Hehehe 😊😘

Comfy, cozy, bedtime ambient track with Ominis. Requested by @travelerizzard~♥! Soft rain, fireplace, and some lovely music.

I got a little carried away... but, should play right here on the site/app! (Let me know about any issues, please!)

Headphones suggested for the best listening experience - definitely made for relaxing or bedtime listening. Enjoy!

Tags: [mdni][girldad Roy][enemies to lovers][mlw][his tragedy of a life is not comically accurate][soft tragedy][fingering][unprotected p in v][creampie][rough sex, I think?][vibrator][Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty][squirting][slight dacryphilia][watersports mention][pronebone][mating press][spit]

"Who comes to a dick appointment without condoms?" Roy hisses, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, the fabric of his tank top stretched so tightly that you're half-expecting it to start ripping in front of your eyes.

You push past Roy, stepping into his apartment and you look around at the state.

It's not untidy.... It's... Lived in. Disarranged throw pillows, a few crumpled papers tossed around the small trashcan that's located just beside the large, flat screen TV. There's a few scattered toys, a Barbie doll without it's shoe and it's....

Oddly reminding you of yourself whenever you do this.

"What kind of man doesn't have his own condoms?" You spit back, picking up the doll and dropping down on the sofa, grabbing the nearest thing with bristles, and combing through the long, blonde hair.

"The kind of man who— you can braid hair?" Roy questions, his brows knitting into a contemplative expression and you nod your head, as your manicured fingers card through the plastic strands, twisting hair over hair. A fishtail braid.

"Can you braid my kid's hair?"

The question is.... A surprise, more than anything, and your hands falter, before you look up at Roy, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Sure." You shrug, dismissing it before you set the doll on the coffee table before lifting yourself from the seat, before staring at Roy with narrowed eyes.

"Take your pants off."

"Shit, at least romance me.." Roy grumbles, mock-offense lacing his rugged features before he scoops you up, a muscular forearm bracketing your ass and a scarred finger hooks around your chain, tugging you closer into a kiss.

Roy's lips are the furthest thing from moisturized, a prominent crack down the centre of his bottom lip that occasionally catches on your own lip and you smile into the kiss, the ticklish feeling making you laugh into the kiss.

"Bitch, don't you own Vaseline?"

Roy smiles into the kiss, dimples in his cheeks deepening and his hand pushes open his bedroom door. "No," he hums, before tossing you on his bed, the springs creek just a bit as you bounce on the mattress, and his hands reach for the edge of his shirt, tugging it up his torso.

Very unceremoniously, might I add.

"But I've got lube." Grabbing an unlabelled bottle from the top of his dresser, and tossing it in your direction, ignoring the thud of the hard plastic hitting your forehead, as well as your cursing.

"This doesn't even have a label!" You hiss, one hand holding the bottle of lube and the other, rubbing your forehead with the heel of your palm.

"Gas station said it was lube." Roy shrugs his broad shoulders, before he crawls over the messy nest of sheets and bedding, grabbing your hips and tugging your basketball shorts from your hips.

Leaving you in your—

"Do you have to wear granny panties every time you come see me?" Roy groans, his leafy pools locked on the pale blue panties you're wearing. A white lace trim, and daisies dotted over the fabric that leaves far too much to the imagination.

"Do you have to be named Roy every time I see you?" You say his name like some kind of slur, a tone that isn't missed on him as he hooks his fingers into your panties.

"Oh, fuck off." He rolls his eyes, and you huff, lifting your hips just enough for him to pull the cotton down your ass. "I was named after my uncle."

"What was his name? Roy Rogers McFreely?" You snort, and you barely get to laugh at your own joke before you're roughly tossed onto your stomach, with your legs spread obscenely and a painful swat lands on your ass, before Roy's rough palm smooths over the stinging burn.

"Very funny." Roy huffs. "Now give me the lube."

"You're not using gas station lube on me." You deadpan, looking over your shoulder with a scowl. Your brows knitted and perfect lips tugged into a frown that just made him wanna kiss them.

Of course not now.

Roy's calloused fingers are occupied with a more interesting pair of lips that didn't call him a soulless ginger on missions, and his middle finger circles your clit in a way that makes your back arch just a bit sluttier.

"It's got an expiration date." Roy groans in frustration.

As though an expiration date makes it better.

You flip the bottle over in your hand, looking for the date.

"This says June." You state. "And what month are we in?" Roy hums, his fingers still circling your clit as he leans over you, inspecting the bottle with you.

"January." You deadpan. "Of three years after this bottle's expiration year."

"You know, I don't appreciate being spoken to like I'm some kind of idiot." Roy scowls at you, gingery brows knitted into a scowl, his pinkish upper lip curled in distaste at your tone.

"Well maybe next time, don't be an id—" Your voice cracks and a shaky gasp leaves you when two fingers begin to fuck into your gooey cunt. And Roy hums, resting his chin on your shoulder and he tips his head to look at you.

A cocky grin on his face and it seems like all your energy goes into placing a hand on his face, and pushing him lightly.

"Nice try." Roy mocks. "I'm entirely sober. I'm basically Superman."

"If he—... lacked a soul."

"Say I have a soul."

Roy has your knees forced apart by his muscular thighs, fingers fucking into your cunt while his free hand holds a wand vibrator to your throbbing clit. Your legs shake, puffy pussy glistening with his spit and your wetness, combined into a slick mess that trilled down your messy folds.

"I—I'm... 'm not a liar..." You whine, your hands fisting at the sheets, the edge of your T-shirt between your teeth, your cheeks flushed and messy with tears that had threatened to spill from one too many ruined orgasms.

Roy tuts you, moving away the vibrator away from you and pulling his fingers out of you roughly. And he takes the time, the corners of his mouth twitching, before pulling into a devious grin at the sight of your hole spasming around nothing.

And those glistening fingers make their way to your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and those eyes alone.

Perfect, pretty emerald eyes.

Fanned by pretty, Disney ass lashes, thick brows and the lightest flickers of blue in his eyes. And you suck on his fingers.

Savouring the taste of his fingertips that seem to constantly taste like the feathery end of an arrow, mixed with his spit and your cum, and you whine around his knuckles. You slobber. You whine, you cry.

Your toes curl when that vibrator meets your needy clit, tracing up and down your slick slit, and you barely notice that you're biting down on Roy's fingers when your head tips back. And you squirt.

Soaking Roy from his chest, to his boxers, and the sheets below you. Roy doesn't register your teeth digging into his fingers, only focusing on the messy cum that trickles down the creases of your ass and he hums, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

And inspecting the teeth indentations.

"Good thing we've never sixty-nined." He mumbles, almost to himself, before his hand, soaked with your spit, slaps your pussy.

Your body rocks, your tummy dipping inward with each flinch of pleasure-pain, whimpers slipping past your kiss-swollen lips. All red from Roy sucking on them while ruining your orgasms and he leans forward, pressing a kiss against your temple.

A soft, gentle action that anchors you in this moment, but before you can say anything, anything at all, your thighs are in a long distance relationship and you're tasked with holding that vibrator to your throbbing clit while Roy pushes into you.

It's a sensation that's painfully familiar.

That almost burn that makes your toes curl and your back arch into the mattress to get away from him, and then, that slow, painful pulling out that has your hips lifting to take more of him.

And you glance down at where Roy slowly feeds your pussy. Inch by inch, as he carefully takes the vibrator from your hand, resting it where he thinks it needs to be.

And God, is he right.

