#& feel free to flesh the connection out yourself

[dissapointu]

“Faulty Wiring” sevika x reader

The first time Sevika darkened the doorway to your workshop, you thought she was there to intimidate you.

The dim light behind her only heightened her imposing presence: tall, broad-shouldered, her prosthetic arm sparking faintly as she leaned against the frame. She scowled, not at you specifically, but at the world in general.

“You’re the tech Silco sent for?” Her voice was low and gravelly, her words clipped.

You nodded, gesturing toward the workbench. “That’s me. I hear your arm’s acting up?”

Sevika grunted, stepping inside. “Keeps seizing up mid-swing. Useless in a fight.”

The sparks popping from her shoulder joint painted a grim picture. You set to work without delay, trying to push past the nervous flutter in your chest. Sevika’s presence was overwhelming—everything about her screamed danger—but there was something about the way her gaze lingered on your hands as you adjusted the wiring that made you wonder if there was more beneath the surface.

Over the next few months, Sevika became a regular in your workshop.

It wasn’t that her arm was particularly faulty; it was that she pushed it to its limits, testing every weld and circuit with her relentless lifestyle. Silco’s enforcer didn’t take breaks. She didn’t show weakness, at least not outwardly.

“Does this hurt?” you asked one night, prodding the exposed joint where metal met flesh.

Sevika gritted her teeth but shook her head. “Pain’s just noise.”

You frowned. “Still, I can adjust the connection to make it less—”

“Don’t bother,” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “I need this arm to fight, not to feel comfortable.”

You sighed but didn’t argue. Sevika wasn’t the type to let anyone take care of her, even if it was your job.

The Cracks Begin to Show

Sevika never talked about what she did outside the workshop, but the signs were hard to miss. She’d show up with blood on her clothes or bruises blooming across her skin. Her jaw was always tight, her shoulders tense.

“You’re going to burn yourself out,” you said one night as you replaced a damaged gear in her elbow joint.

Sevika scoffed, lighting a cigar with her flesh hand. “Worry about the arm, not me.”

You set down your tools, staring at her. “I am worrying about you, Sevika. You can’t keep this up forever.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, hard and unyielding. “I don’t have a choice.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d shut you down, but something about the way she said it—like she truly believed it—stung. You wanted to press further, but you knew Sevika well enough by now: push too hard, and she’d disappear for weeks.

The rift between you began subtly, like a loose bolt slowly working its way free. Sevika started showing up less frequently, her arm in worse condition each time. When she did visit, she was quieter, more withdrawn.

One night, after a particularly brutal repair session, you finally worked up the courage to ask, “What’s going on with you?”

Sevika didn’t look at you. “Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that,” you said, exasperated. “Your arm is falling apart because you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re barely talking to me anymore. Just—talk to me, Sevika.”

She finally met your gaze, her expression unreadable. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” you said softly.

For a moment, you thought she might open up. But then her jaw tightened, and she shook her head. “It’s not your problem.”

Her words felt like a slap. You tried to hide the hurt in your eyes, but Sevika saw it. She just didn’t do anything about it.

The next time Sevika came to your workshop, she wasn’t alone.

A young recruit followed her in, wide-eyed and fidgeting nervously. “This is Kess,” Sevika said gruffly. “She’s taking over.”

You froze, your tools clattering to the floor. “What?”

“I need someone I can rely on,” Sevika said, avoiding your gaze. “Someone who doesn’t get… attached.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell.

“So that’s it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re replacing me?”

“It’s not personal,” Sevika said, but the tension in her voice betrayed her.

“It feels pretty damn personal,” you snapped, your chest tightening.

Sevika didn’t respond. She just turned and walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of your workshop with nothing but the sound of the recruit’s awkward shuffling to fill the silence.

You didn’t see Sevika for weeks after that.

Your workshop felt empty without her presence, and though you tried to focus on other projects, your thoughts always wandered back to her. What had you done wrong? Why had she pushed you away?

One night, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Sevika standing there, her arm sparking and her eyes bloodshot.

“I need your help,” she said, her voice hoarse.

You wanted to slam the door in her face, but the vulnerability in her expression stopped you. Without a word, you stepped aside and let her in.

As you worked on her arm, Sevika sat silently, her shoulders slumped.

“Why did you leave?” you finally asked, unable to keep the question bottled up any longer.

Sevika exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Because I can’t afford distractions.”

“Distractions?” you repeated, your voice laced with disbelief. “Is that what I was to you?”

“No,” she said quickly, her gaze snapping to yours. “You’re… more than that. And that’s the problem.”

You stared at her, stunned. “I don’t understand.”

Sevika looked away, her jaw tightening. “I can’t afford to care about someone. Not in this line of work. It’s dangerous. For both of us.”

The weight of her words hit you like a punch to the gut. “You think pushing me away is going to protect me?”

“It’s the only way I know how,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, you spoke.

“Sevika, you don’t get to make that decision for me,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I care about you, and I know you care about me too. So stop running.”

Sevika’s eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in her armor. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.

“Then let’s figure it out together,” you said softly.

Sevika didn’t respond with words. Instead, she reached out, her flesh hand brushing against yours. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Cult. [M]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Raw Dogging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Implied Unwanted Pregnancy, Power Imbalance, Big Dick! Ghost, Soft Dom! Ghost, Cult Leader! Ghost, Submissive (and Breedable)! Reader, Implied Abortion Attempt, Fem Reader, Profanity.

He’s filthy in the way he treats you, like a common whore, spreading you out over his desk – once-varnished mahogany, now bleached with weeks’ worth of spend, of tears, rubbed raw in places, the phantoms of many a night relentless under your leader – and bearing your body like it’s his god-given duty.

In essence, it is. Albeit, a god he created – fabricated – to lead lambs into a wolf’s den. And with the primal, savage way he forces himself into you, his tip pulsing and throbbing with the many hours he’s subjected you to, you can very well believe he is the very image of a predator.

“Won’t stop ‘til you’re full – ‘til it’s– fuck– ‘til it’s taken,” Simon pants, his shadow cloaking you, the sweat from his broad chest dripping down onto your sodden back. Your cheek is pressed into the desk, and in the corner of your vision, between the narrowed eyes you fight to keep open amidst the electric annihilation sparking between your legs, just below your stomach, you see him with bared teeth and dark eyes that glint with some unholy purpose. A purpose that only makes the feeling writhing inside you stronger, heavier.

With a deft hand – his other planted by your head, a cage – he finds your clit and presses it between two fingers as if it were the stub of a cigarette. He squeezes. Hard. 

Your lips quiver around him and a strangled moan escapes you, euphoria becoming you, possessing you as something had him. 

You keen on his hand, desperate for contact, for friction, despite him already filling you utterly and without mercy. Your arousal drips into his hand, pools in his palm. It takes all his will not to drink it then and there.

“I know, Doll–” ‘Doll’ – the name he’d given you, the name that reminds you you’re his to use as he pleases. His fingers squeeze your clit between them, a flesh vice. You’re gasping. He doesn’t stop, subjecting you to a pleasure so carnal you know only he can grant you it.

His free hand finds your shoulder, slips down your soaked back – a collage of brutal love-making, of animal rutting, of feral and incessant breeding – leaving goosebumps in its wake. He finds your rump, squeezes it, his hand flipping further between your legs until he finds your epicentre.

You’re so sensitive, and so swollen. He’s done this enough times to know that you’re red there, too.

He finds the spot where you’re connected, the modest sliver of his shaft that hasn’t been consumed by your wanting hole – where your combined arousal slithers out of you, dripping down his tightening ballsack – and plays at the edges of your lips, those that create a milky ring at the base of his cock, those that twitch with the almost overwhelming orchestra of sensations he is subjecting you to, playing you as his instrument.

Your hips twitch, pushing back against him, inadvertently impaling yourself on the inch or two he’d spared you from. 

He’s swollen – painfully so. Plugging you, preventing you from getting away. Something you realise all-too late as you try to pull away, to ease the searing ache in your lips, in your womb.

You’re crying, he’s grunting, throat raw with hours of praise, of nothing short of feral growling – curses to something other than his god.

You whine as he withdraws his hand from between your legs, instead coming to cup your breasts and pull you flush against his chest.  Squeezing around him again, the bulge of his cock inside you becomes ever more apparent when his hand slips up to your throat and he shunts you forward with his hips.

You’re weak – a ragdoll against him – and you’re pushed back down against the wood. He presses your stomach to the desk, your head now handing over the edge.

“D’you feel it, love?” he rasps. “Gonna give you a baby – put it right there.”

You do feel him, like an eel, slithering into any space he can, any space he hasn’t already occupied. You feel your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and you feel his in the head of his dick, rabid. You want to sob, want the pleasure coursing through your every fibre to overwhelm you, to send you hurtling into a high nobody else can give you.

But you know this will have consequences.

You know there’s no morning after pill strong enough to overcome Simon’s seed, none strong enough to stand a chance against the sheer amount of his spend. You know this because you’re already pregnant.

You’d originally tried using a multitude of contraband substances – pills, medication, anything you could get your hands on – to stop the inevitable. To prolong it just long enough for you to find a way out of the hole you’d dug yourself into.

When Simon had found them – no doubt with the help of one of his disciples, one eager to please and who would settle for the simple pleasure of being the dirt beneath his boot – he made absolutely certain to undo all your hard work.

For days afterwards, when he gave his sermons, you had to stand, hands clasped in prayer, with his cum rolling down your thighs beneath your compound-issue garments.

 And despite how you know you don’t want this destiny he’s imparted upon you, you still urge your hips against his. Especially as you feel him twitching, your hole leaking and almost squealing with his semen and the memory of the many times he’s already pumped you full this same night. He’s ready to bust at any moment, ready to find and create any excuse to empty his load into you, his favourite disciple.

You finish first in a fit of euphoric fury, an outpouring of devotion, a static explosion that leaves you utterly spent and entirely limp, unable to move as Simon continues to pummell you, using you, not stopping until you hear him give nothing less than a guttural roar, throwing his head back as he empties every ounce of his spend into you.

Any chances of escaping, any hopes of the world beyond the company you’d embroiled yourself in – they’re all gone now. Knocked clean out your head and from your reach, your mind nothing but a post-haze. You feel full almost to the point of bursting, but your body settles for a ballooned discomfort in your middle. One which you know will only grow bigger and heavier over the coming months. And no doubt beyond that when Simon deems you capable – worthy – of bearing him more offspring.

Simon is panting behind you, hands planted either side of you, head hanging between heaving shoulders. As if he’s impregnated you with his very soul.

His hand slips across the desk down to your front, where he manages to levy his fingers between your exhausted form and the hard wood beneath. And, as if by divine intuition, he gives a hum. Presses a languid kiss to your exposed neck, uttering a “Well done, love.”

He’s going to be a father.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

[ttsukiimi]

───〃★ WE F⍣CK OFF & ON, OFF & ON .ᐟ

〃★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ As the campus’s well known f⍣ckboy, Satoru Gojo wasn’t known to stick around for more than one night in one bed. Well, that unspoken rule just didn’t apply when the bed was yours.

〃★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, uni au, smut (mdni), protected s⍣x, f⍣ckboy!gojo, hair pulling, p⍣ssywhipped!gojo, mentions of alc⍣hol & bein’ drunk, dirty talk, slight dumbification.

〃★ 𝐚/𝐧 ⎯ Thank you so freaking much for 1.5K!!! 🥹

Absolutely unbearable.

If there was any way to describe the campus fuckboy, it’d be that.

He was known—infamous for his unique way of fucking women and somehow leaving them attached, yearning for him once more after just one night, while he only left unscathed with his balls empty.

Satoru Gojo was insatiable. And you hated him.

You failed to see what everyone saw in him—he was a total idiot for fucks sake! Granted, he had a pretty face and could be quite charming, and you really couldn’t say for yourself if he was that good in bed, but good things about him paled in comparison to his horrid personality. He knew how attractive he was, and used that any chance he got.

How did he manage to talk his way into and out of anything? You simply didn’t know. But you hated him.

That was…until you yourself finally had a taste of Satoru Gojo.

Drunk at a party and so utterly wasted, you’d failed to acknowledge who was hitting on you, who you got into the taxi with to drive back to who knows where. His hands all over you—so rough yet inviting, even after the alcohol in your system had gone you still found yourself pulled into a trance.

A trance that seemingly pushed you to his bed and under him. Seemingly had you moaning his name all night and for more to come.

And seemingly, now, opening the door to your apartment so he could come in. So he could come in and fuck you like he’s been doing for the past months. Well, that’s just what he thought would happen anyway.

“Satoru,” you huffed, watching as the tall freak plopped himself onto your couch, momentarily jerking his head back before he responded with a hum.

“Can you stop acting like a fool and try not to break anything for once?” You chastised, pointing to a hand of his already playing with the flowers in your prized vase—he hadn’t given you those and had no right to taint them.

The white haired man groaned, rolling his eyes and following you down the narrow hallway to your bedroom. Your steps halted at the doorway and so did his, a low snicker leaving his lips as his hands slid to your waist.

“So,” he sighed in your ear, brushing his soft lips past the skin of your neck, big hands squeezing the flesh of your ass as he snaked them down. “Y’just gonna keep on being grumpy or you gonna let me fuck?”

“Satoru,” you exasperated for what seemed like the umpteenth time, though you didn’t dare take his hands off your body, already surrendering to the feeling. “Just because we’ve been fucking doesn’t mean that I only invite you here because of that.”

You turned around to face him. “We have a project to do, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll start after I start.”

And what was Satoru’s definition of that?

It was pushing your head further down into your pillows as he absolutely ravished your cunt, simultaneously holding both your hands back with just one of his.

His thrusts were deep and calculated—to the point where it felt like he knew where every pleasurable spot inside you was. Perhaps he did.

“Dick’s got you all quiet now, hm?” he smirks, sliding his free hand up your back and to your head, pulling your hair back as he speaks. By then you were a drooling mess and as much as you’d hate to admit it—you’re practically dumb on his cock, moaning incoherent little babbles of his name and how big he feels.

Satoru grins behind you, smug because he’s got you, the most prim and proper girl on campus choking on her own saliva. It all felt so surreal, you felt surreal—your soft hips, the succulent ripple of your ass as his hips connected to it, your moans—fuck everything you did was driving him crazy. Even though it was supposed to be the other way around.

He was the one who was supposed to be ingrained in your brain—but here he was, inches deep inside your wet, reeling pussy after he swore the last time he was in your apartment would be the last.

But there’s always a reoccurring cycle with you. He just can’t stop.

“Hah—mph—slow down, S’toru!” you mewl, fat tears swelling in your waterline, your ears perking up at the rhythmic plap! plap! plap! of your sweaty bodies colliding. “If ‘m too loud my neighbors might hear,”

“Yeah? Let them hear how good I’m makin’ you feel then,” he breathes, shallow and unsteady, his toned chest moving in tandem with his inhales. The deep tremble of his voice seems to move throughout your body, vibrating through you in such a maddening way that you’re almost cumming from the feeling alone.

