hallowing: (Default)
ᴄʏʀᴀᴍ ﹙🇴​ɥɔɐʎʌ ᴉɔ ǝ🇱​ɥ🇳​ɐ﹚ ([personal profile] hallowing) wrote2024-01-04 07:28 am
Entry tags:

ic inbox;

@torontonian
TEXT

AUDIO

VIDEO

ACTION

chokuto: (pic#16979481)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-14 09:55 pm (UTC)(link)
[He bears Cy's weight on top of him, crushed down against the bed in a way that only further attracts his awareness to the soreness of his breasts, bent hips and planted knees all that keeps the pressure off of the heavy swell of his pregnant belly. He half-hears Cy through the pounding of his own heart, but the instruction clears some of the fog in his head, chin already tilted to accept the glass against his lips even as the tether of his hair disallows any other motion.

And he drinks. Knowing Cy's intention, knowing the discomfort it will soon bring in this position, in this physical state — his throat works around every thirsty swallow, not cleanly, breath quick and panted through his nose. Although he tries to catch every drop without splattering the bedsheets, he is beholden to Cy's balance, to the hand holding the cup and the other in his hair.

Soon it is drained empty. Yet as he gasps for air, the glass refills itself — cool and clear and shining in the candlelights of the room, feeding into this fantasy of too much.]


No more.

[A plea even as he hopes Cy denies him.]
chokuto: (pic#16979480)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-14 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[The threat is like a sting of static on his skin, invigorating, potent in his blood. He is aware of Cy's cock tucked hard against his skin with the denial of its presence inside of him, carving out that space created just for this man, in this body — but the affirmation of Cy's arousal only deepens his own.

He swallows, this time more slowly, past the need of thirst and now in a state where the discomfort has begun to set in. His mouth is sloppy on the rim of the glass, water leaking in fine rivulets down his chin where his head is forced upright by the hand in his hair. He feels his abdomen clench with a new and different strain, intensified by their positions.

But it's not enough. He wants to feel it like a blade's edge against his throat — and the glass refills again, telling Cy that he can do this. One more time.]


Please, I can't. I'm so full. [The torment strains in his voice, wet and thick and raspy, on the verge of a sob.] Don't — don't make me drink anymore.
chokuto: (pic#16979478)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-14 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[It knocks the breath out of him less with force than surprise, turned onto his back and exposed, mouth half-parted around a startled little sound that breaks into a whimper as that chain is tugged on. His nipples hurt from the abuse by now, red and puffy, welts and bruises standing out on the pale skin of his breasts.]

I—I can't do it.

[The words are soft, mouth wet and messy, eyes shining with tears. A look of soft subservience targeted upward at Cy as if to demand make me.]
Edited 2024-09-14 22:55 (UTC)
chokuto: (pic#16979481)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-14 11:30 pm (UTC)(link)
[The gag is forced into place, its shape familiar by now as it clicks against his teeth, holding his mouth in that perfect, compliant 'o' — unable to close his jaw, to prevent his throat from being accessed and used by this man's will. He makes a low, keening sound that is loud in his ears, tongue made to flatten at the bottom of his mouth when those fingers tuck in on top of it. He tastes the salt of Cy's skin on those knuckles; he can't even suck at them like this if he wanted to. The defenseless is exhilarating, all the more intensified by those words.

His obedience is demanded. He tries to maintain that upward gaze even through the wet glaze of tears in his eyes, and he drinks, because he has to, otherwise he'll drown as that water is tipped and poured in a ceaseless stream down his throat. He can't even cry unless he wants to choke, so he just swallows as fast as he can get the liquid down, throat working, straining to finish.

The fullness is — explicitly overwhelming, after that. It's so much worse with the weight of his swollen belly, although there is some alleviation on his back, but still he endures the throb of his bladder, the painful clench of muscle to withhold that desperate feeling. Once the glass is empty, this time it remains that way, and his sobbing is open-mouthed in sucks of air that care little for how messy and ruined it makes him look beneath Cy.]
chokuto: (pic#16979478)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-15 03:39 am (UTC)(link)
[The chain pulls taut, wrapped over the head of Cy’s dick in a mirror of one of their earliest acts as if to pay tribute to how far they’ve come in this loving expression of cruelty and surrender. It pulls at tight, sore nipples, coaxing another sob loose, sharp pain answering the slightest tug of movement. He’s breathless from it — winded by the sharp jolt of pain and by how ruthlessly Cy keeps the chain in place, allowing no relief.

