half for devotion, half because of you

Stardust pants in front of you, his body a trembling constellation of want and heat, his eye glazed like a dying star.

He stumbles closer, drool slipping past his lips in thick, glistening strands, whimpers tearing from his throat like he’s being flayed alive. The sound is wet, broken, the kind of noise that should make you recoil - but you don’t.

His hands crash onto your shoulders, fingers shaking, cold, shivering, as if the touch of you burns. He tilts his head up, and the look in his eye isn’t just desire. It’s mania, seeping into his bones, his blood, his soul, and it’s all because of you you you disgusting you.

More animalistic whines spill out, high and needy, and you can taste the wrongness of it on your tongue, metallic and thick.

His neck is a ruin. Blood weeps sluggishly from the wounds you left there, the imprints of your teeth and the searing kiss of starlight carved so deep it’s a wonder he’s still standing.

The sight makes your stomach lurch. You’re a monster. A freak. A thing that shouldn’t exist, let alone be trusted with something as fragile as him.

The guilt coils in your gut, a living, writhing thing, and you try to step back, to run, but Stardust moves faster. He corners you against the wall before you can even blink, his body pressing into yours, the heat of him scorching through the cold of your own skin. The stars in your form flicker, dimming under the weight of his touch.

“L-luh—Loop,” he slurs, your name a broken thing in his mouth, tears spilling down his face as his grip tightens. His nails dig in, sharp and unrelenting, and you feel the moment they break your starlit skin, the wet heat of your own blood joining the mess on his neck. “Please, Loop. Please.” His voice is a knife twisting in your chest. You promised. You said you’d help. And now here he is, a wreck, a mess, all because you couldn’t keep your blinding hands to yourself.

You swallow the arousal that surges, violent and unwanted, throttling it like you wish you could throttle him. Your body flickers, stars bursting in protest, and you snarl, “No, stardust! I won’t hurt you anymore!” But the words taste like lies. You have hurt him. You are hurting him. And the worst part? He’s begging for more.

His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens, nails sinking deeper, and you can see the way his pupile blows wide at the pain, the way his body shudders into it like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

Fuck. Fuck.

You bare your hidden teeth, an eye-sneer twisting your face, and the cruelty spills out before you can stop it: “Look at you, stardust. Pathetic. A pain-slut, aren’t you? Disgusting. Depraved. You love this, don’t you? Love being used, love being broken—” The words are venom, but Stardust doesn’t flinch.

He melts, a shuddering, trembling thing, pressing harder into you, into the hurt, like it’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart. His breath hitches, a broken laugh escaping his throat. “Y-yes,” he gasps, and the sound is filthy, wretched, and you hate that it makes your cock twitch.

You try to pull away, but it’s like fighting a black hole. “No,” you growl, voice raw. “No, no, no—” But Stardust isn’t listening. He never listens. His free hand slams against the wall beside your head, caging you in, his breath hot against your face. “You went this far,” he hisses, voice suddenly sharp, cruel. “It’s only fair you finish it. You owe me.” The words are a blade to your ribs. You do owe him. You did this. He’s right! You know he’s right. The guilt is a noose around your neck, tightening with every second you hesitate.

Your vision blurs. The stars in your form flicker wildly, like a dying bulb. You’re drowning and drowning and drowning. In the heat, in the wrongness, in the way his body aches for you, in the way your hands itch to give him what he wants. You can feel the edge of your control slipping, the way your teeth ache to sink into his throat again, to choke the words out of him, to quiet the voices in his head the only way he’ll let you. And fuck, you want to. You want to ruin him. You want to break him. You want to—

But then it hits you. The realization. The horror.

This is what he wants. This is the goal. To goad you, to push you, to provoke you until you snap. Until you lose it. Until you bite and choke and silence the nightmares in his mind the only way he knows how. And stars, it’s working. Your hands are shaking. Your vision is swimming. You’re this close to giving in, to ending it, to—!

