#beastly brute

[lily-bisque]

how to seduce a neanderthal for dummies: sukuna edition -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

✦ ── synopsis: new school, new people, new you. or at least you thought. with the emergence of a pink-haired brute and jerk riling up your old habits, how could you not try to put him in his place?

✦ ── contents: 5.3k words, porn with too much plot, bullying, incredibly devious choso/reader dynamics, oaf and pathetic sukuna, explicit smut, dom/sub undertones, bdsm, really degrading language, orgasm control, dry humping, basically love and leashes with a bullying sub-plot. this is pretty filthy.

✦ ── a/n: thank you so so SO much to everyone who has supported me thus far. i can not believe i've managed to meet so many sweet and supportive people here and share my newfound love for writing with you guys :] i rly do hope you guys enjoy this work i'm delivering as my 1k followers special that was a request from the lovely @sstrawbaekie, she's got some amazing fic ideas!

day one. it was day one and you could already feel your eye twitching.

you’d stepped into the classroom, dragging your feet at yet another new private university, somehow smaller than the last.

you had garnered quite the academic reputation—getting into far too many fights for reasons you could only describe with a phrase as “justice is the constant and perpetual will to allot to every man his due.”

…or in simpler terms, you hated bullies.

you couldn’t stand the instinctive feeling that nearly had you gagging whenever you’d see some frail boy shoved into a locker at the hands of some brute, or a trio of popular girls tugging the braids of some newbie nerd who kept apologizing for her hiccups induced from fear.

without fail, a deep scowl etched tight lines across your face as you watched some cliché scenario unfold. and without fail, you stepped in.

you weren’t really one for words, asking the culprit you caught red handed to stop, or else. and they always chose the harder option, making you scoff at their lack of preservation before you swiped their jaw in one quick move.

were you really the villain here?

so what if you fought violence with violence? you couldn’t help the rage that burned like an untamed blaze in your gut, the one thing to douse it being swift and timely justice.

however, you were definitely on your last straw now. your father’s anger was only snowballing with each meeting with the dean ending in expulsion despite him paying a hefty sum for them to even take in a student with such a track record—dragging you home by the ear this last time and swearing that you were on your own now.

like, who’s parents were this involved in their post-secondary education?

but, of course, on your very first day, the first thing that you witness?

injustice.

“over there, you moron.”

you plopped down into your seat, dragging your hands over your face as you rested a cheek against your palm, bleakly focusing your gaze on the other side of the classroom.

there was a beastly pink-haired man, arms crossed over his chest and a leg propped pridefully against his chair, pointing at something on the floor.

beside him, a weary looking brown-haired boy with a dark stripe across his face, actively sweating as he crawled across the floor.

you glanced around the classroom, seeing how everyone was occupied with their friends or their phones.

as if this was the kind of thing they’d witness every other day.

“i-i don’t see what you’re talking about, sukuna,” he breathed out, squinting his eyes as his palms slapped the tile floors.

you adjusted your stiff button-up, now somewhat distracted with the atrocious uniform this school provided. why on earth was your skirt above your knees?

“oi, i found it,” the guy you assume is sukuna declared.

the raven-haired boy glanced behind his shoulder, only to be met with a pencil flying straight at his face.

sukuna barked a laugh, tossing his head back and clutching his chest, thrumming with howls. 

choso flinched, falling on an elbow without any sort of grace and cringing. 

you itched the crease permanently marked into your forehead from the display.

standing up, you paced over to the other side of the classroom, palm outstretched as you peered down at your new classmate, doing your best to conceal your pity. “you alright?”

you could feel the conversation in the classroom stall, everyone previously preoccupied with something menial dialing their full attention in on you.

still on his hands and knees, the boy glanced around as if you were talking to someone else, before peering up at you. “uh, yeah. i’m fine,” he squeaked out, doing his best to ignore the brute bristling behind him.

he took your hand in his and you could feel his nerves through his clammy hand and racing pulse. “you know you don’t have to lie, right? i’m not blind.”

he reluctantly dusted his thighs off, peering back at his bully before looking at you. his classmates began to murmur things, making his skin litter with even more goosebumps. “i-i’m not lying…” he trailed off, trying to keep his voice low.

you quirked a brow. “so i’m a liar now?”

his eyebrows shot up, nearly touching his hairline. you could see the fear that wracked him as he waved his arms, bending his knees slightly as if he was pleading to you. “no! no! i never meant to call you a liar.”

you grinned, placing a hand on your hip. “okay, then.”

you brushed past him, slapping a hand on his shoulder at encouragement that he shuddered at, before making your way towards the man who already managed to ruin your first day, and probably your last. “hey. what’s your name?”

he adjusted in his seat, giving you a quick once-over and assessing you with as much care you’d give roadkill. “what’s it to you?”

ah. the million dollar question. 

“i don’t know. think i’m just curious about the name of the guy so bored and with a brain so small, he has to entertain himself by picking on the weak.”

the immediate reaction, stifled chuckles and whispers, had sukuna clenching his jaw. his expression faltered, the smug smirk on his face now defensive. “think you’re funny?”

“yeah. i do.”

he stood from his seat, towering over you with his formidable height, but it didn’t deter you one bit. “what about now?”

you took a second to think about it, rubbing a hand against your jaw, before you took a step closer, chest nearly brushing against his midsection. “you’re about as scary as the size of your dick. which i can assume is even smaller than whatever you’ve got up there,” you emphasized your last word with a push of your finger to his forehead.

the classroom erupted in laughter, students keeling over as they watched the apex predator here get knocked down multiple pegs.

his head spun on a swivel, forehead burning with where you just touched him, and the tinge of red on the crown of his ears didn’t go unnoticed. he bore his gaze back on you, crimson eyes sparkling with a fury so red, it managed to even excite you.

but before he could get even a word out, the professor walked in, tapping her cane against the ground and asking the class to settle down.

you gracefully bowed to sukuna, pretending to tip an imaginary hat. “good day, kind sir.”

he clenched his fist, slamming it against a near table that caught the attention of everyone. 

the professor looked surprised, and somewhat startled by the action—as if they’d been waiting for the moment he’d finally had an outburst. “sukuna…” she started.

the man in question grunted, brushing past you and storming out of the classroom.

the brown-haired eyes gaped as he watched the scene unfold, as if he’d just been flashed by a homeless man, the kind of thing you’d only witness once in your life.

you had to hold back a chuckle as you made your way back to your seat, plopping down and not even noticing the tense atmosphere as everyone was still recovering from the impact of sukuna’s rage—as if it were a physical thing they could feel wafting in the air.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

fuck.

sukuna paced around the men’s bathroom, yelling at anyone who dared step inside while he gathered his thoughts.

not once had sukuna been defied, the utter lack of opposition from squirmy students and complacent teachers fearing his brooding form making it easy to get away with what he wanted.

so how did a girl like you just randomly show up and decide to break his flow of things? disrupting something that had become so natural, it was like the classroom was his habitat and he was king.

a storm of uncertainty and rage brewed in his chest.

but worst of all, the very reason why he stormed out without a word, was the way your words sent blood rushing south.

he had a raging boner. and he intended on hiding it from you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you could feel fingers tap your shoulder, a voice muffled commanding your attention as you paced out of the classroom after lecture.

you turned, just to see that pitiful boy from earlier. it was odd, he wasn’t scrawny like most victims you’d see, he was actually quite tall and had a nice build. maybe where he fell short were his crooked frames and gentle face, thrown in with his kind disposition.

not to mention, not many men can rival a massive man-child like sukuna.

you pulled your headphones off. “did you say something?”

he shuffled uncomfortably, as if sukuna was going to bite his head off for talking to you. “yeah, sorry. i just wanted to say thanks.”

you narrowed your eyes as you looked at him before shaking your head, his thanks not necessary. you were just glad it didn’t end up with your expulsion this time. “it’s fine.”

you paced on, but the guy followed you like a lost dog needing to imprint. “i’m choso, by the way.”

you gave him a soft smile before introducing yourself. “nice to meet you.”

he gripped the straps of his bag as he peered down at you, the flush on his pale cheeks evident. if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was positively enamored with you. “it’s nice to meet you, too.” 

you expected him to disappear now, wanting to listen to your music as you headed to your next dreadful class, but he only continued on. “you’re new here, aren’t you?”

you passed on a stiff smile as confirmation and he chuckled to himself. “what’s your next class? maybe i can show you.”

“uh, let me see,” you said, pulling your bag to your front, actively trying not to walk into anyone as you tore out your schedule. “looks likeeeee,” you drawled out, eyes scanning the sheet. “fuck. statistics. god, i’m horrible at anything math related.”

choso perked up at that, tail practically wagging. “really?” he started, rubbing his nape with a sheepish smile. “i wouldn’t mind, ya know, doing an assignment or two for you.”

you stopped dead in your tracks, turning around and smacking his arm. “this, choso, is exactly why you’re bullied. you can’t do that anymore,” you scolded, watching in real-time as his tail tucked between his legs.

he lowered his head, nodding reluctantly. “sorry. i could tutor you if you’d like.”

you grinned, sliding your schedule back into your bag and nodding. “that’s more like it.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you met up with choso later that night. he’d managed to pop up after lecture where he insisted on walking you to your next class.

he was trailing you quite a bit, but you didn’t mind the company.

especially when the company was incredibly smart.

choso was great at breaking things down without being judgmental or condescending— even when you had your head in your hands and wouldn’t stop groaning after every practice question.

“that’s the normal distribution, not the standard distribution,” he commented, pen brushing against your homework.

you winced. “is that not the same thing?”

he gave you a soft smile, almost pitiful like your earlier one. “let’s take a break.”

you reclined, shutting your eyes and manspreading as you sighed. 

he placed a forearm against the back of his chair, eyeing you cautiously.

“what?” you blurted, feeling his impromptu gaze on you.

“huh? nothing?” he warily replied immediately.

you peeked out of an eye. “you’re looking at me like you’ve got a thousand and one secrets threatening to pour from you. spill.”

he grimaced, turning to face his desk and dropping his hands to his lap. “yeah. well, i saw something today.”

you didn’t reply, waiting for him to continue.

“remember when you stood up to sukuna?” the simple utter of his name made choso shiver.

“yeah, why?” you responded, itching your scalp and trying to rid your brain from the irritation still lingering from everything statistics related. 

“well. i noticed, uh,” he trailed off, eyes drawing shut as if bracing himself.

“what, choso? spit it out.”

he inhaled sharply, before turning to you.

