#REDACTED x reader

[talkbycolor]

MC: please? For me?

[REDACTED]: don’t do that.

MC: do what?

[REDACTED]: you think if you say, “please, for me?” and give me that look, i’ll do whatever the fuck you wa-

MC: please, for me?

[REDACTED]: okay.

[despairots]

DILUTE ME!

this is meant for older audiences, but if you are under the age of 18, i can not stop you from reading this.

story contains: light suggestive themes, yandere themes, ren/[REDACTED] should be a warning itself, mentions of murdering, etc. reader is a bit timid and shy when with [REDACTED] in this but they’re usually sultry and sweet.

context: yandere! reader gets over their sick and twisted ways of showing their love but finds it hard to keep it in once getting with their partner. gn! reader

you didn’t know what lend to this. you swore you got over the tendencies, the habit, the absolute anger you’d feel once you see another person that’s not you making a move on what’s supposed to be yours. why did he let this happen? why was this girl flirting with him infront of you?

your lips pulled itself into a tight line, your face pulling a look of absolute disgust, keeping the thought of bashing her head into the brick wall at bay, but how long could you keep it in until you just gave in and did every horrible thing possible to her?

god, how much longer will she try? actually, why hasn’t ren said anything yet? your eyes shifted from her figure to his, catching every detail of their face snd engraving it into memory. it didn’t matter how many times you do it, they look better every time you do.

your mouth went to open before it shut when she let out an obnoxious laugh. your eyebrow twitched, clutching onto your boyfriends hand even tighter, biting your tongue back. please, please, please, you thought you were better than this. unfortunately, you’ve went back to your default settings.

“leave them alone, you tramp.” you muttered under your breath, letting her only hear it (not knowing he picked it up aswell) before you scoffed at her and pulled ren away. mind was racing with different ways to dispose of her, as ren could only stare at you with puppy eyes.

back to your shared room, you stripped yourself out of your clothes, digging through his clothes and putting them on. any sort of reminder of them as you kept going back to the girl who kept flirting with them. who the hell did she think she was?

ren saw the way you glared at her, saw the way you bit your tongue back to snap at her when she got a little close, they loved it. now, watching you mentally mutter insults to yourself about that unknown whilst in their clothing, all he could think about was you.

how your scent would linger in their clothing, how you were so willingly to strip in front of him and wear their clothing. you looked so small in it, compared to him. ren watched you turn your back away from them, a slight twinge pulled at his chest. were you mind at him?

“are you mad at me, angel?” one of their hands lifted his oversized shirt on, trailing their fingers up and down your back, feeling your smooth skins and the way you shivered from his touch. “i—i’m not mad at you.” the way you ended your sentence with venom made him smile a bit.

ren trailed their fingers over to your stomach until wrapping his arm around it and pulling you back to his chest, hearing you yelp at the sudden pull. from this position, ren could see the growing blush from your cheeks as you tried hiding it in your arm and pillow.

“did… did you think she was cute?” their real name slipped from your tongue, and he couldn’t help but pull a face of disgust when you asked. she couldn’t compete to you in any other way. ren kept a note in disposing her later once you fell asleep, they didn’t want you to think he was attracted to her.

ren placed small kisses onto the back of your neck, hearing you breathe softly each time he made in contact with your skin, “you’re all i want.” their voice was muffled against the crook of your neck, as you flipped around and placed a gentle hand on his cheeks, a soft smile on your face.

“go to sleep, okay? i promise to give you treat later. remember? poorly behaved dogs get not treat.” fuck, that was hot. once you say that, there was no turning back, the both of you would last hours. ren’s eyes widened until their lips pulled into a light smirk, his hand going to the back of your head and pulling you into a deep kiss.

your hand slid down to his chest, finding itself slipping underneath their clothing and resting it there. a light moan escaped your mouth when ren took control, his tongue slipped into your mouth, marking every inch of it until they pulled away, a string of saliva a reminder.

ren went back to placing kisses on your neck, sometimes nipping at it if he felt a like a tease, grinning whenever you would release a small whine. your hands played with his hair, waiting until he fell asleep to execute your plan. a devious smile pulled onto your lips, hearing the breathes of the one you love.

you pulled away lightly, making sure you didn’t wake them up as you placed a pillow to be a substitute for you until you came back. this will be the only time you’ll resort back to your old ways, dressing in all back, grabbing a pair of latex gloves and a box cutter. as much as you wanted to do worse, this will have to do.

finding her wasn’t hard to do, she was walking around clearly under the influence, and you couldn’t help but snort at how stupid of a bimbo she was. you dragged her back to a secluded spot, keeping a hand over her mouth as you tossed her to the ground and went to stab the box cutter deep into the side of her neck.

you stayed in that position, maybe pushing it into her neck deeper for safety measures (when really you just wanted to get in more stabs). you pushed her to the side, putting the box cutter into your pocket and pulling the black mouth mask down, a judging look on your face.

disposing her body was easy, killing her was easy too— everything was easy actually. you didn’t need to do anything extreme to get rid of her. you quietly sneak back inside your home, stretching your limbs and taking the gloves off. you opted to throw the box cutter away but decided to keep it as a reminder that you had killed somebody again.

a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to something as a half scream half yelp was muffled when a hand came to your mouth. you thrusted around… until a familiar voice whispered into your ear, “now where were you, angel? did’ya really leave me to solve my own problem?” you knew what he meant by problem but that didn’t bother you when you remembered you were covered in blood.

“ren— let me go—“ their hold against you tightened, they took a piece of your ear into his mouth and nibbled on it, “so, how’d you kill her? stab her? strangled her? come on— you could’ve left her to me!” the way he said it sent a chilling shiver down your spine; what the hell did they mean?

he turned you around, wiping off some excess blood on your cheek with a lovesick smile. god, you looked so good like this. “what are you talking about?” you whispered, ren’s lips inches away from yours as their eyes flickered from your lips to your eyes.

“y’know what i’m talking about.”

your eyebrows were pulled into a frown, why isn’t he finding this weird? “you’re not disgusted by me?” ren let out a sigh, his next words being muffled by your lips, “i can never be disgusted by you.” you pulled away slightly, lips parted and pupils blown out, eyes flickering from their lips to their eyes nervously.

“but i killed someone…”

“and i enjoyed every minute of it.” the way ren said it made butterflies flutter in your chest, but yet you still felt disgusted by yourself. you promised you wouldn’t resort back to your old ways, yet you couldn’t help yourself. the way she decided to flirt with him in front of you, made you want to feel the same feeling you’d get whenever someone decided to get too cozy with something that was yours.

ren noticed the lack of words, bringing you into a comforting kiss, feeling you relax in their hold as you slowly kissed back. knowing the extremes you’d take for him, he couldn’t help but feel flattered that you’ll do that for him.

“come on, how ‘bout that treat i’m supposed to be getting?” ren shoved the black sweater off you, lips still interlocked as they placed their phone on the kitchen counter,

… as photos of you stalking and killing the women appeared on his phone.

[xomulti-creatorsxo]

My beloved~

Pairing: Ren x reader

Warning:kidnapping mentions, Ren kidnapping you head cannon

Additional notes:these are pretty short lmao since I still needed to get some stuff cleaned up for vacation. I will not be writing while on vacation ❤

Ren is secretly a pervert I tell you!

He always takes your clothes to cuddle himself in them

It's kinda obvious but he loves you❤

Like to the point he'd do anything

It's a yandere what'd you expect??

But don't let his love fool you, he does love you but he will still force you to some things in some kind of degree

Like not running away after being kidnapped!

Don't get him wrong he loves your voice

But you need to keep it down!

The neighbors will call the police

And you two will go out together if they're called

He does treat you nicely

He baby proofs the whole house so you don't hurt yourself and locks everything

Takes the keys and leaves if he has too

But he eyes you like a hawk and even knocks when you are in the bathroom

So you don't really have the luxury of privacy

Overall 10/10 to be kidnapped by<3

[digitalwavemedia]

My Yandere Boyfriend Is Differently Stalking Me! 14 days with you (Day 4)

[queenie-the-court-jester]

an unhealthy obsession

Online boyfriend x afab!reader

A/n: this was rushed, sorry y'all 😞🌺

tw: noncon, drugging, somnophilia, identity fraud, mentioned cheating, online relationship, kidnapping, mention of masturbation

💉you met Xavier exactly a year and a half ago. A friend Introduced you, with you both quickly hitting it off. He was so charismatic and friendly! He made you feel good inside. Becoming mutuals, you were chatting everyday. (After confirming he was a real person and who he said he was)

💊 but little did you know he was lying about everything. All the pictures he sent? Edited. His calls and voice recordings? Distorted to where you can't recognize it. He was highly insecure, thinking that if you knew who he really was you'd turn your nose in disgust

💉he wasn't actually Xavier. He was an ex boyfriend you used to have in highschool, freshman year. You knew most relationships at that age never lasted long, but you couldn't help and feel hurt when you walked in on him messing around with some girl. You forgot his name...

