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tsunaso · 3 months ago

Note

hiii, I love ur writing, could u do a fic where Jason Todd is a mafia boss, and the male reader is his most loyal 'guard dog'? Jason literally treats him like one—giving him orders, rewarding him, keeping him close. Maybe there’s a moment where he calls male reader his 'dog,' and male reader just smirk and say, ‘Yeah? And who put the collar on me?’

thank u sm!

“BARK LIKE YOU WANT IT”

pairing. Sub!Mafia Boss!Jason Todd x Top!male reader

synopsis. In Gotham's underworld, Jason Todd holds the city by its throat. But every king has a dog at his heel—and M/n is loyal, brutal, and always watching. Jason calls him a mutt. But he forgets one thing—who put the collar on who? — 2.3k

warnings. Guard Dog AU, mdni, nsfw, amab reader, dubcon, possessive behavior, praise kink, degradation kink, minor physical restraint, mutual obsession, mafia politics, overstimulation, powerplay, collar kink, facefucking, blowjob, spitting, choking, humiliation, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral fixation, crying, subspace, manhandling, aftercare

Jason Todd ruled Gotham’s underground like it owed him blood. And in many ways—it did.

The Red Hood Syndicate didn’t move without his order. Rivals were ghosts before they made it to sunrise. Contracts vanished. Witnesses disappeared. And yet, for all the stories about Jason Todd’s brutality, his trigger temper, his high body count—

There was one man even the worst of the underworld feared more.

His shadow.

His guard dog.

You.

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

"You’re late."

Jason’s voice was sharp, not raised, but biting all the same as you stepped into his office, the double doors clicking shut behind you. You didn’t answer him. You never did when he was in one of his moods—irritable, pacing, hands stuffed into his pockets, a fresh line of blood drying down the corner of his jaw like he forgot to clean it off.

Or didn’t care.

He looked you up and down once. His mouth twisted slightly.

"You smell like smoke."

You stared, unbothered. "I burned a man alive in his own Porsche tonight. You wanted it done quiet."

He laughed. Dry. A little sharp around the edges.

“Messy job for quiet work.”

“Your note said ‘make it hurt.’ So I did.”

Jason stopped pacing. The city light from the penthouse windows caught across his eyes—green-blue, sharp as broken glass. He licked his lips once, slow. Then, “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Your boots echoed on the polished floor, each step solid. Intentional. Controlled. You moved like a weapon kept in a velvet box—danger tucked into civility, teeth beneath tailored suits.

Jason sat on the edge of his desk as you approached. Still calm. Still composed.

But his fingers twitched once where they gripped the edge of the wood. You saw it. You always did.

“You want to be praised?” he asked, tilting his head, voice half-daring.

"No." Your tone was even, flat, as you stopped in front of him. “I want you to stop testing me.”

Jason’s smile twitched. “But you’re so good when I do.”

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

It was like this. Always.

The tension. The push-pull.

He gave the orders. You obeyed. He treated you like property—his muscle, his executioner, his dog. And you let him.

But Jason, arrogant as he was, had always mistaken obedience for submission.

And that was going to cost him.

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

His hand lifted to your collar, two fingers brushing the sharp seam of your dress shirt. His knuckles grazed your throat, casual. Thoughtless.

But that’s where his control ended.

Your hand closed around his wrist.

His eyes jumped to yours, sharp with surprise—but not fear. Never fear.

“You like to call me your dog,” you said, low and measured. Your grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make him still. "Throw me scraps. Snap your fingers. Expect me to sit."

Jason’s breath hitched. Just a little.

Your voice dipped, threading a heat beneath the threat. "You like pretending I belong to you."

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His mouth was parted, his pupils wide, and every inch of him was screaming yes.

"So let me ask you something, Todd." You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice dark with knowing.

"Who put the collar on me?"

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Jason shivered.

It was subtle—but it was there.

The slow exhale. The twitch of his thigh muscles. The flush creeping into his neck that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with being caught.

Owned.

He swallowed thickly. His hands clenched into fists against the desk.

And you—still gripping his wrist—lowered your mouth to his throat and let your teeth drag just beneath his jaw. Not biting. Not yet.

Just reminding.

Of what?

Of everything.

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

He jolted slightly under your touch. A sharp inhale. A curse under his breath. Then his voice—thin, almost petulant:

“You’re supposed to take orders.”

Your smirk was razor-edged.

“I do. Because I want to.”

Your grip dropped. But you didn’t move back.

Instead, you leaned in closer.

Jason didn’t flinch. He never did. But his breathing was heavier now, pulse hammering against his throat—visible. Vulnerable.

"You bark all day, but when I get too close," you whispered, dragging your hand down his thigh with deliberate slowness, "you start to sound like a mutt that wants to be bred, not obeyed."

Jason made a sound in his throat. Half-growl, half-gasp.

"Fuck you."

You grinned.

“You’d beg.”

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

He hated how much it was true.

He could sit on his throne all day—snapping orders, collecting blood money, running the city from his penthouse and dark alleys—but when you stepped into the room?

He was something smaller. Simmering. Waiting.

He wanted you to tear it out of him. To push him back onto the desk, force his legs open, make him say please.

You didn’t even need to touch him to get him there. He was already half hard just from your voice in his ear.

And you knew it.

You always fucking knew it.

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

“You don’t really want a guard dog,” you said, low against his throat. “You want a muzzle. You want a leash you can wrap around your own throat when no one’s looking.”

Jason’s fingers twitched again—this time reaching.

But not for a weapon.

For you.

And you let him. Just this once.

You let him grab your shirt, let him yank you in like he was desperate for something he couldn’t name. Your hand slid up the back of his neck, tangled in his hair, pulled his head back until he was looking up at you—eyes hooded, breathing uneven.

You watched his mouth part.

You watched the fight bleed out of his body.

And then, just loud enough to ruin him—

"Good boy."

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

The leash comes first.

Black leather, clean and heavy, pulled from your coat pocket like you were always planning to use it.

Because you were.

You knew Jason would mouth off. You knew he’d call you his dog again.

So now you’re going to make sure he was your bitch instead.

You’re sitting on his desk, legs spread, Jason on his knees between them—cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. Still pretending to be angry. Still acting like he’s got pride left.

"Take your shirt off."

He hesitates. Barely. Then obeys. Peels it off like it’s armor, like maybe the fabric will hold him together.

It won’t.

You pull the collar tight around his throat and let the buckle snap into place. His breath catches.

"Doesn’t it suit you?" you murmur, thumb brushing the pulse at his neck. "No tie. No suit. Just a collar. That’s how I like you."

Jason mutters something low under his breath.

You grab his jaw. “What was that?”

His mouth twists, defiant. So pretty like this. “Fuck you.”

You smirk. “You’ll get there.”

You shove two fingers into his mouth before he can talk back. He chokes slightly, but glares up at you through his lashes. You drag them deeper, until his throat works around the intrusion and his spit starts to run down his chin.

"You wanted to talk back?" you murmur. "Then earn the right to use your mouth."

Jason moans around your fingers, eyes fluttering.

His knees shift. He’s already grinding down against the floor, trying to rub the ache building in his pants. You grab a fistful of his hair and yank—his eyes fly open.

"Are you hard just from choking on my fingers?" you whisper. "Are you going to cum from being used like a toy, Jay?"

He shakes his head. He wants to say no. But you curl your fingers around the collar, tug—not hard. Just enough.

He whimpers.

"That’s what I thought."

You unzip. Jason’s eyes drop, hungry. You slap your cock against his cheek, watching the weight of it sink in before gripping his hair again.

"Open."

He does. Mouth wide, eager.

You sink in slow—and he moans. Not a groan. Not a grunt. A real, ruined moan, like he’s been waiting for this all week.

"You love this, don’t you?" you growl, hips pushing forward until he gags. "Love being on your knees like some two dollar whore. Mouth wide open. Ready to be used."

Jason’s face is dripping. Spit down his chin, lips stretched wide, pupils blown. He nods. He nods.

You grab the leash.

Just the feel of it in your hand makes him shudder.

You wrap it around your fist and pull. Not hard. Just enough.

"Good boy," you murmur.

Then you start fucking his throat.

He chokes.

Of course he does.

You don’t stop.

You let him gag, let his shoulders shake, let his tears spill over—he loves it. He’s rutting against the floor now, desperate, whining around your dick like you’re the only thing he needs to breathe.

"You gonna cum just from getting facefcked like a bitch?" you hiss.

Jason nods—fast, frantic.

You laugh. Spit in his mouth. Slap his cheek. Pull the leash again and hold him there while your hips snap forward with brutal rhythm.

When you pull out, he’s wrecked. His jaw is hanging open, tongue out, spit dripping down his neck. And he looks gorgeous like this.

You grab his face. Make him look at you.

“Say it.”

He pants. "Wh-what?"

"Say who owns you."

Jason hesitates—just a second.

Then: "You."

"Say it louder."

"You fucking own me," he moans. "I’m yours. I’m your fucking dog."

You grin.

"Now beg to get fucked."

He doesn't even pause.

“Please,” he gasps. “Please use me. Please, I—I need it—I’ll be good, I swear, just—please.”

And just like that, Jason Todd—the Red Hood, the most feared boss in Gotham—is on all fours, begging for the dick you’re about to be giving him.

Face red. Lips swollen. Hair stuck to his forehead. He’s panting now, thighs trembling as he tries to hold himself together, cock hard and leaking with no relief. The collar glints under the light, tight around his throat, leash trailing from your fist like a reminder.

Jason Todd doesn’t look like a mafia boss anymore.

He looks like a dog.

And he’s about to get treated like one.

“Get up,” you say.

He moves. Clumsy. Obedient. You shove him over the desk, chest flat, ass up, back arching perfect for you. The position makes him groan.

His pants are already gone. You never gave them back.

His thighs part without being told.

Ready.

“You were begging so sweet a second ago,” you murmur, palming his ass. “What happened to all that pride, Boss?”

Jason bites his lip. Doesn’t answer.

So you slap his ass. Loud. Sharp.

He jolts. “F-fuck—!”

“You forget how to talk?” you growl, leaning in close, letting your weight press into him from behind. “You forget who owns this?”

Your fingers drag down to his entrance. Wet. Twitching.

Jason gasps. “N-No—no, I know—I know—”

“Then say it.”

You shove two fingers inside him without warning. He screams. His back arches off the desk, legs shaking instantly.

“Fucking say it.”

“You—y-you own me,” he moans. “Please, please—I'm your fucking toy—”

You laugh against his ear.

“Yeah, you are.”

You press your cock to his slicked-up hole, teasing, dragging the head against him until he’s shivering and whining, back arched beautifully. The moment you press in—

He sobs.

"F-fuck—you're big—slow, slow—"

You don't go slow.

You grip the leash and pull as you sink in, one sharp thrust that fills him to the hilt. Jason’s scream gets buried in the desk wood, his fists clutching the edges like he’s trying to ground himself.

"You’re taking it," you growl. "Every inch. Just like you begged for."

Jason moans—high, desperate.

You start fucking into him, pace unrelenting, cock pistoning in and out as his hole squeezes around you so tight it hurts. He’s already leaking onto the desk, leaving a wet spot beneath him.

“Gonna cum like this?” you hiss. “No hands, no touch—just getting bred like the good bitch you are?”

He nods frantically, words lost in sobs and moans.

You feel the tremble before you hear the whimper.

Jason’s voice cracks. His whole body shudders. And then—his cock twitches untouched, shooting over the desk as his body clamps down around you.

He’s crying now. Quiet, desperate.

“C-Came—fuck, I came—”

You don’t stop.

“You think we’re done?” you growl, voice filthy. “You begged for it. Now fucking take it.”

You grab the leash, twist it around your fist, and pull his head back as you thrust harder, pounding into his overstimulated, raw hole until he’s a sobbing wreck on the wood, dripping and broken. You feel it building. Heat low in your spine. Jason’s still twitching, every thrust making his legs shake, tongue hanging out as he begs for more, whimpers turning breathless.

“You want it?” you growl. “Want me to fill you up?”

Jason nods frantically, barely coherent.

“Fucking say it.”

“Please—please cum in me—want it—need your cum—breed me—!”

You snarl, bury yourself to the hilt, and let go.

Hot, thick, endless—you spill into him like you’re trying to mark him from the inside out. Jason gasps, back arching beautifully as he milks you, his hole clenching greedily with every spurt of release.

The air reeks of sweat, sex, and ownership.

And he loves it. 　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

He collapses the second you pull out, limp and twitching, cum leaking down his thighs in thick streaks. His face is flushed. His eyes are barely open.

You wipe him clean with your handkerchief. Gently.

You kiss his shoulder once. Then his temple.

He breathes slow. Even. Peaceful.

And the collar? You don’t take it off.

You brush your fingers over it softly, smirking.

“You looked better on your knees than you ever did behind a desk.”

Jason—wrecked, dazed, marked from the inside out—manages a breathy laugh.

“Then put my name on the fucking tag next time.”

2K notes · View notes

rizzcom · 4 months ago

Text

trapped

pairing: robin (dick grayson) x catwoman apprentice! reader

tags: mdni, fem reader, reader is a year older than dick, enemies to lovers¿?, dick calls reader “cat”, reader calls dick “birdie”/“baby”, very hormonal teens, dry humping, enclosed space, forced proximity, making out, groping, sub dick, thigh riding, praise, handjob, p in v, cowgirl, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is more “experienced” (lmk if i missed any)

You had never known stability. Not in the traditional sense.

Your earliest memories were of cold nights and empty pockets, of learning that in Gotham, you had to take what you wanted because no one was going to give it to you. And maybe that was why Selina Kyle took you in—because she saw something of herself in you.

From the moment Selina took you under her wing, normalcy became a foreign concept. She never pretended to be a mother, never showered you in words of affection, but she provided. She gave you food, a place to sleep, and most importantly—a purpose.