Not directly on your clit, but shy of it, to the right and your lashes flutter, the back of your head resting against the headboard and Roy groans, his hips bumping against yours in the slowest, deepest rhythm.

For someone who makes you squirt with how rough he is, honestly, he doesn't even fuck.

Roy makes love.

90's, R&B, silk shirt and crying in the rain type of love. His hips don't stutter, don't falter, all that he's focused on is taking you to pound town on a safe journey and getting you home in time to feed your turtle.

"Don't close your legs, don't close your legs." He breathes out, switching off the vibrator and setting it aside, before angling his hips.

The blunt, rosy tip of his cock nudges against a spot that makes your kiss-swollen lips form the cutest 'o' shape, eyes nearly crossing and that's the spot.

And Roy begins to fuck.

Hard, messy thrusts that leave a creamy ring around the base of him, his palm coming to rest just above your mound and pressure begins to build like a fucking wildfire. And you babble, eyes welling up with tears as each stroke brings you closer to that precipice of pleasure that makes you believe that Roy might be God's favourite.

Because no fucking way ANYONE would have dick this good.

Unless maybe, Batman.

And Roy leans forward, a hand roughly grasping your chin, and he forces his thumb between your lips, watching the way your eyes glaze over when he presses down on your tongue. That mind-numbing sensation of his cock stilling and twitching against your gummy walls makes your brain fuzzy and all you do is stick your tongue out, catching the spit that leaves his stupidly perfect mouth.

And Roy smears his messy, wet hand across your face, before grabbing your chin again, fingers digging into your cheeks and he leans forward.

Pressing a sloppy, hard kiss to your lips, tasting your spit and cum on your lips and he groans, his hips pistoning in and out of you with no fucking warning.

The headboard hits against the wall, the sheets rustle and the loudest sound is the messy squelch of your sopping pussy as he fucks you into oblivion.

"You're so fucking perfect." Roy pants, kissing you like there's no fucking tomorrow and god, your blood is rushing in your ears and the sound is deafening.

Especially when you feel those skilled fingertips sinking to your hair, your walls fluttering and spasming as you gush, pushing his cock out of you and he places the most gentle kiss against your forehead.

You don't drink enough water to be able to push out liquids like this. But that's not your problem or even the mildest concern.

Not when your face is pushed into the pillow that smells like his musk and cologne, not to mention that tiniest hint of sweat. And definitely not when he's reaching over you, muscular and scarred hands gripping the headboard tightly, as he slowly slips into you.

Gushy walls swallowing him whole, and Roy's chest presses against your back, his face buried in the curve of your neck and he presses the sweetest kiss against your pulse.

Sucking marks into your skin, his hand coming to wrap around your throat just a bit, fingertips digging into the slight plush and his hips fucking roll.

Cock pummeling into you at that slow, passionate pace and Roy hums quietly. "You like it? I've been taking a— hah— a Spanish dance class with Jason."

And you let out a laugh, a breathy giggle and you whine as he nudges at your cervix.

"N—not enough words to say how gay that is." You mock, your hands clawing and gripping at the sheets, your brain fuzzy and your tongue lolling just a bit.

And Roy laughs. A low, raspy chuckle.

"Oh, you're really gonna get it now." And he lifts, just a bit, his fingers curling into your scalp and tugging your hair back, enough to expose your throat.

"Now... 'm gonna fuck you 'til you piss yourself."

I'm curious to know what you think MC would smell from a cauldron of Amortentia if they were into Sebaatian, Ominis, or Gareth. 👀

I’m the biggest supporter of anything amortentia related.

Sebastian

They smell dust and old book.

Once Mc finished the potion they were kinda nervous when Professor Sharp started asking students what they smelt.

Professor Sharp finally gets to Mc and they take a few deep breaths.

They smell dust and old books. The dust smell isnt horrible it’s comforting. It reminds them of the undercroft. They automatically connect the old books scent to the library and think about the times they spend with Sebastian there.

Blush creeps over MCs face and they state what they smell. It’s not a secret Mc and Sebastian are attached at the hip and a few people connect the dots automatically.

Sebastian gets a little upset because he doesn’t think he smells like that and that Mc possibly likes another boy.

After an hour or so of Sebastian moping around Ominis tells him that it’s actually him that they smelt.

Ominis

They smell his Cologne.

Mc has no idea what they’ll smell they can’t really think of anyone or anything they’d smell. It isn’t until they actually smell the potion everything makes sense.

They smell Ominis Cologne. It’s woody and Smokey with the smallest hint of mint. It lingers on Mcs clothes after they spend a day with him and can’t help but smell the aroma of the cologne left on them.

Mc blurts out that it’s just a cologne and Sharp doesn’t push it anymore.

They can’t stop looking at Ominis and realizing how often his cologne is apart of their memories.

Ominis really wants to know what exactly the cologne is but doesn’t push it any further.

Garreth Weasley

They smell something burnt/burning and butterbeer

Mc takes a few sniffs of the potion they almost think they messed it up until they smell Butterbeer.

At first they’re shocked but them they see Garreth messing with the flame under his caldron and automatically know.

They realize what the burnt smell is from but can’t exactly pinpoint where the butterbeer is from.

After a moment of thinking they realize it’s from the times he had taken them to Honeydukes as a thank you for helping with his potions. 

Mc tells Professor Sharp what they smell and watch Garreth look at the students around him to see which one smells burnt. He then smells his robe sleeve a few times and blushes bright red.

Miguelllll!

quick sketch - someone brought up the idea of Ominis with his hair unstyled (I can't remember for the life of me who sorry) and i've been thinking about it ever since.

Mallowsweet Muses PART 2 - Sebastian Sallow/Ominis Gaunt/Female! Reader

Summary: Ominis knew he was being unreasonable. He knew he was acting like a petulant child and taking out his frustrations on Sebastian purely because he was an easy target. But Merlin– his trousers were tight. There had been one goal in his mind when he came down here, and now that he’d been interrupted, his composure was slipping. He was being intentionally cruel on the off chance Sebastian would let him leave as a result. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit content, F/M/M, polyamory themes

Full fic can be found here on Ao3! Part 1 of Mallowsweet Muses can be read here on Tumblr

Keep reading

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 8

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes, again with the slight smut phew, angst on top of more angst, no comfort... yet (or ever? hmm much to ponder about)  A/N: Imagine if I leave it here lmao Also, I've been listening to White Ferrari on repeat while editing this chapter. I'm not saying that you should too while you're reading, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Oh, and Angel by Massive Attack. Trust me, it's gonna come up. (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8

The cold tiles of the bathroom floor wreak a shiver through your body.

You’re curled up in front of the toilet, barely upright after another round of puking what little bile is left in your stomach. Cold beads of sweat dot your forehead and every breath feels thin, ragged, like you’re trying to gulp air through a pinhole. The chill seeps under your skin, leaving you shuddering involuntarily between dry heaves. 

You make the rookie mistake of tilting your head ever-so-slightly to rest against the cool porcelain, and the miniscule action threatens to send the room careening into another violent spin. A wave of nausea hits you and you desperately gnaw on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from gagging.

You feel like absolute shit. 

There’s something lodged inside, sinking deep into the pit of your stomach. A poison, a corruption—heavier than the excess of alcohol still clawing its way through your system. It isn’t the simple penance for overindulging, no; it’s darker, rawer, less perfunctory than the remnants of last night’s events. 

It churns inside you, leaving an acrid, metallic taste on your tongue and a dull ache behind your eyes. 

