#it’s so subtle but unnerving enough

[just-a-madrigal]

Listen my child, to this story of dreams, and know that the beginning is more difficult than it seems

Message in a Haunted Mansion

Nancy Drew Embroideries

[qoldenskies]

FIRST DRAFT DEFEATED!!! its 54k words currently

[tender-rosiey]

Hii, can I request a fic where sukuna is trying to court the reader but she's still scared of him and doesn't realize what he's trying to do?🫶🏾

tethered — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: i could not let reader be trampled on; am sorry :( i mean you can tell she is scared but she aint gon take crap from him ALSO if you guys saw that I used this sukuna panel before, pls tell me tyyy

the room feels far too small with him in it, despite its towering ceilings and wide stone floors. his presence suffocates every inch of space, like the weight of a storm pressing down on you, demanding attention.

your hands tremble slightly as you pour tea into the lacquered cup, but you force them to steady. you’ve been doing this long enough to know better than to show fear, even if your pulse hammers in your throat.

the weight of sukuna’s gaze is heavy, as always, but you keep your eyes trained on the task, pretending not to notice the way he watches your every move, like a predator biding its time.

you place the tea in front of him, bowing respectfully.

yet the air between you shifts—his presence thick with something unfamiliar. you glance up, wary, only to find his eyes, crimson and sharp, still locked onto you.

that smile—the one that sends chills racing down your spine—curves his lips.

“you’re trembling again,” he says, his voice low, dark amusement coloring every word.

you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to breathe slowly, evenly.

“it’s cold, my lord,” you respond, as calmly as you can manage, though the lie feels feeble. everyone knows that with sukuna in the room, it’s never the cold you have to fear.

he leans forward slightly, one of his lower arms lazily resting on the table, the other two still folded across his broad chest. “is that so?” his voice is smooth, but there’s an edge to it that unsettles you more than his usual biting remarks.

you’ve heard the whispers, the rumors—how he’s been different lately, his focus shifted. and it’s not hard to guess where that focus lies.

you’ve felt the shift, too. the extra care given to your meals, the finery left in your chambers, and the subtle way he’s been keeping you close. too close.

you glance at him from the corner of your eye, nerves flaring. “I don’t mean to waste your time, my lord. if there’s nothing else, I should return to my duties.”

his chuckle fills the room, rich and deep, as though you’ve just said something absurdly amusing. “so eager to leave?” he asks, his voice low. “I’ve been generous, haven’t I?”

there’s something different in his tone now, something dangerous. your stomach knots as his gaze sharpens, studying you with unnerving intensity.

“my lord, I—” you stop yourself, choosing your words carefully. the last thing you want is to provoke him. “you’ve been more than kind. but I am still just a servant. I don’t require such attention.”

his smile widens, showing more of his sharp teeth, the predatory glint in his eyes growing darker. one of his upper hands moves, reaching out to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze head-on.

“just a servant?” he repeats, voice dripping with mockery. “you really think I would waste my time on someone who means nothing?”

you swallow hard, refusing to flinch under his touch. his hand is surprisingly gentle, but the power behind it is unmistakable. you force yourself to meet his eyes, despite every instinct screaming at you to look away.

“I—I…think I don’t know why you would waste your time on someone who isn’t afraid to speak her mind.”

his eyes flash with something dark and unreadable, but it isn’t anger. it’s interest. you can see the amusement flickering beneath the surface, and it sends another chill down your spine.

“you think you’re brave?” he muses, his voice lowering to a dark whisper. “or perhaps foolish?”

your breath hitches, his words unsettling. “I don’t think it’s foolish to speak honestly,” you reply, voice steadier than you feel. “especially when I’ve done nothing to earn the attention of someone like you.”

sukuna leans forward again, all four arms now resting on the arms of his throne as he stares you down. the air feels heavier, charged with something dangerous and electric.

his voice drops low, smooth as silk but with a dark edge. “you’ve earned it by surviving in my presence this long. by not running when you had the chance. that interests me.”

your heart races, the closeness unnerving, but you refuse to back down. “I’m here because it’s my duty,” you manage, your voice sharp and defiant. “not because I seek your favor or your… gifts.”

sukuna laughs then, the sound deep and rumbling, like distant thunder.

“ah, so you do notice my gifts. modest as they are.” he leans in closer, one of his lower hands brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “tell me, little servant, if it’s not favor you seek, what do you want?”

your stomach flips, the closeness sending a wave of heat through your cheeks, but you stand firm.

“I want to be left alone,” you reply bluntly, trying not to flinch under his gaze. “I want to do my duties without feeling like prey every time I enter the room.”

his eyes narrow slightly, a dangerous glint flashing in them, but there’s something else too. amusement. curiosity. he’s not angry—if anything, he seems more intrigued than before.

“you think you’re prey?” he muses, his voice lowering to a dark whisper. “perhaps you are. or perhaps, you’ve already caught the ‘predator’s’ attention in ways you don’t yet understand.”

his words sending a chill down your spine, but you stand firm. “If I have, it’s not by choice, sukuna-sama.”

his smile softens, just a fraction, but it’s no less menacing. he rises from his seat, towering over you as he closes the distance between you in a heartbeat.

his four hands move with calculated grace, two of them resting on either side of your face, trapping you in place as he looms over you.

“choice is an illusion for you humans,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “but you’ll come to understand that in time.”

despite the trembling in your limbs, you lift your chin, meeting his gaze with a newfound defiance. “I’m not afraid of you.”

he smirks, his eyes gleaming with approval at your boldness. “good. fear is boring.”

then, in a startlingly unexpected move, he leans down, brushing his lips against your forehead—an act of tenderness that catches you completely off guard.

the warmth of his breath lingers, and the moment stretches between you, almost surreal.

“besides,” he continues, voice low and surprisingly gentle, “I find your spirit rather… enticing.”

your heart races, confusion mingling with the fear that had gripped you moments before.

this man, this powerful being, was something else entirely, and as you step back, you can’t shake the strange warmth that blooms in your chest.

with that, he releases you, stepping back and letting the tension between you linger like smoke in the air.

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do not copy or plagiarize

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[hannieehaee]

NEED TO KNOW (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: with jungkook's lifelong crush also came an aversion to dating anyone who wasn't you. but what would happen when the poor lovesick boy came crying into your arms after finally giving a chance to what turned to be a disastrous date?

content: virgin!jungkook, f2l!jungkook, loser!jk, sub!jk, college au, jk is insanely socially awkward and shy, kook is touch starved, afab reader, smut, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 612 (teaser); 10k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: november 26th

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: picture 21 year old jungkook for this hehe<3

masterlist | patreon

Jungkook often found himself feeling like his life was one of those very shitty romcoms.

Except he had never really felt like the heartthrob, or even like he was the one getting swept off his feet.

No, his experience was more closely aligned with the loser virgin who was tossed aside so the star-crossed lovers could find their way to each other. This was just how it had always been.

Jungkook had watched most of his friends find love with a person he could easily consider their soulmate. He was a romantic at heart, after all. These things were not difficult for him to spot.

He often wondered when his turn would come, except it just never did.

Being one for romance was seemingly not for the weak, as Jungkook found himself passing yet another year as a lovesick fool hoping to find that perfect someone to finally look his way.

Scratch that. Many people looked his way. Even as a self-proclaimed loser, Jungkook received plenty of attention from boys and girls alike. Looks were often thrown his way, but they were never the looks he wanted to receive.

Sure, he could easily reciprocate the appreciation he received for his looks. He could smile back, maybe even ask for their number and then see where it all led afterwards.

Except that Jungkook needed the romance. He needed to be swept off his feet (or maybe the reverse, it depended on his mood). Jungkook needed a soulmate.

It all just became eternally more complicated when Jungkook insisted on having that person be you.

That and the fact that Jungkook was slightly, how to put it, socially inept. He was shy, anxious, unable to read social cues, and basically just an overall mess. But the worst of all was his undying crush on you, this he knew.

It was a tale as old as time. Falling for your best friend, pining after them for years, hoping one day they'd turn around and realize you'd been here all along. And now on year nine of knowing you, it still hadn't happened. Jungkook remained a sad, lonely virgin awaiting for you to grant his romcom wish and make him into the love interest.

It didn't really help how painfully socially awkward Jungkook was. Truly, he was surprised you'd stuck by his side for this long despite that. There was no way Jungkook would ever want to risk ruining your current relationship in favor of something he knew would never work out. You did not like him back, these past nine years made him very well aware of that.

And so, as a result, his friends had the grand idea of setting him up.

Not once, not twice, but countless times.

However, Jungkook being Jungkook, never agreed to it. Not once had his friends been able to reel him out of his dorm long enough to entrap him into a date.

Jungkook simply saw no point in it. Blind dates were the complete antithesis of Jungkook's beliefs about romance. He needed a connection before even considering entering a romantic relationship. The thought of going on a date with someone he'd never met before unnerved him to no end.

Plus, he was convinced no one would ever actually like him past his looks. There had been far too many instances of him being on the receiving end of insults to his personality or not-so-subtle stink eyes thrown his way. To have that happen to him whilst on a blind date was just a huge no.

Jungkook found himself stuck in an endless limbo. A loveless, endless limbo as he pined after the one person he could never have.

...

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[vipetas]

hide and seek

Heart racing, you gently eased the closet door shut, nestling yourself deeper inside of it. With a hand pressed over your mouth to stifle your breaths, you strained to hear any approaching footsteps.

Silence enveloped the room, and you allowed yourself to breathe a soft sigh of relief. This was a good hiding spot, you thought to yourself. Surely, he’ll never find–

“Oh, darling! Where are you?”

Your hand instinctively shot back to cover your mouth. Shit, how did he know to look for you in this room?

You held your breath, listening intently. Before long, you heard it: the slow, deliberate approach of footsteps. Each one seemed to echo the pounding of your heart as you braced yourself for the closet doors to be flung open.

Yet, it never happened. Instead, three soft knocks on the closet's doors signaled his presence on the other side. You pressed farther back into the closet, trying desperately to remain unnoticed, but it was too late.

“There you are!” Alastor's voice rang out as he swung open both doors. As light flooded into the cramped space, you met his gaze, a mix of annoyance and amusement crossing your features

“Alastor!” you scolded in a hushed tone, careful not to attract further attention. “You cheater, how did you find me?”

With a chuckle, the Radio Demon grinned wider as he leaned against the door frame.

“Why, darling, I simply followed the sound of your beating heart. It led me right to you. Quite the delightful melody, if I do say so myself.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed any irritation you might've felt. “Alright, Romeo, fair enough,” you quipped as you stood up, brushing off your clothes.

Alastor responded with a playful wink, extending his hand towards you as an offer to help you out of the closet. You accepted, feeling a subtle thrill course through you as your fingers intertwined. It was a sensation that had become familiar, one that never failed to stir something within you. Just as you were about to comment on it, the moment was abruptly cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps.

In an instant, Alastor swiftly pushed you back into the closet, joining you inside before you could even react.

The confined space of the closet felt even smaller with both of you squeezed inside, pressed close together to accommodate for the lack of room. In the dim light, your gaze met Alastor's, and he placed a finger to his lips, motioning for you to remain quiet. You nodded, your heart fluttering ever so slightly not just from the fear of being discovered but also from his proximity.

Still, you waited, holding your breath. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, but after a moment, you heard someone gingerly enter the room. It wasn't unexpected, but what caught you off guard was the sudden voice that shattered the stillness.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” Charlie called out, her tone carrying a playful curiosity.

Alastor, ever perceptive, sensed the gasp rising in your throat. With a swift movement, his hands slid to your sides, pulling you even closer to him. His lips hovered just inches away from yours, barely brushing against them as he whispered, “Stay calm, my dear.”

For a moment, you forgot about the game, about the risk of being caught. As Charlie's voice lingered in the air, Alastor's grip on you tightened subtly, sending a delightful cascade of shivers down your spine. The way he held your gaze was both unnerving and intoxicating, and you felt yourself melting as his fingers began tracing the curve of your sides, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake.

In turn, your own hands sought solace in the fabric of his suit, fingers curling around the material. As you leaned into his embrace, you purposefully brushed your lips against his again in an almost kiss, and a low, deep hum rumbled from within Alastor’s chest.

You could feel his frustration, palpable even with the scant distance separating you. It was a gap neither of you could ensure for a moment longer.

But reality came crashing back down as Charlie’s voice pierced through the silence again.

“Hello! I know somebody’s in here!” She said, her presence looming larger as she continued to search the room. Her movements became increasingly frantic as she searched behind curtains and under the bed, leaving you with the unsettling certainty that the closet would be her next target.

Glancing back at Alastor, you were somewhat surprised to find his gaze still fixed solely on you, seemingly unconcerned with Charlie's search outside. His hands suddenly left your sides, and you found yourself missing his touch. But before you could dwell on the absence for long, they found a new resting place, cradling the back of your head with a possessiveness that both startled and thrilled you.

Without warning, he closed the gap between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that bordered on primal. It was a stark departure from his usual gentleness, leaving you momentarily bewildered by the sudden intensity. Yet as the kiss deepened, any thoughts of protest were quickly swept away by the overwhelming heat rising between you.

Eagerly, you opened your mouth for him, craving the sensation of his claim, and claim you he did. Pulling your hair back as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue brushed against yours, sending waves of pleasure that shot through your veins, setting every nerve ablaze with desire. Lost in the dizzying sensation, your body acted on its own accord as it arched into his touch, your bodies melding together seamlessly. Each curve and contour fit together perfectly, as if they were two halves of the same whole.

As the moment's intensity threatened to peak, you suddenly heard the soft creak of the outside door opening. Your heart lurched in your chest, and you instinctively pulled away from Alastor, eyes wide as you fixated on the crack of the closet door, where a sliver of light seeped through.

Alastor, however, remained unperturbed. His lips trailed kisses across your jaw, his hands returning to your sides with a firm grip that pooled your insides with warmth. Despite the interruption, you found yourself melting into his touch, your arms wrapping around his neck as you surrendered to his desires, even as a part of your mind remained on high alert.

“Hey, did you find anyone?” Vaggie’s voice rang out.

The sound of her footsteps drew closer, accompanied by Charlie's response. “No luck yet, Vaggie. But I'm sure they're hiding somewhere around here.”

“Did you check the closet?”

The innocent question sliced through the air like a blade, catching you off guard. Every fiber of your being urged you to break away from Alastor, to regain control of the situation before it spiraled further out of hand. But as you struggled to gather your thoughts, Alastor's lips crashed against yours once more, effectively drowning out your protests.

“Alastor,” you whispered urgently against his mouth, your attempts to push him away met with stubborn resistance. Despite your efforts, he remained as sturdy as a brick wall, his fervent kiss consuming you with an intensity that left you powerless to resist.

“I didn’t!” Charlie gasped, and in the next instant, the unmistakable sound of their approach shattered any remaining pleasure you felt. Desperation flooded through you as you attempted to push Alastor away once more, but he only seemed to draw impossibly nearer, enveloping you in an almost suffocating embrace as his tongue boldly invited itself into your mouth.

This is it, you thought. You’d never hear the end of being caught in such an embarrassing situation. You could already feel heat rushing to your cheeks as you struggled between surrendering to Alastor’s intoxicating taste and preserving your dignity.

Bracing yourself for the inevitable, you tightly shut your eyes.

However, embarrassment never came. Instead, you felt a sudden shift, like being caught in a whirlwind of energy. Colors blurred and twisted around you, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if your very essence was being pulled apart at the seams. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the sensation ceased, and you found yourself standing in Alastor’s radio tower, his hands still resting upon you.

“You're such a cheater!” You playfully scolded, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge with your hand.

“Cheater? Me?” Alastor replied with mock innocence, his grin widening as he shrugged nonchalantly. “I merely... bent the rules to my advantage.”

With a shake of your head, you chuckled softly, finding it impossible to stay upset with him for too long. “Well, you certainly have a knack for bending them,” you commented with a smile.

“Would you prefer that I bend you?”