Life with her was exhilarating. Nights spent darting across Gotham’s rooftops, breaking into places you had no business being in, taking what you wanted simply because you could. Selina taught you everything—how to move unseen, how to pick locks with delicate precision, how to manipulate, how to charm.

And, of course, how to run.

But no matter how good you were, they were better.

Batman and Robin.

They were always there, always a step behind, always chasing.

Selina handled Batman, slipping through his grasp time and time again, leaving only whispered promises and stolen kisses in her wake.

And you? You were left to deal with Robin.

The first time you saw him, you nearly laughed.

A kid. Shorter than you, all bright colors and attitude, wearing a mask that barely hid the smugness in his expression.

Not like you were a kid yourself, right?

“You’re kidding,” You had said, eyeing the small figure in bright red, green, and yellow. “You’re Robin?”

From the way Selina warned you about Robin, you expected… something else.

Not this short, flamboyant boy in pixie boots and wearing that shit-eating grin.

Robin bristled at your tone, crossing his arms. “Yeah, and?”

“You just seem… smaller than I expected.”

He scoffed. “You’re, like, barely taller than me.”

You hummed, amused. “Still taller.”

It should’ve been easy. You’d spent months training under Selina, learning how to evade, how to slip through fingers like water. He was just a kid—a kid in bright colors, a cape to slow him down, and all energy and attitude.

But Robin was fast.

And relentless.

No matter how quick you were, how well you knew Gotham’s rooftops, he kept up. Every twist, every jump, he was right there, like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

He grinned through it all, like the chase itself was the fun part.

By the time you finally lost him—ducking into a hidden alley, heart pounding, breath sharp—you realized something.

You weren’t annoyed.

You were excited.

For the first time in your life, you were looking forward to something.

And it became a game.

Every time Selina clashed with Batman, you and Robin danced around each other, locked in your own little battle. He was all quips and acrobatics, relentless determination wrapped in bright colors, and you matched him move for move.

And then, somewhere along the way, over the years, the game changed.

It was subtle at first.

The way his hands lingered just a second too long when he grabbed you. The way his breath hitched when you leaned in, voice low and teasing.

And then, one night, after a particularly close chase—

“You’re slowing down, Birdie,” you teased, perched on the edge of a rooftop, looking down at him. “Getting tired of chasing me?”

Robin huffed, rolling his shoulders, the movement fluid yet tense, like he was shaking off exhaustion—or frustration. He was older now, no longer the scrawny kid you used to outrun on Gotham’s rooftops. He’d grown into himself, his frame broader, his stance more grounded, more sure. The suit, once bright and almost ridiculous in its vibrancy, seemed different now. The red looked richer, darker under the moonlight, the shadows clinging to the fabric, emphasizing the sharp angles of his body. His cape, now black and lined with gold, draped over his shoulders with an ease that made him seem more intimidating, more like a real threat than just Batman’s sidekick.

And then there was his voice—lower, rougher, with an edge that hadn’t been there before.

An edge that reminded you of Gotham’s Dark Knight.

Gone was the high-energy bravado of a kid playing hero. Now, when he spoke, there was weight behind his words, something firm, something undeniably commanding. It sent a strange thrill through you, though you’d never admit it.

“Who says I’m not letting you get away on purpose?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Awfully generous of you.”

“Maybe I like the chase,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze sharp. “Maybe I like you.”

The air shifted.

Your smirk didn’t waver, but your heart did.

For the first time, you didn’t have a quip ready.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the moment passed.

He grinned again, all mischief and ease, like he hadn’t just thrown a wrench into your entire world.

You rolled your eyes, shoving down whatever had just coiled in your chest. “You really should work on your flirting, Robin.”

“Is that a challenge?”

You leapt off the rooftop, and this time—

You let him catch you.

You were nineteen now.

It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful to Selina—she’d taken you in when you had nothing, taught you everything you knew. But you weren’t a stray kitten anymore. You had your own ambitions, your own scores to settle, and it was time you made a name for yourself.

Tonight was supposed to be the first step.

A simple break-in. A massive corporation with deep pockets and even deeper corruption. You weren’t just stealing from them—you were stealing leverage. Blackmail, blueprints, the kind of information that could buy you power.

Everything had been going smoothly—until he showed up.

“Still breaking into places you don’t belong?”

You didn’t need to turn around. You knew that voice—low, smug, and just the right amount of irritating.

Robin.

Or, as you liked to think of him now, Gotham’s Most Persistent Pain in the Ass.

You smirked, still focused on the files flickering across the computer screen. “You know me, Birdie. I just love a good challenge.”

“You’re getting sloppy,” he countered, stepping closer.

You caught his reflection in the screen—older now, taller. The bright colors of his suit had been traded for something darker, more tactical. His stance was solid, muscles tense, ready to spring.

You sighed dramatically. “You gonna fight me, or just lecture me to death?”

“I was thinking both.”

And then he moved.

You barely had time to react before he was on you, reaching for the drive in your hand. You twisted away, knocking over a chair in your retreat, and bolted.

The chase was on.

You darted through the office space, leaping over desks, twisting through narrow hallways, all while Robin stayed infuriatingly close. You could feel him at your heels, relentless as ever, and for the first time in a long time, you wondered if you might not shake him this time.

Then you saw it—a maintenance door left slightly ajar.

You shoved through, sprinting inside just as Robin reached for you. His fingers just barely caught the back of your jacket, and in his effort to stop you, he yanked.

Hard.

The force sent you both crashing through the doorway, tumbling down a short flight of metal stairs in a mess of limbs and curses.

You landed first, sprawled on your back against the cold floor. Robin landed on top of you, knocking the breath from your lungs as the door behind you slammed shut with an ominous clunk.

A silence settled.

“…Did you just tackle me down a flight of stairs?”

Dick groaned, pushing himself up slightly, bracing himself on his arms—his body still pressed against yours. His breath was warm against your cheek when he muttered, “You fell.”

“You pulled me.”

“You ran.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly beneath him—only to realise just how close you were.

The space around you was tiny.

Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked with old equipment and cleaning supplies. The air was thick with dust and stale air, and the dim, flickering light overhead barely illuminated anything.

You and Dick were practically pressed against each other.

And worse?

The door wasn’t budging.

It’s like it automatically locked you both in the moment you entered.

Dick must’ve come to the same conclusion because he exhaled sharply, muttering a quiet, “Fantastic.”

You turned to face him, looking him up and down. “Aww. Trapped in a tiny, enclosed space with me? Try not to look so excited, Birdie.”

Dick clenched his jaw, shifting his weight, and—

Oh.

That was… interesting.

For the first time since you met him, he was the one who faltered. His breath hitched, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against your waist.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, voice dropping to a whisper. “Never been this close to a girl before?”

His gaze flickered to your lips before he caught himself, schooling his expression into something unimpressed. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed, tilting your head. “That’s why you’re still on top of me?”

Dick tensed. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pushed off you, moving to sit up—only to immediately hit his head against one of the low shelves with a dull thud.

You laughed.

Dick glared, rubbing the spot where he’d smacked his skull. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, of course.”

You pushed yourself up, stretching out your legs as much as the tiny space allowed. Dick was sitting against the opposite wall now, knees bent, arms resting over them. The space was too small for either of you to fully move without touching the other.

A slow smirk curled at your lips as an idea took root.

You shifted, closing the distance, swinging a leg over his to straddle his lap.

His whole body stiffened.

“W—What are you doing?” he asked, voice suddenly very unsteady.

“Getting comfortable,” you murmured, leaning in just slightly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

His breath shuddered.

This was new.

You’d spent years teasing him, pushing his buttons, testing his patience. But this—the way he was looking at you now, wide-eyed, breathless, trapped beneath you with nowhere to go—this was different.

You could feel the way his heart was racing.

You dragged your fingers down his chest, slow and deliberate. “Still think I’m getting sloppy?”

Dick exhaled shakily. “I—”

He stares unabashedly at the way your plush thighs brush against his sides when you shift to make yourself comfortable, he feels the way heavier breasts push against his chest as you leaned closer.

Dick wasn’t an idiot.

He knew you were doing this on purpose.

You can feel Dick’s eyes, despite it being hidden behind that damn domino mask of his. It was all over your face, and for a moment—you saw the way his breath hitch when his eyes landed on your lips.

That only fueled you more.

And without a second thought, you kissed him.

The second your lips met his, the tension snapped.

Dick made a quiet, desperate noise against your lips, his hands grasping at your waist, unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away. You made the decision for him.

His hesitation lasted seconds before he gave in, melting beneath you, responding with an eagerness that sent a thrill down your spine.

You nipped at his lower lip, earning a shuddered gasp, and God, you’d never seen him like this—needy, breathless, completely at your mercy.

“Is this what you wanted?” you murmured against his lips, your hips shifting just enough to make him choke on a breath.

His fingers dug into your sides as he struggles to maintain control.

He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “Fuck—Cat… no—” Despite the words, his body betrays his desire, hips twitching up to meet yours, his hands sliding up your back.

Dick kisses you again, soft and deep, pouring his desperation and desire into the embrace. And you didn’t waste a second to kiss him back, your hips slowly moving against his thigh, seeking out any sort of relief while also trying to provide Dick some.

And Dick—

He whimpered, soft and pathetic, adorable coming from him.

Your hand moved to cup his face, your thumb stroking along the soft skin of his cheek, leaning down to deepen the kiss.

"You're so pretty." You murmur softly, pulling away slightly to stare at him, your hand making its way to remove his mask. But Dick’s hand immediately caught your wrist, stopping you.

“N-no, wait, mask stays on, Cat. We can’t—“ He didn’t finish the sentence as you rolled your hips against him instead, body jerking in his hold. Somehow the gravity of the situation just stills in his head for a moment. “Shit, shit, wait—we should talk about this, right?”

“What’s there to talk about?” You mutter out, as you press kisses along his jawline. “You want this—I want this. We both want this, don’t you agree?”

You could feel his breath, ragged and shallow.

There was no escaping the sheer intensity of it. Every inch of his body was pushing into yours, and his movements—though tentative—were driven by an undeniable need. His hips, for all his effort to hold back, shifted instinctively, and for a brief second, you felt the unmistakable press of his body against yours. And in one swift motion, you removed his domino mask, tossing it aside as your eyes met his baby blue ones.

He looked at you with wide eyes, clearly torn between wanting to pull away and wanting more. You could practically hear his heart racing in the thick silence.

He swallowed hard. “I—” His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw it. The boyish cockiness was gone, replaced by something more raw, more real. He was trembling slightly, unsure but wanting, and it made something stir in your chest.

You slid your hands up his chest, fingers brushing over the outline of his suit, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the fabric. His reaction was immediate—he let out a quiet, shaky breath as his hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer.

He kissed you again, this time with more force, his lips hungry, as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed, brushing against your sides, your waist, his fingers lightly pressing against the curves of your body. You could feel him struggling to stay in control, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate, but still so careful, as if he was afraid of pushing you too far.

“Damn it,” he muttered between kisses, his voice tight with frustration. “I hate that you’re making me lose control.”

You smiled against his lips, pulling back just slightly. “You don’t have to hate it, you know.”

His eyes met yours again, and there it was—vulnerable, unsure, but undeniably drawn to you. “I—” He paused, exhaling slowly, as if gathering his thoughts. “I want this. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to know everything,” you said softly, running your hand down his chest once more. “Just go with it.”

Dick’s body reacted immediately, the way his hands moved to your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. You could feel the desperation in him, the way his movements grew more fervent, more insistent, as if the moment had finally overtaken him.

There was something so intoxicating about it—the way he kissed you with such intensity, like every second he spent with you in this confined space only heightened the tension between you. You could feel his body pressing against yours, his every movement a silent invitation, a challenge. His hands, once hesitant, were now roaming freely, touching you with a fervor that made your heart race.

Dick reaches up with one hand to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple through the fabric of your suit, and you let out a guttural moan.

“That’s it, baby, don’t hold back.” You mumbled, your hand grabbing a fistful of his hair, tilting his head up to meet his lips once more.

And don’t hold back he did. His hand fondled with your clothed breast, while the other made its way to the zip on your back.

Dick's gaze lazily makes its way up your form, greedily taking in every inch. He gently bites down on his lower lip, face starting to look flushed as he lets his guard down. Bending forward, you close the distance between your mouths, nipping gently and taking that plush lower lip for yourself. He gasps, but gives as good as he gets, tonguing into you with a little groan. When he tries to take control and deepen the kiss, you smirk and pull back, drawing a pouty little sigh from him.

"Ah ah, birdie—let me do all the work, yeah?" You scold him. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his warm breath mixing with yours.

“I’m sorry, I just—” You placed a finger on his lips, clicking your tongue.

“Don’t apologise.” You murmur, lifting his head up as you start to press kisses all over his jawline once again, trailing down to his neck. Dick whines softly at the sudden shift, mewling your name.

He grinds against your clothed cunt, the fabric of your suits making it easier to hurriedly slide against each other.

Dick wishes he could feel how tightly you’d wrap around him instead of this but he needed release now, and this was the quickest way to get it.

But you notice his neediness.

You noticed how much he was aching to be inside of you.

He was bucking into you desperately, moving his hands to grope your tits and roll your nipples between his fingers.

“There you go… Good boy, keep going.” You whisper, your hand trailing down to the hem of his pants, tugging at it.

Dick inhales sharply as he feels your fingers brushing against the waistband of his pants, his hips twitching in anticipation. He's breathing heavily now, chest rising and falling rapidly against yours.

“Ah fuck…” His voice is strained, torn between wanting to give in completely and the lingering hesitation. “I want to... but we should... shit.. but we should be careful.”

You tilt your head at that, your hand resting against his growing arousal, rubbing against it painstakingly slow. “And where’s the fun in that?”

