°•♤•° Good Evening, Patron! Welcome to the Carnival! I will be your ringmaster tonight, on a journey full of glorious debauchery and spectacular perversities!
°•♤•° You may address me as Carousel, or Caro for short. My pronouns are He/Him/His.
This directory provides a guide to all Rides, Games and Attractions avaliable at the Carnival, as well as information regarding Tickets and the Ticket Box! This Carnival employs several fandoms, and adheres to a few rules:
°•♤•° The entertainment here is not open to people under 18. Minors Do Not Interact.
°•♤•° The material on display at this Carnival is fictional and carefully staged. Please do not attempt to recreate any acts depicted here at home (without proper equipment, safety measures or enthusiastic consent!)
°•♤•° Please consume 18+ and/or dark material respectfully and responsibly. This Circus caters specifically to degenerates, you need not stay if this makes you uncomfortable.
°•♤•° Please consult the guidelines for submission below when creating a Ticket (Ask) for the Ticket Box (Ask Box). Tickets that do not adhere to guidelines or are submitted in bad faith will not receive follow-up.
Items permitted in the Carnival (Will Write): Male reader, Dom reader, Top reader, BDSM, Hypnosis, Brainwashing, Pain play, Knife play, CNC, Dub-con, Drugs, Pet play, Collaring, Cheating, Dacryphilia, Dumbification, Dollification, Gore, and more!
Items prohibited in the Carnival (Won't Write): Sub reader, Fem reader, Scat play, Watersports, Emeto, Vore, Inflation.
If your feeling up to it, PLEASE write more rollo smut stuff man im on MY KNEES 🧎🧎🧎
Worry not, dear friend!
I fully intend to keep writing for Rollo. He just doesn't get enough love among the TWST fandom in general, let alone among the erotica writers. I must represent this undeserved demographic.
But speaking of being on one's knees...
Flamme had been making a habit of pestering you, lately.
It began subtly, and under the guise of duty. Trailing you and your group of NRC visitors was normal enough, as was engaging in conversation and small talk, even if the subjects he brought up were sometimes unpleasant and vaguely threatening. While an aura of deep malice surrounded Rollo Flamme from your very first encounter with him, that wasn't exactly a unique experience in this world.
Mind, he did have a clear edge of religious devotion to his insanity, but that just seemed to be his unique character.
You only started to notice it when you had some free time. Rather than linger with the larger group, whenever you walked away for a breather, Rollo seemed to shadow you. His presence dogged your heels with every step through the City of Flowers, even when you couldn't see him— You've dealt with Rook enough to know the feeling of being watched.
At the same time, you'd noticed his particular interest in you was not... purely platonic, clearly. His sharp sneers and habit of covering his grimace with his handkerchief did nothing to hide the flush that crept up his cheeks at every dirty joke and allusion you made, with him and the NRC boys. While he seemed to stare at you constantly, he was never keen to meet your gaze head-on in most causal conversations. It made you quite curious regarding his intentions – If he himself even knew them in the first place.
It all came to a head one evening, after you'd decided on an evening stroll through an older, disused part of the NBC campus. The stone ceilings arched like those in a cathedral, casting semi-circular shadows down the halls. As you anticipated, Flamme was quick to make an appearance as soon as you'd gotten to a secluded enough corner of the building. The tall man stepped seamlessly out of the shadows of a side corridor, pale eyes fixated on you with an intensity you could quite place.
"I do have to inquire as to what, exactly, yoi are doing wandering around campus grounds so close to curfew," Rollo lilts with an air of smug curiosity, "It would serve you well to remember that although you are an honored guest here, you are still expected to adhere to school rules during your stay." You smile quietly, tilting your head slightly. Despite himself, Rollo quite suddenly feels as if you've caught him out on something.
"Ah, my bad. I understand, I was just curious..." You begin to slowly move forwards and around the pale man, until he faced you with his back to a wall. Your eyes were locked, never once leaving the gaze of the other, something he was too focused on to notice your strategic movements.
"Your around an awful lot, aren't you? Seems sometimes like you're following me... weird, right?"
"Ensuring my guests are looked after hardly seems comparable to such unbecoming behavior," Rollo scoffs, but quickly hides his face behind that stupid silk scarf.
"Really?" You raise an eyebrow "You seemed to have little trouble leaving the rest of the boys unsupervised in the square earlier so you could follow me to the bakery. Doesn't seem super responsible— Shouldn't you have been making sure they didn't cause any trouble with the festivities?"
"Tch-"
"Do you have a crush on me, Rollo?" The question is innocent, but your tone is sharp, your gaze piercing. Rollo jolts under it, stepping back– Only to find himself pressed against the wall. You've backed him into a corner before he could even realize, and the thought brings a crimson flush to his cheekbones.
"H-Hardly. I would think a prefect would have more tact and posterity than to pose such a question. We've known each other for only a short time, what could possibly prompt such a inquiry?" Rollo's gaze is fixed on the ground now, half his face buried in his scarf, but he makes no attempt to push past you and move away from the wall. You hum consideringly.
"Well, aside from the stalking-" In a flash, you reach up and nick Rollo's handkerchief right from his hand, pulling away and waving it tauntingly in the air like a matador with a cape, "This does nothing to hide your blush, you're way too pale for that–"
"—What!!" Rollo sputters, lunging forward to try and reclaim his prize, but you jerk away before he can grasp at the silk."You! Give that back this instant!" His face is so red now, though from embarrassment or rage you cannot tell. Most likely both. "Why on earth why I ever even think to indulge in any kind of relations with a devilish creature such as you!?"