💊 he regretted what he did. He really did! But he knew you wouldn't give him another chance so easily. So he was left to pretend to be someone else, just to hear your laugh. See your face through pictures. He couldn't get you out of his head! His parents were never there for him, but you were. You were always there. Loving and coddling him. He'd be damned to let that go so easily

💉it took a while to get your friend to introduce him, and every bone in his body to not jump and squeal in joy when you both finally "met". But now that you've been dating for a while, you want to meet up.. that's not good. He can keep making excuses for so long until you get tired

💊 so he does anything to pacify you. Sending you money, gifts, flowers. All while stroking himself to hearing your excited rambles on call. How many times has he shamelessly masturbated to your voice? He couldn't count. You were just too sexy!

💉 his resolve lasted only 5 more months until he finally agreed to meet you. His heart beating with anxiety as he waited in the cafe. Wearing sunglasses, a facemask and a hoodie. Brushing it off as him being shy you sat next to him and quickly started talking. As if you weren't uneasy by his (lack of) appearance. God how he adored you.

💊 you went on multiple dates after that, trying to convince him to take off the mask and glasses but he was stubborn. 'Till he got a grand idea. Inviting you to his house was the biggest blessing for him, and the biggest nightmare for you. Setting up a fancy dinner in his living room, whipping up your favorite dish and drink. Crushing fertility and sleeping pills in the food

💉clueless you trusted him blindly, giving him a kiss on the cheek and smiling fondly at the romantic setting. He pulled out a chair for you to sit down, and pushed it back in once you did. Still wearing his glasses and face mask, but at this point you didn't mind it as much

💊 he watched you eat quietly, chit chatting as he could feel all the blood rush to his cock in anticipation of his dubious plan. You started to feel drowsy and apologized halfway to finishing your food, your cup empty as you went to the sofa and fell ontop of it. Barely conscious

💉he grinned, taking off his glasses and mask, picking you up easily and shakily Snaking a hand down to tug off your clothes. worming his tongue in-between your lips, Hungrily lapping at your saliva while plopping you onto the bed.

💊 he ripped off his shirt, grabbing a bottle of lube and shoving the tip into your hole. Squirting it inside as he teased your genitals. Pulling the bottle away, he quickly replaced it with his dick's tip. Shoving it in and letting out a satisfied groan, bottoming out inside your slippery insides.

💉 he wasted no time In pounding into you, holding your hips flushed against his as he was determined to breed your tight pussy. Bending down a bit to suckle on your breasts, biting and nibbling anywhere he could reach. He went all night, until he physically couldn't give you anymore of his sperm.

💊 flopping ontop of you, he kissed your unconscious form tenderly, caressing your tummy with a loving smile. When you'd wake up, you'd definitely remember your ex boyfriend, Damien.

"so pretty.. now you can't leave me, because soon We'll have a baby on the way~ you wouldn't mind living in the forest where no one can find you right? Hah, ofcourse you don't.."

[sleepymarimo]

୨୧. 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐮𝐩 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥

: ̗̀➛ when was the last time this man got a good night's sleep? pairing: toji x fem!reader. fluff, fluff, fluff...

an: just needed to get this out before i do my hw lol. i picture this as like pre-relationship :P wc: ~600

toji recalls one of the moments he realized he was whipped.

after hopping from place to place, staying in shitty motels and abandoned train stations, he got his first true and proper rest with you.

he’s used to waking up to the sight of an empty bed, a dirty ceiling or, hell, even the open sky when things got really rough.

so when he opens his eyes, refreshed, one of his arms draped across your waist, the assassin is a bit dumbfounded. toji is quick to settle, blinking a couple of times until you come into focus.

“oh, you’re up.” you smile, leaning comfortably against the headboard. "welcome back, sleeping beauty."

why’re you awake? he thinks. usually he’s the one up and at ‘em, rising before the sun.

by the looks of it, you’ve been up for a while. the television was on, playing one of your favorite shows, the volume lowered. you have a mug in your hands, your eyes brighter than any sunrise he’s seen thus far.

he lifts his head and props himself up on one of his elbows, his hair a mess of black strands pointing in all sorts of directions. “yeah.” he yawns, running his fingers across his scalp before he grumbles. “i’m up, i’m up.”

fuck, is this what actual sleep felt like? he hadn’t felt this good in a while.

his eyes catch sight of your alarm clock and he has to rub the excess sleep out of them to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

“eight in the morning?” he sits up, his shoulder brushing against yours as he rests his weight on the headboard. that's a good three, maybe four hours later than he's used to.

you look at him like he has two heads, unable to keep from letting out a light laugh.

"it's not that late." you pause, keeping a tease from slipping past your teeth as your fingers come up to wipe some dried up drool from the scarred corner of his lip. "you were knocked out."

he clicks his tongue, gently swatting your hand away and finishing the job himself. since when did he drool? "yeah, yeah, i'm not a damn baby."

the bed creaks as he adjusts his position, crossing his legs at the ankle and stealing the mug of coffee in your other hand. his nose wrinkles at the sweetness, at that little splash of creamer you usually add.

"you could've fooled me." you retort, taking back your coffee. "plus, it's sunday, so just go back to sleep or something. i already got breakfast on the way."

toji doesn't know what's worse, the fact that you expect him to stay or the fact that, fuck, he wants to.

his response is just a grunt, a stubborn sound of acceptance. the bed is still warm, the company is good and he knows there's no where else he'd rather be.

he'll think about that later, or maybe he wont. for now, he won't deny himself an extra few minutes of rest while you continue to watch your shows.

he lays back down, blanket over his shoulders, and drapes his arm over your lap, head resting against your hip. "you got extra meat, right?" comes his gruff inquiry, more child than man.

"extra meat." you affirm, one hand bringing that sweet caffeine to your lips while the other laxly combs through his hair.

with that, he seems satisfied enough, finding it odd that his head is feeling so heavy. when he drifts off into sleep, his shoulders rising and falling at a steady pace, he dreams of a big breakfast and the promise of a lazy day with you.

[diodellet]

cw: sorry for writing more bedroom shenanigans, it will happen again. unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. probably some scientific inaccuracies, except for the inertia bits, that i understand. established relationship things and some light swearing. it's all lighthearted 😇

who needs morning alarms when you're partners with naga!jamil?

the first thing to wake you up is the cold press of his scales against your skin. which is the beginning of the end, sad to say. being part-reptile, of course his instincts bring him to search for the closest heat source. as the warm-blooded one in the relationship, you will make do.

which leads to your current predicament - not the comforting feeling of sleeping in his arms, the upper body situation is all fine and dandy on this side, you like the fabric of his sweater, you (both) deeply crave this kind of skinship, it's all good up here! - his coils are twined around your legs, heavy enough to pin you in place, leaving you vulnerable to the cold of the room. as your eyes crack open, what greets you is the dim blue glow of dawn. of course.

in this world of magic, you'd think they'd have created a kind of blanket that doesn't become utterly useless after several hours of shifting in one's sleep. with your limited movement, you manage to free one arm.

"jamil." you shake his shoulder.

"hmm?"

"can you get up, please? i need to shut off the ac."

to your dismay, he makes a vague sound of protest, curls his arms more protectively around you.

"jamil." he can't seriously be going back to sleep.

"it's still early, and you're all nice and warm..." and wasn't that the twisted miracle of this situation? the fact that you woke up before his alarms?

his languidness has got to be a joke. you've seen him move quicker than a bullet. snakes can haul ass when the situation calls for it. you weigh your options, you could yell 'spider' and risk the consequences of a freshly-awoken-and-panicking jamil.

or you could just freeze. who needs legs? who needs to move? the way his fingers idly stroked against the flesh of your stomach was nice and comforting -

"bullshit, you're also freezing...!" he just liked to see you struggle, didn't he? you try kicking your legs in a last bid to free yourself only for his coils to shift and properly entrap you in their grip.

oh that was unfair, being comprised of mostly muscle and having quick reflexes even when half-asleep. damned naga anatomy.

you heave an exasperated sigh through your nose, not even bothering to hide your annoyance.

jamil's breath fans across the back of your neck. "didn't you want to spend more time together like this?" he asks, faux-dejection creeping into his voice.

the skin of your nape erupts in a flurry of goosebumps, definitely not from the cold. you feel like you're burning, and you're not sure if that's a good thing.

so you decide to roll off the bed and take him down with you.

tagging my fellow jamilnatics: @viperwhispered @twstgo @crystallizsch @jessamine-rose @just-a-little-silly

(if any yall wanna be tagged for future jamil writing, just lmk through the replies. i know in my bones he will strike again)

[daisynik7]

Sanemi is usually cold, even borderline rude to the Kakushi, who usually just deal with it by ignoring it. Not you, though. You've heard the stories about his intimidating demeanor, listened to your fellow coworkers let out exasperated groans at being assigned to him for even the simplest tasks, all because they really don't want to be around him.