What was even more provoking was the way he pulsed against your gummy walls, thumping and pulsing inside you loud enough that it seemed you could hear it.

And—god was Satoru close, so close he could feel the static of his high zap though his fingers. He groaned, head thrown back in bliss as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so deliciously.

Your head was spinning from the mind-dizzying pleasure, eyes rolling back in what Satoru can only admit is the most remarkable expression he’s gotten out of anyone he’s fucked.

His hair was sticking to his forehead now, sweaty from how fast he was working to thrust into you at his abnormal pace. “Can I—“

“No.”

A defeated sigh and a pained grunt as he pulled out just as he was about to teeter off the edge of pleasure, taking himself in his hands and finishing the job. Satoru jerked himself as he watched you shake and convulse in euphoria, your body unwinding as you let your limbs go limp.

Cum seeped from your pussy, dripping down to your clit and sheets—and that sight was all he needed before his hot seed was spurting all over your back, the sensation causing a broken cry to leave your lips.

“Fuck,” Satoru mouthed, breathing hard as he gave your ass little smacks of approval. “That was—shit—so good.”

You nodded, head turning to the side as you watched him take off his cum-filled condom, and dump it in the trash. Satoru plopped back on your bed once he was done.

A smirk graced his lips and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, knowing nothing good could come out of that look.

“When do you think we could do it raw, hm?”

“When you get tested for every type of STD.”

[asharasasylum]

♡ drabble booklet - entry 1

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ warnings: step-cest. corruption kink. dry humping. smut. 18+

Step!Brother Rafe finds you irresistible as you try to make yourself comfortable on his lap. You’re wearing that sheer slip, the one that practically leaves you bare in front of him. It’s stupid, he thinks but he tries not to comment on it, knowing it’ll only make you pout at him and try to slip away from him again. 

Like the way you're softly pouting now as you look at him. “Rafe,” you fearfully whisper, staring at him with wide doe eyes. “I don’t think we should-” 

He shushes you quickly, fingers threading themselves through the strands of your hair as he pulls you forward. “Relax,” he tells you, nudging his nose against yours. “Just like I taught you,  remember?” 

You nod, leaning further into him and being the good step-sister he had taught you to be. You press your lips to his, gentle and almost unsure at first when they connect, only to grow hungrier when he reciprocates. It’s always the same, you pretend to not like it, to not be that into it, only to become desperate from his touch. You soon find yourself eagerly parting your lips when his tongue swipes against them, letting his tongue roam freely in your mouth. 

Rafe thinks he likes the little game you play, you acting coy every time he comes into your room, only seconds later for you to be whimpering into his mouth. He likes the idea that he is corrupting you. 

“I’m going to guide you, okay?” Rafe tells you, with a smug smile. His hands fall to your hips as they grip onto them, kneading his thumbs into your flesh as he prepares you for what he’s about to do. 

You nod bashfully, barely taking notice of what he’s actually doing until you feel it. Your crotch rubs against him as he rolls your hips, eliciting a gasp from your lips. 

“You okay?” He asks, cupping your cheek with one hand. You nod again, only this time your eyes are half lidded as you dazedly stare at him. “This okay?” He rolls his hips upwards, his hardened cock pushing up against you in the process and watching how your lips part to take another steady breath. 

“Yes,” you mutter, reacting to him as you follow his movements. As always you’re a quick learner, taking what you want and letting your desires guide you. 

“There you go.” 

You barely register his words, or when his hands start to roam over your body. You’re too lost in the feel of him rubbing against you, your clothed pussy becoming slick every time he nudged upwards into your clit. You can’t even think about kissing him, and you love kissing him, you’re just too focused on the feel of him underneath you and the way your stomach knots in delight. 

The clothes between you don’t lessen the friction and yet you still really want to take off your shorts. You think he can tell, reading your fucked out expresion as you stare at him through hazy eyes. If he can’t see it written over your face, he can hear it in your sharp breaths as you move your hips faster. 

“Rafe,” you whimper when he stops, pulling your hips up off of him. 

“Give me a sec,” Rafe hisses, hand slipping down to his shorts. 

You follow his hand, watching as he adjusts himself in his shorts. You’ve never seen it before, not even like this, his hardened cock a thick outline in his shorts. He’s big, you can tell even though you have no other guys to compare it to. 

He groans, when he manages to get it into a more comfortable position. His cock slaps forward, the tip peeking through the waistband of his shorts. Bright red and leaking. 

“Take it out,” the words fall from your tongue catching you both by surprise. 

“You sure?” He asks, with furrowed brows. 

“Please,” you pout at him. 

His hand slips back into the waistband of his shorts with no hesitation, and you watch with wide eyes as he pulls it free. It seems bigger for some reason and you can’t help but stare as he gives it a few strokes. 

He’s quick to yank you back down on top of him, bringing you both back to moments ago. Only it’s better now, Rafe can feel how wet you are, literally dripping through the sheer panties you call shorts. He groans at the sensation, grinding himself harder up into you and eliciting a moan from your lips. 

“You’re soaked,” he tells you, hands roaming over your body once again. 

“Your fault,” you mumble, bringing your lips down to his. You don’t kiss but your lips part as your moans slip from your tongue and into his mouth. It feels good, too good. Especially when your panties get caught, sliding to the side and your bare pussy ends up gliding over him. 

“Shit,” Rafe hisses at this, the sensation and the way you’re panting like some bitch in heat, driving him insane. 

You’re close, your toes curling as your stomach begins to stir and you begin to clench around nothing. He can tell when your hands grip onto his shoulders, and you bite back at a noise that threatens to be too loud. 

He helps you through it, using his hands to keep you sliding up and down his dick, watching how you finally crumble when your orgasm washes over you. He watches the way you fight to keep your eyes locked with him and the way your teeth sink into your lips to hold back your moans. 

But Rafe doesn’t stop there, prolonging the overstimulating feeling as he continues to grind against you, grazing over your sensitive clit repeatedly. He uses you, groaning into your lips as he chases his own high. He doesn’t even think when he starts to spill out onto his stomach, thick ropes coating his abdomen, completely forgetting that he’s still rubbing you over him, coating your pussy in his cum. 

Even as he does realise he’s too shameless to care, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you down against him. He knows he should clean you up, but he doesn’t want to as he presses his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. And he thinks you don’t want to either. 

[monstersholygrail]

Bite Me Baby

Werewolf bf x fem!reader— rough sex, clawing, marking, biting, brief mentions of blood, edging, aftercare

You had been nervous when you told your Werewolf bf that you were a vampire. You knew there were all those legends about your species being ancient rivals and even worse how some still believed in them. You knew your bf wasn’t like that and yet you were still nervous.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for his reaction. Instead of apprehension or worry, your Werewolf bf’s eyes flooded with lust. About the same time yours overflowed with alarm at the sight of it.

Further alarm moving through you when Werewolf bf jumps to tackle you down onto your bed. Inhaling deeply at your scent he can now pinpoint where he previously couldn’t before he nuzzles into the flesh there, adding his own scent to yours. Tiny growls leaving him as he does. You’re frozen, eyes wide, not knowing what to make of this reaction.

“Do you know how hard it’s been trying to hold back from taking you as roughly as I’ve wanted? Not wanting to break my pretty mates human body,” Werewolf bf snarls.

His hands move down your shape with a new fascination. His love for your body, perfect as it is, grows even deeper. He no longer bothers to be gentle, claws scratching down your form, fingers digging into your flesh, weight leaning on you. All to see how much you can take.

You moan, finally feeling his touch on a higher level than ever before now that neither of you have to hide or hold back any longer. “I want everything you can give me,” you beg.

Werewolf bf snarls, hands rushing to rid you of your clothing. Trying to be respectful but eventually using his claws to simply tear through what left you had on. You cry out, only getting more aroused by his intensified dominance.

“I expect you to bite back,” Werewolf bf snaps cheekily, a feral smirk on his face.

You go to bite back, so to speak, when Werewolf slams his long length inside you in one thrust, turning your words in a fierce shriek. All speech is immediately forgotten as your bf begins pounding into you. Sharp claws digging into your soft hips as he helps slam you down on his cock with his every movement.

Your body curls unnaturally in around his and he chuckles, watching how you squirm for him. Arms wrapping around his neck you bring his warm body closer to yours, allowing his cock to sink in even deeper inside you. Mirroring moans leave you both and Werewolf bf nips at your throat.

While sex with your Werewolf was naturally mindblowing and out of this world, the connection you two manage to reach now is nothing like you’ve ever felt. The pleasure not only coming from your bodies but also from your hearts. Nothing else standing between you two, both of you free to be yourselves and basking in the freedom of it. The acceptance you’re both met with continues to intensify the actions between you.

Suddenly remembing his words you nip back, but being a vampire your fangs naturally happen to sink in even deeper. A load roar echos throughout the room. Your bond with him forming as you mark him brings an indescribable ecstasy. Shocked from the noise you lean back, your fangs leaving with it.

The feeling suddenly fades and Werewolf bf snaps his hips even harder into your weeping pussy as it contracts around his length, eagerly searching to get that sensation back. Your jaw drops, your mind momentarily losing itself as you think about how good he’s fucking you and how addictive the feel of his cock is. Shaking your head of all other thoughts you force yourself to focus on your bf.

“My love, W-what’s wrong?” you pant out, rolling your hips and trying to keep up with his furious speed. Your body practically moving on its own as it subconsciously searches for him.

Werewolf bf merely grunts, brows furrowing as he searches for an explanation. The only conclusion he can come to is that you’re a vampire. Marking someone of his species must be different. Follow different rules and needed different steps.

But in the meantime… until those rules were followed and those steps were taken… you could mark him as many times as you wanted. It would fade as soon as your fangs left him and he’d get to feel that ecstasy once more.

Overcome with a newfound urgency, Werewolf bfs pace gets impossibly faster, making a complete mess out of you as your pussy gushes with arousal. His stamina only achievable due to his werewolf genes. Your bf shakes his head, huffing loudly as he moves.

“Nothing. Nothing. ‘So good, baby. So good. Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t you dare stop,” Werewolf bf snaps in desperation, tiny whimpers and whines leaving him.

Your hips arch as a gasp rips from your throat. Eyes widening you can see just how deeply you’re affecting him. Satisfaction swirls through your gut. Time and time again your Werewolf bf has managed to reduce you to nothing but weak noises one-word responses. Now the tables are turning and he’s finally getting a taste of his own medicine.

Truly wanting to make him pay, you clench your tight cunt down on his cock and watch as he howls, his eyes growing hazy. You lean up and lap at the drops of blood trickling down his neck. Werewolf bf begins to pant, his cock driving into you as a force of which only two supernaturals could ever withstand. Your bf’s hair stands on end and your body buzzes at the nerves he ignites within you.

“What? Want my fangs in your pretty little neck? Would you like my mark?” You whisper slowly in his ear, fang grazing the lobe.

Werewolf bf’s hips jolt forward, slamming into your cervix and you cry out, the pain mixing with the pleasure in an addictive fashion. You both hold onto each other, squeezing tightly. Using each other to ground yourselves against the friction of your bodies. Neither of you caring to be gentle any longer knowing you can take it as if you were made for each other.

And history called you enemies? When there has never been a match more perfect.

“Yes. F-fuck, please! Mark me. Over and over again until I pass out!” Your boyfriend growls out, his words barely audible through the rumbling animal noises leaving him.

Your eyes widen, having never heard your bf beg before. You start meeting his rabid thrusts with even more vigor and you come to the conclusion that you quite like it. Making your boyfriend a slobbering mess of a pup. With that realization you don’t waste another second before sinking your fangs back inside your Werewolf bf.

He howls his delight, a mix of growls and purrs leaving him as he feels the mating bond form between you. His cock twitches inside of you and he continues the relentless pounding of his hips. The combined sensations clashing together in a way that has him feeling like he can’t even breathe.

But then you remove your fangs and your bf exhales heavily. His mind growing more foggy, eyes growing more glassy, but his pace remaining just as brutal as ever. Never stopping in his pursuit to chase the pleasure he’s certain only you can give him.

Over and over the cycle continues. Sinking your fangs into your bf’s neck, letting the bond form, and then promptly removing them. You feeling the repetitive motion of the bond forming only to have it ripped away just at the precipice. Seeing the way it impacts your boyfriend adds to your already immense pleasure even if you can’t feel it the same way he does.

When you feel your Werewolf bf drooling onto your shoulder you know you have him right where you want him. Throwing your head back with a moan as your bf grinds his cock against the happy spot along your walls, you can see just how deep he is.

“Wanna cum, baby?” She ask through heavy breaths.

Your bf immediately whines, head nodding eagerly. You hadn’t been known he was waiting for your order but you can feel his knot swelling and pushing against your opening. All this too brings a deep satisfaction through your stomach and straight to your tingling messy core.

“Go then. Cum inside me and make me yours. It’s your turn to claim me.”

With those words it’s like your Werewolf bf returns to himself in a snap. With a ferocious roar he’s pulling his hips back and slamming his entire length inside of you. Forcing his knot into your puffy and sopping pussy. Your screams join his own as you two erupt together, your orgasms clashing into each other as you two cum at the same time. The world flashes white as you feel his hot semen splash along your walls, the waves of pleasure more than you can handle.

You both continue your steady rocking, riding out the waves of your ecstasy and prolonging it for as long as possible. His knot and your squeezing pussy keeping you both tightly together. Werewolf bf purrs lowly and nuzzles into your neck, touching as much of you as possible. You reciprocate without even realizing it. The closeness helping you both calm down from what you two experienced together.

The smooth glide of Werewolf bf’s wet nose rubbing along your nose has you humming in content. Adding to the feeling that you’re on cloud nine. A moment later your bf leans back and his content gaze mirrors your own as you look deep into each other’s eyes.

“The mark didn’t stick, did it?” He croaks out the question, his voice holding a tinge of sadness.

You angle your head and look down at his already healed neck. Not even a scar mark left behind. An ache settles in your chest as a sadness overcomes you as well. All it takes is the slow shake of your head to give him a proper answer and your bf lets out a long wolfy whine. He leans back down and nuzzles into your pulse point again.

“I’m going to mark you properly and I’m going to do it soon. Sooner now that I know you’re not human, my sneaky little mate,” your bf rumbles out. He can feel the heat of your blush as it runs up your neck and to your cheeks.

“Now I’ll be able to mark you back…” you whisper in his ear, trying to shake off your embarrassment for having foolishly been nervous to tell your bf the truth about your nature.

Werewolf boyfriend playfully snarls and snaps his jaw near your neck, earning an exaggerated gasp from you. But as your bf’s cock twitches inside your sore cunt, already prepared for another round, you’re not sure how playful that nip was.

You bare your neck to him and your bf instantly grows harder at your submission. Looking into his eyes you issue the challenge and he has no issues meeting it. More than ready to be the one to bite you this time.

