#immensely fucked up beast

[plaguedocboi]

I’m sorry but gharials? They’re just existing like this. Why aren’t we all talking about it

[gay-yosuke]

a couple days back i went to use my discord bot to get my persona weaknesses checked to make a point against someone and my file was the fucking test file instead of the real one. my physical affinity is "fuck you"

[dark-moonlust]

Cοckwarming Minοtaur PART 1: Office

I’m turning this imagine into a series!!!!

Pairing: Minotaur x f!human reader

Summary: your Minotaur boyfriend Balen is madly in love with you. And he has a wicked little obsession with cockwarming. He always finds excuses to have you sit on his lap. Even when you are at work.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, semi-public workplace smut, Minotaur huge🍆, cοckwarming, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is a series and you can find more here.

You loved your Minotaur boyfriend, Balen.

The two of you had met three years ago at a workplace friendly to both monsters and humans. Balen was your superior, and you had just started working as his secretary. From the very first meeting, you had felt something deep and strong connecting him to you. You were attracted to him, incredibly aroused and in need of him. Balen had explained that it was the mating bond, a sacred bond that tied his heart to yours. Since then, you’d decided to give your relationship a chance and be together.

Your relationship was based on mutual trust and security, a connection deeper and stronger than you’d ever experienced.

Fast forward to the present, you still loved him like crazy, your relationship never better.

Balen was a fascinating presence in your life. Despite his towering and unusual appearance, your Minotaur was tender and sweet. You saw past his different appearance and found something deep and poignant with him. He cared for you better than any human boyfriend would — and fucked you with a passion that left you breathless.

Balen was madly in love with you. And he had a wicked little obsession with cockwarming. He was obsessed with the feel of you, the security of holding you in his arms while his cock pulsed inside you. And he always found excuses to have you sit on his lap, his cock thrust up your depths as he resumed his day as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

During shopping? During work? During lunch, dinner or any time of the day. Yes to all. Balen somehow made it work.

At work, he was particularly demanding when cockwarming him. Coworkers might enter his office, but he kept you there, your neat dress hiding your flushed face and betraying your state. Sometimes he played with your clit and made you cum, other times, he just stayed inside you and made work calls and reviewed business files. And when he finally pulled out of you, it was always with the promise to find a way to be close to you later.

That morning, you were in your office working on a presentation for an important project. You’d finished it with ease and were eager to share your ideas with your boss and colleagues. As you sat at your desk, typing away at your computer, the phone rang.

Called ID: Mr. Balen - Office.

You had an idea of what this call was about.

“Hello,” you answered casually.

“Come to my office,” your boyfriend said, his voice deep and throaty. “I need to check the progress of your presentation.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You complied, standing up and making your way to his spacious office. You knocked and entered discretely.

And there he was.

Seated at his magnificent mahogany desk, the sheer size of him dwarfed the surrounding furniture. Balen’s hulking form filled the room, his presence overwhelming. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, the clothing tailored to fit his immense size. He was at least three times bigger than you, his body chiseled with muscles and silky fur. His head was crowned with a pair of curved horns, his face a captivating combination of beast and man. Upon seeing you, his dark eyes lit up and he let out a deep rumble, vibrating from his chest.

“Come here,” he said, his voice casual but demanding.

“I’ve brought my presentation,” you said but as soon as you were inches from him, he pulled you to him, his hands lifting your dress and guiding you to sit on his lap.

“Balen,” you whined as he quickly tugged away your panties, a finger finding its way inside you. You were drenched, wet from the earlier fuck he’d given you during the car ride to work. You clutched his broad shoulders, burying your face in his chest and biting your lips as that wickedly perfect digit stretched your walls, preparing you for his cock.

Soon, you felt him shift, unzipping his trousers and freezing his monstrous cock. Your Minotaur sported a dick unlike any other. It was long and curved, thick and surrounded by protruding veins. The head was broad and leaking pre-cum, his balls round and swollen, the poor babies squeezed between his legs.

Strong hands cupped your ass, positioning you over his raging girth. The cockhead nudged your entrance, coaxing your pussy lips apart and slowly invading your depths. With a slow, deliberate upward thrust, he buried himself inside you, a low groan of satisfaction rumbling from his chest. Your belly bulged from the sheer girth of him inside you. You moaned lewdly but quickly muffled your cries by biting his shoulder. He loved it when you did that.

“So good for me. Just for a little bit, baby, okay?” he murmured, his hands resting possessively on your hips. “I need this.”

You nodded, trying to control your breathing as you adjusted to the invasion and stretch. Balen resumed his work, one large hand rubbing your ass from under your dress while the other resumed his work, moving expertly over his keyboard as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He even studied your presentation while you struggled to focus with the constant feel of his cock stretching your pussy.

“Excellent work with your presentation,” he praised, “you covered every important point.”

“Th…thank you,” you murmured, running your fingers through the exposed fur at his neck.

You wiggled a little, desperate for release and rubbed your clit against him. His hand on your ass pressed you closer against him, thrusting just barely inside you. He did it again and again, rewarding you for taking his dick so well. A few minutes later, the friction against your clit was perfect and you came, your walls contracting hard around his cock. You bit his shoulder to muffle your cries and Balen followed, releasing pump after pump of his load inside you. He was surprisingly quiet and reserved, but you knew his passion was great; his heartbeat was erratic.

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against you.

It was at that moment, that a coworker knocked on the door. You clutched your boyfriend, your heart racing. Balen remained calm, his hands steady as he continued to work and bid the coworker to enter. The coworker, a male werewolf, entered, used to the sight of you hugging your boyfriend and what was happening beneath your neat clothing. Everyone in the office knew of your relationship and the demands of your minotaur boyfriend. Balen had made it so everyone respected you no matter what.

Balen and the werewolf discussed business as usual, while your face flushed with the effort of maintaining composure. Balen’s cock was throbbing inside you, his seed overflowing even if he was buried balls deep inside you. Once the coworker left, Balen kissed you, his tongue brushing against your lips before thrusting into your mouth. He tasted every crevice of your mouth and then drew back, a hint of a grin on his bull face.

“You did well,” he drawled, his voice thick with pride.

“Don’t I always?” you teased sweetly.

“Always.” He pressed you closed against him, his cock kissing so deep inside you that you groaned. “I love you mate. Love your beautiful smile, your lovely heart and your pretty little pussy.”

You smiled. “I love you, too, my horny minotaur.”

“Hmmm…” he growled. “You are my everything, little mate and it seems I can’t function without you.”

“Balen…” you trailed off, winching as more of his seed tricked down your thighs. “We made a mess. Shouldn’t we—”

“It’s alright, my love,” he said. “There are clothes in the cabinet. I always keep spares for both.”

Did you enjoy? Follow for more! Click to get notified when I update. I’ll post PART 2 as soon as I can!

[lilaccmilk]

Did I make you scream?

content warning: primal play, werewolf boyfriend, overstimulation.

You didn’t really think this through thoroughly. When you asked your sweet, loving and doting boyfriend to wear a ghostface mask and pretend he is chasing you throughout your house, you didn’t expect he’d get this serious. He had this feral look in his eyes, a look so primal, you felt your mind slip into submission naturally.

The thing is, asking a werewolf — a monster, to engage in such a thing is like inviting the beast to ravage you thoroughly. You didn’t think you’d walk out of here alive, that is if you could even walk after all of this.

You focused on running up to your bedroom, maybe you could lock the door and then claim you won? or maybe you could stall a bit and then run? Your body acted before your mind and you threw a big pillow at him, you heard ripping behind you and you looked back, huge mistake.

You didn’t pay attention on first step of the stairs and you tripped, You tried getting up but your boyfriend was onto you in no seconds, he pulled you back.

It all happened in a blur, one second, you were being pulled back and the other second, you were laid on your back and your clothes were ripped off. He wasted no time in plunging two of his thick, long fingers into your aching cunt, drawing out sinful sounds from both of your lips. “Pretty girl thinks she can run from me huh? I’ve tried so hard to be gentle for you, but you just have to bring this side out in my don’t you moonflower?”

Too fucked out to answer, you just nod, hoping he’ll understand. Soon after your body is writhing as a warning to your upcoming orgasm, but he just pulls out his fingers. “tsk– on my cock. you’ll come on my cock.”

He pushes into you and starts at a fast pace. Your body would be sliding up and away, if it wasn’t for him holding you snug against him, his abs pressing you down. His cock was filling you up to the brim, you couldn’t help but try and back off a bit. Now this got his attention immediately, pulling you back towards him and onto his dick, “No no, you don’t get to run away now pretty girl, not now, not ever.” You came with a shudder, thinking he would stop but he had different plans.

He fucked you dumb, till you were a babbling mess of words, tears streaming down your face from the immense pleasure and the overstimulation. After what felt like eternity, he finally filled you up with his cum. He lifted his mask up, just halfway and leaned down to kiss you.

──────────────────

the way i hit my friend when i got the idea for this. @yxngsvyin i’m sorry girl

[oepionie]

— "AND WHILE YOU SLEEP, I'LL BE SCARED." overblot gang 

SYNOPSIS: Your lover waking up from a horrific nightmare and scrambling to listen to your heartbeat so he can make sure you're still alive.

⊹ [ cw ] — angst, hurt/comfort, overblot, blood, glass shards injury, anxiety/panic attacks, insecurities, mentions of death, crying (them)◞

⊹ [ tags ] — ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP. GN! READER | riddle tears his room apart, leona feels immense guilt, caring leona, azul having a panic attack, vil being an absolute mess, vil speaks german, shy idia, jamil injures himself accidentally, jamil calls you 'albi' (my heart), malleus immortality angst ◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.5k+◞

✩—RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS:

It's far past his scheduled time for sleep.

A bitter taste is bubbling up in his throat and frothing against his tongue. Riddle doesn't know what this wretched feeling is. All he knows is that he's terrified. Perhaps that's why he allows himself to disturb your sleep, the maddening emotions slamming against his head becoming too much for him to handle.

"I-I apologize for waking you," Riddle rasps, slipping into your shared bed and burrowing his face deep into the crook of your neck. His breaths come out in quick and fleeting puffs, heart thrumming hard against his ribs.

In the dimness of the night, the myriad of mangled and torn-up books that were strewn and flung about the room in a frenzied fury could hardly be seen. Your gaze flickered down to your lover. The tips of Riddle's fingers were a blistering raw red, his once well-groomed nails now visibly chipped at its ends.

With a touch of your tender hands, you pull him down to rest against your chest.

"What's wrong?"