So when you're finally assigned to him, in charge of fixing a tear on his uniform, you already have your guard up, your hackles raised. You know you're supposed to be good, but if a whiff of bad behavior on his end arises, you can't promise to behave.

He's at his usual training grounds, mangled bamboo pieces littered all over the dirt. You approach him cautiously, his back turned toward you. Without warning, he strips his top off, tossing it aggressively behind him. It lands directly on your face, the fabric hot, heavily laced with his scent, which is surprisingly sweet. He doesn't greet you, nor does he even turn around to face you. "Fix it," is all he mutters, raising his sword to strike the remaining bamboo in front of him.

Feeling safe since his back is towards you, you roll your eyes at him. Then, on your way out, you grumble under your breath, "No please?"

The following week, you're assigned to him again, this time to clean up his mess at the training grounds. He's been at it for hours, the sun beating down on him, his exposed chest glistening with sweat. If he wasn't such an asshole, maybe you'd find him attractive. Hell, even with his shitty personality, it's hard to deny.

When you arrive, he faces you, his eyes narrowing into a glare. "Clean it up," he orders through gritted teeth. He stares at you for a second longer than needed, then turns around to walk away. You bend down to start picking up the pieces, mumbling, "You're welcome."

He stops in his tracks, as if something has captured his attention. You hold your breath, waiting for his next move. But he continues in his path until he's completely gone.

The third assignment is an odd one. You're called to his home late at night, asked to bring some healing supplies with you. Apparently, Sanemi injured himself while he was sharpening his blades in his room, an unusual occurrence for Hashira. Nevertheless, you show up, following him into his room, waiting for his instructions.

He sits at the edge of the bed, displaying his hand to you, a fresh cut across his palm. No words this time, just a grunt, his gaze avoiding yours.

You can't resist; you roll your eyes at him, sighing. And he catches you.

It happens quickly. A huge gust of wind, the ointment and gauze from your grasp drops to the floor, and you're pushed against his dresser, his body pressed to yours. The mask falls from your face, revealing your terrified expression, eyes shut, lips trembling. His breath is hot on your skin, incredibly close you can hear his heart beating rapidly.

It's silent for what feels like an eternity. You swallow hard, mustering the courage to open your eyes. His usual crazed expression is now one of yearning, pleading. Something between you captures your attention, and you soon realize that he's aroused. Really aroused.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low and trembling, like he's trying to restrain himself. "Please."

[talkbycolor]

the nun and the soldier

A/N; I ACTUALLY DREAMED ABOUT THIS AND THOUGHT LOL WHAT A GOOD IDEA FOR AN OS

Pairing; "[REDACTED]" x AFAB!Reader

CW; cnc? for someone who doesnt know how to put limits the line is very blurry, you will guess / daddy kink but in a priestly way / def religion kink, breeding but im not sure if its just a kink, worship but im not sure who worships who the most / this is more like an au like 1940 battlefield where [REDACTED] is a soldier and MC a nun

The night was like a classic old horror movie scene.

And how not to be scared? Outside the cathedral it was raining heavily, the skies were roaring from the electrical storm and the only lighting was the holy candles, that place was a refuge for the homeless.

After all, many people needed comfort in times of war.

You had decided to stay until midnight, praying to your father to protect the soldiers in battle, that the families would stop going hungry, you held the wooden cross that hung from your chest so tightly, begging for the massacre to stop, the times They brought sadness to the entire nation and God had to save them.

A loud clap of thunder echoed outside the cathedral and the doors were opened, the cold of the night and the wind caused the flame of some candles to go out, so holding the cross tightly to your chest you turned to see who dared to break in. with such violence in the house of God.

"Who's there?" You asked as you walked towards the huge wooden gate.

A man in uniform walked in, soaked from the rain, he looked tired, hungry, hurt, he barely made eye contact with you you felt a chill run through your entire body, not just because of the weather.

"I need food" He was a soldier, you nodded immediately and helped him walk to take a seat on one of the benches while you went to the warehouse for something the man could eat, there was food stored that was going to be donated, or that's what the priest said.

You returned with canned food and some water for the stranger, who snatched your things to eat like a dying dog, water running down his chin and eating haphazardly as he breathed heavily.

"Sir, are you okay? Where is he coming from?" You didn't avoid being curious when asking those questions, although just one cold look from him was enough to make you close your mouth.

…

You only heard him chewing, the man seemed to have had a really bad time and it was no wonder that you could tell from miles away that he was a soldier, and since he came alone, there was a high probability that he was one of the few survivors in the trenches, but you are not going to assume too much.

"Father, please help this poor man to heal his wounds safely, to regain his strength, to protect his life on the battlefield and the lives of our nation -…"

"Stop talking shit" he interrupted you in a vulgar way, causing astonishment on your face, even disgust.

"That is no way to speak before the lord" You scolded him, the black-haired man only laughed hoarsely.

"Bring me clothes, I'm freezing in this" he demanded arrogantly, getting rid of his wet clothes, your kind soul heeded his words, because that's what you were, right? A sweet nun willing to help the needy, love your neighbor as your god ordered.

"Excuse me, I only found the priest's old clothes and I'm not sure they fit him, I hope they can help you" You said as you returned to the bench, he once again snatched the things from your hand.

Yes, he was a rude man.

The minutes passed, the candles continued to melt at the altar, you were praying in front of the golden statue of your lord while the soldier was resting on the benches, grunting at his wounds and trying to stay warm.

"Hey, nun, since you won't shut up come here, I think I know how you could keep that mouth busy" The man suggested with a cheeky smile, it was unheard of how he could say such things in the lord's house.

"Hey! That's enough of-…"

"It wasn't a question, come here or I'll come for you" his voice was sharp, and with no intention of continuing to listen to you, seeing how you froze in surprise he grumbled and took the trouble to walk towards you.

Right in front of the golden statue of your god, he subdued you to the ground and lifted your robe to reveal your underwear, that man was shameless because he simply buried his face between your asscheeks to inhale deeply.

"HEY! HEY" WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" You begged him, confusion and disgust replaced with terror, but… he was a soldier, a man willing to sacrifice his life for his nation.

"Please, honey, aren't you supposed to be a helpful sweetheart? You promised to help me stay warm, and this is my last dinner before I die?" He murmured on your back, riding you without a word, his hands had already pulled down your underwear while you were busy in your thoughts.

"Oh my god, this can't be happening, I'm supposed to stay pure" You whimpered as you covered your face, too embarrassed by the situation but not trying to push the man away.

He was an angel sent by god to save the country, it would be so rude to reject any order he gave.

He ground his hips against yours in a messy manner, he hadn't even prepared you well when your pussy was already engulfing his cock.

"Wow, you're so tight, so it's true that nuns are virgins, right? I feel so lucky to be the one to take your chastity, dear." His voice was teasing in your ear as you squeezed your eyes shut to endure the sudden intrusion, you were Pretty sure you would bleed.

No one would pass by the cathedral at that time of night, much less in a storm, the clicking of both skins echoed in the enormous building, right in the eyes of your lord.

"P-please forgive me Father for I have sinned, forgive me so much" A hand grabbed your jaw to silence you.

"You better ask thanks to the Lord because you will soon have a son, I will take care of filling this pretty pussy of yours to the brim, okay, angel?" He mocked your prayers but the seriousness in his voice was immaculate, he really wanted to impregnate your womb with his seed.

Your legs were shaking as you tried to stay in the doggy position, the soldier was selfish, penetrating your wet cunt for the sole purpose of having his release and getting you pregnant.

"S-sir please slow down, I feel like you're going to break me" You begged, snot slipping out of your nose as well as tears at how disastrous the situation was, the problem wasn't that the man was using you, because he was part of the brave army that risked his life, it is logical that you want to help.

"... We shouldn't be doing this in the Father's house." Sob quietly, your body reacted so well to his touch and it was inevitable not to moan, causing echoes in the cathedral.

"No, no, angel, call me father, you don't want your lord to hear you acting like a slut in his holy home." His calloused hands squeezed your hips and he pulled you like a wolf would its prey towards its nest.

