he rolls his eyes back in pleasure. It’s too much for him to take at this point. Another pitiful mewl falls from his lips, and his hips begin snapping harder and faster as the pleasure begins to build. His pace only gets harder and faster, and those pitiful noises he makes just add to the ferality of this situation. Your walls clench around him purposefully, making him cry out.

“Fuck yes! I’m cumming! Oh fuck, I’m cumming!”

Shot after shot of hot, sticky cum pumps into your cunt, rendering it into an even bigger mess than before. You cling to him, and you moan along with him. It’s all just making his brain melt, and after he comes down from his high, he slumps against you and takes one of your nipples into his mouth for comfort and grounding.

“What a good boy you are,” you praise him, and it makes him blush. A soft huff falls from his lip, but he doesn’t move from his position.

Finally, you managed to get him overstimulated.

dante, nero, alucard, hector, kyojuro, giyu, tanjiro, inosuke, zenitsu, naruto, itachi, gohan, zack, cloud, megumi, denji, ryoga

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sunkissedchld · 11 months

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𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚'𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭

Nikola Stojanovic is a Serbian astrologer known for sharing his theory that each degree of the zodiac circle corresponds to the zodiac signs. @bratz-kitten has the best post on overall correspondents and specific degrees that Stojanovic focused on, and I used said post to apply the theory to my chart. i also used forensicastrolger’s post on their site because i felt it added even more information.

this intepretation is obviously specific to my chart, but if you have similar placements you may find it helpful. you might also find it helpful if you want an idea of how to start applying this theory to your chart. i hope you all find this helpful!

Leo Ascendant at 11°

the first house correlates to our appearance, first impressions, and our natural tendencies/disposition. with my ascendant in leo, my hair is a very noticable part of me. people may view me as a confident person who is a natural leader. i’m likely easily recognizable and have influence over others due to my charisma and prestige/high status.

the eleventh degree is an aquarius degree. according to nikola, this degree is connected to suicide. others say it’s connected to divorce. in my opinion, these two subjects connect in that appearances don’t match what’s under the surface. this is only heightened as this degree is on my ascendant, which directly correlates to literal appearances. aquarian degrees also have ties to technology, innovation, networking, intelligence, and humanitarianism.

to me, this manifests in my chart in that fact that i have a hard time connecting my own view of myself to the view others have of me. what i project does not match what’s inside - or at least, i don’t feel that it does. this probably also manifests in the greatness/potential others see in me that i also have a hard time seeing in myself. this might lastly manifest in a “suicide” of my reputation where i ruin people’s expectations of me because i cause my own downfall.

3H Scorpio Moon at 2°

the third house relates to the mind, communication/language, and people we find roots with before our mother (ie. siblings). the moon details our inner bearings - our emotions and instinctual desires and actions. it’s important to note the moon is in its fall in scorpio, meaning the planet is uncomfortable and debilitated in its bearings. with that said, my scorpio moon makes for an intense placement. i tend to be overly introspective to the point of isolation when it comes to my thoughts, as they’re often intense. when going through internal turmoil, i often look to drastic transformative actions in order to feel more in control.

the second degree is a taurean one. nikola believed this degree was linked to high achievements and greatness - often in the public eye. taurean degrees can also be indicators of luxury, stability, and one’s voice.

i feel this degree and planet placement seem to go against one another. my emotions are almost inherently blocked from the public due to the scorpio influence, but the second degree makes for a situation where my emotions are likely to be exposed to the general public in a large way. with the connection to one’s voice, i feel this manifests in my chart in that i have a way of achieving greatness as a result of my emotions in the way i communicate them. oftentimes, it’s hard for me to express my emotions verbally, but i have a way with displaying them in my writings and other art forms. i may be able to gain greatness, attention, and luxury because of the way i learn to express my emotions to the collective.