[simonbrain]

the mask is something simon just can't part with. maybe the piece of clothing shouldn't bring him such a strong sense of security, and maybe it shouldn't feel so right when people view the skull as his actual face rather than the hardened flesh that hides behind the mask, but he's too attached. he doesn't think he'll ever let go of it.

and then you come along with your sweet face and your gentle words, and it's everything simon has ever wanted—everything he's longed for when he's alone in the silence of his room. the hole in his chest seems to cling back together again, as if the dead ends are regenerating with each smile and each shy laugh you send his way. it's like his body is trying to accept those soft emotions he's been suppressing for so long.

although he finds that even if he can't fix himself, if he can't fully heal, your love fits snugly in the cavity of his chest much better anyway.

honestly, he didn't think he would ever gain the courage to get into a relationship, not after everything he had been through, not after how awkward and stiff he was when trying to ask you out, but here you were—his own little heaven on earth.

you don't even complain about the heated makeout sessions through the layer that separates your need to fully consume each other, nor do you pressure him to take it off. you always say kissing like that is hotter, anyway.

it's humbling how quickly you had slipped past the walls he built around himself, how the alarms that used to ring in his head transformed into sweet little bells that lulled him into a pure feeling of bliss that he hasn't felt in years. his selfishness knows no bounds; you had fully given yourself over to him, and he hadn't wasted a single ounce of your energy. he wants to return the love you seem to endlessly supply him with. he wants to share everything about himself with you.

which is why you're both seated on the couch, one of your hands grasped in his for comfort as he quietly announces that he wants to show you something. you don't even have to ask what it is.

"take your time, si," you murmur, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. his free hand digs tightly into the bottom of his balaclava, holding it in an iron grip even though he knows you'd never pull it off, and he swears his heart is pounding in his ears. what if he's not what you're expecting? what if you recoil from him in disgust? the scars he's hiding aren't exactly flattering, he knows, and his teeth might not be the straightest bunch, but—

you raise your hands up and gently cup his cheeks, leaning forward again to nuzzle against his face. you giggle softly when he tilts his head so your lips connect through the thin barrier, and your heart flutters when he relaxes in your hold.

"i have an idea," you whisper when you part from him, a wet spot formed on the front of his mask now. he hums softly in response and tries his best not to tense up when your hands slide down to his neck, your fingers smoothing underneath the fabric, resting there. "and you can't laugh."

simon chuckles quietly at that, his anxiety dissipating almost immediately. "promise."

"how about i see half of your face at a time?" he makes a noise at your question, about to interrupt when you lean in closer and begin peppering kisses over his jawline. "i can see the bottom half when we're kissing," you murmur through your pecks, reaching the corner of his mouth, "and later on, when i'm sitting on your face, you can take it off and i can see the rest." your tongue slips out to lick over his lips, a tease of what's about to come.

simon doesn't respond, not verbally, but you can tell he's already itching to get the damn thing off his head.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

October 09 - Impact Play

pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader

summary: Wanda spanks you and makes you cum.

content warnings: impact play

word count: 1.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Wanda’s cold fingers dance along your spine, feeling every vertebrae as she gently makes her way from your neck down towards your tailbone. You shiver, feeling goosebumps erupt in the wake of her touch. With your eyes blindfolded and head buried in a pillow, every touch is intensified, like small bolts of electricity that hum beneath your skin. 

“Comfortable?” Her voice is warm and low, murmured in your ear as you sigh. 

“Mhmm,” you mutter, your words accompanied by your uncoordinated nodding into the pillow. Wanda chuckles somewhere above you, her fingers still moving over your spine. 

Stretching out, you pull slightly at the handcuffs connecting your wrists. You were comfortable, safe even, in the knowledge that you were under Wanda’s control. Wherever she was in charge of a scene, you absolutely loved the loss of control and power. Handing over your body and freedom to her, even if only for an hour or two, felt freeing. 

“You’re so warm,” Wanda says, her fingers moving over your lower spine. You feel her lips press a kiss in between your shoulder blades, and your muscles relax even further. 

Cold fingers reach the end of your spine, and you gasp as her other hand moves to cup your ass. Wanda’s hands are firm, kneading your skin and muscle as you feel your arousal build while she fondles you. 

You hear the slap before you feel it, the sharp movement of air registering in your fuzzy mind. Pain blooms, a pleasant burning sensation that travels from where Wanda’s hand struck your backside down to your core. 

Fuck, you can feel yourself leaking. 

“So needy already, darling? That was only the first hit.” 

“I-” a hand shoves your face back into the pillow. 

“Did I say you could talk?” Wanda asks, her words sharp and voice slightly cold. 

Shaking your head, you breathe a sigh of relief when her hand removes itself from your head. Her fingers resume trailing over your lower spine, her other hand massaging the place where she’d landed her first blow. 

You wait for her to say something else, your body relaxing even as your mind waits for the next hit. Wanda’s hands are firm, pressing into your skin and rubbing away any knots she finds. She’s humming softly, the sound of her voice soothing. 

Again, without warning, Wanda’s hand quickly comes down. This time, she lands four hits, two to each cheek. The movement is so quick that you barely have time to register the pain before her hands are back to gently running over your sensitive flesh. 

You moan, the deep ache of plain quickly turning pleasurable as you resist the urge to grind your hips down into the mattress. 

Wanda keeps humming, and you can hear her smiling as she does. You wiggle your hips slightly, and you can practically feel the single eyebrow raise as her fingers pause their movements for a moment. 

“Is this your way of begging for more? Or is your body just that desperate to be played with, sweetheart?” 

You can’t respond, so you settle for whining and moving your hips once more. This time, the movement is more intentional, and Wanda chuckles at your boldness. Her hands move away from your body, and you tense slightly in preparation. 

Pain blooms from your ass, her hands hitting solidly as slaps echo around the bedroom. The rhythmic hits and pleasant ache increase your arousal and push you into a vanilla-scented headspace. You can feel yourself relaxing even more, something clicking into place in your mind as you fully submit to Wanda. 

There is a momentary pause, but you’re too spaced out to even realize it. After a few seconds, you register that the hits have stopped, and turn to look towards Wanda. Before your head can even lift off the pillow, you feel something hit your ass. 

It’s heavy, and the pain is a deep ache that spreads and twists through you while you leak onto the mattress. Wanda brings the paddle down again and again, making sure to hit both your cheeks evenly until your skin is bright red and tender to the touch. 

“Oh, darling. Your skin is so hot,” Wanda murmurs, her hands gently running over your red flesh. 

You moan, the feather-light touches of her fingers sending your senses spiraling into pleasure as you sink further into subspace. 

Wanda’s fingers move lower, gently running over your dripping pussy. She swirls her forefinger around your clit a few times, drawing desperate moans from you. You feel her lips pressing against your back as she kisses down your spine. 

“Your body craves pain, doesn’t it?” 

Nodding feebly, you rut your hips forward as Wanda begins to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses on your hot skin. Tingles of pain and pleasure course through you with each kiss, her teeth nipping at your skin occasionally. 

You hear a buzzing sound, and your brain starts working again. You want to protest, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth when Wanda firmly presses a vibrator against your throbbing clit is a pathetic moan. 

A sharp slap against your sensitive ass causes a yelp to force its way out of you. You feel Wanda’s hand gently rubbing the spot. 

“Color?”

“Mmpph… yellow.”

You hear Wanda humming behind you, her fingers trailing softly over your skin. She raises the intensity of the vibrator as she delivers a gentle slap on your abused skin. 

“What’s your color now, baby?”

“Green, thank you,” you say, moaning into the pillow as another soft hit makes contact with your ass. 

“I want you to cum in under ten hits, understand?” Wanda asks, and you nod. 

This is going to be difficult, but when you start humping the vibrator held firmly on your clit, Wanda doesn’t say anything. She simply chuckles at your desperation and clicks up the intensity once again. 

Her hand comes down again, a bit harder but not enough that the pain overtakes the pleasure thrumming through you. She keeps hitting you, and you count 4 hits before your orgasm begins to creep up on you. 

“Harder, please.”

This time, it’s Wanda who moans. Praises fall from her lips as she hits you firmly, and by the time she’s at nine hits, you’re trembling and shuddering as your orgasm hits. 

It’s painful and blissful at the same time, your skin burning as you feel your clit throb against the powerful vibrations. The wet sounds of your pussy leaking onto the toy only serve to move you further into the vanilla haze. You can hear Wanda saying something, but your ears are ringing too loudly to fully understand. 

A second, smaller orgasm hits you, and you try to escape from the painful stimulation. Wanda allows it, turning the vibrator off and quickly undoing your handcuffs. 

“You did so good for me, love. I’m so proud. Catch your breath and I’ll be back with some aloe vera, okay?”

She kisses your cheek, and you lay there with your eyes closed as you feel her body weight lift from the mattress. You can feel yourself slipping away, drowsiness overtaking your senses. The last thing you feel before you drift off is Wanda’s gentle hand soothing your burning skin, and you smile.

[velvette-creations]

Sparks Fly

Agatha All Along: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)

WC: 1.2k 

Prompt: “If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I want to go” -Collar Full by Panic at the Disco for @sweetspicybingo (Lyrical Bingo Collection)

Warnings: PWP. oral, strap-on, spanking, hair pulling, biting, magic, power siphoning, manipulation, mommy kink, role-playing

Summary: Agatha reminds you who you belong to

Agatha’s sharp teeth sank into the delicate peach flesh of your neck; pain blossomed through your body, sending a pulsing deep in your belly. Flames licked inside your stomach as her fingers curled into your hips. Your flesh surrendered to her harsh bite, bruising in the wake. It made your head spin as a shiver ran through you.

“You’re in so much trouble, baby doll,” she purred in your ear before gripping a fistful of hair.

You didn’t mind a little trouble, truth be told. It always ended well for you.

“Sorry, Mommy, please be gentle,” you whimpered, playing up the role.

“Oh ho ho, you know I won’t be,” she growled before ripping your shirt over your head.

Her fingers tore at your clothing like greedy claws. Talons shredding your bra, your underwear, your jeans until you stood trembling naked before her. Her hungry eyes raked over your bare skin as you squirmed over her scrutinizing gaze. It had only been a bit of harmless flirting to secure yourself a free drink, but you knew it would get under her skin. You felt ignored lately and this was your way of getting her attention. Consequences be damned.

Her boots clicked against the floor as she circled you, her fashionable black cape billowing around her and her dark hair cascading down her shoulders. She was all sleek and sultry in head-to-toe black, the fabric hugging her slender, svelte flame, reminding you of a black panther ready to devour its prey. You were ready to drop to your knees before her or have her bend you over and do whatever she wanted. She snapped her fingers and pointed to her feet, making you quickly scramble to your knees. The sparks of purple emanating from her fingertips were not lost on you.

Her hand gently cupped your chin as she tilted your gaze toward hers. “I’m going to remind you who you belong to tonight, baby doll.” You couldn’t wait.

You spent a good ten minutes bent over her lap, squirming as the palm of her hand connected firmly with your upturned, naked rear. Each slap left a searing reminder of her mark. You’re mine, you’re mine. You could hear her voice echoing in your head. Her thigh-high leather boots dug and nipped at the soft skin of your stomach as you writhed. Your flesh felt abused and tenderized adequately by the time she was finished, tears clinging to the corners of your eyes and wetting your lashes. Yet still, your clit throbbed in anticipation.

One of Agatha’s fingers caressed down your wet slit, and you felt a jolt from her sparks roll through you. You let out a long whine, digging your hands into the couch cushions as you arched back into her touch.

“Please, Mommy, please,” you begged.

Her hand swatted the tender flesh of your thigh.

“Tell me why, baby doll,” she hummed as her fingers returned to their gentle caress of your aching pussy.

“I’ll be a good girl, I promise. Please just make me feel good. I’m yours, all yours!” you sobbed, voice desperate with need.

Her dark chuckle rang through the room as she pinched the sore skin of your bare ass. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, Mommy!” you wailed, the throbbing between your thighs so intense that it made your stomach clench.

Her finger pressed to your clit, slowly circling the sensitive nub. “Only Mommy knows how to satisfy you, doesn’t she?” Agatha cooed.

“Yes, Mommy,” you sniffled, tears running down your cheeks, but you were thankful for the relief.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, baby doll. I want to see those lovely tears as you eat Mommy out, then I’ll give you what you want.”

“Yes, Mommy.” You slowly pushed your body up, blood flowing through your limbs once again before straddling her lap. The fabric of her bodysuit scraped against your well-spanked backside as you unhooked the silky collar around her neck that held it in place before sliding it down her body. She arched her back and lifted her hips until you peeled it down midthigh. You tugged the bottoms free from her boots before finally being able to peel the silky material entirely free. The black cape framed her pale, slender, naked body, and your mouth watered at the sight. You pressed your lips to her taut stomach, feeling her flesh warm under your mouth. The sharp tug on your hair made you pull away.

“I believe you have a task at hand, baby doll. Pay attention,” Agatha scolded, a wry grin on her face.

You gave her a sheepish look before pressing your face between her thighs, sliding your tongue over her sweet pussy. The pink tip delved between her silken folds, swirling the taste of her around your mouth. You continued to tease her, enjoying her soft moans before you sought out her clit. The engorged bud pulsed against your lips as you wrapped them around it. You suckled gently, listening to her moans bleed into a more guttural sound. Your tongue traced tantalizing around her clit, feeling her tremble under your gesticulations.

“Oh, baby doll…I’m gonna…” she gasped, rocking against your mouth before spilling sweetly over your tongue.

You gently lapped the aftermath clean before resting your head on Agatha’s thigh. She stroked your hair, a loving look in her eyes. “You were wonderful, baby doll. Time for a reward.”

If you had a tail, it would have been wagging, but instead, you scurried off like an overexcited puppy to retrieve the purple strap and harness from the bottom drawer of the TV stand. Agatha chuckled, the black cloak partially shielding her naked body as she stood, taking the toy from you. Once it was secured in place, she pulled you close, the tip of her cock teasing you as her lips melted against your mouth. A deep rumbling filled your belly, spilling warmth—hot, crackling magic in the air. Chemistry sparking.

You were floating, legs wrapped around Agatha’s waist as she buried herself deep inside you. Your hair sprawled around you, fingers flexing through the empty air before grabbing hold of Agatha.

“Oh,” you moaned, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re so beautiful, baby doll. Mommy’s special girl,” Agatha murmured, rolling her hips as you clung to her.

Indescribable pleasure rolled through you, feeling sparks flicker up and down your spine. Her cape billowed in the air as the two of you swirled, locked tightly together. Entraped in delightful rapture. Your head lolled back as she hit the particular spot inside of you, sending waves crashing through you as you came.

“That’s my good girl,” Agatha cooed, her warm hands sprawling over every inch of your bare skin until you began feeling drained like every ounce of energy had been zapped.

Your head rolled onto her shoulder as she lowered you both back to the ground, keeping you in her arms as your legs almost gave out. “I’ve got you,” she whispered.