"I–I just…I recalled the incident of my overblot and how I hit you with that blast. H-How you nearly—" Clamping his eyes tight, Riddle dared not to finish that sentence. The boy trembles in your arms—ears fervently straining to hear the steady and melodic thump of your heart, a melody he feared he would never hear again.

A choked sob tumbles from his lips and your chest aches.

"…I'm sorry," was his quiet cry. "I'm so sorry."

✩—LEONA KINGSCHOLAR:

Peacefully fast asleep, your back was nestled snug against the Leona's chest while his firm bicep protectively curled around your ribs.

Over the course of your relationship, Leona began to realize how much he loved having you in his arms. You were at peace when you slept, untouched and untainted by the stress and pain you dealt with every day.

He crept his free hand up your torso, cold fingers slipping underneath your shirt, skimming up your stomach, and settling above the spot on your chest where your heartbeat danced vividly against his touch. Leona splays his fingers out more, fixated on how the thrum of your life felt against his skin.

It was a daily struggle to keep his emotions at bay, ensuring that his strong feelings and magic wouldn't hurt you again. The nightmarish phantom of his blot still haunts him to this day. That wrath was an ugly and hideous beast he wished to keep locked away in the depths of his mind for all of eternity.

Yet, at the soft beat of your delicate heart against his sullied hands—Already, Leona finds himself wavering, uncharacteristically weak.

An overpowering mix of stress and strain washes over him, pooling up into watery blobs and flowing down his cheeks in faint streaks as he silently wept.

"Fuck," Leona curses, pulling your dozing form closer to him. "Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry. You don't deserve this."

✩—AZUL ASHENGROTTO:

The torment of nightmares was far worse than he remembered, but this dread he felt was unquestionably different, pressing in on him like a frigid cold. The icy sensation seeps into the marrows and dips of his flesh—his sole respite being your touch, which both warmed and scorched at his skin.

"Angelfish." Azul breathlessly sputtered, blindly patting around the bed in search of your body.

Through the fringes of his blacked out vision, he could barely make out your worried drowsy visage. This caused him to panic, pulse picking up, but you were quick to soothe him—reaching a hand out to press against his cheek. Finally finding you, the octo-mer pulled you towards his side of the bed, engulfing you in a tight hug.

Azul tried to stop the flood of tears that layered his face, but your soft lips strewn with kisses on his skin seemed to further elicit his unceasing cries. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Azul. I'm here." You whisper, cradling his face, but he was inconsolable. The octo-mer desperately clawed at your shirt as he pressed his ear deeper against your chest, practically melting into you.

The throbs of your heart echoed through his anguished mind, providing him with some semblance of comfort.

"Don't go….Please…" Azul sputters, body shaking from every deep, labored heave of his burning lungs, "Please."

✩—JAMIL VIPER:

A strangled scream awoke you from your abyssal sleep, your bleary eyes ripping open to dart here and there around the room in a manic frenzy. The ensuing shattering smash of a glass further threw your thoughts into disarray.

"Jamil?!"

Your lover had stumbled off of the bed, now kneeling against the wooden flooring with the bedsheets pooling around his hips, sheets damp from the shattered glass of water on the floor.

A bloody hand clenched at his palpitating heart, glass shards digging into his skin, as his lungs fought to maintain his breathing.

You sprang from the mattress and skidded in his direction, but Jamil scrambled away from you.

"Albi, no. There's glass. Stay away. You're going to get hurt," Jamil stammered. Holding a shaky hand up, the boy avoided your gaze.

"Jamil—" Brows pinched together, you eased towards him. "I'm not going to get hurt, don't worry."

You stepped over the shards of crystal glass with caution and made your way past, "See?"

Once you were within his reach, Jamil caved in and slowly brought you into his arms—careful with his injury. He could feel the distant sting of the cuts on his hands, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Leaning down, he lay his head over your heart. Even though the batter of your heart was frantic and panicked, it somewhat provided a steady beat for him to follow as he worked to untangle the complexities in his thoughts. Your lover sunk against you, anchoring himself against the warmth your body radiated.

✩—IDIA SHROUD:

As the minutes pass, Idia was rapidly losing every meagre amount of confidence he managed to scrape together.

"Idia…honey? Please get up." You croon, running a hand through his flaming hair.

Though it seemed as if he didn't hear anything—Idia kept his head glued against your beating chest, refusing to get up from his position on the floor.

He's been kneeling before you for so long that the rough fabric of his pants burned and skidded against the tender skin of his knees, sending excruciating stings along the threads of his flesh.

"I—No…N-No…I can't." Idia's lips quiver, eyes glossing over as he diverts his gaze. The weight of his arms lay heavy against your legs, elbows resting by your knees while his dull nails dug into the skin at the back of your thighs.

"Why's that?" You whisper.

Idia shut his eyes. The flash of numerous dreams and nightmares he's suffered at the hands of his own demented twisted memories clouded his mind. It did not help that they were all molded out of his own self-inflicted pessimism...cruel and unforgiving. A reason as to why he couldn't bear to look at you tonight, not when the image of your mangled body was still fresh on his mind.

"I-I'm s-sor-sorry…I ca-can't get up…I need to…” he stumbles for words, his breathing picking up its pace. "I need to…need to know you're okay."

✩—VIL SCHOENHEIT:

"Vil…" You worriedly murmur, pressing your lips against his mascara-stained cheeks, not minding the bitter aftertaste it left lingering in your mouth.

Laying atop the plush silk sheets of his king-sized bed, the dorm leader's eyes were ripped wide open as his chest heaved viciously. It was quite a rare sight as your lover lay vulnerable before you, heart bared open.

Oh, he was an absolute mess.

Dark streams of teary mascara ran down Vil's cheeks, his uniform wrinkled and his golden hair splayed out everywhere—unbound from its braids and tangled up.

The grip of his arms around your midsection tightens as he pressed you up closer against him, his head resting atop your chest. At the sound of your heartbeat, Vil allowed himself to unwind and let your affections banish away even the most ominous of his thoughts.

"Liebling…Es tut mir ehrlich Leid—" Vil rasps, his mother tongue dripping like honey from his lips as he suddenly found it difficult to speak the language he was so accustomed to every day.

Hushing him, you press a fleeting kiss against his brow line and Vil clamps his red-rimmed eyes shut, ceasing to say anything more.

"Hush now. Rest, my prince." You press a gentle kiss to his temple and brush the frizzes of his blonde hair away from his face.

A small smile quirks on his lips as he feels his stomach fluttering from the nickname. The look in his eyes is softly lit, warm like a candle.

✩—MALLEUS DRACONIA:

One day, Malleus knows, you will be nothing more than wilted and withered ash.

It was a truth that wrapped around him like shackling chains—tearing, whipping and lashing against his raw, bare skin. No matter how hard he pulled, scratched, and screamed at it, the chains remained.

The clanging and grating iron truth about reality cannot be so easily pushed away. Human lives are fickle, and you would inevitably leave him.

Once you do, the fae prince knows he will be a mere shadow of his former self, a wretched and lonesome creature awaiting and longing for his lover who was no more than a ghost of his fleeting memories.

"I apologize for the disturbance, my treasure."

And yet, Malleus presses his hand firmly against your beating heart. A distant marching beat serving as his reminder that you were very much alive and well.

"I truly apologize." Malleus heaves, hands clamouring against your collarbone.

Although thick tension and silence still hung heavy in the air, the dragon basked in the warmth and feel of your flushed skin, a bitter smile gracing his lips as he lay beside you on the bed.

"Sweet dreams, beastie…"

—TAGLIST:

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[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion & Scratch: Compromising for Tav Affection

This idea is entirely from @nairil-daeris and it's so cute!

~

Despite what some may have believed, Astarion wasn't that against associating with animals. He was actually a fan of a few of them, cats mainly considering their penance for cleanliness and independence. Not to mention they were admittedly adorable. And stood as the one type of beast that Astarion never feasted upon.

So no, he didn't hate animals in principle. He only hated a select few, with reason. Like the type that could rip him apart with their claws and fangs. Or the ones that thought that rolling around in their own filth was a worthwhile pastime. All and all, creatures that Astarion didn't have to deal with on the regular. Or at least not until now.

But here he was, stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, with his ragtag group of merry weirdos. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his own acceptance into your little group. He did, immensely. By the look of things out here in this hellscape, he probably would have been murdered ten times over if he had remained alone. Or gods forbid, become a goblin's chew toy.

So while he had no intentions of leaving, he was still frustrated. Especially with the pretty little druid that quickly became their de facto leader. Astarion had been vaguely aware that druids had an intense love for nature and all of its creatures. But that hadn't prepared him for how unreasonable that love could be. It felt as though you would take literally every opportunity you had to speak to any lowly pest on the side of the road.

Not to mention your insistence on taking care of a damned owlbear cub, which was an objectively stupid thing to do. Something that he should have fought you on harder but... he wasn't made of stone. The thing was objectively adorable. Even if it was almost certainly destined to grow up and try to kill you all, Astarion kept his mouth mostly shut.

But then came the dog. That god-damned dog. How a singular mutt could make his life so damn difficult, Astarion wasn't sure. But he did know that he was trying to enact a well-thought out plan. Seduce you, foster a protective affection that was strong enough for you to always want him alive, perhaps use you to defeat Cazador if the parasites proved strong enough, and then effectively abandon you for a new life of freedom.

It was all very simple, and he had gotten a great head start. You had spent the last few weeks flirting with each other, always staying close. You gravitated towards each other, a fact that felt more natural than Astarion would have liked. But... he had found himself enjoying his time with you, genuinely. Not that it mattered, but it was definitely a plus for his plan. Being with you was far from unbearable. You were attractive, sweet, a little angel just begging to be corrupted. A job that Astarion was growing excited to start.

He had been so, so close to fully propositioning you, completely confident that you would agree. And then Scratch happened. He hadn't thought much of it when you came across the little mutt. Maybe it would stay with the corpse of its owner or it would be another hanger-on like the owl bear. He hadn't had a horse in the race either way.

But then he did show up to the camp, looking so sad and dejected that even Astarion couldn't be bothered that his arrival completely interrupted his first attempt at asking you to bed. He had watched you pet and whisper to him for the rest of the night, providing a comfort that only a druid could.

Which was fine. Or at least it had been for that one night. That one night that kept repeating. Because suddenly, that damned dog was everywhere. The quiet nights the two of you had together by the fire, talking about anything and everything with your thighs pressed together now included Scratch squeezing himself into the middle.