It may be a punishment, but even in the bed of that torment he suffers, it feels like a reward — Cy’s cock put so deeply into his mouth that it seals off the back of his throat, denying crucial airflow. His hand scrambles on the bed, rising up to clasp itself over Cy’s wrist. There’s no intent behind it, no strength, just a desperate grasp as he’s forced to take what he’s given. His voice is a low, gagged vibration around the length of the man’s dick, glossy tears dripping from the corners of his eyes.]
chokuto: (pic#15621042)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-15 09:11 pm (UTC)(link)
[By now, from within the context of the illusion, he feels — messy everywhere. A wreck from head to toe: face blotchy and tear-stained, eyes glassy and bloodshot, hair a damp tangle, bruises covering his skin in an array of every place Cy's dominance has visited. It's certainly not the most presentable he has ever looked, and although the answer should be clear, it doesn't matter. He's hearing something important without being on a battlefield, exhausted and battered for a reason different than defeat or victory against an opponent.

As soon as Cy has settled down between his legs, he surges to sit up, though the change requires his hand on the bed for support. He wants to be as close as possible in that embrace — he wants to kiss Cy so desperately it hurts. He's still panting from the denial of air, and his stomach aches from fullness, but right now all he can think, see, hear is in front of him.]


Yes. Of course. I believe you. [No, he won't stop crying in this genjutsu.] I'll marry you. You're everything to me — my home, my entire world.

[kiss him right now or he might actually die???]
chokuto: (pic#16979485)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-15 10:44 pm (UTC)(link)
[His thoughts fade in the kiss, weak and warm and drowning in the feeling of that love, and when it ends almost deliriously he wants another — but Cy withdraws, bumping their foreheads, pulling away. A soft sound of protest chases the man, but he's obedient as he rolls back over into the previous position.

It's worse than the first time. That pressure against his bladder is doubled, imaginary or not, as true to physics and anatomy as he wants within genjutsu — he gasps at first from the strain and ache low in his belly. With his arm bent against the bed, he tucks his cheek to turn and look, desperate to see how far away Cy is. What is he going to get, and when will he return?]
chokuto: (pic#16979477)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-15 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[There's a first curiosity at the pair of items before understanding dawns. Sasuke's heart kicks a little quicker, pulse high in his throat — the alarm is an instinctive, defensive response that is reasoned out both by the control he has over this dimension as well as his trust in Cy. It is not the first time he has been blindfolded. Yet those occasions have never been good or enjoyable, never more than what was necessary by choice or forced upon him.

There's no struggle against the belt as it's looped on his left side to support that shoulder, its purpose clear. He hadn't even considered giving himself the other arm until this moment, a realization that sits heavy in his mind before being set aside. He's more focused on Cy's words of warning, craning to look back at the man. The hesitation is brief, reflexive — he would do far more than this for Cy. Eyes slide shut; his awareness of the room they're in doesn't dim, not when his Sharingan is what has sculpted this illusion, but the gesture is there. And he can turn off the part of himself that sees as he would in reality.]


... I'm ready.
chokuto: (pic#16979481)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-16 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
[A thrill goes through him at the cinch of silk around his throat, even momentarily, body electric with the arousal Cy coaxes out of him with every movement. He can't tell where his attraction to this man begins and ends — all of him is attentive, mouth parting to the silk pushed inside of it, tongue wetting it. He licks at Cy's knuckles, and though speech is difficult he attempts a small, garbled little no, shaking his head gently to not dislodge those fingers.

If he had to guess, it would be for restriction alone. Blindfolds have only ever been used to make him weaker, vulnerable, easier to control or subjugate.]
Edited 2024-09-16 01:32 (UTC)
chokuto: (pic#16979483)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-16 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
[Cy hasn't gone to put the blindfold over him yet, so he remains in that transitory moment, waiting with his eyes closed, at any moment able to open them and say stop. "Hades." It is the closest Sasuke has felt himself come to that safeword, that guaranteed exit, in a while between them — and genjutsu provides another layer of security on top of the foundation of their trust.

So he listens instead of allowing fear to take him out, a certain skittishness toward this act managed by the gentle, careful way Cy introduces the experience. His muscles are tense, and he almost jolts away from Cy's warm palm when it caresses his breast, but soon that tension builds into a pleasant shiver that spreads all across his chest. Nerves feel fire-lit, hot — this time he does struggle when that hand applies greater pressure to his lower belly, massaging the soft skin and bringing sharp awareness to the urgent need he's denied. He hears himself make a quiet sound, a whimper that sounds almost wounded on Cy's knuckles before his mouth is relieved and free again. A tongue licks after the stroke across his lower lip, kittenish.]