“he had a hard-on after you cussed him out.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

now, this definitely was not your greatest feat. but, it was by far your most devious.

that night you spent cooped up in the library with choso?

yeah, no studying related to statistics went down after his confession.

instead, you and choso became a pair of utterly miserable and twisted individuals plotting on a very evil man. it cancels out, doesn’t it?

the plan the two of you concocted, much to your boredom and desire to step on tormentors and choso’s need to be unshackled from his binds to sukuna as his favorite chew toy, was far more immoral than your previous triumphs.

it took hours of meticulous research, at least on choso’s end because you fell asleep halfway through, before it was complete.

operation: wreck ryomen sukuna.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

it started off small.

glances, comments, nudges. anything to get him riled up?

whap!

the professor smacked their ruler against their stand, glaring across the classroom. “ryomen sukuna. are you even listening?”

the man faltered, head resting against his fist as he began to lose consciousness, droning out before he was startled awake. “huh?” he grunted, rubbing his eye with his thumb.

the professor sighed, fingers tapping impatiently against the stand. “if my lecture is so lackluster since you’re obviously an expert and can spare yourself by napping, i would be pleased if you took the stand and could teach the class.”

sukuna huffed, leaning back and crossing his arms, miffed that the one instructor who said anything to his face had to do so in front of the entire class. 

and interrupt his sleep.

but suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted when he peered over at you, snickering to yourself in his direction.

he frowned deeply, before you motioned at him, rubbing your thumb against the seam of your lips that looked far too plush before jutting your chin towards him.

his eyebrows knitted, mimicking your gestures just to realize he had drool dribbling down his chin.

fuck.

you smiled to yourself, shifting in your chair and tossing a leg over the other. he had to tear his gaze from your nearly bare thighs.

quickly snagging a pillow choso was resting his elbows on, he placed it in his lap to conceal something rapidly rising, cursing to himself.

choso couldn’t even be mad since he knew all was going according to his plan, and you were the perfect executioner.

the next time you ran into sukuna, he’d accidentally bumped into you in the hallway.

you wasted no time shoving him with all of your effort, calling him a big oaf, before storming off.

he could barely stop his heart from slamming his ribs, fearing it’d bruise.

and at night, sukuna would lay restless, tossing and turning and shoving his inner turmoil down down down…

with his hands in his pants, mumbling your name and wrenching his shaft. 

it was pathetic. he knew it was. getting all hot and bothered by the one person who defied him.

but he couldn’t deny his unbelievable attraction to you, nor could he admit it to you.

so he lingered in that grey area, too much of a coward to admit just how badly he’d want you to touch him, feel him, kiss him…

he dragged a hand down his face. what the fuck was he thinking?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“the fuck?”

sukuna arrived to class, shoving away the jitters he had flowing through him, unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

he’s not sure if it’s from being humiliated, or having to come face to face with the very girl who humiliated him every single day.

and somehow turned him on.

on his desk, though, was a scribbled note with poor handwriting and a kiss stamp, telling him you were waiting on him in the janitor's closet on the east wing if he wasn’t a pussy.

did you want to fight him? sukuna’s never fought a girl before, nor was he planning on it.

but the residue of your lipstick was tantalizing him, almost pulling him towards the janitors closet.

maybe he’d allow you to get one fist to his jaw before he left.

in his dream-like trance, he didn’t even notice choso propped on the desk beside him, head buried in a textbook he wasn’t even reading.

sukuna crumpled the note, shoving it in his pocket and mumbling something incoherent to himself, before hurrying out of the classroom. the lecture wouldn’t be starting for another couple minutes so it was easy to slip out.

choso pulled his phone from his pocket immediately, sending a text to you.

your phone buzzed, pulling it from your shirt pocket and reading it.

choso — operation is a go :D !!! 

step one: plant the seed?  check.

you scoffed at his excited text, shoving your phone away and getting to your feet, pacing around the rather small janitors closet. 

within a couple of minutes of you sighing, you heard a couple of heavy knocks against the door, pulling your attention.

a grin tugged at your lips. “what’s the magic word?”

the guy grumbled something under his breath before responding. “please?”

you snickered. “it’s actually ‘i’m a jackass with the iq of a penny’ but that works too!”

you had no idea why you agreed to this as you pulled the door open, eyes gleaming with mischief.

you'd barely known the guy for more than a couple weeks, but you could tell that he was entirely beside himself right now.

he was actively fidgeting, running a hand across the back of his neck and glancing behind him every two seconds. he was visibly nervous.

“gonna keep looking stupid or are you gonna come in?”

his eyes met yours, mouth dropping at your attire.

you were sporting a black latex shapewear, a black baton in your hand with tassels hanging from the edge, and a leash in the other.

you had a wedgie thanks to choso accidentally ordering a size too small, a whim in hopes that sukuna would be into this kinda thing.

his face was evidence enough.

maw slack, eyes dazed, and sukuna junior making an appearance just below his belt.

“the fuck are you wearing?”

you tossed the strap of the leash around your shoulders and twisted the leather tassels of the baton in your hand before smacking sukuna’s forearm with it, enough to make him recoil.

“shut the door.”

he gave you a strange look, a shiver crawling down his spine at your commanding tone, but complied nonetheless.

step two: secure the package — check.

you brushed past his shoulder, shoving his massive form slightly out of the way and locked the door he’d just closed.

he shoved his hands into his pockets, taking a few weary peeks around the room like someone was about to jump out of an empty cardboard box with a camera yelling ‘you just got punk’d!’

“take a seat,” you pointed towards the wooden chair smack dab in the middle of the cramped space, watching sukuna’s eyes actively avoid the curve of your ass.

his heavy foot falls fell against the floor, until he plopped down and the chair creaked under his weight.

you grinned, wringing the leather in your hand, black heels clicking against the floor as you sauntered over slowly.

sukuna’s hands rested in his lap, cracking his knuckles as he avoided your gaze, tan cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

you knew he wanted this—he’d have been out of here in mere seconds if he didn’t.

which was why you placed a gloved finger below his chin, standing right between his spread bulky thighs, and directed his vision towards you. his crimson eyes flickered with irritation before softening into something you’d never seen grace his features.

he actually looked quite handsome when he didn’t look like you spit in his food.

you didn’t say a word, simply leaning forward with slow deliberation, your warm breath fanning against his lips as your faces were just inches from connecting.

and then you kissed him.

soft, guiding, claiming.

he groaned, hands going limp at his sides as you pushed his head backwards, cupping his cheeks. he’d only imagined how your lips felt, so he couldn’t have dreamt up the fireworks that were going off in his head, actively short-circuiting any sense of logic he had a grasp on.

sukuna felt as if he were prancing in a meadow, or some secret garden, blossoming a romance away from ogling eyes and nurturing something almost… pure.

his body submitted to you, kneeling at your altar with a blank-slated mind and a fluttering heart, calling for your salvation. 

oh how he’d longed for your attention in such a short time is beyond him.

you, on the other hand, had to hide the smug grin teasing at the corners of your lips, knowing you had him just where you wanted.

you pulled away for a moment, hearing the sigh of relief and wonderment trickling from his mouth, eyes teary and dazed.

tossing a leg over his, you began to straddle him, resting your leather-clothed sex right over the prominent bulge in his jeans. “you into this kinda thing?” you queried, resting a hand against his shoulder.

he blinked a couple of times, still unsure as to how he’d even managed to end up here or if he was possibly dreaming, before reluctantly nodding. you’d never seen him at such a loss for words.

“what about this?” you drawled out and thus began to test the waters. you slowly, and as seductively as possible, pulled the leash from your shoulders and began to clasp it around his neck.

you could see the moment his breath hitched, eyes darting down to where your nimble fingers worked, tracing the cool metal that made him shuffle in his seat. “i-i like it.”

as he moved in the wooden chair, you hooked a finger around the large silver circle that rested against his adam’s apple and tugged it towards you, eyes narrowing as his went wide. “did i say you could move?”

he opened his mouth, only stumbling over each and every word. “i- uh, y-you never—.”

you tugged it harder, your nose brushing against his. “use your words.”

sukuna had never wanted to kiss you more, he thinks. he cleared his throat, mustering up every ounce of courage. “you didn’t.”

“i didn’t…?”

“you didn’t, ma’am.”

you clicked your tongue, releasing the near vice-like hold on his neck and standing up. “there you go.”

not once did his eyes leave your form, greedily consuming anything you could give him.

“ya know,” you started, pacing back and forth in thought, tapping against your chin. “i thought you were fucking vile when i first saw you.”

he swallowed a thick lump, akin to a rock, lodged in his throat. he doesn’t understand why, but he craves validation from you—he wants to look good for you.

“perched up all confident and casual, not a care in the world, kicking others down for your own enjoyment.” you skimmed your fingers through your hair, before stopping in place. “and for your information, i hate jerks.”

you started towards him again, sukuna tensing up in his chair before you rounded the seat. you placed your hands against his shoulders, leaning down until your breath tickled the crown of his ear. “so why don’t we change that?”

sukuna hiccuped, wanting to look back and meet your fiery gaze, but not finding the will to do so. “change what?”

you hummed, bringing the tasseled end of the baton and caressing his neck with it, making him shiver in his seat. “change your ways, for me.”

he stilled, and you could feel the palpable hesitation in the air, as if he was weighing it between his hands.

you took the chance to press a chaste kiss against his neck, bringing your hand down to his chest and smoothing out his shirt. “you wanna be a good boy for me?”

you could feel the immediate change in reaction—cheeks flushing, breath catching in his throat, words dying on his tongue, eyes fixing on your hand.

got him.

you walked around the couch and wasted no time slipping your latex suit from you.

sukuna was quite the handsome man, his looks enough to make your stomach flip and made it incredibly easy for you to agree to choso’s planning. yet, something in you was enjoying this far more than you’d expected yourself to.

dropping your outfit to the ground, you straddled him once more, wearing nothing but black lingerie and your latex gloves.

he was speechless now, making this a lot easier.

what you didn’t expect, however, was just how… audible he could be.

you grabbed a rope from a shelf, not even caring that class had started nearly ten minutes ago, and tied his hands behind his back, whispering a soft ‘no touching’ in his ear before biting the lobe.

pushing your breasts into his face, you muffled nearly any sound he could make, grinding your already soaked cunt against his clothed erection. you could just feel how massive he was, your mind short-circuiting at the size.

“couldn’t help but notice,” you huffed through a whimper, eyes fluttering shut as you chased your own pleasure. “j-just how fucking hard you get when i poke fun at you.”

he was just huffs and grunts into the mounds on your chest, dizzy on nothing but you.

“got a thing for girls who think you’re a dick?”

he nodded reluctantly, pressing a kiss just above the lace of your bra, hands wrenching in their tight hold against the chair.

“you’re a real perv,” you jeered, claws digging into the fabric of his cotton tee.

and before you could reach that sweet peak, the quickest, neediest and most overwhelmed whine you never could’ve expected left sukuna’s lips, a damp spot growing in his pants that was certainly not your juices.

you stilled, peering down and chuckling as you pulled your breasts from his face.

he was so flushed and dazed, he almost looked cute.

you had to conceal the grin on your lips, pulling yourself from his lap and standing up.

turning around, you glanced past your shoulder and curled your fingers through the fabric of your panties, dragging them down excruciatingly slow, sukuna’s wet eyes never leaving your form.

backing up, you sat reverse-cowgirl, bare cunt sopping juices across his lap.

how badly did he want to drag his hands across your waist, up your sides, gripping the plush of your tits—. but no, he had to sit here, and take it.

“how bad do you want it?” you groaned out, feeling the fabric of his jeans catch on your clit and drawing a whimper from you.

“b-bad,” he sighed, knowing his wrists would be bruised by the time he left this closet.

“just bad?” you teased, leaning your head back against his shoulder as your hips developed a mind of their own.

he huffed, eyebrows knitting as his sexual frustration only seemed to grow by the passing second. “use me. fuck me. l-let me make you feel good,” he sighed, eyes drawing shut as the shameful admission.

and it was more than enough for you to work his jeans and boxers off, resuming your position and sinking down on his girthy length.

of all the guys you’d been with, he was definitely the thickest, each inch he fed into you practically choking you.

“f-fucking hell,” you sputtered as he twitched inside your cunt, bulging veins dragging against your syrupy walls.

he bit his lip, tossing his head back as you strangled his cock, his breaths turning shallow and raggedy. like hell if he was going to ruin this with his witless mouth, fingers flexing in their restraints as his mind muddled with thoughts of just you.

after what felt like excruciating minutes, you finally bottomed out, pussy wrapped around his shaft to the hilt, practically brushing against your lungs. you leaned forward this time, fingers finding the strap of the leash and tugging on it.

a gasp was pulled from his lips as you began to gyrate your hips, bouncing up and down at a pace you could endure.

and god, were you a sight to see even from the back. he could spot the curves of your tits bouncing, your maw hanging open, his eyes dragging down to where the two of you connected.

not to mention, you were taking him raw.

“don’t cum ‘till i tell you, prick,” you drew a sharp breath in, stomach sucking in as you chased your own sweet pleasure.

“w-won’t,” was all sukuna could spit out, eyes nearly crossing from how tight the leash was against his neck, the pressure making him dizzy.

the curve of his cock hit all the right sweet spots to pull the most saccharine sounds from you, ass meeting his pelvis with each bounce.

“you o-on the p-pill?” sukuna huffed out, sweat beading his browline, teeth clenching as he felt pre leaking from his tip, feeling his high teetering off the precipice, nearly losing any sense of his sanity.

you sighed in frustration, fingers wrapping in the leather of the leash and pulling harder. “obviously, idiot,” you groaned.

don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum. sukuna had to repeat this in his mind like a mantra, desperate for sweet relief but knowing you deserved to feel just as good as he was.

