oozey mess
#extradirty
Jules of Nature
occasionally subtle
wallacepolsom
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Cosmic Funnies
hello vonnie
pixel skylines
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Kaledo Art
RMH
Sade Olutola
$LAYYYTER
cherry valley forever
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Today's Document
KIROKAZE
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Not today Justin
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Italy
seen from Canada
seen from Lithuania
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
@juramentum
I, TOO, SAW GOD THROUGH MUD— The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, and gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.
Featuring characters from Baldur's Gate 3, Constantine (2005), Diablo IV, Mass Effect, and others. Strictly 21+ for interactions. Sporadic activity, both IC and OOC.
[ I. MUSES - II. PROMPTS - III. RULES BELOW ]
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ooc / not really around here much, waning interest in writing and being here in general so this blog's on hiatus indefinitely. finished watching arcane a while back though! great show
Continued ( x ) - @juramentum
He’d curled forward to close distance between them, forehead pressed to Adonai’s. His confession had come out on a stifled breath against her lips. A hand settled on her waist, the other gently curled around her forearm. Her palm settles against his chest and his heartbeat thunders beneath. Silence washes over Reos and he swallows back the nausea, the burning betrayal.
Bhaal would not be pleased.
Again.
How many times had he slighted his Father for her? Ignored orders, avoided the ask, let her escape his grasp… again and again and again. He reasoned the slaughter at the temples, the number of deaths, outweighed the one.
He doesn’t hold onto her— he doesn’t force her to stay close, but he does bleed a wide-eyed desperation that doesn’t quite fit Bhaal’s Chosen. Elven greens search her to try to decipher the silence.
Reos’s hold slips, but she catches him by the elbow before he can back away. Their point of contact is a welcome distraction from his racing thoughts and growing sense of dread. He knows this confession will cost him.
Who?
Peering down into her gaze, he lifts a hand to gently touch beneath her chin, an effort to keep their eye contact. Adonai’s question is gutting— but he understands why she’s asked. His eyes search hers, this time leaving her to bask in the thick silence. Reos’s opposite arm snakes around her waist to draw her closer.
“You already know the truth.” The oathbreaker finally breathes, expression pained. His jaw ticks with the quick clench of his teeth before the touch to her chin evolves to cupping her cheek, cradling her face in his large palm.
“I want you,” it’s whispered with a reverence befitting prayer.
“I do not wish to see you on my Father’s altar. I want your blood on my lips and mine alone.” Gently, he backs her toward the stone archway. “I hunger to keep you from him— ...to keep you for me." A more dangerous confession than the last.
"You consume me— day and night." His hand slides along the back of her head, shifting to grip where her braid begins. "Even as I bleed your Temples dry, I cannot seem to cast you among them.”
DEATH IS A DAILY FACT FOR ADONAI who has trodden her feet heavy through the dying and the dead. The demise of her clergy is no other's fault but her own. She bears the weight of those sins born from her inability to let go and surrender her feelings for this cruel man before her. Has she forgotten how to feel guilt? Has she unlearned the kindness that she fought to earn?
Will Kelemvor forsake her?
She can hear the sound of her blood rushing, responding to the heat of Reos's palm cradling her face. Her skin becomes gooseflesh as if fed by his reverent admission of visceral desire. For her. And Adonai finds herself fixated on the indescribable expression painted on Reos's handsome face. Is it grief, or hunger? Love, or pain?
Then why?
Her feet moves. She doesn't fight the way he herds her. The soles of her boots drag until her spine finds the hard surface of a stone archway, trapped between the wall and Reos's frame.
Adonai's eyes flutter to a close when the roaming hand forms a fist around her braid and instinctively, she exposes her neck with parted lips. She breathes sharply, the intake of air suspending in her lungs. Both of her hands lay palms-first to brace on the cool stones behind her.
"...You left," she exhales. Her chest heaves. "Had I known you were intending to leave, I would have found a way to make you stay. You could've had me without plunging innocent lives into your father's hungry maws. I would've let you devour me. Day and night until your appetite was sated."
