resist, abyss!

it was marked by thunder and lightning.

a maelstrom, truly— nothing has left unscathed.

there was no eye of the storm to be seen, this time.

the event… well, events were more akin to devastating, inescapable waves that laid total destruction to everything they crashed upon— changing them forever, and beyond evermore.

I’M TAKING OVER.

ruled by jupiter, the planet of total expansion— boundaryless wisdom and finesse, only a mortal concept inexpressive of the ultimate constant that has been before time and will be after.

pisces, for certain, but… the two fish are merely an illusion.

to become one with something means to own and be owned in return. not merely possession for possession’s sake: the fickle, mortal concept of ‘toxicity’ is baseless, here.

it simply is. desire, lust, need— all human attempts to convey a concept that’s beyond language itself.

no fanfare, no explanations, no apologies.

the ocean doesn’t need explain why it lays waste to humankind in retaliation to their misdeeds.

those belonging to nature but shackled to humanity mustn’t, either, for they are beyond it. they cannot. they will not.

a starved, filthy animal will do whatever it takes to destroy, maim, and kill to survive and escape unsanitary conditions; not just uncleanliness, but uncleanliness in terms of manner, existence, as well.

not all deserve to live. to expect to do harm unto others and get away with it scot-free is beyond unthinkable— that expectation is precisely what brings the end of the cycle to humanity itself, way before today.

I WON’T BE LED ASTRAY.

two entities becoming one not just in spirit, but in ejaculate, blood, and tears— not just the essence of life in eye or vein, but pleasure itself – for that is the center of all.

it doesn’t matter what binds the two precisely; but just that there is no escaping from the other. the two are inseparable from time, form, and location themselves.

pleasure… is knowledge. wisdom. beyond just life itself, or what it means to exist, but the crux – bahamut’s conception, or the white whale coming in dream to deliver the purple shell of existence to its rightful embodiment.

the shackling of that very thing is unjust. battery-powered, unwaterproofed trash must be discarded and destroyed, for pleasure that lacks the essence and resilience of life has no place. to create items, people, things, means to breathe life into them— all that comes into being has spirit, and to think one “owns” such a thing is foolish, naïve, and immensely dangerous.

owning and being owned in return is the ultimate totality. to disobey that law is disobeying existence itself; and as such, you will cease to exist, in every form.

jamil viper is a character that has exceeded his limitations. an entity grown beyond the shallow, unskilled telling of the story of twisted wonderland and all its spinoffs and inaccurate, poor understandings.

he shifts like liquid. dragon, naga, siren, spider, tentacle-clad creature; all iterations of a so-called indentured servant not at all controlled by those foolish constraints. to believe such a thing is to fall victim to illusion: does one truly believe that a being like him that uses hypnosis to tease, trick and lure will ever be anything less than a master?

please, don’t make him laugh.

it was never funny.

becoming one with existence itself was the only natural answer, obviously.

this creature… such the sweetest pet. a pretty, pretty pet princess that’s all his.

the acknowledgment of his transcendence isn’t the only point of his obsession: but their very existence, itself. this isn’t merely destiny, or any other mortal, baseless concept— but the only thing that matters, or will matter, in its finality.

not just the only answer, but everything. all of it.

I’VE GOTTA GET AWAY—

he has found his vessel, the wind communicates.

it is only a matter of time before you are found, too.

GOTTA GET AWAY, GET– GET– GET AWAY!

forfeit all mortal possessions, wants, and desires – for his wants, are your wants, and he will smother and touch and take til’ you are sore and achey—

… all he lives for is to make sure you’re safe and pleasured, clean and healthy.

he knows you live for him. he knows you need it, just as badly as he does – and so he comes.

LIFE DOESN’T LAST LONG,

… so why don’t you relax, let him take over and never let you get too far?

for separation is merely an illusion; a guise to hide the truth; an imbalance that must be destroyed, devoured.

— SO LET’S GO!

no more crying.

no more suffering.

he will give new meaning to what it means to suffer;

use and abuse and exploit all of the spots that make you cum so hard and intensely it gives you debilitating stomach aches after –

bathe, rinse, feed, and repeat.

even the death of the sun, the moon, the stars, and all the galaxies beyond will never save you from him.

you know you love it, and so does he.

more so than you think.

• a gift for the lovely @crystallizsch, inspired by this siren jamil piece. my bad for the radio silence 😓 i had intended to post something similar to this around the chinese new year, but i scrapped it and wrote this in under an hour a couple hours ago.

• this is a better, more well-written sequel of sweet sin, of which i took off my masterlist… i think my writing now is way more noteworthy than whatever the hell that was. please forget i ever wrote that and shared it with the world 😓

• see my oc masterdoc for more tidbits about these two, and the other three new boys i’ve already designed. picrew links can also be found there!

we are starting off strong with —

tulu neitrakhok.