"Because you like it–" You breathe against the back of his neck, appearing behind him like an apparition. Rollo jumps, attempting to turn around to face you, as his heart hammers loudly in his ears, but you quickly snatch his wrists within your free hand, pulling them behind his back with a sudden force.
"–because you like me~"
"You—! Hrtk!!" His exclamation is quickly cut off, as you take his stolen handkerchief and slip it neatly between his teeth as he takes a breath. Immediately, he gags, trying to pull away, but you yank the fabric, using it like a bit on a horse. His head jerks back, following your pull, and you use the opportunity to hastily tie a tight knot around the back of his head. Rollo flails futilely for a moment, realizing your play, but ultimately can do nothing but ruin his prized silk scarf with his drool. The humiliation of being practically bridled in such a way makes him want to cry, and a shameful little whine escapes him.
"Oh? What was that?" You coo, leaning down over him, your breath tickling his ear, "Im glad that I can at least still hear your cute little noises– would've been a real shame otherwise." Rollo wishes he could turn around and level you with a glare, but it do him no good, he knew. He remains with his eyes fixed to floor–
—Until he is suddenly on the floor, slamming chest-first onto the hard stone. He turns his head, but his right cheek still meets the stone with a harsh crack. The pain makes Rollo's eyes water, blinking rapidly as he gasps through the gag, gaze flickering over to where you loom above him. You're bent over him, one arm bracing forward next to his head, the other grasping firm on his waist, keeping his hips in the air.
The humiliating position, propped ass-up on his knees with his face flat to the floor– Rollo could feel his cock soaking through the front of his cassock, and was suddenly glad that you couldn't see it from your current vantage point. He's not even attempted to try push his arms under him for support, let alone sit or stand up, which gives you all the confidence you need to flip up the back end of his robes and pull down his pants. Rollo jolts like you've smacked him when the cool air hits his bare skin, and a litany of muffled curses make their way through his gag.
"Oh, don't be like that, Flamme~" You purr his name with the same tone the Devil must preach with "Its not like you weren't asking for it— Trying to catch me alone in the halls, cornering me. I just have the balls to take what I want, unlike you." The sting of your words is shortly replaced by the burn of a spit-soaked finger pushing past his rim without hesitation. Rollo arches up off the floor, choking against the embroidered silk blocking his airway.
The poor pale-haired man thrashes briefly as you wiggle and crook your finger, groaning through his gag as you work him open. Swiftly, you add a second finger, up to the second knuckle, spitting directly unto his rim to slicked the way. You relish the shudder that wracks him from that– repulsed and aroused in equal measure.
While you enjoy the view, Rollo himself practically shakes apart on the stone floor as you add a third finger, tugging teasingly on his rim every few moments. The overwhelming sensation of stretching, burning agony and sinful pleasure intertwined was driving him absolutely mad. He loathed the sounds you coaxed from him, even while gagged, as he was forced to gasp, choke and moan around the disgustingly soaked fabric. Rollo could feel the drip of spittle between his asscheeks just as clearly as the thin trails of drool at the corners of his mouth and down his chin, pressed against the cold flagstones.
At this point, Rollo Flamme was almost glad to be gagged— He is not sure he would be begging for mercy, or for more, should he have full control over his own voice.
Whatever inner turmoil your perverted ministrations caused within him were very quickly forgotten when you suddenly withdrew, leaving him empty and gaping in the open air. The prefect whined, high and reedy, and you laughed.
"Don't worry Rollo, I've got you," The clinking of metal and cloth, and then a large, bulbous shape was slotted firmly between his cheeks. Rollo jolted forward at the contact, a faint squeal freeing itself from his throat. A raspy, mocky chuckle was all the warning you gave him before lining yourself up and thrusting in to the hilt in a single go.
The shriek that erupted from the man beneath you was nothing short of heavenly– Rollo's back bowed up, muscled trembling as his chest lifted off the floor from the force. The glistening threat of tears made itself known in the watering of his eyes as spit flooded past his gagged lips, nails clawing at the floor. You gave him little time to adjust before withdrawing, and burying yourself fully in him against, setting a brutal pace as the prefect scrambled futiley for purchase against the smooth flagstones.
"MMmmM! HhhMmh!! GmmhhmM!" Loud moans and whines forced their way from Rollo's bound jaw as he rocked back and forth from the force of your thrusts. God, he was so tight, so warm and greedy, like some kind of pathetic succubus. At this point, he simply submitted to the pleasure overwhelming his every sense– relishing the harsh drag of your cock in his hole, the brutal beating his prostate was taking. Tears streamed down his face in rivulets, muffled sobs echoing off the stone as his neglected cock was unintentionally frotted against the hard floor.
"God, you really are– so fucking pathetic, aren't you," You gasp out, losing yourself in the pleasure of taking him. "Fuck–! Gonna cum, right in your— tight little hole, Rollo." You lean forwards, reaching around to seize him by the hair with one hand, clutching his short, pale locks. A strangled cry escapes the disheveled man, bleary eyes flickering to you as they blink through cascades of tears. "You wanna cum too, don't you?" He nods so fast as to nearly break your grip, so you release him, and resumed the brutal fucking of his ass.
Rollo can only groan feebly as you torture his swollen prostate, somehow managing to thrust faster and harder. He sobs unabashedly when you reach down and begin to palm him roughly through his pants. "Fuck, yes! –C'mon now Flamme, cum for me–" You grind out, before promptly spilling into Rollo's ass. The feeling of your seed painting his insides, warm and wet and virile– He cums in his pants with a muffled scream.