The son of Asmodeus and the son of Mephistopheles were positioned across from one another, at a crossroads. It was one of those rare moments in which nothing much of substance seemed to be occurring — two men, two prodigal sons of two more important men, entertained the other’s company. But did Raphael feel it? The stillness? The weight? Of familiarity, of kinship, of potential? Vast, deep potential, and dark like the Abyss that birthed him.
Raphael was not an abyssal creature. He was so impossibly, irreverently, beautifully mortal: vicious and jealous, ambitious to the point of hubris. He needed a firm, steady, attentive hand, one that appreciated the mortal condition and could help him sharpen it. Beneath the thumb of the Cold Lord and the Lord of Lies, overshadowed by their eternal stalemate, Raphael could only be a pawn.
Graz’zt could make him something grander. The Abyss offered nothing but promise.
“I know Mephistopheles,” he said, voice dripping with resentment that could only come from intimate familiarity. “His ambition is the very poison that unravels him daily, and he would pass that legacy onto you. He may wrest Baator from the Lord of Lies, though I sincerely doubt it, but then what?” He paused just long enough to roll his eyes. “Conquer the Abyss, fell the heavens, rule all?”
Graz’zt set to pacing a slow circle around Raphael, turning about him like a displacer beast with cornered prey. It agitated him, distantly, to look down at this cambiobn and see so much of himself — younger, uncertain, grasping. “You are asking me to help you muzzle yourself to the universe’s most thankless, impossible task.”
If there was anything he hated, it was wasted potential.
RAPHAEL IS A FOOL, TO THOSE WHO STAND ABOVE. His flaws are glaringly obvious, as much as his mortal blood and his lackluster ambitions that pale in comparison to that of the great devils' residing in the epicenter of hellish politics. Though the cambion may have blinded himself to these inherent failures he carries, clawing and clinging to any form of power that makes him matter. Yes, Raphael is indeed one of many replaceables in the grand scheme.
Graz'zt question is scathing. His first response is to find offense in those words. A denial courses through him, knowing (or being made to, forced to confront) that he's no vision beyond the fight for a power that might give him an anchor strong enough to make the climb atop a steep cliff Raphael himself has yet to see the apex of.
Nor will he ever.
And the Demon Prince before him tells of a tale that alludes to Mephistopheles' inabilities in a way so intimate that the implied connection alone evokes a violent feeling of jealousy from the cambion. A notion Raphael has not stopped to consider. He couldn't. His father's presence has been nothing but overwhelming and yet, unreachable. Beyond the hatred and envy and every single mortal appetite the half-devil harbors, Raphael doesn't understand.
"My apologies," Raphael cants his head. "I hadn't realised that there would be a task across the planes you, of all, consider to be impossible in nature. I plea, enlighten me. What is possible, then?"
❝ You’re not mine. You could never be mine. Yet I want you anyway. I want you so badly that it burns me inside. ❞ Reos for Adonai
THESE WORDS SCORCH AS MUCH as the heat of Reos's touch on her skin and his breath on her lips. Adonai closes her eyes, hiding a moon-pale gaze as if to conceal her heart from the man before her. She places a palm against his chest, tucking her chin only to turn away.
For a moment, silence is her answer.
The insistence of Reos's presence is nearly a desperate plea despite having not spoken another word since his confession. Only when she can feel his grip on her loosen that Adonai holds him in place by the elbow. In the end, she still cannot let him go. The thought itself is futile, let alone her attempt.
Adonai cannot lie to herself. She has loved him for some time now—unbeknownst to her at first—the feeling revealing itself to her violently when he abandoned the temple that night without leaving as much of a shadow for her to catch.
She composes herself with a breath.
"...Who?" she begins, eyes fluttering open to search for Reos's expression as she tips her head up. "Who is it that wants me? Is it you, Reos? Or is it your blood that hungers for mine upon the altar of your father's temple? Speak the truth to me."
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mun v. muse / stole this from @macabrehunter :)
Eurydice, Sarah Ruhl
Each with crumb of attention more he pays to her, the giddier she gets. And then comes that last statement. It causes her to take pause. She can feel something deep inside her start to bubble up, something carnal begin to claw. And her source of excitement is switched.