The orchestrated moves he would do to make you blush, like removing a non-existent speck from your cheek with his thumb or leaning in close to remove a leaf from your hair, were getting harder and harder to pull off. The damned mongrel was always there, and any attempts Astarion took to get close to you Scratch used as an invitation to jump all over him. If he had it to wash his face of dog slobber one more time from the crime of trying to hold your hand, he was going to go ballistic.

And there was zero reprieve. The thing went with you everywhere, even in the most perilous of situations. Worst of all, it actually proved to be useful. Astarion had no idea where the thing was trained, but it was incredibly smart. Smart enough to serve as a perfect distraction when needed, while being clever and fast enough to never get himself killed. He could even function as a spy, considering how you could make sense of all of his whining and barking. And worst of all, the little beast was amazing at thievery, with nothing more than his mouth. No one suspected the adorable dog to be the one stealing your coin purse right off of your belt. He was completely inconspicuous, perhaps even more so than Astarion. A fact that... was not sitting well.

How on earth was he being outclassed by a fucking dog? One that he had no valid arguments to leave behind at camp.

And to top it all off, you even slept with it. You slept with both animals, usually huddled up in a pile beneath the stars. How you managed to not stink of dog breath and owlbear saliva in the morning, Astarion would never know.

How was he supposed to make you fall for him like this? In the past two weeks since you'd attached yourself completely to the thing, doting on him constantly. He had only managed to sleep with you once. The night of the celebration over the goblin slaughter, and what a lovely night it had been. But that was only because Scratch and the cub had been sufficiently distracted by all of the enamored tiefling children. The next night it was back to the same.

And Astarion was not willing to let the night you had together go as a one night stand. Maybe it wasn't necessary. It had become clear that you cared for him, you cared for all of them. Enough to put yourself in danger for every party member's protection. A strong friendship would probably do him just as good as a romance. But... that didn't feel like enough. He didn't want it to be enough. For reasons that he was not going to start examining now.

No, for now he was just focused on getting past your slobbery bodyguard. But he knew better than to bring it up to you directly. You were far too infatuated with the pup to see his side of things.

Gale had made a singular comment on a slight frustration over having to wait around for Scratch to sniff nearly everything he came into contact with, and that had ended in you giving him a half-hour lecture on the importance of understanding one's surroundings. Shadowheart had mentioned, once, just once, that perhaps it was time to start looking for a more appropriate family for the dog, and that had led to you giving her the cold shoulder for days.

No, if he was going to get more time alone with you Astarion would have to try other means. Which had led him here, swinging back a Potion of Animal Speaking with a grimace. It tasted oddly grassy, like he had just swallowed blended up lawn shavings. But he didn't have time to grouse over the taste, not when you were thoroughly distracted with talking about druid mythology with Halsin, Scratch left conveniently alone to dig holes in the back of camp.

And that was where Astarion was going. Because if he couldn't reason with you, perhaps he could reason with the mutt itself.

Part of him could not quite believe that he had to resort to speaking with a dog to further this relationship, but here he was.

Astarion stopped in front of him, swallowing back a grimace at how the thing was digging dirt directly on his shoes. Instead, he smiled down at it, his voice only slightly strained when he asked, "Can you understand me?"

Scratch stopped his digging, opting to sit and stare up at him, an oddly humanoid voice answering, "Yes."

Huh, so that's how this spell worked. It was a little disconcerting to hear a human voice from a dog's mouth, but he would make do. Astarion cautiously sat next to him, perching on a nearby log as he tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face, "Good. How are you?"

Scratch stared at him, his head cocked, "The dirt tastes good here. I like that."

That was... Astarion didn't know. It was his own fault for trying to make small talk with an animal. He cut straight to the point, "That's great to hear. Now, would you mind doing me a favor tonight?"

Astarion had never had a dog narrow its eyes at him before, but that's exactly what Scratch did, "What is it?"

"Nothing serious," Astarion tried to reassure, "I was just hoping that perhaps you and the cub could sneak off for a night so Tav and I could spend some time together-"

"No," Scratch interrupted circling the ground three times before laying down, his eyes still on Astarion.

"Excuse me?" Astarion shot back, his true annoyance shining straight through his voice, "It's not exactly much to ask for! It's one night-"

"I don't trust you around them," The dog said simply, "I think you're going to hurt them."

Well that was just offensive. Ever since this little brat's arrival Astarion had barely had a chance to drink from you. And the times he did he was perfectly in control. Not including the first time of course.

"I'll have you know that not every vampire is some hellish demon with no self-control," Astarion bit out, only the slightest bit amused at himself for being reduced to defending his own disgusting kind, "And why pray tell, would I hurt one of the only reasons I'm still alive."

Scratch shook his head, one eye closed like this conversation was boring him, "Not that kind of hurt. The inside kind, that makes people cry. I don't want them to cry."

That was-Astarion didn't-how in the hells could a dog see through him that easily?

"I have no intention of hurting them," Astarion lied. Or at least he thought it was a lie. It felt... uncomfortably true when spoken allowed, "I just want to have a little fun, that's all. Don't you think they've earned that?"

"Not with you. You don't like them enough," Scratch sighed, "I like Gale more. Or Wyll. Karlach too. They can have fun with them instead."

That was it. Astarion was going to wring this little shit's neck. But before he could give into his more violent impulses, he could hear your voice, calling out to the current root of all of his problems.

Scratch bounded up, his tail already wagging as he started to trot over. But before he fully did he turned around, giving Astarion a once over, "If you can prove you like them, then I'll consider it."

And just like that he was off, running to your side while leaving a stunned Astarion in his wake. Did... did he just get verbally annihilated by a damn dog? How was he supposed to go on after this? Not to mention he was actually thinking about what the creature said. It sounded like a challenge, one that Astarion was suddenly pissed enough to take up.

If the little shithead wanted sincerity, then he would get it. And that's how Astarion found himself willingly opening up more. Even if it had to be in front of the damn dog. He told you more about Cazador, the horrors and tribulations he had endured through centuries. He told you of his regrets, the things he missed the most about being a mortal. He even told you the truth about that first night that you let him drink from your neck. That... that you were the first. How good it had felt to have what he had been denied for so long. And he was rewarded with his honesty. He got to learn more and more about you in turn. Your family, your home, where you incessant love for nature derived from. He was starting to slowly become a Tav-expert, suddenly hungry for every bit of information that he could procure.

They were long conversations, long enough to last well into the night. And for Astarion to be exhausted enough to just... fall asleep in the first available location. Which just so happened to always be in the pile of creatures you liked to sleep with. Though, Astarion had to admit after experiencing it himself, it was oddly pleasant to be surrounded by the warm, furry little headaches.

As for the two of you, things were slowly progressing in regards to his plan. A plan that he continually kept conveniently forgetting about. You were together now at the least, even if Scratch hardly ever let you have a night alone. But you cuddled and kissed, called each other pet names and the like. And... it was nice. Perhaps even too nice. Because Astarion was starting to... feel things that he'd prefer to not.

He was getting too attached, too close. The idea of sex didn't even seem to matter anymore, let alone the idiocy of trying to convince a dog to help him in that department. He was knowing too much of you, and the fact that he seemed to adore everything he saw only made it worse. And then the two of you managed to kill that demon, getting more and more information about Cazador. You risked so much for him, and were willing to risk so much more. He couldn't take it anymore.

He had told you the next night, everything. His plan, his past, how easy it was to revert back into new tricks. But he didn't want that with you. Maybe he never did. He wanted something real, and by the gods above you wanted the same thing. He had half expected you to dump him completely after that little speech. But... you didn't. Instead you hugged him, comforted him for trying and failing to betray your trust. It was a kindness he didn't deserve, but one that he would gladly accept.

Everything felt easier after that. Yes there were still countless horrors hanging over your heads but... he had you. And with you he was starting to think he could get through anything.

Even Halsin's insistent flirting. He was watching you both now as you helped him nurse a dying sapling to health, his eyes tracking Halsin's every move as he pretended to read. While he trusted you more than anything, fully aware that you would never stray, it didn't stop the paranoia. Just one other aspect of being in a real relationship that he hadn't seen coming. Turns out, it involved being terrified of losing it all. Especially to handsome, bulky elf druids.

But before he could fret over it any longer, he felt a tugging on his pant leg. He glanced down, his brow furrowing when he saw Scratch there, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out.

"What the hell do you want?" Astarion asked, his words completely unmatching his actions as he scratched him behind the ears. Don't get him wrong, he still at least semi-loathed the creature but... he's also not quite sure he would have gotten to this point without his intervention. So a reluctant appreciation for his existence it was.

Scratch continued to paw at his leg, a low whine in his throat as he cocked his head to the right. Astarion followed the motion, only getting more confused when he realized he was trying to point to another potion.

Astarion sighed as he picked it up, “What? You want me to understand a new dressing down speech?”

Scratch continued to wag his tail, letting out a happy bark as a confirmation. As much as Astarion would prefer to not spend an evening getting lectured by a dog, he was more than a little curious to see what he had to say. 

He swallowed it down, grimacing at the taste as he wiped his mouth, “Okay, out with it. What do you want?”

"I like you now," Scratch said excitedly, prancing back and forth in front of him, "And they like you too. Do you like them?"

In moments like this, Astarion really did wish he had the heart of stone that he pretended to carry. Because the unexpected approval from a random pup was suddenly making him feel almost teary eyed. Or it was the bitter taste of the potion, but either way the innocent words were making his heart ache pleasantly. 

Astarion swallowed, smiling down at him, “I like them very much. More than anyone before. And I’m starting to think you might not be so bad either.”

Scratch sat in front of him, resting his head in his lap as his tail wagged, a goofy smile on his adorable face, “It’s because I’m a good boy. They tell me so all the time. Are we friends now? We are right?”

“Yeah,” Astarion smiled as he ran a hand through his white coat, his eyes drifting over to you. You were watching them, grinning ear to ear with a hand over your heart, nearly moments away from swooning. He looked back down at the dog, his smile only widening, “We’re going to be great friends.”

[saintgoths]

ᴍᴜᴍᴍʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ

ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ʀɪʟᴇʏ

ghost has a mummy kink.

P!LINKS!

You had been with Ghost for some time, had loved him and had been loved by him, it had taken quite some time for Ghost to open up but eventually he did, showed you sides to himself he had been hesitant to share to other people, and you had accepted him, adored him as he had adored you.