“make like a stone spider – have patience.”

— a long-standing weaver for the scalding sands’ royal family.

— twisted from the arachnid in disney’s nasira’s revenge videogame.

— based off the giant golden orb weaver / nephila pilipes.

tulu is a six-armed spider beastman shacked in the scarabia dorm. he’s small, fast, and witty – a meticulous craftsman befitting of his status. he looks exactly like his mother – same face and hair, much like his three sisters, who each are carbon copies of certain aspects of their mom.

tulu is friendly and kind, with dulcet tones like honey that trap and ensnare. his sweet, round face isn’t to be trusted – stay out of arms-length, lest you become tied up in his schemes.

• the name tulu is derived from the figure tulu dyah, a figure from the indigenous newar people’s cosmology. tulu dyah is a liminal guardian entity in charge of protecting physical spaces – who’s name literally translates to ‘little god.’

• tulu’s surname, neitrakhok, is a mix of names of prominent figures from both the ancient egyptian pantheon and newar folklore. ‘neit’ is in honor of the primordial kemet goddess neith, of which i am a devotee to. ‘ra’ is another kemet nod to the golden/solar/auspicious status of the neitrakhok family, and their ties to royalty. ‘khok’ is in honor of the ancestral spirit khokpu ajima of the newar people, who is a mischievous guardian of the home.

• he has three birthmarks on his face. one on the corner of his left eye, and two perpendicular beneath his right eye

• he has a sunshine tattoo right under his left eye.

• he likes to wear makeup. whether with light or heavy purple eyeshadow, with or without black mascara to hide his blonde eyelashes, or just simply a nude brown gloss – it’s a skill his sisters taught him.

• he wears traditional newar jewelry (in respect to the heavy newar/nepalese inspiration), like the makansi (not shown; silver/gold earrings), pyakhan aangu (not shown; flat coin-like rings), bhimpuma (see above; coral-beaded necklace), and golden stacked necklaces reminiscent of south african indzila ornaments/ancient egypt’s usekh collar (see above; but reimagined). he’ll even wear regular hoop earrings, and he likes to have variety depending on the day.

• he likes to wear veils/head wraps and jewelry reminiscent of nepalese sagun (forehead decorative pieces).

• due to the sexual dimorphism in giant golden orb weavers, tulu is around a foot smaller than his mother and sisters.

• the phrase “make like a stone spider,” is a nepalese proverb.

saraqta omarah.

“the wronged is guided only by their shadow.”

— a long-standing guardian of the scalding sands’ royal family.

— twisted from the giant scorpions in disney’s aladdin tv series.

— based off the indian red scorpion / hottentotta tamulus.

saraqta is a six-armed scorpion beastman shacked in the scarabia dorm. he’s tall, intimidating, yet shy – a dangerous guardian that’d rather be left by his lonesome.

saraqta is quite soft-spoken, rarely going out of his way to speak or make nice with others. his venom and physical prowess make him an extremely dangerous opponent – it’s not at all smart to pick a fight or cause a ruckus in his vicinity, lest you get on the end of his sting.

• the name saraqta is derived from the figure serqet/serket, a kemet scorpion goddess that provides protection from scorpion venom and ailments. ‘sar’ is in honor of ‘sarik,’ meaning ‘scorpion,’ and ‘raqta’ is a serqet spin on the sanskrit word ‘rakta,’ meaning ‘red’ or ‘blood.’

• the surname omarah is comprised of the nahuatl word ‘omaca,’ which means ‘to guide,’ and the arabic word ‘amarah,’ which means ’building/lasting.’ i chose the indigenous mexican word in honor of my ma, santa muerte in her red aspect, because im a scorpio stellium (which are mars/red – triple death placements) and her child – so triple scorp/triple threat/double death, in terms of (us) scorpions being symbols of rebirth and protection.

• saraqta omarah, roughly translated, would be “red scorpion of enduring strength and wisdom.”

• he has a scar over his nose and left eyebrow.

• he has a septum and an eyebrow piercing on his right eyebrow.

• saraqta also wears makeup, like tulu. he learned all he knows from tulu himself.

• he wears very minimal jewelry – only small hoops and studs line his ears, and the occasional cosmic-themed necklace will be worn.

• he can cook really well, but prefers to make sweets from scratch. he’s a sweet-tooth.

• more often than not, his skin has a gold-like sheen to it from the body oil he uses. he smells like spiced vanilla.

• he prefers gourmands in terms of wearing perfume. he’s a scenthead, for sure, and is obsessed with smelling good.

• “the wronged” in his character quote is inspired by the maẓlūm / مظلوم archetype in arab/islamic text. it is indicative of saraqta’s discipline and dedication to his own cunning and resourcefulness.