"I never said me, silly." Her heart doesn't speed up, but bangs against her ribs harder. Her eyes have completely zeroed in on him, unblinking and intense. "Like you, I do enjoy challenge. Although I'm sorry to say but you wouldn't be much of one. Not for me."
Slowly, Ithaca rises back up. The thrumming of her pulse pushes a wave of endorphins through her veins. "I'd break you in every way." The tone she says it is so tender and calm despite the feral urge that bounds through her very being. "I could snap every bone in your body and have you wrapped around my little finger." There's a light creaking as she grips the edge of the wooden table, her knuckles turning almost white.
Closer and closer she gets. Her expression has softened significantly. "I could have you calling my name like a prayer, even if I was tearing your heart out." Tearing and ripping and shredding --- like she could right now while her face is mere centimeters from his along with more importantly his throat. All it would take is ---
Ithaca has to bite her lip to hold back the impulsive instincts that scream at her to commit unfiltered ultraviolence; to follow her devotion to bloodlust. It takes effort to hide it all, and to do it so well. But she is not her slaughterkin. She knows the importance of appearances and keeping a reign on the monstrous blessing (or curse) of her bloodline. Divinity such as hers comes with a price.
"I could make you love me so much you'd have to ask permission to breathe." A heat has spread across not only her cheeks, but her flesh in general. "And what a sight it would be. Do you think you would be able to do the same?"
WAS SHE NOT REFERRING TO HERSELF? Then it appears he has gotten ahead of himself. A small misstep, though nothing Gortash would dwell on for much too long as he allows her to approach. He notices the white-knuckled grip she has on the table, of course, as he does notice everything else about her both from a distance and up close.
It is much harder not to notice than it is to.
His smile is easy. A crooked, foul, and self-assured thing wrapped up with a pair of dark eyes that seems to welcome her fantasies as they spill from her pretty lips. Such promising violence that the heat of her voice infects his own skin.
"It almost sounds to me like you want me to do the same," Gortash muses, followed by a drawn out hum as his head cants to one side. His gaze doesn't leave Ithaca, however. Every inch of movement of his body seems to be inviting, not deigning to give what he was previously working on a speck of his attention for now.
One of his hands lift, gesturing in the air, fingers furling loosely as he motions towards himself.
"Tell me, Ithaca. Would you be satisfied by simply having me worship you? Would that truly sate your appetite, my begging and pleading, my breaking and wounding? I imagine that to be terribly boring. You want me to fight back. Perhaps feel what it's like to lose control and be controlled." Gortash laughs. "We could be good for each other."
ooc / hi i'm socially dead, my midterms are coming up and my pea brain's trying to keep up but i haven't forgotten this blog or my writing friends
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❝ You’re mine. Only mine. ❞ / @faebhaal for gortash (′ꈍωꈍ‵)
Sugar & Spice / Accepting
OH, HIS SWEET LITTLE SLAUGHTERER. Gortash's chest shakes with silent laughter, licking the blood off his own lips as Ithaca's hair cascades and tickles his face when she bends over his body, straddling him, blade against his throat. He's captured between her frame and the bed, beholding such carnality and prowess compressed in an impossibly delicate form.
How incredible it is to witness up close. In contrast, his disheveled and debauched appearance paints the picture of an elated man in the face of what would have been a near certain end.
Enver's hands settle on her thighs with little to no pure intentions, roaming till they find the curve of her ass where her heat is flush against the print of his cock. All ten fingers dig into the give of flesh lecherously, encouragingly.
"You are a greedy one," he purrs. "Did you hate it so, enough that you would rather take my life and make me yours in death than let me live? When I took others as my lovers?"
He tuts, the easy, crooked smile capturing a maniacal edge in tandem with the pain lighting his nerves when the blade cuts through his skin. Enver's eyelids droop. "You know you're the only one I burn for, Ithaca," he exhales, tipping his chin as if in offering. "No one else is my equal. You want me to be yours? Make me yours. Lose yourself in me."
