seventy-two pacts
have some sol thirst (i would go feral if this were me)
content + warnings: suggestive, solomon x reader, solomon has visible pact marks and reader does too
word count: 462
"damn."
the word comes out quickly, before you can even think. you cover your mouth in embarrassment-- justified, considering you couldn't keep your reaction in-- but you can't peel your eyes away.
solomon's peeling off his shirt. in the midst of joking around and pouring some for you two to enjoy, he'd knocked the rim of one of the glasses against the bottle, spilling it all down the front of his shirt. so, to avoid soaking himself further, he immediately began to take the long sleeved garment off.
then you said it, and now he's frozen, shirt halfway off.
can you blame yourself, though? you've seen your fair share of shirtless men, as is expected when living in the chaos of the house of lamentation. but they're all smooth-skinned and flawless. some of them have a couple of scars here and there from the great celestial war. their muscles were obviously impressive in their own right. but they all missed something that solomon had-- something you're just now seeing for the first time.
swirling black lines run across his pale skin, curling around muscles, decorating the smooth planes of skin in intricate designs. from across the table, you can make out little latin characters. pact marks. a lot of them. the ornate symbols decorate the exposed part of his lower abdomen, luring you in with strange words and beautiful lines before disappearing beneath his beltline. do they-- do they follow his v-line? holy shit, you're about to start drooling--
"haha, mc, my eyes are up here!"
his charming, light laugh catches your attention. his eyes are sparkling with mirth, lips curled into a cheshire grin as he removes the rest of his shirt and bunches it in his hand.
the pact marks dance up across his broad shoulders and down his arms. they're gorgeous, arcane and mystical as they sprawl down his biceps and spill onto his forearms. you've seen his sleeves rolled up before, so you knew he had a few pact marks, but-- 72 pacts never looked so damn good.
the seven pact marks on your skin had always been a point of your own fascination. but seeing the sigils on solomon's skin made you wonder if you'd ever be covered the same way.
"i need a new shirt," he declares, smirking at you. he take a couple steps towards his room, then stops when he sees you still at the table. "c'mon."
"huh?" you feel like you've missed something.
"you think you've seen all of my pact marks? no, my dear apprentice, i have plenty more where that came from. and since you're so curious, i figured i might as well show you."
you scurry up from your spot and follow him like the obedient little apprentice you are.
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If I wasn't terrified of needles, and also lived around Ireland and the UK, I'd be trying to win this
But alas, needle phobia. Tattoos freak me out too, so. Nope. Hopefully someone else gets this.
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Hello everyone, i hardly get on here and it’s because of my job.
My job is a job but isnt very helpful when it comes to money-
So if you know me you know that i write alot, i write scary little stories,some fanfics and now im turning to shopify to open my own shop-
Called enochian paradise.
I do letters from fictional characters, i have my unleaked cosplay photos that are crackhead energy for sale. I also have my random drawings i do- but they would be customized to however fits the person whos buying. I’m still figuring it out but i would love to write, and make everyone happy because like i said my job is pushing my limits and bills are getting hard.
It’s inspired by my love of the book of enoch and paradise lost. Please feel free to make donations and just buy
I will be making some of my fictional characters writing spicy please just tell me and i won’t.
Like i said it is a work in progress so please forgive me
Everything is sent via email
My website is
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The tap is one, two, three and a slow breath. Inhale, exhale. Always on the left side of the chest and particularly before long and tedious meetings or when they have to take difficult decisions. Warlock knows, and worked with, Cyclone since '98 and whatever he's hiding under his polished uniform is important but not dangerous. So he let it go.
Until they're in the shower and the black and white ink is visible and now Cyclone's fingers are delicate, almost reverent, while he traces the shapes of the flowers. Until Warlock doesn't see the flowers in his friend's hand during the memorial for the first anniversary of Admiral Kazansky's death. Until he doesn't see the same flowers on his tomb when he's around to say visit some if his long lost friends. Until, until, until.
Until Cyclone doesn't say not all of us have the privilege to grieve like you do to Maverick and the man laughs in his face that man was the love of my life, I'm sorry if you think lilies and chrysanthemums will solve something or finally give you the illusion he love you back.
Until Mitchell doesn't leave the room and it's just the two of them. Tough crowd, eh? he tries to jock. Cyclone laughs without meaning it and yeah, tough crowd Sol'.
a little something for @mcu-and-buckybarnes-things bc you needing more ice x cyclone content means I can write all the angst I want and it's the perfect compromise.
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