“you gonna stay a good boy for me?” you prodded, focusing on just why it was you were fucking ryomen sukuna in your new private universities janitor closet. you reached your free hand down to stimulate your neglected bundle of nerves, fingers catching just how wet you were and smearing them against your clit. “can’t have a trouble boy at my side.”

“mmf!” he nodded, eyes clamped shut as he focused on not spilling his seed into your womb, not even realizing what he was agreeing to.

“you promise? no more picking on a-anyone?” you continued, making a figure-eight motion as his tip nudged your cervix.

“f-fuck. i promise i-i won’t bother anyone,” he squirmed, and you knew just how close he was.

“then come for me, baby.”

step three: seduce the neanderthal — check.

OPERATION: WRECK RYOMEN SUKUNA — COMPLETE.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“for the love of all things good, shut up.”

you immediately shot a glare at sukuna behind you, his hands on your waist tightening as you could practically see his ears downturn in the moment, shame coloring him silly. he turned his attention towards choso, letting out a sigh before speaking. “sorry. i mean, it’s been a long week. please reduce your chatter.”

you smiled bright, briskly nodding as you turned towards your friend who gave you a gentle smile. “i seriously do not understand how the two of you managed to become a… thing,” he cooed out, resting a cheek against an open palm, an all-knowing glint in his eyes.

you tossed an arm over sukuna’s shoulder, feeling him tense up, just like he seemed to do around you, feeling like he’d forever be indebted to you for absolutely no reason. “oh, we are not a thing. he’s my little plaything, a project that i’m working on,” you beamed out, tugging at the back of his hair to which he huffed at.

“she’s holding you hostage, right man?” choso chuckled, folding his arms over his chest.

“i think she cursed me. plans on striking down my family tree in the upcoming future.”

you shot him another look, but he cringed before motioning that he wasn’t done speaking.

“she makes me a better person. which is why,” he reached into his pocket, before pulling a pencil out and handing it out to choso. “i’ve stopped throwing pencils at people.”

choso’s eyes went wide, before you and sukuna exchanged a look, bursting out into laughter.

choso sighed, adjusting in his seat and turning away to conceal a grin. “it’s like they were made for each other.”

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Hellooo idk if you've played the Tekken games before but what if neglected reader is like Lili? Djjsbsjdjd gahh I love her sm and she's like this sassy confident lady hehehe and her outfits are GORGEOUSS 😭😭

And I got this idea for a Lili! Neglected reader while playing the dark resurrection game and how Lili is just this badass Compeating to save her father's business ^^;;

"Please don't tell my father!"

Lili Rochefort!reader x yandere batfam

Bruce and your mother's marriage was not based on love but rather a financial arrangement. She desired Wayne's wealth, and she obtained it. She ensured a biological child with him, even if their divorce was inevitable. Your mother would still retain his riches. Without lifting a finger, which meant you were more of a tool to gain wealth than actually be a daughter.

When your mother was through and had gotten what she wanted, she left you in your father's hands—the cruelest thing the woman ever did to you. Living in the manor was a nightmare. You had thought you were an only child, but life spat in your face and gave you "brothers." Rude, obnoxious, mean, angry, rage-filled, obsessed little creatures with a taste for violence; you found it vile how they would fight like brutes in front of the dinner table, making you almost drop your plate of decadent food Alfred had prepared for you. How beastly you think, watching them fight on TV in ridiculous costumes, fighting crime, and causing public property damage. They barely even had manners at galas or block events. So what if they acted like they wanted nothing to do with you? You wanted nothing to do with them.

"She’s so stuck up."

"She acts like such a princess."

"She walks like she has a stick up her ass."

You didn't care what your siblings said, wiping your long blonde hair in their faces. You were a sophisticated young girl, and that’s what you were raised to be: a good morning routine, daily workouts, piano lessons, and ballet on weekends. You were far from a ruffian; you were a lady and deserved to be treated as such. You didn't care how much Steph hated your prissy attitude or how Cass thought you were weak, how Jason thought you were a spoiled brat, or how Dick and Duke believed you had never been through a day of hardship in your life.

Tim and Damian never agreed, but one thing they could agree on was that all you were was a pretty rich girl, and you never tried to make them think you weren’t. Sure, there was more to you than meets the eye; Alfred knew that, but your brothers could never see it. When your father—the man you had been trying to impress for years with your good behavior, good grades, and overall good everything—wouldn't even spare you a passing glance, your whole world crumbled. He never loved your mother, and you knew better than that, but why couldn’t he love you? All he did was throw his ultimatum black card at you and say, "Not now, [Name]."

He thought you were like your petty mother, that you only cared about inheriting the Wayne fortune, nothing more. So, he kept you occupied with pretty dresses, nice shoes, and fancy ballet slippers. He couldn’t be serious, but the only way your father knew how to communicate was through violence—pure, unadulterated violence. Sitting in spare with Jason, you realized what language your family spoke; even Barbara had spoken it once or twice. It was violence, so you decided to speak their language—this unspoken language of fighting.

Holy shit, was it not fun! No wonder you saw the smile on Cass's face when she fought Duke in a match; it was pure fun watching your opponent fall and grovel underneath you, knowing you had the upper hand in a fight. Knowing you were better was pure bliss. But you must remember to fix your makeup after every match; a lady like you must never mess up her nails. And every time you win, you laugh like a mad woman, but you'll never tell your father that you're a fighter because you're his delicate little girl who's scared of dogs that bark too loudly.

[pricetagged]

MEDIEVAL SCAMMER GHOAP?! Please enlighten us🙏🙏🙏

Since you both asked so nicely, have a snippet of a whisp of a concept😅

I have an idea. Not fully fleshed out. I could go in two directions, either historical Ghoap working as Pardoners and taking advantage of ignorant village reader (corruption kink, religious themes, abuse of power etc.).

OR, for my monster-lovers, has anyone seen Dragonheart? I was picturing, like, one of them is something beastly, the other plays at knight = profit? Fantasy scam and rescue? So, it would go something like this:

(Tw kidnapping and kind of mean Ghoap)

---------

Your situation didn't look any better flipped on its head. Flipped on your head, rather. Snatched and thrown over a bulky shoulder, high– higher than even your standing position. It was discomfiting; it was terrifying. Blood rushed to your face not only in fury but also in shame as your skirts fluttered in the breeze.

He noticed, too. His greedy fingers dug into your thighs, skimming down like he was soothing a skittish horse. But you felt the way he lingered. The way he chuffed and squeezed tighter when you kicked out with all the strength of a skittish colt.

Your fists pounded uselessly against heavy splint-mail, hands-catching on rough nodules and spikes that didn't quite register as pain. Not to your panic-stricken mind, thoughts flying off in the wind behind you as the beast carried you off.

But the smack registered.

Perhaps it was the sound, the harsh slap of flesh on flesh. Whipping crack, like the snapping of a great branch. The precursor to an eerie stillness, violence begetting obmutescence. And it worked–

–for a second. For the time it took for your stinging nerves to catch up with your racing mind. Then you howled. Kicked and clawed and hissed like a feral cat as tears welled in your lash-line.

"How dare you–"

"Quit yer fashin'. Ye'll bring the whole kingsguard down this way–"

"–good–"

"–and then I'll have tae kill them all," That had your attention, legs tense under the heavy band of his bicep. "Dinnae much feel like sharin' ye around."

"Oh, you beast! You foul, vile, disgusting–" Your voice was high, words scratching as they hitched out of your aching throat.

It hurt to speak, vocal cords already shredded from the way you'd screamed when he'd first ransacked your village. Coughing on heavy, acrid smoke and crying futile warnings about the Black Knight and his monster-in-arms ('Quiet, girl. Viper-tonged harlot, slither off and for gods' sake, quiet!') . But it hurt more to be silent. You flung insults like broken arrows, hoping that they would somehow land. That they would hit, fortuitously, and pierce the thick-hide of this brute. But hope is vain, and the fancies of men make gods laugh.

You landed hard on something soft.

Ego almost as bruised as your knees, you kept your eyes low. Sweeping. Marshy, wet silt. Topsoil sluiced off, only mud and clay and reeds to your right. A cheerfully babbling brook just beyond, water murky and discoloured with backwash from– the water flowed past the estuary of the village so it must be– no–

The realisation was caustic. Mordant. Burning at you like the scorched air in your lungs.

"You're a monster," you spat the words, mouth watering in your haste to let ichor drip forth and blacken him as much as the foul, brackish water ahead.

"Noticed that, did ye," he laughed, words glancing off like feeble blows. "Best not tae piss me off, then. Stay there and behave yersel'. Company's comin'."

Glancing up at him was like a blow to the stomach, wind punched out and body shaking. You already knew that he was big, inhuman. But now you could see every inch; monstrous, twisted mockery of natural features. Like a man formed of rock, too immense and hard and jagged to pass for anything but artificial. Counterfeit. Contranatural. Creation's bastard. All tusks and teeth and shorn hair. Hair everywhere, even down his bare, bulging forearms and thick knuckles. Coarse, dark.

His eerie, bright blue eyes blazed around black, pupils wild and blown. It could be the thrill, cruel playfulness of an apex predator. Berserker-wide, coming down from the kill–

But he'd been carrying you for a while, bloodlust long-since sated on the men and manse of your homeland.

You shivered, sweat and cold mingling in a discomfiting damp that raised the hairs on your arms. (The hairs on the back of your neck were already needle-stiff and prickling).

You pocketed a stone, a big jagged filthy shard. One you hoped could bruise and slash and poison, turn wounds weeping and sick.

Now that you were silent, he seemed especially strident, swaggering around the barebones of what you supposed must be a dwelling. You felt the slight whistling of air from the cave behind, cavernous and black. If you had to run, to hide, you'd take your chances with the forest and river ahead. To be lost in the appetites of the mountain abyss would spell death as surely as at the hands of this creature.

You watched him, cocksure and comfortable as he shucked off his warhammer and began unbuckling his braces. If you could read the snarl of his crooked teeth, you'd perhaps say he was in high spirits. He sent you a wink as he shrugged off his splint-mail, gravelly laugh echoing in the cavern behind.

It disguised the approach of your visitor.

"Grabbed the wrong one, Johnny," you shrieked as something grabbed your forearm, hauling you up. Looking down you saw the muted sheen of a spiked gauntlet. Black patina, flaked in iron rust. You swallowed hard, lump in your throat so big that it caught any words that might try to escape. Him. The Black Knight. The Liar. 

"Ye said to grab the pretty one by the fancy house."

"She's not the magistrate's daughter. No ransom for her." He spun you around, metal biting hard into your chin as he arched your face towards his.

Cloaked in ink-black helm and visor, you could just about peer in to meet his gaze. He looked back with cold, assessing eyes. The voice that rumbled forth was as harsh and breccial as you remembered, words rending you apart with serrated precision: "Not worth a rescue mission."

He released your chin with a final shake of your head, huffing amusement as you rubbed at the thin scratches he left behind.

It was hard to breathe now, stomach swirling and head-light. Even if you could will yourself, it wouldn’t help. There was already a faint coppery smell leeching from the Knight; your heart recognised it even if you would not give name to it. It sped up, fast enough to rush past your ears with discordant force. 

You didn’t feel the other one step up behind you, not until it was too late. There, trapped between man and monster (man the monster), tight enough that you couldn't even shiver. You felt the power of the creature even more now without the armour, all muscle and fat, sheer power close enough to sink your fingers into. But you couldn't move, your shallow breaths already catching in your throat into soft, hitching whines. 

"Shh, it's alright, bonnie," Rough, clumsy fingers swiped under your eyes. You felt him crouch lower, stubbly hair and tusks digging into your powder-soft cheek. "Looks like we're gonnae have tae keep you, then."