"My god, angel, you feel so good, I'm melting between your walls, I want to spill all my essence inside you, you're being so good for me, I promise you it will feel better" He whispered lovingly despite the furious thrusts. that you received. "Don't worry, this is what your god wants, right? Demigods are worshiped with flowers, real gods need blood." His tone felt so somber, his hand traveled to your crotch to caress, collecting said blood, your blood.

So if he died on the battlefield, he would at least have left his inheritance in the world and he wouldn't be completely forgotten, right? His greedy hands ran over every inch of your skin under your tunic, squeezing the flesh, he too seemed inexperienced too, moaning and letting out incoherencies as he ground his groin against you, saliva running down his jaw as he moaned like a dog, panting, his eyes rolling back, sharper sounds until you both trembled violently.

Just as he said, you were dripping, as soon as a mirror cascade came out of you and warm semen was present from your pussy, his member was already a little more flaccid as he observed such a work of art in front of him.

He didn't want to die, he wanted this stupid war to end so he could get this nun pregnant and raise a child together.

"It's okay, you'll be okay" he murmured one last time as he clung to you, taking you into his arms with a blank look, but his words weren't.

He promised that when all that was over he would return to you to take care of you and the baby, that was what he wanted most, a life without daily blood, peace.

It's a shame that the promise would never be fulfilled.

♡

[arieswritez]

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 3

chapter 2

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; you don't know how long i could stare into your picture and wish that it was me i guess it's different 'cause you love him but i've got an interactive sick and twisted imagination and that's gotta count for something - not allowed (tv girl)

3.

you'd found a boy that made your heart go thump thump, thump. and you knew very well how the rest of that story usually went.

your love was encompassing. asphyxiating and obsessive. and in the very first moment the two of you interacted, you knew, this could be it.

you didn't blame yourself.

you couldn't blame yourself.

blame the love stories.

the disney movies with the princes and the magic mirrors. breaking curses with true love's kiss. much like the fabricated sugary fantasies, your potential life with him unfolded before your eyes.

he could be the one.

true love's forever kiss.

you imagined it all.

movie theater dates, awkward parental meetings, proposals, a home, kids, pets. arguments. therapy, even. pushing through at the end. death. rebirth. trying it all over again in the next life.

all you had to do was get him to stick around.

you had to make him understand that you could be his true love kiss, too.

you had to be perfect.

. . there was just one miniscule problem.

the boy so happened be on the same baseball team as mark.

it's the way the two of you had met.

despite the fact that you were supposed to be there for mark: your eyes were . . elsewhere. your eyes - then your focus - had gravitated towards him even before the first pitch. and you found yourself blushing as you watched him stretch: holding his baseball bat over his head.

you'd made it your only goal to attempt to extract as much information about it from mark as discretely as you could. and frankly, you should've known mark would be able to read you like the back of his hand.

because he found out what you were trying to do embarrassingly quickly.

and he was just as quick to shut it down.

you hadn't noticed the boy before. not really. but since the baseball game, he seemed to be everywhere. and you were excited to find that he was the new addition to mark's friend group. you knew this because you saw him and mark sitting together during lunch.

which meant they were at least acquaintances.

so imagine your shock when you came to find out. . mark didn't like him.

everything about him seemed to rub mark the wrong way. mark would clam up the moment you mentioned your boy. he'd change the subject. or his mood would just straight up sour. he'd go quiet and avoidant. and when you kept pushing, he finally snapped.

your boy was stupid.

your boy was shallow.

"don't say i didn't warn you." mark would mumble.

but warning you wasn’t enough.

your boy barely looked at you.

and you weren't sure if it was in part because of the way you acted. . the way you looked. maybe he was so out of your league that he'd completely removed you from his radar.

you'd watch him from across hallways and excitement would swell in your chest when you found that you'd be walking in opposite directions.

you'd see him coming.

he'd see you.

time would slow as you walked past him.

your heart rate would pick up.

but his eyes would remain forward and time would pick back up again as soon as you were past each other.

all it'd leave you with was the bitter taste of rejection in your mouth and a deep ache of anxiety bubbling in your stomach.

the only thing that sobered you up were the dizzying possibilities.

he hadn't seen you. he hadn't noticed the effort you'd put in.

but eventually, he would.

you don't know what it was that grabbed his attention.

mark was vehemently against introducing you two.

you were at a loss until you realized that you'd just have to try harder.

whenever mark left for the bathroom, you'd made it a mission to swipe mark's phone during study sessions. you'd go through his socials and send yourself screenshots of both his follower count and who he was following.

it was a long tedious progress but eventually, you'd found your boy's account.

thankfully, it was public. which meant the the decoy accounts you'd made to snoop just in case he was private turned out to be a waste of time.

you looked through his followers and did your homework on anyone he showed a particular interest in. you'd even made a list of the usernames of the people who’s posts he interacted with the most.

and soon you became a master of disguise.

you studied them top to bottom.

those that went to the same school were far easier to emulate.

you copied their mannerisms, the way they styled their hair, you changed the cadence of your voice, the way you rolled your r’s. your clothing grew tighter and your slouch was now an exaggerated upbeat gallop as you chased after the object your new affection, hoping one day he'd notice.

. . and the exact moment he looked into your eyes and did a double take. . you did one, too.

it was completely out of surprise before you caught yourself and continued to saunter away from him with butterflies in your stomach: flapping their wings so violently it felt like you'd be swept away.

his attention was the most excitement you'd felt. . in a long time.

and you knew you'd do anything to retain it.

it was a sickly sweet feeling: syrupy, sticky. clogging your vascular system to the point your head swelled. the lack of oxygen only heightened your fantasies.

the attention was addictive and so, so good you found yourself chasing that high all the time. going to extreme lengths to get his attention. even if they’d end up embarrassing you after.

you never allowed yourself to wallow in the feeling of dread that settled in your stomach when you did everything in your power to get his attention, though.

specially whenever it made a smile stretch across his face.

whatever you did faded into the background.

it was all worth it in the end.

something was wrong with mark.

and he needed to get to the root of the problem fast.

he was looking at you. . differently.

he talked to his dad.

nolan had said something about the changing moods having to do with his powers. how being intense and passionate was just in his blood.

he talked to his mom about it. albeit in a more discrete way. he'd never be able to live it down if she'd found out you were making him behave a certain way.

she'd just chalked it up to it being puberty.

mark didn't know who to believe.

he just wanted to stop thinking about you.

his nerves were shot to shit whenever you were near.

senses heightened: you were a fog blanketing his brain until your voice carried with it a technicolor vision.

he could smell you coming like a damn blood hound.

he could hear your pulse while sitting next to you.

something was wrong with mark.

he knew it when his teeth ached when you'd stretched your neck: raised your arms over your head and let out a little sound of pain and discomfort.

something was wrong with mark.

when the day's turned warm and wet. . and your clothing became more revealing.

he could see more of you.

freckles and moles, blemishes and scars, he hadn't noticed before.

he'd follow sweat drops rolling down your skin.

smooth. soft.

he'd held you, once.

when was the last time?

something was wrong with mark.

he'd lay awake at night staring up at the ceiling.

thinking about how you'd looked while you concentrated on a book. while you looked down at your phone. while you listened to music: smiling when a song you liked came on.

your little humming. . but not singing.

never singing.

mark noticed you'd stopped singing in front of him when he started to make fun of you for it.

that, too, was how mark knew something was wrong with him.

the way your moods would shift like tides under a crescent moon whenever he'd said something excited him. he felt pleasure - a violent zap of electricity shooting up and down his spice - watching your eyes light up or darken when he'd say something to you.

about you.

i like your hair today.

light.

you talk so goddamn much.

dark.

i missed you.

light.

your stories take fucking forever.

dark.

something was wrong with him when he found his own mood depended on fantasizing on how he'd make you feel that day.

if he was in a bad mood, seeing you in one, too, was a sure-fire way to make his day a whole lot better.

something was wrong with mark.

when he'd have to smother the sounds he made while imagining you -

something was wrong with him. . when red, hot anger consumed him when one of his friends made a smart quip about your body.

when he couldn't just laugh it off anymore.

something was wrong with mark.

. . or so he thought.

because he'd later find out. .