Fuck.

Despite his words, his hips lift slightly, seeking more of your touch. “Please, just... let me...” He swallows hard, hands gripping your waist as he looks up at you with hazy, desire-filled eyes. “...let me make you feel good.” His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your bottom, brushing against the bare skin of your stomach, leaving tingles in their wake.

“Tell me what you want. I'll do anything... anything you want.” His voice is a needy whisper, one you knew you couldn’t resist now.

Your eyes darken with lust as you take in the sight of Dick beneath you, seeing the desperation etched into every line of his body. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his heart is pounding against your chest, the tremble of his fingers as they dig into the fabric of your suit.

Slowly, teasingly, you slide your hand lower, palming the growing bulge in his pants. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining against the confines of his costume.

Dick lets out a strangled groan, his hips bucking up into your touch, seeking more friction.

Boldly, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants and slowly, torturously, begin to tug them down. The fabric resistive at first, but with a final, sharp tug, you yank them down, exposing his bare skin to the cool air of the room.

Dick's cock springs free, long and cute and perfect, the tip already glistening with precum. It twitches as the air hits it, and you can't help but lick your lips at the sight. You wrap your hand around his shaft, feeling the weight of him, the heat, the way he pulses in your grip.

Dick is panting now, his eyes glazed over with lust as he stares up at you, taking in the sight of you looming over him, his cock in your hand. He looks wrecked, destroyed, completely at your mercy, and it sends a thrill through you, a rush of power and desire.

You stroke him slowly, teasingly, watching as he writhes beneath you, his body arching into your touch. You can feel him leaking more, his cock throbbing in your hand, and you know he won't last much longer at this rate.

So you lean down, your breasts brushing against his chest as you murmur in his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “That's it, baby... just like that. You feel so good... I can't wait to taste you.”

You take your time, stroking him with long, deliberate movements from base to tip. Your hand is soft and warm, encircling his thick shaft completely as you work him over. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs and twitches in your grip.

Dick's breath comes in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggles to maintain control. His eyes flutter shut, brows furrowed in concentration, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Soft, breathless moans spill from his lips with every upward stroke, the sounds growing louder, more desperate as you continue your ministrations.

As you pick up the pace, pumping him faster, his reactions become more intense. His hips start to lift, meeting your strokes, fucking up into your fist with a desperate hunger. Quiet, strangled moans spill from his lips, each one making your own desire peak in response.

“Fuck... Dickie, you like that, huh? Like how you’re fucking my fist, don’t you? Such a good boy..”

You watch, as Dick’s face contorts with pleasure. His brows furrow, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard enough to leave indentations. The tendons in his neck strain as his head tips back, throat bared to you in a silent offering. His eyes, when they meet yours, are hazy and dark, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.

The wet sounds of your hand moving over his cock fill the small space, obscenely loud in the charged silence. You can feel him leaking more, his precum making your strokes slicker, easier. His cock is red and angry, the head an almost painful shade of pink, the slit weeping with his desire.

You lean down, your breasts brushing against his heaving chest as you bring your mouth to his ear. Your lips brush the shell of it as you whisper, your voice low and heavy with lust. “That's it, baby... doesn't it feel good? Doesn't it feel amazing to have my hand wrapped around this big and needy cock of yours? I can feel how much you want it... how much you want me...”

Dick shudders, his body wracking with sensation as he listens to your words. A broken whimper escapes him, his voice hoarse and wrecked as he manages to gasp out, “F-Fuck… please, (Name)… I need you so bad…”

You never knew how much you needed him begging for you until now. And god did it feel good.

You can feel his desperation, his absolute need for release. And you're going to make him work for it. Slowly, torturously, you increase the speed of your strokes, squeezing just a bit tighter, twisting your wrist on the upstroke.

Dick is panting now, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. His face is flushed, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched tight as he tries to hold back. But you can see the way his body is tensing, the way his cock is throbbing harder, leaking more steadily against your palm.

“(Name)... I can't... I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna...” His words dissolve into a guttural moan, his entire body going rigid.

You feel his cock throb and twitch in your grip, and then with a hoarse cry of your name, he's coming undone. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupt from his cock, painting your hand and his stomach with his release. His body shudders and jerks through each wave of pleasure, his hand gripping yours like a vice.

You work him through it, stroking him through each aftershock, feeling his cock pulse and twitch against your fingers until finally, he collapses back against the wall, chest heaving, skin sheened with sweat. He looks utterly debauched, hair disheveled, lips kiss-swollen and parted around shallow breaths. His eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, struggling to regain some semblance of coherence.

Slowly, you bring your hand up to your mouth, making a show of licking his spend from your fingers, my tongue swirling around each digit, ensuring he can see every last bit of him disappearing between your lips. Dick watches closely, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, a fresh wave of desire washing over his eyes as he takes in the sight of you licking his cum off your hand.

“Mmm, you taste good, Dick,” You purr, wrapping your hand around his re-hardening shaft, giving him a slow, teasing stroke. “I could get used to this view—you, all wrecked and wanting, cock throbbing and ready to go again already.” You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “You really are an overachiever, aren't you?”

You can feel him shiver against you, his hips lifting slightly into your touch. You grin, pulling back to look at him with a wicked gleam in your eyes. Then, slowly, you reach back and unzip the rest of your suit, peeling the tight material down your body until you’re just left in your panties.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband and tug them down, baring your dripping cunt to his hungry gaze.

Dick's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, his tongue licking his lips as he stares at your glistening folds. You grab his hand, guiding it between your legs, pressing his fingers against your aching clit. He inhales sharply at the contact, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his digits.

“Fuck, (Name).…you're so wet.” He breathes, his fingers starting to move on their own, stroking along your slit, feeling how ready you are for him. “Is this...is this because of me?”

You moan softly, rolling your hips against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. “Yes, birdie...it's all for you,” You gasp, your head falling back as his fingers find a particularly sensitive spot. “I'm so fucking turned on right now, and it's all because of you.”

You reach down and grab his wrist, guiding his hand to move faster, to press harder against your clit. You grind against him, coating his fingers in your slick arousal, your body trembling with need. You can feel how hard he is, his cock throbbing and leaking against your ass, and you know he wants you just as badly.

Without warning, you shift your hips, positioning yourself so that the head of his cock brushes against your entrance. You feel him gasp, his fingers pausing in their movements as he realizes what you’re about to do. You look down at him, your expression one of pure, unadulterated lust, and then you sink down.

You take him in inch by delicious inch, your walls stretching around his thick length, wrapping him in your tight, wet heat. You both moan at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces, made to be joined like this. You don't stop until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clit, pressing against his pelvis.

“Oh fuck, Dick...” You whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual grind. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”

Your words seem to spur him on, and he starts to thrust up to meet you, his hips lifting off the ground to drive his cock deeper into your needy cunt. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, your moans and cries of pleasure echoing off the metal walls. You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, and you know he won't last much longer.

“Come on, baby,” You pant, your voice high and breathless as you ride him harder, faster, chasing your own release. “Come inside me. I want to feel you come inside me, Dick. Please...please come for me.”

With a final, harsh thrust, you grind down against Dick. His eyes widen as he feels your walls clench around him, your words pushing him over the edge.

He pistons his hips up harder, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each punishing thrust. He leans in, burying his face between your breasts, his mask brushing against your skin as he suckles and nips at the soft mounds, leaving marks of possession in his wake.

“Fuck, (Name)...you feel too good,” he pants against your skin, his voice a low, guttural rasp. “So good...”

His words dissolve into a strangled moan as his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm as he teeters on the brink of climax. He's so close, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside your clenching walls, your arousal dripping down his shaft with each thrust.

“Ngh— fuck..” he hisses out, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he holds you down, making sure you take every last drop of his seed. You can feel the hot, thick ropes of his release painting your insides, dripping down onto his lap and the floor below, filling you up just as you'd begged him to do.

You're both panting hard, chests heaving as you come down from your highs. You slump against his chest, completely spent, your body still twitching with the aftershocks. Dick's arms wrap around you, holding you close, his face buried in your hair as he tries to catch his breath.

You can't help but smile, cupping his face in your hands and pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss. You pour all of your satisfaction, all of your desire, all of your growing feelings for him into that kiss. When you finally pull away, you're both smiling, both looking at each other like you can't quite believe this is real.

But then, Dick's eyes widen in realization as the final pulses of his release subside, his softening cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat. A look of panic flashes across his face beneath the mask as the gravity of what just happened sinks in.

“I...fuck, I'm so sorry,” he starts, voice shaking with remorse. “I didn't mean to... shit, I shouldn't have...”

But you silence him with a searing kiss, your lips crashing against his in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of apologies. You pour every ounce of passion and hunger into the kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth, tangling with his own. For a moment, Dick is stunned, his body stilling beneath you as he allows you to plunder his mouth.

When you finally pull back, your chests heaving, you fix him with a stern look. “Didn't I tell you not to apologise?” you demand, voice low and firm. “I know exactly what I wanted, and I wanted this. I wanted to feel you come inside me, Dick.”

Dick swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “But I didn't use a condom,” he argues weakly. “I could have...we could have...”

You place a finger against his lips, silencing him once more. “Shh. I know the risks. But where’s the fun in not taking them?”

Dick's eyes search yours, a war raging behind those hidden depths. Slowly, hesitantly, he nods, your finger falling away from his lips. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Fine, you win, Cat.”

A slow, shy smile curves your lips as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his jaw, your body still nestled against his, his release cooling inside you. “Good,” you whisper against his skin. “Because I think we're going to be stuck in here for a while,” you say with a grin, glancing around at the small, enclosed space. “You’re going to have to deal with me a little longer, Robin.”

Dick laughs, a real, genuine sound that makes your heart flutter in your chest, his hands sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. “You're insatiable,” he accuses, but there's no bite to his words, only a grudging sort of awe.

“But I think I can handle that,” he says, pulling you down for another kiss. “Especially if it means more of this.”

You nipped at his earlobe before soothing it with your tongue.

“You're just now figuring that out?”

—

Safe to say, Batman found you both a few hours later, and him and Selina lectured you both about the need for protection. (At least you were on the pill.)

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x reader smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson smut #sub dick grayson #dc comics #dc comics smut #rizzcom

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acid-ixx · 1 month ago

Text

pick me, choose me, mark me! (masochistic bottom yandere! batfam x feral top alpha reader).

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— og post ! ; ao3 link !

a/n: sorry for the spam guys, but tumblr won't filter out the most debauched thing yet they hide my content instead and it makes me sad like i don't want all my hard work to be just buried yk? :( anyways, fic under the read more for those who hasn't seen it yet. sorry again for the repost, i'm just really hurt over the censoring, i won't stand for it, it admittedly made me down in the dumps.

look, i'm just saying that in an omegaverse scenario, where you're the alpha and you go to the same uni as tim drake, a well known and respected omega, where you're a good friend of his: not too close in your eyes, study buddies, maybe, but you're not attracted to him, but it's still in your natural instincts to drive away other alphas despite the omega being capable enough of defending himself. because you're noble, always protecting him by shielding him away from those other vile alphas trying to force themselves on him— and he likes that feeling of protection from you, wants something more out of it.

and he knows that beneath those dull eyes of yours, beneath your willingness to hold back at the scent of omegas in heat, his family is well aware of your darker fantasies. he sees the way you pin down other alphas, how your knees would press up so close to their crotches as you release a growl from your throat, how your muscles would flex and how your teeth would bite on your lower lips to control your raging desire to pin down an omega in heat.

it's an unspoken rule that you've the qualities to rule a pack, strong enough to subdue every other alphas with your unbridled rage and sharp teeth, feral enough to dick down any willing omegas who wants to be well-bred with your knot (he's a willing omega, he wants to be filled by you, wants to know what it's like to be smothered with the scent of your sweat, saliva, and any emissions released from your body).

so i propose the idea that tim would do everything in his waking days, with the guidance of his family, to make any necessary sacrifices in his schedule just so that he could time your monthly ruts and have you be attracted to his pheromones. he'll secretly shove his family's belongings inside your locker just to get you used to their scent, dick, jason and damian take turns to sneak into your home to steal your dirty laundry, your used jackets and pants, buried deep beneath your cabinets, just so that they could smother their nose into it, try to lick at any remaining sweat that clung to the fabrics.

you best believe that they're possessive over your things. even a beta like dick couldn't help but claim your jackets just to wear it for himself. damian, who's all talk about placing himself high above a pedestal as an alpha, seems way too eager to spend a minute or five scenting himself up with your blankets and arguing with jason over the comms on who you get to mark first— as if tim would let them be marked by his alpha.

tim is the luckiest to hit the jackpot though. he could just borrow your clothes after pe classes with the excuse that he forgot to bring a spare, then pretend to clumsily forget to return it to you because he's all too busy shoving it deep in his throat. every time you strip yourself half naked in the shower rooms, he's already had his head peeking by the doors with a camera in hand and a boner down under. every little action of yours done in campus is accompanied by the click of a camera and an all too excitable omega who touches himself to the thought of what your jagged hands could do to his body.