She took you upstairs, tucking you beneath the soft sheets before loosening her cape and letting it fall to the floor before joining you. You tucked your head under her chin as her fingers gently danced over your naked skin.

“Thank you for the jolt, baby doll,” she whispered, purple flashing in her eyes.

“You’re welcome. Anytime you need it, Mommy,” you purred, not minding that she siphoned your power every now and then.

“I’m afraid I might be the death of you,” she chuckled.

You simply smiled, keeping your thoughts to yourself. If you're gonna be the death of me, that's how I want to go.

[monster-disaster]

Hey, I hope you're doin' great! So... I just read that boss!orc x curvy!reader that you posted a while I go and I was thinking if you could write a part 2 for it? I'm not the one who asked for it but omggg it was so perfect. Thank you. 🥺♥️

orc!boss x human!curvy!Reader Good to know: original request, some lying and manipulation, but nothing angsty or bad, spice, spanking

He has to force himself to keep the growl buried deep within his broad chest. The rumble churns and bubbles in his throat, begging for release, but he swallows it down with a sharp breath before it can escape. His mouth twists into a wild snarl instead. His tusks, thick and prominent, dig into his upper lip. A deep wrinkle forms between his brows, furrowing so intensely it casts a shadow over his dark, piercing eyes as he stares at you through the darkened glass of his office wall.

You sit at your table, humming softly under your breath as your fingers glide over the keypad, pausing every now and then while your eyes flick between the screen and the document in your other hand. The soft glow of the screen illuminates your face, your long lashes, and the gentle gleam of your lipstick. You are wearing a sleek black piece that barely reaches the middle of your thighs. The soft fabric is snug against your curves, cupping your breasts into a delicious cleavage and hugging your wide hips just enough to make the orc's palms tingle to feel your flesh underneath his touch.

You always look beautiful in your dresses and skirts, but today, he knew something was different the moment he laid his eyes on you. You are glowing. You seem lighter, and more cheerful than usual. The way you move as you carry yourself, the brightness in your eyes, and your smile, everything about you is a touch more vibrant. More alive.

And he didn’t have to dig for long to discover the reason for it all.

His fingers curl into hard fists as the thought crosses his mind. A simmering heat flares up in his chest, twisting with something bitter and unspoken. It makes his jaw tighten and his pulse quicken.

You have a date tonight.

After the lesson on keeping your space tidy and the reward for doing so, he made the mistake of leaving things between you two as they were. He didn’t push forward. He let his head, his hesitancy, and the fear of what could go wrong win. And now, he's forced to face the consequences; you with another man. A snarl threatens to break free from his throat, but he swallows it down again. His frustration buzzes just beneath the surface. It makes his posture rigid and tense. No, the orc thinks, clenching his fists tighter. Not if it’s up to me. He can feel his resolve hardening with each passing second as he watches you glancing at the clock on your wrist with a giddy smile on your pretty lips. He had waited too long, but that was over now.

Reaching for the phone, he presses the button that connects straight to your desk. He watches you jump at the sudden noise, your head snapping up, but you answer immediately with your other hand still on your chest to calm down your rapid heartbeat.

"Hey, boss," you greet him. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you remember the file I sent you yesterday?"

"Yes."

"I need them for tomorrow." Even though his jaw is tight and tense, the lie slips out smoothly between his rigid lips.

He sees you freeze in your seat. "What? You said it could wait until next week."

"I got the date wrong," the orc says almost apologetically, his voice deliberately innocent. "Why? Is that a problem?"

"Well... I won’t finish them without putting in extra hours," you admit. Your voice is softer now, hesitant as you click away on your computer, scanning through the files he sent.

"And what's the problem with that?" he asks, leaning back in his chair. His eyes are locked on your figure the whole time.

"I... I already have a program for tonight," you respond, uncertainty lacing your words. "Are you sure it can't wait until tomorrow?" You glance at his way, but the man knows you can't see him through the dark fog of the glass.

"Are you sure you can't postpone your plans?" His voice is calm, too calm. Even though he phrased it like a question, both of you know there is only one acceptable answer.

"Yeah," you sigh in a reluctant surrender. "I can, boss."

"Great."

His satisfaction doesn't last long, though. His triumph fades as the hours drag on while he watches you from his office. Each glance at your hunched form tightens the knot in his chest. Your shoulders sag as you tirelessly type away on the keypad. Guilt gnaws at him, sharp and persistent, and no matter how much he tries to focus on his own tasks, he can't shake it off. The smile he had envied earlier has vanished from your face, replaced by a strained focus. Your pretty, shiny lips now are in a pout. The glow he had been so jealous of is nowhere to be seen. He wanted you to cancel your plans, but now that he has you all to himself, he feels like an asshole.

The thought of letting you go crosses his mind several times throughout the day, but every time he reaches for the phone, his hand hesitates above the button. Each time, he pulls back, unable to go through with it. Despite his inner battle, the thought of you going out with another man burns much hotter in his chest than the guilt that nags at him. He can't make himself let you go.

So he does nothing, and before he knows it, it’s just you and him left in the building, along with the security guard downstairs. The lamps have been turned off, leaving only his office and your desk bathed in a dim glow. The city outside sparkles with lights and neon signs. The apartments' yellow hues spill through the windows onto the busy streets and bustling roads.

The orc remains at his desk. His fingers hover above the keyboard, dancing in idle patterns without actually pressing any buttons. The bluish light from the screen illuminates the slightly curved line of his nose, the fullness of his lips, and the hard edge of his jawline. He tries to focus on the chart in front of him, his gaze fixed on the shifting data, but his thoughts are far away. They are tangled in the images of you and what he did.

"Boss?"

For a long moment, the orc just blinks at you from his desk as you stand in the doorway. The shine of your lips has faded, and you look weary, worn down by the long hours. His heart clenches with guilt once again at the sight. A sharp pang of remorse cuts through him. He should have approached this differently. He should have been honest and asked you out directly instead of pushing you into working on something he didn't even need.

"Yes?" he finally manages to ask, his voice rougher than he intended.

"I'm done."

The orc’s surprise is barely contained. He hadn't truly expected you to finish it. He almost grimaces at the thought of how much you had to hurry with it.

"Thank you, Y/N," he hums. "I’m sorry you had to cancel your... program." The mention of it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

You shrug, allowing a small but tired smile to curve your lips. "It's fine. I can go tomorrow."

The orc's jaw tightens. Being an adult, he scoffs to himself. That option is clearly out of the window now.

"Do you want to sit?" he asks, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of him. "Something to drink?" He adds, already rising from his seat to retrieve two glasses and a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. "You deserve it."

You sigh with a nod, heading to the chair. "Thank you."

After handing you one of the glasses, the orc doesn’t return to his usual spot at the desk. Instead, he sits down beside you, legs spread wide. He takes a long gulp of his drink. The amber liquid burns down his throat. He watches you from the corner of his eye, noting how tired but oddly relaxed you look. Your legs are crossed, causing your skirt to ride up slightly on your plush thighs.

"So," he clears his throat, attempting to break the silence. "What was your plan for the evening, anyway?"

A long moment of silence stretches between you, and when he finally glances over, he sees a small, mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"What?" he asks.

"Don't act like you don't know what my plan was."

The orc feels himself freeze, his mind racing. "What?"

"I know you heard me when I talked about it with my friend."

"Y/N..." he starts, the words faltering on his tongue. He feels like he is in trouble, yet, your mischievous grin tells him otherwise.

"Do you want to know something?" you ask, leaning in slightly.

He nods, still not finding his voice.

"I lied," you say, barely containing a laugh as you watch his bewildered expression.

"Lied about what?" His frown deepens into a scowl.

"I lied about the date," you reveal. The curve of your lips widens, and your eyes sparkle with satisfaction and pride. "There was no date."

The orc’s confusion turns into a stunned silence. "No date?"

"No," you confirm with a grin. "I wanted to see if you cared enough to do something about it."

The orc's mouth opens and closes, but he is too shocked to say anything. You lied. You lied to see if you could make him jealous enough to do something.

You little minx.

Before he can gather his thoughts, a loud, surprised gasp escapes his lips as you stand up and settle onto one of his thighs, facing him. The black fabric of your dress stretches tightly around your legs where they drape over his. Your heat presses down against his trousers as you let your weight rest fully on him.

"Did it work?" you ask, nibbling on your lower lip. The only sign of your nervousness is the slight tremble in your hands as you play with the buttons of his shirt near his belt. You're clearly stepping out of your comfort zone, risking everything just because he couldn't muster the courage to take the lead.

His hands rest on yours for a moment, squeezing your delicate fingers as a reassuring gesture before moving up to your bare thighs. His touch is lingering and exploring. You feel soft and yielding beneath his fingers, and he can’t help but note the contrast between his firm grip and your pliant warmth.

"Did you lie to me, little one?" His voice rumbles deeply, sending a shiver up your spine.

You bite down on your lower lip, the soft flesh already swollen and tender. "Will you punish me for it?"

The orc growls low in his throat, squeezing your hips one time before hauling you up from his lap. The sudden movement punches a loud squeal out of your chest, and before you know it, you are on his table, knocking off his things onto the ground.

“Stay like that,” he growls, pressing one hand firmly in the middle of your back. Your upper body is now pressed down against the wooden surface of his desk, while your bottom is positioned toward him. The black skirt you wear rides up, revealing the lush curve of your ass and the thin fabric of your underwear.

“You lied to me,” he says, his voice heavy with frustration. “I could barely concentrate on my work because the thought of you with another man drove me mad.”

“I’m sorry,” you croak out, but you sound anything but sorry.

“You manipulated me, little one,” he continues, his anger tinged with a hint of a smile. “And now I have to punish you.”

With deliberate movements, the orc pushes your skirt higher, exposing your round ass and the thin black thong wedged between your cheeks. His cock twitches at the delicious sight.

“Ah!” you cry out when his large palm lands on your exposed skin with a loud smack.

“Now tell me,” he hums, his fingers gripping the warm, flushed skin, “was it worth it?”

“Yes,” you reply immediately, your breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. Despite the sting, there’s a spark of satisfaction in your voice. This was your goal all along. And more.

“So there’s no other man?” he asks, his voice rough and demanding as his hand lands on your ass with a series of loud, stinging slaps that make your whole body shudder.

“No,” you cry out.

“No one who wants to see your pretty little ass like this?” His hand comes down again with a sharp smack.

“I don’t care about anyone else." Your voice strained as you lie on the table. Your fingers clench into tight fists at the burning heat on your ass.

“Good answer,” the orc snarls, his hand moving relentlessly. Each slap makes your round bottom flush warm under his touch.

The zipper of his pants presses uncomfortably against his throbbing erection, a constant reminder of the raw, urgent desire he’s struggling to contain, but he knows that if he releases himself, there will be no turning back. He would need to be inside you immediately.

And he has too much fun now to end it so quickly.

The office is filled with the sounds of your panting and ragged moans as you squirm on the desk, desperately trying to rub your thick thighs together for some friction, but the orc quickly intervenes, pushing his leg between yours with a disapproving tsk of his tongue.

"I don’t think you’ve earned it yet," he says. His chest expands at the sounds of your pathetic whines.

"Please." Your plea trembles with need.

The orc grins, pressing his own thigh against your panty-clad cunt, teasing you without offering any real relief.

"Don’t you think you deserve your punishment?" he hums, his tone laced with amusement.

"I do," you reply in a whine, resting your forehead on the cool surface of his desk while he continues to knead your warm, sensitive skin.

"Good girl," he says approvingly, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your black thong. "I will give you pleasure when I think you earned it."

His name is barely out of your mouth when a loud gasp escapes your lips the moment the orc’s hand pulls at your panties, pressing the black fabric deeper between your flushed cheeks. The material slips between your damp folds, soaking up your wetness.

“Fuck, little one,” the orc groans at the sight of your panties almost disappearing into your fat pussy. “I would never let any man see this,” he says with a fierce possessiveness. The thought of anyone else seeing you like this sends a surge of burning anger through his veins. “It’s just for me.”

You remain silent, which earns you another sharp slap on your ass from the orc. You gasp and moan. The combined sensation of the burning sting on your ass and the thong rubbing against your pussy creates a heady mix of pleasure and pain that makes your hips grind instinctively.

“I want your answer,” he demands firmly as he lets go of your panties. His fingers slip between your ass, slipping down and finding the wet heat between your thighs. He teases you, making you shiver as you burn under his fingertips.

"Yes," you cry. "It's just for you! It's just for you!"

"That's what I like to hear," he hums, his fingers digging deeper between your swollen, sensitive lips. Your panties are ruined, the crotch is clinging soaked to your puffy cunt.

He can't wait to taste you, to feel your soft walls around his cock as he pounds into you until you see stars and know nothing but his name.

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he says, his patience thinning with each passing second. “You’ll spend the night at my place, and if you’re a good girl while I feed you, I’ll take you to bed and fuck you on every surface in my house.”

“Yesyesyes,” you sob. You tremble with desperation. “Please.”

“Come on, then,” he groans, pressing his hard cock against your pussy one last time before helping you off the desk and smoothing your skirt back into place. “Let me take you home, little one.”

[youryanderedaddy]

Oleander

Summary: Nine months ago you killed a man. Now you're sharing a drink with his brother. Life works in mysterious ways. tw: female reader, implied murder, captivity, dub - con, hate fucking, degradation, cruel reader

Sometimes you wonder if you’re a good person. It’s nice, almost, to lose yourself in meaningless philosophical battles in your own mind - it reminds you of high school, of balding teachers making you read Kant and Plato, raving on and on about dead men that will never come back to agree or disagree with the countless pages they made you write about them. It’s easier now, though - easy to lose yourself in semantics, to water down hundred years of morals and ethics into a simple question. Am I, the way I am, the way I’ve always been, good? 

These thoughts always come back when the liquor hits your system. You can’t believe Devan let you drink with him tonight. He must be getting lonely, you realize. Your hands are too shaky and slippery to hold the glass, and you end up spilling half of it over your chest anyways. Your shirt soaks the liquor quickly, and the sharp smell of sanitizer makes you feel as if you’re running through a cold hospital corridor. If you squint, you can almost imagine the needle poking at your vein to draw fresh blood. 

Devan watches you with odd fascination - as if you’re a child learning how to walk, and takes a sip straight off the bottle. Were you any less drunk, you’d be disgusted, yet now all you think about is how he’s drinking more and more of the bitter medicine, leaving less for you. And you need it. God knows you need it.

“Messy, murderous slut.” He mumbles under his breath, reaching out to you with a disoriented shake of his hand. “You ruined my fucking life, you know?” He manages to take a hold of your elbow. You flinch impulsively but his hold, in all its drunken angst, is unrelenting.