Alastor's remark sent your heart racing, your cheeks warming at the implication. Emboldened by the rush of adrenaline, you closed the distance between you, your fingertips lightly grazing his cheeks as you brought your lips tantalizingly close to his.

“Maybe I would,” you replied, the words barely a whisper. Alastor chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as his hand slipped to the small of your back.

“Well then, my dear,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive whisper. “Let's see just how much you can handle.”

[akamitrani]

omg i just read your dht fanfic and it was so good!! if your taking requests could i request that reader is married to david and she was with him on the set if terrifier (2024) and reader asks him to make love to her with his Art costume still on? Thanks!’ (sorry if this makes no sense lmao)

— The After-Hours Act —

David Howard Thornton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, established relationship, costume kink, roleplay (?), kissing, pining, choking, rough sex, public sex (well, kind of).

Summary: It's late at night, filming is practically done. Your husband, David, gives his final performance of the day.

[A/N: Omg hi, yes I accept requests! Thank you so much for liking my last fic 🤍 Hope you enjoy this one too, it's my first time doing smut. I absolutely loved the idea and probably had way too much fun with it lol.]

The set was alive with chaos. Flickering lights casting long, jagged shadows against the cracked walls, making the abandoned warehouse look even more sinister. Fake blood is pooled on the concrete floor and the air is thick with the smell of sweat, latex and the metallic tang of stage blood.

In the middle of it all stood David, fully transformed into the unnervingly silent and grotesque Art the Clown. His smile stretched wide under the white mask, black lips curling into a grimace that was equal parts amusing and horrifying.

You watched from the shadows just beyond the set, your eyes never leaving him. David had always been able to command a room and, as Art the Clown, he held a power that drew you in no matter how many times you had seen him in character.

The director yelled “Let's wrap it up!” and the tense energy of the set dissipated like smoke. David instantly broke character, his terrifying expression melting into his usual boyish grin as he exchanged a few words with the crew. His eyes flicked over to you and he gave you a subtle wink.

Your heart skipped a beat as he made his way toward you, still in full costume. The other crew members busied themselves with cleanup, leaving you and David in a pocket of relative privacy.

“Enjoy the show?” – he teased, voice low and familiar despite the eerie costume.

You couldn’t help but smile, mix of nerves and excitement – “You were terrifying, as always. But...” – you replied, eyes lingering on the smeared makeup around his lips – “I have a little request tonight”

David’s brow quirked in curiosity, he stayed silent, slipping back into Art’s mute persona for a moment. You took a deep breath, stepping closer so only he could hear your words...

“Can you stay in costume... For a little playtime, with me?” you whispered getting closer to him, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

For a split second you saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, it was quickly replaced by a mischievous glimmer... He understood the idea. He nodded slowly, slipping fully back into character, his smile turning wickedly playful. Stepping back, he walked towards the door of the warehouse, locking it.

You felt a thrill shoot down your spine, you were completely alone with him now – No crew, no distractions. He moved closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. The game had begun.

David – or rather, Art – stopped just inches away, tilting his head in that unnerving, silent way.

“Are you sure about this?” – he whispered, the question hanging in the air like a dare. You could see it in his eyes, he was more than ready to play along. You wanted to see just how far he would take it, how much you could handle... You nodded.

Without warning, he lunges forwards, pining you against a cold concrete wall. A gasp escapes your lips as his gloved hand wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but enough to send a wave of adrenaline through your body.

The pressure of his hand on your throat sends waves of heat between your legs, your breath coming out in short gasps. He leaned in closer, his painted lips brushing your ear, he remained silent, true to Art's unsettling nature.

You whimpered softly, feeling the undeniable desire. David's grin widened and he pushed you harder against the wall, his free hand slipping to your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel his growing bulge against your thigh, his gloves rough against your skin. His eyes bored into yours demanding submission.

You gave in willingly, letting him take control over you. The grip on your throat tightened just slightly, enough to make you even more wet.

“David...” – You breathed his name. A futile attempt to break the spell of Art's menacing silence.

But he wasn't ready to break character yet. Instead, he released his hold on your throat and captured your lips in a messy kiss, taste of makeup and sweat mixing between you two.

He pulled back, just enough to look at you. For a moment you thought he might speak, but instead he let out that eerie silent laugh, his shoulders shaking as he looked at you with a mocking expression.

“You really are good at this...” – You said, voice husky with arousal and fear.

He flashed that terrifying grin again and in a heartbeat lifted you up in his arms. You look at him with a surprised look as he carries you to the prop bed in the set and carefully throws you in it. He hovers on top of you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him. This time you completely feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh, making you moan – “Hmm yes...”

David's hands start to wander around your body, you're completely under him, completely at his mercy. His fingers slid under your dress pushing it up, revealing your black lacy set of lingerie. He pulled back and paused for a moment, he had an idea, suddenly getting out of bed – you look at him confused.

"David? What happened?" – You asked, afraid you did something wrong. He doesn't speak, instead he silently laughs gesturing for you to wait with an excited expression.

You watch him happily reach for Art's infamous black trash bag that was in a corner, open it dramatically and start looking for something inside of it. You were about to say something, but before you could do that he threw the bag away, in his hand is a black knife with fake blood still on it. He smiles devilishly pointing to the knife... then you. You freeze, feeling genuine horror with his actions now.

David senses your growing tension and gestures with both hands as what can be understood as 'relax, I'm not going to hurt you... probably'. What an imp. He starts crawling on top of the bed towards you with a hungry look, reaching your legs. He signals for you to open them and you gladly do so, without asking questions. He pauses for a moment as if savoring the situation, the position you're in – He gives you his trademark creepy smirk.

He reaches for your panties, his finger lifted one of the side edges and in a swift motion he uses the knife to slash it, removing it and revealing your throbbing cunt – now on full display for him. You inhale sharply, the cold air making you shiver. He throws away the knife and your undies somewhere around the set.

He pulls you towards him roughly, demanding, pushing your legs more far apart. You notice his bulge is very prominent now, poking through his clown costume. David hovers above you, one hand beside your head and the other ghostly stroking your sensitive bud making you moan. You don't want to wait, can't handle teasing now – you shift slightly as a form of protest.

“Fuck me now” – You breathlessly groan

He stopped in his tracks and looked you dead in the face, up until now he has been real soft with you, taking things slowly... But if you're such a needy bitch with no patience then he will give you exactly what you want.

David pulls back slightly and gathers your legs in front of him, pushing you to the side forcing you to change positions. Your back now is exposed to him, your ass completely tilted up, he uses his knee to once more spread your legs. You tried to look back at him but he shoved your head down in the bed and unspokenly demanded you to stay this way. Not wanting to defy him again you accept his command.

You stayed like this for a few seconds wondering why nothing has happened, you couldn't help but listen to your surroundings, especially behind you – focusing on any sound, any clue to what will happen. Unbeknownst to you, your husband – Art, at the moment – was dazed at the sight before him. Pussy swollen with desire and wetness threatening to drip down your groin, enough to make his dick beg to be released.

A sudden sharp noise of tearing cloth invaded your ears, making you jump a little bit. You were scared to look back but your curiosity was louder at the moment and you couldn't help but slightly glance to the source of the sound. David had torn his clown suit to free his dick, now holding his fully erect member in his hand leaking in precum, pumping it a few times.

He caught you looking and in a futile attempt you tried to avert your gaze, too late now. He smiled wickedly and as punishment, he gave you an unexpected ruthless slap to your butt, making you hiss in both shock and pleasure. The stinging sensation only adding to your burning heat. He continued – two, three, four, five slaps – smacking until you were moaning for the pain, for him.

“Mmm-aah fuck” – you moaned – “fuck me, just fuc-”

Your phrase cut short when he entered your pussy, shoving his dick deep inside you then completely out in a excruciatingly slow speed. He was taunting you, giving you what you wanted but not in the way intended to.

“Mmmm Dave, please ah- please...” – You cried out. You could feel the clown smirking behind you.

David started picking up speed, pounding hard, grabbing your waist for stability. There will definitely be some purple digits engraved there tomorrow.

You can hear his ragged breath and occasional whimpers, you're surprised he could maintain Art's silent persona this far. David is usually quite vocal, he enjoys praising you during sex. The difference is noticeable, you're still unsure about it... On the other hand, his much more dominant demeanor when portraying Art makes up for it.

He takes his dick out and flips you on your back to face him again, he takes your legs and puts them on his shoulder. He promptly aligned his shaft with your entrance again, staring directly at you. David's half-lidded blue eyes peaking through the white mask, black lips slightly open indicating breathlessness. Pounding you, he pushed your bra out of the way, he loved the erotic sight of your tits bouncing just for him.

His cock deliciously hit your sweet spot with expertise – he just knows how to make you feel good – feeling the climax build up more and more on your stomach on each thrust he gives, you're almost there.

He leans in closer to you, one of his hands grabs your throat while the other stays at your waist, pining you completely onto the bed. He's choking you mercilessly, cutting your oxygen this time.

David picks up his speed really fast, making the prop bed creak loudly, the sound of rough slapping skin filling the set – Your orgasm threatening to crash down. The stimulation is overwhelming and you can't hold it anymore.

His dick hits hard and deep in your pussy – you deliciously cum, your juices spilling all over his shaft. He nods maniacally feeling your tightening warm cunt around his cock, it was all that he needed to reach his peak – closing his eyes and throwing his head back, he ejaculates inside you with one final thrust. He releases the hold on your neck allowing you to gasp for air.

You see his face contorting and you think he might break character now. Instead he opened his eyes and smiled at you while clapping his hands cheerfully. The way he stayed silent, embodying Art’s menacing playfulness, drove you to the edge.

He removes himself from you, sweating, panting. You suddenly feel the exhaustion and so does he – literally plopping himself on the bed, by your side.

“I love you so much, you know that?” – he finally spoke after some minutes, the real David finally breaking through.

It was such a relief to hear his voice again – “I love you too... Even when you're being a complete psycho” – you teased, still breathless.

David laughed, genuinely – “I hope I wasn't too rough” – he said, pressing his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist in a comforting embrace.

“Maybe a little” – you admitted, resting your hands against his chest – “But I like it when you surprise me”

David smiled, leaning in to kiss the top of your head, filled with all the tenderness you knew him for. It was just the two of you, sharing a quiet moment.

“Thank you” – he murmured – “For loving all sides of me... Even the creepy ones”

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his chest – “I wouldn’t have it any other way”

You knew this was a moment you’d cherish – a memory of the man you loved, both the sweet husband and domineering clown... And tonight, you have experienced both.

“Alright, alright. I think we've given Art enough playtime for one night.” - he murmured, gently caressing your back. He kissed you one last time before preparing to get out of bed.

“I think I'll have to buy another clown costume” – he joked, pointing at his groin area, where he had ripped the fabric.

“And new panties for me, ruined my favorite one” – you added with a fake pout pointing at the long gone undies, currently at the floor. (rip undies)

“Yeah, sorry about that... I- I don't know what I was doing honestly” – he said looking down

“No, no. None of that. I loved everything. All of it.” – You quickly replied, forcing him to look at you. You could swear you saw a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“C'mon, let's get out of here” – He said sweetly, slipping his hand into yours – “We've had enough fun for one night”

Some minutes later as you both walked out of the darkened set hand in hand, you realized what you had just experienced was a moment you'd never forget. Fear, love and desire collided in the most thrilling way.

[venqzciii]

pervy massager Satoru! Who from the moment he sees you, decides you're not just any client-no, you're the one he has to make his.With a charming smile and that confident, slightly mischievous gleam in his eyes, he welcomes you to your first session, his goal set on making sure you're hooked from the start.

pervy massager Satoru! Who restrains himself during that first appointment, carefully toeing the line between professional and a touch too friendly. His hands are firm but gentle, moving with an attentiveness that's almost unnerving, as though he's studying every reaction you give. He wants everything about this first experience to be flawless, each touch perfectly calibrated, so there's no question in your mind about returning.

pervy massager Satoru! Who, as the session wraps up, leans in with a warm smile and mentions, "For your next appointment, I'll give you a discount. Consider it a welcome gift-just to show you how much l'd love to help you relax again." His words are smooth, laced with subtle intent, a promise hanging in the air that there's more waiting for you if you come back.

pervy massager Satoru! Who grins when he sees you've come back, knowing he did his job perfectly during your first visit. He can barely hide his excitement as he welcomes you in, his eyes roaming over you with a subtle hunger as he leads you to the massage table.

pervy massager Satoru! Who makes a point to hover close as you get comfortable, his fingers brushing your thighs as he drapes the towel over you. He gives you that same smooth, practiced smile and asks if there's any area you'd like "special attention" on today.

pervy massager Satoru! Who starts off innocently enough, his hands working over your shoulders and upper back with a slow, rhythmic pressure, almost too good at coaxing the tension out of you. He makes a few small, innocuous comments, something about how much you must need this, his voice low, as if there's no one else in the world he'd rather be focused on right now.

pervy massager Satoru! Who lets his hands wander further down your back with each pass, kneading deeper as he edges closer to your hips. His fingers slip just a bit under the edge of the towel, his fingers grazing your skin with a softness that sends a shiver through you. And then, as he shifts down toward your lower back, the towel "accidentally" slides lower, exposing the top curve of your ass.

pervy massager Satoru! Who takes his time with your hips, pressing his fingers into the sensitive spots at the base of your spine, his thumbs grazing the dip of your back. He lets the towel slide lower, bit by bit, inching down as his hands work over the full length of your lower body, a soft hum of approval slipping from his lips as he sees more of your ass.

pervy massager Satoru! Who swallows hard, his breathing hitching slightly when he felt his cock rising, struggling to keep himself in check. But with each touch, each brush of his fingers over your skin, he's only getting more worked up.

pervy massager Satoru! Who can't resist a small, almost imperceptible shift of his hips, positioning himself a little closer as he lets his cock press against the edge of the table.

pervy massager Satoru! Who, with his heart pounding and his self-control wearing thin, decides he's taken things far enough for today.As much as he's tempted to push just a little further, he knows he has to play the long game if he wants to keep you coming back, hooked on his touch and his subtle advances.

pervy massager Satoru! Who smoothly finishes up, giving your shoulders a final, reassuring pat, his touch lingering just a bit too long as he tells you, "You're all set. I'd love to see you again soon." His voice is warm, almost affectionate, but there's an edge of something more beneath it.

pervy massager Satoru! Who, as you're getting ready to leave, casually leans in and says, "You know, just for being such a great client, l'll give you a discount next time too." He flashes you a charming smile, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief, making it clear that he'd go out of his way to make sure you're back on his table.

pervy massager Satoru! Who watches you walk out with a satisfied smirk, already planning how he'll turn up the charm in your next session, wanting you to crave his touch as much as he craves having you under his hands.

part 2

© venqzciii : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Yandere vampire hunter D

‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊Yandere D and his obsession ♡...

~✧ Having D as your yandere is a complex experience. He wants to be close, but he stays far away. He needs to make sure you're safe, but please don't see him. He cannot bear the pain of your rejection.

~✧ Unlike his reputable existence- he's not a cruel yandere. he's too gentle for a dhampir, but too unorthodox for a human. He's an entity all of his own- a strange creature that beckons silently and unexpectedly under to your heed and calls for help, without you even knowing it.

~✧ He's a stalking yandere who watches and protects you from far away- he'll always be the eerie extra set of footsteps that follow accompany you home. He's the shadow who occupies the darkness that lingers in doorways- the shape of a foreboding figure leering silently in your home when you think you're all alone... Unaware of the filthy vampires blood that wets his blade, the one that stalked you home that very evening. He took care of it, but you don't need to know that.

~✧ He is always near- as much as he can spare, when he is not hunting the creatures whom he shares blood with. It is not often that he parts from your shadow from afar, and traverses away from the direction of your sweet breath and presence- but when he does, you'll always linger in the back of his mind.

~✧"I mean it D. This is getting dangerous now". The parasite will seeth quietly, only to be wordlessly silenced with a stern commanding grip. This is of no concern to you, stay out of this.