5H Sagittarius Mercury at 22°

the fifth house corresponds to life’s pleasures - artistic talents, entertainment, romance, and the inclination and want to be in the spotlight. mercury handles communication, education, and short travels. my sagittarius placement enables me to have a way with words, as explained when talking about my moon sign. i am able to entertain and educate others in a way that is mesmerizing and engaging but also friendly and relatable rather than condescending and confusing. my ideas and words tend to be more all-encompassing and abstract but well thought out, so people feel drawn to it.

the twenty-second degree is connected to capricorn. nikola proposed this degree to be one that indicates one who is “to kill or be killed”. he explains this in a literal sense, but it doesn’t have to entail actual murder. i personally believe the twenty-second degree operates similarly to leo degrees in that one is likely to gain recognition due to the capricorn influence (capricorn rules over the tenth house, which deals with fame, public recognition, legacy, etc.). i also believe it has more karmic ties due to its closeness to the twenty-ninth degree. in my opinion, the twenty-second degree could indicate an area of life where can gain and/or lose a ton. it could indicate a possible fall from grace.

looking at this placement along with my scorpio moon interpretation leads me to believe my words and writings could be my biggest advantage and my biggest downfall. i could gain public recognition as result of my words (ie. writing a book or music), but if i were to go into the deep end a lose myself by becoming too arrogant or forgetting my original reasonings for sharing my words i could leave a smeared legacy. this could technically be seen in what i do on this platform! i share my ideas and such relating to astro content and have gained many people’s trust, but that trust can easily be lost if i’m rude, don’t keep my word, or (going back to the leo interpretation) mar the image people have of me.

5H Sagittarius Pluto at 15°

pluto rules over transformations, death & rebirth, power, sexuality, and mystery. this planet is generational, and i was born while it was in sagittarius (1995 - 2008). with this placement in my fifth house, i experience and understand Pluto’s traits best within a creative arena. my power lies within my creative abilities (and is enhanced due to my fifth house and sagittarius stellium). for others, discovering the hidden parts of me is like a cat-and-mouse chase that they often enjoy. personally, i explore the hidden parts of me utilizing the art of creation.

the fifteenth degree is associated with gemini. nikola asserts it as an “assination” or “kill”/murder degree, and says that it could indicate accidental death if in the sign of gemini. gemini degrees are also associated with double happenings and geometric patterns.

the concept of a degree associated with “assisination”, murder, and/or accidental death connected to a pluto placement makes me believe the effects of pluto are heightened in my life - and this is even more so true as the planet conjuncts both my sun (representing my ego, my core beliefs and ideals; essentially who i am) and my venus (what i love and attach myself to; what draws me in).

in one way, this degree and the aspects i have to the planet could be one explanation as to why the concepts of death and rebirth have always been a focal point in my life. where the fifteenth degree is associated with accidental deaths in gemini, one could argue it means intentional deaths in the sign of sagittarius since the two are sister signs. taking this argument into account and remembering the association of patterns with the degree makes me believe that my encounters with death and are intentional in order to aid in my growth and ultimate transformation. the concept of rebirth is one that i am to become comfortable with because it’s important to my being and goals (see sun-pluto aspect).

this also goes back to my interpretation of my mercury degree with the concept of killing coming back. i also think this, again, plays into the aspect of me having a bigger purpose that could connect to public recognition - so much so that the recognition is generational. this reminds me of the idea of someone completely tearing themselves down and almost re-creating themselves in order to become their best person - not only for themselves but also for the collective. in all, it makes me believe i need to be willing to tear down my ego and wants in order to become more.

5H Sagittarius Chiron at 29°

chiron represents one’s deepest wounds - the traumas from childhood that leave deep impressions on someone for long period of time. my fifth house placement makes for an even closer emphasis on the wounds’ impact and presence on my childhood. this in combination with the sagittarius placement means i have long term wound relating to self-expression. with my fifth house stellium, i have a need to be creative and unique in my thoughts and actions, but early life experiences lead to self-doubt and possible repression.

the twenty-ninth degree is an indicator of clairvoyance and strong intuition. nikola proposed that those with placements in the twenty-ninth degree could predict the future; he also had this degree in his own chart. it should also be noted the twenty-ninth degree is a leo degree, which deals with attention, fame, expression, and creativity. this degree could indicate the person has a knowing feeling of future success.

in astrology, it’s naturally assumed that chiron is meant to be healed. with this, the degree of the asteroid could explain the severity of the wound. the fact that chiron is connected to my fifth house sagittarius stellium (which includes my sun sign) could explain why i often feel confused about whether or not fifth house activities like singing, performing, writing, etc. are really for me. it also explains why i doubt the beauty of the art i create.

additionally, the twenty-ninth degree could further indicate that my future is linked to fame and attention. it could also mean that i am already aware of the fame present in my future. so, despite my current doubting of my art and my hobbies, my deeper conscious is likely aware of the true final outcome.