(and god, tim, who loves to hump into your stolen underwear can only provide himself so much pleasure, his heat wants him all marked up by you but you're just so oblivious to his ministrations. to his obvious need to share a nest with you. the family wants you too, jason's been snappy lately and dick is so close to convincing bruce that they all just collectively kidnap you if you weren't so dedicated in your academics).

the only thing holding them back is that you're known to be not like the other alphas. you don't shove your scent into most unwilling nostrils, your momma raised you right, you drink suppressants to keep you on the low, you do just enough to respect the boundaries of every omega who passed by your way, and you're a smart fella, easily picking up on most omegas who only try to befriend you for the intentions of dating you or having a quick fuck (damian makes a mental note to eliminate every known competition, he despises how those lowly beings slot themselves right beside you and think they deserve to be marked up. the others and most especially tim shares that sentiment)— the only reason tim is the sole exception to your friend group filled with betas is because he has enough self respect, at least, that's what he's convinced you to believe.

you're not aware of the trackers littered in every corner of your belongings. you're not aware of the cameras hidden in your apartment as the family entertains themselves just watching you break another toy of yours because you're too big for just a measley fleshlight, they watch you rip another blanket with your pointed teeth that snaggles into the sheets, fantasizing what it's like to have someone crying and begging for you to stop thrusting your knot right beneath you. bruce has to control the pack from breaking into your apartment just for them to offer that you claim them instead, he makes them cycle between steak outs, focus on something else, because he can immediately sense their heads turning to the direction of where your house is— and yet even an omega like him can't deny how tempting it is to share a nest with you as he secretly saves all the files of you pleasuring yourself in a drive he's going to watch repeatedly once patrol hours are over.

thinking about how the months would stretch and you slowly notice the shift in demeanor with tim. suddenly, instead of reviewing in cafes with other friends or simply visiting the library together, he'll invite you all too eagerly to the manor, in due excuse of wanting to study with you alone since he says he prefers a quieter environment. you accept, only because you feel the risk of losing yourself amidst the familiar scents scattered all over your life, on the newer scents on your clothes making your mind go crazy; only because you can't deny how tempting it is to fuck your supposed friend on top of a creaking table, in public for all the eyes to see— so your excuse to study with him alone, in an entirely alien environment where his family are there to monitor your sessions meant you'd have to be on your best behavior.

except the moment you step inside the gothic manor, your nostrils are hit with a multitude of familiar scents. bruce wayne, the omega philanthropist known to love caring for children, who greets you at the door with a gentle smile and expectant eyes, smells of fresh vanilla, cashmere and faint lavender, as he steps to the side and all-too eagerly confesses you that he's been waiting for the moment that tim's closest friend visits his home. like most omegas do, you can only describe the man's scent as soft and nurturing, natural traits for an omega, obviously, as he almost ushers you — a hand resting comfortably on your back, you don't feel his palms rubbing up and down your spine like he's known the feel of it from the start — and your... friend to the library if not for tim insisting that you'll both be heading off to his room instead.

you don't question why he specifically wanted you alone, though, because you swore you smelled the same, imposing vanilla on your damn sweaters.

but when you look to your right, eyebrows raised in curiosity at the whistling omega, he only reciprocates with a shrug and tells you that you should both already head upstairs since there's not much daylight left and that he wants to consume as much knowledge as he can in one sitting.

such a cunning scum he is.

for when you entered the room, stepped inside and dropped your bag to a nearby corner, your nose immediately picked up on the smell of freshly baked cocoa, sweet caramel, and the same, damn fruity scent of zesti cola.

your vision fogs all too quickly, fury an all too intimate feeling rising to your chest.

"tim, you fuckin' vixen—!"

you pin him down on his well nested bed the moment the waft of his room's familiar scent hit the air. you growl, too dizzy on the hazy realization that it was him and his family who's been scenting themselves all over your things all along, you can even smell your own scent in this room. your clothes, your jewelry, even your damn notebooks, they reek of sandalwood, lavenders, musk, vanilla— scent which all don't mix well, all you've individually sensed in all your different items. your underwear is stained with tim's sweat, you realize as you snarl between the vast, unmarked space of tim's neck.

and you should've, you could've held yourself back, but the timing was perfect, you've forgotten to take your suppressants because tim was rushing you; yet his legs are wrapped around you, you feel your own sizable crotch rubbed in between his own hard ones. he's tempting you, inviting you to stake your claim on his clean skin, as he releases a shaky breath right on your ears. his lithe waist is a perfect slot right in your palms, and those stupid, wide eyes are too expectant, too inviting to even deny the lack of surprise, like he's predicted this reaction— like he knows that underneath that false, caring exterior of yours is an alpha that wants to claim, and claim and claim until his skin knows the imprint of your teeth against his.

"mmph, c'mon..." he calls out your name, rubs himself shamelessly against your soiled underwear, takes your cold, unforgiving fingers to cop a feel around his areolas. lidded, deep blue eyes and raw, bitten lips, a red flush overtakes his body; an picture perfect canvas of an entirely submissive omega is right beneath you, inviting you two to fuck like the shameless animals you both are.

proclaiming to you, without words, without thought, that he's yours the entire night.

yours to breed, yours to fuck deep into the mattress until he memorizes the shape of your knot by the end of it all.

you don't remember when or how it happened, how you're both wearing almost nothing but the underwear blocking tim from fully seeing your own rock hard boner, but he's too hungry on want, on the need to have it shoved far deep in his throat and you're too drunk on the hazy desires to have an actual, warm cavern wrapped around you right now.

he whines a bit louder, you can smell the pre oozing and dribbling on his own briefs. he smells so pure, so delicious, so ready to be claimed that you just...

you lick at his clavicle until your tongue reaches into the perfect spot on his neck, devoid of any alpha's mark. you feel the boy shiver under you, feel the way his arms snake around your neck as his feet push back at your underwear until it drops at right your ankles, where you can hear his breath hitch at the sight of your own dick rubbing against his clothed boner.

he moans, pulling his hips up, and you snarl at his impatience, pull his body up in one, quick swipe, like the strong alpha you are, and rip away at his own underwear.

and he's drooling at your display of strength, his smaller thighs wrap around your waist until his puckered hole slots itself perfectly on your tip, you feel the slick dribbling down, feel the natural slip of your dick sliding inside of him.

he's all lubed up, this fucker prepared himself for this. but there's no condom in sight, no damn contraceptive the longer you look around. the truth lies in plain sight: he wants to be bred, he wants to take you raw.

as if sensing your thoughts, as if he doesn't want your attention on anything but him, he voices himself out, calling your name.

"don't lie to me... i know you want this," his palms cup your cheeks, gently prying your head to look at his straight at the eyes, "i know you want me. you picked me, you chose me, didn't you...?"

he pushes his hips upwards, pushes deeper, memorizing every vein stretching his hole— except his attempts are futile the moment he feels you pin his body down, he nearly releases an aching cry when he senses the lack of dick inside him.

he almost begs, almost.

"puh-PLEASE—!" he almost begs, if not for your immediate, hard thrust, a loud plap echoes throughout the empty room. if not for you shoving your dick in his slicked up hole in one quick motion, maybe he could've mustered up another word. but you've dicked him down, rendered him thoughtless and wordless, dumbing the omega down until he's subdued with only breathless moans.

"fu-fuck! oouh—" whispering under his breath, you only snarl in response, feeling him squeeze you in. this is better than any toy you've destroyed, he was warm and aching and you were hungry to just take him all.

tim drake is the picture perfect omega. it was no wonder why so many alphas fight themselves to the death to even grab a sniff of his own sweat, you've told yourself you only let yourself become friends with him because it was your duty to protect the weak, but fuck. you knew deep down, you were as dirty as all the others, maybe even worse, maybe even the worst as the sight of the debauched, snotty, drooling mess underneath you made you way harder, made your diluted eyes take in his writhing body, made you thrust in just a bit harder just to hear that high pitched moan escape from his wrecked throat.

his mouth would feel so good wrapped around your dick, it'll feel so nice to just slide it deeper and deeper until it reaches the back of his throat, and oh, you'll make him hold his breath until he has to scratch at your thighs, until salty tears escape those stupid, wide eyes of his, just to beg you for even the smallest intake of air.

next time, you think. there will be a next time.

for now, your steady pace is enough to induce pleasured tears dribbling down his cheeks. you snap harder, he squeals. he's cute, cute but disgusting. but you're worse, you wish you weren't but it's natural. you try to be soft, though, as your dominant hand swipe away the hair clinging on his sweaty forehead. you lean in, ignoring how tim shivers in delight as his nose gets a closer whiff of your scent, and softly kiss his cheeks.

softly, but that doesn't stop his disappointed, little sigh. you could only stare back in disbelief as his thighs pull your hips closer.

more tears escape his shaky eyes, hiccups escape his quivering lips.

"show me how much you love me..." he whispers, taking your mouth in his, biting your lower lips just so his tongue could get a taste of your saliva mixing with his. in response, you collect you spit and let it dribble down to his awaiting mouth, and god, he moans when the liquid meets his tongue, swallowing your spit with due diligence, like it is his ambrosia. and he sobs at the overestimation of having to feel, taste, and breath every living part of you.

"i love you, i love you, i— ah! i love you—!"yet it doesn't stop you from thrusting, doesn't stop you from wanting more as you stop kissing him, making your way towards his neck, tongue licking and sucking his skin until it's sullen with ugly love marks. he only responds with thoughtless whines, dissatisfied pleas at your teasing, at your refusal to just bite his skin and to just— mark him already.

you feel the rise of a familiar knot on the base of your dick, and with just how louder and louder tim has been moaning — you're sure that his pleas and the heavy creak of the bed can be heard from outside his door, you hope it does, you hope his family hears just how much this freak loves being bred — you know he's close, his dick is practically oozing with salty, watery precome, and his little whole is weeping with slick. your ears can pick up the plaps, how well your cock slides in and out of him to an unstable rhythm.

and yet he's crying, he's crying because throughout it all, your mark still isn't on him. his alpha still hasn't staked their claim on him and he feels so ashamed, so desperate to relieve that empty ache on the skin of his neck that begs to be pierced by your sharp teeth.

"— muh- mark- ah!"

"puh- LEASE! please, please, please, alpha, please—!

and he begs the moment he felt a thread snap, when you palm his throat, squeeze his dainty neck until all he could do was wheeze, until you let go when you see his reddened lips turn purple, and he releases a shout as ropes of cum escape his violently flushed dick.

he begs with incomprehensible requests, sucks in a breath whilst you accompany his moans with a growl when he feels your knot was slowly but surely becoming bigger and bigger inside him as your thrusts slowed, as you try your best to move despite the overstimulation riddling his body.

slowly, until your bodies are locked together, tim unable to move from right beneath you as his hole adjusts to the considerably large knot, until he swore you two are one, until your eyes shut in bliss when you felt your warm cum staining his insides. through both your hazy zenith, through his breathless panting and desperate intakes of air, tim still isn't satisfied.

and he'll only be satisfied if, no, once he's utterly sure he's yours and you're his.

he musters up the last of his strength, shifts his little hips seductively just so he could feel that strong knot pinning him to you, and stares at you with dazzling eyes, shimmering with fresh reserves of tears.

and just like how he's manipulated you to fuck him the moment you've stepped inside the room, he makes sure his quivering voice was as sultry as the taste of his sweat, as inviting as the nest he's been preparing for months.

he pouts, bites his lips, and licks at your warm ears as he whispers four, shaky words:

"mark me, my alpha."

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l1tw1ck · 9 months ago

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thinking about guys and monsters with dicks too big for their own good

guys like: Soap, Ghost, Enji, All Might, Steve Rogers, Thor, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Lucas Lee, Whoever You Want

* i dont really write for COD but the guys in there are HOT

top!masc reader

cw: size difference (smaller reader), smut

a monster with a huge dick made specifically for breeding finding himself laying against the cold stone floor of his cave with his cock slapping against his tummy while you, so much smaller than him, fuck him like he was born to be fucked.

or a strong, athletic guy with a six pack and a long list of suitors who wanna be dicked down by him. he doesn't understand how he ended up this way, how the mouth he used only to speak and bark orders in the bedroom ended up being used to suck your cock. How he ended up as a cocksleeve to the puny little assistant he used to tease all the time. How his long, thick, and veiny cock ended up becoming completely useless. How he ended up whimpering and moaning when you would tease him about it. About how cutely it's flopping around as you fuck him. Or how cute it is to see him humping a pillow with such a huge cock.

no one expected a man who towers over everyone and could easily split a person in half if he wanted to be a submissive little cockslut. It was shocking to see the stark difference in his appearance and personality once the alcohol hit. you never even considered him to be your partner, you thought he preferred to give. but what he really wants is to be used. no one would've ever imagined that he'd be so good at sucking dick. or how amazing he looks when he's in subspace

a monster who's very experienced when it comes to sex but extremely inexperienced when it comes to bottoming. a monster who laughs in your face for even suggesting that you top him. a monster who agrees to let you try, thinking you'd be far too small to make him feel good. a monster who merely chuckles confidently when you tell him it's the 'motion in the ocean' that matters. a monster who eats his words and gets his grin wiped off his face once you start eating him out. a monster who comes just from your tongue in his ass. a monster who begs for you to keep going. a monster who shakes the entire ground and scares off anyone nearby with his moans of pleasure. a monster who wishes his cock wasn't so big so he could see you better. a monster who creates a puddle of his own come thanks to a tiny human

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cryptocism · 3 months ago

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playbart bunny concept brought to you by these panels from kon's actual wonderland issue:

First Page

Page 5 / Page 7

#my art #dc #kon in wonderland au #kon el #conner kent #superboy #bart allen #impulse #once again 1 million subs and i draw playbart bunny as god and kon's canon subconsciousness intended #by which i mean 1 million votes. i guess #wild 2 me that hefner apparently exists in the dc universe but not nintendo

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violent138 · 1 year ago

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HC that Bruce is often tired when he takes press conferences/interviews bright and early and guesstimates the number of kids he has: "5 boys and 2 girls. Wait no, that doesn't sound right, 7 boys and 3 girls. Actually, sorry 9 girls. Final answer." *drinks water* "Oh wait--"

#Batman #Dc comics #Bruce figures he's fine #Hopped up on caffeine and last night's sub concussive hits #Bruce Wayne #Batfamily

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yanderestarangel · 8 months ago

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★ ! hidden desires — stalker!bruce wayne x male reader

a/n: This is a repost! The first post has been taken down ( by tumblr itself lol); sorry and thanks for letting me know.