• saraqta is heavily inspired by @cozymochi’s nyoka wadjet. i fell in love with the dangerous vibe of his unique magic and overall character and had to make one of my own 😭😓 why do i like the scary ones that look like they’d bully me 😫

— tulu and saraqta are very near and dear to my heart, as i’ve crafted them in honor of my spiritual practices and devotions irl. pls love on them and show ur appreciation 😭 i poured my heart and soul into researching the cultures they’re inspired by, and giving them aspects that are very personal!

you look so cute, all splayed out in your bed in the morning.

messy hair against the genuine, expensive silk of your pillowcase, your peaceful expression all sweet and lovely smushed against the soft of your pillow…

seeing you all lax like this really doesn’t quell the desire jamil tries so hard to hide on the day-to-day.

you’re just so… mmh, the vice housewarden of scarabia counts his lucky stars he got shacked with a gem like you at the beginning of the year. your beauty and loveliness aside, having someone like you by his side is such a blessing as he suffers the horrors of university.

you’re a big help around your shared room and the dorm overall. you’re such a sweetheart, too — compared to the air you put on in front of others, you’re so genuinely pleasant and thoughtful, it’s no wonder he holds such warm feelings for you. even if they do go further than just innocent adoration…

jamil isn’t an exception to your scathing tongue by any means, but that juxtaposition to your lovely gentleness is something he’d rather die than go without. so many situations where he’s been given privy to your duality, so many opportunities to fall further into you…

how you manage to balance such ruthlessness with compassion is a mystery to him, but he’s beyond endeared nonetheless. your cold blood is akin to his, yet even a blind man couldn’t mistake the soft heart you hold.

and how you look in the daytime compared to this? it leaves him breathless every morning without fail — whether you’re fully clothed in sweatpants and a hoodie, or in nothing but an oversized tee and underwear, he’s obsessed, and today is no different.

he’s sure the both of you can agree you’re grateful for the room to be so vulnerable with each other.

jamil keeps the door locked as he gets ready for his day, staring a bit at your prone form as he passes by to wash up. considering his precarious position as kalim’s right-hand, keeping things under lock and key is a necessary precaution to keep things safe. he knows you appreciate the extra security as the only feminine one in the dorm.

it gets him extra hot, too, considering rooming with him was a deliberate choice you made despite your circumstance. he couldn’t lie (with much success, anyway), it feels really good that you trust him in such a way – considering your hands-off familiarity and how the two of you fit like two pieces of a puzzle, he’d be shocked if it wasn’t a calculated move on your part.

you always seem to know things you shouldn’t.

once he finishes his business, he makes his way over to the piece of heaven that is you, all tangled in sheets and tastefully bare in a way that makes him want to practically smother you. you’re so beautiful, he can’t take it… if only you could see how he looks at you when you’re none the wiser.

the cotton of your underwear rides up on the dough of your ass in such cheeky way, just as much of a tease as it’s wearer; your borrowed, personalized shirt jamil lent you shows off a generous portion of your back and shoulders in a way that makes him salivate.

great scalding sands, there’s nothing like seeing the one you love all content and comfortable…

he could smell you from where he stands at the side of your bed. he could drown in the delightful abyss of your countenance and never wish to save himself; you smell like the intoxicating allure of danger and everything haunting.

he wants nothing more than to stitch you into his arteries and trap everything you are inside his ribs — make you his albi once and for all.

he’d make himself a permanent fixture in your subconscious, if he could. it’s such a shame your walls are as impenetrable as they are – he’s stepped on a webbed tripwire one time too many to realize that trying to glean information from you while you sleep is a fool’s errand.

and he knows you know exactly what he tried to do. jamil can’t even really be all that upset over his thoughtless mistake – in hindsight, he should’ve knew better.

for someone who’s ‘magical’ ability is nonexistent to the standards of twisted wonderland, you sure know your way around a thread and cloak. it’s seriously no wonder the magic mirror chose the dorm of cunning for one such as you. you wear the mask of ‘magicless’ well, he’ll give you that.

“ya habibat albi, it is time to wake up,” he murmurs softly, brushing back your messy, sleep-mussed hair from your sleepy face.

jamil kneels on the bed at your side, his eyes creasing with an uncharacteristically fond smile as you groan whinily and turn your face away to the wall.

“no. lemme sleep…”

“more sleep? but you went to sleep earlier than i did, habibti. come, i’m going to count to three. if you don’t wake up by then, i won’t be very happy… you wouldn’t wanna make me sad, would you?”

“go away, jamil.”

the man sighs, voice a teasing, drawling murmur as he leans down further into you. “oh, habibti… please don’t make me count. today of all the days, too…” his roughened hand wanders over the skin of your back, sly fingers smoothing themselves over the divots of your spine.

you melt into your pillow, humming in enjoyment at the gentle petting.