You had thought you had known everything about him, but when he had expressed this…quirk, this kink of his. You had acknowledged the way embarrassment had shadowed his eyes, how he had looked down, avoidant of your gaze as he had anxiously anticipated your response. Though, the idea of him submissive to you, had flicked a hidden switch inside of your body, you, who had been used to the dominant trait of Simon. Your lover, who would usually have you under him, hand in your hair as he had fucked you from behind.

Hearing his whiny meek moans in response to how you squeezed and stroked his length as his lip were wrapped around your breast while you had held him. Nurtured him and gently stroked his hair with your other hand. Simon had previously slipped a vibrator inside of you, the small gadget had immense effect, having you suck in air between your teeth and shiver every now and then. “Such a good boy,” you had carefully whispered, you had looked down at him, noted on how soft he had looked but had taken in on how he had bucked his hips upwards.

He had flicked the tip of his tongue against your nipple, eyelids now pulled backwards as he looked into yours. You felt your sex twist, he had looked so beautiful in your arms, brown eyes full of love but mixed with such intense passion as he could feel himself want to cum, he had been so big in your hand, your fingers barely closed around him, but the feel of the veins around his cock had aroused you. How the skin of his shaft moved when you stroked further and harder. His moans melted into heavier sighs; the length of his size had pulsed and twitched.

You had gazed at the redness of his tip, he had moved his body faster, his mouth still latched around your breast as he sucked hard, you had featherily whined, head slightly tilted backwards while the wetness between your thighs had increased. You clenched your thighs as the vibrator inside of you shook once more, and with one more exhale you could feel the sharp pleasure strike straight through you, the immense effect had caused you to grip him tighter.

“Oh baby,” you had whispered as you had listened to the music of his moans, you had felt your orgasm coat the insides of your thigh, staining the bed sheets as your body gently jolted as kickback to your climax, but, he; was almost there, you knew it, with how he became more aggressive with his thrusts, he had eventually pulled away from your nipple, his muscled back slightly arched as he released, the hotness of his load spilled against your hand and he bucked his hips a bit more, his body slightly jerked as he whimpered once again, and the minute his high had finished, his body relaxed against your arms, eyes shut as his chest gently moved up and down.

“You did so well,” you told him and he looked at you, eyes soft as he lifted himself to press his mouth against yours. He dragged his knees to stand on them, the firmness of his chest against yours, as he guided his hands against your skin. “Want to feel me?” You had asked him and as he had moved his lips to shadow the sharpness of your jaw, your lover had gently pressed you against the bed.

“Yes,” he replied, his brown eyes scanned your body, the curves, the dips and the plumpness, he had hovered over you, like the hungry beast he was. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you moved your lips to the side of his ear.

“Then make mummy feel good,” you said and like an automaton, Simon’s mouth had petted the skin of your neck while one hand had been around his cock, ready to guide his length to the tight opening of your cunt.

REFERENCE ONE

REFERENCE TWO

if you want more mummy kink ghost fics tell me x

[osachiyo]

༅ "wrap your legs around my waist" ༄ | beast!dazai

.pairing ➺ beast!dazai x assistant!reader

.notes ➺ n/sfw content (mdni), fem!reader, cockwarming, office sex (if you see a pattern here no u don't), praise, name calling (slut, whore etc)

not proofread throughly don't come at me lovelies 🙏🏽

➺ event details & m.list

"be a good girl and sit pretty f'me," dazai whispered, thumb circling your pretty clit as his cock was nestled deep inside you. you felt borderline delirious, being impaled on his cock without any movement− it was so, so cruel of him.

"samu... wanna move s'bad," you sniffed, pretty pink nails clawing at his crisp button up as you tried your very best not to grind down further. "shh, I know baby, I know. must be so hard for a slut like you huh?" he tilted your chin upwards to look at him, heart squeezing at the little tears clinging to your lashline. god, how he loved seeing you cry. only for this though− if anyone even thought about making you, his darling, cry− they wouldn't see the light of day again granted.

"just a few more moments, 'kay? i'm almost done, pretty," he kissed the top of your head before going back to his paperwork, fingers still playing with that cute little clit of yours and you could only sit there and take it. little whimpers and soft moans came out of your mouth everytime he shifted a little− you couldn't tell if he was doing this on purpose or not. either way, it drove you insane.

you weren't the only one being affected by this though, osamu would hiss out a curse whenever you clamped down too tightly around him, your slick dripping down his cock to his balls− completely ruining his trousers. he was resisting the urge to just bend you over his desk and fuck you stupid on his cock and he knew that's exactly what you needed− but he had to be patient. had to resist your sweet cunt clenching and unclenching around his length. you swear you could feel him throb inside of you, the feeling making butterflies erupt in your tummy.

after a few moments, you heard the soft click of the pen and osamu's slightly strained voice, "done." one moment you're cockwarming your boyf− boss, and the next moment you're being hoisted up and slammed against the wall, osamu's hushed voice hitting your ears, "wrap your legs around my waist, need to fuck you now." and you complied− jumping as he picks you up, your thighs separated by his torso while he kisses you feverishly. his teeth tugged on your bottom lip and you moaned softly, letting him in your mouth as he suckled on your tongue, hips rutting into the heat of your soft cunt, nearly slipping out from how eager he was. yeah, you definitely weren't the only one desperate to have him slamming into you.

"f-fuck− feels s'good, baby," he buried his head into the crook of your neck, hips still not slowing down− his pelvis grinding against your clit with every fast thrust. your hands clawed at his back, whining for him to take his coat off, you wanted to touch him so bad. he only chuckled, squeezing your ass between his long fingers, "wanna touch me, yeahhh? beg for it, sweet girl."

of course he'd make you beg, he always does. "wanna touch you s'o baaad− p-please!" you babbled, pulling and tugging on his jet black coat, your words breathy as you gasped, bouncing back to meet his thrusts halfway and he moaned, immensely turned on by your eagerness.

"c'mon, please don't tell me that's the best you can do? I'm sure a whore like you can do better~" he huffed, playfully smacking your ass, "now, beg. properly."

"samu! please− wanna touch you," you gasped, tugging at the hair on the back of his neck. "wanna feel you− pleasepleaseplease let me touch you−!" your cries got cut off by osamu hoisting you up again, holding you up with one arm as he hurriedly took off his coat and threw it across the room− popping the buttons off his white button-up and throwing that away aswell. his attention quickly went back to you, running his cold hands up and down your sides as he shallowly thrusted into you.

your hands immediately flew to scratch at his bandaged back, not too hard though− you know there'd be a punishment awaiting you if the bandages were damaged− and you just wanted to be osamu's good girl today.

his thrusts grew deeper, lithe fingers reaching between your bodies to play with your clit and you moaned, tightening around his cock. the brunette let out a guttural growl at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him so deliciously, the feeling was downright addicting to him− he needed to feel you cum around his cock.

his hips were slamming into you now, fingers gripping your hips so tightly that you knew they were gonna leave marks. you didn't care though− not when getting your brains fucked out by the port mafia boss.

your vision was hazy, drool dripping down your glossed lips− but you could still see how damn pretty he was. how fucking pretty osamu looked while fucking your lights out− thick brown locks disheveled, face flushed as tiny beads of sweat gathered on his forehead− some of his bangs sticking to his skin and fuck− you could almost cum from the sight alone.

what you didn't know, though, was that he was thinking the same things about you. oh, how your pretty face scrunched up in pleasure everytime he rubbed against a particular spot− it made him abuse and hit that spot over and over again, just to see your eyes slightly roll back as chants of his name rolled off your tongue. he loved the way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his unforgiving hips, made him want to bite and suck on them so much that they'd be left red and swollen. god, the mere image made his cock twitch inside of your velvety walls.

you gasped when his fingers sped up with his thrusts, ripping out gurgled mewls and moans out of you, your head lolling back against the wall as he encouraged you to cum− and you were close.

"cum on this c-cock− fuuck−!" he got cut off by his own growl, hips moving at an erratic pace− "soak this fuckin' cock, angel, now." and you did, right on queue− spraying him with your juices, now dripping down your ass cheeks as you wail from the burning overstimulation− only to get muffled by the palm of your boss. your body was completely slack in his hold, jaw unhinged as your thighs burned from the constant friction.

with one final thrust, he shuddered before flooding your insides with his seed, balls pressing against your ass and head thrown back− exposing the column of his slim throat, you wanted to bite down on it.

he slowly pulled out shortly after, pulling your panties back up and letting the waistband snap against your heated skin before smacking your ass playfully. what a damn tease. you could feel his sticky release pooling in your panties, the sensation was uncomfortable but you didn't dare disobey his wishes.

"alright, off you go now. I'm sure you have work to do, no?" osamu smirked, patting your ass softly before pushing you forward.

you wanted to wipe that little smirk off his face so bad− you were so gonna get back at him for this.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

a/n: sorry if this is ooc y'all I haven't read beast fully </3 kinda hate this but wtv, promise the next one will be better

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[mrsimpurity]

thinking about letting logan use his claws on you...

cw: nsfw (no smut but suggestive content), mentions of blood, reader’s crazy if you ask me

“logan, i’m sure about this. don’t worry.” you say, looking into logan’s eyes. you’re in your underwear, sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room with your legs spread. 

the space is dimly lit and there’s tangible tension in the air, fear and anticipation emitting from logan’s body. the trust you have when it comes to him is immense, and he can’t quite understand which one of your screws has to be loose for you to let him do this.

logan hovers over you, hands resting on the back of your chair. he lets out a sigh of surrender and leans down to kiss you. you kiss him back hungrily as his tongue enters your mouth. a whimper escapes your throat as he breaks the kiss, getting to work. 

you sit back and watch logan with a smirk as the sound of metal clashing slices the quiet tension in the air. he gives you one last look of reassurance as his hand gets closer and closer to your thigh. his claw pierces your skin in the gentlest way possible. 

logan’s focused, so focused on not hurting you that it has you biting back laughter. the beast of a man you’ve seen slaughter with no remorse now has sweat trickling down his forehead out of fear of pushing his claw in too deep. 

he proceeds to drag the claw down, the red mark on your skin starting to slowly bleed as a tiny trail of blood trickles down. he stops right before the inside of your knee. 

the pain is blunt, but the burn is delicious. despite you being the one to initiate this whole thing, the fact that you’re at this man’s mercy, bare and ready for him to damage you, has your core throbbing. 

logan’s heart feels like it’s breaking, but his cock doesn’t agree. he can feel the heat radiating off you, smell your fear and your arousal. and it takes everything in him not to rip your underwear off and finally claim you as his. 

but he doesn’t. because he’s too patient and loving to ruin your fun. so he’ll clench his teeth and humor you, just this once.

the next mark he leaves on you is a line parallel to his first one. the pain increases slowly, it becomes too much in one place. but the way the first cut stings, the way the blood seeps from the even deeper wound - it has you wanting more.

logan stops at the same place again, the tip of his claw stained by your crimson blood. suddenly overcome by something inexplicable, he drops to his haunches, resting his hands on the outside of your thighs as his face hovers over your fresh wound. he sticks his tongue out and before you know it, he’s licking up your new scars, cleaning up the blood.

the sound of your small gasps, the feeling of your suppressed whimpers as he laps up your blood, soothing the wounds, has his cock twitching in his pants. logan’s tongue runs over the two cuts again, but this time stops right before your underwear as he presses a kiss to your clothed cunt.

you’ve never felt like this before, your eyes filled with lust and desire. logan slowly rises, his gaze focused on yours, need fogging his vision. his lips find yours and you combust as a metal taste fills your mouth, the feeling of logan’s bloody tongue against yours destroying every single ounce of conformity and self-respect you have left. 

you moan into his mouth, hungry for more as the burning sensation of your bloody wounds makes a reappearance. 

logan’s mouth breaks away from yours, a bloody trail of spit connecting your lips as you smile with delight. 

with a burning desire almost as fucked up as yours, logan murmurs. 