. . no.

something was wrong with you.

all of a sudden: mark was the one double texting.

triple texting.

mark was the one asking if he could hang out. . and when the fuck did he ever need permission?

mark was the one seeking you out.

something was wrong with you.

and he needed to get to root of the problem.

he picked his brain apart in an attempt to figure out what it was. you couldn't be under any stress. you looked fine. better than fine.

you looked happy.

fucking elated.

to the point where mark couldn't affect your moods anymore.

mark wanted to know what the fuck you were so happy about.

why the fuck you were so happy when he was falling apart at the seams. when his world was crashing down.

and there you were, completely fucking oblivious.

mark had always been curious.

and so, he went to see you.

the two of you were in your room.

you'd excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

and mark started looking.

you were predictable.

he knew where you kept your journal. despite how many times he'd found it and read it aloud - holding it above his head whenever you tried to snatch it away - he'd always managed to figure out your next hiding place.

it was easier that way.

he pretended he didn't know where it was.

you pretended to have some privacy.

he pretended not to know every single, minute, insignificant detail of your life.

of your thoughts.

thank fuck you were still so naive.

thank fuck for dairies.

he'd found it in a box under your bed.

and after flipping to the page with the freshest set of ink. . he'd found out what your problem was.

you'd found a boy who'd made your heart go

thump.

thump.

thump.

[taintandviolent]

Regular ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: You live in Gotham City and are a waitress at a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Oz is a regular and you've developed quite the crush on him.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 6.4K | older man/younger woman, semi-established history, making out, cockwarming, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (female receiving, dirty talk, smut with a teensy bit of plot (but not really).

a/n: to the 99.9999% of my followers... I'm so sorry but I am begging you guys to hear me out about him!!!! I thoroughly expect this to flop, but I needed to write it for my own sanity. absolutely massive thank you to @redravenblogs for beta-reading! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Ah, Tuesday night. 

In Gotham City, every night is a good night for an Italian restaurant. Especially one that’s been in business since 1964 and acquired a hefty lot of aging locals that know the food is good, and a possibly even longer list of trendy, younger foodies that have heard that food is good because of the aging locals. 

There’s also the… criminal side of the patrons. Have a place with delicious food and wine, and Gotham’s elite underground is sure to follow. You’ve seen your fair share of men who look like they’re here to discuss a deal over a good meal, and a number of elected officials with them. You know better than to meddle, though. You just do your job, and hope for a good tip. Usually, you get one. 

Tonight, it’s raining. Heavily. Surprise, surprise. People flock in from the street as an escape from the deluge outside and the restaurant is filling up quickly. Your section is about three quarters of the way full, and you’re busy. You hear the door open again, followed by the momentary rush of the sound of tires on wet pavement outside. You straighten up, throwing your glance in the way of the entrance. 

There he is. A warm smile spreads across your face as you watch him amble in, shaking the rain from his leather coat. Though his appearances aren’t regular, his habits are. He always sits at the same table in your section, towards the back and next to the corner window. Once he figured out it was in an area you attended to, he never sat anywhere else. 

You only know him as Oz, the big sweetheart of a man who comes in and always orders the chicken parmigiana. Says it’s the best in town. After seeing him a few times, and sneakily taking note of his last name, you took it upon yourself to do a little digging and found out that he’s known for running with Falcone’s gang and that he’s also the owner of the elite Iceberg Lounge. You never bring those things up to him in fear of starting a conversation he doesn’t want to finish. It’s really none of your business, anyway. You give him a moment to settle into the booth, but once he does – you’re immediately headed that way. 

“There she is,” he starts with a smile, watching you as you make your way over to the table, pulling your order notebook from your apron pocket. “There’s my girl.” 

A blush hits your cheek – it does every time. From day one, he flirted with you, harmlessly and has continued it ever since. You’re used to patrons being a little flirtatious, but something about the way Oz does it makes your stomach tighten. 

“Buonasera, Oz…” you say, your lips curling into a warm smile. In the year you’ve worked here, you’ve picked up a little Italian, but the appropriate greetings are mandated by management. “How you doin’?” 

“Better now.” 

You smile again and dip your chin to your chest shyly. He’s always so affectionate, so warm. For being a guy who meddles in Gotham’s seedy underbelly, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met.

“The usual?” 

He nods. “The usual, sweetheart. But gimme’ a side of fettuccine tonight, huh?” 

You scribble the order down, and snap your book shut. “You got it.”

“What time you off tonight, doll?” 

“Same as every night, Oz. In about an hour.”

“They keepin’ you late every night, huh?” 

“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head and shifts in the booth before looking up at you. “I keep tellin’ ya, I could take care uh ya, baby.”

The running joke, but sometimes you wonder if he’s serious. He always tips you generously, alarmingly so, and it’s always put directly in your hand, as though he doesn’t want anyone else knowing that he takes care of your groceries for the week.

“And I keep sayin’ I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“Ahh–!” He jerks his head to the side, dismissing those words. 

You reach forward to touch his broad shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Let me put your order in, honey. I’ll be right back with your wine.” 

With that, you walk proudly off towards the back, swaying your hips. You can feel Oz’s eyes on you as you go and maybe the way you move is intentional, because you know he’s watching. So, what if it was? Can you really blame a girl for liking the attention?

As you round the corner to the kitchen, you clear your throat and call out to the cooks. Angelo is working tonight, and he’s one of the few guys who knows about your little affinity for Oz. As soon as you pin the ticket, Angelo spins the wheel around, looking at the order. He recognizes it, and gives you a knowing smile. 

“Oh, look who’s back, eh?” 

“Quiet,” you hush, looking back towards the table. You can’t see it from this angle, but you know he’s there, sitting, probably on his phone, or tapping his big knuckles on the wood of the table. 

He looks at the sheet again, noticing the addition, and raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend’s hungry tonight.” 

“Angelo, will you quit it? He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Sugar daddy then, eh?” 

You scoff, giving him the finger before reaching for one of the bottles of wine – Oz’s favorite.

You return to his table with a skip in your step. It’s been about a week since you’ve seen him, and you can’t help the giddiness in your gait. As you bump your plush hip into the corner of the table, Oz grins crookedly at you, his gold teeth glinting in the low lighting of the restaurant. You reach into your apron, pulling out a corkscrew. 

“So, whatcha’ been up to, Oz?” You say, as you twist the prong into the cork. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”

He usually gives you an answer like that – something that doesn’t reveal too much about what he does. You wonder if he knows that you’ve looked into him. You suddenly furrow your brow at the cork – it’s being stubborn – and quickly situate the bottle between your legs, squeezing it tight between your thighs. This action isn’t lost on Oz, who watches you with a deeply interested grin, watching how your skirt rides up just slightly at the front, not enough to reveal anything aside from some of your creamy soft thigh flesh. Everything you do is done with such innocence, but there’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing to him, he thinks. After a moment of yanking, the cork finally gives way with a hollow POP and you grip the bottle, bringing it up to the table. You mutter a quiet apology and fill the glass, pulling the bottle back to wipe the edge on your apron.

“Well, it’s good to see you. Always is.” 

Someone calls your name from behind you, and it’s one of the other tables, looking for refills. You offer Oz an apologetic smile, and head in that direction. Sadly, you don’t return until his food is ready.  He’s extra present tonight; your eyes meet every time you look in his direction, giving him a timid smile and going about your tasks, but your heart flutters with an adoration for the older man. You’re attentive too, and go over to his table a million and a half times to ask how the food is, if he needs anything else. 

“Only you, doll.” 

You swat playfully at his shoulder, though the little quip has heat pooling in your core. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about him taking you over the table a handful of times; lustfully imagining what his hips would feel like rutting against your ass as he sunk himself inside of you. You constantly wondered what his cock looked like. He was a big man, and you assumed that rang true for all parts of him – but the hunger to find out was terrible.  

He’s one of the last ones to leave, lingering as long as he can before it’s considered rude. Tonight, something’s different about him, like something is on his mind, something he wants to say. Each time you’re at his table, he looks like he’s about to ask, but never does. Finally, as you return to clear his table, reaching for the empty plates on his table, he downs the rest of his wine and clears his throat. 

“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, pivoting slightly in the booth with some effort. “You uh, you busy after work?” 

“N-no.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You straighten up, holding the stacked plates with one flattened palm.

“Why don’t you come down to the Iceberg Lounge? Unwind a little.”

“Oh, Oz, I’m not much of a clubbing girl.” 

There’s a glimmer of disappointment in those dark eyes of his, but he sets his jaw, and gets to his feet. This puts him in your proximity, and you can feel the heat rolling off his large body. Your stomach aches to lean into him, press yourself into his gut, and lace your arms around his neck.

“Just think ‘bout it.” He reaches in his pocket. 

The tip he gives you tonight almost makes your knees give way. It feels thicker than usual in your left hand and when your fingers close around the bills, you swallow down the protests. You don’t dare count it, not in front of him or anyone else. You’ve stopped telling him no, or that he doesn’t have to, because it’s almost like it offends him. He always hushes you, and acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You tuck it in the pocket of your apron, and swallow hard again. 