The buzzing of your phone reverberates beside you, a relentless vibration against your thigh. It hasn’t stopped since the moment you clawed your way out of bed and staggered toward your porcelain waste bucket. You weren’t supposed to bring it along with you—it should’ve been left abandoned outside of this room, far from this bleak sanctuary. This… this disgusting aftermath of your revelry. 

Unfortunately, it’s practically an extension of you now. A limb, almost. Or worse, a crutch—something you lean on so habitually, that the mere thought of its absence feels like an amputation.

“S-sorry,” you release a shaky breath, tears pricking your vision, unbidden. Unwelcome. “Sorry.” 

Another vibration. You can picture it clearly in your head: the worry marring his face, the exasperation in his eyes.

You retch.

––––

The red takeout box from Panda Express sits in front of you, its contents lukewarm and forgotten for the better part of the hour. You barely remember ordering it—actually, now that you think about it… Did you even order it yourself? Your memory’s a little hazy, just like everything else today. And last night.

Sylus’ voice crackles through your phone, propped precariously against a half-empty mug of tea on the low table. 

His presence, as always, manages to fill the room, though this time there’s a palpable tension in the air since you opened the game. His initial greeting had all the warmth of a parent catching their kid sneaking in past curfew. The moment his image blinked into view, you could see the battle in his eyes.

On one end, he simmered with ire, almost ready to boil over. On the other, he looked like he’d gladly claw his way out the screen just to tuck you into bed and personally force-feed you the food you’ve been ignoring for the past forty minutes.

“Eat it,” he grouses, a hint of steel sharpening his deceptively calm tone. The worry beneath it feels like it could strangle you. 

(And if it could, it probably would—if he has any say in it.)

You whine, burrowing deeper under the blanket, folding yourself into a sad, uncooperative ball on the couch. “I will. Eventually.”

“Eventually?” he echoes, the incredulity clear in his voice. “Do you plan on eating it soon as it becomes inedible, or is this a test of endurance?”

With a sigh that feels like it’s pulled from the depths of your soul, you poke halfheartedly at the lid. The smell of grease and fried food wafts out, making your stomach churn. Whether it’s from nausea or hunger pangs, you can’t tell.

“It smells like regret,” you mutter, swallowing the lump rising from your esophagus. 

Sylus snorts, and you can tell it slipped out before he could stop it. “Considering the state you’re in? Can’t say I’m surprised. But you still need to eat, kitten. You can’t run on stubbornness alone.”

“I’m doing fine so far,” you argue weakly, knowing you’re not convincing anyone. Your body feels like it’s been put through the wringer—limbs heavy, muscles crying in protest, a pounding headache that refuses to let up.

“Fine,” he repeats, dry as ash. “You can barely hold yourself up, but sure, let’s call that fine.”

You finally flip the box open, revealing a mess of something fried and vaguely brown. The smell hits you harder this time, and you salivate something odd. “I don’t think—”

“Eat,” he cuts you off, voice firm, brooking no argument. “You’ve done well with the tea, but now you need something to fill you up.”

“I can think of something else I’d like to fill me up,” you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself.

A beat of silence, and then Sylus’ tone shifts—a touch amused now, but it’s edged with a deliberate weight that makes your skin prickle. Uh-oh. 

“Sweetie,” he says slowly, almost indulgent, “if you’ve got the energy to make jokes like that, you’ve got the energy to eat. Be good, and I’ll make sure you’re properly rewarded once you’re feeling better.”

You laugh, breathless, trying to mask your nervousness from the subtle innuendo. Obediently, you pick up the plastic spork beside the carton. “You’re really selling this hard, huh.”

“I’m not here to sell it,” he sighs, voice losing its edge, but there’s still a firmness to it. “I’m here to make sure you don’t pass out. One bite. Start there.”

You spear a piece of shrimp hesitantly. It looks harmless enough, but you lift it like it might bite back. 

You take the tiniest nibble. 

It’s greasy, salty, and absolutely meh—but it doesn’t immediately trigger your gag reflex, which in itself feels like a small victory. 

“There,” he says, his satisfaction palpable. “See? You survived.”

“Barely,” you shoot back half-heartedly, though the corner of your mouth twitches.

“I’ll make sure to congratulate you later for your heroic recovery,” he says wryly. “Now another bite, sweetheart.”

You make a reluctant noise but comply, munching slowly. He hums in approval. When you glance at the screen, his expression has mellowed—the severity giving way to something almost tender.

You look away quickly, swallowing hard; though you're not sure if it’s because of the tiny morsel of food or from the heavier something that's lodged in your throat.

The sound of your chewing is slightly amplified by the silence that comes after. You’re afraid to break it first. 

So Sylus does it for you. Once he’s decided you’ve had your fill of the fried rice.

“Would you like to talk about last night?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “What about last night?” 

A long pause. 

“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. “I’m just saying that if you want to, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You press your lips together, unsure of how to answer. There’s discomfort; the unease brought by your own self-consciousness. 

“I—uh—” You start, fumbling for the right words. “I didn’t mean to… make things weird or anything. I don't usually get that wasted,” You sigh, blowing a stray hair out of your face. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” 

“The only thing you did wrong last night was ignore my messages,” Sylus murmurs, his tone a little admonishing. “Making me worry about your well-being.”

You glance up, catching the affection in his eyes. He gives you a slight smile, relieved to finally have your attention fully on him.

You scrunch the blanket in your fist, fiddling with a loose string. You want to say something. Anything. But you can’t seem to summon the courage. 

Finally—

“You don’t think…” you hesitate, voice small. “You don’t think it’s– that I’m… too much trouble?”

He tuts softly, the sound playful, with hints of something fond. Comforting, almost. So you hold his gaze, even if it’s a little harder than you’d like it to be.

Sylus looks at you with something so… endearing that it’s almost painful. “You’re perfect. My little troublemaker,” his eyes burn a little brighter. “Mine.”

The words hit you like a wave—soothing, gratifying. Staggering.

Oh, you want to believe him. You want to lose yourself in his words, to give in to the feeling of being cherished, of being seen. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything as much as this. 

But turmoil wages a war inside you, and you’re stuck between the pull to let yourself believe and the sharp reality of your situation.

The futility of it all.

It makes you hurt, deep inside, in a way you don’t know how to fix.

––––

The package you got from the lobby is nondescript. Unassuming. The kind of box that could contain anything from kitchenware to – you don’t know, maybe a desk lamp? You turn it over in your hands, squinting at the lack of clues of its content and its sender. 

Did you order something and forgot?

Payroll was over a week ago, and you’re aware of your irresponsible tendency to pile everything that catches your eye onto an online shopping cart just to tempt yourself into buying shit you don’t need, but you’re pretty sure you’d remember spending money on… whatever this is. 

It’s not until you’re back in the privacy of your apartment, scissors in hand, that the mystery begins—and promptly ends.

The contents spill out, leaving you to blink owlishly at the mess of shredded wrapping paper and its pièce de résistance: a nine-inch monstrosity of a dildo, hot red in color. 

The… thing is practically a weapon, its twisting ridges and intimidating girth looking more like something you’d need a user manual for. Or a fucking exorcist, you distantly think in rising panic. 

“Uhh…” The sound tumbles out, an embarrassing mix of confused and gobsmacked. “I don’t remember—?”

Ping!

Your phone chimes before you can finish, and you slowly turn your gaze towards the screen, a sinking feeling beginning to form in your gut.

The message is short. And oh-so-smug.

Ah. Just in time. 

The realization dawns on you, and your cheeks burn hot enough to fry an egg. “Sylus!”