1H Leo Juno at 29°

juno is an asteroid connected to the roman goddess that rules over marriage and family and who is also known as the protector of women. this roman goddess is also known as hera in greek beliefs. hera is also connected to the former topics of juno, but is also known for her fierce love for her husband - zeus. her love for zeus was so prominent that even when he would cheat on her, hera would instead punish and blame the mistresses rather than zeus himself. with that, asteroid juno is known to be connected to marriage and represents what one often looks for in a long-term significant other.

with this sign in leo and the first house, i desire someone who is fiercely protective and loyal. i may prefer being by the person often and may even engage in PDA. this placement also gives me trophy wife/husband vibes. there’s a want to be shown off and doted on. the first house placement makes me think of love at first sight. regardless, there is a want for love to be grand and immediate yet long lasting.

as stated before, the twenty-ninth degree is associated with both psychic abilities and leo traits including fame, attention, expression, and fun. i also mentioned a knowing feeling of success.

with this clairvoyance aspect present, i propose that juno in the twenty-ninth degree could be an indicator of a soulmate and/or twin flame connection, and this is likely intensified with the first house placement. this could tell of a love from a past life or a love that even those beyond this life know about. this could be a love where my future spouse and i already know about one another before meeting; it could even mean that we’re able to speak to one another without being together. this would explain why sometimes i feel as if i learn small bits of information about then through my dreams.

the leo traits could mean that i gain fame, success, or public recognition from my long term significant other. the leo and first house placements could also mean that i’m likely to learn more about myself due my future spouse. i might open up more and become more confident in myself due to their presence.

#about sun #astrology #nikola's degree theory #degree theory #ascendant: leo #planet: moon #planet: mercury #planet: pluto #house: v #house: iii #asteroids #asteroid: juno

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nightingale-ghost-writer · 7 months

Text

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter One

Summary: Rogier meets a Tarnished and finds what he’s been searching for- in more ways than one.

Author’s Notes: 1K words to start! The Tarnished isn’t named in this chapter, but she will be. 😉 thank you to my beloved @halfmoth-halfman for giving me an excuse to post this. 💙

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically), unfinished story- read at your own risk!

If he hadn’t watched it happen, he probably wouldn’t have ever known. He’d just stepped forward to peek out the doorway when a figure landed on the stones before him without a sound. The same Tarnished who’d fought Margit. She froze, lavender eyes locked on him as he paused.

“Ah, nice to meet you. The pleasure’s mine.” When she didn’t move, he went on, turning on his infamous breezy charm. “Rogier’s the name. A sorcerer, as you might’ve guessed.” She straightened slowly, eyeing him warily.

Rogier shifted, growing a bit nervous. He’d thought she might be friendly, after his aid in her fight against the Omen. Now, though he could hardly begrudge her caution, he wasn’t so sure. And she was beautiful in a way that was vaguely intimidating all on its own. Sooty lashes brushed her cheeks as she blinked at him, one slim hand on her sword hilt.

“I’m looking for a little something, here in the castle. When I’m not hotfooting it from the troops, that is.” He cocked a rueful grin, hoping for some expression. Nothing. “But enough about me. What are you doing here in Stormveil Castle? This place is bristling with Tarnished hunters, you know.” He was rambling, now. “They sacrifice our kind, for grafting. Not exactly a place I’d stroll into without a purpose in mind…”

“I’m here to defeat Godrick.” Her voice was soft and rough, low in a way he hadn’t expected. He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard.

“I see. Here to challenge Godrick, and lay your hands upon a Great Rune, are you?” She nodded, and he could feel himself relaxing. If only a bit. Then her gaze seemed to catch on something he couldn’t see before coming back to him. Bitterness flooded his throat, nearly choking him in its intensity. “You can see it then, I take it? The guidance of grace.”

She nodded, and he tried to level his voice when he replied. “Well, enjoy it while you can. I’m Tarnished, like you. But unlike you, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of this guidance for the longest time.”

Her brow furrowed, and she stepped further into his little sanctuary. Rogier tried to mask the sharp spike of anxiety he felt, and was grateful when she came no further. He felt naked under her sharp gaze, pierced through and stripped of all his cavalier defenses. He tried to keep the panic and exasperation from his voice. “Still, I won’t forget how it felt when I first came here, to the Lands Between.” He’d erred too far on the side of caution. His voice was far more wistful than he would have liked.