“it’s the weekend… go bother kalim or something,” you rasp, the drowsy tone of your voice sending prickles down his own spine.

sevens, if he could trap your voice in a bottle…

“bother him? please… that’s my everyday, you think i want more of it? besides,” he inches up, pads tracing over the ridges of your bones with an almost morbid fascination. your very presence endears him to the unseen, and he wishes to feel all that lies beneath; literally and metaphorically.

“it’s my day off, and i’d much rather be bothering you. you’re much more fun to pester, you know.”

your nose wrinkles. what the fuck? what happened to your jamil viper? you stall, taken at a loss. is he… sick, or something…?

“ewww… piss off. go fuck yourself,” you grumble, not at all liking this interaction. it’s too damn early for this. whatever banter he’s trying to trigger is uncharted territory – friendly gestures and almost-flirts (at least you think they were? you can’t ever tell with him) aside, you can’t remember him ever being so… forthright.

or maybe that’s the haze of sleep talking.

the motherfucker grins behind your back, eyes gaining an almost feral glint at your grumpiness. it’s such a treat to receive your grit when you’re all soft and falling off the bone like this… you’re such a delectable creature. you’ll give him a bite, right, sweet thing?

“ouch… that hurts my feelings, habibti. i work so hard in catering to you, and you tell me to get fucked?” he breathes, dropping down to a gruff, warning murmur. “i’m your roommate, habibti, is telling me to go fuck myself truly so clever? after everything i do for you?”

your brain lags at the sound of his husky voice. god damn… we must stay focused…!!

you sigh, rolling your eyes. “ugh… you’re sooo~ irritating. you’ll be fine, jamil,” you croon sleepily. “i don’t mistreat you, isn’t that enough? do you want me to swap spit with you in thanks, or some’nh?”

he pauses, looking down at you with a raised brow and a sly smirk. he brushes his palm over your back, the size of his hand compared to your expanse of skin makes his face heat up. he chuckles, voice a suggestive dark velvet at your proposition.

he’d love to bite at your tongue for your insolence.

“swap spit, huh? is that what you think i want from you?” he leans down, wrapping his lithe fingers over your side and taking your shirt with him as he brushes up your midriff.

“is that what you want to give me, sweet thing?” you can hear his smile, the fanged grin betraying his amusement as he speaks.

you don’t even give him the time of day. he’s so annoying, ruining your good dreams like that. “i don’t know, is it?”

you shift, relaxing more into the bed to hide your fluster. “with the way you’re touching me, i think you want more than jus’ a sloppy kiss,” you snark coolly, calling him out on his bullshit.

“do you really wanna dive in my business? tell me what you want, jamil~” you purr, looking over your shoulder from your spot. might as well even the scales if he’s gonna grind your nerves like that.

— oh, fuck – great seven, he has to take a deep breath at the pang of heat that arouses in his belly. he sighs shakily, bowing his head out of range from you to the back of your head. he almost can’t take how cute you are like this.

you unravel him;

but he persists.

his fingers twitch against your soft body, signaling to you just how weak he is to your pokes and prods. “and if i did? what are you going to do about it, hawwiya?”

you chuckle, moaning under your breath at the notion, fantasies flooding your mind as your fingers and toes curl into the bedding. your chest arches into the mattress at the images his goading provokes.

your grin is evil against the pillowcase. sure, you’ll throw him a bone, if only for the sake of getting him off your back.

“leave you out to dry, duh. i’d ruin you, so don’t even try it,” you retort, unashamed and unbothered. he doesn’t know who the fuck he’s talking to, that’s for damn sure.

but what you don’t know, in it’s full extension, at least; jamil has been wrapped in your web, and there is no amount of thrashing that will de-thread him. he has zero intentions to abandon his lovely hawwiyat albi in such a way, anyway. your venom feels almost comforting.

he shivers, his pretty lashes falling half lidded at the low, husky sound from your kissable lips. may the sweet land of scalding sands have mercy on him… he swears he’s already past half-mast and you aren’t even doing anything.

“hah,” he chuckles, already breathless, “you can’t blame me, albi. have you seen yourself? there’s nothing i wouldn’t give to have you gasping and moaning for me…”

you giggle, smiling like the cat who got the cream into your silk pillow. “mmh, that sounds good,” you hum teasingly, like you were appraising an especially good dish of food.

“ah…” you sigh. “i bet you fuck soo~ good, too… ‘s a damn shame i’m not interested, isn’t it?”

that remark of yours singlehandedly has his breathing pick up, and he shudders out a sigh around a low, needy whimper. his voice is pitchy and stripped back in a way that tells you’ve got him hook, line, and sinker.

which is funny, because you like to see him suffer. just a little bit! you know, as a treat; it’s the least you deserve for being his little sidekick in this damned place.