------------

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

2026 Ford Gran Torino

The 2026 Ford Gran Torino returns as a beastly rear-wheel-drive muscle car, now featuring the iconic 5.2L supercharged Predator V8 engine. Pushing out an earth-shattering 1000 horsepower, this machine blends retro-inspired design with cutting-edge performance. The Predator engine, also seen in the GT500, ensures lightning-fast acceleration and a thrilling exhaust note. Built for power lovers, it stays true to the old-school muscle car spirit but with modern engineering enhancements. A symbol of American performance and boldness, it dominates both track and street with style and brute force.

[stvolanis]

Now i know you better

PAIRINGS: Alastor x Fem!Sinner!Reader

WARNINGS: ANGSTTTT, mean!Alastor, cheating w/ Lucifer, probably inaccurate time line idk, foul language,this is honestly kind of poorly written I’m sorry, manipulation, abuse, Alastor owns Readers soul, toxic relationship, possessive!Alastor, pet names, brief mention of suicide

NSFW WARNINGS: dubcon, slapping, hair pulling, choking, forced cream-pie, degradation, dacryphilia, p in v sex, knotting, humiliation, blood if you squint

SORRY IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

It wasn’t your fault that your grave was dug the moment you stepped foot into the fiery pits of hell.

It wasn’t your fault that it was dug by Mimzy when she introduced you to her dear friend, the Radio Demon who, oh so casually, casted peoples screams for hell to hear.

Mimzy, known to drag people into her messes when shit hits the fan, had deeply embedded you into an on-going war with one of the various overlords, simply by seeking a place to lay low for a few days. You didn’t expect Alastor to show up, that damned smile engraved onto his face.

And it most definitely wasn’t your fault that you laid in said grave.

He was charming, and charismatic. A lethal combination when a sense of confidence and dad-humor was thrown into the mix. The way you met wasn’t the most ideal, especially when he basically bombarded through you, inviting himself into your wrecked home to find Mimzy himself without a word.

His smile, then, seemed aggravated. He did little to hide the annoyance she had somehow caused him, and the way his voice grew in static when he spoke showed that. He was scary when you had watched his figure enlarge, his once normal, slim body now turning into a tall, beastly, and lanky figure with protruding antlers and dilated pupils.

Dread set into your core that day when he directed his wrath towards you. His tall frame stalking over you, a hand quickly shot to your throat. Your back hit against the wall as you were lifted from the ground, gasping for breaths of any air you could possibly get.

His breath was drug out and uneven as his chest moved up and down at a surprisingly slow pace. Even though he seemed to be filled of fury and unease—he had a sense of control over his calmness to an extent. Eerily, he had glided his mouth along your neck, inhaling your scent.

A harsh groan, almost as if he were in pain had slipped past his lips. It rumbled deep in his chest, and your eyes watered as your vision began to fade. Only then, did he release you and let your body fall to the floor. You held your throat gently as you finally got what you were begging for.

“Maybe you’ll listen, since sweet Mimzy won’t.” He began, his voice deep and contorted with static and brute. “You will fix the mess she created, and restore what was mine to begin with. Your soul will be mine until you have fulfilled your duty as said.” He finished.

Your mouth gaped. He had presented it to you like you had a choice in the devastating matter, but you knew better. You sobbed as your curled into a ball, and watched as he raised a hand towards your frame that wracked with sobs. “Hush now, girl. You will be under my care so long as I’ll have you.” He ushered with a grimace as he watched you wipe your nose with your wrist.

You longed to object. To scream and yell out that never in a million and one light years would you ever agree to such a thing. Your freedom was yours alone, and you liked to keep it that way. He’d have to drag you through hell and back for you to allow that to happen, yet as you took his sharp hand into yours, it was all said and done.

A bright light consumed you, and just for a moment, you thought maybe it was the light shower everyone talked about up in heaven. The bright beacon of a light so blinding that cleansed you of all your wrong-doings, took away all your pain and replaced the emptiness with a euphoric feeling of content.

Warmth spread throughout your body, and that moment of hope ended when you felt thick, heavy metal of chains cling around your throat and wrists. Alastors smile haunted you. It crept up on you in your dreams, and ate away at the only good things you had left to hold onto.

The life you once cherished, even in hell, soon faded away till it was nothing but a faint distant memory of someone you once knew that was yourself. It was replaced by an evil demon, in the form of a gentleman who disguised plots and alterier motives with wide smiles and laughs.

but again, you knew better.

The person you once were was stripped from you, and you were bare before him to bend and mold how he saw fit. And so, he did. You became his his underboss of sorts, a quiet and submissive being who did as told. They always said behind every powerful man, there was a woman. And it was you. Everyone got the good side of Alastor, yet it was you he took his frustrations out on when the day was said and done.

It was you who endured his aggressiveness when everyone was fast asleep in their bedrooms, dreaming of a better life you knew you’d never receive.

You were his lap dog, and his favorite toy to play with whenever and however he wanted to. It was unofficial, and confusing to others, but you somehow managed to find yourself in some sort of situationship with Alastor. You were his. body, mind, and soul.

You tried your best to please Alastor, constantly seeking his approval that he so generously bestowed upon others. You chased your tail around, and ran in laps, jumping through hoops just to earn a small nod in approval for him.

He wasn’t always bad. He cared for you, in his own fucked up way. He cared in way that he would never let something bad happen to you, and would protect you at all costs. You were his delicate little flower, how could he ever allow anyone who isn’t him to inflict any kind of harm onto you? He’s a bitch, but to an extent.

He loved you, yes, but only when he was in the mood to love you. When he loved you, he’d hold you close to him when you were perched on his lap in the hotel lounge. He’d whisper sweet nothings to you as he kissed along your neck, making giggles vibrate through your chest. He’d run his fingers through your hair till you fell asleep against him at night after a particularly hard day.

And on days when he knew he went to far, his classic water works he only had in store for you would come into play. He couldn’t bare his favorite toy hating him. He didn’t know how to deal with the colder shoulder and short-answer responses from you. It aggravated him that only you could get under his skin without doing much, so when you were heavily upset, only then would he drop down to his knees and kiss the inside of your thighs lovingly.

Tears would align his eyes, but his smile never once wavering, and beg for your forgiveness. He’d tell you how much he loved you as he rubbed your sensitive bud, and wash away your worries with so many orgasms, you forgot why you were mad at him in the first place.

Yes, he owned your soul and tended to be abusive, but he wasn’t heartless.

He’d tell you he’s sorry, and that he’d never hurt you again. It’s always a lie, and each time you allowed yourself to stupidly believe it.

But the truth was, you didn’t know what else to do. You hated to admit it, but you were nothing without him. You spent so long shaping yourself into the person he wanted and needed you to be, that you forgot how to be yourself. You forgot what your previous hobbies were, or what else made you happy besides him. Your world revolves around him, and without him, it felt like your world was coming to an exaggerated end.

So, you put up with it. Each and every time.

It wasn’t till today, the day of Charlie’s fathers arrival to the grand hotel Alastor managed to put together and run, that you’d ever seen him so genuinely with any sort of nerves.

The moment Lucifer walked in, in all his glory, Alastors personality took a flip. He went toe to toe with the ruler of Hell himself, all because he was afraid of someone who he knew had more power than him. But Alastor wasn’t a weak man, not at all, and that’s why he made it his mission to piss off Lucifer as much as he could.

You’d never seen him this way before. With you? Yes, but with other people? Never. He was cunning and every word he spat at Lucifer dripped with malice and confidence. Alastor knew he couldn’t beat him with power, so he hit him where he knew it would hurt. His family. Specifically, the only one he had left.

What Alastor didn’t expect, was for Lucifer to become completely and utterly smitten with you. From the moment he laid his eyes on you, he’s been all smiles and giggles with you.

He listened when you talked, even the little small words or sentences no one cared to listen to. His lips against the top part of your hand when you first met was the only thing that circled your mind for days. His lips were plush and warm, soft and tender. It was a contrast to the kisses Alastor left you of pity and forgiveness.

He was sweet, and undeniably handsome. He made you feel ways you’d never felt before. He made you feel like you had a choice. A voice that wouldn’t be spoken over and genuinely listened to. He was charismatic, in a way like Alastor, but it was real. His smiles were real, as were the sweet nothings he said to you.

For weeks, you snuck around with Lucifer. At night, when Alastor was fast asleep, you’d sneak out from under his watchful arm and find your way to Lucifers room. His arms were more welcoming, and warm. His kisses sweeter than honey and his love as gold and bright as they come.

His voice was soft, and vibrant as he hummed against your ear. The fingers that raked through your hair were gentle and soothing, calmed you to your slumbers that comforted you through the night. His smell was intoxicating; cider and musk, like an orchid full of ripe apples. The two rosey spots on his cheek shined in hue when you’d enter the room.

I didn’t take long for Alastor to notice. He want a dumb and oblivious man. He was a ruthless overlord who couldn’t afford to look past the little things. He noticed the stares that the two of you sent when in a room full of people. The lingering touches no one else noticed when you brushed passed each other.

And most of all, they way you’d slip from his grasp in the dark of the night like he was stupid.

He knew, of course. He knew the whole time. And he let you let yourself believe that there was any other choice besides him. He allowed you, from the goodness of his heart, to feel a speck of the freedom you longed for. He let you grasp it and cradle it with all your might, just to draw you back in by the chains that shackled you to him for eternity.

He liked knowing that he controlled you. It fueled the god complex he had, knowing that no matter what you tried to do, you’d always be his. His to love, his to fuck, his to torment.

He mocked you for it, too. Rubbing it in your face that you were chained to him for as long as you’d live in hell. Suicide crossed your mind a few times, the only way you saw yourself out of it—yet, you knew that no matter what life you had next, you’d still always belong to him in some way, shape, or form.

You should’ve known better. Should’ve known that you could never be happy. Should’ve known that Alastor knew the whole time. Yet you were naive enough to think you were smart enough to go behind his back with a person he detested the most. The one person who could easily kill him with a blink of an eye.

Alastor would never say it out loud, because he knew deep down that he would never win against Lucifer. So, he did what he does best, and he took it out on you.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to be any different from any of the other nights you left Alastors bedroom.

You lay in another man’s arms, his chest rising and falling beneath you as soft breaths slipped past his pale lips. Lucifer looked especially beautiful like this. His white skin glistening in the dull lighting of the room, and his streaky blonde hair ran through messily against the plush pillow.

You wished you could stay in this very moment forever. You’d rather spend an eternity admiring Lucifer for all his greatness, than suffering in Alastors darkness miserably.

You never told Lucifer about the way Alastor treated you behind closed doors. You knew that if you did, Alastor would be dead without a second thought. It crossed your mind a few times, obviously. How could it not? It was your only way out. The only thing that stopped you was the fact that Alastor wasn’t always like this.

He wasn’t always a bad person towards you. In the beginning, he tried to make you as comfortable as possible. He made you happy, and lively. His presence didn’t make you want to cower away in a corner, and his stare made you flush red, as bright as the color of his hair.

After all he’s put you through, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt shoot through you each time you looked back at Alastor asleep in your shared bed. He never cheated on you. The one of many things he’s never done, yet here you were, every so happily cheating on him. You felt like a two-timing snake, and you knew if he found out that he’d feel betrayed.

With that thought, you slipped from under Lucifer’s heavy arm, watching with soft eyes as he muttered under his breath at the loss of your warmth against him. You kissed his cheek and whispered a goodbye as you exited his room, softly shutting the door behind you. Your finger glided along the walls of the hallway, all the way till you found yourself outside of Alastors room.

You inhaled deeply, reaching for the doorknob, twisting it ever so slowly. Your entered the dark abyss of the room, shutting the door softly behind you with a wince as it creaked lightly. Damned this old ass building.

What you didn’t expect, was for Alastor to press against you from behind.

His breathing was uneven, and sharp as his chest still moved up and down slowly. You froze. You felt your dead heart stop as if you were alive. It seemed like oxygen didn’t exist anymore as you gaped, jaw slightly fallen slack as your eyes lined with tears. Your body shook as his hand traveled to the bed of your throat, craning your neck back to meet his eyes painfully.