The Tarnished hummed, finally taking her eyes from him to look around the room. He breathed out sharply, relieved. They rested for a moment on his fire, and Rogier extended a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, the Tarnished sat. Rogier realized that she was just as nervous as he. On the one hand, it filled him with pride that he could intimidate a warrior as fierce as she. On the other, it filled him with relief to have a peaceful encounter like this. Had she any wish to strike at him, she’d have done it by now.

“I’m privy to a few magical battle arts,” he blurted. She looked up, eyebrows raised. Rogier stumbled on, lowering himself to sit across the fire from her. “Would you care to learn one? As a fellow Tarnished, once guided by grace, I’d love to help you out, if it please.”

A wry smile quirked one corner of her lips, highlighting a fine scar there. “I’m afraid I’ve no aptitude for magic. Cold steel’s more my speed.”

“Oh?” Rogier grinned. He drew his rapier, carefully, holding it out handle first. The Tarnished took it gently from his hands, turning the blade this way and that reverently. “Keen to learn another battle art, are we?”

She looked up, then back to the hilt in her hands. “It’s a fine blade,” she admitted, turning it back toward him. He took it from her hands and leaned back to slide the blade into its sheath. The soft hiss of steel raised his eyes, but he found only another hilt before him.

Rogier’s eyebrows lifted. The blade was rusted, chipped in places and somewhat dull. “You used this… to fight Margit?”

She shrugged a muscled shoulder, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’ll replace it eventually. Just haven’t found anything better, yet.” She looked up then. “Thank you, by the way.” At his blank look, she went on. “For helping me.”

“Oh, that. Of course. As I said, fellow Tarnished and all that. Happy to help you out.”

She hummed again, tilting her head. “That doesn’t seem to be the case amongst us all.”

Rogier grimaced. “Come across someone less friendly?”

“Several someones, in fact.” He waited, but she offered no further comment before standing. “Thank you for sharing your fire with me. I’d best be getting on, though.” And off she went through the door, silently as she’d come. As eager as Rogier had been to escape from her eyes, her absence left him feeling bereft of comfort. He sat for a long while after she went, watching the space where she’d been.

There was a certain despair that accompanied meeting new Tarnished. Sometimes, when they were particularly rude, Rogier allowed himself to gleefully imagine the moment that they, too, lost the ability to see the guidance as he had. But only for a wink.

Tonight, he found himself hoping that just this once, that moment might take a long, long time. Perhaps even long enough that he could discern what made her attention so captivating.

And in the depths of the castle, pierced with Death itself and barely able to drag himself away, as he crawled on shaking arms, fumbling his Roundtable medallion out of his pocket, the only thing that kept him awake enough to escape was the memory of those eyes, burning into and through him. The memory of feeling, and the hope of feeling again, seen. Truly seen, for the first time.

#nightingale writes #elden ring #elden ring sorcerer rogier #elden ring rogier #sorcerer rogier #sorcerer rogier x tarnished #rogier x tarnished #sorcerer rogier x fem!tarnished #rogier x fem!tarnished

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localplaguenurse · 1 year

Note

I am just nosy, forgive me. Can you describe each one of your mutuals?

Buckle up people and prepare to get complimented >:3c

First and foremost, they’re all absolute sweethearts to me.

There are my irl friends, such as @wretchedshade, @granolabird, @siriuscitrus and @scales-of-stardust or beta as I usually refer to them. I share the same braincell with these people.

Wretchedshade has been my best friend since we were ten, we’ve been there for each other for 11 years. I initially got her into anime, and then she got me into jojo, and every once in a while we cry about Doukyuusei again. She’s a great artist and is really good at writing sad shit, which is why I write sad shit; to have the glory of finally making her cry. She kicked cancer’s teeth in a few months ago so it’s about goddamn time something good come her way and I WILL fight someone on that.

Granolabird is the dm for my dnd campaign, and like I said, absolute sweetheart, chaotic adhd haver (actually like most of my friend group is like this lmao we’re all queer and neurodivergent). Either way, we used to share thoughts on each other’s original stories, and we still do sometimes but it’s mostly just sending each other tiktoks/reels like “this you” or “this your oc.”