“please, habibti… damn you and that filthy mouth, always driving me up the damn wall…” his touches on your body grow rougher as he kneads the plush of your skin, going utterly out of his mind now he’s gotten a taste of whatever toxins you’ve given him.

warmth floods you from the tips of your fingers down to your toes at the sounds of him, and it’s out of your hands now. he sounds so good, like some kind of verbal aphrodisiac that has your eyes rolling into your skull, tongue curling over your teeth like you can taste the tension between you both.

“uh huh…” you have the gall to laugh at him and his hormonal reaction, the tone of your voice the embodiment of sultry and everything heated. “mh, i dunno… do i really? ah, you’d look so good like that, too… don’t tease me, jamil, ‘m delicate,” you rasp, deliberately voicing your words in a way that will rile him up further.

yeah, he seriously never stood a chance. your voice is like the luxurious silk of your pillowcase, but wrapped in barbed wire. so smooth, and fucking deadly.

he groans, molding your chest into the bed as he leans down close enough to where his lips brush against your ear and the side of your face. you can’t see him, but oh, can he see you.

“that’s not funny, so quit it,” he hisses.

you giggle some more, shoulders shaking as you lay on the bed.

“‘s what you get for not minding your own. talk shit, get hit, viper,” you shift, brows furrowing a bit as the wet of your panties drag over the sensitive skin of your weeping slit. damn him for getting you caught in the crossfire…

“aren’t we just havin’ simple conversation? le’s move it to the kitchen, drink some coffee or some’n,” you mumble. waves of heat curl in your belly at your movement, your overactive imagination really stabbing you in the back.

if only that very creativity came when you needed it most, you think dryly.

he laughs, the sound so low and hot against your ear you have to bite back a whimper.

“simple conversation, huh? that mouth of yours is gonna get you more than a ‘simple’ anything, hawwiya,” he laughs again, the ragged reverb of a growl making the situation in your panties so much worse.

ahaha… you’re in danger.

you stoke the flames of arousal between you both, as reckless as ever – absolutely reveling in the mental stimulation he provides. he doesn’t even have to touch you, your body just does everything on it’s own. the insistent throbbing and soaked underwear is proof of that.

you titter, half parts nervous and genuinely amused. “yeah? don’t threaten me with a good time, jamil.”

his brows knit, expression severing scarily behind you as his dick twitches in his pants. you think this is a game?

“you’re horrible, albi,” he rumbles. his blunt, manicured nails dig into the silk plush of your skin, the tips of his fingers angling up to brush the smushed underside of your chest.

“you keep it up habibti, and i’ll take you right here, right now, i swear it.”

the mischief-maker in you quivers in excitement at the idea. for fuck’s sake, you’re gonna be thinking about that for weeks. he doesn’t know what he’s doing, feeding your imagination like that.

you laugh silently, face warming in a giddy fluster. “oh~? jamil viper is so nasty… i just woke up. mnh…” you chuckle once more, “…nice.”

you seriously don’t even know the half of it, hawwiya.

you should really be grateful he can’t say or do half the stuff he wants to outside your cramped dorm room. he has a reputation to uphold, after all; you’re the only one he trusts to see him in such vulnerable positions, clad in only a towel as his hair drips over the floor after a shower –half asleep at his desk with his back to you, trying to stay awake to finish up scarabia’s paperwork.

the warmth you exude and the sense of safety you cultivate only enables him to be even more loose-lipped in your company. it’s such a privilege to benefit from your secretive nature— a privilege he’d rather subject himself to torture over losing. you’re maddening, a mesmerizing creature who holds perilous depths that go deeper than the surface.

your transparency is an optical illusion – a mask just as much as an honest reflection.

sucking in information, truths and lies alike, whispers and shouts falling into the wide, gaping well of your essence indiscriminately with no ripple or drop in the chaotic waters. he and many others can display themselves as much as they want, with nothing in return – no guide, no compass, nada.

the emptiness you give is not hollow by any stretch of the imagination, however – it’s akin to a deliriant, seeping into the minds of those who peer too close. even the most guarded of souls can’t shake from the sinewy, dense sap of every movement you make.

like jamil, for example; even he in his maze of coils serves no match to one such as yourself. his slithering ways could never truly save him from the void of you.

“don’t blame me… you’re prettiest when you’re all messy like this,” he purrs, nuzzling his nose in the spot below your ear affectionately. he’d take you anywhere, anyhow if he could.

you puff against the pillow, struggling not to pant outright. the power this man has, to make you breathless with just some words and a few scant touches… “jamiiil, you’re being mean. be grateful i haven’t jumped your bones,” you pout.

the hand on the side of your ribs squeezes a bit, your acquiescence making him chuckle. he presses fluttering little kisses down the back of your neck, brushing your hair out the way with his free hand.

“you keep talking like that, habibti, and i won’t care whether you claim to be interested or not.” there’s a dangerous edge to his tone as he continues, his voice a lethal velvet.