“A-Alastor—” you gaped. He clicked his tongue. “Hm, silly girl. You really thought I was unaware of your whore-ish activities?” He chuckled out, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Wait, please—” you began, but you didn’t get a chance to think of what to say next as he slammed your back onto the bed.

You tried desperately to crawl away from him, but within a second, chains tied you down to the bed frame. You wracked with sobs and please of despair. He stood silently for a moment, watching the way you crumbled so easily without him even having to really do anything.

“How dare you.” He hissed out after a moment. Climbing on top of your tense frame, he pinched your cheeks together and watched as tears ran down your cheeks pathetically. “I give you everything you could possibly need. I make sure you’re alive with a roof over your head and out of the clutches of hells streets, and this is how you repay me? By sleeping around with men?” He growled through his sharp teeth.

His smile was formed still, but more into a scowl of displeasure. His antlers were grown and prominent as he began to shift to his demon form that you hadn’t seen since the first time youd met him that fateful day. He was like a rabid animal, drool slipping through the cracks of his jagged teeth as his body became large and monstrous.

This was it. This how your soul would finally be put to rest. By the claws and bared teeth of a monster with the facade of a charming, hotel manager. Not the way you’d want to go out, but hey, at least your were gonna get out of it, right?

Or so you thought.

His claws, sharp as knives tore through your shirt, ripping it off of your figure and discarded onto the floor. Your white lace bra on display in front of him. Your pajama pants adorned with cheesy pandas torn to shreds alongside your favorite sleeping shirt. But all you could think about was the abnormally large bulge hard and prominent against your inner thigh.

God, you hated yourself. You danced along the line of lust, fear, and hatred. Hatred for him, mostly. You hated that you loved Lucifer—yet your body yearned to be used and played with at the hands of Alastor.

The sweet sex, praises and butterfly kisses Lucifer showered you was amazing, but this—this was different. The way Alastor fucked you was different. Yes, he was rough and fucked hard—but this was his way of showing you that he loved you. It was peculiar, to say the least. A man so easily able to use his words to fluster anyone couldn’t look you in the eye to tell you that he loved you.

So he fucked you like he hated you. But you knew what he meant.

His finger hooked under the middle of your bra, effectively slicing upwards to cut it in half. Your breasts sprang free, and your nipples hardened under the tense, cold air. You squirmed as his breath fanned against them, his long tongue shooting out to lick against them tenderly.

He played tricks on you. It was his favorite game. Giving you false hope. Dangling things he knew you longed for in front of you, only to yank it right back. Killing every last good thing you had left till you had absolutely nothing but him.

So you should’ve known better than to trust his soft tongue kitten licking your nipple. His sharp teeth bit down—hard enough to draw specks of blood around it. You yelped out in pain as your eyes lined with fresh tears waiting to be spilled over. The pain was dreadful, but god, did it feel good.

Alastors thumb trailed to lower, tracing down to your stomach till he reached your cotton panties, dampened with your arousal. “What a slut. Getting off on this. You should be ashamed of yourself, darling.” He mocked out with a cunning smile. He didn’t think twice before ripping your panties off.

He fumbled for second with his pants, unzipping them before letting them reach low enough just to pull his cock out. “Now, I’m gonna fuck this cunt till I’ve had enough, and after that, you’re going to go into the small-dicked-duck fanatics room with my cum dripping down your thighs and tell him just how good I fucked you.” He growled out, his hand finding it’s way back to your throat, squeezing tightly as he lined himself to your entrance.

“Alastor, please just listen—i” his cock bullied is way into you. Long, and thick. 9 inches of pure, heavy meat sat snugly inside of you, playing with your insides. He was perfectly trimmed, and his balls heavy balls slapped against the underside of your pussy with each agonizingly perfect thrust he delivered into you.

“Oh, oh fuck!” You moaned out, head thrown back as your hand clenched onto the chains that bound you to your bed post. “Tight little pussy. Tell me, does he fuck you like this, baby?” He panted out as he watched the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He always thought you were the prettiest like this. Underneath him, writhing in pleasure, cock drunk and hungry for him. The only time you didn’t resent him. The only time you wanted him. He cherished this, not that he would ever say it out loud.

“I asked you a fucking question.” He said, slapping the side of your face harshly, leaving a painful sting behind. You whimpered at the familiar impact. “No, Alastor!” You all but screamed out as his cock kissed your cervix.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed loudly, and the smell of hot sex was in the air. A distinctive, vile smell. Your body was lined with sweat, as was his, and your breasts bounced each time his hips met flush against your ass. All you could think about was him.

He consumed your thoughts, plaguing your mind. You couldn’t escape him. And as of right now, you weren’t sure you even really wanted to all along.

Some sick part of you enjoyed this relationship you were in. The part that liked to be put in your place, and told what to do in return for praises of affirmations. A relationship that never got boring, and always kept you on your toes no matter what. Traumatic? Definitely. Toxic? 100%. But, this is what you had to endure. The least you could to was learn to like and deal with it.

You clenched down tightly onto him as his hips slammed into yours repeatedly, his dick hitting every right spot, including the little nerve of your g-spot inside of you. The angle he had your hips positioned in hit it better, and he could tell you were close when your cunt began to pulse around him.

“Please, please, I’m gonna cum!” You babbled on and on, drunk on the feeling of him inside of you. He chuckled as he pulled your head up by the root of your hair, just enough to have your lips crashing down onto his. “Fucked you stupid, honey, i know.” He cooed out against your lips.

He tasted bitter. Like whiskey and old cigars, mixed with a strange tea refreshment. It was an odd combination, but one that suited him indefinitely. His tongue swirled and glided against yours as they fought for dominance in a sloppy, and surprisingly passionate kiss. One that said what he didn’t have to out loud. ‘You’re mine’. He won the fight for dominance, and he sloppily suckled your tongue into his mouth.

The kiss was nasty, sloppy with saliva dripping down your chin and a few cuts on your lip from his sharp teeth clashing against them, but it was the least of your concerns as he rested his forehead against yours, nearing his end.

“I’m gonna fill this pussy up. Nice and full so everyone will know in dues time just who the fuck you belong to.” He growled out through clenched teeth. You shook your head back and forth, your eyes widening with fear. “No, don’t! Please don’t!” You begged, on and on, but to no avail.

His thrusts became harsher, and more demanding. Chasing his high aimlessly as you begged and moaned out his name underneath him. It was then that you felt it. His cock balls deep when you felt it began to swell up inside of you.

You gasped in shock as you were stretched painfully to your limit, the bulge in your lower stomach large and prominent as he pressed against it, triggering your orgasm. Your juices flushed out of you and all over his lower abdomen, and he groaned at the sight. You clenched down onto him impossibly tighter and he felt like he was gonna lose his mind.

“Pull out. Please pull out.” You desperately tried to reason with him, but he didn’t care as he sat snug inside of you, his knot finally emptying inside of you. It was warm, and you could feel it drip down your ass when his cock finally fell flaccid and limp, slowly pulling out of you.

“Maybe now, you’ll learn your lesson. You must be a fool to think that anyone could ever love you like i do.” He said, shaking his head. He bit his lip with a satisfied smile as he watched his mounds of cum pour out of you. “Milked my cock so well.” Was the only praise that slipped past his lips the rest of the night.

He didn’t allow you to clean yourself, only letting you thrown on a pair of panties from the drawer in his bedroom. Your inner thighs were slick and sticky with his warm, salty cum. “Run along now, dear. Come back when you’re finished.” He said in a singing tone, knowingly.

A flame rose in your core of embarrassment as you waddled out of the room, the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs growing by the second. It was humiliating, doing the walk of shame down the hallway, all the way to your now past lovers room.

A soft knock was laid on his door, and after a silent, dreaded minute of standing there, his door fell open. There you stood, in nothing but panties. Bite marks around your nipples and your neck prominent with a lingering bruise from the grip he held on your neck. His eyes trailed down to the cum slick between your plush thighs.

His eyes widened.

“The fuck happened to you?”

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

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[metamorphesque]

The Dance, Siamanto (translated by Tathev Simonyan) text:

And as her tears drowned in her blue eyes, Over a field of ashes, where Armenian life was still dying, A German woman described the horror she had seen. "This unspeakable story I now tell you, I saw it with these ruthless, human eyes, From the window of my safe little home, That opened onto hell Grinding my teeth in fury and in dread… With these pitilessly human eyes, I saw it. It was in the city of Bardez, now a heap of ash, Where corpses were piled to the tops of trees, And from the waters, the springs, the streams, the roads, The murmur of your blood cried out in rebellion… Even now, its voice of vengeance still rings in my ears…" Oh, do not be horrified when I tell you this unspeakable tale… Let humankind understand—man's crime against man, Under the sun of just two days, along the path leading to grave— Man’s evil against man, Let it be known to every heart in this world… That death-drenched morning was a Sunday, The first and futile Sunday rising over the corpses, When in my room, from dusk until dawn, Bent over the death throes of a stabbed girl… I doused her death with my tears… Suddenly, from afar, a dark horde—beastly— With twenty brides—whipping them savagely, Singing songs of lust—stopped in a garden. I, leaving behind the half-dead girl on her mat, Approached the balcony of my hell-facing window… In the garden, the horde thickened like a forest. One of the brutes thundered to the brides: ‘You must dance! You must dance when our drum beats!’ And the whips began to howl with rage  against the bodies of those Armenian women, longing for their death… Hand in hand, the twenty brides began their circle dance… Tears poured from their eyes like open wounds, Ah, how I envied my wounded neighbor, For I heard that with a peaceful sigh and cursing the universe, The beautiful, broken Armenian girl, With her pure soul of a dove, flew toward the stars… In vain, I shook my fists against the crowd… “You must dance,” shrieked the wild horde, “Until your death—you must dance, you infidel beauties, Flapping your tits—you must dance, smiling and without protest… Fatigue is not for you, nor shame— You are slaves—you must dance, stripped down to your skin, Until your death—you must dance, lasciviously and shamelessly. Our eyes are thirsting for your flesh and your death…” The twenty beautiful brides collapsed to the ground, despaired and drained… “Stand up!” they shouted, brandishing their bare swords like serpents, Then one brought a jar of kerosene to the horde… O, human justice, let me spit upon your forehead— The twenty brides were hastily anointed with that fluid… “You must dance!” they thundered, “Here is a perfume, A fragrance Arabia itself cannot offer…” Then with a torch, they set aflame the naked bodies of the brides. And the charred corpses rolled from the dance into death… In horror, I slammed shut the shutters of the window like a storm, And turning to my lonely dead girl, I asked: How can I gouge out these eyes of mine? Tell me—how can I gouge them out…?

[skmhlml]

Hello !!! I loved your burning Spice cookie x Sweetheart wife reader but... how about some angst to fluff one shot/headcanon ?~

Here's the story, back then when he was still not a beast, there was a war going on. It was his wife birthday and she got killed by the enemies infront of him... !! But after he got sealed away, the witches decided to re-created his wife and tried to remove her memory of him... But couldn't. So they trapped her in a mirror.

After he got free, he found the mirror and took it as he saw his wife in there... and after some time to free her, he managed !!

Hope you can do it !!...

Date requested: 6/23/2025

Burning Spice Cookie x Sweetheart!Wife!Reader

| Headcannons + Oneshot |

The air had once smelled of battle. Now it only reeked of ash and regret.

Burning Spice Cookie remembered the way your laugh used to sound— how it rang like temple bells over the cliffs of the Spice Kingdom, full of warmth, full of life. But now, your voice had been replaced by silence. A cruel silence that echoed louder than any scream.

Your birthday had always been the most sacred day to him. Even in the middle of the war, he had carved out time— ripped it from the hands of chaos— to bring you your favorite treat, wrapped in cloth with trembling, soot-covered fingers.

But fate was cruel.

He had arrived seconds too late. Seconds. Just in time to see one of the enemy soldiers drive their blade through your chest. Just in time to catch your body before it hit the stone. Just in time to hear your last, broken words:

“Don’t forget me… even if the fire dies…”

He didn’t.

Not even after he turned beast.

Not even after the witches sealed him away like a relic too dangerous to look upon.