A moment passes in which you both remain still and coupled, panting in the quiet. Gracelessly, you pull out and stand up, buckling your slacks back into place while staring down at the limp form of one Rollo Flamme, ruined and pliant oat your feet. Bending down, you pull his handkerchief from his mouth, grimacing at the dampness, before discarding it carelessly to some dark corner.
"Well, I do hope you've learned your lesson–" You gently sneak the tip of your shoe beneath Rollo's slick chin, tilting it up. His gaze is glassy and vacant– Utterly fucked-out.
"—Next time, harass me closer to one of our bedrooms. Easier on the knees, y'know?"
John Constantine dub-con, collaring, and pet play?
Opinion?
Incredible combination.
Have a little something to chew on, cuz I've been rotating this one in my brain.
He really should not have come to poker night.
John knew it was a bad idea, of course; walking into enemy territory to cheat who-knows how many old 'acquaintances' out of their coin. But, as always, he was tempted by the promise of booze, smokes and the thrill of risk and danger.
To be fair though, he was expecting something more along the lines of a brawl, perhaps a proper murder attempt– Hell, maybe even a good-ol' fashioned kidnapping scheme.
But not this. Certainly, not this.
"Enjoying the view from down there, Constantine?" Your looking down at him, a mocking lilt to your tone as you smirk. Perched lazily in your great armchair, looking like a king upon a throne, with a polished gold chain wrapped loosely around your palm. It connected perfectly to the black and gold leather band secured snugly to his throat, its tightness and weight notable with every breath John took.
He was certainly not expecting this, but God, if he wasn't rock-hard already.
Suddenly, Constantine is jerked forward by his lead. "Fuck–!" The blonde man collapses forward on his hands and knees with a choked gasp, before his head is forcefully yanked upward by the chain. Constantine sputters, scrabbling to claw at his collar just as he meets your eye.
"I did expect an answer to my question, you know," You drawl, leaning over to your face-to-face with your captive. "Please, do rate your experience."
"Well–," Constantine chokes out, struggling for breath "I'd just think a bit more highly of the service— if I were planning to be here."
You hum consideringly, "I understand that. But I'm afraid your preferences aren't a priority this time 'round, pet." You slack the chain, and John collapses at your feet with a wheeze, panting. Fuck, he's so hard. He feels like hes about to spill in his pants like a bloody teenager. And clearly, you must see it too.
"Though honestly, you seem to be enjoying it either way," You push your foot forward, sliding it right up against the tent in John's pants. He jerks forward, of his own accord this time, and curses as soon as he catches himself.
"Christ- hah, I think I've meet succubi less fuckin' dick-hungry," John taunts, but it comes out shakey— his body has betrayed him, as you can feel the dampness, the texture of wet Khaki against your leather shoes.
"And yet you seem all for it," You apply a sudden, heavy pressure, and the magician keens loudly, before curling over your outstretched leg, leaning forward against it for support. "Like a rabbit in heat, you are. Isn't that right, bunny?"
"Gah, hauhh– uhn, no, not a- not ah bunny, you cunt–" John pants out, tilting his head back to glare up at you. Unphased, you simply twirl a length of his golden leash around your point finger with a lazy disposition. Without acknowledging his protest, you move the hand not occupied with the lead to your own slacks, which you begin to unbutton. John looks between your crotch and your face, raising an eyebrow incredulously.
"You can't be serious" You smirk, finishing your unbuttoning and pulling down your pants and undergarments together in a single flourish.
"Oh, I'm nothing if not serious, pet," Your grasp on his leash is tight again, dragging him forward against his grunting protests. "Now, be a good little bunny, and hop to it, won't you?"
John Constantine glares at you like hes trying to set you on fire with his mind. "That was awful," is all he says in the end though, settling forward with his hands resting on your thighs. Your cock is fully out, and partially erect, which John admits would certainly be an entirely pleasant view under better circumstances, but as is, is only still painfully arousing.
Tentatively, he latches his mouth around the bulbous head of your cock, suckling gently, before beginning to work his way further down the shaft. Little by little, he takes your cock, spit pooling over the edges of his lips and coating your dick in shiny, sticky strands. "Oh, yes," You breathe, quiet but edged with a certain intensity. Well, at least he's knows he's still got it.
All of a sudden, though, you pull the leash again. Hard. John sputters gagging and choking as your cock is abruptly shoved down his throat, violating his mouth with a speed and harshness he failed to anticipate. You thrust in and out at a brutal pace, only tightening your grip on John's leash, forcing his throat to tighten around you.
Its at this point that John begins to fall apart properly— His face is a mess of drool and tears as he struggles to breath through his nose while on hand claws at his neck, pulling weakly at the pretty collar still wrapped firmly around his neck. Meanwhile, his other hand's got a death grip in the fabric of your pants, anchoring himself to you. Without realizing, the magican began to rut up against your leg, still positioned between his. The delicious friction of it makes him moan and whine, which reverabrates through your dick and spurs you on further.
"God, you're so hot and wet, my pretty bunny," You pant, still fucking his mouth with vigor, "Its just like fucking a cunt, your mouth is– really quite good. Fuck– I'm gonna cum down your throat, so be a good pet and keep fucking my leg like the filthy animal you are, Constantine."
Just as you finish speaking, you do as you promised and cum down his throat. At the same time, your degrading words push John over the edge along after you, spilling into the front on his pants like a damn virgin. His back arches and muscle tense like he's being electrocuted, and fuck, its so good, he can't help but moan, loud and long. Ropes of salty white cum overflow John's stuffed throat, spilling out past his lips as you pull away, leaving him to spit out whatever he had not already instinctively swallowed.