♡⁠┊tw: stalking, suggestive behavior, fingering, casual sex, v! sex, ftm reader, sex with a condom, afab anatomy, blowjob.

Each time he remembered what he had done—stalking you for weeks from the shadows like the nocturnal creature he was—a strange sense of shame settled in his chest. He used his shadowy vigilante persona to justify his unhealthy obsession, but even that excuse felt hollow.

He kept insisting to himself, "It's just for his safety." However, the heat in his groin wouldn't let him pretend otherwise — standing in the rain and cold nights by the window in the building above your house... But lying and manipulating to get into your life and home was not something he usually did.

That night, you'd gone out to the club. People were whispering about a new drug called "Bliss" and some underworld drama involving Sofia Falcone, while the red lights of the club mixed with your carefree expression, oblivious to Gotham's lurking dangers.

Wayne, however, was watching you as always—from afar, waiting for the right moment to act.

He wasn’t oblivious; his glances at a few attractive men at the party hadn’t escaped the dark gaze of the guard’s blue irises. He knew his obsession with you had gone too far, yet he ignored the rational alarms ringing in his mind—and started toward you.

It hadn’t been very difficult for him to get into his pants and into his home, and, to be honest, he didn’t know whether to feel angry or surprised. Perhaps it was a bittersweet mixture he’d reflect on only after leaving the apartment, since, after all, his blood wasn’t exactly rushing to his head.

You whispered a question, asking his name, but his hands were too focused on exploring your body.

"Bruce," he growled, finally breaking the silence. "My name is Bruce." The words came out more tense than he’d anticipated, and he silently prayed you wouldn’t ask anything else—or recognize him as one of Gotham’s elusive big shots.

Bruce’s fingers pressed deeper into your warm, slick heat, curling just right against that sensitive spot that made you see stars. He felt you tighten around him, your body responding to every stroke. With an added finger, he stretched you gently, preparing you for more. His thumb found your clit, drawing tight, deliberate circles as he drove you closer to the edge with relentless precision.

Bruce murmured, "So tight. I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me," his voice thick with desire. His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard, while his fingers continued their steady rhythm inside you. He felt the tremors in your body, heard your breathy moans, each sound and movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he demanded, his teeth grazing your flesh. "Come on my fingers like a good boy."

And you did, your walls clenching around him as you cried out in pleasure. Bruce guided you through it, prolonging your orgasm and drawing every last drop of ecstasy from your quivering form.

When you finally collapsed back onto the bed, spent and panting, Wayne withdrew his fingers and brought them to his lips. He licked them clean, savoring your taste and scent. It was so sweet and erotic that he felt his cock throb, and all the rationality and chivalry that defined his persona went out the window.

Quickly, the rest of your clothes were removed, and the man with black eye shadow sat on your bed, spreading his thighs and inviting you to suck his cock — a command you immediately obeyed. The sight of you on your knees, your plump lips stretched around his shaft, was almost too much for him.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding your head as you moved up and down, taking him deeper and deeper into your throat, his hips rocking forward to meet your eager tongue. "Just like that, atta boy... Take it all."

He could feel you gagging around him, could hear the wet, obscene sounds of your slurping and sucking. It was music to his ears—a symphony of pleasure that nearly undid him. His other hand found your ass, squeezing the supple flesh as he pulled you closer, pressing his cock deeper down your throat. He could feel you struggling to breathe, could see the tears streaming down your cheeks, but he didn't relent.

"Look at me... I want to see your eyes when you choke on my cock."

He commanded, holding your gaze as you struggled to comply, your eyes watering as you fought for air. But you didn’t pull away or tap out; instead, you leaned in, taking him even deeper until your nose pressed against his pelvis. He was so close to climax, but he held back, wanting to savor this intense connection, feeling your body fully aligned with his.

"No fuck... not yet..." He grunted hoarsely taking his mouth off his cock as he shook trying to hold back his orgasm. "On your hands and knees, now." He ran his hands over your smooth skin, caressing your curves, your softness, a stark contrast to his own hard planes. He was prepared that night, carrying a condom in his jacket pocket, even though he thought the chances of him touching you were zero... Well, apparently not. He positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

With a slow thrust, he pushed forward, breaking your tight heat. He groaned at the sensation, at the way your walls clenched around him, trying to draw him deeper. He watched his cock disappear inside you, your tight heat enveloping him completely. He could feel every twitch, every pulse of your walls around him, could see the way your body yielded to his, taking him deeper and deeper.

But despite the overwhelming sensations, he remained silent, unsure of how to express the depth of his desire, the intensity of his need. He'd never been good with words, had always been better with actions, with his fists, with his body. You tried to talk to him, however Bruce's hand came down hard on your ass, the sharp sting of the slap echoing in the room. He watched as you jolted forward, your back arching, your head thrown back in ecstasy.

"Shh... Don't talk. Just feel." He punctuated his command with another slap, his fingers digging into the reddening flesh of your ass, holding you in place as he drove into you with renewed vigor. Wayne watched as you came undone beneath him, your body shaking, your walls clenching around his cock. He could feel your release coating his shaft, could hear your sweet whimpers filling the room.

And then he was coming too, his orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave. He buried himself deep inside you, his hips grinding against your ass as he filled the condom with his seed. He collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck. For a long moment, he simply held you, savoring the feeling of your body against his, the warmth of your skin, the racing of your heart.

He wasn't used to this, to the intimacy, to the vulnerability. He was better at fighting, at brooding, at being alone... Stalking you was a different thing than finally having you, and he felt no shame in having lied. So he pulled out of you, quickly disposing of the condom before rolling off the bed. He stood there for a moment, his back to you, his hands clenched at his sides.

"I...I should go," he mumbled, not quite meeting your eyes. "I have work to do... It was cool..."

He grabbed his clothes, dressing quickly, efficiently. He didn't know what to say, didn't know how to bridge the gap between what had just happened and what came next... He was used to being your stalker, but now his brain couldn't function after finally getting what he wanted: you.

But he was sure of something, the feeling became more fixed in his chest... He was more addicted in you.

★ ! yanderestarangel©

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totallynotashieldagent · 4 months ago

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what if

what if lazarus heals jason way too quickly. that's why he's able to bounce back up after every injury so fast-

what if you hate how you can't mark him up like he marks you.

hickeys, bite marks, bruises like handprints. your body is always littered with his love and you- you're unable to leave anything at all.

the hickeys never stay and the nail marks are gone within the minute.

so the answer to this? writing on him.

"Be still, Jay-" You bite your lip, the marker gliding over his scarred skin

"Kinda hard when you're sitting pretty on me." He groans softly, his cock throbbing inside you

"Just a few more seconds." You clench your pussy just to tease him more.

Immediately he arches up a little and you feel him deeper than possible. Your hand moves across his face with a crack to chastise him for moving. He laughs and moans, its all mixed together.

"You can do better than that." He smirks, but you know its just the act of it that turns him on.

The fact that you're never to back down. That you show him who's boss. That you're always the one calling the shots and god how he loves to follow them.

Jason looks down his chest, amongst the glowy scars, there's black ink and small words and phrases everywhere.

Well trained. Good boy. Property of-

Then there's the fun ones. A circle around his nipple with the inscription bite here or the arrow that points to his dick with the words joy ride.

"Jesus-" He whimpers, his hands resting at your thighs, trying his best to not thrust up.

"And you're keeping these until I wash them off myself." You tell him, holding his jaw to meet his eyes

"Yes, ma'am." He smiles, "Can I move now?" He asks, trying to be nonchalant but you know he's desperate.

You've been teasing him for a while now and you know if you twisted your hips in a certain way, he'd cum in a few minutes.

"Please?" He begs, his fingers digging into your skin.

The moment you nod, it's all a blur. You're still on top but he's holding your weight completely and fucking up into you in such a merciless way, all the while blabbering jesus, god, thank you, thank you- fuck you feel so good- can i cum? please please, i need- fuck- let me cum- please? can - oh god-

Your nails dig into his pecs, you need nodding and moaning praises for him.

When he cums and stops- ruining his orgasm just to keep going. He cums and stops, cums and stops- again and again and again- You feel the warmth inside. The strings of ropes that cum again and again-

There's only a lewd sound in the room. Sticky skin slapping against sticky skin, mixed with moans of pleases, thank yous and good boy, yes just like that- so good for me-

Drabble Masterlist

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #idk why but i always imagine him as a service sub #polite good boy with pleases and thank yous #jason todd smut #drabbles #dc

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straykids-2001 · 7 months ago

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Need some requests cause I don't know what to write for😕

As adding more people to my mastlist, yay😄

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debonairprincesposts · 8 months ago

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well hello! what do you think about jason’s tits (those that he does not assume that are very big titties)?

Well my dear reader! I think that his tiddies don’t get enough attention. Like- imagine this:

Jason and you are just chillin’ on the couch and you wanna lay your head on a soft surface of sorts. And what do you know! His tiddies are just within reach. So, you just plop your head on there and pretend that you don’t know what your actions are doing to him. You can hear his heartbeat speeding up (he told you once before how sensitive his chest is and you just happen to put your head extremely close to his nipple. So your cheek is just moving his shirt where it lays as it just barely grazes his skin and it’s making him shudder and squirm in his seat. You smirk to yourself at his reaction).

Another time is when you feel kinda stressed and wanna just squeeze something. So, you just come up from behind him while he’s minding his business in the kitchen, and just casually cup his pecs and start squeezing and massaging them and playing with his nipples from over his shirt, twisting, pulling, and pinching while he subtly (it’s not subtle to you at all, you can read him like an open book) shakes and lets out little gasps where he stands and starts to lean against the counter for support as if to will himself to not completely submit to you and let you take him right then and there on the kitchen floor.

It’s gotten to the point where every time he spots you in the vicinity, he prepares himself and expects you to just come up from behind him and start your assault on his tits. (he doesn’t hate it, he’d just like a warning when it happens)

Every time you compliment him on having such plush, soft tits while teasing him, he quietly whines saying that they’re not tits or something (it doesn’t take long to convince him otherwise.)

I think it would go something like this:

“Look at how wonderful these are,” you say as you squish them together. You’re sat atop his lap as he lays back on the couch, shirt off. “I could play with these all day. Such pretty tits, don’t you agree, Jason?”

His breaths come out in soft gasps as you continue to twist and pinch at his chest.

“Not tits,” he gasps out while lightly shaking his head, “They’re not.” He’s tightly gripping onto your waist as you unhurriedly grind atop his groin which causes a soft mewl to escape his lips.

You grin at his reaction and grab one of his hands and place it on one of his tiddies and squeeze.

“Yeah, they are.” You say as you use your other hand to guide his chin to make him glance down. “Look at them, Jay. Aren’t they pretty?”

His face is red at he looks down at his chest, his breath catches in his throat as he takes a proper look, full of hickies and bright red bite marks from your previous ministrations. Your grinding isn’t helping at all. He might come in his pants if you keep that up. He moans as you keep up with your actions. Curious if you could get him to cum from just touching his chest and light pressure on his groin.

A reedy sound brings you back to the present (the color on his chest from your attention was distracting.) Lost in your thoughts from admiring your work. He looks mesmerizing. Eyes dilated so much that you can barely spot the teal of his irises, his eyes appearing almost completely black. His face is practically the color of his helmet, it’s almost impressive. Shudders leave his body as he completely sinks back onto the couch.

You use the hand that grasping his chin to point it to the side as you lean in to leave more bruises on his neck, your grinding unfaltering. His moans increase in volume as you bite and suck on his sweet spot right at the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

The hand that’s on your waist twitches, his mouth opens in a silent moan as he gasps loudly while throwing his head back on the back of the couch as he gives a full body shiver, cum staining the inside of his pants.

You stop your actions as you take a minute to admire the fucked out look on his face.

You lean your face close his ear as you say, “Think your tits are pretty now, Jay?”

He shivers from the air brushing against his ear. He nods with a quiet whine, sounding out an almost inaudible “uh-huh”, unable to get any more words out.

You grin in victory, “There you go.”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

I think I went over board. It was only supposed to be a few sentences long.

Didn’t even know I could write like that.

Anyway! Hope that answers your question!

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tsunaso · 13 days ago

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hiii ur red hood fic really opened my third eye like it was scrumptious !! but may i request tim drake with a bimbo/himbo reader (gn or whatever u prefer !!) who is tired of people thinking that they're the submissive one in the relationship by the media (doesn't help that tim likes to be a brat and feed into the rumors) so they take it upon themselves to put him in his place ! yummy brat taming mmm

“LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!”

pairing. Sub!brat!Tim Drake x Top!himbo!male reader

synopsis. Tim Drake has the internet fooled—he’s got everyone thinking he’s the one in charge, And you? The soft, golden retriever boyfriend who carries his bags. It’s cute. Until Tim starts leaning into the act just a little too hard. Now it’s time to remind your baby boy exactly who’s in charge—and shut that bratty little mouth the only way he’ll learn. — 4.6k

warnings. mdni, nsfw, amab reader, brat taming, blow-job, soft dom, hair pulling, power play, dumbification, overstimulation, choking, light degradation, spanking, praise kink, subspace, name-calling (slut, baby boy, etc.), aftercare, Tim is a little menace <3

Tim Drake had been smirking all damn day.

It started small—barely-there glances during the morning interview, the casual way he leaned into your side when the camera panned your way. But it escalated. Fast.

By the time lunch hit, the internet was already eating it up. A now-viral clip of Tim sitting in your lap at last night’s gala, fingers twirling lazily through your hair while he whispered something into your ear. The caption? "tim got that man wrapped around his finger 😂😍"

You weren’t mad.

You knew what you looked like next to him—six foot something, soft-voiced, sweet to a fault. The golden retriever boyfriend. And Tim? Sharp suit. Sharp eyes. Sharper mouth.

Of course they thought he was the one in charge.

But Tim knew better.