“You ruined your own life.” You intend your answer to be playful, but it comes out venomous. Maybe you both need some sleep - too bad the bottle is still half full. You pour yourself some more. “You’re 27 with no education, job or any support network. Even your parents don’t call you anymore, because, well… what even are you without him?” You let yourself get closer to the man - so close you can see his eyes illuminate in fear. His skin is warm like concrete melting under the sun. Tonight you are cruel. Tonight you are free - even as the tears fall down your freezing cheeks. “Admit it.” You inhale so quietly you barely feel your lungs. “You fucking love it.”

Even as his hand connects to your cheek in an audible slap, you can’t help running your mouth off. You are absolutely intoxicated - and the sting feels like a kiss to your lonely, untouched face. How long has it been since someone held you?

“You fucking love that your brother died, deep down. I mean, it’s the perfect excuse, isn’t it? You finally have a reason to be this fucking miserable.” Your smirk, filling up with glee - just like a child torturing a helpless ladybug on the ground, it’s so wrong yet feels so right. ”Besides being a lousy loser, of course.”

“How fucking dare you!” Devin flips you over with ease, throwing you on the ground. There is a raw, animalistic sadness in his big black orbs bleeding into his rage, and it makes it impossible to be scared. Even as his thick fist wraps itself around your throat, it’s hard not to burst into laughter. All the good hazy feelings take over logic and now the bleak feels like a big joke of nature. “Joe was… He… He was…” Everything, he tries to say, but his voice breaks into a pained howl and his breathing shallows before the word can roll off his colorless tongue. For a passing moment everything stills.

“It’s all your fault.” Your captor hisses weakly, his hand trembling around your warm inviting flesh. “I should have killed you that first day… that first night.” His fingers dance around your throat, carefully avoiding your jugular. “It would have been so easy. You do have a beautiful neck.” His voice lowers. “It wouldn’t be hard to–” He squeezes again - tight, tighter, and you see stars. “Maybe then I’ll finally be at peace.” He’s staring at you, intently, but it’s himself he’s talking to. 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. You can feel a certain fullness in your sides and a dull pain tugging at your collarbone from suffocation - but your mind can’t wrap itself around a single coherent thought other than to hurt him. It’s like the more you hurt him, the more it hurts inside you. “You can’t kill me.” There is no sass in your tone, no mischief - just plain cold acceptance.

Devin stops in his tracks to stare you down as if you’ve lost your goddamn mind. Then he laughs. He laughs so much his hand slips off your throat and you can finally breathe again.

“And what makes you so sure?” He finally collects himself enough to ask, leaning towards you. If anyone were to see you now, they would think you’re two lovers about to elope. “Because…” You avert your face away from his watchful eyes - there’s something about them, a wild flame that makes you sober up quicker than you’d like. “I’m the only person you hate more than yourself. If you kill me, the game is over.” You give him a sad smile. “And you’re all alone again.”

The man grabs your chin, forcing your lips to pucker up like a doll’s. “Like I need a fucked up bitch to keep me company.” He says, yet he keeps moving your head up and down as if he’s inspecting you for damage. As if he cares if you’re bruised, as if his fingers want to feel you for just a second longer. “Then let me go.” You bite back, and you watch his face go dark like a night sky. “No.” The boy - man shrieks, holding onto your arm for dear life. It hurts… but it’s also warm and tight - like an embrace, but not quite. “You deserve to suffer.” He quickly adds, pulling you closer to him. “Then torture me.” You add more fuel. “Do something. Anything.” You sink your teeth into his knees. “For once in your shitty miserable life do so–”

He kisses you. 

You don’t know how to describe the kiss. It’s neither passionate, nor aggressive. It’s desperate, yet it lacks strength. It’s a rushed thing. It’s a memory reminiscent of summer - in a quiet village, after an atom bomb. His lips are the flowers that eventually bloom before they’re stomped by soldier boots. You’re the half - lit match that turns it all to ashes. Your bodies are meant for destruction, and that’s why they fit together perfectly. 

“Let me have you.” He almost pleads once you separate, breathless, on the brink of insanity - as if he isn’t already there. His hands are on both sides of your waist, squeezing so hard it hurts, unstable fingers ready to grab and grope at any shape malleable enough. 

“No.” You wince, but your eyes remain cold and challenging. “Fuck you.” Devin replies, roughly spreading your thighs apart. “Fuck you.” He repeats as he rips into your throat, dragging his teeth against your sweet spot, making you really feel the sharp points tearing into your soft vulnerable skin. The thought of leaving his mark on you makes his stomach turn - and it terrifies him. You try not to look down, but you hear his belt hit the ground and soon his pants follow suit - and then you sense it right against your entrance. Sticky slick whiteness coats your white panties as it drips from the purpling tip so full it might burst by the friction alone.

His hard length rubs along your wet slit and with clenched teeth you anticipate the burn of the stretch, the way he’ll rip your underwear from you, your last protective shield - but it never comes. Yet you see it move in and out, in and out of you rhythmically. You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, his rasp groans into your ear, his hands moving your torso back and forth like a carousel. You finally look down. 

He’s fucking your thighs - through your panties, no less. 

“Hold your legs together.” The man barks at you, but his voice is so needy you can’t help giggling even as he manhandles you around like a ragdoll. “T-tighter.” You squeeze your thighs snuggly against his cock - and you hope it hurts him more than it hurts you. You throw your head back, leaning on his shoulder as you jeer gutturally, letting it all out in systematic bursts of laughter that sound more like black cigarette coughs. Or puffs. “God, you’re so pathetic.” You lazily stroke his shaft as it peeks down your stomach, oozing with pre - cum. “I bet your brother would have fucked me like a real man.”

He moves your head to the side with a brute slap, kissing you sloppily anywhere but your mouth - but it still does the trick of shutting you up. “Too bad he’s dead.” He leaves a trail of wet pecks down your throat. Your stomach is sticky. You feel disgusting. “Guess you’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes.

“Dream on.”

[laylaplease]

So wet for master, aren't you?

ׁ ֶָ֢ ⏤͟͟͞͞☕️ ׁ ࣭ warnings ! ۪ ׁ ⊹ || Dubcon, virgin!reader, virginity kink, fingering, spit, fingers in reader's mouth, gagging, pet-names, Master x Padawan. MDNI.

"It's alright, sweetheart; just let me check." Anakin snakes his arms around you, his broad chest leaning onto your back. "I promise it won't hurt; I'll be careful, okay? You have to trust your Master." 

With his mechanic grip holding you in place by your waist, he's trying to glide the flesh hand inside your robes while you squirm in his grasp, like a hunted bunny about to be devoured.

"I-I'm— Master, please... I'm not sure it's a good idea..." You keep insisting on being spared. You feel your head spin as the coldness hits your upper chest. There is a tingle right at the lower part of your belly, and Anakin is sure as hell aware of it.

“Shh,” He scolds you quietly. “You have to be a good Padawan. I have to take a look; now spread your legs wider.” He pinches your side a bit too harshly, making you flinch. “It’ll only take a second.”

“I swear, I didn’t lie!” You grab his wrist, “I’m pure; I’ve been a good girl, I promise!” You try to convince him; you try to make him believe, and it’s so so frustrating because it’s actually the truth that he refuses to accept.

“Then why are you so scared, hm? If you aren’t a filthy liar and your pussy is still tight, why are you resisting?” His voice is more forceful now; he yanks your body towards himself to keep you still.

Anakin proceeds to push a knee between your thighs, kicking your feet apart. He finally manages to free you from the belt that was holding your robes together. He brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Open your mouth, baby. Have to lube it down there, wouldn’t want it to ache now, would we?”

He lets out a satisfied ‘mmm’ when you comply with his request. It’s better than having his digits forced into your mouth anyway. He glides his ring and middle fingers across your tongue, pressing on it and gathering spit. “That’s it, have to get a bit deeper.” He pushes past the major knuckles, and your throat spasms.

He pulls out soon enough after you start pathetically whimpering from the tears forming in your eyes. A string of saliva connects the pink of your lips with his fingertips. He holds you tightly to himself when his wettened hand slides down your abdomen into the sweetness of your panties.

“There we— Oh… Oh, honey…” He whispers into your ear as his fingers make contact with your slit; his voice drops way lower than before. He nuzzles the soft part behind your ear and takes a deep breath. “It’s already pretty creamy here, mmm?” He circles right at your entrance, juices mixing with spit, ruining your precious lace. “You want to tell Master something?”

“I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean it!” You start babbling excuses, not too sure yourself of how you even got so fucking drenched from your master violating your personal space. “Master, please, it doesn’t mean anything; I’m still chaste!”

“I know, I know, my sweetest... Maker, you’re so wet, so wet for master, aren’t you?” He consoles you, and you can’t decide which feels better, his cooing voice or the fact that he’s grazing your folds with such intensity. “Yeah…. Is my little Padawan aroused from me forcing my hand down her pants? You really want that tiny cunt stretched, don’t you?”

“N-no, stop… That’s— It’s wrong!” You try to pull his hand away, but to respond to your annoying whines, he presses his thumb onto your swollen clit and your knees buckle.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? I know it does. It’s okay; we won’t tell anyone.” You can feel his arm supporting most of your body, which is slowly going limp from the heat in your core. “Be quiet now and let master fuck a few orgasms into you, yeah?”

[jaythes1mp]

5070 words, 29086 characters, 239 sentences, 116 paragraphs, 20.3 pages. Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae @wpdarlingpan @dhanyasri @tojislvrr @phoenixgurl030 @mel-star636 @lilyalone @lavender-moony

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

Please send me requests. I love writing but I can only do it with actual ideas to motivate me🙏

On your late-night journey home, you're cornered by one of the numerous street criminals prowling the streets of this cursed city. Getting mugged in Gotham isn't anything out of the ordinary, but even still, you can't help but feel surprised. It seemed that strangely enough, the past four years, thugs had begun to avoid you like the plague.

This was a situation you hadn't found yourself in since you were just a fifteen-year-old kid, still struggling to find your footing in the grimy underbelly of Gotham.

The street thug pinned you against the wall, holding you in place while her accomplice jabbed the cold barrel of a gun against your head.

Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, fear and panic clawing their way up your spine. Your breath hitched in your throat, a cold sweat pricking at your skin as you instinctively raised your hands in surrender.

As the cold metal of the gun was pressed harshly against your temple, you fought to tamp down the tremors shaking your body. You knew that any wrong move could spell disaster, so you forced yourself to remain still, praying that the thugs would be merciful enough to let you free.

Your mind raced as thoughts of the worst-case scenarios flickered through your mind. The thug with the gun pressed against your head sneered, her grip on your shoulder growing tighter as she spat out a threat.

The sheer terror you felt in that moment was overwhelming, threatening to swallow you whole. The harsh reality of the situation settled on your shoulders like a crushing weight. You were all too aware that you had no experience in dealing with situations like this, leaving you feeling vulnerable and powerless. Your eyes squeezed closed, a lump forming in your throat.

The rough brick of the wall dug into your chest, the cool air of the night doing nothing to soothe the panicked frenzy of your heart. The thug's hand on your shoulder was a vice-like grip, their fingers digging deep into your flesh.

In times like these, you regretted ever turning down the self-defense classes that your old employer had offered. The weight of that decision settled heavily on your shoulders as you longed to have the skills to protect yourself from the imminent danger.

You silently berated yourself for your naivety and carelessness. It had been foolish to believe that just because the villains had avoided you for the past few years, you would be safe from any harm. Yet, here you were, pressed against a wall, a gun held to your head by street thugs.

As your thoughts ran wild, your mind spiraled into a whirlpool of grim possibilities. The thought of your friends' reactions to your potential death played through your mind - the pain and grief they would feel upon losing you. You wondered if Damian would be upset about his sketchbook, the most constant connection you had to him. If Jason would be filled with anger at the inconvenience of tidying up your belongings, if your... no. She’d probably find relief in your absence... You wondered if Tim would shed tears in sadness. The image of him crying, tears streaming down his face, left a bitter taste in your mouth. Then you thought of Bruce. Would he be disappointed you never got to accept his offer? Your thoughts spiralled as you got increasingly more upset. Who was going to feed your pet turtle...? Would she think you abandoned her?

The weight of those unanswered questions gnawed at your thoughts, the possible reactions of your friends, pet, and the people who had offered you a place to call home. Your mind latched onto the image of them crying, the thought of any of their tears causing a pang of anguish to settle deep within your chest. You didn't want to imagine your friends' pain upon your loss, but the what-ifs haunted your mind like a relentless ghost.

The rough bricks of the wall dug into your chest, the sharp edges of the broken and uneven surface biting into your vulnerable flesh. The cold, unforgiving metal of the gun against your skull pressed further against your skin, an imminent threat hanging in the air. You clenched your teeth together, fighting to hold back a whimper that threatened to escape from the back of your throat.

Damian's heart raced in his chest, thumping out a rapid rhythm against his ribcage. Disbelief and anger twisted his features into a fierce scowl. From his stealthy perch on a nearby rooftop, he had silently tracked your movements throughout the night, his gaze never straying far from your form. But now, as he watched intently as you were cornered by a bunch of worthless thugs, his protective instincts surged through his veins. How dare these lowly criminals think they had the right to touch you?! Especially after all the efforts he had expended to ensure your safety. You were his sibling.

The sight of you in danger ignited a fire within him, burning hot with both rage and protectiveness. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. How could he have let this happen? He had been so careful, making sure to keep watch over you from a distance, and yet here you were, at the mercy of criminals who were nothing but scum. His fingers dug into the edge of the rooftop, the urge to leap down and intervene overpowering his self-control. He didn’t have to think twice before swinging into action.

Damian swiftly made his way toward you, propelled by the rooftops with practiced ease. The cool night air kissed his face as he bounded between buildings, his agility and precision a testament to his years of training. He remained hidden from view, his black, yellow and grey costume blending into the shadows, allowing him to quietly approach the scene unnoticed.

As he drew nearer, he could hear the thug's threats, the cold barrel of the gun pressing closer to your head. His temper flared, a dangerous heat building in his chest. These worthless lowlifes were going to pay for putting you in danger.

Robin, perched high above, kept a vigilant eye on the unfolding scene. Every word from the thug's mouth only fueled his anger. He assessed the area, taking in every detail with a cold, calculated gaze. The street was eerily silent, devoid of any other souls. No potential witnesses or interruptions to hinder his intervention. This moment was perfect. A chance to make these pathetic thugs pay for their audacity. They dared to touch what was his.

Each breath Damian took was measured and steady, his heart drumming steadily in his chest. He knew he had to act swiftly and with precision. He couldn't afford any mistakes. You were his responsibility – his blood. No one was allowed to touch you. No one.

Robin’s muscles coiled, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger. His eyes flickered between the thugs and their guns, mentally calculating the best course of action. His instincts were on high alert, every fibre of his being focused on the mission: protecting you.

He’ll make a mental note to have you under tighter security starting in the immediate future.

With a final, calculated assessment, Robin silently prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation. He would protect you at all costs. The thought of you getting hurt, because of his carelessness, was unacceptable. He would eliminate these fools before they could even think to touch you again.