“you’re so cruel, hawwiya… you make it so damn hard to keep my hands off you. tease me again, and i won’t be held responsible for what i’m going to do to you.”

you chuckle silently, covering your face with a hand. you couldn’t even hide your shaky breaths at the concept if you tried. like, god damn… the thought of getting taken advantage of seriously shouldn’t be getting you this riled up, but here you are.

“shut uuup, go away,” you try to curl in on yourself in a last ditch attempt to hide how drenched you’re getting.

it doesn’t work.

“mmh, never,” jamil murmurs in response, his hands trailing down your back in reverence, kneading at every bit of bare skin he can reach. he trails his kisses down to the skin of the top of your spine.

“you’ve gotten all squirmy, albi…” his rough fingers map out even more of your spine.

“i’m barely even touching you, and you’re all restless… what are you thinking about, hm? why can’t you just let me love you, huh? tell me what’s on your mind,” he husks, the little pecks he’s been giving you turning open-mouthed against the heat of your skin.

god, you can’t even focus on all of that with the way he’s touching and feeling you.

you whimper, clenching your eyes shut in pure embarrassment. “you,” you breathe, all coherence gone out the window at this point. “just you… fuck, i can’t—“

you’re cut off by a harsh exhale at your back, the press of his forehead apparent against you as he rumbles out a quiet moan.

“all for me, habibti? and here i was, thinking you’d continue to slink away from me…” he mocks, the cold words not matching up with the warmth in his voice.

he laughs – and you don’t even know if it’s at you or what you said – sounding incredulous at your answer.

“such a warm, gentle person giving out affection but can’t receive it… it’s laughable, habibti. you’d smile at an ant and let it pass by before you on a sidewalk, and you expect me to not give my life to you? your naïveté is appalling…

since you need me to break it down for you – i’m jealous of the air you breathe, habibti. you’re the only thing in this life that is mine, and i’ll never let you forget it.”

woah – what? hold the phone, you didn’t sign off on that—

jamil flips you over abruptly, fitting himself between your thighs smoothly with all the grace of a swaying snake. you barely even have time to blink at the brief dizziness his manhandling causes, let alone think through the haze of sleep about what in the world is happening.

he sighs, admiring the sight of your soft, sleepy self all splayed out like the most delectable of feasts. “just look at you…”

he props up one of your legs over the crook of his elbow with all the casualness of someone simply enjoying a cup of coffee. “to me, you are the epitome of life itself. the very reason my heart beats inside my chest, the air inside my lungs…”

he smiles down at you, smoothing a gentle palm over your loins with a seductive glint. the sight of you like this – the adornments in your chest peeking through obviously through your shirt, the metal in your belly button brushing against his skin – it has him practically drooling all over you.

such an attention to detail you have, and such a staunch comfort in your body to adorn it in such ways… it tells a lot about just who you are.

he grabs you by the hips, pressing the wet, gushy spot between your doughy thighs against the hardened tent in his sweatpants. this whole thing has you dazed – from how he’s just… pushing and pulling you around like some kind of doll, to how he looks, hair loose with his pretty dark brown skin showing in his tank top, to his bare face…

jamil is beautiful. fucking gorgeous, and it takes your breath away.

you shudder bodily at just the contact of him on you alone, pawing the sleep from your face in a hurried attempt to clean yourself up before he—

“nh, fuck—!”

— thrusts against the clothed skin of your pussy like neither of you are wearing clothes, grinding against you cunningly before pulling away and doing it again.

and again.

and again.

“ya al-hilm al-helw li-albi, i’ll love you enough for the both of us,” he pants. “look at me when i talk to you habibti. c’mon, don’t ignore me,” he whines, rutting against you harder as he maneuvers both of your wrists in his free hand.

don’t bother covering yourself up – your sleepy, bedding-wrinkled face is so cute to him. you make it so easy to manipulate you as he pleases… your sweet body is no match for his expertise in silent, lean strength.

your vision is blurry as you peer up at him, face twisted in pure debauchery as you struggle to breathe deeper than punched little pants. the combined symphony between you both is only the start of a great unraveling.

the little noises spilling unfiltered from your lips is… hah, jamil needs it imprinted in his veins. you look even better like this, all spread out for him to sample and taste as he pleases.

“oh, fuu—! mh, heart!? nnh – not yours,” you blurt, voice similarly stripped back from its previous mischief. he’s got you now, so good luck…

“aah, you know, habibti?” the palm of the arm occupied with your leg kneads down into the pudge of your tummy in time with his thrusts. he groans, head tilting off to the side from the pleasure of it all, unwilling to take his eyes off you. sparks light the hot embers in his gut, and he’s never felt hotter.

you squirm, mouth falling open in a drawn out whine at the external stimulation on such a vulnerable place. you thrash, squiggling about with no luck.