Not even after time twisted and the world changed.

Centuries later—nno one knows how long— bit was instinct that led him to that hidden chamber, beneath a long-forgotten witch’s tower. The room smelled like lavender and lies.

There, amidst broken furniture and decaying scrolls, stood the mirror.

It wasn’t magic that made him pause.

It was you.

Your reflection—unchanged, ageless, eyes wide with desperate recognition.

You weren’t screaming.

You weren’t afraid.

You pressed your hands against the glass, mouth moving soundlessly, tears streaking down your face.

And his claws, monstrous and trembling, reached forward.

“…Wife?”

🔥 You had been kept inside the enchanted mirror ever since the witches realized they couldn’t erase your memories of Burning Spice. You refused to forget. Refused to give up. You screamed his name every day until your throat gave out, even when no one was listening.

🔥 After discovering you, Burning Spice Cookie spent every day pouring his flames into the mirror, even when it drained him near to death. It wasn’t brute strength— it was love. His flames weren’t destructive; they were warm, desperate, loyal. The magic cracked after weeks of effort. Then, one night, the glass shattered like sugar under heat— and you fell into his arms.

🔥 Your first words were a breathless, teary, “I told you not to forget me.” He held you so tightly you thought you’d break, beastly hands shaking. You kissed his scorched cheek, whispering that he was still your husband— beast or not.

🔥 He cries. For the first time since the day he lost you. He cries and begs forgiveness for not saving you, for being late, for letting the world tear you from him. But you hush him, holding his face. “You came back for me. That’s all that matters.”

🔥 He doesn’t let you out of his sight for days. He wraps you in silks, cooks your favorite spiced dishes, and guards you like treasure. But there’s softness now. He still carries the grief— but it’s no longer hopeless. You’re back. He got you back.

🔥 You make him a new birthday gift— an anklet of red string with a single charm, carved from the shattered mirror. “So you’ll always remember the day you freed me.” He wears it proudly, refusing to ever take it off.

[chimeride]

A colossal brute with beastly talons and eyes of flame.

[ruins-of-tragedy]

RWBY didn't just build upon Beauty and the Beast. They made it better by retelling it with sapphics. Ladies who fall in love while still maintaining their own integral identities, and that of the story theirs is inspired from.

Blake's 'beastly' persona is an important part of her. Faunus rights are a recurring theme and she has given much of her life to it. Being a bibliophile is a core facet of who she is. And fairness and justice are pillars she holds dear to her heart.

Yang is beauty not only because she looks amazing, but also since she keeps channeling her strength to soldier on. Give back as good as she can get. There's grace in her brute tenacity. And she uses it all to protect the people who need it.

Notice how both of them represent mixed aspects of two distinct characters serving as their backdrops. An intellectual beast and a powerful beauty.

Blake and Yang are not limited by the archetypes their predecessors used to be. Instead, the very features of such absolute ideals are weaved into them both. To build up their whole.

Separately, they are their own parts who can stand alone well enough. Together though, they make each other better. Complete one another and the story which would have forever haunted them, if it hadn't been executed so well.

RWBY achieved all of that without the beast having to appeal to the beauty with books she loves to read. Or by exploiting any family members in the process. And I for one really appreciate it!

[saintgoths]

☾༺♰༻☽ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ʏᴏᴜ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni very 18+ - just nasty sex.

includes simon 'ghost' riley, joel miller, levi ackerman, carlos oliveira and will herondale.

feedback/comments would be appreciated :)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

Like the man he is, he would fuck you in a position that asserts his dominance, a possessive grip that puts you in a firm stance telling you that you’re his and no one can fuck you the way he does, with his hand gripped tightly around your hair while he plows into you, forcing you to roll your eyes towards the back of your skull. “Take it,” he grunts and loud you shamefully moaned, “you pretty girl, all ruined and tight for me,” he moaned.

Proud he feels the way your body trembles under his touch, the width of his cock opening your pretty little cunt while the increased wetness inflates around his shaft. “Atta girl,” he groans as the tip of his cock licks against the skin of your cervix, pushing you into an intense high while your knees steeply dig into the sheets of the bed.

Your moans pathetic as you could feel your body weaken as another strong wave of orgasm pushes through you, your nectar spilling all over his bed and cock as you release a loud cry of pleasure as the thick and hot spews of his lewd semen coat your walls, your sensations ecstatic as he finally lets go of your figure and watches it shamelessly pummel against the bed.

“Y’did so well babydoll,” he muttered ere he dragged himself off the bed.

POSITION REFERENCE

JOEL MILLER

He’s so possessive with the way he fucks his girthy cock into you, beastly you feel the arch of his shaft pull forward inside your tight cunt, his loud, prideful of the erotic noises that purrs out of his mouth, while the tightness of your pussy clenches around him swallowing his large size as he loses himself inside of you.

His arms possessive around your body while the balls of his cock wetly slaps against your ass. “You’re such a good girl,” he drooled and in response you release a shameful whimper answering with degrading and shameful words declaring how you’re all his.

“Daddy, daddy!” You wept, over-stimulated by the brute forces of his large shaft beating and possessively marking the balmy and tepid of your cunt.

“There, there,” he whispered, “so good, such a good girl,” he moaned and the second he felt the thermal wetness of his load fill the tight size of your cunt the softness of his lips pressed against your neck leaving a sweet mark of his love.

POSITION REFERENCE

LEVI ACKERMAN

He loves the way his hand perfectly wraps around your breast as you hungrily bounce on his cock, your back pressed against his chest while the juices of your pussy squelches around his shaft, your cunt compact while the veins of his long manhood stroked the walls of your heat.

You bite your lip while the pad of his fingers twirl around your nipples, your breast plump and delicate, fondled by the adept hands of Levi Ackerman, who had been drunk with eroticism, his eyes dark with stimulation with the face of his cock that pummelled against the soft knob of your cunt, you throw your head back, your mouth drooling with piquancy as you had now been capable to speak.

“C-captain!” You moaned, your cries shameless while the arc of his cock hungrily blow and stroke the soft areas of your pussy, he had been focused, with his member that had softly shook in your tight space, one hand above your pearl that had gently whirled, possessive and hoggish with the way your body rolled against his.

“Just like that,” he whispered, “keep going!” He moaned and in obedience you continued to bounce up and down his length, your eyes wet with desirous tears as your body heaved forwards, numb and intoxicated by the member that had filled your heat paired with the sticky cum that had greedily clung onto your walls, feeling the depth of loneliness the second he pulled his cock out, but now his lip had been pressed against your jaw, tender and supple.

POSITION REFERENCE

CARLOS OLIVERIA

With his big and strong arms, he holds you up while fucking his wide cock up your cunt, his shaft easily slipping and sliding and the tip of his member greedily licking the soft lumps of your pussy while you tightly wrap your arms around his shoulders, securing yourself against him while his fingers grip into your skin, “That’s it princess,” he murmurs into your ear while frantically bucking his hips forward searching and sailing for his climax while your sweet cries fill the room.

Your lips tight and eyes white while the head of his shaft lick the coat of your cervix, eager to spill and fill its juices and give into the animalistic nature to breed. “So good for daddy,” he moaned and desperately you nodded your head, and in bold need for his authoritative approval you obeyed every demand that left his tongue, “Say it, say your my princess,” he commanded and frantic you felt your tongue slip out of your mouth as you hopelessly tried to gather the words he imposed from you.

“I’m—” you cried out and before you could finish your sentence a strong shriek was pulled out from your mouth as you could feel his shaft move deeper inside of you, sending you into a bold crying hysteria, how shameless you looked, disoriented and a mess due to his touch. “I’m your princess!” You chanted while you could feel your orgasm explode and spill against the cold floors of your room; and sapped you had fully leaned against Carlos, your arms still hung around him, wasted.

“You feel that?” Carlos hummed as he slowly pulsed in you and weakly you nodded as you had recognised the soft sensation of his fluid filling your wet cunt. “Good girl,” he then kissed your cheek before he rested you against the bed.

POSITION REFERENCE

WILL HERONDALE

He holds onto you so fucking tight, craving and selfish with the way his fingers dig into your skin, so snug, he thought, so supple your cunt had felt around him, how well you had taken his size and how you were just for him, only his, restricted to be shared, he had hated the idea of you being somebody else’s, glad, that the pliable and wetness of your vagina was his to claim and he swore that nothing would take you away from him.

“My love,” he moaned, his hand cupped beneath your knees as your body had bounced against his, your walls had clenched around him, taut and firm and so soothing and narcotic like he was some ill-man, and the feeling of your opiate cunt being the only thing that could cure him, he loved it, and could care less that he moved like a starved man.

Beastly while the nectar from the previous orgasms had melted and thawed with each other and the cloying cries of your over-stimulated moans had been a glacé music to him, he could feel another round of his orgasm build up and with the way you had whimpered to his touch, and with the way your body had twitched under his grope, another ecstatic rush wanted to overcome your petite figure.

“Fuck!” You loudly cried out feeling the face of his cock slickly brush and speck against your spot and once more, your eyes rolled backwards uncaring if anyone in the institute could hear your lewd cries, prideful that you had been ravished by Will Herondale, having his shaft stroke and tinge every good nerve in your pussy while he whispered sweet and amorous words in your ears, talking you into another amative and carnal climax.

POSITION REFERENCE

♆

[stickytrigger69]

Small femme reader getting gangbanged by Hardshell and some of the other Insecticons? i don’t have a plot idea so if you want to write one you can pick one, I just like the idea of something cute and small being dominated by something grotesque and bigger than them

oh and it is consensual btw, she was startled at first but she warms up to the idea as it goes on

have a good day!

Hardshell x Femme Cybertronian Reader

Reader is a femme

Femme reader is an insecticon breeder

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The black ones ship blew up, the one they call Airachnia. She caught you long before you knew about the war between Autobot and Decepticon. Once a ritualistic piece, covered in gem and fine silk, you are now battered and stripped down to your bare being. A beautiful beastly beatle once hailed on an alien planet as a heaven beatle but were stolen by her like some prized posession.

Now you're on this strange planet in a filthy cave, taking some brutes spike like the common buymech. Mechs of all sizes stand around you, spikes pressurized and leaking wantonly as they watch and fondle and stroke and touch and pinch at you. This one is thick but not very long. And it feels amazing. Before long, he shoots his load into your needy valve, takes a breath, and moves for the next. This one is right in the middle. Thick and long, just perfect, you would say, if his twin hadn't just stuck his perfect spike down your throat as soon as his brother plunged deep into your warm inviting hole.

You get pushed and pulled both ways that you start to grow dizzy with the pleasure of being used. All of the lubricant and cum filling your throat along with the hard spike makes it hard to vent. You moan desperately, begging for a break.

They finish with you, and you're left on the floor to relax as a group of mechs stand above you and stroke their spikes almost rhythmically. You lay there and vent heavily, fluids leaking from your derma, and your swollen valve lips. The more you writhe and move the faster they pump their spikes until a voice calls.

"It's my turn." Hardshell groans as he pushes through the crowd of mechs. He lifts you up from the ground and holds you in the air above his large spike. It may be a little too large you think to yourself, but at this point you could care less, you want them all, every last one. You can't get enough. You feel as though this is what you were built for.

He slowly and methodically lowers you onto his spike, enjoying himself rather than rushing through the pleasure. You feel his spike go deeper and deeper until it can't. It feels good when it hits the wall of your valve, but he doesn't stop there. Instead, he changes his grasp on you and gets a different angle, and is able to shove it deeper into you to the hilt. A beastly groan, devilish smirk, and he starts fucking you hard and powerful. Lifting you up to lazily let you slip back down to clang against his hips, spike hitting a sensitive node with each thrust.

This is amazing. The force makes you drool, pleasure written on your face. "That's a good breeder, take my spike. Take our cum. Give us offspring." He fucks you faster making you moan as your own overcharge takes hold of you for the umpteenth time. He let's you fall to the floor and cums all over you. Painting you in his fluids.

When he finishes and turns around two more arms grab hold of you and a glossa thrusts itself into your valve. Harshly, this mech licks and nibbles at your anterior node making you cry for mercy as the other kisses you.