~✧ The parasite will grumble and huff. Of course this is of concern to him. He can see every dark crevice of this dhampires mind- and frankly he's tired of the constant presence of you occupying it. Your name, your face, your hair, your figure, your blood-

~✧ Silence. D will command with a cool, icy tone. Peeved.

~✧ D has vowed to protect you from everything that means harm, and he means everything. Even himself. He can deny all he wants, but he knows his urges will always be lurking within him- no matter how hard he resists. Be assured he's a damn good fighter, but it will urge him to stay away further for the sake of your safety.

He is half human like you, yes- but he also has the blood of vampyre. Dark depraved creatures of the night that desire blood and agony. He cannot deny himself of his own existence, he has tried well and truly- and this obsession of his won't change that.

The parts of him that reveal are always soft and lenient. Subtle and protective. If only you could see the darkness of his desires that twist and coil within him like a nest of asps. Slithering and hissing with poison and desire.

~✧ But believe it when I say this, he is not a sadistic creature. Especially towards you. He may hunger for you, desires of possession and adoration grasping at his cold heart- but trust that no harm will ever come to you. Especially by his own hand or word. Does he frighten you with his daunting height and unnerving presence? Very well. He'll stay out of sight, appearing nothing more than a shadow in your footsteps. Does being followed home scare you? Then he shall take care in not getting too close then- close enough where you are within his sights, but not close enough where you can hear his steady and even footsteps following in your own tracks.

~✧ As time goes on and you inevitably catch onto his presence, things will gradually change. There's only so many times you awake to find yourself properly tucked into bed after collapsing onto your couch after a long day at work, or capture a glimpse of the tall foreboding shadow in your doorway to use the same excuse of exhaustion to explain it. It's not just paranoid fueled visions anymore.

~✧ However, much to your chagrin and determination to expose whoever this mysterious guardian angel of yours is, he'll never expose himself. He can't afford it. You'll often be left feeling like a fool as you call out into the dark street for whoever he is to appear- only to be met with the stillness of the lonely night and sound of cicadas chirping softly in the grass.

~✧ The only scenario in which he would ever approach and expose his identity, is if you were in trouble. Still- once the threat is gone, and you are safe, he's eager to dispel back into the shadows.

~✧ The thing with D as a yandere, is that he's fully lucid about what he's doing is... Wrong. But he can't help himself. Often he is troubled with the morals of his own doing- a neverending internal debate. Thoughts upon thoughts spiral and twist into an endless entangling web, and all he can do is mull over it and helplessly tangle at his own thoughts with a distant stare and tongue held between his sharp teeth. Brooding and mulling.

~✧ He knows this isn't right. His desires to protect you are more than that of a silent saviour- he's not doing this for a reward or thanks- he's not looking for your gratitude or admiration. He's selfish. So selfish. You are something that occupies the loneliness that will forever haunt him- keeping you alive is all he has left to grasp upon to give him hope for a life beyond this bleak ongoing existence of his.

~✧ He's so selfish when he imagines you waiting at home for him. Selfish when he imagines holding you, gazing upon you adoringly because he's missed you after a long day's work.

~✧ He won't admit these little fantasies of his- his yearnings for a life of his own. He doesn't dare say them out loud- like an unspoken dream that'll fade if ever spoken. A silly whimsy of a naive child who doesn't know any better...

~✧ These little thoughts will stay his. Only he can keep these delusional conjured memories- they're the only ones he can keep.

~✧ So please, take no mind of him. Live freely in the light as he guards you in the shadows. Take your fill of life and death sweetly and peacefully, all under the watchful eye and encompassing cloak of night of none other than vampire hunter D

I'm admittedly not quite sure if I like this or not, I feel a little in the dark with his character due to only watching the two movies (?), and knowing there's novels out there that'll explain his lore and character in much more depth.

If there's anyone who knows more about vampire hunter D, I'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas!

[cinnamon-galaxies]

@frostedclock-writes just gave me another idea in her repost that I just had to write. So, enjoy another drabble of bickering Alastor and stubborn reader.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐬. 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫

(Alastor x f!reader drabble)

Masterpost | Part One | Part Three (by @frostedclock-writes) | Part Four | Masterlist | AO3

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

It’s an ordinary afternoon as you and Alastor stroll into the dining room side by side, casually chatting as usual. When you both reach the dining table, Alastor pulls out a chair for you, but you walk right past him without a second thought.

Alastor clears his throat, the sound sharp enough to pull you to a stop. You turn around, confused, and before you can ask, Alastor breaks the silence with a pointed smile. "My dear, you're supposed to take the seat I offer."

"Huh?" You raise an eyebrow, feeling a bit puzzled. Your eyes shift down to the chair he’s holding, fingers tapping impatiently against the backrest. "Oh... I thought you were pulling it out for yourself."

Alastor’s grin stretches wider, and he lets out a brief laugh. "No, no. I’m pulling out a chair for you," he says, the warmth of his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Realizing the situation, you step closer, but instead of accepting his offer, you pull out the chair next to him with a fluid motion, a challenging grin plastered on your face. "How about you sit here first?"

Alastor raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting into one of mild irritation. Then, he bursts into a loud, static-laden laugh. Shaking his head, he responds, "Oh, no, my dear. I can't do that."

You blink, your own irritation rising. "Why not?" you ask, matching his raised eyebrow with one of your own.

Alastor sighs deeply, as though already exhausted by a conversation that has barely begun. "Because, my dear," he says, his grip tightening on the back of the chair, static crackling louder with his dwindling patience, "it’s chivalry. Much like the door incident, if you recall." He mutters the last part, clearly remembering your previous argument on the subject.

You roll your eyes. "I know it’s chivalry. But why can’t I show you the same courtesy?"

"I appreciate your consideration – but no, thank you," he says, gesturing to the seat in front of him, his crimson eyes flicking to it before locking onto you again, now burning with subtle warning.

With a deep breath, you steel yourself for yet another discussion about 'proper manners' with the Radio Demon. "Why won’t you ever let me be kind to you?"

Alastor laughs again, this time a hollow sound. "Oh, my dear, you are always kind to me. But there are certain things I simply cannot accept. This," he gestures grandly to the chair, "is one of them. I am offering you the seat, and you, my dear, are meant to sit down." His tone is sharp, slipping into the polished cadence of a radio announcer. For a moment, his sharp teeth flash – not long enough to seem dangerous, but just enough to convey a silent threat. "So, please, be a dear and take a seat."

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. But your resolve hardens, and you meet his gaze squarely, voice firm. "No."

Alastor’s eye twitches ever so slightly.

You choose to ignore it, gesturing toward the chair you pulled out for him. "Well, in that case, I am offering you the seat, Alastor, and you are meant to sit down," you repeat his words mockingly, your sweet tone dripping with passive-aggressive defiance.

The static around Alastor intensifies, his crimson eyes darkening as they flash like ticking radio dials. His voice turns low and dangerous, the edge unmistakable as he bares his teeth, snarling at you with an unnerving tone, "I said, sit."

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.4

Where (Y/n) becomes an A to C student. It's not her fault tho! Blame it on the trauma.

ALSO, THANK YOU TO @oof-spoof FOR PRACTICALLY FUNDING THE INVINCIBLE SERIES!!! EVERYONE GIVE THEM SOME LOVE!!!

Mark grabbed the keys, sliding into the driver’s seat without a word, and you followed suit, exhaustion settling deep into your bones as you slumped into the passenger seat. As you buckled your seatbelt, he turned the ignition, the radio flicking on as he scrolled through channels until he landed on the familiar one, 96.5. The quiet drive began, with Mark’s fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel in time with the music, a rhythm that seemed at odds with the tense atmosphere filling the car.

You stared out the window, letting the passing scenery blur before you. Houses and shops you once thought would stand forever flew past, their vibrant facades a painful reminder of all you’d lose in the next five months. This town, this life—it was doomed.

Mark’s fingers slowed, and his eyes flicked toward you, his voice slipping in smoothly through the silence. “You seem a bit… off,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Stayed up late or something?”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, masking the churn of emotions beneath a neutral expression. “Just tired,” you replied shortly, hoping that would be enough.

He gave a low hum, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “You sure?” he asked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they scanned your face. “You’ve been acting different lately. Jumpy, kind of… paranoid, maybe?”

The subtle accusation prickled at your nerves, and you tore your gaze away from him, fixing your eyes back on the road. “It’s just school,” you muttered. “And the tests. No big deal.”

But Mark’s voice didn’t lose that sharp edge. “Right,” he said, drawing out the word, as if savoring the slight tension in your voice. “Because that’s totally you. Ignoring me and Dad, breaking down in the arms of your friends you see in school everyday, and sitting at the dining table like a vegetable for hours.”

You tightened your grip on your seatbelt, willing yourself to stay calm. “Maybe I just need sometime to myself,” you replied, forcing yourself to sound nonchalant.

Mark didn’t respond right away, but you felt his gaze linger, heavy and assessing. You were painfully aware of his scrutiny, and each second under his gaze felt like it stretched into eternity. Then, he leaned back, lips curling in a faint smirk.

“Whatever it is,” he said softly, almost a whisper, but there was a chill behind his words that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ll find out, (Y/n).”

The words hung in the air, charged with unspoken promises. You could feel his eyes on you, searching, prying, as if he were peeling back the layers of your mind to uncover whatever secrets you kept hidden. You forced yourself to look straight ahead, but his words echoed in your mind, sinking in like a thorn you couldn’t dislodge.

As you pulled up to the school, you felt as though you could barely breathe. Mark turned off the car, watching you with that same intense, unnerving gaze. “Don’t go doing anything you’ll regret,” he added, his tone light, almost playful, but the underlying menace was unmistakable.

With a tight nod, you opened the car door and stepped out, feeling his gaze bore into your back as you walked toward the school entrance. The hollow ache in your chest grew heavier, the knowledge that your own brother was already suspicious clawing at you. You had five months left before everything fell apart—and now, Mark was already starting to close in.

The moment you stepped out of the car, you quickened your pace, your feet carrying you across the parking lot toward the school entrance where Hallie, Connor, and Weston were waiting. You could feel Mark’s gaze burning into your back, heavy with suspicion, his presence like a dark cloud that followed you no matter how fast you walked. You forced yourself to keep your head down, ignoring the instinct to turn around and see if he was still watching.

As you neared your friends, a breath of relief slipped from your lips. Hallie caught your eye, giving you a small, knowing nod, and Weston nudged Connor, who was hunched over his phone. They could see the strain in your expression, the tension lingering around you, and immediately closed the distance, creating a small, protective circle.

“Everything okay?” Hallie asked quietly, her voice low but filled with concern. You managed a quick nod, brushing it off as best as you could.

“It’s… fine,” you said, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

They didn’t press further, but you could tell they were already on edge. They knew you well enough to sense when something was wrong, and your silence said plenty.

A few feet behind you, Mark had come to a stop, his arms folded as he leaned against the side of the car, watching you with that same unsettling intensity. He made no effort to hide it, his gaze fixed, sharp, studying your every move. A casual onlooker might not notice the tension in his stance, but you could feel it, the way he observed you with the quiet patience of someone biding their time.

Then, in a calculated move, Mark shifted his attention to a group of boys loitering by the side of the building—his so-called friends. They were loud, boisterous, and clearly thrilled to see him approach, clapping him on the shoulder and making crude jokes, the type he always pretended to enjoy. But you knew him too well; you saw the way he tolerated their company with a thinly veiled disdain, a quiet irritation masked by a charming grin.

One of the boys slapped Mark on the back, laughing too loudly at something Mark hadn’t even responded to. Mark flashed a smirk, humoring them, but his gaze darted back to you, subtle but piercing, as if ensuring you knew he was still watching. He laughed at some joke, a hollow sound, but his eyes never lost that calculated look, a hunter keeping track of his prey while biding his time.

Your shoulders tensed. Even surrounded by his friends, he seemed hyper-focused on you, as though he could sense your discomfort. You knew he was letting you go for now, but his patience wouldn’t last forever. Mark was never one to let things go unchecked, and with each passing second, his suspicion was sharpening, honing in on you.

Connor’s hand brushed against your arm, bringing you back to the present. “You good?” he asked, his voice a murmur, keeping it low so no one else could hear.

You forced yourself to breathe, nodding again. “Let’s get inside.”

Together, you and your friends made your way into the school, the familiar hum of voices and shuffling footsteps drowning out the tension outside. But even as the walls closed around you, shielding you from Mark’s stare, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already set his sights on you, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d unraveled every secret you fought so hard to hide.

As you made your way through the bustling hallway, you leaned in close to Hallie, whispering, “We need to talk. Later.”

She nodded in agreement before heading off to her first class, Weston following in tandem. 

With that, you and Conner head to your first class, nerves jolting and wired. For some reason your fight-or-flight was kicking in, pumping needless adrenaline through your body (it seemed like your body was always in fight or flight mode, never really stopping or calming down). 

As you and Connor slipped into your seats, you forced yourself to look as composed as possible, even as your insides churned with anxiety. The entire classroom felt distant, almost surreal, as if you were watching it all through a fog. Your hands clenched the edge of your desk, a small attempt to ground yourself, to stop the insistent rush of adrenaline flooding your veins.

It was almost maddening, this constant state of vigilance, like your body couldn’t accept that, for now at least, you were safe. You knew Mark was out there somewhere, probably already listening with his enhanced hearing, his sharp ears tuned in for the slightest slip-up. He could be in any room, any hallway, eavesdropping without you even realizing it.

Soon, your math teacher, Mrs. Barnes entered, her heels clacking against the linoleum floor, as she began to set up for the day’s lesson. You took a shaky breath, forcing your focus on her as she scrawled equations across the whiteboard, her voice drifting around you as she launched into a review of yesterday’s formulas.

But as you tried to listen, to grasp the material, you hit a wall—a terrifying, absolute void where your memories of math should have been. The numbers blurred, sliding off your mind like water, and no matter how hard you focused, the information simply wouldn’t stick.

Panicking slightly, you scanned the board, hoping that maybe a familiar formula or concept would spark something. But it was like staring at a foreign language. The frustration gnawed at you, each failed attempt to remember only heightening your sense of dread. You looked over at Connor, your pulse racing, and found him already watching you, a look of shared panic in his eyes.

You could tell he was struggling too. He shook his head slightly, his mouth set in a grim line. He leaned down, pulling out his notebook and scribbling something quickly. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he slid it over to you.

Do you remember any of this?

You hesitated, your hand trembling as you wrote back. 

Nothing. I can’t remember a single thing. It’s like…

You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. It was as if everything you’d learned here—the academic knowledge, the normal parts of life—had simply been erased. Your mind was so conditioned to survive, to fight and endure, that it had discarded everything else. In a terrifying way, you were no longer the student you once were. You’d been reshaped entirely by the trauma of the last life.

Connor swallowed, looking down at the note. You watched as he took in the implications, his face growing paler with every passing second. Mrs. Barnes continued her lesson, unaware of the silent panic that rippled between you and Connor. The words she wrote on the board may as well have been gibberish. You didn’t even recognize half the terms she was using anymore, the definitions blurred or completely forgotten.

You turned your gaze to your textbook, flipping the pages with trembling fingers, hoping that something, anything, would stick. But all you could focus on was the sensation of being cornered, of being hunted. Your mind kept flitting back to those dark days in the resistance, to the endless battles, to the snap decisions you’d made just to stay alive. It was like your brain had rewired itself, discarding anything that didn’t serve the immediate need to survive.

Connor nudged you, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts, and he quickly scribbled another note.

This is bad. What are we supposed to do if we can’t even remember the basics?

You tried to take a calming breath, but it came out shaky. He was right. You were barely keeping up this façade of normalcy as it was. If you couldn’t handle school, you’d stand out even more. Mark would notice. Your parents would notice. Teachers would start asking questions. People would wonder what had happened to you.

We’ll figure something out, you wrote back, though even you weren’t convinced.

It seems like you’ve said that same sentence too many times though with no real solutions.

But before you could come up with a more reassuring answer, Mrs. Barnes turned toward your row, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the classroom. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly shifted your gaze to the board, hoping she hadn’t noticed the exchange.