The dark hood slips away from Enver and Reos lifts a hand to gently cradle the back of his head. His efforts aren’t in vain. Gortash has once again effectively covered for him and there’s something intoxicating about it— knowing the banite is quick to protect him with little regard to cost.
“You do.” It’s a low purr against Gortash’s grip. Teeth puncture his lower lip and Reos groans quietly at the biting affection. His free hand comes to curl into dark robes. He licks between them, attempting to taste his own blood staining Enver’s tongue. Still caked in the gore of his mistakes, Reos’s hands come to the tyrant’s hips as he’s pulled back firmly. Blood trickles from his bottom lip, smeared across his maw.
Then it's time you start worshiping me if I am the god that answers your prayers, my dear Reos.
Sharp teeth flash with a vicious smile. Searing heat burns through the Spawn. In the back of his mind— he can feel Bhaal’s snarl in response. The disgust. The impending punishment should he lean into this twisted little fantasy with Bane’s Chosen.
And yet…
With fists still balled in dark robes, Reos sinks to his knees before the tyrant and nuzzles into his groin. He licks hotly along Gortash’s clothed cock while his hands wander to try and slip beneath fabric.
When he glances up at Enver, elven greens bleed an affection so vibrant it’s almost tangible. “It’s only fitting that I devote myself entirely to you.” And there’s a sly smile that takes over as he buries that affection. It's replaced with something that burns hotter than runepowder. “Allow me to honor you thoroughly, my Lord.”
Forgive me, Father.
F̴o̴r̷g̵i̴v̴e̵ ̷m̵e̶ ̷F̸a̶t̶h̷e̵r̸.̸ ̶
F̵̱̺͛̀o̷͙͒̈́̚ŕ̶̟͙̒ḡ̷̗̫̝́î̶̥̘͎v̴̨͐ë̸̩͌ ̷̟̇̄͒m̴̭͔̅̈́̕ė̵̞̍,̷͕̜͉̓̕ ̸̟̦̬̓͊̋F̸̡̩͆̊͊ă̶̦͖̬͑t̷͇̽̊̌h̶̘̙̒͗̈e̶̥̽̍͝r̵̤̈́.̵̨̾̉͌ ̷̛̻̹̳̍
F̷̢̹͕͇̮̲͍͇͓̜̙̀ͅơ̸̢̢̮͈̲̟̪̰͕̯̲̞̙̟̜͚̜̪͖̣̭̤̠̤̱̣̝̣̻̱̹̜̍̆̒̈́̇̑̽́̾̌̋͐̌̉̒̾̓̓̇͋̔͋̑͌͒̚̚͜͠͝ͅͅŕ̴̰͉̪̝͕͓̿̓͛̇̿͗͂̌̓̒́̍̆ģ̵̛̝̯̪̙̟̒͛̆̀̌͐̚i̷̧̛̭̠̖̼̗̘͕̙͉̖̫̳͓͈̠͔̠̗̘̘͈͔̲̱̹̯̟̘̤̰̘̼̤̯͉̫̻̘̅̍̾͆̾͛̊̈͊͛̌ͅͅv̴̱͕̦̟̰̯̲̥͖̤̘̳̝̩̍́̑̑̆͐̒̉̍̇͌͐͐̋͑̈́̎̊͐͐͐͒̎̂̉̆̅̉͝͠͝͠ě̶̡̜̯̝͉̰̙͚͒̾̃̀̉̎̎̾̂̏́̍́̑͊̿͆͂̒̎̂̉̈̇̒̉̒̂̉̏͑͑̐̃̎̄̀́͘͝͝͠͝͝ ̸̨̨̛̛͖̲̞͖̜̺̱̠̣̼̦̺̗͖̻̤̤̭̮̹̲̯͇̗̰͖̭͕̟̝̱̻̹̲́̔͆͆͑̅̄̎̔̋͐͗̊̐̆̽̊̉̃̕̚͝͠͠m̸̛̛̖̣͔͖̤͖̖̟̅̑̔̊̉̏͌̎́͐̓͂̋̈́̒̔̄̂͑̾͘͘̚̕ė̴͍͎͎̗͓͎̈̌̏͂̑̒͌́̌̃͂͂̎͑̀̂͂͂̐́̈́͋͑̚,̴̢̜͍͈͇̼͙̜̗̖̥̫͈̳̭̯̻̳̤̘̘̰̙̦̩̜̮̝̝̠̳̙̟̥̠̯̎̆̎̈́̓̓̌́͊̾̅͒̈͆́͐͘͝͠͝ͅͅ ̶̧̨̡̖̥̪̝̝̘̤̰̙͙̦̖̮͚͎̦̖̬̼͉̩̳͍̫̘̦̹̱̺̩͈̮̮̳̹͇͍̽͌͂̕̕͜͝͠F̷̢̲͙͈̘̩͉̪͈̲͌̓̇̉̇̿̎͑͗̎̾̀̐̿͒̋̈́͑̍́̍͛̈́̀͆̋̾̈́̓̄͊̚͝͝͠ͅȃ̴̡̡̢̰̘̦͈̯̬̘͇̭̪͇̘͔͉̹̳̩̙͚͕̙̯̹̘̱͔̬̣̤̯̩͕̞̜̟͙̮̞̮͔̦̍̊̀̓̌̈̑͆̌͆͊͆̓̈͘̕͝ͅt̴̨͇͓̲́͂̑͗̽̓̊̃̐̔̉̇̄̑̈́̿͐̒̿̈́͘͝͝͠h̷̡̢̧̨̛͓͇̝̰̦̪͓̺̜̩̖͖͍̜̣̫͍̣̗̗͕͓̯͉͕̤͖̱͓̠̬̳͇̅̽̈͑̎́͆̏̿͘̕͘͠ͅȩ̶̧̨̧̧̨̱̟̹͍̻̖͉͔̫͕̮͉̝͉̗̝̪̪̟͓̱̩̲̞̗͕̲̦̤̹͇̗̂̐̑̌̂͒͆̿͆̊̍͑̊͒̊͜͜͝͠ͅŗ̸̢̭͔̩̼̤̮͙̗̥͔͕̝̮̫̺̭̘͔̼͍͖͑̌̉͂̈́͛̈́̄͆͋̒̈́̍̍̈́͌̓̍̿̄̑͘̕̕͘͜ͅ.̴̨̡̛̻̤̣̘̖̻̜͖̻͓̹̻̥̭͎̼̳̭̟̙̺̪̘͖͈͓̣̤̪̱̼͖̹̹̻̟͎̝̭͊͛̄̉̏̾̉̍̉̀̒͐̇̆̈̅̇̂̆̈́͊͋͛́̋̀̄͘͝͝ͅ
GORTASH'S PUPILS DILATE UNTIL THEY CONSUME his eyes entirely, drinking the sight of Reos sinking onto his knees before him. A light shiver of sick satisfaction travels up his spine, lips parting as he watches the divine son favoured by Bhaal look up at him with reverence in those burning green eyes. Lust and greed encapsulated by some twisted affection, the only one that can truly sate Enver's desires.
Control. Pain. Pleasure.
He laughs. It's hoarse, his throat thick with anticipation. Enver's crooked smile turns taut, jaws clenched together when he feels Reos's hot breath and tongue on the print of his cock through the fabric of his trousers. The dizzying rush of arousal boils his blood, electrifies his nerves. Reestablishing his grip on Reos's hair, tight down to the scalp, Enver's hips roll forward to meet the eagerness of a promised devotion.
"Ah. Reos. You've always known how to appease me—it's why I like you," he praises, unbuckling his belt with one hand. The sound of metal and the whip of leather on leather hang taunting and heavy. Enver grinds himself against Reos's lips. "Let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use, shall we? Show me how you'll honour me thoroughly, and I might just forgive you."
in a bath, shower, or pool (the sex meme for Richie and Simon :3)
Sugar & Spice / Accepting
BY THE TIME RICHIE'S IN THE BATH, Simon's cock is already half-hard against the curve of his lover's spine. Droplets of water trickle from strands of short, blond hair down the slope of Richie's body where Simon rests on his shoulder.
