hope y’all don’t mind some boobs, I just don’t feel like only bc it’s a naked female it should exclusively belong to my nsfw sideblog so, here have a quickie of Syl in his female polymorph form he very much loves to use because hell yeah if magic allowed me to do that i’d abuse it all the time
Nothing could possibly soothe the desperate longing of wanting to see them, to feel them, to be by their side, and each time the sun sets Finn finds his way into warm arms.
Whenever they’re together a slow, dull ache settles in the pit of his stomach at the realization that they will not be with him forever.
So he savors it, savors them, because human life is short and cruel, and if he can love them even for the shortest time then he’ll do it right.
Finn is cold but they are warm, and theendless touching sates him, the heat, the stuttered groans, the careful arch of their spines as they move as one.
Damn everything else, because this is all he wants to do for the rest of his endless life.
A torrent of desire echoes in his mind, two voices sighing his name, lips wet and eager against his skin. Toes that curl and fingers that fist crumpled sheets, and Finn commits it all to memory.
He counts the freckles that sweep across Ezra’s nose, the dusting that trails over his shoulders and the tops of strong arms, and russet skin glows softly in the flickering candlelight. He’ll never get over the green of his eyes, the way they rival the shine of even the brightest emerald, and sometimes Finn could swear he holds the galaxy in that gaze when he looks at him.
The Hunter is just as beautiful, an abundance of silvering scars a map upon soft skin that Finn traces with tongue and teeth, and nobody could ever quench his thirst quite like they can. Their blood is an elixir, the sweetest nectar he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting as fangs find supple flesh.
His lovers drive him to madness, an unbidden, aching desire that nothing else could ever rival. To hold, to kiss, to fuck, to love, a raw and desperate need that sings inside him and tells him to never let them go.
So he holds them tighter, loves them harder, and he asks the universe to capture this moment and every one that comes after so that he may never forget them.
Dark ombré
hair spills over their pillow, stray strands curling at their forehead and sleep-flushed cheeks. A long leg has escaped the tangle of the sheets, their nightshirt rising high and revealing smooth, pale skin, and August is beautiful.
They look peaceful, their eyelids flickering, and the Hunter wonders what they might be dreaming about. There’s a stark difference between the August that wanders the waking world and this one, and they seem weightless, peaceful, a distinct lack of an accusatory curled lip or eyes that roll.
The Hunter sighs, content to watch them, the steady and slow rise and fall of their chest, and they can’t resist reaching out to brush one of those snarled wisps of hair from their face.
A nose twitch, then a smile, and with great effort August opens their eyes.
“You caught me,” the Hunter smirks, watching as August rolls and raises their arms high above their head with a contented sigh as their bones click back into their rightful place.
“I caught you. Were you enjoying the show?”
They tilt their chin, and the Hunter knows that cue, leaning in to press their mouths together in a kiss that tastes like last nights wine, sweet, tart, delicious. August pulls his bottom lip between their teeth, drawing the limb that had escaped the confines of the bedsheet up around his waist.
Without thinking, the Hunter’s fingers are finding the buttons of their shirt, undoing them one by one until soft cotton falls open, a delicious and tempting warmth radiating off them.
He smiles against August’s lips as their hips hitch against his own, thinking about how these lazy mornings always turn into something urgent, explorative.
They can’t help it. This thing between them is too new, and they still have too many things about each other to discover, freckles and curves to memorize.
This is obviously very late for Sylvian’s birthday, but never mind 😂
Breathless, August rolled onto their side, hands already
reaching for him across the damp sheets, trembling fingers brushing over sweat-slicked
skin. The need to touch him was constant, an ache that had no relief other than
the feeling of his skin under their palm, of his fingers in their hair, his body
curled around theirs.
Sylvian smiled as August snuggled into the crook of his neck,
his chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal, but bloody Hunter
stamina meant he wasn’t as tired as August. It just wasn’t fair. His arm curled
around the back of their shoulders, hugging them close, idly caressing their hair.
‘Are you all right?’ He murmured, and August snorted.
‘That is a stupid question.’
His laugh brought a foolish grin to their face, warmth
blooming in their cheeks. It was in quiet moments like these that they felt the
safest, the most secure. When it was just the two of them, limbs tangled
together, each enjoying the feeling of the other in their arms. It had gotten
to a point where they could hardly remember a life without this.
August needed him,
needed him like they needed air, wanting him to always remain close, to fall
into his arms when they were tired, to hear him say “I am yours” and mean it, really mean it. A promise that was
true and sincere, because Sylvian didn’t tell lies.
‘What are you thinking about?’ He asked, the tip of his nose
running along their jaw, his breath sifting through their hair at their temple,
making them shiver.
‘You.’
‘Oh?’ His lips brushed against the pulse dancing in their
throat. ‘Good things, I hope.’
‘Hm, maybe.’
He huffed a laugh, a firm hand cupping their face, tilting
their chin up, and August sighed contentedly against his mouth. Their lips eagerly
parted for him, but he kept the kiss slow, tongue meeting theirs in little touches,
his fingers winding up into long, ombre locks, creating ripples in the dark
waves.
August’s little noise of protest when he pulled away made
him grin, his mouth maddeningly close but not on theirs. There was a steady
heat beginning to pool in their abdomen, and they traced the hard muscles of
his chest and stomach, trailing lower, lower,
brushing over the coarse hair between his legs…
‘I was thinking that it’s still technically your birthday,’
they purred, a hand pandering at the crux of his thighs, enjoying the way his
eyes lidded, pleased by the feeling of him growing heavy in their palm. ‘Would
you like me to take the boots off now, or keep them on?’
‘That,’ he growled, rolling on top of them,
mouth pressing damp kisses to their neck as he reached down to hook their legs
over his hips. ‘Is a stupid question.’
The Demon is like heaven and hell all wrapped up in an impossibly attractive package. The sweetest of smiles, but those wide eyes have a certain glimmer to them, a flicker of mischief that sends sparks skittering across the Hunter’s skin.
Strong thighs straddle his waist, and Omen moves above him, an eager bounce that knocks the breath from his lungs every time he rises and falls.
His tail curls around the Hunter’s wrist, reels him in, and he wants to be touched.
The Hunter drags a splayed palm from collarbone to navel, feeling the impossible heat of him as his fingers glide over muscle that shifts under pale skin.
Omen is unassuming when in clothes, lithe, but when stripped bare he’s powerful to the point where it almost scares the Hunter, makes him want to know more about where he’s from, who he really is.
He feels the air in the room thicken, his breath coming in harsh pants as Omen rides him harder, faster, his tail moving to brush over his ribs, it’s pointed tip sharper than he remembers.
Omen pushes blackened fingertips into his own long, silky hair, the sight of him a privilege, something rare and beautiful.
Hot, hot, hot, and the Hunter watches as heat hums beneath Omen’s skin, a copper glow, otherworldly and, again, terrifying.
Omen’s palms meet the Hunter’s chest with a loud slap as he arches his back, falling forward until their foreheads are pressed tightly together.
There’s a smile on his lips, a sinful smirk that tells the Hunter all he needs to know, but he says it anyway. “I’m close. So close.”
He nods, the maddening feel of Omen this close, this tight, slick, and hot around him, and he fears he may really be melting. “With me,” he rasps, sweat beading at his brow, collecting in the dip of his clavicles, at the backs of his thighs.
Omen makes a quiet noise, a pleased hum, and the Hunter grabs the firm curve of his backside and keeps him steady as he pounds out his final thrusts, sparks bursting behind his eyelids as he comes with a ragged cry.
Omen eagerly swallows the noise with a kiss, a kiss that burns as warmth spills over his stomach between them.