He smiles and steps around you. Your eyes are glued to the visual of him leaving, watching him through the windows as he limps down the sidewalk. God, you want him. It’s a lethal hunger, something that claws and rips at your insides. 

Once the restaurant is empty, you and the rest of the crew make quick work of cleaning up and closing up shop. It’s about forty-five minutes later when you’re slipping your arms into the sleeves of your black, wool overcoat and heading through the door. The rain hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s gotten worse. You heave a sigh. You’ve got a walk ahead of you, but it’s something you’re used to. 

“Doll!” 

You stop walking, poised just at the end of the sidewalk. You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and pull your jacket right around your neck, squinting into the rain. 

“Oz? That you?” You take a step in that direction, knowing full well it is. Your casual act is embarrassing to you, but you persist, pretending you’re surprised to see him getting out of his car. It’s a nice one, too… a Maserati. Was he… waiting for you?

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You ain’t walkin’ home in this, are ya?”

“Just to the station,” You defend. 

“Nah. C’mon.” He limps around the front of his car, rain splattering against his leather coat. “Lemme’ give ya’ a ride.” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Really. The rain is brutal and you’re cold, a chill settling into your bones. You hurry towards the plum-coloured car, your high heels clacking against the wet pavement as you do. Oz opens and holds the door for you, waiting patiently for you to make your way over. You get in the car gracefully, making sure not to flash him, though, you doubt he’d mind if you did. It’s warm inside, the heat is on, and the leather interior has absorbed some of that heat. You snuggle into the seat, watching in the rearview as Oz makes his way back around the car, and for a moment you’re surrounded by nothing but the sound of rain on the roof and the shlick of the wiper blades as they whisk the droplets off the windshield. The driver’s side door opens, and he tucks himself in. Droplets of rain decorate his shoulders, and he smears his hand over his hair. 

“Where to, sweetheart?” He asks, a familiarity in his voice. He’s used to driving people around, but he’d drive you around the whole city if you asked. 

“The complex on the corner of 7th and Onyx…” you say, almost sheepishly. Sure, it’s not the best part of town, but your little apartment is cozy, overlooking the city. You imagine he’s used to much nicer, and is probably silently judging the location. 

“Oz,” you start, looking at the girth of his fingers as they wrap around the steering wheel. Your mind starts to wander, but you quickly reign it in with a hard blink and an inhalation of breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, doll. Anything you want.” 

“Were you waiting for me to get off work?”

 “Gotta’ look out for my favorite girl, y’know?” 

It’s an indirect answer, but an answer all the same. You smile to yourself as he eases his foot into the gas pedal, the car moving forward. His right hand departs from the steering wheel to turn on the radio. Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice fills the inside, and for the rest of the drive, you’re silent, occasionally stealing looks at Oz as he drives. He handles the car beautifully, and you wonder if he handles a woman as well. 

Oz is sweet. You know this. Despite his constant heavy flirting at the restaurant, he’s sweet, charming and at times, awkward. Endearingly so. But you aren’t taking pity on him. Your interest in him is purely selfish, driven by your lust for older, dangerous men. You inhale a deep breath and turn your attention to the road. You’re close to home. A few minutes later, he pulls up next to your building and puts the car in park. 

You reposition yourself to face him, shifting your feet underneath you. He’s watching you, those smoldering, dark eyes following your every move. Carefully, you lean over the center console, enough to close in the distance between you two and press your lips against his warm, scarred cheek. His aftershave wafts into your nose, and you take a deep breath of it, remembering it. You think you hear his breath hitching. 

“That’s for the ride, Oz.” 

“Shit, I oughta’ drive you ‘round more often if that’s what it gets me, huh?” 

You hesitate a moment, looking into his eyes. There’s that look again –  like he wants to ask something. You fill the void with another question. 

“Is our chicken parm really the best, or do you just come for me?” 

Oz’s thick brows flick up on his forehead and he lets out a throaty chuckle. “Sweetheart...” 

“Do you come for me?” 

Now he’s really looking at you, squinting at you. Hearing that question repeated has him twitching in his goddamn slacks. He looks out to the rain, then back to you and you’re still staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“If you only fuckin’ knew,” he chokes out.

“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?” 

“Doll,” he grins and laughs, almost nervously. It’s loveable and you can’t help but smile, your gaze fixated on his scarred mouth as he speaks. You aren’t staring negatively, quite the contrary. Like everything else unusual about him, you find his scars sexy. 

“You don’t gotta’... y’know, do that.”

You smile again, letting your lids close slightly. He thinks you’re doing this because you’re what? Paying him back for all the tips? Treating him like a charity case? Hysterical. If he only knew.

“Answer my question, Oz. What if I wanna’ know?”

He shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable? You can’t tell. 

“Then uh… I ain’t gonna’ deny you that. Find out.”

You lean back over, and instead of kissing his cheek, you tilt your head and go for his mouth, your soft, plush lips pressing against his. He doesn’t respond… not right away, at least. He’s stunned, but also trying not to devour you like some goddamned hungry animal. Finally, his lips twitch to life, pressing back against yours. 

He ain’t used to this. But, fuck, it feels good. 

As his mouth opens, his large hand comes up to the side of your face, holding you where you’re at. The cool chill of the band of his ring is a stark contrast against the warmth of his digits. His fingertips graze the edge of your hairline, massaging gently. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating, the wine lingering on his breath mingles with his own personal notes. You let an open-mouthed moan fall from your throat, into his, and he reciprocates, moving his body slightly towards you. Your tongue slips along his bottom lip, pausing to nibble at it softly. He groans deep, his eyes rolling back in his head. You’re getting him stiff, worked up and all you’re fuckin’ doin’ is kissin’ him.   

This is getting heavy. You feel your own arousal burning between your legs, a fiery, throbbing heartbeat that gets more incessant the longer his tongue is in your mouth, tasting you. Oz is practically taking you in mouthfuls, and your hand crawls over the center console, just far enough that your fingernails scrape against the fabric of his slacks, over his thigh. A desperate attempt to get closer to him without just straddling him in his front seat. 

A deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning pulls you two from each other. You lurch away, panting, and look out through the front windshield. The rain comes down harder, and you can hardly make out the outlines of the buildings in front of you. 

“I should… probably go inside before this gets any worse.”

You aren’t sure if you’re talking about the rain or the mutual arousal. Maybe both. He clears his throat in response; he wants to tell you that you’re a cruel woman, leaving him like this, but with the taste of you still on his tongue, he ain’t about to push his luck and get greedy. He unlocks the doors from the panel on his left. You open the door and get out, dragging your bag with you. You lean back inside, looking at him with dreamy, half-lidded eyes. 

“I’ll see you, Oz. Thanks for the ride.” 

But not the kiss? You cringe at your words. There’s that look again – but this time, you know he wants to ask you if you’re coming down to the Lounge later. You know it, and you’ve already made up your mind. 

Instead, he shrugs with both of his shoulders. “Sure, sweetheart. Any time. I mean that.” 

With butterflies in your stomach, you exit the car, and shut the door, careful not to slam it. You hold your purse above your head as you run to the front door and you hear the roar of Oz’s engine as he speeds off. The second you’re inside, you kick off your heels at the door and hurry to the back of the apartment. You flip the lightswitch, illuminating the modest bedroom. You pull the dress from the back of your closet, half expecting a cloud of dust to come with it.  

Thank god it still fits. 

You catch a cab downtown, which is much less luxurious than your previous ride. It drops you off in front, and the line to get in stretches down the length of the building. You knew it was a popular place, but you hadn’t expected this. The rain, nor the fact that it’s a Tuesday evening, deters these patrons – whatever’s inside must really be something. You pull your dress down your thighs, and walk carefully up onto the sidewalk. Deciding to try your luck with the bouncers, you bypass the line, trying not to look at anyone to your right. If you stand in line, you won’t be inside for hours. 

Two men – identical twins – stand in front of the door.

“Can we help you?” One of them asks, sternly. You don’t take offense, they’re only doing their job. 

“Um…” You blurt out your name, adding, “Oz asked me to come.” 

One of the men speaks into a small mic attached to the lapel of his jacket, covering it with his hand. It’s only a moment before one of them opens the door and the music goes from muffled to booming, vibrating your bones. You mutter a quick thanks, and step inside, feeling like you’ve just cheated the system. The visual that meets you truly overwhelms you at first, and you hesitate. 

It’s a staggeringly massive venue, filled with undulating bodies. The building itself is industrial in nature, all steel and flashing red lights. The dance floor stretches as far as your eyes can see, a literal sea of human beings, all grinding against each other, feeling the music in their veins. You stand, stunned at the start of the crowd, unsure of where to go.