It's true that Richie's bigger, if only slightly, than him. The tub barely fits them both, water overflowing when all of Richie sinks in. Skin-to-skin pressed tightly against the other, legs barely managing to accommodate and unable to submerge.
Yeah. It's fuckin' perfect.
Simon's lips trail quietly along the side of Richie's neck, fanning shallow exhales on the path, hands wandering lower with intent. A rough palm splays across Richie's abdomen where Simon can feel every twitch, every breath his other takes, every shift of his body responding to the slightest touch.
"Y'gonna be sweet for me tonight, Rich?" he asks, voice a low rumble against the lobe of Richie's ear, breath hot and heady. "Gonna be good and keep your words like y'promised?"
He doesn't wait for an answer before curling his fist, light at first, around the girth of Richie's cock, working him in slow pumps beneath the water. Each approving groan he earns fuels faster, harder strokes as Simon coaxes Richie to fully lean back into him.
"Got a lot of time tonight," followed by a kiss to Richie's temple. Then his brow. And the corner of his mouth where it meets his scar. "'M gonna make sure you're taken care of."
𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 & 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐄 *
Assorted memes of a suggestive and sexual nature, intended for the spicier type of interactions. Be mindful of your partners' boundaries! Change pronouns / etc. as needed, and feel free to combine the sentence prompts with the action and / or location prompts when sending if you want.
tw: strong sexual content , minors DO NOT interact with this meme at all!
𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒
❝ I just want to look at you like this for a moment. ❞
❝ Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? ❞
❝ Your heart is beating so fast. ❞
❝ Be gentle with me. Please. ❞
❝ I’ve never done this before. ❞
❝ I want to learn. Teach me. ❞
❝ Show me how to please you. ❞
❝ I want to give you everything tonight. ❞
❝ That feels so good ─ ❞
❝ Don’t stop ─ ❞
❝ You won’t break me. I promise. ❞
❝ I want your hands on me. ❞
❝ Make love to me. ❞
❝ I need you, your lips on my skin. I need you deep inside me. ❞
❝ Can’t you see what you do to me? ❞
❝ I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again. ❞
❝ There is no taste sweeter than yours. ❞
❝ Look at you, what a mess you are. ❞
❝ You’re doing so good for me. Keep going. ❞
❝ I’ll taste every part of you before the night has ended. ❞
❝ No one else can make me feel this way. ❞
❝ I am already yours. Now I want you to lay your claim. ❞
❝ Your body sings to me. ❞
❝ I know you’re close. Just let it go now. Give in to it. ❞
❝ I want to feel you come undone. ❞
❝ Shh. Quiet love. They’re going to hear you. ❞
❝ I want to feel your fire, even if it burns me. ❞
❝ You take me so well. ❞
❝ You look so beautiful like this. ❞
❝ I never knew I could feel this good. ❞
𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 & 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘
❝ God whispers to us in our pleasures. ❞
❝ I’m going to fuck you until your legs shake. ❞
❝ Take me. I can’t bear this anymore, just take me. ❞
❝ You’re dripping already. ❞
❝ Good girl, take it all. ❞
❝ I’m going to fill you over and over again. ❞
❝ Harder, god, harder ─ ❞
❝ Did I say you could stop? ❞
❝ Show me how much you want it. ❞
❝ Give me your mouth. ❞
❝ Spread yourself for me. ❞
❝ I’m going to leave you aching in the morning. And then I’m going to take you again. ❞
❝ Louder. Don’t hold back on me. Let me hear your pleasure. ❞
❝ I want to hear my name on your lips and make you come. ❞
❝ Don’t come until I tell you to. ❞
❝ If you wanted soft and gentle, you’ve come to the wrong person. ❞
❝ I don’t want soft. I want to ache for you when you’re done. ❞
❝ I like the marks. They stay with me even when you must leave. ❞
❝ Use me. Fuck me. Do whatever you want, but god, please touch me. ❞
❝ They’ll all know your mine when they hear you screaming my name. ❞
❝ You need relief. I can give you that. ❞
❝ You’re not leaving this bed until I’m done with you. ❞
❝ I want to spend every night buried inside of you, pleasing you, fucking you. ❞