“Connor, (Y/n). Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” she asked, her tone pointed.

You straightened in your seat, forcing a tight smile. “No, ma’am. Just—trying to catch up.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer than you liked, suspicion flickering in her eyes, but eventually she turned back to the board, resuming her explanation. You exchanged a glance with Connor, both of you silently relieved.

But the relief was short-lived. The void in your mind loomed larger, a terrifying reminder of the life you’d left behind—and the life you couldn’t fully return to. It was becoming painfully clear that you weren’t just out of practice or distracted, no, something fundamental had changed inside you. You were something else entirely now, someone forged in battle and scarred by the horrors of survival.

The lesson droned on. You could only hope that whatever pieces of your old self remained would be enough to keep everyone safe, long enough to figure out how to stop the coming shit show.

Finally, the bell rings, a sharp burst of sound cutting through your thoughts, you quickly gather your things, grateful for the temporary reprieve from your spiraling thoughts. You and Connor exchange a brief, tense look before parting ways. You both have too much to figure out, too many gaps to fill, but there’s no time now.

Your next class, Entry Biology, is in another part of the building, tucked into a quieter wing. The halls are buzzing with students, their voices overlapping in casual conversations that feel alien to you, like a language you no longer fully understand. You keep your gaze down, trying to blend in as best as you can, making your way through the sea of faces and finding your classroom near the end of the corridor.

You step inside, spotting a seat at the back of the room. With no assigned seating, you slip into it, hoping it’ll give you some measure of privacy. As you set your bag down, you can’t remember if this was your usual seat or not. The details of your day-to-day routine from this life feel like a distant memory, blurring with the harsh reality of your previous one. If someone had taken this seat before, they’d just have to ask you to move. For now, you’re hoping they’ll leave you alone.

The room gradually fills with students, but no one seems to notice or care that you’re there. You breathe a small sigh of relief, your mind still reeling from the earlier realization that your memory has turned selectively barren. Biology… you struggle to recall the basic concepts, things that should be easy.

Mitosis? Ecosystems? Even the Cell Cycle feels slippery in your mind. The memories just won’t solidify. Your mind instinctively drifts back to the knowledge that does stick, but it’s all survival tactics, the hollow echo of combat drills, the weight of loss, and the survival instincts that you can’t shake.

Your teacher, Mr. Halloway, enters the room, adjusting his glasses as he sets down his materials on the desk. He’s a calm, unassuming presence with an easygoing manner that normally might have put you at ease. But today, you find it hard to focus, the anxiety lingering from earlier gnawing at you as he begins writing on the board.

“Alright, class, today we’re going to dive into cell structures and the basics of cell function,” he says, the chalk scratching faintly as he writes. “Let’s start with the organelles—things like the mitochondria, nucleus, and chloroplasts in plant cells.”

Okay! You knew about the Mitochondria: powerhouse of the cell.

You stare at the board, the words and diagrams meaningless in your mind, like someone dumped them there without context. There’s a flicker of recognition, but it feels shallow, inaccessible. You remember how cells look under a microscope, how textbooks diagram them out with labeled parts, but the function of each organelle slips through your grasp. Your heart sinks as you realize it isn’t just math—you really don’t remember anything.

You fish your phone out of your bag, concealing it beneath the desk, and quickly type a message to Your group chat.

(Y/n): Can’t remember anything from class feels like my brain’s wiped

A few seconds pass before Weston’s reply comes in.

Westy My Bestie: Same here

Can’t remember jack shit

Halligator: This is bad

Geometry is my best subject and now i can't even remember simple theorems

     Ppl r gonna get sus

You read their responses, your grip on the phone tightening. At least you’re not alone in this, but it doesn’t ease the gnawing anxiety that your memories are failing you. The bell signaling the end of class is a lifeline, and you’re the first one out the door, weaving through the crowded hallway with your thoughts spinning.

The final bell rings for lunch, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your last two classes so far, AP Human Geography and English I, had been easier to handle, but that gnawing feeling of something missing never left.

Geography was more about concepts, patterns of human behavior, and interactions rather than memorized facts, so you managed to piece together enough to get by. English, luckily, was more focused on analysis than strict recall, so your rusty memory didn’t hinder you as much. But the underlying dread still weighed on you, a nagging reminder that anything concrete, anything involving details you should remember, seemed out of reach.

You step into the hallway, the crowd surging around you, and immediately spot Weston waiting outside his classroom. He raises a hand in greeting, a familiar face amid the chaos, and together, you head toward the cafeteria. The line’s already growing, students chatting and joking around.. You scan the serving trays, landing on the day’s special: some sort of chicken sandwich with fries and a bag of chips.

A smile tugs at your lips despite the morning you’ve had; after living off scraps and rations in your past life, a hot meal—even a school cafeteria one—was a blessing. The memory of tearing open a ration pack, forcing down tasteless blocks of compressed food, flashes through your mind, and you’re struck by how strange it feels to have choices again.

Once you’ve paid for your food, you and Weston make your way through the bustling cafeteria and out into the open-air courtyard. It’s refreshing to be outside, where the air feels less claustrophobic and you can catch glimpses of the autumn leaves turning golden, the first hints of fall in the cool breeze. You spot Connor and Hallie already sitting at your usual table, near the far edge of the courtyard, both of them eating like they haven’t seen food in days.

"Hey," you greet them, sliding into the seat beside Connor while Weston sits across from you. You unwrap your sandwich, taking a hesitant bite. The flavors hit your taste buds, far better than anything you’d had during the rebellion. It was still a cafeteria meal, but right now, it might as well have been gourmet.

Hallie looks up from her sandwich, barely swallowing before launching into conversation. "God, you guys have no idea how weird today’s been." She glances around, ensuring no one’s within earshot before she continues. "I feel like I’m flunking every single class. I don’t remember anything useful."

Connor nods in agreement, his expression grim. “Same here. It’s like my brain’s refusing to do anything academic. Anything beyond survival skills… it’s just blank.”

Weston, who’s been munching on his fries, glances up, his face thoughtful. "Maybe it’s some kind of psychological thing? Like, we’re all for sure traumatized and now that we’re back, we’re struggling to fit in? Doesn’t the brain forget non-vital info under extreme stress or something?"

You nod, considering his theory, but it doesn’t offer much comfort. If this was some side effect of trauma, it was leaving you dangerously exposed. 

"It makes sense," you admit, trying to keep your voice steady. "But it’s going to be hard to keep up the act if we can’t remember even basic things. Especially with…” Your voice trails off, not wanting to say his name out loud.

But Connor catches your drift. “Mark,” he mutters, a tense silence settling over the group. “He’s been watching you, hasn’t he?”

"Yeah," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "He knows something’s up. He hasn’t figured out what, but he’s… suspicious."

Hallie’s eyes narrow, and her jaw clenches as she takes a sharp breath. "We need a plan, and fast. It’s one thing to keep low in class, but Mark? He’s not just anybody. If he thinks there’s something to find out, he’ll find it."

Your stomach twists as you think back to his words from that morning: “Whatever it is, I’ll find out, (Y/n).” You remembered the look in his eyes, the way he seemed to study you, his gaze cold and calculating, false care in his voice, like you were nothing more than a puzzle to be solved.

"Maybe," Weston says slowly, breaking the silence, "we could take a more passive approach. You know, let him think he’s figured you out. Act dumb or, like, make mistakes on purpose. Lead him onto a false answer."

Connor raises an eyebrow, considering it. "Might work, but it’s risky. If he thinks he’s being played, he won’t hold back.

You nod at Weston, “I think its worth a shot. We’re all screwed either way, so what's the harm?”

After your statement, everyone falls into a comfortable silence; most likely retreating into their own minds.

You continue eating in silence, the sounds of laughter and conversations around you feeling distant, like a world you’re no longer part of. Each bite you take tastes more and more hollow.

Finally, Connor breaks the silence again. “We need to figure out how we’re going to warn the Guardians. Without tipping off Mark or Omni-Man.”

You nod, your mind already spinning with ideas and doubts. 

“We have to get a message to them somehow. We could use anonymous tips, maybe? Something that won’t trace back to us?” Hallie shoots out.

Weston shrugs. “Anonymous tips work in movies, sure, but this is real life. They’ll get curious, and then the government and Guardians will find out it was us. Plus, Omni-man and Invincible are two highly respected and trusted heroes, there's no guarantee they’d even believe the warning we send.”

“Weston has a point,” You say. “But, it doesn't matter. If they believe us or not, at least they’ll have the thought in the back of their minds. Even if it comes back to us, at least the Guardians will know.”

Because in a world where the clock is ticking, and survival is the only option—there’s no time left to be selfish over your own lives.

[muiitoloko]

Omg the fluff severus being a father!! Can we also get a fic where he and his wife discover they are having twins? In my mind palace that poor man had the happiest ending idc idc

Title: Double the Love

Summary: Severus and you learn that you’re having twin, and Severus faces the overwhelming realization that fatherhood will be double the challenge—and double the love.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: I absolutely loved writing this! But I have to admit, I was seriously wondering, how on earth do wizards even do ultrasounds? 😅 Since I couldn’t figure that one out, I just made it as magical and slightly ridiculous as possible, because why not, right? 😅 It’s a short piece, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

The sterile white walls of St. Mungo’s were a far cry from the dimly lit, comforting darkness of the Hogwarts dungeons, and the bustling noise of Healers moving in and out of rooms only added to your nerves. You lay on the hospital bed, your hands resting on your growing belly, feeling the faint fluttering of movement within. At 22 weeks pregnant, today was the day you would find out the sex of your baby.

You glanced over at Severus, who sat beside you with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression as stoic as ever. He wasn’t exactly the picture of calm, though you knew him well enough to recognize the subtle tension in the way his jaw tightened and the way his long, slender fingers tapped against his arm. He was just as anxious as you, though he would never admit it.

The memory of last night brought a small smile to your face. You had caught him at his desk, a quill in hand, scribbling something on a piece of parchment with a concentration usually reserved for complex potion-making. When you peeked over his shoulder, you were both surprised and amused to find a list of baby names—both for boys and girls.

“Trying to choose a worthy name, Severus?” you had teased, leaning against the back of his chair.

He had glanced up at you, his expression unreadable but a faint blush creeping up his neck. “A name is important,” he had replied curtly. “It must be fitting. I won’t have our child saddled with something… inadequate.”

You had laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I trust you’ll find the perfect one.”

Now, as you waited for the Healer to arrive, the memory of that moment helped calm your nerves a little. Severus might be intimidating and stern on the surface, but beneath all that, he was already a devoted father—one who was taking the task of naming your child with the same seriousness he applied to everything else in life.

“Are you nervous?” you asked softly, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

Severus glanced down at your hand, his dark eyes softening ever so slightly. “Nervous? Hardly,” he replied, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. “But I do wish this process would hurry along.”

You chuckled, knowing full well that was his way of admitting that he, too, was anxious. “Don’t worry, Severus. I’m sure the Healer will be here soon, and we’ll find out if we’re having a boy or a girl.”

He nodded, though his expression remained neutral. “Either way,” he said quietly, “the child will be exceptional.”

Before you could respond, the door opened, and a cheerful Healer stepped inside, her robes swishing around her as she smiled at you both. “Good afternoon!” she greeted, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “I hear we’re ready to check on the little one?”

You nodded, sitting up slightly as she prepared the equipment. Severus remained seated, though his gaze followed every movement the Healer made with an intensity that might have unnerved a lesser witch.

“All right, let’s take a look,” the Healer said, positioning her wand over your belly. The gentle hum of magic filled the room as the spell illuminated the area, and you watched in awe as the image of your baby appeared on the enchanted screen.

Severus leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the image with the same level of scrutiny he used when examining a particularly difficult potion.

“There we are,” the Healer said softly. “And… oh!”

Your heart skipped a beat at her sudden exclamation, and you shot her a nervous glance. “What is it?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

The Healer’s smile widened, and she turned the screen so that both you and Severus could see it more clearly. “It appears you’re not having just one baby,” she said, her tone filled with excitement. “You’re having two! Twins!”

For a moment, the room was utterly silent. You stared at the screen, your mind struggling to process the words. Twins. Two babies. You glanced over at Severus, expecting to see some kind of reaction, but he was still as a statue, his dark eyes fixed on the screen. His usual calm exterior had been shattered by the news, and you could see the shock written all over his face.

"Twins?" he repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Two?"

The Healer nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, two healthy little girls, from what I can see. Congratulations!"

Severus blinked slowly, his mind clearly racing as he tried to absorb the information. “Two girls,” he murmured, almost to himself. You watched him carefully, waiting for his response, but it seemed like he was still in a state of shock.

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Two girls, Severus! We’re going to have two daughters!”

Severus slowly turned to look at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and what could only be described as mild horror. “Two daughters,” he repeated, his voice flat. “Two sets of diapers. Two mouths to feed. Two…”

“Two future boyfriends,” you teased, unable to resist poking fun at him. “You’re going to have to keep an eye on them, Daddy Snape.”

At that, Severus paled even further, his eyes widening as the full weight of what you had just said hit him. “Future boyfriends?” he muttered, his voice tinged with dread. “I hadn’t… considered that.”

The image of Severus Snape dealing with teenage boys showing up at your door to take his daughters out on dates was too much, and you laughed even harder, clutching your belly as the joy of the moment overwhelmed you.

Severus stood frozen, the image of two tiny forms flickering on the screen in front of him. The words still echoed in his mind: two girls. He blinked, his dark eyes wide with shock, as the reality of it sank in. Two daughters. Two daughters. The healer’s voice faded into the background as his imagination took off, propelled by the unrelenting force of his overprotective instincts.

He could almost see it—boys knocking on his door at Hogwarts, their foolish, eager faces trying to charm their way past him to court his daughters. His daughters. His mind raced, spinning out scenarios of teenage boys chasing after them in the corridors, their idiotic grins widening as they tried to impress with foolish stunts or—worse—terrible jokes. What if one of his daughters dated an idiot? Or Merlin forbid, someone like Potter?

No! The thought alone was enough to send a surge of panic through him. His face, usually so composed, paled visibly.

“Severus?” Your voice, soft and filled with emotion, broke through the haze. You had grabbed his arm, your eyes shining with tears—tears of joy, not fear. “Two girls, Severus,” you whispered, pulling him into a tight hug, your hands trembling as they wrapped around him. “We’re going to have two beautiful little girls.”

Severus blinked, returning to the present as he felt your warmth against him, your joy flooding over him. His arms, stiff at first, slowly circled around you, holding you close. He could feel the tremor in your breath as you buried your face in his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his robes.

Two little girls. The words echoed in his mind again, but this time the image was softer—more intimate. He could see it now: two girls with your smile, your laugh, your bright eyes full of curiosity and mischief. They would have your warmth, your kindness—your fire.

He held you a little tighter, knowing how emotional you had been these past few days, and a wave of tenderness washed over him. His thumb gently brushed your shoulder, a small gesture of comfort.

“Two girls,” you whispered again, your voice breaking with joy, and he could hear the love in your words. “Double the love, Severus.”

Severus closed his eyes, resting his chin on top of your head, letting the moment settle around him. His heart swelled, a strange and unfamiliar feeling, yet it was not unwelcome. The weight of it, the sheer enormity of the love that was building inside him, was overwhelming. He had never expected this—any of this. He had never thought that someone like him would be capable of this kind of happiness.

The healer’s voice floated back into his awareness. “Would you like pictures of the babies?” she asked, her tone gentle.

Snape nodded without hesitation, his gaze still fixed on the screen, where the tiny forms of their daughters moved faintly, their lives just beginning. He looked down at you again, still holding him, still crying softly with joy. His hand found the small of your back, steady and reassuring.

Two little girls.

He could almost see them in his mind’s eye—two mini versions of you, with your delicate features, your bright personality, and your fierce determination. He allowed himself, for the briefest moment, to imagine them laughing and playing, their voices filling the halls of Hogwarts. And him… there, watching over them, protecting them from anything that might dare to harm them.