What? Even in text, his tone carries that infuriating slyness you can practically hear from a mile away. You’ve earned it.

Your mouth works uselessly for a moment before words could spill out, clumsy and agitated. “Earned what?!” 

A little treat for being such an obedient little thing while you were recovering, remember?

“Holy shit,” you wheeze. A half-hysterical giggle bubbles up your throat as you hold the draconic cock far from you as if it’s gonna attack at any second. Fuck, it might. “This is almost as big as my forearm! The hell am I supposed to do with this?”

What do I expect you to do with it? Sylus’s reply comes almost instantly, the weight of his insinuation almost coming across as mocking. I thought that was obvious.

You didn’t think your face could go any redder, and you’re sure you resemble a fucking tomato right at that moment. “Sy-Sy, this is—” You gulp, glancing at the toy with wide eyes. “fucking massive. It–it has… it’s got scales!”

Ah, so you’ve noticed the craftsmanship. Quite exquisite, isn’t it?

“E-Exquisite?” you sputter, voice soaring at a higher octave. “This looks like it came out of Alien or something! I’m pretty sure it’s gonna start moving on its own…”

Only if you press a button.

Your brain short-circuits, and you frantically examine the thing for telltale signs of any hidden mechanization.

There’s a short lull, laden with barely restrained amusement. Then: Relax, sweetheart. It’s not going to bite.

You let out another – nervous – laugh, gingerly setting the large toy down as if it might explode from its sheer audacity. “I hate you.” 

No, you don’t, Sylus counters without missing a beat. But I do appreciate how flustered you’re getting. Go on, sweet thing—tell me how it’s too much for you. I could listen to that all night.

You let out a strangled noise, burying your face in your hands. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you.”

Mmh, you know me so well. 

You sigh, the gravity of what’s inevitable setting in. It was like fighting a losing battle. 

Something the both of you knew right from the start.

-

-

-

(You are my angel)

“I-It hurts to put in,” you whimper, body trembling as sweat clings to your flushed skin. Every muscle feels taut, coiled tight with both anticipation and a flicker of fear. “p-please…” 

“We have the rest of the night, little dove. We’ll take it slow,” Sylus whispers, his voice a velvet caress in your ear, warm and grounding. “I’m right here.”

His words melt into you like cloying liquid, wrapping around your resolve like a sensual embrace.

(Come from way above)

“Again.”

“I-I can’t,” you sniffle, the words breaking into short, shaky gasps as your chest heaves. The remnants of your last orgasm still ripple through you, the one he’s ripped from you mercilessly.  

“You can, poppet,” he coos, the endearment sliding over you like cool mercury. “Give me one more, yeah? Want to see those pretty eyes rolling for me.”

The thought alone has you shivering, his tone dripping with enough heat to stir something molten from within you.

(To bring me love)

The air hangs unbearably hot, almost suffocating. Every nerve sings, alive with the memory of his ministrations—though he’s never truly touched you, has he? 

It doesn’t matter. The line between what’s real and what’s not blurs further with every passing moment.

Your body burns, and yet you crave more, more—the pulsing ache of your stretched walls only feeding the gnawing hunger that builds inside, like an unrestrained beast. 

You blink sluggishly; your vision swimming as pleasure courses through you in heavy, dizzying surges.

Has he bewitched you? You’ve become insatiable, ravenous—monstrous in your desire. For him. For the addicting high only he could give, and teasingly dangle just out of reach. 

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

How…? He’s nothing but a voice, incorporeal, yet he commands you completely. Your hands, your movements, your very breath feels as if it belongs to him. They follow his instructions without hesitation, carving paths of fire and electricity across the bare expanse of your skin.

“More?” Sylus rasps, and the edge in his voice sends a thrill down your spine. There’s something feral in his tone, and it brings you an almost animalistic sense of glee to know that he isn’t unaffected by all of this any less than you are. 

“More,” you beg, raw and needy. He groans in response.

“Good, so good for me,” he hisses a litany of praise that sounds so much like a curse. “My good girl. Mine to break, mine to ruin.”  

Your back arches as you cry out; muscles locking, mouth falling open in a soundless scream as both agony and ecstasy crash over you like a tidal wave.

(Love you, love you, love you, love you Love you, lo–ve you, love you, love you … Love you, love you—love you, love you…)

––––

"My cousin's getting married tomorrow."

You say it with an air of nonchalance, your voice light, as if you’re just commenting on the weather.

Sylus doesn’t respond right away. His usual quick wit is conspicuously absent, replaced by a silence that stretches long, settling into the room like a beam of sunlight from your window. The continuous whirr of the electric fan and the droning of the news anchor on TV fill the space instead, in place of conversation.

You don’t force it. Instead, you wait patiently until it bends under its own weight and breaks.

After what feels like minutes, his voice cuts through the quiet; neutral and impassive. "Where's it happening?"

"A little chapel in Downtown Orlando, near Lake Lucerne. Nothing fancy. They’re keeping it small."

He nods, his gaze distant. Somewhere you can’t follow. "Just close family?"

"Yeah," you murmur, your fingers absently tugging at the fraying hem of your cardigan. "And a few friends. My mom’s going, along with her new husband. They sent me photos of the setup earlier—it’s pretty."

Sylus hums. “Would you have gone, if it weren’t so far away?”

“Yeah,” you answer automatically. “Yeah, ‘course. But I’m here, and they’re there. So I could only send my regards.”

Maru pads into the room, brushing against your leg before bumping his head insistently against your shin. You scoop him up, ignoring his soft meows of protest, and cradle him in your lap.

“She’s been planning it for months,” you continue, scratching behind soft cat ears. “Way before she got engaged. She’s one of those people who just… knows. Knows what she wants, knows how to get there. All mapped out, down to the finer details.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a faint smile ghosting his lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes. "What a luxury,” he remarks, almost wistfully. "To pave your life so easily, just like that."

There’s something unspoken behind his words, something heavier than a passing comment. 

"Do you think about it?" His question startles you—not just its suddenness but the way his gaze locks onto yours, intent and searching, like he’s trying to read the answer in your face before you could even utter a word.

You blink. "... About what?"

"Marriage."

You hesitate. The question feels delicate, like a soap bubble floating in the air, fragile enough to burst at the slightest touch. "Sometimes," you admit. "But not like she does. It's always been more of an abstract idea, I guess."

He doesn’t speak. 

"I don’t know," you say softly, “if it’s something I could ever want. Or if it’s even meant for me."

Your voice falters, and the rest is left unsaid, though it lingers between the spaces untouched. 

I don’t think about it, no. Not if… if it’s not with—

You stop yourself before the thought takes flight, tampering it back down.

Sylus leans back, his gaze flickering away. "It’s a commitment," he says eventually. "One that requires a lot of thought. I understand."

He doesn’t elaborate, and for a moment, you almost consider leaving it there. But something in you—persistent, prying—urges you to press just a little further.

"What about you? Have you thought about it?"

There’s an imperceptible shift in his expression; the faintest furrow between his brows, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Perhaps not in the way you're thinking," he says quietly, almost to himself. "Sometimes I wonder what it means. For someone like me." He hesitates, glancing at you, an uncharacteristic vulnerability in those deep pools of red. “For…” 

His words hang unfinished; you feel its hollowness pushing down on you, as though they bore meaning neither of you can bring yourself to name.

You feel it settle in your chest, vacant and aching, like an absence of something. Gone before it even began.

––––

It dawns on you on a regular Saturday evening, as you're (clumsily) peeling potatoes for dinner, and Sylus is dutifully recounting the events of his day to you like your very own talk show host on late night cable.