A beat passes as you slump down in the chair and Constantine sits back on his haunches. The magician is fully disheveled, blonde hair messy and sweat-slick, face wet with tears, drool and snot, eyes glassy and pupils blown out wide. You catch your breath first, straightening up slightly, and pulling gently on the leash again. John looks up at you, huffing.
"What, didn't... didn't get enough?"
"Hardly. Besides, you did make quite the mess of my pants," You sniff, haughty, before it morphs into a smirk.
"Seems only fair you clean it up."
He's definitely going to be coming to poker night more often, after all.
i really enjoy your art style! especially how you draw rollo and his silly (/pos) little haircut
Aww, thank you!
I endeavor to draw compromising scenes more, since it is not only enjoyable, but is also quite good for anatomy practice. So, you've got more to look forward too, dear visitor!
Lace is a servant and a killer, not just a daughter
It seems to me that sometimes people ignore that Lace is a fencer. She has incredible fighting skills. She is called a knight. SHE PROBABLY WAS MADE TO KILL EVERYONE IN THE CITADEL SO GMS COULD WAKE UP. People depict Lace as a dancer, a little doll, an accessory to GMS, etc. All these depictions in art genuinely look cool but sometimes people illustrate her in a way that doesn't imply she has a purpose besides that... She is a FUCKING HOMUNCULUS THAT WAS MADE TO MASSACRE EVERYONE and then a cute little GMS's daughter.
It looks like she doesn't know how to communicate or empathise with anyone because she was made into existence and told to go and kill pilgrims, with the Phantom being an example of what would happen if she did not serve well. She is a servant to GMS, not just a daughter. This is what makes her relationship with "mother" so fucked up. Being a child = being a loyal servant to your creator, never being able to become independent, because you are not a God, you are Her creation who was made to serve.
I think Lace's actions and personality make so much more sense with this in mind...
Rollo being made to try and pray whilst being pounded... WHO SAID THAT
You. You are of a beautiful and wise mind, dear friend.
"Our Lord, who ah! Art in Heaven— H-Hallow be thy naAuhhmm– Name–"
The amount of concentration his putting into his is quite impressive, really. You can see the strain of it on his face; Brows furrowed and drawn, lip partially curved in a sneer, sweat beading at his temples and a pretty pink flush coloring his cheeks and dusting the tips of his ears. He was bent over the lecturn in the old NBC cathedral, facing towards an old stone altar, upon which his hat was discarded.
"–Thy Kingdom come- huh, thy work b-be done... On earth, Mm! As it is in Heaven..."
Over the sound of his praying, you can hear the rustling fabric of his cassok. It's complimented by the light clink and clatter of his heavily embroidered stole knocking against his chest as Rollo was steadily rocked back and forth. His panting and gasping is starting to get in the way of his prayer now. It's terribly amusing to watch him struggle, though, so you keep on.
"Guhhn, ah– Would you– hauhh, cease this wicked, t-torment?" Rollo huffs out, grinding his teeth in a desperate (and unsuccessful) attempt at keeping his moans trapped in his throat. "Have you not– hHah♡! Had–! Y-your fun?"
"Hmm... No, I don't think so."
You continue thrusting into the tight, slick heat of his ass. It gapes and flutters around your cock whenever you pull out, and you've been admiring the view of it for a while now. The sound of skin meeting skin, slapping and squelching as you pounded Rollo again and again.
"Fuck!–" A particularly hard thrust forces him to break his prayer fully with a strangled curse. "Gah♡! Dear GOD– Auhhh, could you, hah– not‐ Ouhf♡, Oh!"
"Could I not what? Need me to stop?" He tease, slowing in your pace until all he's left with are shallow thrusts, and your breath against his throat. Rollo muffles several swears into the sleeve of his cassok, glaring at you. When he moves his arm to speak, a small trail of drool follows the fabric from his red, red lips.
"What I need you to do, you, hahh♡- you lecherous beast—" Very suddenly, Rollo lurches backward, rutting himself back unto your cock. You both gasp, but he remains firm, reaching around to grasp at your shirt. "–is for you to finish what you've started, or so help, I'll do it myself."
With a smug smile, you oblige him. He takes you back in greedily, even as you begin to set a brutal pace. You can hear his hips slamming against the wooden stand, reverberating through your own flesh.
"Is this, hah, what you want, Rollo?" You mutter, breath brushing the shell of his ear as you press your chest down to meet his arched back.
"YES! Yes, Ahh♡! Gods, yES, harder– ha, Unngh♡!! AaUHHhhnn♡♡!" Dear lord, he feels like hes aflame with sin; But if that isn't the best part of it all. "UnGhh♡♡! I'm– hah, Ah, Dear– I'm going to—♡!" He pleads, nearly crying out to you.
His hands are clasped to the edge of the lecturn, leaving gouges in the dark, dusty wood. His legs lift up off the ground, toes curling in ecstasy. His head is bent low in devotion. You admire his figure with a certain sick, twisted sort of pride.
"Go on then, Rollo. Make your God a proper offering."
After that, the only prayers that pass his lips are repetitions of your name.
Tom riddle/lord Voldemort before he was noseless and shit, death eater reader as his right hand man. Tom treats them like all of the other death eaters around others, and he tries the same when it's just them, but ends up submitting to them every time. Idk I just want him to get railed HARD, rough sex, worship/praise kink, maybe dacryphilia, overstimulation 🥹
Oh my sweet darling Patron! You know well my taste it seems! Of course I'd be happy to let a man like Riddle be put in his place.
Now, let's see...