“let me take care of you, baby.”

[runningwithscizzorz]

So I do think Christopher Lee is a good choice for Narinder, but could I also suggest Griffith Kimmins specifically with his voice for Mao Mao?

You mean Parker Simmons? That man is a friggen beast, he voice acted like, half of the cast. I can see that! His delivery wouldn’t be nearly as hysterical as Mao Mao typically is, but the gruffness of his voice would suit his small cat form immensely well. Ntm The part where Mao Mao barfs up his binoculars will never not be fucking hilarious to me, the whole show is incredibly underrated. Badgerclops’s voice would also suit Lamb (Ill think of a name for them soon) really well in that scenario

[gojo-mochi]

Toji likes to roll over in his sleep. Which would be fine itself but it not fine when you’re the one sleeping next to him. He more often than not crushes you with his body weight. Pressing his tiddies on your face as his arm is slung over your side with a snore. His immense body heat quickly warming you up.

You can try to wiggle from out of under him but be careful you might awaken the beast that lives inside his pants. If it not already hard that is, Toji’s hard cock lying against his thigh, was now pressed on to you. And the more you move the more his dick twitches.

If you were feeling bold or maybe a bit vengeful, you could find yourself biting into Toji’s chest while your hand slips into his sweats. Slowly dragging his balls up and squeezing them a little. Collecting his precum and smearing it on his length, your hand almost feels like it burning when you first tried this, the whiff of musk when you opened his sweats almost knocked you out too.

Then finally, after a while of being crushed under this brick house of man, will he open one eye to look down at you. Voice rasping out; “What you doing, pup? Playing games, hmm? My pup so damn needy while I’m trying to sleep…”

He groans like it an annoyance but it quickly turns into a moan when you bite into him again. Like it wasn’t his damn fault you couldn’t sleep tonight.

“Fuck… feisty tonight. Mm, let me retrain you to behave better, pup…”

You’ll get sleep tonight, you’ll get a lot of rest actually. You’ll just won’t be able to walk for awhile afterwards.

[nyoomerr]

i've spoken about this in a couple discord chats already but the idea of a binggeyuan frieren au is so so tasty and yet there is no fucking way i am ever going to attempt it bc i just KNOW it would be sad in order to be good

the idea of bingge traveling alongside frail mortal shen yuan for some years, watching the way sy interacts with the world, letting sy coax him into using his immense power to help save some group of people (or beasts, or whatever strikes sy's fancy). bingge goes along mostly for amusement - life gets quite boring, when you're as old and powerful as he is - and at the end of everything he goes his own way without thinking twice.

later - much, much later - bingge thinks that things have gotten quite boring again, and he wants to go find the little mortal that had amused him for some years.

the little mortal is dead.

bingge is furious, of course. he hasn't allowed anyone to deny him anything for centuries now, and he hasn't had to actually deal with a mortal's death in nearly as long for the way he surrounds himself with other powerful demons and cultivators. the solution is simple, though: bingge will simply resurrect shen yuan.

but since shen yuan has been dead for years at this point, there is no body to easily restore, and in this au there wouldn't be so many convenient resurrection tools in this universe to begin with. it would turn into the whole frieren-esque adventure, perhaps with bingge picking up a kid that shen yuan had been mentoring before his death - perhaps one of bingge's own neglected kids, in fact, that shen yuan had picked up in part bc he missed bingge.

and as bingge adventures onwards towards a miracle resurrection tool, he'll occasionally run into situations that could easily be solved through pure power and callousness, and he... won't. he'll think about the way sy would scold him for being cruel, and he'll sulk and throw tantrums but in the end he'll avoid whatever the easy but cruel option was. the journey will take far longer for bingge than it necessarily would have to, because the goal of the journey has put sy at the front of his mind and now he can't stop thinking about all the stupid ""lessons"" sy had tried to give him.

and this is why i could not write this au: the most fitting ending i can think of for this au would be that the only way to resurrect shen yuan would be through some horrific sacrifice of hundreds of other innocent lives, and bingge would choose not to do it.

it would make him furious - it would drive him to the edge of qi deviation, to the edge of declaring some stupid pointless war just so he can work out his anger and get those innocent souls to resurrect shen yuan anyway. but he wouldn't. this whole slow adventure has reminded him bit by bit of just why he'd spent so long following that foolish little mortal shen yuan around, of the way that living a kinder life had felt so relaxing after years of constantly being ready to spill blood at a moment's notice.

shen yuan would be so disappointed in bingge if he choose that method of resurrection, and so bingge can't do it. bingge would be unsatisfied with that method of resurrection, just because he'd know sy would dislike it.

shen yuan stays dead, but his memory haunts bingge for the rest of his nearly immortal life, and bingge ever so slowly shapes himself into what that memory was.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 13 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Domestic violence Chapter warnings: Domestic violence (mild?), references to addiction.

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Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Alastor plagued your thoughts during the day, and you found little reprieve in the depths of slumber. The very idea of him was a ghost that danced across your mind whenever it grew still. You would close your eyes and his smile would light up the darkness behind your eyelids. The ever present idea of him promised peace. 

It was a refuge you were terrified to seek shelter in and yet in the darkness of your sleep he was still there, holding his hand out to you. The version of him in your dreams was a sweet devil, promising kindness and warmth for your soul in return. 

“You dumb bitch,” The boom of Laurence’s voice shocked you out of your thoughts. How long had he been raging? When had he started? You’d been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed him starting in on you as you stood, a plate of toast in your hands, in the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, not sure what you were sorry for but knowing that you certainly would be if you had just been paying attention. Pulling his arm back, he wound up and launched the apple at you in a way that looked too much like a baseball pitcher. He wasn’t a man for playing sport, but you prepared for pain, anyway. It didn’t wouldn’t take much to land a powerful hit from across the small kitchen. 

It landed with a sickening splat against the wall, saving you from a bruising blow. His poor aim wasn’t enough to save you from the splatter of slimy apple flesh. Cold apple mush dotted your arm, churning your stomach as your mind desperately tried to catch up. 

“Who the fuck lets food rot in the basket?!” Laurence loomed closer, anger blazing in his eyes.

Oh. 

That’s what had set him off and you told yourself it made sense. You told yourself it was a perfectly reasonable thing for him to be this upset over. It was a waste of food and a waste of money. It was disrespectful to your husband and his hard work to provide for you to allow waste. 

It hadn’t been an intentional act of waste, though. You had dropped the apple a few weeks ago, and it bruised. It hadn’t been your intention to neglect it. It just ended up being at the bottom of the basket. You intended to bake with it since it wouldn’t be good for raw eating any longer, but it slipped your mind. Time went by and it just hadn’t gotten used, that was all. 

A simple accident. A slipped thought from the busy brain of a housewife. 

“It was just one,” you protested, resisting the urge to wipe the cold splatter from your arm. It would only anger Laurence more. He was an angry beast, and you knew your only defense was in your stillness. “I was going to put it out with the scraps after I finished the washing up.” 

“You think I just fucking give you money to waste?!” It didn’t matter how still you kept your body when you could not still your treacherous tongue. The blow of his fist delivered to your ribs knocked the air from your lungs. He hardly put any force into the hit, not needing to in your already injured state. The still healing fractures screamed in pain, throbbing with each beat of your heart as you fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. 

You waited, eyes closed and hands clutching your side. Each slow, deep breath brought waves of nausea inducing pain. You tried to focus on the feeling of the hard tile under you while listening for any sounds of your husband advancing on you. Muscles pulled taut while you waited, unsure if this was going to be the end of the discipline he would dull out for the infraction or not. 

The pain in your side was immense, blinding, but it didn’t feel like the still healing fractures were re-broken. Laurence was shouting over you, words lost to the sea of pain your mind was floating in. With every breath you struggled to take, you took stock of how it felt like the bones in your chest were moving. Would you really know if he had shattered the fragile healing? 

While Laurence yelled, you thought about Alastor. He had wormed his way into your thoughts again while Laurence dominated your attention as best he could. You hadn’t been aware of it. First you were thinking of your ribs and then the soft touch of his hand, brushing lightly against your skin as he had wrapped them in thick bandages. 

If Alastor had a wife, he wouldn’t be the type of man to hit her. You know that. You didn’t know how you did, but somehow, deep in your heart, you knew it was true. Behind your closed eyes, you pictured Alastor with his eyes bright and hair lit up with sunlight. The smile on his face was peaceful. It was the smile he had worn when he talked of his mother. 

While Laurence’s footsteps faded through the house, you replayed the sound of Alastor’s laugh in your head. It was rich and warm, full of mirth. The front door opened and closed while you listened to Alastor call you Darling, watching the way his mouth formed the word, corners upturned as he spoke. 

As Laurence’s car roared to life out front, you thought of the warmth of Alastor’s hand resting on your lower back. It was such a sinful thing to indulge in. You had no business thinking about the way your heart beat a little faster at his too casual touches. 

It was early in the evening; the sun having only just tucked itself behind the horizon line. The band was in full swing, vibrant music infusing the patrons of the speakeasy with an energy far greater than what was typical in other settings during the still early hour. 

People danced, drank and talked. Women flung around the dancefloor, trust in their partners and the well practiced moves to keep them from crashing into each other or the tables scattered around the edge of the dancefloor. The air was alive with the reckless joy that good drink and better music brought. 