The woman holding you, pinned your arms behind your back in a rough and painful grip. Their hold was unyielding, causing your arms to bend in an unnatural and uncomfortable position. You couldn't help but let out a small, pained whimper, the sharpness of the maneuver making you wince.

Your eyes pinched shut, and you forced yourself to take deep, measured breaths. It was your attempt to steady yourself, to hold back the wave of panic and fear that was overtaking you.

Your chest heaved with the force of each breath, trying to regulate your racing heart. A small shiver ran through your body, the fear and helplessness of the situation gnawing at the edges of your mind. The pressure of the woman's grip on your arms made you want to squirm and struggle, but you steeled yourself against the natural inclination.

Robin, like a silent wraith, leaped into action. His katanas moved in a blur, swiping the gun away from the goons' grasps before they could even register the movement. His presence was both dangerous and deadly, every muscle tensed and coiled like a predator ready to pounce. His sharp, grey eyes fixated on the thugs, a silent warning in their depths.

A sharp gasp slipped past your lips as the cold metal of the gun abruptly lifted away from your head. The sound of it banging loudly against the gritty, dirtied concrete ground echoed through the air, the sudden absence releasing a tiny bit of the tension that had been coiling painfully in your chest.

You stayed still, barely breathing, your body locked in the woman's tight and cruel grasp. Her hold on you was unrelenting, an indication that any wrong move would result in snapped bones. You couldn't turn your head to see what was happening, fear and pain keeping you rooted in place.

The woman's grip on your arms tightened, a painful reminder of the danger of any movement. You were trapped, unable to see what was happening behind you. Every instinct screamed at you to fight, to struggle and get away, but the fear of severe injury made you hold yourself perfectly still. The only thing you could do was remain in this terrifying, vulnerable position.

Robin's mouth curled into a snarl, his anger flaring as he saw you trapped in the woman's grasp. Your small gasp of relief at the gun being removed from your face only fueled his rage. How dare these pathetic humans touch you, his sibling, his family, without any regard for your safety and wellbeing. The thought alone filled him with anger he had trouble controlling. He had failed you.

As Robin stood before the thugs, his katanas held at the ready, he locked his gaze with the woman holding you in her iron grip. His eyes darkened with a fierce intensity, a silent challenge in their depths.

Robin's gaze, burning with righteous anger, fixated on the woman who held you captive. The air around him crackled with a dangerous aura, his muscles coiled tensely as he held himself back from pouncing on the pitiful excuse for a human being in front of him.

The woman holding you in an iron grip was clearly an amateur, her sloppy and harsh moves betraying her lack of experience. She seemed to rely on brute strength, rather than skill, to overpower her victims.

Her careless and overly aggressive approach was a stark contrast to Robin's years of training and discipline. He took in every detail, every movement and expression, noting the flaws in her techniques. She was like a novice facing a seasoned warrior. It was downright pitiful.

To Robin, the woman's every move stank of amateurishness. Her clumsy and brute force tactics were as subtle as a bull in a china shop. It was clear that she had never received any formal combat training; relying solely on the ability to intimidate and overpower her victims. In comparison, Robin was a paragon of discipline, control, and skill. The difference in their approaches could not be more stark. She was insulting you for even thinking someone like her could ever be in your presence.

The woman's lack of finesse and skill made Robin's blood boil. She was like a pathetic child playing at being a thug, an insult to the name of criminals everywhere. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck taut with restrained anger. He could see her flaws from a mile away, her amateur tactics screaming for correction. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, his mind racing with possible ways to take her down without harming you further.

Robin's intense gaze continued to pierce through the woman holding you. He was like a coiled spring, his muscles tense and taut, ready to pounce at the very next moment. He couldn't help but feel a sense of revulsion as he observed her sloppy moves. This is the type of amateur who would get themselves killed in Gotham in the blink of an eye. His anger flared further as he saw how carelessly she was handling you, her fingers digging into your flesh in a painfully tight grip.

For a brief moment, he considered just knocking the woman unconscious and freeing you from her grip. But then, with a cruel and calculated grin, a different thought occurred to him. He wanted to teach her a lesson. Maybe if she was truly frightened, she might actually learn something.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, Robin tossed one of his throwing stars at the ground, the sharp and sudden movement drawing the woman's attention. Startled by the sound, she turned her head to look at the star, her grip on you loosening just a fraction.

Robin seized the opportunity, and in the blink of an eye, he moved behind her, his footsteps so silent that they made no sound.

The woman's eyes widened as she realized Robin's presence behind her, but before she could turn to face him, he had her by the throat, his hand encircling her airway in a firm grip.

As Robin observed your trembling form, your eyes still squeezed tightly closed, his heart clenched in his chest. He could see the fear and helplessness your body was radiating and it infuriated him. You looked like a terrified animal caught in a trap, desperately trying to hide from your captor. The thought of how scared you must be only served to fuel his obsession. You needed their protection.

Robin's grip on the woman's throat tightened as he drew her closer to him, his face inches from her ear. His voice was low and filled with a dangerous edge as he snarled, "You dare lay a hand on MY family and think you'll get away with it? You're a pathetic excuse for a thug."

The ringing in your ears and the shortness of your breath is all you can focus on, having not heard the boy’s words. Luckily for him.

Seeing that you were still too scared to open your eyes or listen, Robin tightened his grip even further on the woman, his eyes narrowing as he leaned his head closer to her ear. "You thought you could get away with this? Pathetic."

As the woman began to struggle in his grip, her eyes widened as she realized the severity of the situation. Fear and panic filled her gaze, and her chest began to heave with labored breaths. Robin took a sadistic pleasure in seeing her fearful reaction. He smirked, his grip unwavering.

He was enjoying this. Teaching this low-life a lesson was like music to his ears. He wanted her to be terrified, to feel the same fear she had inflicted on you. You were his family. His.

As the woman gasped for air, her attempts to break free growing more frantic, Robin leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching her ear. The smirk on his face only grew wider. "Not so strong now, are you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery.

As the woman's grip on you suddenly loosened in panic, it caused you to lose your balance and fall unceremoniously onto your knees with a thump. The sudden movement startled you, freezing you in fright. Your limbs locked up in response to the sudden movement, leaving you vulnerable and exposed as you knelt on the dirtied ground.

Robin's heart stopped as he saw you fall to the ground with a thump. His eyes widened briefly, his grip on the woman loosening slightly in shock. He watched as you knelt on the ground, frozen in fear and vulnerability.

His protective instincts flared up, and he had to suppress the urge to immediately rush to your side. Instead, he forced himself to remain focused, keeping the woman pinned in his grip.

Robin's sharp gaze snapped from the woman to you as he heard the thud of you falling to your knees. Concern immediately replaced his previous satisfaction. He could see the terror freezing up your body, rendering you frozen and vulnerable.

He gritted his teeth, feeling a mixture of anger and worry. He needed to get you out of this situation, preferably without causing you further stress or harm. His grip on the woman tightened again, cutting off her panicked gasps as he held her at bay.

With a quick, sharp jerk, he slammed her against the wall, the force knocking the breath out of her lungs. "Stay still," he commanded, his voice harsh and authoritative.

He then turned his attention to you, quickly crossing the distance between you. He crouched down in front of you, his eyes flicking over your form, assessing for any signs of injury.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his voice a stark contrast to the harshness of moments ago. He reached out a hand, gently touching your shoulder as he tried to coax you out of your frozen state.

You looked up, your eyes wide with surprise and wonder, as you took in the sight of the young vigilante towering above you. Your throat closed up for a brief moment, your mind struggling to fully believe that it was indeed Robin, the Robin, standing before you.

You managed to force out a meek whisper, the word barely audible. "Robin...?"

In your current frightened and bewildered state, there are a million questions and thoughts running through your mind. In a normally clear state of mind, you would have jumped at the chance to ask the Boy Wonder for an interview. In this moment, however, the only thing you manage to let out is a hesitant whisper, his name. Your mind trying to piece together the reality of the situation.

Robin knelt down in front of you, watching as realisation flooded your eyes. He could almost see the thoughts spinning through your mind like a whirlwind. For a brief moment, he was thankful for your stunned silence. It gave him a chance to assess the situation without being bombarded by a thousand questions.

He watched you take in his presence, your gaze wide and filled with wonder and disbelief. The word 'Robin' escapes your lips in a barely audible whisper.

He nods slowly, acknowledging your tentative recognition, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

He could see the questions brimming behind your lips, but to his surprise, you remain silent. It seemed your fear had rendered you speechless, and for a moment, he found himself relieved. It gave him a few precious seconds to focus on the task at hand: getting you out of danger safely. He gave your shoulder a firm, gentle squeeze, his voice remaining hushed as to not startle you further.

"I'm here, you're safe." He tried to keep his tone calm.

Robin swiftly scooped you up, pulling you against his chest in an easy movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to pause, relishing the feeling of having you so close to him. His heart beat fast and loud in his chest, an undercurrent of fierce protectiveness and possessiveness rushing through him. The thugs already forgotten, as he now focused solely on getting you to safety.

As he quickly leaped from one roof to the next, never slowing his pace, he spoke, his voice low and even. "Where do you live?" He’s already running in the direction.

He kept a firm but gentle grip on you, making sure that you were held safe and secure in his arms as he ran. The wind whipped around you, cool and exhilarating, as Robin navigated the Gotham rooftops with practiced ease. He repeated his question, his tone now slightly more demanding, as he continued traversing through the city.

You tried your best to gather yourself, blinking against the cool night air buffeting your face as Robin held you against his chest. Your voice was soft and slightly shaky as you spoke, the wind attempting to carry your words away.

"Just... just around the corner.."

Robin nodded, accepting the information without question. His strides didn't slow as he continued moving, the muscles in his legs propelling him forward with trained speed.

The city lights flashed by as Robin swiftly carried you through the maze-like labyrinth of Gotham's rooftops. His strides were long and purposeful, his movements fluid and precise. His arms held you firmly, one hand tucked under your legs and the other looped around your back.

Despite the circumstances and the speed at which you were moving, he took great care not to jostle you any more than necessary. It was clear that you were in pain and scared, and he wanted to minimize any further distress.

“... thank you.”

As you murmured your thanks, Robin's heart clenched in his chest. The pure gratitude in your voice was a stark contrast to the vulnerability and fear he could feel in your trembling form. He wanted so badly to respond, to tell you how much you meant to him, how much he was willing to do to protect you, but he remained quiet. He had to stick to their plan. Right now, he was solely focused on getting you home, where you would be safe from harm. His arms wrap tighter around you. He gives a simple nod in response.

You lifted your hand slightly, carefully pointing in the direction of your apartment balcony. The gesture was small, but it was enough for Robin to understand your meaning.

Without a word, he altered his course, angling his body to head towards the balcony you had indicated. Each leap and bound over the city skyline brought him closer to your apartment, the destination in sight.

Despite his casual demeanor, Robin was fully aware of the path they were taking. Years of patrol and countless hours of study had etched the city's layout into his memory, a map constantly present in the recesses of his mind.

He could flawlessly navigate the maze of Gotham's buildings, his muscles and movements guided solely by pure instinct. Every twist and turn was memorized, a testament to his extensive knowledge and dedication.

As they approached your apartment, he adjusted his hold on you, preparing to make the final leap onto the balcony.

With a final powerful bound, Robin lands on the balcony gently, steadying you against his chest. He carefully lowers you to the ground, his hands lingering on your body for a moment longer than necessary, as if ensuring you were truly safe and sound.

He takes a moment to glance around the vicinity, his eyes scanning the area for any potential threats. The Gotham night is relatively quiet, the sounds of the city reduced to a hushed hum in the background.

Once satisfied that the area is clear, he turns his attention back to you. He takes a step back, giving you a moment of space. His eyes watch you closely, searching for any signs of distress or injury.

He lifts a hand, reaching out to gently touch your cheek. His touch is gentle, but his voice is firm. Emerald eyes searching your form. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

Despite his mask concealing his face, the concern in his voice is palpable. He takes a step closer to you, his hands moving to your shoulders as he steadies you against him. His gaze remains fixed on you.

You gently shook your head, a small, reassuring grin playing at your lips. Despite your earlier fear, you were clearly feeling somewhat better. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rushing through you, or the simple fact that you were safe now.

Robin noticed the shift in your expression, a slight furrow forming between his eyebrows as he looked down at you. He could feel the tension slowly draining out of your body.

Robin observed the small smile on your face, his eyes studying you closely. The brief moment of relief he felt at your reassurance was quickly replaced by a sense of caution. He could see the adrenaline still coursing through you, but he knew from experience that it was a temporary high. The fear would return sooner or later.

He nodded, accepting your answer but still feeling a small pang of unease. "Are you sure you’re okay?" he repeated, his hands still on your shoulders.

Your brows raise in slight disheveled amusement. This was the infamous arrogant vigilante? You call bull.

“Yeah, I’m alright now. Thank you.”

Robin's eyes narrow slightly at the amusement in your tone. Despite your gratitude, he can sense your slightly disbelieving and slightly amused. For a moment, he wonders if you are treating him like a kid playing dress-up.

He straightens up, his grip on your shoulders tightening ever so slightly. He cocks his head to the side, his voice a mix of annoyance and determination.

"What's so funny?" he asks, the slightest hint of defensiveness in his tone.

Despite the irritation in his voice, there's a hint of vulnerability. He's not used to being questioned, especially not by someone he feels responsible for. He wants to be taken seriously, to be seen as more than just a young boy playing at being a hero.

He takes a step closer to you, his gaze never leaving your face. "I'm serious. You could’ve been seriously hurt," he says, his voice stern. He's not used to expressing his emotions openly, but the thought of you in danger is making his typically controlled facade start to crumble.

You bite your tongue, holding back the sarcastic remarks and jokes that usually come so easily to you. You were well aware of how close you had come to serious danger, and the severity of the situation.

Robin can see the restrained smirk, the flicker of a joke on your lips, and it irks him more than the actual sarcasm. He's used to dealing with sarcastic criminals and sarcastic bats, but the thought of you making light of your own safety is frustrating. He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his annoyance under control.

"This is no joke," he finally says, his voice firm. "What you did was stupid. Walking alone in Gotham at night."

Robin's eyes held a mixture of emotions, anger and frustration and worry and protectiveness. But beneath it all, he was most angry and frustrated with himself. He should have been there sooner, he should have been able to stop those thugs before they even got close to you. This event was only proving to him what he already knew - you were not safe in the city, not without someone to protect you. They needed to speed up with their plan before he goes insane.

He withdrew his hand from your cheek, the loss of his touch leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. He fidgeted with his utility belt, a nervous habit.

"I have to go." He murmured, his voice low and laced with a hint of reluctance. His eyes scanned over you one more time, mentally committing your features to memory. It was as if he were trying to memorize every detail, every curve and contour of your face.

"Be sure not to walk alone at night. Or ever." The last words came out as more of a command than a warning, a hint of desperation laced in his tone.