Realistically, as Lord Voldemorts right hand man, you would be treated a bit different than a normal, or even favored, Death Eater. Unlike the others, you have the authority to command the ranks of the Dark Lords followers; If Voldemort hasn't give a specific direct, or if he's busy elsewhere, the Death Easters look to you. You display a significant magical prowess, in addition to physical ability, mental fortitute and having a spine forged by Goblin forgemasters. Naturally, you inspire as much awe as jealousy among them, but you don't much mind that. Their opinions mean very little to you, after all, since all you're really here for is Tom.
Despite this, though, you are still treated similarly to the others by Voldemort, but in the emotional aspect. He might take your word with a bit more weight at a council meeting, but he will never stoop to being anything less than mildly insulting to you. And while you're unlikely to ever be on the receiving end of a Crucio, make no mistake, any slip-ups will be punished, most often through some sort of public humiliation ritual. It gives Tom a great sense of power to embarrass you in front of the others, mostly because you could absolutely prevent him from doing so; You simply choose not to, in order to help him preserve his mythos of unchallenged might.
This, of course, is not so much the case when the two of you are in private.
°•♤•°
There is a squelching sound echoing down the polished white marble halls of Malfoy Manor's guest suite. It trails you as you march forward, soaked and disheveled, towards Lord Voldemort's private accommodations. Not 10 minutes prior had that arrogant, self-righteous slimeball fucking Aquamenti'd you in the middle of a god-damned assembly, and for something that wasn't even your fault! It's not like you'd directed Malfoy to eat shit on the cobbles right in front of you mid-chase; If anything, he should've earned himself some damn painful scars. But no, Tom just had to fucking waterboard you in front of an audience like the sadistic freak he is. And then, he'd had the nerve to adjorn the meeting and up and disappear right afterwards!
You were going to strangle this prick.
Finally reaching the gold-encrusted doors to the finest suite generations of Old-Money could buy, you wretched the doors back, nearly throwing them open. The wards framing the threshold brushed against your magic, spitting like oil in a pan from your fury, and gave way without further protest as you strode into the grand room. On the far left side, a magnificent 4-poster canopy bed formed matching set with 2 bedside drawers, an armoire, a large wardrobe and an old-fashioned stationary desk positioned on the opposite side of the room. Several feet away, there was a lovely marble fireplace embedded into the east wall, encircled by 2 plush, green velvet couches and a single intimidating wingback chair that faced away from the door.
Naturally, you stalked up to the (frankly gaudy) emerald green wingback, and turned sharply around to face the man sat gracefully there. Lord Voldemort, or as you preferred to think of him, that bastard Tom Riddle, was leaned back comfortably on the upholstery, and did not even look up at where you stood over him, instead allowing his gaze to remain fixed to the pages of the open book in his hand.
"What in the bloody, buggering fuck, was that exactly?" Not many would dare take such a sharp tone with Lord Voldemort, but you did dare. To his credit, he did not react; To react, in this instance, would be a loss in this convoluted game of cat-and-mouse, where who was the cat and whose was the mouse between you changed on a dime. Instead, he hummed softly.
"Quite entertaining, that's what," Tom retorted, a smirk pulling the edges of his lips upward a touch. "Really, you do make the most wonderful faces when you get flustered like that."
You slam your hand into the back of the chair, just above and behind his head, as you lean forward and down, till your faces are only inches apart. Now, he looks up at you, rich chocolate brown eyes flashing crimson as he peers out from under his dark lashes with equal parts interest and distain in his gaze. His eyes momentarily flicker to where you've got your other arm anchored firmly on the armrest, boxing him in, before fixing on you again. A moment of silence passes, where only the sound of the occasional droplet of water falling to the floor with a light plink could be heard.
And then, you are on him.
Tongues and teeth clash violently, a battle for dominance that relies solely on physical skill, rather than magical ability. Tom's book is discarded haphazardly as he seizes the front of your shirt, crumpling the collar of your robes as he vies for greater leverage. You counter by bending down, but then pushing further than he intended, pressing him flat against the fine upholstery of the chair.
You've got one leg between his now, and you relish the choked gasp that leaves Tom as you rut against him. He's forced to break the kiss, shoving desperately at your chest, before you allow him enough room to catch his breath.
God, hes stunning. His pretty pink lips kiss-swollen, curls now properly mussed as opposed to artfully tousled and cheeks flush dark, panting. He glares at you, opens his mouth (for a rebuke? An insult? A demand? God only knows)– But you cut him off rather quickly as you reapply pressure between his thighs.
"Gahh! Would you— Fuck, enough with, hah, that," Tom growled. You bare your own teeth in response, and contuie your brutal assault on his nether region, now with a harsh, squeezing hand.
"Oh, no, Tom," You drawl as you watch his brow furrow and lips twist "You've really gone and done it today. And I've had just about enough of it."
You punctuated your statement by slipping your hand under his pants and beginning to firmly stroke him off. Tom squirms underneath you, hugging indignantly, but moans at the sensation of pleasure-pain nonetheless. You grimace.
"God you are so pathetic, Tom," You comment, "But do you ever look pretty while you writhe."
That one make him jerk, suddenly seizing your wrist. Your gaze jumps back to his face, where his eyes narrow but his pupils are full and round.
"Don't say such, AH! –things, to me," He pants out.
"Oh? Why not. It's true, you know. You are quite lovely when you're gasping for breath," You drawl slow, tracing your fingers up his taint and making his breath hitch. "God's, you are just gorgeous, really. It's criminal."
You continue your rant, but Tom's only half listening. His cock is hard and weeping in your grasp, as you work him fast and rough, and it's taking all his willpower not to cum into your hand right away like a teenage boy.