“You’re really gonna let them think that?” you asked, sometime after dinner, when he curled up on the couch beside you, phone in hand and that same smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Think what?” he asked, too innocently.

You narrowed your eyes. “That you call the shots.”

Tim didn’t even look up. Just shrugged, thumbs still tapping the screen. “Well. I mean. Have you ever said otherwise?”

You stared at him.

He smirked wider.

“I’m joking,” he added, too quickly, slipping the phone into the pocket of his hoodie. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Tim climbed into your lap again, just like he had in the video. He settled in like he belonged there—like you were his throne—and looked up at you, all lashes and mischief.

“I mean,” he said, voice low, “you don’t exactly correct people when they say I keep you in check.”

You arched a brow. “Because I think it’s funny. You, keeping me in check? Baby, you cry when I change the Netflix password.”

“Okay, that was one time. And I was stressed.”

You leaned in. “You pouted for three days.”

“I missed my show!”

Your hands found his waist, big and warm and just a little firmer than before.

“And now you’re feeding into it,” you murmured, tone dipping, breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Retweeting the edits. Dropping quotes in interviews. Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, too fast.

“Like you want me to prove you wrong.”

That shut him up.

His breath hitched.

And when he met your gaze again, the smirk faltered just enough to tell you everything you needed.

You pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw, light and sweet.

Then you whispered, “Upstairs. Now.”

Tim didn’t move right away. He blinked up at you like he hadn’t expected you to actually say it out loud.

You arched a brow. “Did I stutter?”

He swallowed. “No, sir.”

God, he was such a fucking brat. You loved him.

You stood, tugging him up by the hand. “Then go.”

He turned, smirking again—but quieter this time—as he walked. And you let your eyes drag over the way his hoodie hung too loose around his waist, the curve of his ass in those smug little tailored pants.

You followed him up the stairs. Watched him slow at the bedroom door, as if debating whether to keep the act going or not.

He stopped just inside the room and turned. “You sure this isn’t about your ego?”

You tilted your head. “You sure you want to test me?”

Tim stepped back, slow, walking toward the bed. “I’m just saying… all those edits aren’t wrong.”

You stalked in after him.

“You mean the ones where I’m apparently your soft little boyfriend who gets flustered when you hold my hand in public?”

“Mm.” He sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at you. “I mean, you do blush kind of easy.”

You stepped between his knees. Let your hand curl into the collar of his hoodie and tugged him up, just a little.

“I blush because you’re cute,” you said, lips brushing his. “And also because I’m thinking about shoving my dick so far down your throat you forget how to spell your own name.”

That broke something.

Tim’s smirk cracked.

You pushed him back onto the bed, gentle but firm. He landed with a little oof, arms spread, eyes wide.

You pulled the hoodie off. Tossed it to the floor.

Then crawled over him, bracing your arms on either side of his head.

“You think you’re in charge?” you murmured, voice low. “You think you can keep running that mouth, posting those captions, letting people think I’m the one getting fucked?”

Tim swallowed. “I mean, technically—”

Your hand closed around his jaw.

Not hard. But enough.

His words cut off with a sharp inhale.

“You’re real bold for someone whose knees shake when I say ‘good boy.’”

Tim exhaled shakily. “...You haven’t said that yet.”

You smiled.

“Oh, baby. You’ll earn it.”

　　　　　　　　　　　✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You dragged him upright by the wrist and sat down at the edge of the bed, spreading your thighs wide as you pulled him between them. He blinked at you, confused for half a second, until you patted your lap.

Tim’s eyes widened. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh,” you said, gripping his hips and manhandling him across your legs, “I am very serious.”

He squirmed. “You can’t be—this is childish.”

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your palm settled against the curve of his ass.

“You wanna act like a brat, baby? Then you’re gonna get treated like one.”

Tim went very still.

His breath hitched when your fingers hooked into his waistband and tugged both his pants and briefs down to his thighs in one smooth motion.

“You should be grateful,” you murmured, smoothing your hand over his skin. “Most people don’t get punished this pretty.”

He made a sound—half protest, half flustered noise—but you didn’t give him time to think.

The first spank landed with a sharp snap of skin.

Tim jolted. “F—fuck—!”

You rubbed the spot you’d just struck, fingers tracing the flush rising there.

“Language,” you said calmly. “Now count.”

Tim hesitated. Then, sullenly: “One.”

You nodded. “Good boy.”

And brought your hand down again.

Harder.

Tim gasped. “T-Two.”

“Louder.”

“Two!”

Another slap. Sharp. Deliberate.

He arched off your lap with a hiss. “Three.”

You kept going. Not fast. Not cruel. But hard enough that each strike landed with purpose.

“Four… Fuck, five—!”

You raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Tim froze. “...Five.”

You hummed. “That’s not what I heard.”

He groaned into his arm. “C’mon—”

“No. Start over.”

His breath caught. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

You smoothed your hand over his burning skin again, slow and warm.

“Don’t make me add more.”

Tim growled softly under his breath, but said nothing.

He took a breath.

And started again.

“One.”

Smack.

“Two.”

Smack.

He was breathing hard now. Not from pain—but from the pressure of it. The control. The way you wouldn’t let him wriggle out with sass or sarcasm.

You felt him twitch every time your palm landed, felt the slight tremble in his thighs. His hips had started to subtly shift with each strike.

And his cock—trapped between his stomach and your thigh—was getting hard.

You grinned.

By the time he reached “Eight,” his voice was cracking.

“...Nine,” he whimpered, burying his face in the sheets.

You held still. Let your palm rest on the warmth of his ass.

“You sure about that number, sweetheart?”

He sniffled.

“Yes—Nine, I swear.”

“Mm.” You gave it a moment. Let him breathe. Let him sweat.

Then delivered the final blow—firm, with your hand curled slightly to catch the same spot as before.

“Ten.”

Tim’s voice was raw. “T-Ten.”

You hummed in approval. Ran your hand down his back.

“Good boy.”

He shuddered.

The words hit harder than the spanks.

You leaned over him, letting your mouth graze his shoulder.

“Now,” you murmured, “maybe you’re ready to earn a little more.”

Tim stayed there a moment too long after the tenth strike. His head was down, cheek pressed to the sheets, hips lifted like he wasn’t quite ready to move—like the weight of you across his back had melted him into something obedient.

You rested your hand on the curve of his ass again, rubbing gentle circles into the pink skin.

“Look at that,” you said softly, fingers dragging down the side of his thigh. “Didn’t even need to tie you down.”

Tim made a sound—something caught between a scoff and a sigh. “You’re acting like this was your idea of mercy.”

You chuckled and leaned in, letting your chest press to his back, breath warm against his neck. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to be mean, you’d still be on the first round.”

He shivered. You felt it beneath you—the slight tightening of his core, the way his hips shifted just enough to let his hardening cock drag against your thigh again.

“I see the little show’s over,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Where’s all that confidence now, huh?”

Tim groaned quietly. “I hate you.”

You smiled, wide and full of teeth, and kissed his shoulder again.

“No, you don’t.”

You let your hand trail forward, brushing down his stomach, just barely ghosting the underside of his cock—enough to make him jolt, but not enough to give him what he wanted.

His hips jerked forward instinctively, but you pulled your hand away before he could grind against your palm.

“Nuh-uh,” you said, clicking your tongue. “Not until you ask.”

Tim twisted just enough to look at you over his shoulder. His hair was a mess, cheeks red, lashes wet. His glare didn’t have half the heat it usually did.

“You really want me to beg?”

You tilted your head and let your thumb drag over his lower lip, pressing just enough to part it.

“I want you to be honest. With me. With yourself.”

He sucked in a breath and held it. You waited, still stroking lazy circles on the side of his hip, letting the silence stretch like silk between you.

Then, softer than you expected:

“I want your mouth.”

You didn’t move.

You didn’t answer.

You just kept looking at him—slow, patient, adoring.

Tim swallowed. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again.

“Please.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Please what?”

Tim’s lashes fluttered. His hips flexed again, like his body was begging faster than his mouth could keep up.

“Please use your mouth. I—I want you to suck me off.”

You could see the tension in his jaw as he forced the words out, how much it cost him to say them without a smart-ass smile. No games. Just need.

You kissed his spine, slow and reverent.

“There he is.”

Then you flipped him.

Strong hands under his thighs, you lifted and shifted him effortlessly onto his back, laying him out like a gift on the bed. His legs dropped open on instinct. His cock twitched against his stomach, red and leaking.

You settled between his thighs and looked up at him with a grin.

“You want my mouth, baby?”

Tim nodded quickly. “Yes—please, just—”

You cut him off with a kiss to the head of his cock.

“Then you better keep still,” you whispered. “Or I’m starting from one again.”

He whined.

And you licked the drop of pre from his slit like it was honey.

Tim tried not to squirm.

Tried being the key word.

You hadn’t even taken him into your mouth yet—just kissed the tip, licked him slow, let your tongue tease the slit until he was gasping—and he was already trembling. His fingers twisted in the sheets, tight-knuckled and white, like he was holding onto something just to keep from falling apart.

You looked up from between his thighs, chin resting lazily on his hip. “You’re shaking already?”

Tim glared down at you. “You’re teasing me.”

You smiled. “I’m preparing you.”

His breath hitched.

“For what?” he asked, voice breaking on the second word.

You leaned forward, dragging your tongue from base to tip, slow and deliberate.

“To get fucking ruined.”

He groaned—loud and raw—and let his head drop back to the bed.

You took your time.

You let your lips part just around the head of his cock, letting it rest warm and heavy on your tongue, your hands bracing his hips down to keep him from bucking. He gasped the moment your mouth closed around him.

“Oh—fuck—”

You didn’t stop.

You went deeper, slow at first, letting the weight of him stretch your lips open until your jaw ached in the best way. Your tongue flattened beneath him, tracing the underside with every pass. You could feel every twitch, every pulse.

He tried to lift his hips again. You pressed down harder, holding him still.

“Stay. Still.”

His voice cracked. “C-can’t—fuck, you’re so—”

You took him deeper.

Tim’s breath choked off halfway through the word.

You swallowed around him, gagged once—deliberately—and moaned around his dick like he was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

He whimpered. “Oh my god—”

You pulled off just enough to speak, spit clinging between your lips and his shaft. You smiled, voice hoarse and low.

“You wanted my mouth, right?”

Tim nodded frantically, his pupils blown wide.

You licked a slow stripe up the side, fingers tightening around the base of his shaft.

“Then fucking take it.”

You dropped your mouth back down—and this time, you didn’t stop.

You pushed deep, let his cock slide past your tongue, past the gag reflex, until your nose was buried in the soft skin of his lower stomach. Your throat clenched around him instinctively. You heard the breath rush out of him like he’d been punched.

“F-Fuck—M/n—!”

You didn’t let up.

You pulled back only halfway, spit bubbling around your lips, and sank down again with more force—deliberately.

Tim was moaning now—long, drawn-out, helpless sounds that echoed off the walls.

You kept choking on him, mouth slick and hot, eyes locked on his face the whole time.

He looked wrecked.

Beautiful.

Totally undone.

“I can’t—I can’t—gonna—gonna—”

You squeezed the base of his dick and pulled off just in time.

Tim sobbed.

His hands reached for you on instinct, desperate, grabbing for your shoulders, your hair, your face. You caught his wrist mid-reach and kissed the inside of it.

“You don’t get to cum yet.”

He looked like you’d just killed him.

“You’re evil.”

You grinned.

“I’m thorough.”

　　　　　　　　　　　✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You sat back on your heels, wiping the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. Tim was panting, chest rising and falling like he’d just run ten miles. His thighs were still trembling.

You tilted your head, dragging your gaze down his flushed body.

“You’re shaking.”

His eyes fluttered. “That’s your fault.”

You laughed, rich and low, and ran your palms up his thighs—thumbs circling the twitching muscles, moving closer to where his cock still throbbed against his stomach.

“No, baby,” you murmured. “That’s yours. You’ve been like this all day, haven’t you?”

Tim didn’t answer.

So you leaned in closer. Let your mouth hover just above his navel.

“You were hard in the car. Hard when I told you to get upstairs. And I bet,” you whispered, dragging your fingers lower, toward his inner thighs, “I bet if I spread your legs right now...”

You paused.

Then pushed.

Tim’s knees dropped open without resistance.

And there—between his cheeks, slick already shining against his hole—you saw it.

You went very still.

“…Timothy Jackson Drake,” you said slowly, voice edged with something between amusement and hunger. “Did you prep yourself before I got home?”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just turned his head to the side, cheeks flushing deeper, the tips of his ears bright red.

You grabbed his chin gently and turned him back to face you.

“Answer me.”

Tim’s voice was hoarse. “...Yes.”

Your cock twitched.

You exhaled hard through your nose, trying not to let the groan slip free. But fuck—he really had. He’d done all this knowing how it would end. He’d spent the day riling you up, waiting for you to crack, knowing that when you did, you’d fuck him hard enough to shut that smart little mouth for hours.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you muttered.

His lips curled into a small smile. “Takes one to—mmph!”

You kissed him—filthy, fast, full of spit and the taste of his pre. He moaned into it, open-mouthed, greedy. You pulled back only to let your voice sink into his throat again.

“You really want it that bad, huh? Couldn’t wait? Walked around all day with your hole fucking ready?”

Tim nodded fast, desperate. “I wanted you to make me wait.”

You blinked.

“Yeah?” Your voice dropped. “You like it that much? Laying there, open, knowing I wouldn’t touch you until you earned it?”

He bit his lip and looked up at you from under his lashes.

“I like being your problem.”

You groaned and kissed him again, hand sliding down between his legs, fingers slipping easily through the slick gathered around his entrance.

“You’re not a problem,” you whispered, sinking two fingers into him with no resistance, “You’re a fucking addiction.”

His voice came out wrecked—quiet, needy, breathless.