Mimzy was up on her feet, fluttering around the floor, talking to anyone and everyone. She was an under recognized master at the craft of entertainment and hospitality. It didn’t matter to her at all if they wanted to talk to her, she would ensure every one of her guests got what they wanted from their night out if it was within her power. 

Alastor didn’t mind the lack of personal attention for himself. Tonight he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, his drink, and the band. 

On the other side of the lounge, Laurence moved through the crowd. It was hard not to notice his bright blond hair or annoyingly loud voice. 

Alastor knew Laurence was aware of his eyes on him, following him as he made his greetings and flirted with women. They had locked eyes shortly after the man had arrived and since, Laurence had been deliberately avoiding locking eyes with Alastor. 

Why? 

Alastor’s smile twitched higher as he took a drink from the glass he had been absentmindedly holding, amber swirling and catching the light. The rye ran down his throat, settling warm in his abdomen. He was on his second drink of the night and doing little more than nursing it. He wanted his mind clear, just in case he needed it.

“Dear Laurence,” Alastor wondered aloud, “are you struggling to come up with funds for the first payment?”

Laurence draped his arm around a redhead’s waist, kissing her neck with the comfortable ease of a long-term familiarity. He spared no thought for those around him, patrons who may know he was wed to another. 

Alastor couldn’t help but wonder if you knew where your husband was right now? 

Clearly, he wasn’t working late, trying to earn the funds to repay the loan. Was that what he had told you he was doing? Did you smile at him and wish him a good evening when you saw him off for the day? Did you kiss him goodbye, trusting that he would be where he said he was, doing what he said he would be doing? Did you save him a plate of dinner, cooked with affection he did not deserve? 

Alastor looked forward to ruining Laurence’s life. For the bruises he had left upon you, for every shattered rib, no one deserved destruction as much as Laurence did. He would revel in watching the man crumble, losing everything he held dear. It was the least Alastor could do, considering the sins of the man, at least for now. 

How disappointing it would be if he failed to make the payment, putting an end to the game so soon. It wasn’t often Alastor got to indulge in a slow torture. Perhaps that was for the better, though. 

A quick end to Laurence’s financial and social life would lessen their entanglements. It would allow him to put distance between them. With distance and time, he could remove the stain of a man from the earth without raising suspicions. He just needed enough time for their association to fade into the background. 

You would be free then and Alastor wouldn’t have to tangle himself up in this little game he was playing with you. The idea of you wouldn’t occupy his thoughts any longer. There would be no need to follow you, stealing you away for coffee. 

Alastor’s smile twitched, corners falling for a fraction of a second. The idea of not having a reason to see you again didn’t please him as much as it should have. What a curious conundrum. He hadn’t expected a bond of… what was it? Friendship? It didn’t feel quite like the bonds that bonded him to Mimzy. Perhaps it was different. He was less a boy now. Regardless, he had expected nothing to build between him and you. 

After finishing off his glass, Alastor signaled the bartender for a refill. Just one more and then he’d be off to hunt. Staining his hands red and ending the toxic existence of a beast in man’s clothing, he would surely feel better. All he needed was to vent some steam. 

“Oh, my golly!” A woman’s voice, high and musical, accompanied an encroaching hand on Alastor’s shoulder as he turned to give her his attention. “You’re Alastor Moreau from the radio!” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Alastor moved out from under her hand as he took the glass from the bartender, tilting it toward the man in thanks.

“I love your show. A voice so divine.” She slid up to him, light reflecting off strands of beads and tinsel hanging from her frame. The sound of them rattling against eachother was almost drowned out by the band’s music. 

“Thank you,” Alastor smiled and tried to ignore how she moved closer yet. The overly floral scent of her perfume was thick, rolling off her in waves that had his nose wanting to scrunch. 

“We simply must dance,” she said, resting her hand on his chest. 

Alastor plucked it off him with his long finger and thumb, pinching and lifting, while trying to touch her as little as possible. “I simply must do nothing of the sort.” 

“I’m sorry?” Her mouth opened and closed. Alastor thought she looked rather fish like, gulping on her words. 

Alastor laughed, not finding it in him to pretend to care about what hurt feelings she may have. “Apology accepted, my dear. If you’ll excuse me, I’m not in the dancing mood tonight.” 

Alastor did not wait for whatever else she had to say as he rose from the barstool, pushing a few bills across the bar top to settle his tab. He counted on the dim lights and the bodies in the speakeasy to allow him to become one of the crowd while he made his social escape. 

Tonight wasn’t a night he felt like performing the courting dance or dealing with the mess that would inevitably follow it. It had been a while since he had last flaunted a woman on his arm, showering her in displays of affection for society to judge. He knew such performances were needed, lest people talk as Mimzy insisted on reminding him, but it could wait a while longer still. 

Alastor detested the show it required him to put on. He hated the way the woman he picked would hang off of him, hands over him. They were always so eager to have their lips on him, clinging to his body and his space as they sucked the air from around him. 

While he sipped at the drink in his hand, Alastor’s thoughts turned back to you as he caught sight of your husband with the red-headed flapper sitting on his lap. How were you passing your night while your husband’s hand climbed higher on another woman’s thigh?

You sat at the small workstation in the kitchen, dim gas light shining down over you. The ticking of the clock was loud in the silence, soft music playing from the radio doing little to drown it out while you read the morning’s newspaper. 

Laurence was working late again tonight, or at least that’s what he had said he would when he left in the morning. There was a plate sitting on the shelf in the icebox, his share of the dinner you had dutifully made and packed up for him knowing he would likely not eat it. 

You didn’t know if you believed what he said. It was a struggle to convince yourself that he was working late. Each day that passed, it was harder to believe that the pink on his shirts was from ink. 

Was it worse that you were not sure if you cared? 

If he got caught, if someone found out, perhaps you could divorce him. If that happened, you could be free from the pain and the yelling. Would your family take you back into their home if that were to happen? 

It didn’t matter; you told yourself. You didn’t think that was going to happen. You were a lot of things, but dumb was not one of them, no matter what Laurence said.

Society would look the other way in the case of an affair. Without the support of your family and his, you wouldn’t be able to push for a divorce yourself. You were trapped. There was no way out and worse, you knew it was a matter of time before you fell pregnant. That was, unless you were barren. 

You could run away. Take a new name, pretend to be someone else. While Laurence slept, you could take all the money from his wallet and just leave, not sparing a second to look back. 

Where would you go? The world was a dangerous place; you knew that. That was even more so true for a woman on her own. Would your family accept you back? Hide you? Look the other way?

Not likely. 

What would Alastor say if you just waited in the alley by the tailor shop and ambushed him with your plans to flee? Would he help you? He seemed like the type of man that might. Could you ask so much of him? A man you hardly knew?

Running away would mean leaving him behind as much as it would mean leaving Laurence behind. You were not sure if you could do that. You could live without Laurence, you were sure, but the idea of never seeing Alastor’s warm brown eyes made your heart ache.

It was wrong, you knew, how much Alastor had occupied your thoughts. The idea of him alone sent your heart beating faster, but you couldn’t help it. You were not even sure if you wanted it to change. 

Closing your eyes and setting the newspaper you’d hardly been reading aside, you imagined Alastor was sitting there with you. How different it would be to be spending this evening with him instead of alone. How different it would be to have him as your husband instead of Laurence. 

That was something you could never have as long as you were married. You would be married until either you or Laurence died, you feared. Imagining such things was doing little more than stabbing yourself in the heart with a small knife, again and again. 

With a sigh, you stood from the table. It wasn’t doing you any good, sitting here and thinking about him. There were dishes that needed washing, a task easier now that they’d had a good soak. 

While you set to the task, you let your mind wander freely. You expected it to dance around the thought of Alastor again but that wasn’t what ended up happening. While you washed dishes, you remembered tales of woman who disposed of husbands with harsh hands by putting a little poison in their food. 

Could you do that? Did you have murder in your heart? Could you take that secret to your grave? If it meant you could be free from Laurence’s anger, could you? 

You didn’t think so.

But what if you did?

Alastor refused to question what his motivations were as he hoisted himself into the apple tree. With each shift of his weight, the branch rustled, occasional leaves fluttering to the ground. The tree was at the edge of your back garden, where your land and the small forest met. 

There was no reason for him to be here. It was miles out of the way from where he had killed the pathetic excuse of a man he had been hunting. It was a waste of time to be here and yet here he was, scaling the tall tree. 

He needed to get the body back home before it got too much later. The body needed to be hung before rigor mortis set in or getting him out of the trunk would be a challenge. The last thing Alastor wanted was to dismember a body in his car. That would make for a large mess that he wasn’t eager to clean. 

Not waiting to butcher until it passed would leave the meat tough and flavorless. If the fool in his trunk turned stiff, he may as well just feed him direct to the bayou. He didn’t need the meat that badly. 

What a waste that would be, though. 

Alastor pulled himself up onto the thick branch he had thought of as his seat. In the distance, an oil lamp bloomed in the window. He watched, hidden by darkness, leaves and branches as your frame, dressed in a nightgown, came into view. 

You disappeared again, but that was alright. A few moments later, he could just see the glow of the lamp as you walked down the stairs. Did you know how much of your home could be seen through the large windows? Did you believe the forest and crumbling fence provided some security from prying eyes?

There could be killers lurking in the forest. You needed to be more careful. There was a serial killer on the run. Why not draw the curtains closed?

Alastor wasn’t going to be the one to tell you to do so, though. To do that would raise too many questions, none he was ready to answer. Plus, if you started drawing the curtains closed, how would he be able to check in on you?

Sitting on his branch, in his apple tree, he watched as you entered your kitchen. You looked tired, Alastor noted, but that wasn’t surprising. It was late. What were you doing awake? You should be asleep in your bed, next to your disgusting pig of a husband. 

His jaw ticked as he watched you take a knife out of the block, standing bathed in darkness and firelight. You were beautiful, just like that. It was a moment that deserved to be captured by the world’s greatest artists. The fire light shone off the knife and your hair. 

Alastor stunned by the simple beauty of you at that moment. Laurence did not know what he had locked away in his home, wilting under his harsh touches. 

You picked up the oil lamp and walked slowly, knife in hand, through your kitchen. Alastor watched as the glow disappeared, fingers running over the rough bark of the tree. 

Where were you going with that knife at this hour? What were you going to do with it? 

The glow entered your bedroom ahead of you. Alastor’s smile grew wider as he watched the knife glitter, the blade catching the light of the lamp as you moved toward the side of your bed. The lamplight jumped as you set the oil lamp on the bedside table before turning your attention to the bed. 