"Its just so unfair— The God's really did give you everything."
"Will you- hahh, unn!! Will you shut, up— guhh!!" You laugh at his outcry.
"Well, guess that's the one thing the God's couldn't manage to give you," You sneered, glaring down at his disheveled figure, flushed and slumped awkwardly against the chair, writhing beneath you like a chained beast. His crimson eyes flash up at you, full of pleading and venom. "They could gift you beauty and grace in spades–"
You skillfully twist your wrist, jerking his cock and pulling at the head. He yelps.
"– umatched intelligence and wit–"
Precum spurts from his tip in jets like a malfunctioning fountain. His head is thrown slammed back like hes broken his neck.
"—magical power unrivaled by any of our generation–"
He's crying now; Beautiful tears trail perfect tracks down his red, red face, as a small stream of snot leaks out of his nose. His voice has gotten so high it's cracking and nearly hoarse. His whole body is tensed, back arched and taunting like a bowstring.
"–But they couldn't give you a bearable personality, could they. Suppose that'd just be asking for too much."
Tom can hear the smug, condescending grin in your voice. He doesn't have to try to clear his blurry, tear-filled vision to see the grin on your face to know that you're smiling. He hates it more than he has the words to describe.
*crawls out of the ground like a zombie in a horror movie* potatoing amatore
-🥔
everyone claps
no but i missed u. gives u a widdle kissie
cw; amputation, dumbification
i imagine like doing it because you find out how he really is and you snap. he's a bad omega! he pretended to be a good boy but all he ever does is lie and drink and smoke. horrible man. so you overpower him, despite all his supposed power you're still physically stronger than him.
i think he'd hate it so much at first. he'd spend all day cursing you and threatening you completely unable to grasp that you decide how he lives now. you decide when and what he eats, you decide if he goes outside, you decide if he can have a cigarette. i think it only takes a few days of powerlessness for his anger to break and he just begs sobbing for you to give him a cigarette or let him drink. he's so sorry for being a bad boy but he'll be good now just please!! but being a good boy does mean he has to go completely cold turkey.
his favorite part by far is the sex. he slowly comes to appreciate your sadistic side, even admiring you for actually turning him into a cute little omega doll. but he always even from the begining loves the absolute treat that is being fucked like an onahole. he loves being held on your knot unable to escape the pleasure, he loves being fucked anywhere in the house at anytime you choose, he loves how every slam of your hips makes his mind slip until he's incoherent. he turns into such a dumb little omega when you fuck him, his words completely failing as he just waves his nubby arms trying to be held and adored.
after a long time of being a cute little omega potato he becomes a dumb little thing too. his words fail more often than not and he'll just whine and flail for you to come get him. it takes considerably effort to think enough to say please. but it's ok. he's a good boy now, nice and stupid and good.
idk what to send i just. thinking abt this one comic i saw that has a ship i dont like doing dollification and like. i want. i want a beautiful boy to be my dollie just perfect and limp and obedient. i tried to write something about this on my blog but ur always so much better with this stuff
Ooouagghh you have no idea, dear friend, just how much I've been thinking about this ask! Goodness gracious, how I have been pondering! Since this ask is subject-less, I shall also take this opportunity to introduce another character that I enjoy writing for: John Constantine!
Imagine being among the many, many demons, God's and spirits that the infamous Laughing Magician had pissed off with his lifetime. Not too hard to picture, really; The man is a certified cunt approximately 87% of the time, even when he's not trying to get on anyone's nerves.
But you're not exactly his usual adversary. You're something a little more subdued, but a little more... well, eldritch is probably the closest word for it. Generally, your full power level compared to your little actual involvement in most affairs, mortal or otherwise, tends to be disconcerting. Most magic users either look past you due to your lax nature, or realize that your act is the surface-level ploy it is and approach you with a decent amount of respect.
Of course, John Constantine has never had an ounce of respect for anything remotely magical in all his life, really. He'd come across yoh only once before, and that was to aquire an artifact you had in your possession. Constantine had bargained for it from you, but, as you should've expected, tried to loophole out of his deal with you. Unfortunately, he'd made the mistake of thinking that, like with demons, you were bound by your deal- which you very much are not.
The sheer offense at his attempt to cheat you was enough that you decided he needed a proper lesson in respect. And why not enjoy yourself while you're at it?
°•♤•°
Which is exactly how John Constantine, trickster extarodinarie, ended up paralyzed and helpless in a frilly pink princess dress. To be fair, it wasn't really pink- you'd picked out a flattering shade of dusty rose, in a nice, snug bodice cut that showed off his muscular shoulders. The sleeves were made of the same fabric, a velvety material, in a poufy bell-cut. The skirt of the dress was similarly poufy, properly and fully layered with oodles of intricate lace hemming. The fit was tight, hugging his chest and waist, but properly fitted to ensure the dress itself was not strained at all.
John only knew al of this because you'd had the audacity to drag him to a vanity and prop him up in front of the mirror. You came in and out of his fixed view, bustling away behind him as you cooed and fussed with his hair, carding nimble, slightly clawed fingers through his blonde locks. God, it'd make him shiver out his skin if he could move, something he is suddenly glad he cannot do, even involuntarily. The only thing that could possibly make this more humiliating is if you– oh, of course, you're doing his make-up. Just bloody brilliant.
By the time you're finished your long-winded lecture about respectful dealing with unusal entities, John has a full face on. You've paired a lucious modified smoky eye in all dull pinks with soft, decorative wing of black eyeliner and full black mascara. His cheeks and nose-tip have been lightly pinked with blush, and dusted with shimmer. And to top it off, a shiny pink lip gloss coated his plumped lips, swollen from where you'd tugged them in teasing.