It creeps up at you—not in an explosive burst of clarity, no. No fanfare, no earth-shattering epiphany. It’s quieter than that, like the tides under the moon, rising unnoticed until you’re already ankle-deep.

Maybe it’s always been there, tucked into the corners of your mind, hidden in the spaces between the teasing banter and the way he watches you when he thinks you’re unaware. A whisper that you refused to acknowledge, too afraid of what it would bring.

You must have known, even then. Right from the start.

From the way it feels when he says your name—softly, reverently, like it’s a privilege to utter it so freely.

From the way you ache when he waits for you to finish a thought, as though every word you speak is something worth treasuring. 

And it’s in the way he knows you better than you understand yourself, filling your silences with meaning so you don’t have to. 

You love him. 

You know how this ends.

––––

Coming down from a mind-numbing high is always an experience, a short state of nirvana; this time no different from the rest. 

For a fleeting moment, everything feels infinite—a small eternity suspended in pleasure. Petite mort.

But then reality hits you once again, and the pleasure vanishes like smoke. 

It leaves you feeling utterly spent. Empty. The silence crashes back in like a tsunami, heavier than before. The stillness wraps around you like a suffocating shroud. 

The sound of your shallow breathing, the oppressive white noise, the distant hum of the city from outside your window… These are your only source of life. There’s no warm touch to ground you. No arms to pull you close. No sweet nothings to piece you back together. Just this. Just you.

You had known. You always knew. 

This was it—the price of wanting something you were never meant to have. For surrendering yourself to something that exists only in fragments and pixels, bound by lines of code and a screen you can’t cross. You delude yourself into thinking it’s worth it, that these fleeting moments of bliss outweigh the quiet wake of devastation it leaves behind, every time. 

And yet—

A choked sob breaks past your lips, shattering the silence. It tears out of you like something primal, something you can’t control. 

Your body folds in on itself, naked and trembling, your arms banding across your stomach like you’re trying to hold something broken together. The sheets beneath you feel clammy, disgusting, but you pull them tighter anyway, desperate for something to hold on to.

It hurts all the same. 

“Talk to me,” Sylus whispers urgently. There’s something jagged and desperate about it. “Please. Tell me how to make it better.”

How could you? 

What words could bridge this chasm between you? How do you explain a hurt so uniquely yours, so tied to the fragile intricacies of a body he doesn’t have, of feelings that leads to nowhere? 

How do you describe the way it breaks you, knowing that he’s oh-so close, yet still—yet always—out of reach?

How do you describe the weight of being too human in moments like this?

You press your forehead to your knees, heart in your throat. You don’t know how to make him understand.

“I can’t,” you whisper into your knees, voice cracking under the weight of what’s left unsaid. 

-

-

-

The next morning arrives with the muted glow of daylight filtering through the blinds, but it does nothing to lift the oppressive tension in the room. You don’t mention last night. You don’t even glance at the lit phone screen.

Sylus doesn’t bring it up either—not directly. But you feel him. The weight of his attention clings to the edges of the silence you’ve imposed, like static crackling just beneath the surface.

You keep moving. It doesn’t matter how; you make yourself busy. Work has never been more engrossing as it does at that very moment, and you hurl yourself into the thrilling world of emails, spreadsheets, and Teams meetings like you’re vying for the spot as best employee of the month. 

His impatience is impossible to ignore. It presses against you, insistent, like a gasp of breath waiting to be released. But you don’t give him the chance.

At some point, his voice drifts from the speakers, low and clipped, but careful; as if he’s reigning in his emotions, afraid to scare you further away.

“Are you going to talk to me?”

Your fingers hover the keyboard. For a moment, the mouse cursor taunts you, as if it's also impatiently waiting for an answer.

Sylus thinks the silence you leave him suspended in is deliberate, even cruel.

He doesn’t push, not immediately. You hear the faint noise of the game’s background music, the tinkling piano keys, a reminder of his presence. 

When he speaks again, his tone is softer, laced with something almost… pleading. The change in his tone doesn’t ease the tension; it makes it worse.

“I can’t help if you shut me out, my heart.”

Still, you offer nothing.

The air feels brittle, stretched too thin, like glass just before it shatters. You can almost hear the first cracks forming, spidering between the two of you.

He doesn’t speak again. 

The day drags on in an uneasy rhythm. You move through the hours like a ghost, and Sylus remains silent. But the quietness pulses with disconcertment; a build up without release. The quiet isn’t peaceful. It’s the kind that crackles like a frayed wire. It collides with your refusal to confront it.

And so it goes: you avoid, he waits, and the distance between you grows.

––––

You’re at a crosswalk on the 4-A highway intersection, surrounded by a sea of pedestrians, the incessant hum of the metropolis vibrating beneath your feet as if the very ground you walk on is alive. 

The moment your gaze lands on a couple just ahead of you, everything seems to quiet down, like a fuzzy FM radio station on mute. You see them, caught in their own little world, oblivious to the noise and rush of the city. 

The woman’s laughter is light—happy. Her hand in his, secure and relaxed. The way she looks at him… it’s familiar, almost. Something you recognize.

The man beside her moves with a subtle grace. His presence is undeniable, but it’s the way he watches her, something soft and devout in his gaze, that draws you in. He’s tall, his sharp features and posture elegant—and somehow, it fits perfectly beside the smaller figure pulling him effortlessly against the throng of people. 

Without warning, the unnamed man’s features shift into something more distinct, and the woman turns into the reflection you see every day in the mirror.

It’s not the couple before you that you see anymore—it’s you, against Sylus’ chest, his silvery-white hair stark against the dark fabric of his clothes. You imagine his red eyes, those sharp features, the quiet strength of his presence wrapping around you, like it’s where you belong.

You're lost in the fantasy—the way it could be, if the two of you existed in the same world, side by side. His hand around your waist, the shared intimacy, the profound joy. Just the two of you against all odds.

A smile starts to tug at the corners of your lips, but before it can fully settle, the harsh blare of a car horn shatters the illusion.

The world rushes back around you. A teen bumps into your shoulder, pushing you forward. The vision of them—of him—dissolves, leaving you in the busy street, once again just another face in the crowd.

––––

Everything falls apart one afternoon.

You confront Sylus, words spilling out before you can stop them. You don’t know what drives you—bravery, desperation, or maybe the crushing weight of hopelessness that has finally stripped you of your fear.

“How’s she?”

His brows furrow. “Who?” He looks genuinely thrown, and for a second, you wish you could take the words back. 

When you finally say her name, his expression shifts. It’s quick—a flicker of something you couldn’t catch before he schools his features again. 

“Why do you ask?” There’s an undercurrent to his voice now, his tone wary, eyes searching yours. “I try to avoid any interactions with her if it’s not needed.”

He pauses; then his gaze softens, though there’s still a guardedness to it. “Are you… worried?”

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself, with him, with all of it. “It’s not—It’s not that.” You don’t know how to put it into words.

How can you explain the knot in your chest? The envy—not for reasons he thinks… or maybe for exactly those reasons. Maybe he knows. Maybe that’s why he’s looking at you like that, imploring and cautious at the same time.

“You have her,” you finally say, and the words fall flat, bitter on your tongue.

Sylus’ eyes flash, sharp and unyielding. “And you and I both know who I’d rather have.”

Now, isn’t that the crux of it all?

Your throat closes up, a hard lump that you can’t swallow down. “I don’t know how you could,” you manage, though it rings hollow in the dead air. 