Stardust’s fingers suddenly wrap around your wrist. His touch is burning. He guides your hand to his throat, pressing your palm against the ruined, bloodied skin, and your fingers flex on their own, squeezing. His breath hitches, a broken, ecstatic sound, and his eyes - fuck, his eye - is glazed, distant, like he’s already halfway gone. “You made me like this,” he whispers, voice rough, final. “So take responsibility, Loop.”

And just like that, you snap.

some art i did as well, not super well drawn orughgh i dont like the way i drew loop but huzzah

You don’t expect the way he shudders when you pin him down, his thighs slick and trembling around your hips. stardust’s always been loud in bed, shuddering and whining, but this - this is different.

His voice cracks, high and broken, as you roll your fizzling hips up into him, your pulsating cock dragging against that perfect, dripping heat. He’s soaking you, his cunt clenching around nothing, desperate, and you can feel how close he is just from the way his nails dig into your shoulders, his back arching like a bowstring pulled too tight.

“Stars—fuck—” His words dissolve into a sob, his face buried against your throat. You can taste the salt of his tears where they spill onto your skin, hot and messy. He’s crying, and it’s not from pain - it’s from the way you’re stretching him open, the way every thrust sends a jolt through his overloaded nerves. His eye is wet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Too much! S-suh-stop!! T-to-too much—!”

You don’t stop.

You can’t.

The way his body clings to you, the way his cunt milks at your cock even as he whines, is intoxicating. You grip his hips harder, slamming up into him, and he screams - a sound that’s half pleasure, half sheer, overwhelmed distress. His tears are streaming now, his voice a wrecked, babbling mess. “P-please, please—” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. More? Less? For you to stop? For you to never stop?

You don’t give him the choice.

You flip him onto his back, his legs hooked over your shoulders, and fuck - the angle makes him scream, his spine arching off the bed. His cunt is dripping, his clit twitching from overstimulation and his face is a disaster of snot and tears and open-mouthed, broken moans. “I c-can’t—I can’t—” His voice is raw, his body shaking, but his hips still rock down onto you, chasing every brutal inch.

You lean down, licking the tears from his cheeks, and whisper against his lips, “Yes, you can.”

some naga art!!! my naga loopert hehehe!!!!!!!! i lobe them also!!!!!!!!!!!! explicit naga loopert art under the line break plz becareful!!!!!!!

this is still about pathethic loop btw im a pathetic loop lover and believer and and

anyway

pathethic loop wanting to fuck siffrin so badly that they agree to do anything, and siffrin is a lil nefarious thing and was like anything? and loops like ANYTHING!!! and then siffrin offers their leg up and is like, anything?

and loop looks at it and their cock just juts out, even harder if you can imagine it, and nuzzles down into the crux of siffrins inner thighs and is like "anything stardust" and oruhggh siffrin then twisitng their body and getting the leash snd collar they have at hand and ourhghghg COLLAR THAT STAR SIFFRIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and just collaring them and then tugging on the leash and then constrincting their breathing and tugging harder to make loop slow down if they got too close to cumming

bcs of siffrin isnt going to make this easy for loop, theyll be edging them until they either whimper and wail and cry and mewl out siffrins name and beg harder to fuck sifs cunt or loop will cum!!! if loop cums then siffrin will just put a cock ring on them and fuck themself hard and fast on thang without any relief for loopert <3<3<3 and orughhghgh loop is so so so fucking hard, humping and crying and whimpering to siffrin that pls pls let them fuck sif, pls they cant take it anymore and orughhggh thats it im writing smth i cant i cant this is a too good of a scenario to not write about fudge