A small, uncertain smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought about it—two little yous. His chest tightened at the thought, but then a new fear crept in. What if they looked like him?

He swallowed hard, his mind immediately racing back to his own school days. His hooked nose. The way he had been mocked and ridiculed. The cruel taunts, the laughter, the sneers. He didn’t want that for them. He didn’t want his daughters to suffer the same way he had.

“What are you thinking?” your voice broke through his dark thoughts. You had pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his face. “You’ve gone quiet.”

Severus hesitated, his hand resting protectively on your belly. “I was…” He cleared his throat, the words catching slightly before he forced them out. “I was hoping… that they’ll look like you.”

You blinked in surprise, then smiled softly, a knowing look crossing your face. “Severus,” you said gently, cupping his cheek with your hand. “They’ll be beautiful no matter what. Whether they look like you or me.”

He looked down at you, his eyes clouded with uncertainty. “I don’t want them to suffer… like I did.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, and you shook your head, pulling him closer again. “They won’t,” you whispered fiercely, pressing your lips to his chest. “Because they’ll have you. They’ll have us. And we’ll make sure they know how loved they are.”

Snape stood there for a long moment, simply holding you, feeling the warmth of your words seep into him, dispelling the old fears. As he looked back at the image of their daughters on the screen, a sense of peace settled over him. Two girls. Two daughters. His family.

Our family.

And for the first time in his life, Severus Snape allowed himself to believe that he could truly have something this good, this pure. Two little girls with your smile. And even if they did have his nose… well, they would still be perfect.

[zorobff]

i bet on losing dogs. (opla!zoro x reader)

synopsis: zoro is defeated by mihawk and therefore unable to claim the title of the world’s greatest swordsman. you just want him to know that he’s still the greatest to you.

warnings: mentions of blood, some direct dialogue from opla, not much romance i literally just wanted someone to tell zoro he’s enough bc he deserves it <3

a/n: idk if this is any good i just wanted an excuse to write and one piece has been my fixation for like 2 months now so :P

you can’t move.

it seems as if every bone in your body is frozen in place despite your brain telling you to do something — anything. you stand there, eyes helplessly locked onto zoro’s weak and defeated body. your heart is racing and you’re unable to stop your mind from doing the same. after all, there was a certain unease that came with seeing someone like roronoa zoro be conquered. his dream of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman had been crushed within minutes. knowing zoro, that thought would be tougher to overcome than any physical wound.

you want to run to him. to be with him.

luffy beats you to it.

“zoro!” he shouts with such pain that you wonder if he’s somehow hurting more than the swordsman is.

the sight of your captain sprinting across the deck of the baratie manages to push you to action. the two of you rush to zoro’s side, trying and failing to look anywhere but the bright red gash across his torso. it’s even worse up close. with every heave of his chest, more blood oozes out.

the cut is impossibly deep and yet, you can’t help but feel grateful. you’d seen the size of mihawk’s sword. the thing could’ve split zoro in half with the flick of a wrist. just the thought of that sends a new wave of shivers down your spine. you thank every higher power that mihawk was feeling generous enough to spare your friend’s life.

“zoro?” you attempt to say his name calmly. “zoro, please talk to us.”

his eyelashes flutter as he attempts to keep conscious. you see the subtle wincing in his face, the clenching of his jaw. for a second you wish he would have passed out, at least then he wouldn’t have to endure all this agony. even though this was surely the worst hit anyone had landed on him during his extensive career, you could tell that wasn’t the hardest part for him.

his eyes stay glued to the skies, refusing to even acknowledge you or luffy. his irises gloss over and tears well up on his waterline. there could only be one thing on his mind, the one thing you knew he was truly passionate about; his promise. was he afraid he had let down that nameless person he always spoke of? that he had failed as a swordsman?

for some reason, you want to cry with him.

“you did good,” you whisper without a second thought. “just stay awake, okay?”

luffy nods in agreement, hand coming to grip zoro’s shoulder so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“monkey d. luffy,” calls mihawk, shifting everyone’s attention back to him. “what is your goal?”

your captain nearly growls. “i’m going to be the king of the pirates.”

luffy’s response could seem rehearsed. mechanical, even. but the truth is he just meant it that much. his conviction was unmatched in every possible way.

“king of the pirates, eh?” repeats mihawk. there’s a hint of amusement in his tone. however, he wasn’t mocking luffy, as many people tend to do when they hear of his dream. “that is a much more treacherous path than defeating even me.”

luffy whips around to fix mihawk with a stern glare. “i don’t care. it’s what i’m going to do.”

“maybe you will at that,” muses the bearded swordsman. “this world could use a few more wild cards.”

their odd exchange ends there, leaving an unnerving silence. the sound of your choked back sobs getting caught in your throat and waves splashing against the deck is all there is for a moment.

“why the tears, girl?” mihawk inquires.

you can’t bear to look at him, much less respond. not after what he’d done to zoro. your hands that once rested reassuringly on your crewmate’s stomach now ball into fists. how could he behave so nonchalantly when he had injured zoro within an inch of his life?

“seems like you aren’t as plucky as the rest of your crew, hm?” mihawk comments when his question is met with silence.

hot tears of frustration roll down your cheeks. “get lost. you’ve done enough damage, haven’t you?”

“that would be incorrect. i was tasked with retrieving your captain for the marines. as you can see, i have yet to do that.”

“i couldn’t care less about what you came here for,” you tell him between gritted teeth. “how do you have the nerve to stand there and talk down to us after what you did to him?”

mihawk’s head tilts to the side as he observes you. pensively, he murmurs, “you care for him.”

“of course we care for him, he’s our crewmate!” luffy shouts in response, clearly missing the true meaning behind the words.

on the other hand, you opt to stay silent, slightly embarrassed about how quickly mihawk was able to catch on to you. were your feelings really that easy to see through? almost as if confirming your concern, mihawk coughs out a dry chuckle before his face falls stoic once more.

“look after him.” his gaze lingers on you when he says that. “it is too soon for him to die. roronoa zoro, grow strong and come find me. i’ll be waiting.”

with that, mihawk makes his exit. once the coast is clear, usopp and nami finally come scurrying over. the marksman kneels down on zoro’s left while the latter stays standing, almost too afraid to get close.

“he’s losing so much blood,” usopp notes, voice unsteady.

luffy is quick to shut down the true implication behind those words. “he’s going to be okay.”

a strangled groan escapes the green-haired swordsman in question. the four of you freeze. the moment feels eerily similar to when you watched him collapse after mihawk had struck him down. for the second time in a day, zoro has all of you holding your breath in anticipation.

“if i—” he swallows hard, eyes still shiny and looking upward. “—fail to become the world’s greatest swordsman... you’ll be disappointed. right?”

luffy’s gaze softens. “you could never fail me.”

however, your captain’s sincere words don’t seem to be enough. zoro finally rips his gaze away from the clouds, head lolling to the side to face you instead. those wide eyes of his always held so much intensity, so much emotion. now is no different as he meets your stare, seemingly in search of your reassurance as well.

it wasn’t that you were unsure of what to say but how to say it. you didn’t trust yourself to speak your mind and say what you truly thought of zoro. the last thing you needed was your feelings for him slipping out at a time like this. you decide to play it safe and just nod. “you know i feel the same way. we all do.”

“i need… to hear you say it,” he replies, voice cracking.

your heartbeat gets caught in your throat at the utter desperation in zoro’s voice. it sounded as if he truly needed your approval if he was going to survive this. it was unlike him to get hung up on something so trivial such as someone’s opinion of him. he never seemed to care what other people thought, why was he starting now? and with you, of all people?

before you can question it any further, zoro hisses. the pain causes his entire body to tense and his wound spurts fresh crimson. without thinking, your hand comes up to rest reassuringly on his cheek. automatically, your thumb begins rubbing soothing circles on the skin. he’s hot to the touch and slick with sweat but you don’t mind it. the way his body relaxes itself is all you care about. well, that and the way he leans into your touch. for someone who rejected physical contact at every given chance, this was new but very, very welcome.

the emotion of it all causes you to lose any concern you’d previously had over voicing your thoughts about zoro. you can’t help but give him the response he was begging for, regardless of how smitten you sounded.

“zoro, you’re the best i’ve seen. and i don’t just mean with your swords. no defeat could ever take away what you have, you know that right? almost everyday i ask myself what the hell i’m doing on the same crew as someone like you. you don’t understand how much it pains me knowing that you feel the need to prove your worth when clearly you’re the greatest there is. in every way. so, how could i ever be disappointed in you?”

there’s a few moments of silence. this time, you truly don’t hear a thing. not the waves, not the birds in the sky, not even the thumping of your own heartbeat. your brain has blocked out everything that isn’t zoro. the same zoro who’s breaking down into tears right in front of you. it’s an unbelievable sight, watching them stream down his face as he takes in everything you’d just said.

using what little strength he has left, zoro lifts a shaky hand to rest atop yours. you pause your ministrations on his cheek and let him intertwine his fingers with yours. he squeezes your hand so tightly that you’re positive it takes everything in him to do so.

“never… again,” he chokes out, tearful eyes meeting yours. “from now, until i beat him.” he uses his left hand to unsheathe his sword. he lifts it to the sky with purpose, as if to solidify this vow. “will i ever give you a reason to be disappointed in me. i, roronoa zoro, will never lose again!”

his grip becomes unsteady, causing his sword to fall from his grasp and clatter on the ground. his arm falls back to his side and he’s able to give you one last look before he’s out cold.

“zoro?” luffy calls, leaning forward. “zoro?!”

you suck in a shaky breath at the feeling of his hand going limp. you’re grateful he’s still breathing at the very least but it’s clear he needs medical attention fast.

“let’s get him inside,” nami commands. it’s the first thing she’s worked up the courage to say.

luffy and usopp waste no time shifting zoro’s arms over their shoulders while you and nami take his legs. despite your joint efforts, the four of you struggle to drag zoro off the baratie; you blame his rigorous training that had made him all muscle. usually you wouldn’t complain but it sure made carrying him aboard the going merry a difficult task. at last, he’s dumped onto the table in your makeshift kitchen.

“get the first aid kit,” nami demands, opening zoro’s shirt to inspect the severity of his wound.

“do we even have one?” usopp replies as he shifts around every cupboard and drawer on the ship.

“zoro… can you hear me?” luffy’s quiet voice gets lost in the commotion your two other crew mates are creating. but you take notice.

“he’s going to be alright,” you tell him. whether you say it for luffy or yourself, you aren’t certain.

“someone needs to go back to baratie,” nami sighs, running a hand through her ginger locks. “maybe one of the customers is a ship’s doctor.”

the devil fruit user blinks a couple times. “right. a doctor. we need a doctor.” he sprints out of the kitchen, presumably in search of one.

once your captain’s gone, nami aids usopp in scouring the kitchen, in search of anything that could potentially help your crew mate until he’s able to receive the proper medical attention.

you decide to stay right by zoro’s side. not once do you leave him.

[illyrianbitch]

Handsome as Life and Poison

For @erisweekofficial Day 6: Retellings

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Defying your father’s sacred command, you wander to the grove where Spring and Autumn blend, only to encounter a sinfully divine figure with glowing amber eyes.

Warnings: sexual content/smut, nsfw! religious & biblical undertones & allusions, reader is overly innocent/naive, implied loss of virginity, sinner eris

Word Count: 3.5k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You shouldn't be here.

You can feel it in your bones.

You've never traveled this far, never managed to make it to the border. Your father warned you about this area, where the bloom of spring meets the decay of autumn.

He says that there is evil that lurks under the canopy of fire trees, that the blood of Autumn is so cruel it's cursed their very ground. Father has warned you that if you were to come across a fall beast, you would never return. At least, not the way you once were.

You understand his concerns—to a certain extent. He's protective. He has a certain plan for your life. Safety, purity, security above all. And father has been stressed recently, twitching hands and sharp reprimands.

Your High Lord has descended into madness, moving on all fours, his paws sinking into the mud, more beast than man. He prowls in the darkness now, no better than the creatures he once cared for, and your father believes there’s safety in the small village you call home.

It’s far enough from the heart of Spring to grant a quiet, predictable life. The faces around you never change, familiar and worn like the stones that line the village paths. It's peaceful, quaint—a life promised to you forever once you marry Adramis, the neighbor’s son.

Until then, your father urges you to stay safe, to temper the curiosity he knows stirs within you, the kind that might lead you too far, too soon.

Yet, despite his warnings, you find yourself here, day after day, drawn to the very place you’ve been commanded to avoid.

It's prettier, somehow, at this time of day— in the dim dusk, when the birds are beginning to tire. The air is tinged with an unfamiliar chill, a whisper of the season’s change that beckons you closer. You can see the colors of the autumn leaves clearly, watch as they sway in an intricate dance of red, orange and gold.

The movements stir something within you—a call like the ancient siren songs your father once spoke of, drawing you into the twilight's fire embrace. You take another step further into the shifting hues of the forest.

The rustling of leaves comes to your ears—soft, hesitant, as though a beast moves swiftly through the underbrush. The sounds intensify, multiplying by the second.

Beasts, you think, multiple.

You catch a fleeting glimpse of red hair through the tangled foliage, a figure half-hidden by the encroaching shadows.

You stop, and a sickening thrill rolls through you. You should turn back. But a phantom hand seems to beckon to you, an invisible thread leading you deeper.

Then you see him.

His clothes, finer than any you’ve seen even at your High Lord’s court, cling to his tall, lean frame, the dark green fabric glinting with gold thread that catches the last remnants of the fading sun. Each detail—his long, tailored coat, the sharp lines of his collar—speaks of wealth, power, and a meticulous cruelty you’ve only heard whispers about.

Your breath hitches. You know, deep down, who he is.

He’s surrounded by beasts, ferocious creatures with eyes gleaming in the half-light, their snarls low and guttural. Their presence should terrify you, yet you can barely hear them over the thundering in your chest. You count more of them than you have fingers, but with a subtle motion of the prince's hand, they fall still. Regal, patient, they sit at his side, watching you with the same unnerving calm as their master.

He studies you.

You want to take a step forward, to speak to him, but a rustling sound breaks through the stillness behind you. You turn sharply, scanning the underbrush.

From your side, a firm hand clasps around your arm, jerking you back with startling urgency. Almost immediately, once your body has been moved, the touch leaves you.

You meet the frantic gaze of your fiancé. His eyes are wide and his chest is rising and falling with uneven breaths. He ran here, you conclude. Past the border of Spring.

He's scared. Not just for you—but of something else entirely. Adramis is afraid of your father more than he is of what lurks in these forests.

"What are you doing here?"

“I saw—” You turn quickly, pointing toward where the figure stood moments before, but the woods are empty. The fire hue of his hair, the regal presence, the hounds—all gone, swallowed by the shifting shadows of the trees.

You glance back at Adramis. He's staring at you with furrowed brows, lips pressing together as if he's unsure whether to scold or comfort, wary as if you were troubled in the mind. His eyes scan your face, searching for something. You're not sure what.

“It’s almost dark,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “We should get back.”

There’s no question in his tone. It’s not a suggestion, not really. He’s telling you—gently, but still telling you. He'd never force you, no, Adramis is sweet. Simple. But he’s a male and you are his promised bride. What good would you be if you were to get lost in the autumn woods?

Nothing at all, you suppose.

You don’t answer him. Your mind wanders to the fire-haired prince, to his amber eyes and the strange pull that brought you here.

Your silence seems to worry Adramis more. He steps closer, his hand hovering near your skin but never making contact, as if he’s afraid to touch you.

“Are you feeling alright?”

His voice is soft. Too soft, almost, to where it makes you shiver uncomfortably, like the touch of something too light, too ghostly.

You momentarily expect him to reach out, to place his delicate hand on your forehead or gently touch the flushed skin of your neck. But Adramis only hesitates, his hand hovering in the air for a moment longer before pulling back.

Too good for his nature, too holy to even touch you with a bare hand.

With a slight shake of your head, you dispel the strange sensation that lingers.

“No, I’m alright." You blink and muster a smile. "Thank you.”