“Then don’t stop until I forget my own name.”

　　　　　　　　　　　✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

“F-fuck, M/n—too much, too much—”

Tim moaned like he’d lost his mind.

It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t contained. It was loud, cracked, real—the kind of sound that only came out when everything else had already broken down.

You had just pushed into him—slow at first, just enough to stretch him—but the moment your hips met his ass, flush, heavy, full?

He sobbed.

You gripped his thighs harder, pinning them to your sides. He was already shaking, the insides of his knees clenching around your waist like he was trying to keep you close and push you away all at once.

“You’re the one who got ready for this,” you said through clenched teeth, sweat already rolling down your neck. “You did this to yourself.”

Tim was barely listening. His hands were in your hair, on your shoulders, grabbing at your arms like he didn’t know what to hold onto.

“You’re so fucking deep—”

You leaned down until your forehead pressed against his, panting into his mouth as you rolled your hips once, slow and hard. He whined like a kicked dog.

“I’m not even moving yet.”

His whole body jolted when you pulled back and thrust again—harder this time. Sloppy. Loud.

There was no rhythm. No grace. Just slick skin, the sound of your cock sliding into his soaked hole, and the wet slap of your hips hitting his ass, again and again.

Tim gasped, voice high. “Don’t—don’t stop—just like that, just like that—”

“You sound so fucking needy,” you growled, hands sliding under his back to lift him, to pull him in tighter. “Is this what you wanted all day? Getting stuffed so deep you can’t even lie to yourself about who owns this pretty little ass?”

Tim couldn’t form words. His head tipped back, mouth open, voice caught in his throat.

You slammed in again, dragging a scream out of him. “Say it.”

His lips moved, but nothing came out.

So you stopped moving entirely—just kept yourself buried, cock twitching inside him, chest heaving. “Say it, Tim.”

His eyes snapped open. Desperate. Wrecked.

“You,” he croaked. “It’s yours, it’s all fucking yours—please, don’t stop—”

“Good fucking boy.”

You grabbed his legs, shoved them higher, nearly folding him in half, and pounded back in without mercy.

The moan that ripped out of him didn’t sound human.

You drove into him like you’d lost patience—like he needed to feel it in his ribs—and you knew the angle was hitting him dead-on because he kept clenching around you like he couldn’t take it.

His cock was leaking all over his stomach, untouched.

You didn’t reach for it. You didn’t need to.

Not when he was already babbling.

“Fuck—oh my god—yes, yes, right there—M/n, I’m gonna—”

You snarled and leaned down, biting at his neck just hard enough to make him jolt. “You better not cum without permission.”

Tim whimpered.

You could feel it—his whole body was right on the edge. His toes curled. His legs shook. He was crying, soft little gasps mixing with broken moans, eyes rolled halfway back.

“You wanna cum?”

He nodded frantically, face flushed and wet.

You slowed your thrusts, just enough to grind.

“Beg for it.”

His voice cracked. “Please—please, let me—let me cum, I can’t—I can’t hold it—please, sir—”

You slammed into him one last time, rough and deep, and held there, grinding into his prostate with punishing pressure.

“Cum for me, baby.”

Tim screamed.

His cock jumped against his stomach, ropes of hot cum shooting up his chest as he seized in your arms, whole body spasming from the force of it. His hole clamped down around your cock so tight it dragged your own release right out of you.

You didn’t even pull out.

You just buried yourself deeper, groaning as you emptied into him, your fingers digging into his hips, holding him still as you spilled everything inside him.

You stayed there—buried deep, panting against his throat, still twitching inside him as your cm warmed his already-slick hole. He was limp beneath you, chest rising in shallow pulls, lips parted in that dazed little O-shape that always told you you’d wrecked him just right.

But you didn’t move.

Didn’t pull out. Didn’t let go.

Instead, you kissed his cheek, soft and slow, and murmured, “You still with me, baby?”

Tim made a sound. Not a word—just a breathy little whimper that cracked at the edges.

You smiled.

“That’s a yes,” you said gently, brushing your nose against his temple. “Color?”

He nodded once against the pillow. “Green.”

His voice was small. Floaty. Like his brain had drifted somewhere far, and he was only now swimming back toward you.

“Good boy,” you whispered.

You pulled back just enough to look at him—his flushed cheeks, tear-slick lashes, and mouth still a little open like he hadn’t remembered how to close it.

“You look so dumb right now, sweetheart.”

Tim blinked at you slowly, like the words were getting stuck on the way to his brain.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

“You like getting used like that, huh?” you asked, voice soft and low, like you were telling him a secret. “Letting me fuck you stupid? Letting me fill you up ‘til you can’t even talk?”

He moaned again—soft, almost shy.

But you could feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

You hummed and rocked your hips forward, just enough to grind. Not thrust. Just let him feel the weight of you still inside him.

His body jolted like a live wire.

“Sensitive,” you said, smiling as he whimpered. “Poor baby.”

“I—I can’t—” Tim’s words stuttered out. “Too much, I already—”

“I know,” you cooed. “You already came so hard, baby. Made such a mess for me.”

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, one hand sliding down to his thigh. You traced lazy circles on his skin with your thumb.

“But your pretty little hole is still so greedy,” you murmured, giving a slow, shallow thrust that made his eyes roll. “Look how it’s holding onto me. Like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

Tim keened. His fingers scrabbled at your shoulders, his whole body arching without control.

You kissed the underside of his jaw. “You can take one more.”

He shook his head—but his legs were already spreading wider.

You smiled against his throat.

“I’ll go slow,” you promised, voice velvet. “Won’t hurt you. I’ll make it so good, baby, you won’t even have to think.”

You started to move—deep, slow grinds that made him feel every inch. His walls fluttered around you, overstimulated, raw, and dripping, but he didn’t say stop.

He never did.

“Look at you,” you whispered, lips ghosting over his ear. “My sweet little thing. All open. All mine. Can’t even form a sentence.”

“C-can,” Tim gasped, but it was a lie and he knew it.

You chuckled low and deep. “Okay. What’s your name?”

He blinked.

His mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

Your next thrust was harder. Not punishing. Just firm. Measured. Intentional.

His whole body jerked.

You kept your voice soft. Sweet.

“You love when I talk to you like this, don’t you?”

Tim was crying again. Quiet, overwhelmed tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

You kissed one. “You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good for me.”

You shifted your angle, pulled one of his legs higher, and aimed a thrust directly into that sweet little spot inside him that made him scream.

His voice cracked.

His cock jumped, untouched.

“You gonna cum again just from this?” you murmured, breath warm against his lips. “Gonna let me fuck your brains out till there’s nothing left in that pretty little head?”

Tim nodded frantically. He was gone. Gone.

“I wanna—wanna cum, I wanna—”

“You need permission, baby.”

“I—I—please—please, let me—”

You slammed in one more time and held there.

“Do it.”

Tim shattered.

He came untouched—again—cock spurting weakly between you, body twitching under yours like he didn’t know how to stop.

You rocked through it, slow and careful, riding out his orgasm until he went limp again, arms wrapped around your shoulders, breathing soft and uneven.

And this time?

You pulled out.

He whimpered when you did.

But you kissed his lips, slow and sweet.

Then you cleaned him—gently, warm cloth and whispered praise, your fingers rubbing soft circles into his hips and arms while he blinked up at the ceiling, too blissed out to speak.

You crawled into bed with him afterward, pulling the covers over both of you, letting him curl into your chest like always.

He pressed his face into your neck and mumbled something soft you couldn’t quite make out.

You smiled and kissed the crown of his head.

“Love you too, baby.”

　　　　　　　　　　　✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You were half-asleep.

Tim was curled into your chest, breath soft against your skin, legs tangled with yours under the blanket. He hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Still twitchy, still sensitive. But content.

You were just about to drift off when the tablet on the nightstand lit up.

You didn’t even flinch at the ringtone—Wayne comms had a specific ping. One that usually meant: “Gear up.”

Tim groaned into your collarbone.

“Don’t answer it.”

You reached blindly for the device, not bothering to sit up. “It’s probably just an update.”

The moment you tapped accept, Dick Grayson’s face filled the screen. He looked sweaty, in uniform, leaning half-out of a fire escape window somewhere across the city.

“Hey, sorry, quick one—Tim are you doing Uptown or should I grab it?”

You blinked blearily, still squinting against the screen glare. “Tim isn’t scheduled for tonight.”

Dick frowned. “Really? I thought Tim was on the rota for North End—”

Then he paused.

And tilted his head.

“…Are you naked?”

You didn’t answer.

Dick’s eyes flicked to the side, squinting.

“Is that—oh my god, Tim?”

You turned the tablet slightly.

Just enough to show the very flushed, very shirtless, and very recently-ruined boy sprawled half across your chest, lips kiss-bruised, neck marked, hair destroyed. His eyes were open but barely.

He blinked once.

Then groaned into your shoulder, trying to hide.

Dick lost it.

“Oh my god. I’m hanging up. I am hanging up right now.”

“You could’ve just called,” you said calmly.

“I thought this was urgent!” he snapped, already fumbling for the end call. “I didn’t know I was about to see my little brother looking like—fuck, Tim, are you drooling?”

“I hate you,” Tim mumbled.

Dick’s cackle echoed even as the screen cut to black.

You tossed the tablet face-down on the nightstand.

Tim didn’t move.

You kissed his hair once and pulled him closer.

“I’ll cover your shift.”

He groaned again. “You better. He’s never gonna let me live that down.”

You grinned against his temple.

“That’s what you get for being a little shit.”

851 notes · View notes

neerathebrightstar · 13 days ago

Text

An Unhealthy Obsession

Yandere Tim Drake inspired by the song “An Unhealthy Obsession”

SYNOPSIS -> Tim Drake will always remember the day he saw you for the first time as the best coincidence of his life. And you will always remember your second meeting as the thing that doomed you.

Warnings -> This is a work of fiction but beware the themes like stalking, obsession, manipulation, smut, the fic is written mostly in Tim’s pov so an unreliable narrator, sub!Tim Drake, there is a brief mention of things like branding and kidnapping, exhibitionism

MINORS DNI

You will never forget the first time you met Tim Drake - freshly 18, still with hope for a better life in your eyes and incredibly broke. You worked hard in high school and got the opportunity to study in Gotham University on Bruce Wayne’s founded scholarship. You were ecstatic back then, you always thought you would immediately need to go to work after you hit adulthood, and offered with a chance to make something of yourself you didn’t think twice about moving to Gotham despite its title as the most dangerous city in America.

Your parents were skeptical with the whole ordeal, who wouldn’t be terrified with their child moving to Gotham where people were more scared of clowns than guns, but they ultimately let you go when you begged for it enough.

You wished they didn’t, you wished they locked you in a room and binded you to your bed so you wouldn’t go anywhere.

In the end you moved to Gotham all wide eyed, ripe for the taking in the city known for swallowing innocent souls like you. You were hopeful, ready to learn and work even harder for your future.

You thought yourself to be fearless back then. On top of the world and untouchable, with wings made of dreams ready to carry you even higher. You spend your nights before the courses start fantasizing about life when all the riches in the world are at your hand - living in a mansion with a significant other that truly adores you, never wanting for anything. And all that you would achieve through your hard work.

But reality hits you hard and brutally when the assignments start piling up, your professors are cruel and you can barely keep up, not with additional work you have to do after hours to support yourself. The scholarship doesn’t cover your basic necessities and food doesn’t magically appear on one’s plate when they wish it so.

You are constantly tired, overworked and underslept so no one can really blame you when you miss literal Red Robin walking into the 24h diner you work at.

(You didn’t know he was a vigilante back then, you were new in Gotham - you didn’t have the time to learn the names of the entire flock of bats and birds)

You were alone that night, your coworkers already went home and you craved to do the same. You still had to clean up and wait for the next shift to come in and you really hoped that they would hurry - you wanted to take a quick nap before running to campus.

Instead you are met with a bizarre sight of a man dressed entirely in a funny red costume. High black combat boots with black skintight pants and a red top that looked like a girl’s one piece swimsuit. For some reason he was wearing the ugliest yellow belt you ever seen, with pouches fulled to the brim. Was he practicing for a role or something? You highly doubted that, not with the bondage type of straps that were holding a very dramatic cape on his shoulders. Gotham was weird but you never seen people wear costumes from fetish magazines out in the streets like that before. And for fuck’s sakes was he wearing a fucking mask with a beak? You wondered how to politely throw him out without involving very strong words and calling him out on being a prostitute for villains with a vigilante complex but in the end you never had to do so.

The encounter doesn’t linger in your mind past the next morning - sure the guy was weird but polite, you served him his order and he went on his way. You blissfully came back home to your bed after swapping with your coworker to catch a few hours of sleep unaware that you just doomed yourself.

I want to be able to tell you that you came here to read a story of a maniac, an obsessive freak of nature like you all think me to be. But really I am that bad for wanting to protect them? That I saw how they live and decided to give them everything? You all can judge me all you want but the truth is you would have done the same - except you are cowards and I am not afraid of getting my hands dirty for the ones I love.

I would never kill anyone, I know better than that - Bruce taught me better than that. However there are so many ways one’s life can be ruined without depriving them of it. Sometimes one letter is all it takes to fire a man supporting his whole family, to get him banned from working ever again. What does the life of that family look like after that? No one ever thinks of it later, when you have that one annoying employee out of your sight, what use is there in wondering how he fares right? After all you didn’t kill him, you can absolve yourself of all guilt, he deserved it and you showed restraint in letting him see another day.

But his family will fall apart, his children will lose countless opportunities because there is no longer enough funds to support them in pursuing a better, brighter future. You won’t see his wife struggling to make ends meet while her husband uselessly walks around with his resume. And when she leaves him behind to find a better man for her and her children? Will you be there to look at what you have done ?