You know they’ll say yes. Just look at them. That star-struck, trembling mess of a star, their body already thrumming with need before you even open your mouth. “Anything?” you purr, voice all syrupy sweet, and the way their shoulders shudder -- oh, you could drown in it. You don’t even have to ask twice. The way they nod their head rapidly, rasping it out over and over again. The word rips out of them like a prayer, like a chant, and you smile, slow and wicked, as you hike your leg up onto the nearest surface, the fabric of your trousers riding high enough to bare the soft heat of your thighs. “Anything?” you echo, and their cock snaps to attention, so hard it’s almost painful, the tip already weeping as they lunge forward, face burying into the crux of your thighs with a groan that vibrates straight through you. You shudder, their heat too molten in comparison to yours. "Anything, stardust," they rasp agaisnt your skin, breath hot and damp, the words breaking as feel their body shudder. Their hips helplessly, chasing friction they're not allowed to take, betraying them even as they try to hold still. When they look up at you, their eyes are wide and shining, glassy with unshed tears -- waiting, wanting, needing, already braced to do whatever you ask of them. With the way they're looking at you, did they expect you'll let them off easy? You won’t let them have it easy, your mind already ticking ahead, quietly arranging what comes next. Before you know it, your fingers are already twisting in the leash before they can even process the movement, the collar snapping around their throat with a sharp, satisfying click. The leash goes taut with one brutal yank, their breath hitching as you cut off their air just enough to make their vision swim, their cock throb. “Good,” you murmur, tugging harder as they whine, their hips stuttering, their body begging to cum, to rut, to fuck -- but you’re not done with them yet. You drag them back by the throat every time they get too close, their whimpers turning to broken, sobbing pleas, “Stardust -- please, please, let me--” Their voice cracks, their body aches, and stars, you love it, love the way their stars flicker with desperation, love the way they’re reduced to nothing but need and your name on their lips. (your name should be the only thing on their lips, the only shape their tongue remembers) They’re so close. You can see it in the way their muscles lock, the way their cock pulses, the way their breath comes in ragged, broken gasps. “Gonna cum, starlight?” you taunt, and the leash snaps again, their throat working around nothing, their hips jerking like they’re trying to fuck the air itself. “Do it,” you dare, adrenaline pumping in your veins, your head spinning from the pretty picture they paint, “cum for me, and I’ll ride you raw until you can’t walk.” Their cry is loud and guttural, torn from somewhere deep and star-bright, and you’re already reaching for the cock ring, the metal cold and unyielding as you clamp it around the base of their cock, their orgasm denied, their body trapped. The second the ring clicks shut, you’re on them, your cunt slamming down onto their lenght, no mercy, no relief, just the wet, obscene sound of your body taking what it wants while they sob and buck beneath you, their body burning just for you. You don’t stop. You won’twon'twon'twon't. Their pleas are music, their cock is yours, and every time they try to pull away, the leash yanks them back, your thighs locking around their hips as you fuck yourself on them like you’re trying to brand them from the inside out. “Mine,” you pant against their mouth, “mine, mine, mine--” Their answer is a broken, weeping “yes,” their body yours to ruin and play and shape, and you’re going to take every blinding piece.

. i didnt expect that wowzers, well, i hope yall love it

loop fucking in them and sobbing and clutching so hard onto siffrin and whispering into their ears like

"Can't you let me fuck you just one more time, stardust?" they murmur, voice slipping soft and needy, breath a hot whisper on your ear. "Pease, stardust. I'll make you feel so good -- I promise. I'll be so gentle this time, you'll barely feel a thing."

:)))))))))

Your cheek is pressed to the cool tile, steam swirling around your face, condensation clinging to your eyelashes. You're panting. Trembling. Every breath you take fogs the wall in front of you, only to be wiped clean by the force of Isabeau’s rhythm behind you—every thrust jerking your body forward, harder, deeper, needier.

He’s got your hands in his. Pinned. Tangled. His grip is unrelenting, palms slick but steady, fingers locked between yours like he could anchor himself inside you. Like if he holds on tight enough, he’ll never have to let go. You're not sure if he’s trying to fuck you or fuse with you, but whatever it is, it has him half-delirious.