He nods, though his eyes remain troubled. You follow him back toward the familiar warmth of home, casting one final, reluctant glance at the encroaching shadows of where autumn's decay kisses the air.

The leaves are aflame with fading light, but beyond them, the darkness waits—quiet, watchful, tempting.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You're grateful for the familiar routine of your father’s sleeping hours, for the certainty that he wouldn't wake for another few hours.

The sun is still waking now, too, its low, gentle light spilling into the navy sky. It is as slow and tentative as you, quiet in its bearings.

The air is cool and biting, the kind of chill that lingers in the space between night and day.

You wrap your cloak tighter against yourself. It's a thin fabric, white with green thread. It does little to ward off the morning’s bite, but you don’t mind. You welcome the cool breaths that manage to slither past the soft cloth.

The scent of the autumn forest is sharper, more vivid than the soft blooms of home, where everything is neat and ordered. It smells richer, more alive. As traitorous as it feels, you almost prefer it.

It’s only a short walk before you find yourself in the familiar patch of trees. The autumn leaves sing their song, that same siren call that led you here again.

And he’s there—alone this time. Waiting.

His amber eyes gleam and shine with a glow that you’re certain is sinful. You know, deep down, that you should leave, that holding even his gaze, with that burning stare, is treacherous. But you do not.

You're unsure of what to say, unsure if you should wait for him to speak. He pushes himself off the tree he'd rested against.

"Hello again, little lamb."

His voice drips with a smooth, hypnotic cadence. It wraps around you like an incantation, compelling and unholy.

It's strange to see him before you, to have him acknowledge you, to hear his voice directly. You glance around him almost instinctively, as if expecting his hounds to materialize from the shadows, to form a regal, beastly, floor-lain crown once more.

As if he senses your question by look alone, he lets out a small laugh.

"It's early," he says. "Even beasts must sleep at times, too."

Against your better judgment, the corners of your lips twitch upwards. He scans your face, taking another step towards you. You stand still, remain in the spot you had froze in. He begins to study you, walks around you like a shrine.

"A bit far from your home. Curiosity must be a powerful force."

He stops before you. You can smell him now. It envelops you—rich and intoxicating, a blend of autumn leaves and something darker, more primal. You clench at the sensation, a sweet tingle spreading through your body. It courses from your head to your fingertips, settling deep in your now aching core.

"My father says it's my nature."

Eris hums. The answer seems to please him. "And what else does your father say?"

You admire him for a fleeting moment. When the gentle breeze rakes its fingers through his hair, it glows like a live fire. Freckles dot his skin, spread across the pale coloring like the stars you adore in the sky. His eyes are a molten gold that match the detailing on his fine coat.

"That I shouldn't be here," you finally respond.

A serpent-like smile curls at his lips. It spreads slowly.

"And yet here you are."

You nod. The faintest shiver of fear lingers in your veins, but you're unable to tear your eyes from him. You feel an inexplicable pull, wishing for him to come closer, to feel the brush of his presence against you. 

Eris takes a step forward, his hand extending to graze the edge of your cloak. The touch is feather-light, a barely-there whisper of contact that sends a jolt through you. But it's firmer than Adramis's touch. It leaves you wanting more.

"Do you know who I am?"

You nod again. "Prince," you say, almost timidly. Quiet like a prey. "Son of the High Lord."

"Eris," he corrects. "My name is Eris."

"Eris," you repeat, his name falling from your lips like a comfortable prayer. You want to say it again, to taste the sweetness it offers your senses.

"And you are?"

You pause, brows furrowing slightly as you hold his gaze. His eyes still gleam, still glow with something so deliciously sinful, but something in them coaxes an answer from you.

"Y/n."

A moment passes. Eris takes a breath.

"Why did you return, Y/n?"

The way he says your name—a silky caress, a whispered secret—makes you yearn for him to repeat it, to let it roll off his tongue again and again. You have never heard anything so beautiful, so mouth-watering. You've never felt a desire this strong.

You struggle to find words, your head shaking slightly. “I-I don’t know.”

Eris’s gaze drifts to your lips, eyes darkening with a predatory curiosity. You're acutely aware of your lip trapped between your teeth and self-consciously release it, swallowing hard.

His eyes are intense as he meets yours again, almost devouring. But not scary. Not terrifying like you'd once believed.

"Does your village bore you?"

He knows where you live. That buried sense of fear begins to flare and you blink, swallowing hard as you take his presence in once more. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything else. Slowly, the fear dissipates.

"Yes," you admit. There is a stillness in your home that bores you. It makes your bones ache with craving. "But it is all I know."

He studies you for what feels like an eternity, his gaze intense and all-consuming. His hand, almost imperceptibly, brushes against the fabric of your cloak once more.

"You should return home, little lamb. Your father is going to worry."

Eris turns and leaves before you have a chance to respond.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The secret should make you feel dirty, feel guilty like a reckless child, but it does not.

You wake before dawn and, like clockwork, you're traveling before the first ray of morning.

It's become routine now.

You approach the familiar area, where the border of Autumn seems to hold its breath, waiting for you. And there, amid the crimson and gold of fallen leaves, lies Eris.

He’s sprawled on a blanket laid out on the ground, a feast spread before him. The array of foods is a vision plucked from your most indulgent dreams, an array of rich, and tempting dishes. Your mouth waters at the sight—at the lavish feast and the male who has provided it.

"Come," he beckons and pats the blanket beside him. "Sit."

You lower yourself, the fabric soft beneath you. The scents of the feast rise to meet you, mingling in the crisp autumn air. You turn to him, your large eyes drinking in the sight before you, the face of celestial allure: hair like a smoldering fire, eyes glowing with the golden light of autumnal sunsets. Eris’s features are etched with an ethereal grace that seems both ancient and timeless.  With each passing day, you find yourself yearning to worship at his feet, to forge a devotion just for him. 

“Eris?”

A melodic hum leaves his throat. “Yes, little lamb?”

“Why do you call me that? ‘Little lamb.’”

Eris's fingers graze your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. "I believe you know," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing caress.

"Why did you seek me out again?” You ask him, “Why do you wait here?"

A smile curls at the corners of his mouth. He lets his fingers trace the line of your lips, his touch light as a sigh. “I believe you know that, too.”

Eris's eyes glint with something that seems almost divine. It is unlike anything that you’ve ever known, nothing like the stories your father has told you. Your gaze drifts to the feast laid out before you. You reach for a small, perfectly ripe apple, its glossy skin catching the muted light. The fruit feels cool and smooth against your fingers. 

Somehow, autumn's bounty surpasses even the lush abundance of spring. 

A sense of longing stirs within you.

How naïve you had been to think that your village, your court, held all the wonders the world had to offer. You had planned to stay, to settle into a life of security and predictability, never daring to venture beyond what was known.

You turn to Eris once more. His eyes flicker, amber catching the light as he reaches out, fingers brushing against your arm. His touch is featherlight, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. 

Your voice is barely a whisper as you confess, "I want to know a life bigger than my village."

“You wish to be free, little lamb?” He trails his hand down to where the apple rests in your grip, and with a slow motion, he gently takes it from you. "I can show you," he murmurs, turning the fruit over in his palm. His voice is like honey, rich and smooth. "You’ll know life—pleasure, want. All of it."

A tingle spreads through your body at his words, your breath shallow as you nod, leaning unconsciously into the heat of his presence. 

“Yes," you breathe, the word barely a whisper. "I want to be free.”

Eris’s lips curl into a grin, a quiet satisfaction settling in his gaze. He looks pleased, eager, as if he’s waited for this moment since time itself began. He draws closer and you can feel his presence everywhere, consuming, enveloping.

His lips brush against your ear. “Then let me show you.”

The apple falls from his hand, forgotten. He inches closer, the space between you dissolving as his warmth spills over you. A hand finds the delicate line of your throat, fingers grazing against your pulse.  With the lightest pressure, he lifts your chin, tilting your face toward his. His touch feels like a benediction.

He’s so close now that his breath melds with yours, the air around you thick with the scent of earth and fire. The world shrinks and the only thing that exists is him—his heat, his gaze, the slow, measured closeness that steals away your reason. His lips hover just above yours, and the ache of not touching nearly brings you to begging.

The first brush of his mouth against yours is light, a whisper, a tease, and you tremble beneath it. And then he claims you, his lips pressing against yours with a slow, haunting fervor. Your body goes slack as his movements seem to weave a spell, binding you to him with every caress of his tongue, every sigh he draws from your lips. 

You feel him guiding you, lowering you gently onto the blanket beneath, the world beneath you falling away. Eris hovers above you and dips his head, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your neck. His mouth sears your senses as he works his way down, the press of his touch growing heavier, more possessive with every inch.

“Such beauty,” he murmurs, “Unfolding before me like the dawn. You were meant to be here.” 

His words fall like a decree, a promise, and his lips continue their journey down, parting from your skin only to explore further. His fingers find the fabric of your dress. 

The air shifts around you, something soft brushing against your skin, falling away with the gentleness of leaves in autumn, leaving you bare to the elements—and to Eris. The cool air grazes your skin in places untouched by even the sun.

His calloused hands explore your bare form, one cupping your breast, fingers pressing and kneading with a practiced touch. His lips follow, settling on the other, and your hands grip the blanket beneath you— knuckles white as he demands your gaze to remain on him. His tongue circles your nipple, amber eyes locked with yours, burning, all consuming. 

Eris continues his careful exploration, moving downward as his lips follow the path of his hands. 

Fingers spread you apart with a confident touch. 

The sensation is profound and awakening, a mingling of sacred heat and cool anticipation. The essence of your very being is laid bare before him. You feel the brush of his fingertips against the tender places, feel as his lips follow with a similar reverence, their touch becoming a worship of its own.

And then he devours you with his mouth and hands. 

His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing core, flicking and teasing your sensitive nub. Your entire body quivers beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sensations you’ve never known before—an innocent purity being slowly unraveled and transformed by his touch alone. You tangle a hand in his auburn hair as his fingers plunge deep inside you, scissoring and pumping, working you over until you’re a quivering mess of desire.

Your body responds instinctively. You’re writhing and squirming, small sounds of pleasure falling from your lips. He bathes in the moans, groans in response as you repeat his name like a prayer. 

Eris sits up and soon you’re staring at his sculpted form, bare before you, ready to be worshiped, touched as he had explored you. His hardened length rests against you, blunt tip against your aching core, and you tighten your legs around him, pulling him closer. The crown of him splits you open with a steady pressure and he fills you completely, a divine intrusion that makes you gasp with the pleasure of being so thoroughly claimed. 

Eris stills, his body pressed flush against yours, your walls clenching around him as you adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his hand cupping your breast, thumb teasing your nipple in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Let me show you how pleasurable life can be.” Eris leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. “Just tell me you’re mine.”

You arch into him. “I’m yours,” you whisper, voice trembling with surrender. “Free me.”

And as he begins to move, begins to roll his hips against yours, you turn your head, gaze falling to the apple lying beside you, untouched yet no longer gleaming—its perfect surface now bruised, smeared with the dirt of the earth.

Father was right about one thing.

You'd come across a beast, indeed, and you could never return.

Not fully.

Not the way you once were.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

author's note: happy retelling day from ur local exmormon!! im an eve defender till i die. biblical lore goes crazyyyy

as always, thank you for reading <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

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@angel-graces-world-of-chaos

[sunshinescribes]

Sandcastle

Pairing: Sir Crocodile x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+)

Summary: Crocodile has only ever known how to devour. Everything he wants, he consumes until there’s nothing left to take—but he can’t seem to get enough of you.

Warnings: SMUT! Obsessive behavior, hookplay, slight voice kink, overstimulation, creampie

Crocodile has only ever known how to devour.

He’s been gluttonous for as long as he can remember, his hunger an untamable beast incapable of being satiated. Everything he wants, he consumes until there’s nothing left to take.

And when he’s done feasting—when the euphoria finally fades and the empty feelings he’s always felt return—he searches for another sacrifice. He’s never satisfied.

Maybe that’s why you unnerve him.

Intrigue would be the better word, but there’s too much truth in it—a kind of vulnerability he refuses to acknowledge. Because then he would have to admit that you aren’t part of his plan to steal Alabasta. You aren’t a fly caught in the intricate web he’s masterfully weaved for years.

You’re an outlier—the one deviation he allows himself to indulge in, all while fearing that the deeper he sinks his teeth, the sweeter you’ll become.

“You’re quiet.”

Crocodile blinks as he’s ripped from his musings. His hooded eyes find you lounging comfortably on the settee across from him. The robe you’re wearing hangs low on your shoulders, causing the fabric to dip low enough to reveal the soft flesh of your breasts. His eyes must linger, because you lift your sleeves with an impish smirk.

Crocodile would laugh if his throat didn’t feel so dry—if he didn’t enjoy your soft teasing, this ability to act chaste as if he hasn’t had you writhing beneath him, debased in every conceivable way.

“Well, more quiet than usual,” you clarify.

Crocodile remains silent as you continue to stare. You’re subtle with your examinations, trying to decipher anything in his micro-expressions to gauge what you believe must be wrong, but he gives you nothing.

You see too much of him as is.

“There were pirates in Nanohana again,” he sighs. A cloud of smoke wafts from the cigar that dangles between his lips. “It’s becoming tiresome.”

The lie falls easily from his lips, just like the many others he has told over the years. False grandiose stories and faux acts of heroism that make him appear every part the savior, and never the villain that he truly is.

He can’t help himself, especially not when your eyes linger on his face with adoration, and something sweeter—something that drives him mad with how he can’t quite place it.

All he knows for certain is that nobody has ever looked at him the way you do, and like every precious thing in his life, he hoards. Your smile. Your laughter. The feel of your fingers tenderly tracing the scar on his face as you lay beside him. This is his—you are his, and he refuses to let go.

The rational voice in his head berates him, hisses about his ever-growing mistake. It demands that he be done with you for good, but the darkness inside of him rages at the thought.

He hasn’t finished consuming. He still wants more.

And you are always so eager to give.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask sweetly—so sweet that Crocodile almost misses how suggestive your inquiry is.

You hold his gaze, not backing down or shying away.

“To help relieve the stress?”

 You’re so thoughtful, even when you’re wrong. In anyone else Crocodile would find the characteristic annoying. He has condemned people for far less, yet he desires it from you—to know he is on your mind, that he occupies a space that nobody else does.

“C’mere," he commands, exhaling a final puff of smoke and tossing the used cigar into an ashtray as you lift from the settee.

He leans back in his chair. His legs instinctively spread as you draw near, making room for you to stand between them.

The back of his hook trails up your thigh, and Crocodile grins as you let out a soft sigh that is all too encouraging. You’re lovely like this, always so receptive to anything he chooses to give.

Goosebumps form across your exposed skin as Crocodile brings his hook higher, slipping beneath your robe and continuously rising until it rests between your breasts.

“First things first…” his voice trails off as his eyes lift to your face again.

Your breathing is shaky, but he sees no fear in your eyes. Only desire. The same, insatiable hunger that aches within him.

“Gotta get rid of this.”

Crocodile yanks his hook down, ripping your robe in one clean swipe. The fabric pools at your feet, all while Crocodile takes a moment to admire the sight before him. No matter how many times he sees you naked before him, it always feels like the first time—another unusual effect you have on him, but he’s too drunk on the need to have you to analyze it further.

His dick strains against his pants, begging to be buried in your warmth.

He pulls you onto his lap, and you know exactly what to do. It makes his lips curl into a sharp smile as you reach down, hands shaking while you unzip his pants and free him.

Crocodile grunts as your hands wraps around the hard flesh of his dick. You pump it slowly—so devastatingly slow that his hips jerk forward of their own volition, chasing the delicious friction that he craves.

Your finger swipes over the tip of his dick, precum staining your hand as you continue to jerk him off with slow, methodical movements that drive him mad.

“Enough,” he hisses, sounding almost pained.

He positions you above his throbbing dick, lining it straight with your dripping pussy—already slick with your own arousal.

He’s rarely gentle, and even less so now as he slams you down on his lap, burying himself to the hilt inside of your tight, aching cunt.