❝ I like it when you lose control, when I can feel how desperately you need me. ❞
❝ You’re my good girl, and my girl deserves the best of me. ❞
❝ Such a good boy, always eager to please. ❞
❝ You look like an angel; it’s only right that I fuck you until you see heaven. ❞
❝ Your body is my place of worship, and it’s time for me to say my prayers. ❞
❝ This is my favorite seat. ❞
❝ Watch me ride you. ❞
𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 & 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘
❝ Does he fuck you like this? ❞
❝ We shouldn’t be doing this. ❞
❝ I missed you beyond words. Every night I dreamt of you, of what it would be like to hold you again, and I’ll be damned if I let the chance slip through my fingers when you’re right here. ❞
❝ Why can’t I keep myself away from you? ❞
❝ This could be our last night together. I’m going to make it count. ❞
❝ Don’t bring emotions into this. This has always been about pleasure, nothing else. ❞
❝ We fuck. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that. ❞
❝ I have no right to touch you, so why do you ask it of me when I know I am unworthy? ❞
❝ You should be mine. I don’t care what they say, you are mine. ❞
❝ You dare have the audacity to pretend like you’re not mine in front of them? We both know the truth; even now look how your body reacts to me. ❞
❝ Do you honestly think I could possibly want anyone else when this is what you do to me? ❞
❝ You’re mine. Only mine. ❞
❝ I want them to hear us. I want them to know you belong to me. ❞
❝ Claim me. Have me in a way that anyone who looks at me will see your passion written upon my skin. ❞
❝ You’re not mine. You could never be mine. Yet I want you anyway. I want you so badly that it burns me inside. ❞
❝ You’ve ruined me for all others. ❞
❝ I can’t stop myself from wanting you, no matter how much we both know we shouldn’t do this. ❞
❝ I don’t care if they see. Part of me wants them to. ❞
❝ You’re not good for me. So how can you make me feel something no one else can? ❞
❝ This is the last time, then never again. This has to stop. ❞
𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
one muse gives the other oral
one muse rides the other
one muse grinds on the other
one muse takes the other from the front
one muse takes the other from behind
one muse takes the other anally
one muse holds the other down during rough sex
one muse pleasures the other with their hand
one muse sits on the other’s face
one muse controls the other’s movements by grabbing their hips
one muse ties up the other
one muse uses a toy on the other
our muses engage in edging or orgasm denial
one muse makes the other have multiple orgasms
our muses engage in sensory play (blindfolds, ice, etc.)
one muse shows the other a new position
one muse touches the other on the outside of their clothes
one muse dresses up to seduce the other
one muse undresses the other
one muse strips for the other
one muse (or both) pleasures themself for the other’s view
one muse leaves marks on the other
one muse watches the other have sex with a third party
our muses are being watched by a third party
our muses have a threesome
𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
in a bed
on the floor
on a couch or chair
in a bath, shower, or pool
in a semi-public place
against a wall
on a table or counter
in the kitchen
outdoors
in a tent
on a rug in front of a fireplace
in a sacred place
in a stairwell
in a ruined building / castle
in a garden
by the ocean
in an inn / hotel
while traveling
in an office or conference room
in a dream
"And what would you have done if I weren't there to clean up your mess, hm? Pray to father dearest to send you his nicest angel? I doubt it." / Gortash for Reos :3 // @juramentum
Oh, his tyrant is frustrated.
Reos shrugs a broad shoulder and rounds the table. He seems unaffected by the tone and the question. “I’d have slaughtered the rest of them.” The village. “All of them.”
Once he’s close enough, he reaches out and grabs the edge of Enver’s robe and tugs him closer. It’s a forceful pull, leaving little room for refusal. A wicked smile curls his lips and the dark glitter in elven greens match the malice he seeps. It bleeds into a twisted form of gratitude.