You hear him before you see him—ragged breathing, low moans, the helpless little sounds that start in his throat and die on your skin.

"I love you," he gasps again. It's ruined. No poise. No charm. Just him—voice breaking, breath hitching as his hips drive forward, grind against you. “I love you. I love you. I—Change, you feel so good—I can’t—”

His mouth finds your shoulder, your neck, and he’s mouthing at your skin like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. His teeth graze the curve of your throat as he thrusts again, slow and punishing. You feel the tremor run through him—from his chest, pressed tight to your back, to his thighs, slamming forward again, again, again. He’s falling apart and trying to fuck his soul into you at the same time.

You arch into him helplessly. He’s so big, stretching you open, splitting you around the thickness of him, your cunt clenching greedily like it wants to be destroyed. Like it wants to be ruined.

You're burning. Inside and out. There’s no place untouched by him—his breath, his hands, his weight, his cock. It’s all-consuming, a fever dream that you never want to wake from.

“I can’t stop,” Isabeau groans into your skin. “I can’t. You feel—change, Siffrin, you feel like—like heaven.”

And then he shifts his grip—slides one hand down from your wrist, down your arm, wrapping around your waist to pull you tighter against him. The other stays tangled in your fingers, your knuckles white from how tightly you’re holding back.

He’s shaking now. So close. His pace falters, hips jerking with each thrust, his rhythm breaking apart like he’s being dragged under.

“Tell me you love me,” he begs, voice hoarse. “Say it. Say it back—please.”

Your throat’s too dry to speak. Your body’s too far gone to lie. You want to sob from how deeply he’s inside you, from the pressure coiling low in your belly, from the way his voice cracks like he’ll die if you don’t give him an answer.

You try to speak—try to say anything—but it comes out as a broken whimper.

Isabeau just groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, and keeps going, keeps fucking, like he’s trying to carve the words into your body with every thrust.

“Please,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper now. “Please, please, please—” Your body is trembling. His body is trembling.

Every part of you is slick—water, sweat, arousal—like you’ve melted together under the relentless heat of it all. His thrusts have lost any sense of rhythm, any pattern—just sharp, frantic pushes that grind you into the wall like he’s trying to shove himself all the way inside your chest. And still, his hand stays locked with yours, fingers clenched, holding on like if he lets go for even a second, you’ll vanish.

“Say it—say it—” he chokes out again, voice thick with something that’s more than lust. It’s too raw. There’s no performance here. No seduction. Just Isabeau, desperately trying not to fall to pieces inside you. “I need—Siffrin, I need—I need to hear it—”

His breath hitches.

“Please,” he says, and now it’s not just begging—it’s breaking. His hips stutter again, and a high, wet sob catches in his throat. “Please, I—I love you—I love you so much I don’t—don’t know what to do—!”

It feels like he’s unraveling. Each thrust is shallower, shakier, hips bucking with no control anymore. He’s gasping your name like a prayer, whimpering against your skin, helpless as he teeters on the edge of something so much bigger than just orgasm.

And you—shaking, bracing, full of him, marked by him, loved by him—you open your mouth, and it spills out:

“I love you.”

A breathless whisper, barely audible over the sound of the shower and skin and gasping and need. But it lands.

He shatters.

Isabeau wails.

He cries out—sobs—like it’s being torn from his soul, his whole body convulsing against yours as he slams in, once, twice, and then he’s burying his face in your shoulder and coming—hot and hard and helpless, cock pulsing deep inside you, hands clutching yours like he’s drowning in the feeling.

And he cries. Full-bodied, guttural sobs that wrack his chest, make his voice shake, his knees buckle. He’s whispering it over and over through the tears, through the aftershocks:

“I love you, I love you, I love you—I can’t—can’t live without you, Siffrin—I can’t—”

You hold onto his hand like you never want to let go.