You step around him until your directly behind him, watching him take in his new look in the mirror. His pupils are blown wide, and he looks near the verge of tears! And, as you look down... Well! Seems like perhaps he enjoyed this lesson a bit himself! A lovely suprise that you make sure to insult him graciously for, in the most condescending manner you can manage.
In the end, though, it is meant as a lesson, so you certainly can't reward his bad behavior! You tell him as much as you set the artifact that'd he'd caused muc trouble for on the vanity and turned to walk away. It doesn't matter much to you, you tell him, as a single desperate tear managed to trail its way down John's face. You'd have given it to him for nothing in return–
I'm gonna throw another shot in the dark here, do you know Viktor Humphries from slime rancher? Cuz the things I would do to that man are utterly sinful. I would have that nerd shaking. I wanna fuck him stupid.
Oh yes! My memory of this character was very vague, because last I played slime ranches it was 2022.... How time flies!
While not quite my favorite of the NPCs, I can see why you'd find him attractive! He is just sooo adorable, in a very 'I desperately want to ruin you' fashion. He does look like he would be flustered by the simple idea of sex, even plain old missionary; So he'd definitely cry so pretty if you tied him up in his workshop with some spare cable and edged him to oblivion. He'd probably be shaking and crying and blubbering on and on about how cruel you are to him!
But he'll never ask you to stop. Are you kidding? He'd rather actually die.
there's this webtoon i found where it's like mostly been a cute wholesome couple with a girl who's like a lil fucked up and used to toxic relationships so she expects horrible things from her boyfriend like she's constantly waiting for him to use her for her body. but he doesn't he's actually so sweet and respectful... but he loves horror movies. especially really violent gorey exploitation movies.
when she finds out shes like "please dont watch these anymore its really disturbing and scary that you like this??" and hes like "ofc sweetie" ... but that night he watches them one last time before he puts them away and he starts to imagine the women suffering and in pain as his girlfriend. and he literally can't stop imagining his girlfriend in those horrific scenarios and getting turned on
ik its gonna end up being "bad" and something they have to overcome but thats so hot. ideal relationship. i need a broken boyfriend who doesn't value his body anymore who i can imagine as the girls in horror movies.
I love that so much, imagine trying your best to be a good boyfriend to Arthur, he relies on you for so much, you’re his saving grace. He lives with you and every time you approach he flinches and cowers from you. He asked once if you’d drugged him so he wouldn’t remember you having your way with him as if it was a given that you’d do something like that.
Specifically, he’d asked you to not do it again(though you hadn’t in the first place, he simply slept wrong) because he’d like to be present during sex, he even said he’d try to act drugged if you wanted that. It takes him time to voice any of his own thoughts, starting small with compromises ready so you still got your way ultimately. When he finally asked you not to watch horror movies when he’s home it was with sad round eyes and a million apologies for being so bold.
Obviously you agreed and made sure he didn’t know you’d even thought about horror as a genre from that point on, but something about his request changed the way you watched your favorite movies. Suddenly, every scantily clad woman coated in her own blood and guts looked just like Arthur. Each time the foolish men sobbed in pain from their wounds you could only see Arthur in the same position. And worse yet, it stirred something within you. You’d watch a girl be stripped to her underwear and then stuck on a meat hook to be cut open and bled dry and picture yourself running the blade along Arthur’s tender, exposed stomach.
It started to bleed into your daily life with him too, when you woke him with a gentle kiss you felt an urge to choke him till he turned blue. Each time you found him cooking, you thought of sliding behind him to bash his skull on the counter, you almost got a knife before joining him in the shower. Every time you looked at your beautiful boyfriend you could only imagine him crying in pain and torn asunder. Worse yet, because of it you had been at it like rabbits. You’d imagine his crying, broken face and become too hard to think. And your sweet, darling Arthur seemed to appreciate the attention. It took all of your willpower not to not strangle him as he writhed and whined beneath you. One night you wrap your hand gently around his throat, lost in the haze of his tight heat, imagining how his face would contort when you squeezed. The noises he'd make as his eyes rolled back and his lips, already smeared with drool from choking, turned blue. Instead, he whined and gently touched your wrist, tearing up as he weakly asked to live.
Poor Arthur really makes it worse for himself every day, mentioning simple things that had your brain spinning. He’d innocently joke about injuring himself while cooking and you’d feel a tightness in your pants at the mere thought of his pain. He’d describe a nightmare to you, hushed in the dark light of early morning and you’d have to find an excuse for why you’re subconsciously grinding on him.
For his sake you tried to truly avoid horror movies, hoping without inspiration you’d feel less tempted to tear your lover apart. It didn’t help, you woke one morning with your hand around Arthur’s throat, pinning him against your body while your other hand mimicked holding a knife against his stomach. Worse yet, he’d been having a nightmare, whimpering and huffing quietly as if reacting to you, you almost didn’t wait to wake him up before fucking him stupid.
Please send in tickets!! I love to hear from you all, and you give me such good prompts to write for! The ticket box is currently still open, so I wish to know what you all wish to see!
Certainly! I actually got really into this one; I ended up making an accompanying artwork! Enjoy!
It began as a bet.
“You could not perform a ritual,” Rollo proclaimed.
You huffed “And why not, exactly? Ritual casting requires no innate magic, drawing energy from the atmospheric magic that exists naturally. Not like me being magicless would affect the outcome.” From across the table where you both sat studying, Rollo wrinkled his nose.