You let out a sharp gasp, blissed out by the feeling of being filled to the brim. Your velvety walls embrace him, keep Crocodile where you both need him, but he refuses to dwell.  

His hips snap forward as he pumps inside of you with fervor, creating a vicious rhythm that has you bouncing on his dick.

“C’mon, fuck me back,” Crocodile encourages with a deep groan.

Fuck, you love his voice and he knows it. Love the deep, fucked-out rumble against your ear while he’s deep inside of you.

“S-shit,” you whimper as you slam down on him.

You try to meet his thrusts, try to fuck yourself on his dick the way you know he likes, but he’s impossible to match right now.

You lean forward, slinging your arms around his broad shoulders as he continues to use you. You trail open-mouth kisses across his jaw, soft moans and gasps escaping your lips with each powerful push.

Crocodile tilts his head slightly, his eyes are heavier than usual as he glances down at you, watching the way his dick disappears inside of you. The squelch of your needy cunt is like music to his ears, only rivaled by the sweet sounds you always make for him.

And he wants more. He always wants more.

Crocodile is careful not to hurt you with his hook as his arms come around you, pulling you tight against his chest as his thrusts grow frantic.

You cry into his shoulder, your voice cracking while Crocodile pumps his dick deeper into your sopping pussy—pushing you to your limit. He relishes how badly you want it.

Not just your own release, but his too.

“That’s it gorgeous,” your pussy clenches around him, ripping a desperate groan from his throat.  “Tell me…how good it feels.”

“Croco—ah, fuck—” your breath catches as he hits a particularly sweet spot inside you. You can feel yourself getting close, nearly there, all you need is a little push.

You reach down, rubbing desperate circles around your throbbing bud.

“’S so good—you’re s-so go—"

Your voice cuts out with a squeak. Your eyes nearly cross as you fall over the edge, ecstasy ripping through you so violently you almost cry. You come hard, gasping and gushing all over his dick. You are certain his pants are stained with the evidence of your orgasm, but you don’t have the mind to be apologetic or ashamed.

Crocodile watches with wicked fascination at how your legs tremble, how your come drips down his body, darkens his pants. It takes everything in him not to lean down to your lips and silence your cries with his tongue.

His hold on your waist tightens as he fucks you harder, chasing his own release now that you’ve given him yours. You whine—no, fucking sob as his dick continues to pound into you.

“Say my name,” he rasps.

“C-crocodile.” You match his name with each powerful thrust, “Crocodile. Crocodile. Croco—”

He slams up into you one last time, losing himself. His head rolls back, fingers digging painfully into your flesh and his hook nearly scrapes your thigh. He curses—chokes out your name as he comes hard inside of you, damn near sees stars as he fills you up.

You clench around him with a pathetic whine and he almost fucking loses it all over again.

“Do…do you feel better now?” you ask softly, resting your head against his clothed chest.  

No, and he doubts he ever will. Not as long as you have this hold over him. The rational voice has gone silent—abandoned him completely— and only a single word is whispered in the dark crevice of his mind, chanted like a prayer.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

PART 2

[hazelfoureyes]

The SafeWord is RadioApple (part 3)

Alastor x Lucifer

part 2 male reader is coming, this was mostly written though so I wanted to get it out; reader referred to with they/them pronouns

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱

Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱

Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱✨NEW✨

Flint and steel 

You made it very clear the two demons had to get along when it came to whatever you three were doing. Which they did! …A great job at pretending to do! They could’ve probably kept it up, until Lucifer tried to humiliate Alastor at a party. Luci says Alastor doesn’t know how to satisfy you? Well Alastor is happy to show him otherwise. Too bad you’re not there….

「Warnings/Promises: DomAlastor x SubLucifer, Reader is not there when it happens, GN reader, choking, hands free ejaculation, anal, bondage?, praise kink, begging, Luci the cocksleeve, Luci the pretty little bird, Alastor tops in every sense, angelic blood kink?, biting, scratching, tentacles briefly penetrate, In every universe Angel appears when he’s not supposed to, Anal Smut sponsored by Ozzie’s Lube; Keep your lust ring happy©」

Minors DNI 👮 ✋

Alastor explained the best he could, that he had wanted to humiliate Lucifer and got a little carried away. In his defence, he had genuinely forgotten he had spoken to Charlie.

“Would I have stayed otherwise?” He asked.

That wasn’t the point.

“I don’t mind your unfounded rivalry. But if you drag this,” you gestured to all three of you, “into it again, we’re gonna have a different conversation.”

His hair bristled. Lucifer opened his mouth, ready to say something mocking, but you cut him off, “That goes for you too. Enough.”

Lucifer pouted, it seemed wholly unfair he be lumped together with Alastor for anything.

Well, not anything. He was finding situations he was quite alright with having Alastor join. 

“Peace. Give me peace. Can you do that? Just dial back this bullshit?”

No. “Of course. I’ll be the perfect gentleman as always.”

Absolutely not. “Not a problem! I literally did nothing wrong, so, haha, super easy.”

“Fair enough, Luci.”

Alastor’s edges sharpened. Nothing? He’d been canoodling you in every public space the hotel had. 

His body relaxed again. Ah, he understood. Alastor was, to his distress, bothered watching Lucifer make public displays of affection with you. It sent out a message to others that Alastor was being undermined in an established relationship since one knew the details, or that perhaps things had ended already and no one had been informed. That was how it could be interpreted. If direct attacks were not acceptable, then he’d just have to make a louder message. 

Alastor’s smile unnerved you. You knew well enough to read his subtle changes in facial expression.

But even with your skill in knowing Alastor better than most, you hadn’t noticed the change in him immediately. It was small at first. A hand on your hip when you were standing side by side. Quite nice.

Pressing into the side of you when sitting on the sofa. Lovely.

A kiss good morning in front of the others. You’d woken up in the same bed, already said good morning. Okay… strange. But appreciated.

Pulling you into his lap in the lobby. “Alastor. An innocent look if he ever could make one. “What’s going on?”

He shrugged, “What ever do you mean?” His smile widened.

How could you complain?

“You’re unusually physical.”

Hands rubbed at your hips, making you nearly jump from his lap, “You don’t like it?”

He knew very well you liked it. He could tell by how much hungrier you were becoming at night. Lucifer now a nearly daily interloper, helping Alastor unravel you under the canopy of his bed.

And it was true. Suddenly having both men showering you in physical affection was creating a new problem entirely.

Alastor’s mouth on your mouth, fingers on your body. Lucifer’s hips snapping against yours, claws gently scratching down your back. You fell asleep satiated and woke up hungry. 

What you didn’t see, brain fogged with the stimulation, was how both men glared at each over of your body.

How when you entered a room they were in, Alastor would use his shadows to reach you before Lucifer could. No, you didn’t notice how suddenly Lucifer was always flagging you down and pulling you away from Alastor to discuss hotel topics. 

You were quite impressed, a week of peaceful days and lustful nights, not a jab or barb to be seen. 

For you, that is. Alastor would spin his mic too quickly, knocking off Lucifer’s hat. At least once his shadow tendrils outright tripped the king of hell as he descended the stairs. Luckily no one of importance was around to witness the brief and only mildly destructive battle that followed. 

Not that Lucifer was an innocent party in any of it. He dropped the lobby chandelier on Alastor. Charlie is convinced there's something wrong with the bolts anchoring it to the ceiling now. 

When he saw Alastor was just behind him to enter a room, he opened his wings, knocking Alastor backward.

Their favorite form of competition though remained you. Who could illicit the deepest moans? Who made your eyes roll back the most? 

Something imperceptible to them, that you were well aware of, was how every night they inched closer and closer. While before you had an expanse of bed to explore between the two, by the end of the week you could barely roll over without brushing against one of them. 

You felt quite accomplished. No brawls (that you witnessed), no overly cruel comments (within your earshot), no power plays (that you could perceive). 

You said as much to them, everyone gathered in the common area around the bar in celebration of the 100th guest to move in. A modest party, most residents weary of being caught in the crosshairs of Alastor’s and Lucifer’s bickering. 

“A toast. To… common ground?” You smirked, happily the thing shared between the two.

“To shared interests.” Alastor offered.

Lucifer, rarely one to drink, eagerly rose his drink, “To my Kitten!”

Alastor’s glass shattered in his fist. “Oops. Husk?” 

It should have been an omen to you. But you laughed it off, a little broken glass wasn’t so bad considering the alternative; them choking each other out on the bedroom floor.

Perhaps the week's events had you too relaxed, quickly finding yourself drunker than you could recall in recent memory. You weren’t alone though. Lucifer’s tongue felt numb in his mouth, the effects of three apple martinis. And while Alastor was a little past tipsy, it was hard to tell with him. He was managing to keep his composure for the sake of one upping Lucifer. 

Angel approached both men, “I don’t know which one of yous is the top in this fucked triangle but y’all okay with me takin’ them to their room? They are wasted.”

Alastor opened his mouth, but Lucifer spoke quicker, “Not at all! Thank you Angie.” 

Alastor’s head whipped around to face Lucifer, “You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

“Ha! Said the man who broadcasts his across the Pride Ring. Not that anyone listens to that trash.” Lucifer inspected his fingernails, pretending to not care.

“Very funny coming from you. The tacky circus master who can’t even keep hell safe.” A tinge of static broke through. 

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

The sound of stations flipping through an AM radio frequency, Alastor’s annoyance clicking through his speech, “Now that I think about it, you can’t keep much of anything at all. Where is your estranged wife, anyway?” 

Horns materialized, breath fiery, “You wanna talk about relationships? You needed to tap me in to satisfy your woman.”

All anyone saw was Alastor grab the lapels of Lucifer’s jacket and yank them half way down his arms before both men descended into a pool of shadow that then disappeared entirely.

Lucifer stumbled back from Alastor, struggling to free his arms in the makeshift restraints Alastor had made. His jacket was folded down to his elbows, too tight to roll off and too far down to slip back up. “Just admit it. She needed me because you can’t meet her needs. Your relationship is incomplete without me!”

Alastor’s hands were on his neck before Lucifer could react. Squeezing, Lucifer gasped, eyes immediately losing focus. 

His tail wound onto Alastor’s thigh, spade tip tapping twice.

Like a dog trained to a dinner bell, Alastor instinctually loosened his grip, his face not hiding his dismay. Lucifer moaned at the lighter pressure.

No, it wasn’t supposed to end up like this. He had other plans for how to dominate over Lucifer.

Shadow tendrils burst from the floor and tossed Lucifer to the bed, arms still trapped on either side of his chest.

“It seems you need some correcting on how well I can satisfy. Quality over quantity, my liege.” He loosened his bowtie. “And a reminder on who pulls the strings. You were allowed into my bed by me.” His hands came to Lucifer’s hips pulling him up onto his lap, back still on the bed as his bottom settled onto Alastor’s crotch. “You were allowed to enjoy my darling’s company by me.” Alastor leaned forward to hover over Lucifer.

The king of hell was flush from a combination of alcohol and shock, eyes glossy and big. His chest heaved slightly with every breath, mouth hanging open. Alastor brought a hand back to his neck, “Everything you cherish with your kitten was granted to you by me.” His hand began to squeeze, Lucifer’s tail returning to twirl around his thigh.

And there it was. Perhaps the most delicious sight Lucifer could offer Alastor; absolute surrender. Eyes closed, Lucifer fought the urge to roll against Alastor with his hips. 

Yes, he hated the radio demon. But, well, hate was so close to passion. And passion could be enthralling. Lucifer had never been choked in a setting that wasn’t literal danger. He imagined for a moment how you felt, how you looked at him when Alastor fucked you while gripping your neck. It looked like it felt good. He wanted to feel it, too. 

But he couldn’t possibly ask. Alastor would laugh and say no. Lucifer wasn’t sure his pride could survive that. 

Alastor had been trying to find ways to soften his approach to Lucifer, knowing very well that if he could endear himself to the devil like he had Charlie he could increase his influence seven fold.

This wasn’t quite what he had in mind. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to toss him to the bed, it was a strange reaction to Lucifer’s insolence and moan. How many had heard the great corruptor moan like a bitch? How many had pinned him down beneath them? His cock was twitching to life in his lap as he stared down at Lucifer.

It was not what he had planned, but it could be just as effective. More so, even. 

Lucifer stared at the back of his eyelids. Alastor stared at Lucifer. Both men made a silent decision.

Alastor’s hand tightened a little more, Lucifer grinding his ass against the other. Replying in kind, the radio demon leaned further over Lucifer, folding the smaller man in half as he ground down into him. 

Lucifer didn’t attempt to stifle his moan, hands flexing where they were stuck, wishing desperately to hold onto Alastor’s arm that was gently increasing pressure still.

Every roll of his hips made Alastor’s breath hitch, the reality of who he was going to fuck into his mattress catching a fire in his veins. 

 Tap tap went his spade tipped tail on the inside of Alastor’s thigh. 

“Open your eyes, your majesty.” Alastor leaned down, nose touching nose.

Lucifer opened one eye first, then the other. His pupils were blown. Alastor pressed his erection down against Luci’s own, making the other man clench his teeth.

“Were you listening?” He asked Luci.

A grin, “No.”

Alastor growled, hands both going to Lucifer’s pants, pulling them and the ducky boxers down to his shoes before peeling everything off and letting them fall to the floor. 

Luci’s cock slapped up against his stomach, leaking already. He glared, hearing the radio demon laugh. 

“You were listening a little, I think.” His hand touched the sticky clear liquid, a strand following his finger as he pulled it back. 

“Are you going to take off my jacket?” Luci wiggled.

“Hmm, no.” 

He threw his head back, blonde hair losing its usual coiffed shape. 

Alastor slotted himself again between Luci’s thighs and began to unbutton the other man’s shirt. “There’s been something on my mind for awhile now.” He said, opening the shirt and revealing his pale chest. “Do you still taste like an angel?” His teeth sank into the shoulder muscle, Luci’s knees coming up and wrapping around his waist. 

Dizzying, the rush of pure angelic blood into his mouth made Alastor weak. Golden liquid, sweet as honey and aromatic like fresh sage, dripped down Luci’s skin. The pain was light, Luci’s body thrusting into the empty space between their bodies. 

“Touch me,” Luci meant to make it a command but it came out more of a plea. 

He briefly considered saying no again, but let his hand wrap around Lucifer’s cock. He didn’t move though, instead letting Luci thrust in and out of his fist.

Alastor was aware how vocal Lucifer was, but he was a little surprised the normally difficult man didn’t even try to hide how good Alastor was making him feel. 

Luci was sighing, body unable to stop itself from pushing up and into the warm hand he had been offered. The tongue lapping at his shoulder, Alastor hungry for him, was making him glow. He always enjoyed feeling wanted, being praised, and no praise was better than seeing Alastor’s demonic deer antlers grow above him.

Another bite, higher up now on his neck. Before, just working his shaft inside Alastor’s hand, he now was dragging the head of his dick inside of the grip. Sticky and wet, Alastor’s fingers providing ridges that bumped over his erection.

His own fingers were gripping the blankets, unable to do much else. 

With a snap and a small puff of smoke, Lucifer took to the task of preparing himself for Alastor with a small bottle of lubricant. Freshly lubed fingers shifting under his body and stretching down to reach his hole. His thrusting slowed, focus now on prodding gently into himself. The other demon hadn’t noticed, attention devoted to lapping up every errand drop of blood.

With his arms restrained he couldn’t reach well, only a knuckle of his middle finger making any headway.

“I can’t reach.” He whined. Alastor perked up, looking at his face and then down between his legs.

“Ah,” he stared, Lucifer’s finger pathetically entering himself an inch or so. “When did you get lube?” Luci didn’t reply. “Hand it here.”

Lucifer looked a little surprised, which insulted Alastor. “I’m not a monster. I fully intended to prepare you.”

When all Luci did was squint, Alastor shrugged, leaning back over and licking at the dripping blood. He felt Luci’s body jump, one of his summoned tentacles now pressing cautiously into him. 

Lucifer helped along the stretching, fingers rubbing the thick lube along the tendril as it pushed in an inch and pulled back a half, in two inches, back one. 