Yes. [But he needs to say more.] ... I'm afraid of it, but not because I believe it will be a bad experience. I know I'm not less in control.

[Now he just pushes his cheek into Cy's hand, rubbing against the damp silk affectionately.]

I trust you, and I want to try.
Edited 2024-09-16 02:06 (UTC)
chokuto: (pic#15106074)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-16 02:28 am (UTC)(link)
[The world goes dark, or darker — he feels when the tie is fixed in place behind his head, but he waits a moment longer before opening his eyes to the obfuscation of sight. Staving off that initial spike of adrenaline is Cy's weight on his back, the hand set over his chest where his heart beats fast like bird wings, his body enveloped in warmth.

Meditative instruction calms him further. He obeys Cy without thinking, taking air into his lungs on a deep inhale and then releasing it on an exhale. He skin tingles; he can feel his mind tripping over the emptiness of that lost sense, trying to strain to hear his surroundings, muscles locked in a rigid defense — but breathing helps. Slowly, a little more, he relaxes.]


It surprised me, but it's not that bad. [He can get it off in an instant if he needs his eyes. And Cy is with him. Cy has him.] ... You can keep going.
chokuto: (pic#16979475)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-09-16 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
[The narration keeps him grounded, moment to moment, fear of vulnerability lost to that shower of praise soon webbing him back into deep, aching lust. He can hear where Cy is by the sound of his voice, and the touch of hands over his body tells him the rest. The combined sensation is almost overwhelming — sensitivity kicked to a heightened degree like his mind can't decide what to track first. His attention follows the path of those fingers down the slope of a hip and over the curve of his ass, and when they find his messy cunt — still desperately wet with his own arousal, a flood he can't seem to stop even after numerous orgasms — there's another physical jolt of hips as he gasps.

It feels intense. It isn't like he couldn't tell where Cy's touch was headed, but the anticipation is exaggerated, sharpened under a lens of focus. There's the renewed recognition of his swollen belly spoken in Cy's voice, that he's holding life between them — and then the slick sounds of Cy's tongue. He doesn't have to see to know what the man is doing.

Then those instructions, which he abides, perhaps a little too hastily as his hips surge back and Cy's cock slides into his pussy as deep as he can get it, forced to crush his bent knees beneath his own weight. It's not something he would have done with anyone else. This — obscene, lurid display that feels almost more vulnerable than when he's facing Cy, almost filthier than anything they've done yet, because it means he's doing it all himself. He fucks himself back onto Cy's cock with an urgent need, the slap of skin in that collision too loud in his ears, making his skin burn with embarrassment and hot, vivid hunger. The jagged edge of his breath becomes audible — he can't maintain an even rhythm for long, as hips falter and one knee slips, but he keeps trying. Trying to be good enough to deserve that praise.

Perhaps because he can't see himself but he knows Cy's eyes are on him, it allows the leniency to just let go. There's no shame in the drive of his body as he bears onto Cy's cock, voice a little louder, moans broken into high breathless sounds.]
wincon: (13)

[personal profile] wincon 2024-09-18 07:06 am (UTC)(link)
[ There are options, here. Only some. Ropes aren't so popular in his world now: they're too easy to break, to corrode, to burn, to cut, and the odds aren't insignificant that a hostage could be capable of doing at least one. Anyone who could afford it—villain and hero alike—would prefer the sturdy, high-tech cuffs that would even cancel out the Quirk of anyone restrained in them. Still, All For One had seen to his thorough education; who knew when he might be without funds, without resources, slumming it in some abandoned construction site?

He goes for a simpler option, one that doesn't involve any furniture. Manipulating the rope is more of a struggle than it used to be, less the three fingers on his left hand and yet retaining his habit of not touching anything with all digits on his right. The concentration needed makes him frown, though the rope gradually shapes into a loose pair of handcuffs to be slipped over Cyram's wrists. Then, some tugging and shuffling with the knot tightens the loops until he eliminates the slack in the rope, and a stopper knot—another slight struggle—locks it all into place.

Finally, he takes the remaining trailing ends of the rope and gives them a sharp tug. Whether Cyram pitches forward or not, it's his signal that he's finished. ]