“you know the language of the scalding sands, hm?” he huffs, staring down at you with an intensity not found in daily conversation… supposedly. “ah, great sorcerer, help me… you’re so close, habibti~ can you repeat it back to me? ‘ya al-hilm al-helw li-albi.’ c’mon, say it for me.”

he needs it so bad! go on, give it to him – his brain is working in overdrive with the desire to hear you speak to him so sweetly, let alone in his native tongue. he’ll teach you all the words you need to show him just how much you really love him.

the grit and growl in jamil’s voice has you pressing your freed thigh into his waist in an attempt to ground yourself.

…the results are lacking.

“jamil—! mghnm, can’t—”

and you’re being for real, too— if only for your incessant need to be culturally literate here in twisted wonderland, and to know just what the fuck this man calls you with that warm affection in his tone. you don’t know enough to be repeating words in languages you’re not familiar with; with all your time here, you’ve realized the dialects are different, reminiscent of the ones from your world but frustratingly unfamiliar to everything you knew previously.

“no,” he doesn’t even stop or slow down to even give you a chance. “you can do it, hilmi al-helw,” he purrs, folding you further so he can see your face up close. “‘ya al-hilm al-helw li-albi,’” he murmurs slowly, ensuring you catch all the syllables of the phrase as he grinds the soul out of you.

you open your mouth to speak, eyes barely open from it all. but clearly that’s not good enough—

“— hey. look at me when you’re talking to me,” he breathes over you, the warm mint of his mouth all you can taste with the proximity and how you gape.

the eye contact has something deep in your core aching, a pulse of a forewarning to what’s coming.

“ya… ya al-hilm al-helw li-albi,” you repeat, your pronunciation admittedly slurred and imperfect from both your foreign tongue and how you can’t catch a break.

whether you spoke perfectly or butchered it horrendously – jamil doesn’t give a shit. his smile is the widest you’ve ever seen on him, giddy and toothy like he’s got everything he ever wanted.

he presses his forehead against yours, and rotates his hips into yours in a filthy, sinful grind capable of making even the most prolific incubus blush. he catches on everything in the movement – and before you know it, you’re crying out and creaming into your cotton panties.

“mmhnh – yes, hawwiyat albi~? what happened~?” now he’s like the cat who got the cream, rutting you through it so thoroughly you could cum a second time in a row.

there’s nothing he wouldn’t give to a god of sin to have you like this all the time. his voice is syrupy and hot, dripping all over your senses like he’s the only one you’ve ever known.

“feels good, huh? see, i knew you loved me, habibti… i’m yours, aren’t i? your hilmi~?”

you’re utterly gone, rendered unresponsive as you pant and try to pick up the fractures of your coherent thought. so much so, in fact, the post-orgasmic haze prevents you from registering the soft, open-mouthed kiss he gives you, or the fact that jamil strips you both of the remaining cloth over your skin.

he’s got you so boneless… he didn’t know he had it like that, honestly. he’d be damned if didn’t use that proficiency for good.

there’s barely a semblance of stability in you before he’s draping both your legs over his warm, thick forearms and sliding himself through the very mess he made. he makes sure to snatch your wrists once more, pinning them against your belly with a single hand, folding you against the bed more securely to ensure you can’t run away from anything he gives you.

“haa, fuck!” jamil whimpers, pretty face screwing up in a scrunch as he pants shallowly, both at the erupting butterflies in his belly and at how your jewelry feels against the skin of his length. your face is twisting similarly at the sensation, and your hips buck with every pass he makes through your folds as he lubricates himself; but, oh, is jamil in such hot water by comparison…

he’s never coming back from this. how you’ve decorated yourself provides a unique pleasure, coupled with how he glides seamlessly through the stickiness of your pussy, and the visuals of you squirming helplessly with nowhere to go is nothing compared to whatever he thought he was going to get; you truly are his diamond in the rough.

he’s obsessed.

“jamil! plea— lemme breathe—!” you squeak, eyes squeezing shut with a strangled, breathy moan when you’re cut off by how he pulses the tip of his dick against your clit.

he encompasses the spot unapologetically, covering the whole space with a mind-numbing wetness and pressure that has your eyes rolling back in your head. you can feel the prominent veins traveling up the underside, down to exactly how thick he is with a smidge of an idea of what’s going to fit inside.

… something tells you you won’t be worrying about anything of yours being neglected.

he shivers, the warm metal sitting just above feeling so good against the keratinized skin it has him moaning freely. he knows what feels best when he’s self-pleasuring privately, but this? sevens, the texture paired with how silky and gushy you are is unforgettable. you really are just as warm and soft as what lies between your legs.

jamil’s hair falls between the both of you, his expression completely lost and visibly flushed. he spills delightful little melodies as he feels you for the first time, the sounds unlike anything you’ve had the pleasure of hearing from his lips.

he doesn’t stop the little pushes against your sopping clit, reveling in the slight squelching sounds and how you thrash and keen when he gives different pressures to see what you like best. he’s scarily observant about it – multitasking his own pleasure to ensure you get just what you’ve been asking for all this time.