“Lucky for them— I don’t need to pray to my Father for aid.” Reos whispers into the slim space between them. Despite Enver's frustration, the oathbreaker licks at his lips and mutters hotly against them. “Not when you answer my prayers so swiftly, little tyrant.”
Forgive me, Father.
GORTASH RESPONDS WITH A SOUND that borders a bark of laughter and a scoff against Reos's tongue and hot breath over his lips. The hood slips from over his head, revealing strands of dark hair, some clinging to his sweat-damp skin. He doesn't cower—not for a second.
Rather, he enjoys it.
"I do, don't I?" A purposeful hand reaches for the back of his Spawn's head, grabbing a fistful of mismatched hair. The sorry excuse of a kiss more akin to the lick of a mutt is met with the bite of Enver's teeth, drawing blood from Reos's bottom lip. Then he pulls with enough force to separate them.
His eyes, dark, fixate on the tinge of red smeared across Reos's mouth.
"Then it's time you start worshiping me if I am the god that answers your prayers, my dear Reos."
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@azzagrazt / cont.
INSUFFICIENCY IS A CURSE THAT RUNS THROUGH his blood, half-fiend and forever wanting of the other half he refuses to acknowledge. A rather significant stain that besmirches Raphael's otherwise touted pedigree of being Mephistopheles's son. One of many, true, and yet even his name alone bears weight that only few could begin to fathom.
It is such an irate thought to entertain that the Dark Prince speaks to him in a way comparable to that of how Mephistopheles would regard those beneath him. And Raphael is always beneath, he finds, countless pairs of eyes crawling into his skin as if to flay him apart.
If he's worthy enough to be distinguished in such a manner. Preposterous.
The smile on his face, though falters, doesn't fade. Raphael's eyes flicker to the edges of his periphery, how the shadows begin to darken and the firelight diminishes into but a void. He unravels his fingers and places them over his own lips.
"I've come to hear many curious things over centuries," the drawl of his voice is contemplative, brows rising when his attention returns to the demon before him, extending an upturned palm. "My father, for one, I'm sure you're well acquainted. Ambitious. Viciously so. He wants the Hells in his grasp—" Raphael closes his fist, "—wrest it from the Lord of Lies."
Perhaps he inherited the same desire from that vile blood. A hunger, no, a festering greed. Oh, yes, Mephistopheles has done nothing but try.
"The soul, through the siege of temptations, yields not unto fraud, nor to might. Unquelled by the rush of the passions, serene 'mid the tumults of fight." The same fist eases and rests upon his own chest as Raphael leans forward, a half bow, a tilt of his head, a cant of his lips. "But what is a devil if not his temptations? I am ever seeking change. But now, I seek precisely that: the death of a god. His throne. The Hells."
And who better to ask than the one who consumes?
FAR BE IT FROM GALE TO avert his eyes. (Or his heart, for that matter.) They grow impossibly rounder, softer at the edges, crows feet crinkling when a small smile graces his lips. Rolan may choose to look away and cast his gaze anywhere else but him—it changes nothing.
"How do you mean?" he asks, first and foremost, without expecting much of an answer. And Gale's voice carries with it that same, steady current cutting through every other part of him when he moves to intercept the other's distant attention by stepping into his sight.
"I have to keep my eyes on you, yes? So I can see you, Rolan. How am I to teach if I couldn't see what you were doing?" He knows that isn't what Rolan meant. But confronting the delicate underbelly of that very specific wound, Gale thinks, isn't something he should do quite yet.
There are times Rolan reminds him of himself.
"Here. Try opening your palm," he instructs, reaching out to coax Rolan's tightly wound fist to ease. "You must loosen your grasp and the need for control, allow the magic to concentrate in that small crevice between your fingers and the pads of your knuckles. Feel it grow. As if you're cradling and nurturing something precious. Something wonderful."
Gale's eyes flicker. Deep and earthen, searching for Rolan's. "You're getting lost in thought again, aren't you?" / @macabrehunter (x)