Siriuscitrus is usually pretty hyper, but also tries to be v considerate of everyone’s feelings. If you said that the McDonald’s employee put pickles on your burger when you said no, they’d probably be the one to tell them. They’re also scarily good at vibechecking people and told me I give “future he/they vibes” and like a week later I said “fuck you’re right oh my god.”

You’ve probably seen me and beta’s interactions on here or in the ao3 comments. We enjoy our like playful rivalry/enemyship. I like to torment tease her and she usually gets me back pretty good, it’s all in good fun. It’s also really funny to me whenever we meet up, I tell myself “you are friends with them for reasons other than fic so do not make it about fic” and then we’ll spend literally hours talking about and brainstorming fic ideas. It just Happens.

I’m also gonna add @memory-mortis into here because while we’ve not met irl I’ve introduced him to my friend group. Yet another sweetheart, love her art style a lot, and she was one of the first comments I got on ginkgo trees to motivate me to keep going. I was kinda worried about bringing him into my friendgroup because like if I’m not overthinking I am not thinking At All. I was super relieved and happy that she like IMMEDIATELY fit in with everyone so :D

For some of my other close but only on tumblr/ao3/outside my general friendgroup mutuals! (There are too many so I’m sorry if you’re not here it’s mostly people I interact with more regularly ;-;)

@crimson-ashes who I have occasionally with absolute love called my “askbox gremlin” because they live in my inbox. I need to stress this is affectionate because genuinely, I love opening tumblr and seeing I’ve got asks from them. They gotta stop posting Astarion though because I’m feeling So Tempted to play BG but I know my laptop would kill itself (joking).

@crystalflygeo and I know I’ve called everyone sweethearts but genuinely, she’s probably one of the sweetest people I’ve had the pleasure of talking to. She’s really wholesome (unlike her writing which is never gonna be a complaint in my book, good soup) and super supportive of other people.

@madamemachikonew who’s super polite and really kind. She’s also really creative/smart when it comes to referencing real world art and philosophy in her writing and integrating it into her own worldbuilding. I would have never thought to have done that, and it makes her writing very unique!

We don’t interact as much but @probably-doesnt-exist, @ethve, @euniveve and @ainescribe are such talented artists and super sweet, have literally made me screech and cackle with utter joy whenever they draw the characters from ginkgo trees. I rotate through which art becomes my phone’s lock/home screens.

This is long af but fuck it, I wanna brighten people’s days and I told myself to say “I love you” to my friends and family more, so consider this one big “I love you!” to y’all. It’s a pleasure talking to y’all!

#ask #I maybe should’ve gone back to bed and answered this later #but screw it #I should maybe go back to sleep though

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xxoolii · 1 year

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Hello-

Uhm I've been trying to look for an open req the whole day, can I get a Cassidy McCree x male reader fic where the reader is into bondage (rope bunny) and gets caught by his lover..?

little drabble for you ml 🫶🏻

first time writing MxM, but i’ve read so much that i don’t think i’ll have a problem 😭

warnings, bondage, rope bunny, masturbation, getting caught, a bit of helplessness, let me know if i missed anything

(i’m a pink girly all of my post will be pink no matter the character, sorryyyy 🤷‍♀️🫶🏻)

(also haven’t got time for fics atm because exams are soon so please bare with me)

MDNI this is an 18+ page and with good reason, please buzz off

You’re stuck!

reader POV

you didn’t know how you had gotten yourself into this situation. it had been some harmless experimenting on the floor of your shared bedroom. the last bits of the tan rope lay in your hands, as the rest had been used to bound your legs open in quite a vulgar way.

sitting in the floor admiring your work in the mirror that stands infront of you. the rope held you perfectly in place and you were surprised with how quickly you picked it up. moving yourself so you can get the whole view of your art in the mirror, it wasn’t too tight just tight enough for you to feel trapped, helpless. just the thought had a small bead of pre-cum falling from the red tip of your cock.

this experiment had really gotten you worked up. your lover shouldn’t be home for a while so why not have some fun on your own. your hands trace the rope that wraps over your thighs, calfs and hips. slowly making your way to your aching cock.

it was never as fun as when your lover did it but right now you just needed a release before he got home. you wouldn’t want him to see you like this. would you?

your strokes started soft and slow, but gradually sped up as your pleasure began to build. so lost in the moment, in the pleasure that you failed to notice the sound of the front door, failed to notice the sound of your lovers boots on the hard wood floor. only snapped out of your trace by the sound of the bedroom door opening. before you noticed it was too late. your lover stood over you.