Alastor held his breath as the knife rose, gripped tightly in both hands. Oh, how you trembled. He could see it in the way the light reflected off the blade, even from where he sat. If he was there, he’d tell you to steady your hands, take a few breaths. It was better to steady yourself than to make a move when you were unstable. 

You were the most beautiful statue as you stood there. His lungs screamed for air as he continued to hold his breath, waiting to see what you would do. Oh, the sight you made! It was one he never wished to forget. 

After a few more heartbeats passed, you lowered the knife and Alastor’s breath whistled through his teeth. He watched as you looked around, as if you had just suddenly snapped awake from a dream. Your hand ran over your face and you looked around, head moving slowly. 

What would you do next? 

Alastor waited as you rushed to pluck up the lamp, flame jittering and flickering in the rush of movement. You scurried around the bed, stumbling for a moment as your feet caught on something he couldn’t see. You were in a rush to get away from what Alastor could only assume was Laurence’s sleeping figure. 

The light shook as you fell to your knees on the other side of the bed. If you were not careful, you’d drop that oil lamp. You were down, out of sight for a few moments before you rose again, this time without the knife. A moment passed as you cradled your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. 

“Don’t cry,” The sound of his whispered voice startled Alastor, “We can do it together.” 

Laurence was in a poor mood, but that wasn't new. In the last few weeks, he had been in a poor mood more often than not. He was tired, working late night after night. The long hours spent behind his desk had his back aching and his head pounding. 

His hands came, more often than not now, too. It was becoming rare that a day would pass without at least one strike against you. Thankfully, his anger didn’t come with the same harshness. Often his rages burned hot, but it burned out quickly, leaving you scared, shaken but fairly unharmed. 

His affections too, came less often, but for that you were even more thankful. The downside is when he wished to take you; it was often harshly. There was little courting or pretty words, you were just an object for him to use. You missed the nights when he took you without the pain, without striking you first, just for the simple pleasure of seeing your pain. 

“Are you listening to me?” Laurence slapped you, not giving you a chance to answer. 

“I’m sorry,” you said reflexively, sitting down hard on the bed. You didn’t know what you were sorry for, but you were sure you were sorry. You tried to focus on the feeling of the bed under you, the blankets bunched. “I’m still tired. What was that?”

“Pay attention this time.” Laurence waved the tincture bottle in front of your face. The label was stained with spilled liquid, dark brown that looked more like dried blood. He’d gotten messier in the last week. You had noticed but not said anything about it to him. It wasn’t a wife’s job to critique the cleanliness of her husband. 

“Yes, Laurence.” You looked up at him, shoulders pulled high as you waited for whatever would come next. 

“Take this bottle to the pharmacy on the corner of 5th and West. Give it to the man behind the counter and ask for two more.” He put the empty bottle in your hand. 

“Yes, Laurence.” You answered, wrapping your fingers around it.

“You think you can manage that?” He glared down at you as he finished tying his necktie. “Or are you too dumb?”

“I can do it.” You assured him, eyes following him as he moved through the room. 

“I’ll leave the money by the door.” You followed Laurence out of the room, a few steps behind him. 

“When will you be home?” You asked as you followed him down the stairs. While you were out, you could pick up a few things for dinner. Maybe if you made him a nice dinner he would-

Laurence turned and slapped you, the force of the blow sending you crashing against the railing, breath wheezing out of your lungs as you fought not to cry out. You gripped the polished wood, using it to keep yourself upright. Clinging to it, you struggled to put your feet under you again. The last thing your still healing body needed was to fall down the stairs. 

Laurence did not stop to help you. Your husband didn’t even look back to see if you were going to fall. He just walked down the stairs, fixing his tie as he made his way toward into the living room. 

“It’s not the wife’s job to manage her husband. That’s a fucking nag. Nags get beat. Do you want me to beat you?” Laurance called over his shoulder.

“No, Laurence.” You answered, taking a few tentative steps down the remaining stairs. 

“Since you want to know so fucking bad, I’m working late tonight. Got a business dinner. I’ll be home around ten. Don’t save me a plate. Don’t bother waiting up.” Laurence didn’t even look at you as you stepped into the living room, keeping yourself just out of his reach. 

“Yes, Laurence.” You said simply as he opened the front door. 

The spring brought warm sunshine that pulled a smile to your face. It felt good on your skin as you walked down the sidewalk. Birds chirped as they fluttered in the few trees that dotted the street. The pleasant day and good weather made for good mood, even with the rather disastrous start of the day.

Would it be strange to stop by the tailor and see if you could catch Alastor there? It was strange, but you realized that was where you had caught him most. You had no reason to stop by the shop, other than perhaps to thank Susan for her worry when you had been too hurt to get your dress, but that would just be an excuse to be there. 

“Well, fancy meeting you here.” Alastor’s warm voice washed over your ear, breath just sending your hairs dancing. 

You hadn’t heard him come up behind you. The sudden sound of his voice over your shoulder startled you, sending your heart jumping against your ribs as you jerked forward, away from him. You clamped your hand over your mouth, stifling your scream into a muffled squeak. 

“Alastor,” you hissed his name as you turned to him, “I was just thinking of you.” 

“Good things, I hope.” It felt like his chuckle wrapped around you, caressing the nerves he had set ablaze with his sudden appearance. 

“Of course,” you smiled at him before realizing that perhaps you were being too friendly with him. The corners of your mouth twitched as you tried to tame your smile, to take the girlishness of it from your face. 

“And what are you up to on this fine day?” Alastor took up walking at your side, a respectful distance between you but keeping himself between you and the road. As he spoke to you, he leaned forward slightly so that he could still look to you, between glances ahead. You struggled to push down the urge to preen under his attention, fingers growing restless as you picked at your nails. 

“Just an errand before I’ll set about the house chores this afternoon,” You had been wanting to see Alastor so badly but now that you were the center of his attention you realized you had no actual plan. 

“So late to start your wifely duties?” Alastor smiled wider as he leaned forward further to ensure you his teasing grin. 

“I did some before leaving,” you protested, laughing lightly as Alastor nearly tripped over a raised portion of the sidewalk. His teasing felt barbless when you knew the same from Laurence would have felt outright cutting. “But there’s no rush today.” 

“No?” Alastor let his attention fall from you for a few seconds as he straightened his jacket. 

“Laurence has a late dinner meeting tonight and is working right up to it.” You shrugged as if it didn’t matter to you in the slightest, and in truth, it didn’t.

“And how will you be passing the evening?” His eyes seemed to sparkle as he asked the question you had both hoping and dreading he would ask. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders as you glanced at the shop sigh, ensuring you didn’t get lost in conversation and had made it to the right place. “Probably listen to the radio and read a book.” 

“I’ll wait for you out here,” Alastor said, opening the door to the pharmacy for you as you stopped in front of. You were thankful for the consideration as he remained outside. It wouldn’t do for him to be following you into shops. 

Making your way to the counter, you fished out the bottle Laurence had sent you to pick up as the man behind the counter turned to face you. “What can I get for you?” 

“My husband sent me to get two of these?” Handing the bottle to the man, you continued, “I’m not sure exactly what it is, but he said you’d know? He takes it for his sore back occasionally.” 

“Landanum.” The man rolled the bottle in his hand for a moment, shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I know what it is.” The man set the bottle on the counter before turning, talking over his shoulder. “And he’s only taking a little, right? And occasionally?”

“Yes, sir.” You cocked your head to the side as you watched him dig through bottles on shelves.

“Good, this is strong stuff. People get hooked on it and it’s no good. Makes good men turn sour. I won’t usually sell more than one at a time and I out right won’t sell more than two.” The man turned, wrapping the two small bottles in crinkled paper before slipping them both into a small bag. 

“I thank you for doing so, sir.” You felt anxiety flood through you. It made sense. The tincture had put your mind on a pleasant cloud. It wasn’t hard to believe someone could become hooked on it. 

“I’m only doing it because your husband sent you,” the man grumbled under his breath. 

“Excuse me?” You were unsure if you had heard him right. 

“No one that’s not already hooked on the stuff buys two bottles.” The man looked at the bag disapprovingly. “Ma’am, I’m doing you a favor because when men run out of their fixes, they get real mean. But you’ll do good to tell him that this is the only time I’ll sell you two bottles.” 

“I assure you, Sir-”

“He’s got it all taken care of, all under control.” The man scoffed. “They always say that. It’ll be three dollars.” 

You pulled three neat dollar bills from your coin purse. Laurence had left you exactly the amount of money you needed, not a penny more. There was nothing but your pocket change for any shopping you may have needed to do. 

He had been more tight with the purse strings, but you tried to trust him. If you couldn’t trust your husband, who could you trust? You struggled to justify the half wired house and the lack of landscaping in the back garden. 

“All set?” Alastor asked as you stepped outside, clutching the bag in your hands. 

“That was all, yes.” You forced a smile on your face, trying to avoid allowing your mind to linger on the warning of the pharmacist. 

“Good,” Alastor’s smile grew wide, “Would a lady be interested in passing the afternoon with me?” 

It sounded like a date. It sounded like something courting couples would say. Blood rushed to your face as he looked down at you, a smile small while he allowed you time to think. 

“What do you have in mind?” you whispered, looking up at him. 

In the morning sunlight, his smile bloomed into something far brighter than the sun. It made your heart stutter and stop in your chest, only to kick itself into a rapid rhythm. 

You allowed him to take your hand, tucking it into his arm as he pulled you along the sidewalk. This was wrong, you knew. There wasn’t any real justification for allowing such casual touches. You told yourself it was only to allow him to take some of the weight off your still sore hips.

What you should do is go home and clean your home. Instead, you let Alastor lead you down the sidewalk. You didn’t know what the day would bring, and you found you liked that. 

Next?

[monsterswifey]

When you clocked in at work, your manager came to talk to you. To inquire you about the strange bruises, bite and scratch marks you had all over your body.

However, you couldn't possibly explain it to her. It was out of the question to tell her how the night before you had dived into the woods to perform a full moon ritual. One where you touched yourself under the moonlight, because you wanted to use your arousal juices as an offering. And that your sweet scent had someone leaded a very horny and feral werewolf to where you were.

You couldn't possibly tell her how he buried your face in the mud as he forced himself in between your folds, stretching you out so deliciously. How he pounded into you like a savage, and how you drooled of pleasure.