Before you could even think of a response or express your gratitude, Robin had already vanished into the night, leaving you standing alone on your balcony.

Despite the circumstances, a soft, almost wistful grin crept across your lips as you replayed the events of the night in your mind. Despite the danger and the near brush with violence, you couldn't shake the thrill of meeting the young vigilante, the Batman’s associate himself.

Even though you didn't get to ask all the questions you wanted, the encounter was still something exciting.

You silently crept into your room, taking care to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake Jason who was probably asleep in his room down the hall. You shrugged off your bag and jacket, discarding them to the side before crawling into the safety and warmth of your bed. You bring your hand out to tap softly against the glass of your turtles enclosure as a silent good night, cuddling further under the blankets.

Feeling the comfortable weight of the sheets surrounding you, you let out a soft sigh, already feeling the exhaustion starting to pull at your eyelids. Unaware of the chaos that was brewing at Wayne Manor, nor the many sets of watchful eyes observing you through the carefully placed cameras that dotted the room.

The cameras strategically placed throughout your room recorded every subtle movement as you got yourself settled into bed. Every blink and every shift was captured in sharp, high-definition video, the images streaming directly to the computer screens at Wayne Manor.

In the depths of the batcave, the video feeds played on several large screens, each one displaying a different angle of your room.

Multiple figures looking over the room full of monitors, displaying your every breath, every toss and turn as you drifted off to sleep. Watching each and every twitch, each flutter of your eyelashes.

The silence in the batcave was heavy, only disrupted by the soft hum of the computer equipment and the occasional murmur between the group of figures huddled in front of the bank of monitors.

Each screen showed a different angle of your room, the camera feeds streaming smoothly, giving an intimate view of your every movement. Every breath, every twitch, was recorded, observed and analyzed by the watchful eyes monitoring you. Every inch of your room was on display, the cameras capturing even the tiniest detail.

Even in your sleep, you were still being watched.

No use of y/n, no descriptive features for reader, no mention of gender.

Does anyone have any ideas for the name of your pet turtle?

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

CHAPTER TWO:

You two were a tangle of tipsy limbs, moving constantly. At some point in the night, you had found yourself on top of him, skin to skin, with no barrier between the two of you; Kento felt like he was drowning in you. It was a push-and-pull movement. A dance of some sort, with you straddling him, helping him guide his dick into your dripping cunt, that squeezed in anticipation for him.

Nanami knew he wouldn’t last long, but as he sunk into you, the idea of even holding in the waves of pleasure that drowned him was impossible. 

He came hard and loud; fat globs of his semen shot into you and seeped out with the continued slamming of his hips. Kento didn’t even get a chance to moan your name before he was cumming again. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He gasped, eyes rolled to the back, and his head dug deep into your neck, licking a strip of sweat that coated your skin. His hands squeezed at your plush flesh so hard you knew you would feel the linger of his pints on you days from now. Kento didn’t even need to ask before you were giving him more and more and m–

Waking up to damp pants is something that Kento hadn’t done in years, and it was just as mortifying today as it was when he was fourteen. His fists still clung to the pillows near him, and his thighs were sore from chafing. The man could only assume the worst, which was that he humped his sheets like a depraved whore, to a wet dream about a woman he knew nothing about.

How perfect.

Kento got to his feet, ignoring the sticky feeling of his orgasm, clinging to his pajama pants to his dick, which was still undeniably challenging. The man moved to pull off his sheets and threw them in a basket to deal with later.

Nanami had placed you in his spare room with some old clothes and a toothbrush, hoping you would be sober enough to change yourself; he left you there with a simple goodnight, not turning back to see if you had closed the door on him or waiting for the sound of the door's lock clicking. 

Kento stripped and went to the bathroom, not daring to leave his room. He wouldn’t dare face you right now, not with a boner and a very obvious cum stain painting his pants. But it wasn’t just his appearance that kept him away from you; it was the sheer fact that you, for some reason, occupied his dreams and made him ruin his bed sheets. 

How could he even try to look you in the eye after that? Nanami’s idea was to wait you out, hoping you would leave in an embarrassed rush out his door with nothing but a note, email, or nothing at all, just the soft scent of your skin lingering in his room.  And even though a small part of him hoped you had stayed, a tiny part of him chose to squash that feeling down to the deepest depths of his soul, where memories of believing in Santa and monsters under the bed went—a place where the hopes of romance went to die a long time ago.

Cold showers should work. Nanami has never had to take one, but he knows they should. It isn’t, though, and in fact, all it was doing was increasing Kento’s chances of coming down with something. Moving the shower controls to the hot side, Kento decided to take things into his own hands. If a cold shower wasn’t going to get rid of his pulsating problem, he would just have to get rid of it himself.

As his hand moved to tug at his cock, images of you and only you seemed to fill his mind. Kento, of course, had masturbated before; the act was nothing new to him. But pleasuring himself was more of a distraction or stress relief. A brief act to clear his mind or pass the time. It was rarely ever a thing of lust. So as he let his eyes roll back and his mouth part open, almost letting out a loud moan, he didn't try to stop himself from picturing you before him, perfectly naked and prettily sitting on your knees as you went to pleasure him.

Kento could almost feel the heat of your skin coming off of you, hear the sounds of your gags as he pushed himself deeper into your throat. Each groan that left him was because of you, your voice, your body, and that stupid birthday cake. He tried his best to keep his moans in; he did, but as he came, the whisper of your name left him, following closely behind a long, drawn-out moan. 

Kento felt faint, and tired all over again.

“Christ,” he whispered, letting the hot shower water wash over him. It felt as though he was losing his mind. How you had this much power over him, he didn’t know, but if this were going to be a recurring thing, he would need to find a new way to get rid of his not-so-little problem if he would have to see you almost every day at work.

***

Fortunately, when he stepped out of his room, gray sweats and white shirt on, you were nowhere to be seen. The door was still shut, so he couldn’t tell if you were there, but he would not check. Kento made his way to the kitchen and began making breakfast. 

Once done, he went to the spare room; each step felt like walking through cement. “What would he even say to you?” He thought as he now stood at the door, the only barrier between the two of you if you were even in there. But it swung open before he could figure out how to talk to you or even knock on the door. And there you stood, tired and hungry. Nanami’s figure loomed over yours as you rubbed your eyes of any remaining sleep.

Kento Nanami never imagined that the first time a woman would be in his apartment wearing his clothes would be with a coworker he barely knew. But here you were, wearing one of his old university tees and gym shorts and looking devastatingly beautiful in Kento’s eyes.

“Mr. Nanami?” You blinked at him.

“Miss, Y/N, you are awake,” Kento said, hands full of water, painkillers, and breakfast. “This is for you.” He raised his hands slightly to emphasize the toast and eggs. But before you could take the tray and embarrassingly turn away back into the spare room, he walked to the kitchen, tilting his head and telling you to follow him. 

And as he set everything down on his table and pulled out a chair for you at the head of the table, you couldn’t help but stare at him. It wasn’t the tiredness that made you want to inspect every muscle that seemed to cling to his white tee, which was a size too small, in your opinion. And you couldn’t blame the staring on being drunk, either. It was all you, all you and your sex-depraved mind that seemed to make your eyes rake him, once or twice or maybe even thrice, as he got you situated at his dining table.

“I didn’t know if you were still here, but I made breakfast just in case,” Kento said, sitting beside you with his plate of food, keeping his eyes away from your face with every word spoken. 

“Thank you.” You responded quietly, shuffling your way to the food and medicine, and passed the man you had only known for fifteen hours.

“Kento, with a hint of concern in his voice, offered, ‘If it isn’t to your tastes, I don’t mind whipping up something new or even dashing downstairs. A grocery store is right beneath us, catering to all building tenants.’ His gaze, for the first time since you dozed off on the train, met your face.

“No! No. It is fine. Perfect, actually.” 

Even without conversation, the silence between you and your companion was far from awkward. It felt quite natural to exist in this small, quiet bubble that the two of you currently occupied. It was as though the simple act of waking up and eating breakfast was something you had done a thousand times before and would do a million times again. 

“You can use my bathroom to wash up,” Kento said as he collected your plates, 

“Oh, don’t worry about me; I just got a taxi. I will wash up when I get home.”

“Oh.” A slight frown painted his face before his expression turned neutral and distant. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to hold you up here on such a beautiful Saturday morning.”

“Thank you. Truly, Mr. Nanami.” You smiled slightly as you retreated to your room to pick up your clothes. “

“I only did what any person should have.”

“Just because they should doesn’t mean they would have. So thank you again.” 

As you stood at his apartment door, you rose on your tiptoes and kissed him, a quick peck on the outskirts of his lips. One that expressed gratitude for his unwavering kindness, and quelled the growing desire that had been stirring within you, urging you to just kiss him already. It wasn’t a passionate, clothes-on-the-floor kind of kiss, or one where your tongues collided. Yet, it conveyed exactly what you needed it to.

“Thank you, I hope we can do this again,” whatever this was.

But for Kento, this kiss burned into his skin like hot iron on leather. The invisible marking of you had been placed on him, and now Kento Nanami was sure that he would never be able to get rid of it.

But you were gone before he could hold you in his arms and ask you to do it again and again and a thousand more times after that.

Preview...

“You make it seem like I am some kind of succubus.”

“You might as well be Y/N.”

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CHAPTER THREE UPLOADED

[imyourbratzdoll]

Hi!! Could you please do a Henry Cavill x Reader where she goes to surprise him while he’s filming Justice League but she gets the surprise when she sees his big body and hairy chest. Maybe he surprises her with himself in his superman suit ;) smut

hey honey! sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it.

summary - you go to surprise your husband on set and get a surprise yourself.

warning - smut, swearing, creampie, whore, aftercare.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You had dressed in your prettiest sundress, planning on surprising your husband while he was on set. You’ve been face-timing, calling and texting, but you haven’t been able to feel him in so long. You loved that he was passionate about his job and playing Superman, but damn, you were jealous. You made your way over, smiling at the guard and headed to your husband's trailer. You had a big smile on your face as you headed inside before your mouth dropped open, and drool began to build at the sight in front of you. 

Henry turns, having been pulling his Superman costume on before you walked in. Your eyes slowly move down his body, landing on his large hairy chest, and your tongue flicks out, wetting your suddenly dry lips before your eyes move further down, catching the enormous bulge that causes your cunt to throb and slicken. “H–hi, baby… I came to surprise you.” You gulp, eyes slowly moving back up his body and landing on his smirking face.

“I can see that.” He walks over, large hands landing on your hips as he looks down at you. “Don’t you know it’s rude to walk in without knocking, sugar?” You whimper as he pushes his bulge against you, biting your lip and looking up at him with innocent eyes. “My beautiful wife came to surprise me. Aren’t I lucky?” You nod, mind already becoming fuzzy from being in his presence. “I should thank my little wife.” You continue to nod, whimpering when he picks you up and presses you into the wall, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. “No knickers, sugar? Were you expecting this?” He groans, swiping his thick fingers against your dripping cunt before quickly freeing his rock-hard member, grunting as he strokes it, feeling it pulse and throb, his swollen tip leaking with pre-cum before he lines it up with your entrance. “Are you ready, baby?” 

“Y–yes, please, Henry!” Your head flies back into the wall, and a loud moan escapes you as he pushes in swiftly, filling your tight cunt with his monstrous cock. “H–Hen, so big… So full.” Your mouth falls open, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he pounds roughly into you, pushing you further into the wall and gripping your hips. 

“Yeah, baby. Gone all dumb, huh?” His forehead rests against yours, “You’re so tight. You’ve missed my cock haven’t you, baby? Missed me filling you every night.” Your head moves up and down as you nod, whimpering. Your nails dig into his muscular flesh, whining as he picks up his pace. The sound of skin slapping fills the trailer. His grunts and your moans can be heard across the set. Henry buries his face into your neck, leaving behind marks as he buries himself balls deep inside your cunt. “Feel so good wrapped around me, baby. Do you think you can cum for me?” You nod, connecting your lips with his in a messy kiss. Henry growls and moves back, gripping your chin between his fingers. “Words, whore.”

“Yes! Yes! Please let me cum, Henry!” He changes the angle, pounding into your sweet spot, his other hand moving between the two of you and rubbing your puffy clit. He brings you back into a messy kiss, and your moans become mixed. “So close! Please!” 

“Cum, sugar. Cum so I can fill you up.” Your vision becomes white, walls squeezing tightly around his throbbing member as you cum. Your arousal shoots out of you and coats Henry in your cream. His pace becomes frantic before he feels his balls tighten, and Henry empties thick amounts of cum deep into you. You cling to him, falling limp into his arms and faintly feel him carrying you over to his bed. “Missed you, Hen.” You mumble.

Henry smiles, leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours before he grabs a damp cloth and begins to clean you. “I missed you too, sugar.” He grabs his phone, sending a quick text before stripping and crawling beside you, pulling you close to his body. “Missed you so much.” He presses a kiss into your head before the two of you drift off. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[wyvernest]

tú eres mi vida

( part 1) (next part)

pairing: miguel o'hara x wife!reader

warnings: a lot of fluff, suggestiveness, foreplay?

summary: with the opportunity of a surprise, miguel makes the most of your honeymoon

He walked away from the hammock with you, hanging over his shoulder, ass in the air, making sure to keep a large hand over it, both to conceal you from wandering eyes and to grope at the plump flesh every now and then.

All you're seeing is the beaten path through the shore's sand and the junction between the beach and the hotel's green gardens. He skips the alley leading to your room, your eyes widening in amusement. You know he's good with directions, as long as you're talking about the spider-verse. Otherwise, in the blissful comfort of your honeymoon, you may have caught him further away from the stoic, attentive leader he's gotten used to being.

"Miguel, baby, you missed it. It's that way." you giggle lightly, tapping his lower back, careful enough not to make him feel bad. The last thing you want to do is blow off his mood.

"I know." His tone is confident, teasing. Your chuckles are silenced abruptly at the reply, utter perplexity taking over you. All the places and facilities around the resort flash through your head one by one, none fitting for what you were intending to do. And you haven't discussed love-making in seawater yet, either.

"Where are we going then?" you inquire, after throughout accession of all possibilities.

"Paciencia, cariño. It's a surprise." He reveals, full of pride and excitement, voice lowered and playful. You shiver, gripping into his waist to support your upper body and look around, scanning for said surprise.

He gets to the entrance of the private beach, still not stopping. With a sudden jump, he hops on the pier, your weight secure over his shoulder. You can't deny the wetness gathering in your panties at the thought of how effortlessly he carries you around, showing everyone that you're his, and most importantly, that he's about to make the most of it.

You watch the waves crashing softly against the darkened wood of the pier, clear and cold. You feel the breeze blow up over your bare thighs, shivering. He runs a hand over the exposed skin, up underneath the fabric of your flimsy skirt, stopping shy of the small mound of your cunt. You squirm slightly, needing his touch up higher, but he retracts his wandering hand and tightens his grip over you.