“well aren’t i just so lucky?”

he said to you, his tall figure almost looming over you. a small smirk plastered across his face as he take his cowboy hat off and throws it on the bed.

he walks towards you, crouching next to you, he moves his hand towards you, overlapping your hand on your cock with his.

“well look at you darling, you’re stuck”

there was something almost primal in the way he said it, and it sent blood rushing down. this was going to be a long night. guess you won’t be walking in the morning

————————

let me know how i did!! also struggled a bit because i think blizzard changed his name so i had no idea what to tag the post with 😭😭

#xxoolii #artists on tumblr #overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #jesse mccree #mccree #smut #cassidy mccree x reader #cassidy x reader #cole cassidy #cole cassidy x reader

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deepspacedukat · 1 year

Text

Diplomatic Exchange

I know I’m a little late on this one, but better late than never! Enjoy!

Day 18: Come Slut

SoC prompt list here. SoC Masterlist here. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Thy’lek Shran (ST:ENT) x Reader, Keval (ST:ENT) x Reader, Tholos (ST:ENT) x Reader, Thon (ST:ENT) x Reader

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies sex, Human/Andorian sex, four blue bois + one Human, mentions of alien biology, oral sex (male receiving), mentions of oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, anal sex, dirty talk, kissing, handjobs, copious amounts of bodily fluids, they’re stealing us but in a legal(ish) way.

~*~

“You’re sure that you’re comfortable with this?” Captain Archer had asked as we stepped out of the turbolift on our way to the docking airlock. “Given how little we know about their species, I’m sure nobody would blame you if you were a little uneasy about being alone on an Andorian ship.”

“Isn’t that rather the point of this venture, sir? To learn more about each other?” I asked as we rounded a corner. “Besides, you and I both trust Commander Shran. He won’t let anything happen to me. You saw how he reacted when he thought he owed you a favor. He’d never be able to live with himself if he allowed something to happen to a guest on his own ship.”

“You’re probably right, but just in case, we’re only a comm away, okay?” He placed what was probably supposed to be a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I smirked up at him.

“I appreciate that, Captain, I really do, but I highly doubt I’ll need an evac.”

That assertion nearly two months prior had ultimately proven to be correct. My hosts aboard the Kumari were welcoming, for the most part, and those who weren’t generally kept their opinions to themselves once they saw how determined their Commanding Officer was to have this be a positive experience for both his species and mine.

There were times when I felt like I’d bitten off a little more than I could chew - usually when there was a question about my own culture that I couldn’t answer definitively - but I noticed an almost equal amount of reciprocal puzzlement from Thy’lek in response to some of my own questions.

One area in which we had absolutely no problem understanding one another, or even ourselves, was the art of pleasure. It had only taken a week and a half for the subject to be brought up in conversation, and since then, I’d never once found my bed empty.

Thy’lek made sure that he and the three other officers I was personally familiar with were reunited as soon as I came aboard the ship, and soon after, we found ourselves a tangle of limbs in bed. Some nights, the Commander and I were on our own, but most often two or three of the boys managed to sync up their off-duty hours.

Very rarely there were nights like tonight - nights where all four of them would band together to educate their resident ‘pink skin’ on Andorian mating practices. With so many blue hands grasping at me and helping me into different positions, these nights always left me gasping and covered in the liquid evidence of their interest.

The night that the atmosphere of our questions changed from reserved curiosity to definitive personal interest was a memorable one. Shran had invited me to his private mess for dinner with himself and the other three whom I’d met back at P’Jem: Tholos, Keval, and Thon. Over the course of the evening, we’d consumed probably more Andorian ale than we should have, so by the time we’d finished eating, we’d moved on to some of the more risque topics of our shared curiosity.

At that point, we’d all overcome any embarrassment we might have initially felt about needing to ask so many questions, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when one of the more flirtatious officers finally asked what was on his mind.

“I’ve heard that Human mating rituals are quite different from our own,” Tholos had murmured as a sly smile stretched his lips. He allowed his eyes to skim a little lower than they had earlier in the night. “Could you tell us a bit about how your people...mingle?”