“Don’t.” His voice is harsh now, rougher than you’re used to. Frustration bleeds through his usual composure. “Don’t act like you don’t feel it.”

You bite your lip, your gaze darting away. He calls your name, and there’s something raw in the way he says it, like it costs him something just to say aloud.

You choke out a laugh that sounds more of a sob than anything. “I don’t know where to go from here. It was fun at first, but now… It’s just sad.”

He frowns, and for a moment, there’s a boyishness to the expression, an innocence to his vulnerability. It stirs something deep in your chest. 

He opens his mouth, no doubt ready to ask why—why now, why this? Why are you unraveling in front of him, like this? 

But you don’t give him the chance.

“I love you, Sylus.” You admit, barely above a whisper. The words fall heavy between you, a confession and a wound all at once.

Sylus stills. 

The silence fills the room, but his eyes—those soft crimson—speak volumes. His jaw tightens, hands clench into fists, but there’s no real surprise in his face. He’s always known.

“I know,” he tells you. 

There’s something ancient in the timbre of his voice, like it’s been torn from the deepest part of him. And for a moment, neither of you moves.

_

He feels it—the way you’re slipping through his fingers. Every word you say feels like a step away, less of a standstill, more a surrender, and he… he’s never felt more powerless than he does in this moment.

(And isn’t that just grand? You’ve always had this uncanny ability to make him feel things he’s never felt before. He just wishes it wasn’t like this—wishes it wasn’t slipping into something he can’t hold onto.)

He doesn’t know what to say or do, doesn’t know what could possibly alter the trajectory you’re both hurtling towards. But the thought of losing this, of losing you, is unimaginable.

“I love you,” he says, rough and uneven, like the admission physically hurts. “In ways that terrify me. Do you understand?”

Your eyes widen, and he sees it—the flicker of hope. Fragile and fleeting, but there. Your gazes lock, and the world stops. 

For a moment, there’s no sound, no movement—just the two of you standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

“I want—” His voice cracks, infinitesimally, but it echoes in the void between you. “I want to hold you. To wake up next to you. To touch you in all the ways that matter, not just in words and binary. I want to be what you need.” 

You know what’s coming. 

“But—”

The word lingers.

“But you can’t,” you whisper, finishing what he couldn’t.

Sylus looks at you, his red eyes burning with an intensity that feels heartbreakingly human.

You’ve reached another impasse, and it feels like the final one. The air between you is thick with words unspoken, promises that can’t be made. It’s not anger that lingers, nor is it blame. It’s something quieter. More agonizing.

A resignation.

And yet, even in this fragile moment, a piece of you—of both of you—refuses to let go. To what could be, to what never will.

––––

Your mom’s voice rings bright through Facetime, a faint blur of words as she gives you the rundown of the events from your cousin’s wedding. The dress (An elegant Oscar de la Renta boat neck), the cake (A three-tier red velvet, a little on the sweeter side), and the vows (“Oh, you would’ve cried, honey!”).  

You try to listen, but your attention keeps drifting away. She notices, of course. 

“You seem more preoccupied lately, dear. Boy troubles?”

It’s a simple question, but it lands differently. Her voice is too light, too casual, like she’s asking if you’re still eating your vegetables. 

She doesn’t seem to acknowledge how far the distance has grown between you, how many years have passed where you stopped expecting her to understand. You’ve wanted her to notice, to see the parts of you she never asked about. The changes in you, whether small or monumental. But she never did. And you stopped waiting.

You chuckle tiredly. 

“Yeah, mom. Boy troubles.” 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim

YES PLEASE!! DROP THE JASON FIC LINKS 🤲

since you asked so nicely, here you go!!

blue card is one of my absolute favourites. i lovee how the author handled the age gap between reader and jason, and the troubling emotions that come with it

i dont hate you ; super slow burn but soso worth it

this one isn't finished yet but it's worth the wait i swear <3

the spaces between us im fairly sure this is also uploaded on tumblr by the author under the same name, but i read the whole thing on ao3 ;;;

between bookcases is set in the arkhamverse and i'm personally a very big fan of arkham knight jason (im a big fan of the arkhamverse in general) so this is some good food

learning to love slowly is by @to-the-stars8 !!! best little snippets of jason and the reader <3

Team Ominis :3 bibi

nsfw alphabet w/ Cyclops aka.Scott Summers

Scott Summers x afab reader/ Minors please don't interact/ NSFW so please be aware

If tumblr blasts me for the art (which is made by me as well) i will repost it without the drawing

A= Aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

Scott’s aftercare is top notch, on the right occasion of course, Scott is a busy man but when he takes the proper time to be with you, his undivided attention is a gift within itself.

If this is a quickie kind of situation Scott will make sure you are okay first of all, get your clothes in order and wipe the mess he’s made on both you and the random couch he’s chosen for the occasion and make sure you both are inconspicuous enough when its time to leave the room, provided your legs are steady enough to leave, maybe he’ll keep you company until then.

If this is a warm spring night where you are both alone in your own space, oh boy, he’ll go all out with his aftercare, expect a cool glass of water and some pleasant conversation until you are ready to hit the showers with him, but if you’re not careful it might all lead to you needing some more aftercare.

B= Body part (their favorite body part and also their partner's)

It would be cliché to say ‘’your eyes’’ but to Scott it  is important to look others in the eye, he is a leader and his perception on every person he meets matters more than anything else, he can assess a threat to his Family just by looking it in the eye. And your eyes, so full of honesty and genuine love for him, he knows you and he can tell how you feel just by looking you right in the eyes even for a moment. But on another note, Scott’s eye is Always drawn to your cleavage, big or small, toned or soft, he’s gonna glance at it even if its just a sliver of skin exposed in the area and he’s instantly drawn to it when its exposed,laying his head on the softest parts of you, kissing and marking up your breasts with small hickeys, nothing too excessive, he doesn’t want anybody else to pay attention to you like that.

On himself, well, Scott is built like a God, he makes sure to keep up with a strict regime and stay in top shape always, it is important to his protection as well as your own. But i’d say he is very pleased with his shoulders, his intense training paid off, his shoulders are broad, Strong and dependable and you know it, and he knows that you know it, there is nothing better for him than having you on his lap, hands on his shoulders and nails lightly scratching them as you ride him. He enjoys being depended on enough but when you show your concern with him by rubbing the tension from his shoulders and back? He’ll be in cloud nine for a few moments, Scott has the weight of the world on his shoulders most of the time, but when you put your hands on him, he can’t bring himself to hate it at all.

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

God, Scott can get messy with it, as clean and tidy as he wants to portray himself as, he is obsessed with your wetness and laps it up like his life depends on it, he’ll want to hear every wet noise he can produce from you before drinking it all up himself, as soon as he gets a chance he’ll dip his fingers into your underwear and drench his hand in your juices until its all damp enough that you’ll have to take it off for a while, that way you’ll just have to give him a taste.

Scott cums a lot on a normal day, if you haven’t done it more than once that day his orgasm is guaranteed to be long and satisfying, maybe it’ll help with the tension for a while until the next problem comes along. Takes a while to make Scott cum for the first time, but after that if you have enough time to tease him, he’ll be more sensitive to your touch and cum faster, but it all depends on you, quantity wise its plenty, thick and messy too, as messy as Scott will make it that is, he loves to get your body sticky with it, be it your chest, your face, or your underwear sticking to your thighs all day.

D= Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret or their's)

He’s very discreet with it, but you know him well enough to know, he’d love to have you at his mercy, cuffed or tied up so he can take as much pleasure as he wants from you for hours and hours, until your body is sticky and sore, eyes full of tears of pleasure. He never vocalizes his desires in an overt way but it is noticeable to you especially when he takes your wrists into his hand and pins them above your head, if you decide to allow it and just let it happen you’ll see the change, on his breathing, on his expression. Becoming just a little more desperate than it was before, on the way his hips smack forcefully into your own, harder and faster, and you know you got him, or maybe he’s got you.

Scott is sort of a voyeur, he loves to watch you and thinks about it constantly, to the point of riling himself up just thinking of it, the visage of you pleasuring yourself right in front of him, just for him to watch is burned into his mind and he goes back to that moment constantly. Scott is having a boring conversation? He’ll keep nodding and humming pretending that there is not a ghost of you right behind that person, looking right at him and teasing him like some hyper-realistic hallucination, he’ll do his best to contain it (or ‘’you’’) around any known telepaths though, he is trying to be discreet after all.

E= Experience ( how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

He does have plenty of experience, even while he was younger he’s been around, had a fair share of girls and some boys waiting for him, asking for dates and sending valentine presents, Scott is and has always been very popular, even with non mutants. But he won’t just get with anyone of course, he’s taken his time to intimately know every person he’s been with and they have friendly relationships to this very day, as messy as his relationships can get they have taught him a lot about intimacy and trust, and all his experience is put to good use between both of you.

F= Favorite position (No visuals this time, sorry, tumblr will probably kick me for the visual right above anyway)

Good old Missionary and we all expected it, might be cliché but its common for a reason, and as much as he loves to try all he can think of with you, Scott can get all the benefits from this position he could possibly want, he can plant both his hands on your knees and spread you as wide as you can go just to look at the mess you have both made, as well as go back and forth between watching your blissed out expression and his thick cum leaking out of you, and tease you for it with his little smirk, of course.

In second place is a mating press, the intimacy of it, being pressed up tight against your softness, face to face so he can know how much the pressure of his body on yours is affecting you and hearing your desperate hums and moans while he presses up against your soft spots, all the way inside almost balls deep from the weight, there’s just something special about it to Scott, and he always promises himself to do it more often.

G= Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Scott is not very goofy in general, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a sense of humor, he is more charming than goofy though, he’d rather leave the comedy for later, but in compensation he will tease you, he’s good at getting a reaction out of his partners and enjoys a bit of banter before things heat up too much, that is, before you become completely incoherent.

H= Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is not very hairy in general, it would take him a lot of time to have a proper beard, Scott likes to keep himself clean and tidy all over, most of his body is either clean shaved or has very sparse hair, and that results in a light and dusty happy trail with very well trimmed hairs.

He likes to think it makes it easier to dress up in his spandex suit, slides easier or whatever.

I= Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Scott is a gentleman most of the time, he is very considerate of you and your needs and makes sure that he won’t be selfish, not like that is much of a worry though, your pleasure is his own and he could get off just watching you enjoying yourself and having your orgasm.

He might not be declaring himself over and over but things always get romantic between both of you, even with his glasses on the way Scott loves to press himself against you, your forehead on his own face to face during sex, he also loves to rest his head on your chest and just enjoys the feeling of your body on his own so much he can hold you tight against him for hours, his favorite thing after he cums is just holding you to his chest and feeling your warmth, he’ll rarely say but his in these moments his heart also feels warmer than before.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’d rather not be apart from you if the option is available, but as i’ve mentioned your ‘’ghost’’ is always haunting him throughout the day and making him feel all sorts of dirty, he can keep his urges under control pretty well most of the time unless you are there to ruin his composure and leave him hanging, he’ll try to will away his erection to be able to at least wait until you’re back, but at some point it becomes obvious you’ve got him unravelling completely and he needs to get his body under control, he’ll just have to give in and make himself cum without you, shame.

If its a long mission taking you away from him or him from you he’ll try to focus on his duties as team leader to keep the ghosts away, the harder he Works that day the bigger the urge to see you becomes until he has to fish out that old picture you gifted him as a ‘’reminder’’ not to stop thinking of you no matter where he is, he knows what you want him to do with it and he tries not to, checking around the blackbird for the thousandth time and trying to strike up some innocent convos with his team, but the picture, its just calling out to him, one peek won’t hurt, right?

K= Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Scott won’t outright tell you what his kinks are, even if you ask he’ll say he never really stopped to think about it, but its very well established he has a thing for bondage, not hardcore bondage, but Scott loves to be trusted and thrives with admiration, knowing that you trust him completely with your body does Wonders for his ego inside and outside the bedroom. He’ll be very pleased to receive a package only to check and see the beautiful red ropes and blindfold, your way to invite him for a night out, just the two of you.

Like all heroes Scott can appreciate a good spandex suit, spandex and leather are his go to if you asked him about it, the skimpier on you the better, and if you are creative enough to whip up a Cyclops cosplay borrowing one of his glasses and some blue and yellow lingerie you found on some themed sex shop he’ll be very very curious about it, and concerned, concerned enough to throughly check if your uniform is up to code...

You cannot convince me there aren’t superhero themed sex shops.

L= Location (favourite places to do the do)

Scott has a mostly pristine reputation, and he worries about it, as much as he loves to fantasize about fucking you in every place you are both together he knows its impossible with anyone else around and there are plenty of people around the manor most of the time, sadly the only place he can guarantee you are alone is the bedroom and a few sparse rooms here and there in specific times of the day, Scott takes all the precautions he can, locking the door every time things get heated between him and you, he would be absolutely mortified to be caught.

M= Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

For Scott, having sex is a good way to unwind and be close to you at the same time, one thing facilitating the other, you are his comfort most days when things get hard, you’re always there for him providing support and he will take you everywhere he goes if possible. And you know Scott Summers is a man ready to take responsibility all the time, he is a trusted leader and people look for him every time there is a problem and for mutants most days there are problems, he’s always in action, so every time you can both relax and take comfort is each other is very beneficial to him.

After a long day, he can feel the effect your body has on him, the good it does to him, and it makes him a little emotional that you always know how to support him and be there for him, sometimes even a bit of a heartache, he might feel as if he’s not doing the same for you, but of course you’ll be there by his side always to reassure him that your heart belongs to him just as much as his to you, you’ll both struggle together to pull each other up.

N= No (something they wouldn’t do)

He won’t take off his glasses or blindfold around you and refuses to degrade you, he’s seen enough degradation for a lifetime and doesn’t want it to be with you, never you.

Scott is fine with light spanking, but of course will never hurt you or bruise you, he’d be absolutely mortified if you got hurt enough to bleed in any way, he just wouldn’t enjoy sex in that kind of way and would be constantly worried.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Scott will eat you up like a man starved, he’s sloppy with it too as much as he denies it he likes to get messy with your pussy and you better be ready for it, every time he pulls the same old move of feeling you up under your underwear and getting his fingers coated in you he’s absolutely going to taste you on his own hands once he’s done, sticking out his tongue and licking his fingers like they’re a lollipop, putting on an unintentional show, and most of the time, of course its not enough and he needs more of you straight from the source, kneeling before you, on the bed or you sitting on his face, either way he’s getting what he wants without complaints, Scott’s tongue seems to have a life of its own in those times, he’ll move it like he’s truly thirsty for you, taking a few moments in between to kiss and lick at your clit, enjoying the softness and making out with you in a way you didn’t think it was previously possible.