Finally, he reaches the water bungalows. Small huts connected by piers in a web-like distribution. Your eyes fixate on the king-size bed sheltered by wooden walls on all sides, except for the one facing the sea. Open and free, white curtains flowed by the bed frames, carried on the wind's wings like sails on a ship.

His knees hit the bed before he lays you down on the soft, clean, white mattress, his back facing the open view. You shift under his shadow, scurrying back towards the bed frame, watching him crawl over to you, slow and methodical.

He grabs your ankles faster than the time it would’ve taken you to escape and rile him up further, pulling you under him so that he’s straddling your hips, holding you in place. You lift yourself on your elbows, attempting to move your legs out of the cage, gazing up at him.

“What d’you think?” He asks, toying with the elastic of your skirt.

“I’ve never been happier.”

You drop your head back down on the bed, having stopped fighting the impossible hold he’s forced you in, between his muscular thighs. He smiles sweetly, satisfied with himself.

“It’s been almost impossible to find one of these available. But now that I have you here,”, he bends down, an inch away from your face. His hot breath fans your mouth, and you take it all in, the scent of him, the fresh bedding, the sea breeze. Your eyelids fall heavy, and he closes the gap between you, kissing you slowly, unhurriedly, like you have all eternity to spend together in paradise, and you’re just getting started. And maybe that’s exactly what it is.

You taste his lips, strawberry sweet and ever loving, feeling your eyes roll back at the sensation. He cups your face with one hand, holding you from fainting, and you let him lead. You feel his body move against yours, yearning to be closer and closer. His happy trail rubs onto your stomach, skin to skin. Every ridge of his defined abdomen pushes down onto you, chest rising and falling with each breath.

Struggling to keep up with the kiss, you sense his hands drift lower, to your waist, and you flinch ever so slightly, muscle memory kicking in. You mentally pray that he won’t–

And he does. He resumes his earlier attack, tickling you and abusing all the sensitive and funny spots he knows so well.

You scream through the uncontrollable laughter, fragments of his name that he otherwise hears in a different context, but which he adores nonetheless. His grip loosens momentarily, and you slip away like a cobra in desert sand. Before you can manage to get up and make a run for it, he grabs onto your skirt, his talons ripping through the material, leaving you in your shirt and panties. You protest, but he’s quick to drag you back on the bed. He laughs wholeheartedly, pinning you to the white sheets. You’re more than certain that the racket can be heard from miles away, but you couldn’t care less.

In an attempt to shield yourself, you bring your arms to your sides, tears already rolling down your eyes as you’re running out of breath and energy. He stops, and squeezes his thighs around your waist. You’re not leaving.

As he gathers the white sheets, pulling them over you both, you try to ignore the weight of his half-hard cock that’s now resting on your midriff. Or not.

You run your hands up his burly thighs, over his hip bone and up his abdomen, feeling the muscles ripple with his movements. He gives you a knowing look, bringing the sheet over his head, trapping you in a semi-transparent cocoon.

“Who’s gonna see us? The fish?”, you manage to say, feeling the remnants of an explosive giggle kick back in right after you’ve calmed down.

“I’m not taking any chances. There are speedboats.” he mumbles, as he adjusts above you.

“They’re not allowed so close to the-” he cuts off the rest of the sentence, slamming his lips onto your once again, and just like earlier, he has you melting in his arms in no time. It’s almost embarrassing how he manages to surf you through emotions so quickly and effortlessly, but you blame it on the beauty of being utterly and irrevocably in love. His lips move against yours with expert ease and precision, stopping every now and then to breathe, barely breaking away, as your exhales mix together in desperation and fascination.

You wrap your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist, basking in the heat of his body radiating down on you. A groan reverberates in his chest at the action, resulting in him moaning in your mouth.

You continue to make out in the cool shade of the bungalow, sheltered from the blazing July sun, and every second you feel like it’s the first time again, butterflies in your stomach, heart about to burst.

When he finally parts from you, chest heaving, eyes half lidded, you feel as if you’ve been cut from a lifeline. He moves to your flushed cheeks, the kisses are open-mouthed and slow.

“Te amo. Tu eres mi alma”, he kisses below your temple, “mi corazón-”, he moves to your jaw and right below it, “-mi vida.”

He licks at your neck, kissing the sensitive skin with insistence, pressing himself closer to you.

“Y siempre lo serás.”

link to part one!

translations:

paciencia - patience

tú eres mi alma - you are my soul

y siempre lo serás - and always will be

a/n: ill do a part 3 i actually love this whole honeymoon idea:) i hope its at the very least a bit original with the bungalow and all that

ALSO if you're a native latin spanish speaker please correct me im here to learn and write him as well as i can<3

+thank you everyone for the AMAZING feedback ive received for the first part!! i really hope you like this one and the next just as much

taglist:

@cooch1ecruncher @nvkdjnvjkd @tsukkie-daisuke @noahspector

(it won't let me tag everyone, sorry if i missed you)

[acapelladitty]

Smoke Them All

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Summary: Not content with the litany of bruises and bite marks which he has littered across your skin, Cooper decides on something a little more permanent. (2.2k words)

(tw for: spanking, rough play, branding, fingering, orgasm, pain kink, dom/sub dynamics, subspace, allusions to cannibalism, cum eating, mild aftercare)

You hear the swish of his hand as it arcs through the air a split moment before the connecting smack rings out loudly and fresh fire flares in your unprotected ass.

"That's eight, little killer." Cooper muses as his open palm comes to settle against your skin, the flesh feeling raw and heated due to his vicious strikes, and his fingers trace the unseen outlines of his hand prints as they litter your ass. "You're almost warmed up for the main event."

Anxiety laced with a wicked arousal floods your groin, your cunt feeling slippery and neglected as you consider the small metal brand which sits in the nearby fire - the end balanced where the fire was at it hottest to ensure a clean imprint.

The brand had been his idea, a casual and sleazy comment given life by your own curiosity, but the spanking was just an added boon and Cooper was never one to deny himself the chance to dole out a little bit of good ol' fashioned discipline when the mood suited him.

So here you were, braced over his lap as the evening moon shone high in the sky. The surrounding area was dead of life, raiders and monsters having been long snuffed out, and any potential new onlookers had been provided their chance to scarper at the presence of the infamous ghoul. It was luck that the night air wasn't too chilled, not that it would have made a difference to either of you as you set about your combined goal.

The first few strikes had been pretty manageable as Cooper targeted different parts of your ass, quickly and efficiently trying to cover and redden up as much skin as possible while his other hand pinned your lower back to his knees. His tattered jacket flared out from behind him, the ratty ends touching the ground just beside your own fingers as you pressed them against the ground to keep balance.

Cooper, however, hadn't been as impressed with your easy management of his punishment.

C'mon now, little songbird, I want to hear that lovely voice.

And his efforts had quickly doubled as he brought his hand down with much more violence, the next two strikes coming in rapid succession as they glanced off the fullest part of your ass and stole the breath from your lungs. It was like being struck by metal. Hard. Unforgiving. And so fucking good.

He got the reaction he wanted as your playful groans dissolved into pathetic squeals when his fingers groped at the stinging flesh, your knees pulling together as you smeared the growing wetness that was developing between your thighs. The following hits were much the same, his accurate hand having targeted the same patch of skin until you could feel the heat buzzing free of the abused flesh as small whimpers stole from your throat freely.

"You're lucky I ain't using my belt, darling." Cooper growls as he disrupts your thoughts, tugging at your hair to force your head back enough to gaze up at him. "Cause the welts that leaves would paint you purple for a week and give you a harsh reminder of it every time that fine ass wanted to sit down anywhere."

"Yes, sir." Fumbling over the words, your fingers scratch against the dirt of the ground as your cunt feels swollen and painfully abandoned. You swear you could feel yourself dripping with mess but since he hadn't commented on it yet, maybe not.

"Might even use the buckle." Your scalp burns from his rough grasp and the extension of your neck makes breathing difficult as he continues. "Let it tear strips off you until you're a sobbing mess just crying out and begging for me to let up on you. You want that?"

Rubbing your thighs together at the open threat, you gasp and whine under his grip. From this position, you are barely able to make out his expression as your vision is also limited by the unshed tears which gather in your eyes, vision blurring due to the pain and frustration.

"N-no, sir."

"Good answer, darlin', cause i don't want to delay the next part any longer than we need to. You think you're ready for it?"

His hand releases your head and you nod frantically as fear lances your heart. A little masochism was fine by you, hot as fuck actually as it made the pleasure all the sweeter, but the brand would hurt like hell. Your heart beating a messy tune in your chest, your breath stutters as you feel him leaning over you to snatch up the brand from the fire.

"You gonna lie there like a good girl while I fix and mark you up? Hmm?" Cooper asked, his hand spreading your ass as textured fingers roll over the area he intends to mark on your right ass cheek. "I've got the rope ready to go if you can't hold still and let me make a clean print."

"Do it, Cooper." You gasp out, body shaking with anticipation as your eyes squeeze shut, preparing for the hurt to come as your hands visibly shake against the dusty ground. "Make me yours. Only yours. Make it so that everyone in the wastelands can see who the fuck they're messing with if they mess with me."

"Language." Tutting his disapproval with a playful hypocrisy, the rough excitement in his voice speaks of just how eager he was for you to have this mark. Well, that and the way that his cock remains pressing between you, the rock-hard length digging into your stomach with every slight movement as he speaks again.

"After this you're mine. Anyone else touches you then I take their throat. No mercy."

"No mercy." You repeat, almost a hypnotic babble as your breathing grows more and more erratic and anxious.

"I don't claim much in the wastelands, darlin', so you be good to me and I'll make sure that you never get the chance to forget what it means, you hear?"

"Goddamn, Cooper. Just do it! Mark me, brand me, give me something. Just- FUCK!"

It was nothing compared to the previous spanking.

The pain is indescribable as the metal presses harshly against your skin, searing his initials into the reddened flesh of your ass. You bury your scream in your forearm, tasting blood as your teeth clamp together roughly around your own flesh, and it's only his hand - hard as steel and twice as unforgiving - which prevents you from bucking in place to avoid the horrid pain.

Darkness dances in your vision for a moment as a genuine fear that you're going to pass out clenches your heart but it sweeps through rapidly, leaving you teetering on the edge of consciousness for only a few seconds.

You don't feel the brand pull free as the metal essentially kills off your nerve endings, the damage welcome as it dulls the initial shock. Rather, the initial sear is quick to settle into a vicious pain which is more like a deep, heated ache that sits beneath your skin.

"Cooper." You howl, fingers scrambling against his closet leg as you desperately seek something to cling onto as a wave of nausea rolls through your stomach. "Hurts."

Violently sobbing at the residual ache, you remain pinned in place as his free hand audibly drops the brand to the sandy floor before his fingers return to your ass. You can't feel him ghosting his digits along the wound but you're fairly certain that's what he's doing as a rumble of approval slips free of his chest.

"I know it hurts like a motherfucker." Cooper exhales, his roughened voice holding a giddiness as he watches you struggle to keep control of yourself. "But you did so well, girlie. Took it better than most would and I think that deserves a reward."

His fingers follow the curve of your ass to drop and press insistently at your hole - two digits sinking deep as they quickly provide a little relief to the aching neglect which your cunt was experiencing.

Audibly delighted with his markings, Cooper's tone is as predatory as ever as he slowly pumps his fingers into your cunt - following a pattern he knows drives you wild as he continues.

"Smells good too. Ain't gonna lie. Wish I'd taken a strip for myself before I burned it away."

Shivering at that, you moan out something that may have been an encouragement or a denial - your brain too fuzzy to make sense of it as his textured fingers rub along your walls.

"Coop-Cooper." You stutter out his name, sharp breaths feeling hot in your lungs as the adrenaline flushing through your veins - made all the worse by the dual sensations of dull pain and growing pleasure which wracked your lower half - causes a light-headedness which leaves you slack against his knees. "Touch me more. Make the pain go away."

"Can't make it go away, sweetheart. But I can make you forget about it for a minute or two."

With two fingers still curled within you, his thumb slides up your slickened folds until it grazes your clit. Body tensing, you sigh and groan as he teases the sensitive nub by gently circling his thumb across it. It didn't help that the leathered skin was so much rougher than a typical man's and the added sensation of it was enough to make you forget the burn of your ass as you focus on it.

His fingers are skilled and he is quick to target all those sweet, wicked little spots that make your mouth dry and your soaked cunt clench around his probing digits; that bastard thumb of his never letting up its teasing pressure on your clit as he strokes along the engorged nub with a lazy enjoyment. Adrenaline making every nerve feel heightened, your earlier neglect and enjoyment of his hand bring you close to the edge with an embarrassing speed.

"Such a tight little thing." Cooper grunts, his groin grinding against your stomach lightly as he plays you like a fiddle while taking care not to damage the fresh brand. "Can barely get my fingers out with you gripping at them like this. You'd have thought by now I'd have loosened you up at least a little."

Unable to speak, your reply is a mess of jerking nods and gasping pants. But he seemed to catch the jist of your agreement and it causes a low chuckle to rumble through his body.

Slipping a third finger in, the added stretch was all it took to have your toes curling against the air as the building tension in your body snapped into rolling waves of pleasure. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, pulling them deeper as they continue to rub against your sweet spot, drawing your orgasm out until your limbs felt tight and your throat started to burn from the constant whining and pleas that trickle free of it.

Shuddering and feeling faint, you lay limply against his knees, feet touching the ground as you actively fight the euphoric nausea which makes your body feel light and far off. It was too much and instead of facing the aches and pleasures, you allow the weariness to slip within your very bones.

A lurid suckling noise makes your head turn up to the side and you catch the sight of Cooper pulling his fingers free of his mouth, the digits slickened by both your mess and his spit as he messily cleans them off.

"Sweet as honey. Ain't nothing like it." He mutters, mostly to himself, before tilting his head down to meet your eye. "You alright down there? Not gonna pass out on me are you?"

Sighing out as darkness touches at the edge of your vision, you give him a soft smile - bottom lip only slightly trembling as you answer. "Sleepy."

He's surprisingly careful as he picks you up with his impressive strength, hands wrapping around your upper body to right you to your feet - shaking legs barely able to hold even your limited weight - before he deposits you in his lap. Angling your body atop his so that the pressure of your ass on his lap is far away from the fresh brand, your head presses against his clothed chest and you inhale the coppery scent that clings to him like it was a lifeline.

"Then sleep and I'll keep the beasts at bay."

Cooper speaks lowly, the words washing over you skin like a soothing blanket. "Here." His hands wrap the edges of his leather jacket around your sides, the material not enough to cover you completely - not even close - but you appreciate the gesture regardless.

In the warm night air, your thighs coated in the mess of your release and your ass throbbing will a dull ache that was going nowhere any time soon, you focus on the interesting sounds which roll through Cooper's chest as you press your ear against his frayed shirt and allow fatigue to finally claim you.