“As curious as we all are about such colorful topics, if you’re not comfortable discussing something so intimate, I assure you, you’re under no obligation to answer,” Thy’lek stated placing his hand lightly over mine where it rested atop the table. When my eyes met his, though, I found my answer tumbling out with barely a thought.

“I’ll be happy to answer any questions you boys might have, on one condition,” I said, and Thy’lek raised an eyebrow curiously. His antennae twitched as I turned my hand over beneath his so that I could hold it. “If I tell you about Human sexuality, I want to learn about the Andorian equivalent in return.”

“We’d be happy to reciprocate.” Keval sounded even more eager than Tholos had. “We could even demonstrate if you like.”

“Oh, really?” I could practically feel the mischief glinting in my eyes as I turned to look at one of the shier members of the group. Keval, I’d learned, was as brave as Thy’lek, but perhaps a little quicker to jump to conclusions than his C.O. He was quite sweet, though.

“Of course. Nothing is too good for our guest.” The hunger in the Commander’s voice sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

I’d learned a lot that night - and every night since - thanks to that quartet of officers. My - was ‘friends’ the right word for a group of four Andorians who fucked me within an inch of my life practically every night for a month and a half? Surely not.

In any case, my guides to Andorian culture had given me a crash course in Andorian biology. With four biological sexes and four different types of genitalia to keep straight in my mind, the differences between their species and mine were intriguing. The two roughly-male presenting sexes were the only ones involved in our little orgies, though.

“I’ll never get used to how wet you get for us,” Tholos moaned as he pushed his length deeper inside my slit. I’d noticed that the better his day was, the more talkative he’d be during sex. Whimpering as I wrapped my arms around his neck from my place astride his lap, I felt the bed dip behind me.

“Looks like you’ll have to,” Keval crooned skimming his lips down my shoulder as his hands grabbed at my waist. His lubed cock prodded carefully until he was able to press himself into my rear entrance. “She’ll be here for quite some time.”

From beside the bed, another set of blue fingers grasped my jaw lightly and turned my head.

“You’re ours now, aren’t you?” Thon asked with a flirty little wink, guiding my hand to the leaking head of his cock.

Earlier today I’d gotten a communication from Enterprise. The five of us had been in the middle of discussing what we wanted to do for the evening when the Bridge had alerted Commander Shran to the incoming transmission.

“It seems like your assignment is going better than anyone could’ve dreamed,” Captain Archer said with a reluctant smile.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Well, apparently, Commander Shran has conveyed how instrumental you’ve been to developing peaceful relations between Andoria and Earth. He’s requested that your assignment to the Kumari be extended.” Archer didn’t sound too enthused about the thought of me staying here, but I couldn’t stop the smile that split my lips. “Starfleet is ready to approve that extension, but...they want my recommendation on the situation, first. Before I answer them, I wanted to talk to you.”

“I understand, sir. How long would the assignment last?” I asked glancing behind the comm monitor on Thy’lek’s desk at the group of four hopeful faces.

“...There was no firm end date. It could even become permanent.” All four sets of antennae behind the desk shot straight up, and I had to dig my fingernails into my palm to keep myself from falling apart in a fit of giggles. “Are you...? Would you be comfortable with that?”

Nodding my head, I tried to seem a little less than insanely-enthusiastic.

“Yes, sir. There’s still so much to learn, and Commander Shran and his crew have been so accommodating. I would welcome an extension, Captain.”

“Alright. Since you’re sure, I’ll send a message to Starfleet roughly this time tomorrow. If you change your mind–”

“I won’t, sir,” I answered with a smile, and the four wide grins that had crossed the mouths of my lovers told me that I was in for one hell of a night.

The whole night had been one big celebration with all four officers switching positions multiple times until one by one they drew orgasms from me and filled me with their own pleasure.

Tonight, Thy’lek had taken advantage of our positions, bending me slightly to the side so that I could suck him into my mouth.

“Are all Humans this desperate for their partners’ come? Or are you the only one who begs to drink it, wear it, and be filled with it?” He asked running his fingers through my hair as I bobbed my head on his length. The cooling seed dripping off my tits and from between my legs was answer enough for all of us. “Looks like we have the best of your people right here. The most beautiful Human come slut...and she’s already our mate.”

Hums of appreciation emanated from the other three as one of them lifted my hips far enough for one of them to balance me over their mouth. Clearly, we still had a long way to go. This night was far from over.

~*~*~

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