You are then laid chassis to chassis on a mech, his spike deep inside you while another mech gets behind you and adds his into your tight valve. "Ohhhhh yes!!" You scream, overcome with sensation. The two mechs fuck you at the same time, in and out at different times causing friction you've never felt before. You don't want it to stop. You want more. You need more. When they finish you need more mechs. You need more spike. You need more transfluids.

[fastbrother]

Desperate (M, 1.3k words)

For forty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy starting his twenty-fourth year of unemployment, the only interesting question is who is he going to sleep with next.

Tags: From Sex to Love, Grumpy Harry, Reclusive Harry, Slutty Draco (non-derogatory), unhealthy coping mechanisms, middle-aged Drarry

Author's note: Wrote this for @kamaela's birthday. Thank you for always being so kind and encouraging! 💕

* * *

For eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy starting Hogwarts, the only interesting question about school was who was going to come in second in his year. Imagine his surprise.

For forty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy starting his twenty-fourth year of unemployment, the only interesting question is who is he going to sleep with next.

Some days, it feels like he’s slept with everybody worth sleeping with. Other days—well.

* * *

When he was young, Draco Malfoy thought he liked women. He slept with a handful of girls, all very proper and sweet.

Then the war came, and he was in it, and he was tortured by the Dark Lord himself, which rewired his brain somehow, because after the war Draco Malfoy did not like women anymore. Nor anything proper. Or sweet.

Draco Malfoy liked to be fucked like he’d be murdered next.

* * *

Harry Potter is a big old grump. He lives in what should have been Draco’s house by birthright, nurses a terrifying beard currently in the process of turning grey, and only ever goes out in Muggle London, like the uncivilised brute Draco knows he really is. Draco dreams of being fucked by Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, the slayer of Dark Lords. And whatever rude people say, Draco’s a man who works for his dreams.

* * *

“Harry Potter. Out and about. What a surprise.”

Potter barely spares a glance for poor Draco. His eyes are glued to the Muggle TV above the bar, in the process of broadcasting some beastly excuse for movement that the Muggles call sports. There are five empty glasses in front of him, and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

“Fuck right off, Malfoy.”

“Ah, I’m afraid not,” Draco says, and sits on the barstool next to Harry. “You go, if my presence bothers you so.”

“I don’t give a shit about your presence.”

“Beautiful. Have you taken to writing poetry, by any chance?”

“Tell me, Malfoy,” Potter says, slowly turning those grotesquely green eyes towards him. “You look like someone who makes enemies in every room he walks into. How come you’re still alive?”

“I have my ways.”

“Aha,” Potter says, emptying his sixth glass of whiskey, eyes back on the TV. “I’ve heard about your ways.”

“Would you like some first-hand experience with them?”

Potter lets out a chuckle, a loud and brutish sound.

“Have you been following me?”

“Hardly. I’ve been coming here every night for six months. Ask Robert.”

“Who’s Robert?”

“I’m Robert,” the barman says, pouring Potter’s seventh drink.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Robert,” Potter says, and raises his drink. “So. Has he?”

“Yes.”

Potter turns to Draco. Offers a vicious smile that makes Draco’s body tingle in all the right places.

“I used to come here all the time. Before the Prophet published a photo of me. Six months ago.”

Draco shrugs. “Can’t a boy try his luck?”

Potter leans forward and pulls Draco’s stool closer to him.

“You’re no boy. You’re a slut.”

“Oh, yes,” Draco moans, biting his lip. “I am. I’m a bad, bad slut.”

* * *

Harry Potter fucks like he goes to war. There’s no fear there, no second guessing. Draco could die now, bent over a dirty sink in a dingy Muggle bar, and he’d be happy. He should die, actually, because what else is there to experience? He has peaked, and life can only be a disappointment from this point on.

“Please,” he begs when all is done. “Again.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Potter says, pulling up his pants. “But there are people queuing outside.”

“I’ll get rid of them. I’ll kill them. Nobody will miss them too much, I’m sure.”

“How about this,” Potter says, fixing his hair back in a ponytail. “You keep coming here every night for another six months, and maybe I’ll drop by again.”

“Don’t play with me, Potter. You know I will.”

“Oh, I know.”

* * *

Draco expects Potter to torture him for at least a couple of weeks, but he strolls into that cursed Muggle pub the next day. He’s wearing jeans and a ripped t-shirt. Truly living up to his reputation of decorated ex-Auror and beloved hero, this one.

“My, my,” he says, sitting next to Draco and gesturing to Robert for a drink. “What a good pet.”

“Aha,” Draco says, draping himself all over Potter’s offensively attractive attire.

“Let me get a drink in me first,” Potter says, struggling to keep Draco at arm’s length.

“If you wanted a drink, you could have gone to another pub.”

* * *

Robert bans them eventually. Draco’s about to Obliviate him but Potter solves the issue by inviting him to his house.

“You mean, my house,” Draco corrects him.

Potter doesn’t seem impressed. “How about we call it a night, then.”

“Fine. I relinquish all rights to that home. You can have it forever. You can have the Manor, too, if you want.”

Potter laughs, and grabs Draco’s arm. “I love how desperate you are.”

“Oh, I’m desperate, alright.”

Five minutes later, Draco’s thirst is finally quenched when Potter bends him over a Black encrusted dining room table. Draco discovers he has quite the taste for family intrusions.

“In front of my great-grandmother’s portrait next, please,” he begs. Potter, the charitable soul he is, complies. Predictably, his great-grandmother calls Potter Muggle-loving filth.

“He is, granny,” Draco moans, face squished against some dusty yet tasteful wallpaper. “He’s the filthiest person that’s ever lived.”

* * *

“Are you some form of house pest? A Black family curse? Why can’t I get rid of you?” Potter says when Draco shows up on his doorstep, carrying a bottle of wine and appetisers as any man of the world would.

“Get rid of me, then,” Draco says, and walks in.

* * *

Potter is on an agenda to steal Draco’s elves and have them clean his shithole of a house. It’s the only reasonable explanation for why he’s taken to drinking with them.

“Stop entertaining the staff. You should be entertaining the Master. And there’s no smoking in the sunroom.”

“There is, now,” Potter says, lighting up a second cigarette with his wand. “There’s a new Master around here.”

“Master Potter,” the elves say in unison, drunk on the Butterbeer Draco keeps for his nephew.

* * *

It’s all fun and games until Draco catches feelings.

“I’m sick,” he tells anybody who cares to listen, and also those who don’t. “Je suis gravement malade.”

“Pull down the shades,” he tells the house elves from under the heavy duvet. “Owl the Healer.”

“Maybe Master Malfoy should tell Master Potter how he feels.”

“Clothes! Somebody bring clothes!”

* * *

“I heard through the grapevine that you’ve fallen ill.”

Draco peeks at Potter from under his duvet.

“It’s true. I’m dying.”

The bed jounces when Potter sits down next to him. He puts a hand on Draco’s un-feverish forehead.

“It sure looks like it.”

“I just want you to know, I lied about the Manor. I’m leaving everything to my elves.”

Potter’s hand moves down Draco’s face.

“Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“You have?” Draco says, his illness intensifying.

“Yes.”

“I thought I was a curse you couldn’t get rid of.”

“You are. You’ve been slacking on the job lately.

Something sharp rattles in Draco’s chest. He moves away from Potter’s touch, and hides under the duvet.

“Hey,” Potter says, leaning until his hand finds Draco’s waist through the thick material. “What happened?”

Silence.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Slowly, Draco shakes his head under the duvet.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Draco nods.

Draco hears ruffling and squeaking, and then Potter gets under the duvet. He’s hot, like a cat.

“Where did all your eloquence go?” Potter says, gathering him in his arms. “What happened to all your fancy words?”

Draco buries his head in Potter’s chest. Takes a deep breath.

“I turn stupid when I’m in love. It’s a debilitating illness.”

“You’re a debilitating illness,” Potter says, and kisses his forehead. “And I’m chronically ill.”

[msfantasy]

The Goblin Knight and his Cry-Baby-Wife

Knight!Goblin x Reader

Summary: A head cannon on the Goblin Knights squires debating

When the Goblin Knight was requested by the Duke of Rox to oversee the intensive camp training of the newest squires for 3 weeks. Rein was all but obliged by his duty to ensure those men had the greatest training regiment.

The Squires currently experiencing hellish training at camp cannot deny that Sir Rein wasn’t taking his duty seriously.

But there is just something incredibly odd in their sour instructors’ demeanour.

During the day, he was nothing but an evil brute, running drill after drill after drill. Only to force the boys into combat for hours on end until he was sufficiently satisfied with their progress.

By night, Sir Rein was a sorrowful looking sap, looking longingly onto the hidden photo pressed into a locket fastened around his neck.

As the nights continued, the squires grew more curious as to what has their cruel instructor looking so pathetic?

A debate sparked pertaining to the contents of the locket when Rein left to bathe in the nearby river.

William: “I suppose the locket could contain a photo of some lass?”

Henry: “I heard rumours that he was allowed to wed a lady of his choosing, perhaps it a photo of her.”

John: “To think some poor gentlewoman was subjected to marry such a heinous looking creature. Rather cruel and unfortunate.”

Richard: “I heard she’s rather happy in their marriage. She must be rather unfortunate looking her self.”

The four squires debate for the next few nights on how ugly Reins wife must be when he parts for the evening to bathe in the river.

John: “If she’s a hunchback- that would certainly squander your marriage prospects. It would explain why she’s happy to be married even if it’s to him.”

William: “She must be blind. Even a hunchback wouldn’t wish to wed someone that looks like him.”

Henry: “He’s left the locket behind this time. Think we should just open it up and look?”

The four squires scramble over each other, to glimpse the woman that has their cold and cruel instructor in such a wayward state.

But with Sir Rein’s return, their opportunity to view the beastly woman who married an ugly harsh monster was squandered.

By the end of training camp, Rein was antsy to leave.

Sir Rein was in a particularly foul mood since the 4 squires were so sore and tired, they moved slower than expected, causing half a days delay.

Rein: “You lot better start moving faster. My wife will be upset if I come back late.”

Richard: “or upset you came back at all.”

The boys snicker but Sir Rein pays no mind to the silly taunts of some young boys. He’s more concerned at being reunited with his pretty little wife.

It wasn’t until they re-enter the grand hall of Duke Rox estate do they hear the sniffling cries of a young woman.

Y/n: “B-b-but he was meant to arrive 7 hours ago!”

The Duke massaged the corners of his temple- quickly growing exhausted from the crying woman.

Duke: “Calm yourself, tardiness is not a reason to deploy a force.”

The 4 squires linger in the background, not quite sure what to do with this most unusual display of drama.

Rein: “My lady.”

Sir Rein greets warmly.

The sniffling woman spins around quickly, her glassy wet eyes are puffy from crying.

Her cheeks and nose blushed with excessive rubbing.

She made quick strides towards Sir Rein who only opens his arms at the crying woman throws herself into his arms.

It’s an odd display.

A pretty, weepy noble woman crying in the arms of a goblin who only came up to her shoulder.

Non-then-less, Rein strokes her head with a slight quirk to his lips.

Duke: “Remind me to never send you on a long quest again. Your wife was being particularly unbearable.”

The four squires are gobsmacked.

To think such a pretty noble woman married such a beastly looking creature and even weeped in his absence.

To miss him so dearly she acted unbearable to the Duke.

They all look at the Goblin Knight.

But the Goblin Knight paid no mind. Only leaving his eyes down casted, fondly watching his cry-baby-wife weep in relief at his return.

[jayaury]

Beastly

The beast curse?

What a silly thing for a smart, educated man to believe in.

Of course kissing the faun won't make you some sort of dumb beast-man.

Of course staring into her eyes as she kisses you deeper won't corrupt you.

Of course she wouldn't turn you into her dumb pet brute.

Of course she's not drawing you further from civilization and humanity.

She's not changing you.

Making you dumber and bigger and stronger for her.

Drawing you deeper into the moonlit woods.