“Ritual magic requires a certain amount of precision and focus; both qualities which you lack,” He sneers at your sputtering protests as you try to refute his insult. The resulting heated discussion lasts about 10 minutes and nearly escalates into violence, but you manage to restrain yourself from wringing Rollo’s neck. In the midst of calming yourself, the memory of an older tome you'd leafed through in Ramshackle earlier flickers to life in the back of your mind. Slowly, a terribly devious idea seeds itself in your mind, and takes root quickly. With newfound resolve, you jump back into the conversation.
“Tell you what- I’ll draw up a ritual circle, and you can be my test subject for it.”
Rollo squints suspiciously at you, signature handkerchief raised to cover his grimace without actually hiding it. “And why, pray tell, would I ever do such a thing?”
“What, d’you think it’ll actually work? You just said yourself there’s no way I could pull it off,” You chuckle snidely. “I’ll give you this- If I fail, I’ll do you one favour, whatever you want.”
At that offer, Rollo’s eyebrows raise slightly. A faint dusting of pink graces his cheeks through his moment of silent contemplation before he responds. “Very well. It is agreed.”
Which of course led here- With Rollo suspended mid-air, bound tightly by many large, black tentacles that groped and squeezed at him more every passing moment. He gasped from the suddenness of his seizure, before processing his position and promptly turning red enough to outdo Riddle. His face was a bright, vibrant pink, and even standing several feet away, you swore you could feel the heat emanating off his skin from the intensity of his flush.
“What in- Prefect! Release me immediately!!” Rollo nearly shrieked, attempting to squirm away from the writhing appendages slowly but surely making their way up his chest. They’d already caught him by the ankles and wrists, forcing his hands behind his back and his legs together. You hum, as if considering his plea.
“No, I don’t think I will,” You purr, eyes flicking up and down his bound form “This is a very nice view.”
“You-!” He nearly chokes as a larger tentacle wraps itself firm and snug about his waist, its tip brushing over the tent in his trousers. “Hah, I should’ve known you seek a depraved ritual to humiliate me, you heathenous traitor. Insatiable wench.”
“Oh, c’mon now Rollo! That’s just mean,” You drawl coyly. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this just as much as I am.”
Rollo huffed, and attempted to turn his head away from you, but was seized by the chin by a thick black tendril of pure magic. He was now entirely bound by the writhing mass of shimmering tentacles, the inky black surfaces slick and shiny in the dim light, curling artfully up his body and forcing his back to arch ever-so-slightly.
“You can’t, huh, just leave me here,” Rollo panted, still dutifully struggling “Like, hah- uhnn, ah- like this.” Another featherlight tease against his crotch forced a muffled curse past his pursed lips. You smirk smugly to yourself, stepping closer to the edge of the rune-lined chalk circle which contained the magical appendages binding your poor, dear Rollo. Reaching a hand out towards him, you carefully brush the tendril encircling his tenting cock away- before tightly seizing the clothed appendage in your own fist, making Rollo gasp and jerk in your hold.
Thinking about a yandere knight. He’s pledged himself to you, serves you with the highest respect. From the outside, he is your loyal guard, simply proud of his role. When he first came to you, scrawny and weak, begging for salvation, you agreed to take him in as your pet. You practically trained him to obsess over you, showing him all sorts of torture in your dungeons and keeping him close to you at all times, you even hand fed him for almost a full month. After such affection, how could he even think of life without you. It had surprised your staff when suddenly you took a personal knight.
Imagine an enemy telling yandere knight he’s just a dog to you, for once he hesitates with the killing blow, feeling the heat in his armor rise. He wants nothing more than to be yours, he’ll sit at your feet like a good guard dog and humiliate himself however you want as long as you keep your eyes on him. Masochist yandere knight who you've put through hell just for entertainment, he claims it's part of his training, tells other knights the scars are to train his mind, ensure he is faithful to his king, but the way he looks at your through his tears, drooling pathetically on the cold floor is a different kind of devoted.
Yandere knight who only became a knight because he wanted you to see him, he trains hard every day to turn his scrawny frail body into something that can not only protect you but entertain you. His chest nearly spills out of his custom-made armor, solely to tempt you to bite them, his thighs are thicker than your head, so that they can squeeze around your head while you devour him, his ass literally bounces as he walks, and ripples each time you smack it.
… Yandere knight with a drippy, fat pussy. If he’s a good guard dog he gets to climb into your lap on the throne and let you play with his pussy. It doesn’t matter if there’s servants or peasants or other knights in the room, they all get to see and hear as you poke and prod and pull at his cute, hairy pussy. Men he trains with, subordinates of his who respect him and trust his every word can’t help but lose some of that respect as they watch their superior whimper for more while their king spreads his fat pussy to watch his insides twitch.
He’s never fucked on the throne, of course, the king cannot expose himself to the public(even if you’re fine showing peasants his whorish pussy and sweet begging). However, when you drag him to your chambers by his clit, it is obvious what will happen. Everyone knows he's your toy, if he were asked, he'd gladly agree and boast about how you love him and how good he is for you.
Imagine a new knight, young and audacious, joking about using your knight. He's new to the castle, just finding out about your pretty knight's true loyalties. He corners your knight, telling him he knows of his and your relations, trying to blackmail your knight into letting him use his body just as you do. The young man is soon found strung up in his own gore and viscera for attempting to take what is yours.
The way you write both severus and lucius is delicious.
Thank you very much!
This is mostly because I find them to be delicious as characters. My desire for older men with shitty personalities and fragile egos is as ever-expanding as the universe itself