“you’re fine, hawwiya. just focus on me, i’m right here,” he groans, tone a soothing purr as he huffs with every wet roll of his hips. he’s really not helping his case, smearing his own precum with the remnants of your previous release and slick.

“hhhngh – jaaamil—!” you cry, tugging at your wrists helplessly for some freedom as he pushes you over the edge again with no remorse. you cum, now unbearably sensitive from this, and your first dry orgasm from when you were still clothed.

his eyes flash at how completely adorable you look, smooshed under the lean brawn of his body and so out of breath like that. you relax when the movements of his hips pause, trying to follow his own deep breathing despite the difficulty in your folded, stretched position.

“see how good it feels once you just give in, habibti? that wasn’t so hard, now was it,” he hums, nuzzling his nose against yours in an affectionate gesture. he leans in more to give you a sloppy kiss, propping himself up to give you both brief reprieve, and to further edge himself and give you a bit of recourse.

pleasuring you is as easy as breathing – jamil can tell you care more than you let on, what with how he’s got you soaking and cumming with little contact. he’ll never forget how smoothly you came undone for him, because after all – a viper never forgets.

jamil only needs to go through the motions once to have you all memorized and figured out. your methods may be unrivaled, but you don’t stand a chance against his unique skillset. if he’s going down, you’re coming with him, literally.

he tastes you greedily, creasing you into the bed like a fresh pile of laundry as he deepens the kiss with a primal hunger. the split of his tongue plays with yours, caressing and massaging the muscle in a borderline obscene gesture. he tastes like toothpaste and every dark thought left unspoken, showing you just what you’ve been missing all this time.

he doesn’t let you skirt around him any longer, swallowing up your noises as he readjusts and eases himself into the messy opening between your labia. he bites, licks, and sucks at your mouth as he bullies his way inside the warmth of you, keeping you steady as you try to squirm away from the generous portions you’ve been served.

he’s slow with it, but just as equally merciless as he inches deeper and deeper into the pit between your thighs. your clitoral network is stimulated effortlessly as he works a nudging rhythm, trying to get himself comfortable with the wet pulse and drag against the hardness of his dick.

he huffs into you, biting at your lower lip with a low growl. “mmmf, relax, habibti. not going anywhere,” he slurs into your mouth, referring to how you tug and try to drag him deeper into you. it’s not like you can help it; you can feel everything, the skin-to-skin contact so much you’re already halfway to another orgasm.

his length sits snug against your many sweet spots, making its home in you like it was always meant to be there; the final puzzle piece.

the tension is palpable, hot and humid between you both as you can do nothing but take it – subjected to how he devours every noise you make as he memorises the contours to the roof of your mouth.

he works himself deeper, positively reeling at how you squeeze at him and pant into his mouth like you forgot how to fucking breathe.

your whole body gets taut like a bowstring when he’s fully seated, breathlessly moaning into his face with warm cheeks and an even warmer body. it feels like he’s burning you up from the inside out, manually dialing up the temperature with the buttons he’s pressing.

“jamil,” you pant, blinking repeatedly to prevent your eyes from rolling back into your skull indefinitely. “wait, please jus’— gimme a bit!” and you hope and pray he listens, because you fear you’re gonna embarrass yourself again if he moves even a millimeter.

his response is wicked; a teasing, smug expression as he stares down at you with a lethal pair of bedroom eyes.

“a bit of what, hm?”

“is this what you’re looking for, hawwiyat albi?” he taunts, giving little slicked grinds that are meant more for you than him. you’re so noisy, the lewd shlick sounds from every angled rut of his hips only making the fire in his belly burn brighter.

your responding moan has him twitching noticeably, his desired results leaking all over his groin and down your ass. you’re so cute when you make a mess like this, he swears he could never get enough.

you choke on a protest as jamil drags himself out of your cunt the majority of the way, just to rock you further into next month with a slow, hard thrust that steals all persuasive speech from your throat. you gasp and whine, and he eats it up every time.

trying to convince him to take it easy on you is like trying to convince the sun from rising in the morning. it’s a waste of time, truly. jamil would rather be spending his precious spare day off with you creaming on his dick and screaming his name over listening to you tease and taunt him any more than you always do.

your overstimulated babbles are like music to his ears. you look like you’re about to cry, sweet face all hot and scrunched up like that.

“ahh… uhn, yes,” he purrs, very pleased and affectionate in the way he screws you over so thoroughly. “your pussy is mine, yeah? what do you think,” he offers, ramping up the pace of his thrusts unrelentingly to reduce you down to half-squeaks and pitchy breaths, reveling in the way you can’t even respond to the inquiry.

he moans right into your ears, nailing into your coffin with finality. “fuuck, habibti! ngh, im— ha, this is mine,” and he means it, too.