This was progressing much better now. Luci’s hands relaxed back at his sides, eyes closing as he tried to let his muscles go slack. Deep breath in, deeper breath out.

Alastor listened and felt the smaller of the two funnelling all of his energy into easing his hole open. 

“All this effort for little ole me?” He nipped Luci’s skin, no blood, just for fun.

Lucifer hissed, “This has literally nothing to do with you.”

“Funny, feels like it does.” He tightened his hand around Luci’s jumping cock.

“It’s the alcohol.” A blush he could feel radiating off his face spread from ear to ear. His mind kept flashing back to you. Would Alastor make him moan his name like you did? A prayer into the sheets? A twitch. Alastor’s body always seemed to know exactly where to go on yours. With a little practice, could he be brought to pleasured tears too? Luci moaned into Alastor’s shoulder. 

“More,” this time it was a command, and one Aastor was happy to oblige, living shadow pushing deeper into Luci’s body. A groan, long and loud. The burning stretch made his dick weep into Alastor’s hand and onto his stomach. 

Was it enough? Ozzie’s advice echoed in his head, “Better to prepare than tear!” a slogan his branded lubricant proudly declared. 

His hips began moving again, every thrust up into Alastor’s hand met with a down thrust onto the tendril. Alastor’s hot breath over his neck, clawed hand on his member, tendrils deep in his ass. He felt like he was being swallowed whole by the deer demon, and it felt heavenly. Did heaven know such sensations? How could he suggest Alastor has the 8th sin?

Alastor was patient, uncharacteristically some would say, sighing into Luci’s skin as his angelic blood moistened his chin and lips. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He had been within biting distance for weeks now. If he had done this while they were mingling around and in you, it could have been seen as a part of the sex. He lowered, pulling Luci’s vest and shirt open wider so he could sink his teeth just above his nipple. Luci gasped, another moan following it.

The tail around his leg tightened, slithering up to his still clothed erection.

“Were you going to get naked or just fuck me through your pants?” Luci felt he was ready, hole soft and pliant. 

A hum into his chest, “Was that an option?” 

“Fuck you.”

“That is the topic of discussion, sire.”

Sire

Luci whined, eyes rolling side to side, “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

Alastor laughed, “You’re full of jokes tonight. Actually funny ones for once, too.” With the speed of a man with nowhere to be, Alastor leaned up and settled onto his legs. Belt undone and pulled off. Button, zipper, he sat up to drop his pants and underwear. Luci craned his neck up trying to watch, face still pink.

His hand came out and motioned to Luci to hand it to him. The small bottle of lube rolled from Luci’s fingers and down to Alastor’s knee.

Alastor poured a generous amount onto his manhood, hand pumping it along his shaft and reddening head. Luci’s heart was pounding, arms tugging at the jacket that kept him bound. He considered going full demon and ripping the jacket to pieces. 

But then his eyes darted down, feeling pressure and heat as Alastor was lining himself up.

Alastor met Luci’s eyes, an unspoken, ‘ready?’

“Go ahead, Allie.”

With no cup to shatter, Alastor’s hands pulled Luci’s legs up and open by the ankles and snapped his hips with one motion into the devil’s slick ass.

Luci yelped, eyes watering. “Asshole!” He cried.

“Much better.” Alastor pulled out nearly entirely before thrusting back in. His eyes clenched, even with the prep he found Lucifer to be nearly painfully tight and insufferably hot. He stopped moving for a second, trying to let Lucifer adjust.

Luci was pouting, fingers wiggling. “Release my arms.”

“No.”

He tried to kick Alastor, but the grip on his ankles was too firm. Alastor began to move again, dragging himself out to the head and then thrusting back in. A different sensation than he was used to, but not a new one. 

Lucifer was whining, every thrust back making the king of hell release a pitiful noise. Alastor looked down to the tail on his thigh before picking up his pace. 

He dropped Luci’s legs, hands taking his thighs.

“Slower.” Luci groaned, “Slow down.” Alastor stopped, staring at Lucifer. He brought his foot up and pressed it under Alastor’s chin, “I didn’t say stop.”

Insolence.

Alastor rolled his hips forward, so slow and so slight Lucifer’s own hips began to thrust back onto him. 

“Just do it right for fuck’s sake” Luci was getting annoyed. He wanted to be fucked, not fucked with. Could the two not be separated from each other? 

“You’ve forgotten your manners,” Alastor felt the pull of his body to move, to thrust, to feel that cycle of pleasure let him relax into a simpler mental space. But, well, where was the fun in just chasing physical pleasure? He had the king of hell whimpering in front of him. In that exact moment, he was at the top of the food chain in hell. He wasn’t ready to tumble off that precarious point just yet.

Luci bit his lip, blood dripping down his chin, “Please.”

Alastor bent down to lick the liquid gold from his king’s neck and followed the trail up to Lucifer’s mouth, “Please what?” Taking the opportunity, Lucifer captured Alastor’s mouth with his. At first, Alastor stilled. Sex was one thing, but kissing was an entirely different beast.

But then the blood found it’s way into his mouth, and he pushed his tongue against Luci’s. A fight for dominance like always, both men seeking to feel more than the other. Luci clenched, making himself whine into Alastor. Legs lifting up to wrap around Alastor’s waist, Luci used the other man as an anchor to pull himself on and off Alastor’s too gentle cock. If his arms were free, he’d grip those tall and expressive ears on Alastor’s head.

He found a pace that suited him, refusing to beg. 

How was Lucifer still managing to take control? Even bound and receiving, he was the one in charge. Alastor had to tear his body from the sweet taste of Luci’s kiss and reclaim the lead, cock more deeply entering Luci now.

Luci didn’t need deep, he just needed to feel that pressure and pull at his still tight ring of muscle, g-spot not far past his entrance. He knew exactly what he needed and felt allowing Alastor to do anything else was just a waste of time.

But you never seemed to fight or argue. You just relaxed under Alastor. If you were there, you’d stroke Luci’s hair and tell him how pretty he looked on his back.

He decided to stop trying to get the best of Alastor, and let Alastor show him exactly what he promised; how well he could satisfy.

Legs hooked, Luci let his body be rocked on the bed with Alastor’s direction. It’d been so long since he felt so full. 

Alastor felt Lucifer relax, soften. He heard his breath start to become heavy and loud. Looking between them, he watched the other’s dick grow harder still. 

“Good boy,” he offered. Luci whimpered, twitching around Alastor. Oh, of course. A praise kink. Alastor managed to stop the laugh bubbling in his chest, willing to meet Luci somewhat halfway. 

Could he praise the man he was hoping to choke to death not that long ago?

A test, dipping his toes into the water. “You look divine with your legs open, your majesty.” 

Luci moaned, erection hopping up.

“And you sound delicious,” Alastor let a hand run down Luci’s chest, small beads of yellow blood forming in the wake of his claws. A hiss, Lucifer’s stomach muscles tightened from the combination of sweet words and painful scratch.

 Alastor began to pick up his pace, resting his weight on his hands at either side of Luci’s head to angle himself. He adjusted his hips slightly until Lucifer jumped, eyes rolling back.

Mounting pleasure brought sweat to Luci’s brow, his sounds becoming harsher, raspier. “I’m close, I need your hand.”

Alastor tutted, “You don’t need anything.”

Tears streaked Luci’s cheek, “Are you fucking serious? Do you- ungh,” a moan, a swear, “Fuck. I’ll beg.”

The deer demon, tall and imposing over Lucifer, wanted nothing more than to make the King beg. “No begging yet. You don’t need anything else to orgasm than what I’m giving you now”

A slight panic, Luci crying at what he was sure was just another act of cruelty. But as Alastor moved in him, swollen head rutting against his prostate, he felt his orgasm building to an unstoppable place. Alastor was mindful, only entering enough to keep Luci going.

Claws gripped the blankets, Luci’s hips instinctively thrusting into the air, he fought the urge to hold his breath. “Say it,” fast and low.

Alastor cocked his head, not sure what Luci was asking for. A deep blush took over the entirety of his pale face, “Tell me I can— nngh,” 

“Ah,” Alastor giggled, “Cum, Lucifer.”

Alastor slowed his hips, a moan escaping as Luci’s balls and asshole tightened and trembled.

Luci came over his stomach and chest, waves of pleasure racking his body. 

It was a sight Alastor was admiring; sweaty and bloody and shaking. It looked like Lucifer was melting. His smile widened, eyes darkening as he picked up his thrusts.

“W-wait,” Lucifer’s legs tightened around Alastor.

Alastor dropped to his elbows, chasing his own high now. Eyes open and flitting around the image beneath him. Flush cheeks, sweaty skin, Lucifer was panting and moaning. No double tap yet.

“You sound like a bitch in heat, your majesty.”

Lucifer’s face screwed up, body overstimulated and sensitive.

“Now, you can beg.” Alastor sat back up, pulling Lucifer’s ass into his lap and thrusting up, dick buried to the hilt as he let Luci’s soft walls massage at his member.

Luci’s hands tensed, looking up his body to where they both connected, Alastor’s cock bulging his lower stomach, “For what?”

“For me.”

Alastor’s face was covered by shadow, eyes glowing red down at Lucifer. Tears still drying, eyes watery, Lucifer shook, “Please,” he felt embarrassed, somehow even more naked than nude. Alastor was still nearly fully dressed, a fact Luci’s mind was just registering. “Please cum, Alastor.”

His head fell forward, eyes wide and smile shaking. The King of Hell, the greatest of the sins, was begging for Alastor to dirty him. Alastor had done it, euphoria flooded his brain. His nails cut into the soft flesh of Luci’s ass as he pounded into the smaller demon.

Lucifer was gasping and grunting, softening cock rolling around in his own seed. He just wanted Alastor to cum and let his body rest, “Cum already, please cum inside me. Please, Plea—,” Luci was being used as a toy, just a cock sleeve for Alastor and he liked it.

He felt Alastor’s cock grow inside him before his hips slammed into him once, twice, three times then bury himself as deeply as he could. Luci felt the warmth spreading in spurts, Alastor still rocking slightly without withdrawing any. He couldn’t see the other demon’s face, red and black hair shrouding the expression Luci so desperately wanted to watch.

Lucifer’s body went limp, Alastor pulling out already half soft and sitting back on his legs. 

Pitiful. Soft and leaking, if Lucifer was a king Alastor felt like a God.

Finally, Alastor felt like he’d bested Lucifer, truly topping the most powerful demon in his own domain.

Meanwhile, Lucifer didn’t care. He felt closer to you, feeling Alastor’s cum drip out was a shared experience. He wanted to see you, to nuzzle into your neck. The only way to enhance his afterglow was to have it reflected off your smile. 

Alastor was undoing his shirt when the door creaked open. 

“So did you get the venom out of your system or…?” You slurred, “My bed is too empty. Can’t sleep.” 

Alastor’s head near snapped with how quickly he turned, Luci propping up on his elbows and leaning around Alastor to stare wide eyed.

Alastor considered launching himself directly into the sun. Lucifer wondered if he opened his wings fast enough if he could launch Alastor directly into the sun.

“They uh—- tried to cuddle but I didn’t wanna die so I brought them here… maybe— maybe a worse idea.” Angel was slowly closing the door. “You should really lock these doors.”

Unholy fire singed Angels face before shadows slammed the door shut with such forced the walls shook.

You curled up beside Lucifer, nuzzling into his neck, “Pretty baby Luci. You’re like a fancy little bird.” In your foggy state of consciousness, you were immensely proud of how the two had taken your request so seriously. 

Alastor’s hand came to cover his face, watching through his fingers as Lucifer looked lovingly at you, who was already half asleep.

“Under the covers, dear,” he gestured at you, “You, shower.”

Lucifer nodded and began wiggling down the bed so he could stand, you rolled until you hit pillows. You both in unison sighing, “Clean sheets.”

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

[mononijikayu]

immortal sukuna who — in your second life (2).

immortal sukuna masterlist

when the servants tried to rush immortal sukuna away from you, panic filled the room. but you raised your hand, calm yet firm.

"don’t harm him!" you said, voice steady as you tried to break away from the touch of your lady's maid. "please, he is innocent."

the servants hesitated, exchanging nervous glances towards you as immortal sukuna's eyes never wavered from you.

immortal sukuna’s presence alone was enough to unnerve even the most hardened souls. but you stood tall, your gaze unwavering.

"he does not harm me. i vouch for him." you whispered towards all of them as you moved forward. "my father shall hear my words, so please....let him go."

at your words, the servants stopped and unhanded immortal sukuna, who dropped at your knees.

their confusion was evident, but none dared question your authority. immortal sukuna realized that you were someone important in this life. someone valuable. someone loved.

you took a step forward, closing the distance between you and immortal sukuna, your eyes searching his, not in fear, but in understanding.

"i don't know why you're here." you confessed softly. "but i think you need a place to be. don't you?"

immortal sukuna’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes — something unfamiliar, something vulnerable.

"you can stay here." you continued, your voice gentle but resolute. "if you need a place to be, stay here. be my guest, be my servant, if you wish."

the expanse of the garden was silent, the tension palpable. but there was a shift, a subtle acceptance in the air. and sukuna, the feared and immortal, did not resist.

immortal sukuna's eyes, still sharp and intense, softened at your words, though his face remained composed.

immortal sukuna knelt there, humbled and silent, as though weighing the offer you had laid before him.

your guest, your servant. you had given immortal sukuna something of tender words, even if you didn't have to. perhaps even in this life, immortal sukuna thinks you are kind.

to anyone else, it might have sounded ludicrous, an insult even. but to immortal sukuna, something stirred within.

it wasn’t about the title or the notion of being a guest or someone of servitude — it was the offer itself that made sukuna's heart flutter.

you, a being so fragile and soft compared to immortal sukuna, were giving him something no one else had dared: a place to belong. a hope of will.

in these past fifty years, immortal sukuna had lived lifetimes of battle, destruction, and isolation. his life had been as aimless as a stone thrown onto the water.

for fifty years, immortal sukuna brought terror to those around him. because you were not there to give him a choice. to let him be what he should be with you - a human being.

but in this moment, with you standing before him, offering not fear or judgment, but a place by your side — it was unlike anything immortal sukuna had known in all his years.

his scarlet eyes met yours once again, and for the first time in centuries, immortal sukuna felt the weight of his immortality lift, if only slightly.

you weren’t scared. you weren’t running. and you didn’t want him dead. no, if anything, even if without memory of him, you accept immortal sukuna. as you had all those years ago.

"why?" immortal sukuna's voice was deep, but not threatening, more curious than anything else.

you tilted your head, eyes soft as you considered the question. "because," you began, "i don't think you're as monstrous as they say."

a flicker of disbelief crossed his face, but you continued before he could speak. "i see something in you. i can't explain it, but i feel it. and… i think you deserve more than what this world has given you."

for a moment, immortal sukuna didn’t move. your words echoed in his mind, louder than the chaos and bloodshed that usually filled it.

immortal sukuna must admit that wasn’t used to kindness, wasn’t used to anyone seeing him as more than a weapon or a curse. it had been too long since you had been dead for him to remember what it was like other than in flashes of memory.

slowly, immortal sukuna took a step forward, closing the distance even more. his presence was overwhelming, but you stood your ground, unwavering.

"and what if i choose to stay?" immortal sukuna asked, his voice quieter now, though still filled with that ancient weight of power.

you smiled softly, warmth radiating from you. "then you will stay. but not out of obligation. because you choose to."

immortal sukuna looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his mind racing. he had lived for a long time without needing anyone.

yet, here you were, offering him something that had always been just out of immortal sukuna's reach — a place, a purpose beyond destruction.

finally, immortal sukuna nodded, a subtle but significant gesture. "i will stay," sukuna said, voice low but firm. "but know this — i am no ordinary servant."

you laughed softly, a sound so light and genuine that sukuna found himself almost… entranced by it. immortal sukuna thinks as though you had truly returned to him. finally.

"i never thought you were." you replied with a smile.

immortal sukuna thinks that he smiled for the first time in fifty years.