She wouldn't understand. Specially if you were to tell her, how you wiggled your butt around his immense cock, only to have him spank, bite and scratch it while he held your meaty buns with his clawed paw-like hands.

She'd call you insane, if you told her how your pussy clenched around the monsters dick, trying to milk him, and how that made him lose the bit of control he had, making him go completely unhinged on your body.

How he manhandled you, putting you into positions you never knew you could be put in, hitting you in spots you didn't know could be reached, feeling always so full of him that you saw stars and wondered if an astral projection while awake was possible, because he certainly made you feel like you had just ascended into heaven.

How in very short moments of consciousness he'd praise you in an animalistic growl. "You're such a good slut" "Your pussy is taking me so well" "You're so tight, so warm" "Such a good little breeding thing" How those same praises made you even wetter, because oh god, did you want to be used and abused by him for as long as he kept praising you, turning you into a brainless, dumbfounded, cock-drunk, cum-slut.

And how he filled you up, load, after load, after load. To the point that even now, hours later, you still felt some of it drip down to your panties.

She wouldn't get it, how every time he bit you, you felt a wave of pleasure so strong you came on his cock, your juices dripping down your thighs onto the forest's floor. Such a waste of good material for offering, you thought, but for a good reason, for a good cause. You were helping a dear werewolf in need, by being his fleshlight for the night.

Your body had ached the whole day, being spent from the rough night you had gone through. But it was worth it. It had been the best fuck of your entire life, and if the opportunity came, you'd repeat it without a second thought. And oh, did the goddess you prayed for before he ravished you answer.

As you prepped for closing the store, a beautiful, huge beast of a man walked in. His eyes strained on you, a smirk on his face as he saw the bruises all over your body, and you knew. Right there and then, you knew, he was the werewolf, and he was coming to collect you for seconds, because if the shine of hunger in his eyes said anything, was that he wasn't yet satisfied with his new fucktoy.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

the lack of Dark Leo content is killing me 😭 that man is so fine af

Can I request Dark! Leo fucking his s/o stupid 👉 👈?

A Night With Dark Leo (18+)

Dark Leonardo x reader

A/N: Our fine man is getting his turn for some hot ass sexy time🖤💙 A short one, more of a listening of how sex with Dark Leo would be, instead of a scenario, but not exactly a headcanon. Hope you enjoy anyway🖤💙

All characters are aged up.

Warning: Hard sex, manhandling, overstimulation, oral - female receiving, Dark Leo doing what Dark Leo wants to.

When Leo first was one you, there was no way you could get him off of you, before he himself decided he was done. Your park kanabo, part turtle boyfriend, was a beast of a man, towering above you and the people living in New New York City, with muscles bigger than his own head, and the stamina of a wild animal. Whenever he got the slightest hint that you were in the mood, even just a tiny bit, he would pick you up from the spot, before locking you in the bedroom with him, so he could have his way with you for hours.

You had nothing against Leo pleasuring you for hours. Actually, you loved it. You especially loved his rough ways of handling you, not telling you what to do, but instead throwing you into the position he wanted you in. He would take you by the legs and pull you to his mouth, having your body almost hanging in free air, while he ate and licked from your dripping core. He would ignore your overstimulated please, continuing by his heart's desire, watching you try to support yourself with shaky arms on the mattress, your thighs closing around his head once more.

After you came on his tongue the third time in a row, Leo would lower you onto his already dropped member, letting your upper back rest on the bed, while lining himself up with your entrance, while he still stood standing at the foot of the bed. He would take in your features, while his big hands continued to hold your hips raised up against him. Your flushed cheeks and your hooded eyes, staring at him with parted lips, and your shirt rolled up over your naked breasts, your hair in a tangled mess, while your hands clung onto the bed sheets.

You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but all your words turned into incoherent moans as Leo pushed his thick member into you, stretching out your overstimulated walls, making you throw your head back onto the mattress, your eyes rolling back. Your breast bounced as Leo thrusted into you, hitting your spot over and over again, just like he would do another time the two of you were intimate.

Leo let out a loud animalistic groan, increasing his speed against you, the sound of his hips slapping against your thighs, echoing through the room. Your knees and toes curled, letting Leo know that your fourth orgasm wasn’t far away.

Nothing but Leo’s name left your lips, any other words turning into mush in your mouth, except his name sounding like a prayer, spurring Leo on, plowing into you with his strong hands digging into your hips.

You wailed and squirmed under Leo, your hands fighting to hold onto the bed sheets as your fourth orgasm was threatening to push you over the edge. But Leo’s moves never faltered. Instead he kept going, growling all sorts of dirty things out loud, mixing with the sound of your skin slapping together, and the lewd wet noises from his cock pumping in and out of you. And within a few hard and fast thrusts, you came gushing all over Leo’s hard member, crying out in immense pleasure.

But Leo wasn’t done yet. It was rare that he would let you go, without bringing you several orgasms and letting himself cum at least once. And therefore Leo picked you up with ease, not letting you recover from your latest high, your head still spinning, before throwing you on to your hands and knees. From here he held you up by your hips once more, your knees just barely touching the mattress, before he plunged back into you, continuing from where he left off, at a high speed, hitting your spot over and over again, causing you to scream out in incoherent words and sounds.

Leo was getting close, his hips becoming frantic as they slammed against your ass cheeks, watching as they jiggled from the impact. Leo felt the pressure build up behind his cloaca, letting him know that he was close, with your rapidly closing walls around him only bringing him closer by the second. It was here, as Leo felt himself dangle over the edge, he quickly picked you up, wrapping one arm around your waist, pressing you back against his plastron, while the other hooked under your leg, forcing your thighs apart, bouncing you on his member.

You clung onto Leo’s arms, nails digging into his skin, crying out as your fifth high was coming dangerously close. The hand holding your thigh open, moved to your center, where Leo’s fingers started working on your overstimulated clit. Your muscles locked up, your body convulsing and tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks. Your walls suddenly closing in on Leo was what pushed him over the edge, groaning loudly as he spilled himself into you, resting inside of you for a moment. From here he would slowly slip out of you and tuck himself away, still carrying your weak body in his arms, eyes still hazy from the non stop pleasure Leo had brought you. Leo pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before carrying you to the bathroom, so he could run a bath for both you and him. A bath that would clean off your sweat covered bodies, and give both of you some time to calm down, before you would go to bed for the night.

[slashyrogue]

It takes a ridiculously long time for Wade to realize he's pregnant.

Like, super fucking ridiculously.

Truth be told, he didn't know that getting pregnant was in the cards for him but when he did it was so anticlimactic that really understanding the gravity of the situation seemed like an afterthought.

Rewind a bit.

He should've known that getting kidnapped by the government would result in more than just waking up sore when Logan saved him only two days in but really he just wanted to be out of there.

The exhaustion - something that he rarely had with the regeneration and all that - made it easy to fall asleep on Wolvie's shoulder during the ride home but when he woke up all he did was want to be in Logan's pocket.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Wade just nuzzled his beard - which was just as fluffy as you'd think it was - and sighed. "Just wanna cuddle with my favorite kitty cat."

"Wade---"

"Pretty please?" he faked a cough, "I was tortured, Wolvie. Peanut, they cut things OUT I saw them."

Logan growled and the claws that had come out slid right back in. "Fine."

And so began Wade's "Week of Cuddles" which was AMAZING to say the least. Logan was NICE to him, and practically babied him better than anyone EVER had. It was like Christmas and Halloween AND his Birthday fucked and had a million babies.

100/10 would recommend.

The ice creams and chimichangas were never ending; the cuddles were abundant, and he even got to fall asleep on Logan's shoulder.

He secretly loved that one the best by the way but pretended he liked the ice cream the most.

The "Week of Cuddles" was followed by "The Week of Sleepovers" and he began "The Week of Chocolate" which was, in retrospect, a big mistake.

The minute Logan brought home the Choco-Tacos (after scouring for HOURS he found one lone store that had a back inventory that was....questionable) and he devoured it in seconds a new week began.

"The Week of Is Wade Dying Again?"

It was a terrible fucking week, mostly with vomiting but also horrible stomach pains, like something was clawing his insides and not in a fun way like the Honda Odyssey.

Logan kept telling him to "go to the damn doctor already" while increasingly seeming agitated and snarly which was cute because Wade pretended it meant he was worried about him.

He knew it was because he hated the smell of vomit with his kitty cat senses.

Obviously.

Althea finally called the X-Men because she was "sick of hearing him puke."

How did she know their number?

Apparently Colossus and here were friends or something he didn't know but when they showed up and Logan dragged him off he was toast.

And he puked twice more on the ride.

Beast then gave him the news.

"Wade, I....it seems you're pregnant."

Wade started to laugh, falling back on the hospital bed, and when no one joined him he was given the results.

Those government fuckers had somehow knocked him up.

How?

Well, it seemed that his body could adapt to anything, even a reproductive system that he shouldn't have.

Logan made Beast take the tests again, and even try to pinpoint who's kid they put inside him.

And....ding ding.

"Logan, I...." Beast said, his voice shaking, "I do believe it's yours."

Wade started laughing then, unable to stop, and Logan left the room.

What a fucking joke.

He grinned at Beast as tears filled his eyes. "Isn't anyone going to throw me a baby shower? I'm sure I'm gonna need some mittens to handle this one, am I right?"

No one laughed.

And Wade got up, still wearing just his heart shaped boxers, and went to put on his suit.

"You....Wade, you have options."

He paused, holding his suit in hand, and put a hand to his belly.

Did he?

It was goddamn selfish to see this through, he knew that, but the thought of NOT seeing it through made him immensely sad.

A once in a lifetime opportunity.

He was an incubator for potentially the next Marvel Jesus. "No," he said, shaking his head, "I don't." The team tried to talk him into staying but he didn't listen and walked outside to find Logan waiting on a motorcycle. "Did you bring that here for little ol' me, Peanut?"

Logan sighed. "Get on."

Wade did just that, holding him tight, and they took off toward fuck knew where.

All he knew was that he was carrying what might be his only offspring that was going to the most wanted mutant in the world once it was born.

Whatever government had done this would come back at the finish line.

But he had scary dog privilege who was currently driving him to his nest or whatever.

They might've thought it was a funny idea to see what would happen if they scrambled the offspring of two immortals and give them something to fight for.

Joke was on them.

There was no way that if there was a baby at the end of this mess that either of them wouldn't fight like hell.

Wade could hardly wait.

And hey, maybe this would turn out to be like one of those 90s sappy rom-coms where grumpy and the baby mama fell in love.

Ha.

Wouldn't that be something?