After a moment, you lift your gaze and your eyes meet for the hundredth time that night. Oz stands on the second floor, on almost a catwalk above the crowds. He looks like he did at the restaurant, save for the leather jacket which was replaced by a white suit jacket; he’s wearing the same purple shirt and black slacks. Your shoulders relax, knowing that whatever happens next will be something you remember for the rest of your life.

He doesn’t make it a secret of how he’s checking you out, a devilish sneer on his face. He’s only ever seen you in your waitress outfit, which let it be known, is sexy enough on its own, but this plunging number that gives him a peek at your cleavage, and hugs your hips in ways he could only dream of… He deepens his grin and jerks his head to the side, urging you up. You follow his gaze and clock the staircase to your left. You make a beeline for it, holding the chain of your purse in a fist and climb the steel staircase carefully, until you get to the platform that Oz is standing on. 

“Hi!” You shout over the pulsing music. You’re giddy, like a schoolgirl. It’s embarrassing, really. 

“I gotta’ be honest, doll, I didn’t think I’d see you.” he confesses, leaning into your ear. His voice is rough, but enticing. He pulls back, gauging your reaction. You stare at him for a moment, saying nothing, prolonging the moment and torturing him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes flick down to watch. Something he does a lot, you notice. 

“What?” you ask, leaning into him. “After what happened in the car?” 

When you pull back to look at him, there’s a bemused smile on your face. Confident. Cocky. Like there was an unspoken contest of who would mention it first and you won. He shrugs lightly, huffing out a laugh. You reach for his cheek, palming it softly. Oz keeps his composure, even though inside, he wants to lean into it and whimper like a dog. He’s glad he doesn’t though. 

“I’m the one who kissed you, remember? It’s not like you did anything to offend me, Oz.” you coo.

“I ‘spose not, huh?” 

You nod, slowly, coyly. 

“The chicken parm,” he says suddenly, shrugging with his hands. “It ain’t bad. But I guess you’ve figured out the real reason why I come there, huh?”  

You laugh brightly, looking over the railing at the throngs of people below you, neon red lights washing over them in time with the music. You smile softly, feeling special. It’s not every day that you get private access to an elite club in Gotham City and get to schmooze with the owner. 

“Come upstairs with me.” Feeling like your attention is drifting from him, Oz takes your hand, guiding you in the direction of yet another flight of stairs. Your eyes trail up the steps; they lead to a loft, glass windows on every side. 

You’re stone cold sober, so you can’t blame the alcohol, but the second you’re in his office, above the crowds, above it all, you’re on him like a bear on honey. Your hands smear over his chest, fingers grazing through the hair that peeks out from his open shirt. He smells like cigars and an expensive cologne that you take lungfuls of. 

“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?” 

“Yeah, Oz… I am.” You reply breathlessly, kissing a path along his bottom lip and chin. 

“How long have you felt this way, huh?” 

You finally pull back, and lick your lips, watching him intently. You knew he was a talker from the restaurant, always chatting. But right now, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “Uhm…” Your chest heaves visibly, and Oz has to fight to keep his eyes on yours. “The first or second time you came into Bellini…” 

“Ah, c’moooon!” he says, incredulously. 

“No, I’m serious!” You laugh a little, moving your head to try and keep Oz’s gaze. He looks off behind you for a moment, and when he returns his attention to you, his expression is serious.

“Chicks like you don’t go after guys like me –”

You bristle and take his face in your hands. “Chicks like me? What do you know about chicks like me, Oz? You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh?” 

He sidesteps that with another question. “What, you like older guys or somethin’?” 

“They’re better…” You say in between tiny kisses. “They know better. They’re more experienced. Guys my age…” You pause to run a finger along his lip. “They don’t know how to take care of women.”

Oz smiles. It’s a dirty, devious smile, and it sends a pulse to your core. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and he brings his hand up to the curve of your shoulder. “You want me to take care of ya, baby? Is that what you’re sayin’?” 

You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe. 

“It’s a busy club, sweetheart.” He says, almost nonchalantly, as though his slacks aren’t tenting in between both of you. 

But… he has a point. You hum quietly. 

“Later, then? Give me a tour of the club and – “ Your voice trails off because Oz looks like he’s just gotten an idea. He smirks, and his hand grips your hip, pulling you close to his gut. “What?” 

“How’s about you sit on it, huh?” 

Your head turns, gaze heavily resting on the room across the way. You assume it’s for the dancers of the club. Whatever it is – it’s right there. You glance at it nervously, and your expression reads strong, apparently, because Oz chuckles next to you, and brings his hand to your jaw, forcing it back in his direction. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. It’s okay. They ain’t gonna’ know a thing.” 

His hand drops from your jaw to your waist, where his thumb swipes circles over your dress. His hand sweeps around to the back, where your skin is exposed, and begins stroking patterns over the skin, igniting tiny fires wherever he touches. You lean forward, pressing your mouth against his again, hungry for his taste again. After a few minutes, Oz pulls away, ending the foreplay. He turns and ambles to the leather sofa angled in front of the window and you follow, taking slow, careful steps. One foot in front of the other. 

Once he’s seated, you lift your dress just enough to grip the delicately stretchy lace of your panties on either side, and carefully pull them down the curve of your ass. Oz is watching, his brown eyes locked on the tantalizing visual in front of him. You discard them on the sofa cushion, not thinking about where they land. Oz watches though, and his large hand snakes out, fisting them and discreetly tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. If you asked, he would’ve told you that he didn’t want anyone fuckin’ seein’ ‘em. The reality was that his perversions were too loud, and he was going to take a token of this dream he was experiencing.  

Oz reaches down, unlatching his slacks, and pulling the zip down just enough to reach in and pull his aching cock free. As you lower yourself, he lines it up, watching intently. You whimper his name, feeling the cockhead nudge your entrance. 

“Easy, sweetheart, easy. That’s it, nice n’ slow.” He licks his lips. 

At first, you nestle yourself down onto his thick cock gradually. The fat, leaking head pops in first, sending a shockwave through your core. Your breath hitches in your throat, and instead of sliding yourself down his shaft slowly, with a huff, you slam your ass down hard. You’re sitting all the way down on Oz’s wide lap, stuffing the rest of him in. He’s thicker than he is long, but god, it’s everything you thought it would be. He vocalizes, surprised at your determination. You still, letting your walls accommodate the girth of the man beneath you. 

“Hoo, baby...” 

The tiniest little movements have him clenching his jaw, hissing through his teeth. And then… with his hand casually holding onto your hip, Oz starts to rut his hips up into you. It’s just enough to rock your body up and down and move his cock inside you. 

He grunts underneath you, his grasp tightening on the satin of your dress. He craves skin, and his hand slides into the space between your dress and your back. You can’t help but let out the tiniest of whimpers at the feeling of being so full – you don’t remember the last time you were stretched like that. Your dress pools, hanging heavy between your legs and concealing your leaking core. 

Abruptly, the collective sound of high heels approaches, and your eyes snap up to the glass windows. A group of girls crowds the room parallel, and the second one of them spots you two, they’re heading your way. Oz stops moving. 

“Alright… quiet, doll.” He slaps your hip a few times. It’s a warning, and one you immediately heed, straightening up, tucking your hips into a more natural sitting position. His cock twitches inside you, and you swallow back the noise that bubbles up your throat. 

“Ozzy,” the girls coo in unison. One of them has a martini in her hand and asks who you are. God, they’re all so beautiful, you think. Insecurity threatens, but the stretching between your legs calms it.

Leaning to the side to meet their gaze, he tells them your name, proudly – the bastard – and you wave, sheepishly, trying not to allude to the fact that Oz’s girthy cock is buried inside you. Maybe they know. Maybe he’s done this before. You swallow hard, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“We was just havin’ a meeting. She’s thinkin’ of workin’ here.” A bold faced lie, but it distracts the women from looking too hard at the scene in front of them. They all titter excitedly, delighted by the prospect of having another friend to play with.  

“Oz takes real good care of us,” one of them chimes in, earnestly. “You’d love it here.” 

You clench around his cock as hard as you can, your internal muscles squeezing him in a vice. You smile as naturally as you can at the girls as Oz continues speaking casually. The man’s poker face must be insane because he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give away a single thing. 

“Alright, alright. Girls, what am I payin’ ya for, huh? Get down there.” 

In a flurry of nods and apologies, the women disperse, heading back down to the throbbing club below them. The sound of their high heels clicking down the stairs fades away, replaced by the dull, muffled thrumming of the music below. As soon as you two are alone again, Oz bucks his hips up into you hard, almost painfully, pulling a low groan from your throat.