So don't think about your growing fur.

Don't think about your sprouting horns.

Only think about how good it feels to obey.

About how much you love mistress.

Beloved mistress.

Good beast-men love their mistress...

[edenspoem]

before the flora.

knight!ellie x princess!reader teaser. beginning is essentially just lore. bonus excerpt with ellie and princess interaction below the sketch. wrote the intro in january. no warnings tbh. illustration by @trackinglessons :P READ THIS . PALESTINE MASTERPOST

When the universe was born, there was only fire; a slowly waning blaze. And so hence when death begins to unfurl its low, groaning bloom— there will only be ice.

Yet the heavens and earth are nay alike, as death— and life, are interwoven by the timeless nuptial that is humans, and Mother Nature. Cordial and tepid heartbeats meet with her frigid and frightening marrow this season. Flakes are falling, a howl swells in the wind, and hearths stay an undying tongue of flame in the province of Istenad. Isle of riches and hedonism gone rampant amongst those who proved meritful of a conversation spat over gilded chalices. Or those who wiped a famished tongue stroke over the sole of His Majesty— The King's tan leather boots in entreat, declaring the hide a tenfold more gullet–watering than their stale, daily spare of bread. Where high life reins, low life is there to scrub their steeds.

The wintry pearlescent tundra fringing around uncharted woodlands hums your name— it carries by gale, an airy reed of vowels pulled through your ears. 

Tut, tut, tut, the pecking of bark.

Everything seems to resound much heavier over the windows thick limestone sill. Woodwinds, the sough of pine boughs— a chorus wafted. Woodpeckers, they beat rigid timber with their sonnets of calling. The echoed tut starts to sound awfully kindred to a beckoning call of your name. And at daybreak, when the tangerine sun dips its head under the coast, you feel a magnetic lull to traverse your truest passions and slip away into the night, arctic chilled steel in hand. The quantity of hay sticking beneath your shoes collected by skittering across the night–doused thoroughfare was well enough to concern your maids on duty to dress you, brows fuddled at the streaming of straw near your door come morning.

Loop of your knuckles, bend of your wrist, a hand flexed on the hilt of a meticulously poached sword. A swing 'round your waist, a cold hale grip the air could taste, fighting off many mythic brutes of moonlight, however only conceived where dreams are airtight. The mind, it plays. The play it perceives, a viewing spread like tawny butter. Ghouls and ghastlies encircle a quaint pond, chanting away in cryptic grumbles and beastly bumbles, enraged with their slobber frothing at the fangs you tore from their sockets— deeper than artless, juxtaposed to the blinding ruby reds and dyed paper sunflowers of the theater. Your mind’s play felt real.

Unfortunate to your heart, dreams will stay dreams.

Nary a princess was meant to tune into melee, especially at your courting age. Nevertheless, your psyche has spurned from what a maiden is expected of and is completely in a haven of your own structure, your signature sanctuary. 

In the farmsteads, a forthcoming soldier harvests not just crop— but dexterity. Derived and nurtured in the faraway prairie village of Dunwich, where the fertile seasons prove flaxen of corn and the trickling sweat of every farmhand turns to gold. Any newborn granted to this quaint village is fated to form calloused hands with labor written in their palm lines as time unfolds. In their— well, her— adolescent years, the yearning for practices of gallantry in knighthood swiveled her sights to the colossal stone castle way.. way far away. Sprouting beyond the earth line, far as the eye can see.

So, she learned, she trained, she slept, partaking in a ranged cycle taught by her ruthlessly departed father: Sir Joel. Reprisal became her nemesis; never able to rend the barrier of hesitation and cleanse her shut eyes of revolting imagery. The horseman of death was not omitting the trauma of this hazel-haired soldier. A weight so burdensome, her speckled skin remembers the tales of every scar clawed into it. Like how the lips of a bard cling to an everlasting ballad.

Every knight knew well to exile any lingering ties to the past. It's been years since he passed, she understands that. Though, the heart never lies, and certainly never covets forgetting.

Ambitions stemming from legions of knights in waiting have fallen short, submerging within the moat of the castle and sinking deep into the catacombs with no elegy sung. An allegory for dreams long since vanished. A domain so valued longs for those biding life with rigid bones, such as she. Tempered by the hardships, endured like metal meeting the blacksmith's chisel. 

A vividness to her movements, flowing like a river. For it is water that soothes the most cosmic fires, carves veins into the earth's soil, descends from the heavens above and proves iron soluble. A knight so pinpoint and poised like a painter, yet so daring and baneful like a warrior of evenfall. An artisan of her craft, this knight-to-be is. Born to thrive in matters regarding protection of their kingdom and its nobility. By the sheer tenacity of her skill, she will excel. From the self–instructed lessons in a verdant pasture, basked by undying light in her hometown— to the ordained priming within the royal court. 

They were forged to be dutiful. 

You are a daughter of the illustrious King, Sagard, and swan–grace queen, Sagard— maiden name Adela, and sister of your highly revered and cherished kin, Prudence. Subsequent to her fabled rise, was your fall. A pratfall you plainly turned a serene ear from, for you foresaw its coming. Clandestine adventures and lollygagging in the marketplace earned you right in the clasp of consequences. You knew that, knowing it kept you on the balls of your toes before you'd be caught suiting into an act more repugnant— be it, no.. befogging yourself in a peasant boys' dire–in–muck rags, merely to play "boy" games as a young one? 

Sacrilege! 

Prudence was there, at every occasion, scolding with her youthful finger at the palace fore, sucking her fingertip wet of spit and dragging a stroke over your soot–strewn cheek, just before scuttling the halls in search of father, cawing, “Father, Father! My sisters become a boy again!” until it rang his fucking ears to a pulse. Hmph, father even countered his own remark of squawk, pouring through the walls, “Hah! The second son I wish I reared! Tell me, what peasants skin does she clad: butcher's boy, or of the farmer?”

Rebuking the role of royalty isn't your entire bastion of vengeance. You purely long for a world of your own color. Your self-brewn arcadia of art. In a concise phrase, desire for sovereignty. And your family chastised you curtly for every scant display of free will, short of the Queen, she is fair.

Daughter of the King, Princess of the thicket. You retain your fortunes. Modestly.

“Why don't you resemble your sister more?”

A ruby crested box designed by the best of goldsmiths is lodged at the margin of your beds footboard, safekeeping of your esteemed regalia. You possess a bedazzled amassing of circlets, veils, brocade and velvet tunics of long lengths within this box. But do any of them revel in the blessing of being worn on regal skin? Never. You opted for garbs of less gilding and jewels, so that you might taint it with whatever adventures mold under the ribbing of your foot. That shit offended your skin with its indelicacy of forgetting a human will don its fabric golds and woven jewels.

Even— court gatherings. You don the likeness of simplicity and temperate elegance. This morning's virginal aurora, a broach of light swoll from the windows arch, to the footing of your bed, made the wake of your eyes begin upon a lighting behind sheer skin. Your box of regalia shone in that incandescence momentarily. It danced, fleeter than you, irkingly so. You had to squint whilst flipping the clasps and hauling the heavy lid slanted against your bed, or else you may be heaven–blinded. “Every inch of Princess,” you intoned in quietude at the sight of glamored fabrics, “—whom I shant mirror.” and reached for the homelier fabrics, scratch of cobalt-blue linen delight brushing under your prints, you grasped your reserve tight.

“I was not made aware that there is a village wedding to be, dear sister— from what river does this dress of rags hail from?”

“It is not a brides dress, nor rags, leave me Prud—”

Prudence had blocked the shut of your chamber door with her hand flattened, pursuing, “You glum your gems. Rotting in that chest, tasting no light, no glory.”

You kept your lips thickly sown shut, casting dimly eyes to the ground.

“Shall I send for the steward so he may sell—”

“No need.”

“Hmm, most stubborn, are we? Then I—”

“I am least stubborn,” you wedged your fingers beneath her palm, prying the door loose, “—it is you, who strays your own counsel, unmoving as a mountain.” ending with the trudging shut of your door, ceasing in silence.

[++ bonus excerpt from act 2, scene 1]

“Uh–huh..” she draws out. Legato; a sarcastic reply, and wipes her tongue through the press of her lips together, “This far out? You must rebel quite often to have made a friend, I bet?” she tilts her head, a bit playful.

“You bet well— a lot, I assume?” 

Cannily, she winks, “Indeed I do.” and aligns her face onward. Gesturing to her horse's rump a second— third? Eh, whatever time— she jerks her brow with a head cock back, “Hop on, I'll take you there.”

Both brows fall, and you flinch bemused, “Wh– uh,” as you hem and haw for words, grating a stutter, “But not a moment ago you spoke of the roads recent perils—”

“Surely it's not far?” she spoke presumptuously, “I mean, you've come this far, My Lady. Nobody would travel the woods past sunset, besides you it seems.” now a matter–of–fact vocal barricade that shoves itself into your ears and winds the cogs to think cleverly.

You shan't know my transgressions, sweet Knight. You may talk.

Trust is sparse as a puddle marched in.

“‘Tis but a mile out. Bravo on your convincing, Williams.” you wry and scoff. 

“Can't fumble that name, huh?”

“I would not want to dishonor your knighthood.” 

“You honor me with your coincidental presence, Princess.”

“Honor in your mind.”

"Hmph," her breathy chuckle, a sweetness you luckily caught with ears even numbed by the snowsquall. Do not blush. Do not smile. Fuck. Guess you'll be visiting Malina after all, the gale of a displeased sigh icing your lips over as you approach that dangling stirrup.

[somewhereinkissland]

LIKE ONE SIMPLY DESIRES tea in a particular moment, or to act on wanderlust, yours came at you barreling, like a train.

Desire can have a dark saccharine, serpent-like quality to it, rather than the basic want for tea. When you say it, there’s something so satisfying about it on your tongue, and humanly erotic in subtext. Romantic desire, specifically. It can be suffocating, twisting, and primal. Made apparent in oneself when elicited by one’s conscious soul. The all-consuming feeling, gnaws bit by bit.

Consumes your heart, your mind, body, and soul. It can be fascinating and natural, like the tearing of meat by the primal desire of a brute predator—or beautifully rugged and erratic like rapid guitar chords on the teasing peak of a building crescendo.

That desire is in every light breath and sigh you exhale when she’s around you. Engulfing you desperately—feeling you. Feeling all the ways you too, want her, and it’s like the crashing of beastly waves against rocks. The aforementioned crescendo finally reaching its peak.

The breathy twirls of air that leave your lips—the soft exhales drawn as they connect with those belonging to the object of your transcendental desire. Transcendental even of all five of Maslow’s, hedonistic in nature. You remember the panging feeling of your beastly beating heart as it plummeted when she first kissed you.

And she’s so smart, she knows you. She knows how to feel you, and it’s second nature to do so. She knows how you want her, and how she wants you. And she was exuberant enough to act on it first. No, this covet isn’t one-sided.

The gritting of teeth and biting of the plump flesh on your lips, and she breathed into your mouth and soul, as you skinned her with your hungry tongue.

When she held you in her hands and softly turned you over on top of her, the waves overtook the stones, and the predator licked its lips satisfyingly clean of the prey. Bodies enveloped by one another, you nipped at her skin, from her satiated lips to shoulder blades.

Both equally hungry, and desperate to combine—desperate to latch onto each other eternally. Like something of the chivalrous naked Greeks or Romans, admiring of the true human body—yours. She would hoist your body into a sculpture for everlasting remembrance and admiration. Everlasting like her utmost devotion, and over all shared transcendental desire for you.

Unspoken in between the two of you, but so obvious in the clawing of your fingernails in her tousled hair. Tacit is the sempiternal desire to ascend together, bare and entangled. Always tacit in the gaze shared upon each other. Either when half-lidden with lust or light with innocent doting.

Desire, when you’re in her arms. Desire, when you’re underneath her. An incessant feeling that’ll never cease the visceral fluttering inside the both of you.

No recollection of the life you led before your consumption by desire. You believe what’s shared between you two is something more—something newfound and even better, than lust, trust, and love.