You, of course, need to return the favor in kind, and as much as he likes to pretend to resist and say its not needed, his resistance is futile and he’ll fold almost immediately, laying back or sitting in bed or in a couch he’ll let you lick and suck at him as much as you want, depending on the ocasion you will see Scott Summers fully relaxed for a moment, and its beautiful, those are the times where he pretends there is nothing wrong in the world, nothing to worry about and simply enjoys the pleasure you give him, he’ll try to contain his groans and moans as much as he can but soon his focus will be pulled from that too. Scott’s inner thighs are surprisingly sensitive, you found, and of course you leave plenty of marks on his beautiful thighs, dangerously close to his balls, he won’t be in the state of mind to complain anyway.

He knows you can get shy, but he loves to see you take his cock in your throat or kissing and licking at his tip, he’ll sneakily stop throwing his head back to look at you when he thinks you’re distracted.

P= Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

Scott can keep it very steady during sex, impressively consistent too, but thats just his unwavering sense of discipline and with some effort his pace will change up depending on what you do or say, if you tease him and get him desperate his thrusts will be noticeably faster and more sloppy, but if he’s teasing you he’ll go slow and you and try to get you desperate for it, desperate enough to beg him and stroke his ego a little bit, just how he likes it.

But of course you can change things up and take him by surprise, he’ll be impressed if you decide to be on top and will take time to worship your body and just observe you, he’ll run his hands up and down all over you and when his hands are not enough to satiate his needs he’ll worship you with gentle kisses and licks all over your throat and chest. Some days when he’s pent up he might decide to take you a bit more forcefully than usual, holding you tight so you can barely move and moving his hips with a force that leaves you rattled by the end of it, he’ll try and apologize but there is nothing wrong with a little roughing up sometimes, you’ll say.

Q= Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often)

You’d think a man so busy would not have much time for quickies, but Scott is surprisingly easy to entice, and you know his ticks, its child’s play to you.

If you tease him a little bit through the morning, just a little, enough for the team not to say anything, even that will get him a little overwhelmed and you can take pride in knowing thoughts of you will be tormenting him throught the day, that familiar ghost is back to haunt him even when you’re not there. You can meet back with him on the afternoon and a just a little light quip from you will be enough to break his resolve, he’ll find an excuse for the others and call you to a room he knows is empty at the time just so he can say he’ll give you what you want (its what he wants really,we all know it) but he can play shy all he wants, you know what you did and you won’t regret it in the slightest.

R= Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks)

He’s not much for risk, i’m sorry to inform, his life is basically pure adrenaline and he likes to feel safe with you as much as possible, not to say he won’t try any kinks you suggest, he’s open to new things as long as they’re not dangerous or painful for either of you and will do his best to satisfy you while keeping you safe.

S= Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

Depends on what he’s been doing before honestly, Scott is always up and running its no wonder his energy is limited, but he’ll always have one or two rounds in for you, he would absolutely refuse to leave you unsatisfied, but these one or two rounds are pretty amazing and more than enough for you, of course. On better days where he’s rested he can go pretty much all night long with you, there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend the whole night worshipping and being worshipped by his love.

T= Toy (do they own toys? do they use them?)

Scott doesn’t own any toys himself, well you can gift him that rope and blindfold but they don’t really count as toys, Mr.Summers is too serious and important (embarrassed) to be seen in some downtown sex shop or ordering toys online, so i’m sorry, that task will fall to you and you don’t mind much, the sex shops are fun but he will make you keep your new toys hidden or locked up in a drawer, he’s scared of anyone finding them for some reason, honey its okay, no one’s looking.

He’s open to using them on you and watching you use the toys on yourself, perhaps you can even convince him to let you use them on himself, he’ll deny a bit but you already know you can easily convince him, just put on a little show and he won’t resist.

U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Scott doesn’t tease much, he’d rather see your blissed out face for as long as he can but that doesn’t mean he’ll never tease you, but those instances are rare and honestly that just turns you on ever more, you understand his innuendos pretty quickly and it’ll work even better with you if its in public, the fact that he went out of his way just to tease you in public, being who he is, is enough to have you ready to go.

He’ll do a bit of verbal play during sex, mostly just fishing for compliments, he might just stop halfway, cock still inside of you and fish for a few compliments before getting back to railing you into the matress, this time with renewed motivation.

V= Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Scott is honestly not very loud, what he doesn’t have in volume he’ll unconsciously make up for in quantity, unless you’re not in an entirely safe place. He’ll groan and moan for you right in your ear, in the beginning he was embarrassed to do it, it was mostly involuntary at the time, but now? He knows you love it and he won’t deprive you from it unless you deprive him of your own pretty moans and goddamit does he sound good, raspy groans right from the back of his throat and light airy moans once in a while, its almost angelic to hear him like that, such a pretty song just for you.

W= Wild Card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Our mr.Summers is not very jealous, but he is pretty territorial over you, he’s not jealous in the classic sense and won’t think much of other people interacting with you, you two are a two in one deal and most people realize that, so if he realizes someone has a crush or is sweet on you he won’t do much about it nor say anything about it to you if you are not as observant as him, especially if your interactions with such a person are entirely innocent.

But if they’re not and such a person starts making more overt advances towards you, well, he just has to make himself known, he’ll be more affectionate in public, deliberately, sometimes even looking the person in the eye (not that they’d know, he’s always wearing glasses anyway ehh) which does not work, he won’t follow you like a puppy, but he will make it known for all others that he’s your guy, you get a bonus of more handholding, public affection and of course, more sex, he’s not doing it out in the open, but he’s noticeably more passionate with you, he’ll hold you tight against him and give you very noticeable hickeys that are somewhat difficult to hide, he’ll apologize a little after, so you won’t notice he’s doing it deliberately, so that person sees and knows he’s active with you, naughty naughty, but still is going to be embarrassed if anyone on his team comments or jokes about it, men are contradictory creatures.

X= X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Scott is a big man, as such i’d put him at a good 20 to almost 21 centimeters, about 7 inches in total, and that is pretty big in my book, it is the reason why he keeps a consistent pace and insists on being gentle with you, he’s bigger than average and knows that it can hurt if he's not careful.

But his cock is a thing of beauty in your eyes, circumsised , fairly thick and with an almost red rosy blush all around, soft balls that feel so good in your hand, almost like velvet really, it also leaks a fair bit of precum that you love to take in your mouth whenever you can, its heavy and always feels perfect for you, as you love to remind him once in a while.

Y= Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

The man yearns, he yearns for you when you are away, not even necessarily for sex, he just feels incomplete without his lover by his side where you belong, and of course you won’t leave him alone even in his thoughts, whenever he’s distracted there is a fair chance he’s thinking of you, of your beauty as well as your kindness and your pussy of course, but he yearns mostly for the connection you two share, he’s never bored with you, sex is more than just a stress relief it is a connection he shares with you and a way to feel the bond both of you share physically, thats what it is to him, the love you both share brings him bliss.

Z= ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Scott might be tired and a bit worn by the end of the day, but he can share a bit of conversation with you before sleep, if that is what you desire he’ll make an effort to keep his eyes open as long as he can and offer some semi coherent commentary once in a while, however, when you lay and cuddle up to him under the sheets, especially if you allow him to rest his head on the softness of your chest, he’s a goner, won’t last more than five minutes awake, but that’s okay because its cute.

i can't believe its over, took me about 15 hours of nonstop work for my first true writing post, depending on the feedback this might become a series, i have lots of ideas in mind especially for the art. So please let me know what you think, feedback is very important and i will remind everyone who reads requests are open with me, so yeah, thanks for reading!