“Tell me how good that feels, sweetheart. Tell me.” The roughness of his voice, the harshness of his accent makes everything sound intense, but the desperation in which he asks that isn’t lost on you. He’s practically begging you to tell him, revealing a deep-rooted hunger for praise. You wet your throat, and lean your head back onto his shoulder, bringing your hand up around to the back of his wide neck; the flesh is warm and damp with sweat.

“It feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Y-yeah…” You close your eyes, wincing slightly at the way his cock bullies you and stretches you open. “So good, Oz. I’ve thought about this… so many times.”

His hips rut up into you, finding a hungry, incessant rhythm and your slick walls clench around him. The action brings a choking grunt from his mouth, and your ego swells with the control. An idea blossoms. You straighten up; setting your hips and grinding them back and forth on his lap. Beneath you, Oz moans, his grip on you tightening. You feel his large body shudder, and a cocky smile curls its way around your lips. 

“You like that, Oz? You like me fucking you like that?” 

He nods, breathlessly, reaching up to palm the sweat that drips into his brow. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, arching your body against his. 

“I l-like the way you’re fuckin’ me. It feels real fuckin’ good… ” He grumbles, pleased. “Feelin’ that tight pussy uh yours… like heaven, doll.” 

You whine at that, loving the way it sounds coming from his mouth. Your hips gyrate, continuing their ruthless pattern on his cock. His hand strays from your hip and juts between your legs, finding your cunt. His thick fingers slip between your folds, stroking you just enough to drive your orgasm closer to the edge. You whimper, tossing your head back. 

Oz’s gaze drops from your back to your ass, watching as the flesh swells when you push back against him. God damn. It’s a perfect fuckin’ view, and he sucks in a deep breath. Every muscle in his body tightens, even if he ain’t ready for that.  

“Aw, fuck–” he grunts, low. Deep in his stomach, his muscles clench, trying hard to stave off the oncoming orgasm. His eyes open, focusing on the ceiling, the sound of the music, anything except for the way you’re ridin’ him. It ain’t workin’, because he feels his whole body tense up. Fuck. 

His hand goes slack between your legs and you grit your teeth, bringing your brows together in a pained expression. The dual stimulation was nice, but the way his cock massages your walls, stretching them out and filling you in a way that has you gasping is enough to drive you mad. You’re thankful that the music is so loud beneath you, because your desperate mewls and whines are getting higher and higher in pitch. Oz mutters something, something filthy about filling you and you drive your hips back against him. And with that, he loses it. He thrusts his hips up into you a few times, with a frenzied sort of desperation. You feel the heat painting your insides, coating your walls in his ecstasy. Underneath you, Oz’s thrusts have turned languid and lazy. He’s silently justifying the too-quick orgasm with the fact that he had to; anyone could’ve walked in at any time. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’s been like a slobbering dog for you for months. 

Chest heaving, your hips continue rutting back and forth, and Oz shifts underneath you, still panting heavily. It’s tender, but he doesn’t complain. His thrusts continue to slow and you desperately reach between your legs, tapping his hand back to life. “D-don’t stop Oz, please… don’t stop…” 

Behind you, Oz chuckles under his breath and straightens up, having sunk back into the sofa a little too far when he lost it. His thick index finger strokes your clit upwards, and a shiver rips through your body. The coil in your stomach winds tighter as you settle into the oncoming feeling. Still full of him, your slick walls shudder around his cock as the first wave hits. The coil snaps, your thighs clamp shut around his hand, and you look down, sighing loud as he continues flicking between your folds. One of your hands is situated on his thigh, and the other comes to grip his wrist, feeling the cuban link chain beneath your palm.

“That’s it, sweetheart… that’s it…” As you ride it out, bucking your hips against his groin, he coaxes you through your orgasm, both vocally and with the way he massages your clit, the pad of his index finger pressing into it. You can hear the pride in his voice, it’s absolutely dripping with it. “Atta’ girl. Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. You furiously nod your head as your legs begin to tremble. He doesn’t stop, and your immediate reaction is to dig your nails into the flesh of his hand, silently begging. 

“You good, doll?” 

“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.” 

Oz removes his hand from between your legs, and strokes the side of your thigh, gently. Tenderly. For a moment, you stay like that, just enjoying all of the post-coital sensations. Eventually, you get to your feet, curious about how the patrons downstairs are faring. Speaking of dripping… You swallow hard, and press your thighs together. 

While still in front of Oz, you straighten yourself out, pulling your dress back down over your hips. Now, you’re suddenly aware of the throbbing beat beneath your feet and make your way over to the window. 

“How about that tour?” You ask, running a nail along the glass that overlooks the dancefloor below you. After a few moments, you feel Oz’s presence behind you, his stomach pressing into the curve of your back. 

“I thought you weren’t a clubbin’ girl…” he murmurs throatily, in between kisses to your neck. You tilt your head, allowing more space for him to smother. 

“Well,” you confess, honesty tinging your voice. “I’m not. But it’s not every day you get invited to the most elite nightclub in Gotham City.” You shrug. “Might as well.”

[porcelian]

hehe HE DOWN BAD

[umemiyan]

𝗧𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗢𝗜𝗞𝗔𝗪𝗔 𝗫 𝗗𝗢𝗠!𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / reader is a lil mean / there’s one slap / oikawa is a crybaby

he’s left fully nude and exposed while you, completely clothed, hover over him like a cruel, untouchable deity. however, tōru can see the peaks of your nipples through the fabric of your shirt. he wants to suck on them.

you’re hand milks the tip of his cock with graceful twists and squeezes, coaxing needy beads of pre-cum from the swollen head. he quivers and drools beneath your touch, desperate to fuck his length further into your fist.

“say you’re sorry, tōru.” your voice brings him out of a daze, but before he can think to respond, yet another expert twist of your wrist has his eyes wanting to roll back.

“a-ah!” he sucks in a breath and tries to keep from bursting. why are you being so mean to him? he just wants to cum! he deserves to cum!

you bring your hand up to land a smack against his cheek—not hard enough to hurt too badly, but it carries enough sting to draw a whimper from him and demand his attention. “say you’re sorry for acting like a fucking brat and embarrassing me.”

big brown eyes well up with tears fueled by sensitivity and regret. why are you being so mean to him? well… he supposes he could’ve behaved a little better…

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles softly, struggling to swallow his pride and speak through the pleasure.

“what was that?” you ask, dissatisfied with his lack of conviction. you slow your movements down substantially.

“i’m sorry!” he says much louder this time, eager to win your approval.

“for what?”

“for being a brat!”

you offer a genuine smile when you see tears finally fall from his lashes. then, you lean forward and kiss him with all the tenderness you can muster, giving him his first taste of you thus far. tōru sucks in your affection like nourishment.

pulling back, you move your lips up to his forehead. “good boy. you can cum now.”

[yuri-is-online]

"Do be gentle with me." Why does Jade have to go saying things like that? He's the type to find a way to make you trip on fall on him on purpose then say that as if your some perv doing something to him then smile at you with that damn face.

"Do be gentle with me." He says like he's the one with his hands at his side in shock and not halfway up your shirt.

"Do be gentle with me." Like he's not keeping your arms pinning him to the ground with an iron grip

"Do be gentle with me~" As if he didn't leave that tab about "how humans have relations with merfolk" up on his monitor specially for you to see.

"Do be gentle with me." Murmered into your neck as he gives you a quick hug from behind, making sure to graze it with his teeth.

"Do be gentle with me." With a laugh as he watches you flail for air after one "short" kiss.

"Please be gentle with me" because seas know he has no intention of being gentle with you.

[justaboutsnapped]

it's time to let the "they got into f1 through DTS" discourse die. we should be preparing ourselves for an imminent and decidedly more frightening prospect*: people getting into F1 through F1 the movie

[mo0nluvr]

The barman was clearly flirting with you, the way he was undressing you with his eyes and all the flirty jokes and fluttering compliments he was making. All these didn't go unnoticed by Ghost who was currently sitting on the corner of the bar, his glass of whiskey tightly grasped by his hand, threatening to shatter into tiny pieces.

And that's how you are found here. Your ass up while his tattooed arm is wrapped around your neck, his free hand grasping your hip in a tight hold while fucking you like an animal in heat. You're sure that by the end of the night your hip will be bruised. He's going hard on you, but you can't say no, his cock feels too good to say no.

"This pussy is mine d'you get that luv?" your head is too fucked up to answer. And this time ghost grabs aggressively your cheeks forming a pout "I said did you get it?"

"Y-yes only y-yours" satisfied he lets go and taps lightly your cheek "good girl".