You see? I don’t need to kill anyone to destroy their life. And if I can do it so easily, who says others cannot do it to them ? It was already happening when I met them - my love was underpaid, overworked and with no real way of making a better living. They could have crumbled like a house of cards with just one gust of wind. A university student, non-Gothamite living on tips and praying their scholarship won’t be taken from them? Poor little thing would have been swallowed by this city if not for me. Don’t judge me yet, I know I sound pretentious. Let me tell you the whole truth and then you are welcome to make your judgment. But know it’s already too late for my love to leave me - I got my claws into them and they are never leaving again.

I met Y/N purely by chance. They were working at a 24h diner located near Crime Alley and I was in my Red Robin armour, freshly after a fight with local gang members who distributed narcotics to children. It was a big case, big enough that Jason asked for help. I was tired, basically a dead weight on my feet. I needed to eat something and drink enough energy drinks so that I would be caffeinated enough to fight god and then make my way back into the Nest. I didn’t want to look for an open corner store - most of them were money laundering spots at this hour anyway and I didn’t feel like throwing punches with spooked clerks. This side of the city was Jason’s problem, he could deal with that later himself.

Usually a superhero vigilante walking into any place at this hour either invoked fear or awe. I was used to calming down civilians that I was not in the local area for villain related business or smiling for pictures. What I was not used to was being unseen, simply ignored. Y/N was the only person in the diner that night and they didn’t spare me a single glance, no lingering looks like people who wanted to play cool often acted. They were just just meticulously cleaning tables and even from where I was standing I could see their eyes were half closed. An underpaid and tired employee is technically not a thing out of ordinary in Gotham - even with the money Bruce pours into this city the hole of poverty seems just never ending. I should have walked out and left that poor person alone. Bruce would have left a pile of money on one of the still messy tables and left it at that. I for some reason couldn’t do that.

I walked over to them and cleared my throat which in consequence immediately made me feel like an asshole. I was not only interrupting their work in one of the most rude ways possible and in the back of my mind I kept thinking what an idiot I am and that I will scare this poor thing shitless. Maybe it was a good thing I was not as tall and grotesquely muscular as Jason who looked like a thug most of his good days.

Imagine my surprise that when they turned around they only took one good look at my armour and scrunched their nose at me. Like I was the one being an idiot here. Didn’t anyone tell them that being so unaware of their surroundings in Gotham could cost them their life?

“Halloween is in October. And I am pretty sure that ComicCon was like a week ago”

Their smile was weak, without any teeth but I could feel them mocking me. What person living in Gotham didn’t recognise it’s vigilanties?

“Very funny sweetheart. I am not exactly in the mood for games.”

I didn’t restrain my urge to roll my eyes at them. Gothamites could be weird and disrespectful but they were good people at heart (well most of them anyway, there were exceptions where people did crimes because they wanted to do crimes not because they needed to. And this city had a way of turning people a certain kind of mad), who were often better to be left alone rather than entertain their craziness.

But they did something that got me hooked and interested constantly. They laughed. They laughed and it felt like thousands of little bells ringing the melody of worship, making that little beast in me raise its head. I wouldn’t say I fell in love with them then. I would lie and I promised to be honest with you didn’t I? But I got that feeling, the one I usually get when I know my interests have been peaked and my claws are ready to come out. I know when I want something and I can distinguish the difference between interest and devotion. This was not devotion, not yet. It was merely a single seed of curiosity that could grow to become an enormous problem later on.

The last time I felt something similar had me running around Gotham at night, chasing after a boy in scally shorts and pixie boots, following after him and his mentor who to a little brat appeared to be dressed in darkness itself. Now I could laugh at that ridiculous comparison, knowing that a man hidden behind the kevlar disappointed me more times than both of us bothered to count.

I can tell you now that I will fall hopelessly in love with them, ready at their single beck and call. I was more of a dog than a man but I could be a very loyal one, a faithful companion. I desired to be collared, to have the certainty that another person won’t leave me again. I always tried to sink my claws into everything that didn’t belong to me and every single time, without a doubt I would hold it close even when it was thrashing against my hands. Not once have I managed to keep anything that way, not even a piece of my love given back. No scratch marks to show that I was there, that I loved that I hoped. My claws always ended up torn out, stuck in the flesh of those dear to me, bleeding and rotting like unwanted trash.

”Well pretty boy don’t blame me for assuming when you look like you just walked out of someone’s bondage fantasy”

Their eyes trailed me up and down before a look of disbelief crossed their face. They pointed one finger at the symbol on my chest and pushed it delicately.

(For some reason I longed for them to hit me, to strike me deep, hard and fast. Bruise me and show the world they designed to touch me. That I was not disgusting and unlovable.)

“Was the theme supposed to be Robin and you just botched it into looking like a duck? Anyway honey I need to ask you to get out. This place is family friendly and fetish workers don’t fit into that category”

“Excuse me?!”

“No need to ask for permission, the door is that way”

I glared at them with one of my BatmanTM glares but it only seemed to make them more annoyed.

“I am not a prostitute, I just really need some caffeine.”

They snorted with laughter and I could feel myself getting red. What was even wrong with them?

Hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me Bite me bite me bite me bite me

“I am pretty sure they can also sell it to you at the nearest BDSM club. You need some kind of order to leave or will you see yourself out?”

“Aren’t you supposed to serve all customers?”

I was angry and tired and they were rude but I really just wanted to go home so I swallowed any comebacks I might have had and smiled politely.

“Listen this is Gotham and it’s like 3 am. No one cares about that family friendly shit anyway. And I will pay double.”

Whatever angry complaints they were about to throw at me died quicker in their mouth than hope in B’s eyes when Jason kills another criminal. They raised one brow at me but I knew I won.

“I don’t know if I just got that amazing offer because I bullied you a little and you really are a bondage slut or being a bondage slut pays very well.”

“I’m not paying throuple”

They grumbled a little but in the end took out a small notebook and a pen and gave me the nicest smile I probably saw all week.

(My heart got tighter and for a second I couldn’t breathe. I imagined myself taking that smile into my mouth and tearing it off, bloody and wonderful. If I consumed it would the warmth stay with me forever? Or would it leave me like all things seemed to do?)

“Well, my most wonderful totally not a bottom customer, what will you desire today?”

You you you you you you you you you

Tim was never a man capable of self restraint.

And you left him very intrigued.

It really wasn’t his fault that for the next week he could only think about your hands tightening ropes, intricately woven across his body. Or the same hands leaving welts across his body, your nails scratching him to blood. Marking him up for all to see.

It wasn’t really about you or who you were as a person, not at first anyway. You just happened to hit every box Tim had in mind when he was looking for something more, someone to help him get through the stress of his life. Because the truth was that Tim enjoyed the act of giving away his control - treated it like an act of worship, a highest honour and most precious gift he could give to anyone.

But he had no one to give it away to, not without fearing that someone might take advantage of him, hurt him too deeply. Leave him so shattered that this time he might not be able to pick up the pieces and construct something resembling a human shape around his true self again. The sharp and ugly parts of him were already uncovered too much, sticking out of his shell - ready to burst and spill blood.

You on the other hand would never be able to hurt him. You could bark all you wanted but your teeth would never be strong enough to bite through his skin. But Tim could trick himself into thinking otherwise and it would still satisfy him so what was the hurt in trying? When you were already so eager to mock him, to order him around?

So he began following you, making sure you were safe on your way back home from work. Gotham was scary after all, why would you mind a little hidden company in exchange for safety ?

Tim somehow convinced himself that he would get his urges satisfied that way. A little surveillance here and there never hurt anybody, not in this city. And learning your name was crucial if you ever ended up becoming a villain right? Tim was The Red Robin after all, he needed to keep an eye on everyone in Jason’s his neighbourhood.

A month observing your balcony would be all he needed to make sure you weren’t up to anything bad. He had to watch you fall asleep so he knew you would not go out anywhere else during the night. Who knew what kind of henchmen meetings you could’ve been sneaking out to. Maybe you were Clayface, ready to fool him for some masterplan.

And then it escalated.

Really, Tim was very proud of himself for not installing cameras in your dorm earlier. His skin was getting uncomfortable for the past few weeks but he prevailed, gave you a chance to run away. You didn’t and that’s why you were both in this situation - Tim sitting in front of his computer, mouth wide open, unable to understand what was even happening while you danced naked around your bedroom.

He didn’t even have to think before his fingers automatically moved to save the live feed to his folder, designed especially with you in mind. Hundreds of your pictures already rested there, saved and tucked for later.

(It was an impulsive behaviour that Tim couldn’t explain before himself, an illness he tried to treat on his own. He deleted a few of his least favourite pictures and waited for the hand of god to strike him, punish him for his insolence. He should have fallen to death as punishment but instead he could feel himself start shaking. Tim’s heart clenched painfully and vomit gathered behind his lips. He barely made it to the nearest trash can before he needed to breathe again, eyes already turning bloodshot. He sat there screaming his pure throat raw and ugly sobbing. With hands flying to his neck and choking just to shut himself up, nails leaving angry marks that filled with blood fast, Tim crawled to his computer. He needed the pictures back, now!)

And yet you tested his resolve once again, carefully picking at the sound parts of his mind and replacing them with madness. Tim felt small next to your greatness, unworthy of looking upon your image - with body soft and plush, cream freshly applied after the shower, your hair wet and curling against your cheeks. A perfect portrait of divine being, with a body that looked fragile upon first glance and sharp, cunning nature.

Tim should’ve stopped watching when he first discovered you naked as the day you were born, should’ve gone over to your house and got rid of cameras. There were many things he should’ve done instead of tugging his cock out of his pants, already hard and leaking.

He shouldn’t have started stroking himself to the quiet sound of your humming when you got yourself ready for some party. And he definitely shouldn’t have been imagining kneeling between your legs and humping your foot like a dog in heat.

Tim was a weak man, he could’ve admitted that but have you ever heard of a man who stumbles upon a naked goddess and walks away?

On the monitor, unaware of his heated stare you spread glitter all across your body, still humming a melody that would haunt Tim forever. You were so precious and so innocent and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you - to corrupt you with his filth, fill you to the brim with his essence. He could see it all now, both of you stitched together, skin to skin, side to side.

You and him chained to bed, unable to say where the other begins and where the other ends. There would be no such nonsense as him and you by then. You will be a joined entity, a two faced god of devotion and codependence.

You reach for a pair of red underwear and Tim’s breath hitches - his colour, you are wearing his colour

His strokes quicken to the point of painful stinging. His hands are covered in calluses, so unlike yours. Your hands are soft and delicate with sharp nails and long fingers made to put him in his place. Like a good dog he is, he would’ve laid down to rest at your feet and lap at any leftovers you give away.

Tim loses himself in the pleasure, bottom lip stuck between his teeth, eyes glued to your form on the screen. He thumbs his tip, precome gathering there like little beads of white tears, all falling for you. He would have made you taste it, your pouty lips embracing his thumb and sucking. You would have asked him to open his mouth and spitten your saliva and his come come into his waiting throat, bared all just for you.

He fumbles his speed and moans sound out all across his room, a private symphony just for him and you.

Tim’s orgasm comes hard and fast, shocking his entire body, limps spasming uselessly. He makes a mess and ashamed of himself ducks quickly into the bathroom to clean up. His black shirt is unsavable, his come drying off leaving nasty marks.

Tim catches a glance of himself in the mirror and for the first time in a while, he smiles. It’s not one of those gala smiles he throws to journalists and other pests bothering him during work hours. It’s also not the smile he shows around his family, that one when he scrunches his nose and barely shows any teeth.

This time it’s his real smile. All predatory, teeth barred and ready to tear flesh apart. The beast officially released itself of its prison and its coming for you

You didn’t recognise him the second time you saw him. How could you when he was wearing a mask and you were so tired you forgot all about the dude the next day?

But since that day you were resting even worse. You had that feeling of eyes on you, following your every move, like a monster was watching you. Waiting for a moment to grab you, snatch you and never give you back to the world. You were getting paranoid, dreaming of hands tearing you apart and rebuilding you anew like a fucked up Frankenstein’s creation. Someone was choosing parts of you that pleased them and throwing the rest out - like it was trash, like it didn’t make you who you are.

Maybe you should’ve listened to your consciousness, an animal part of your brain telling you to run and never look back. But you were so lonely, isolated from the entire world. That’s why when your friends asked if you wanted to go out this Friday you didn’t hesitate to say yes. You got yourself all dolled up, covered your body in little specks of glitter and wore nice underwear, hoping to get laid.

It was supposed to destress you, make your muscles finally relax and release the pressure. You would have taken a nice boy or a pretty girl into the back alley and let them do sinful things to you. You would have relished in the embarrassment that definitely would’ve come the following morning and moved on with your life.

Instead the moment you arrived you felt like you were about to be stabbed at any moment. Like you walked into a trap, or a mouth of a horrendous beast, it’s jaw ready to shut down. Your first thought was that those were only nerves, after all it’s been a while since you were in a place like this. So you drowned yourself in cheap booze, taking shot after shot to your friends delight.

Now you couldn’t even say where you were and what was happening to you. You could hear music all around you so you must be still at the club, dancing bodies all around you. It was getting hard to breathe, and you felt yourself panicking until hands embraced you from behind, locking onto your hips and pulling your back into the chest of a stranger.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Whispering right against your ear brought you back to earth enough for you to realise your entire body was moving with the stranger, dancing suggestively. Lips moving the stranger, began sucking on your earlobe gently, taking it into his mouth, tongue coming out to play.

Your breath hitched but you didn’t move away, your vision getting cloudy with pleasure. You could feel something hard and warm against your ass when the stranger made your hips swing more aggressively. Your hands immediately flew behind you to wrap them in his hair. It was short and soft, a little wet from the sweat thanks to the atmosphere in the club. You pulled hard to get him away from your ears. His head went obediently, following your hand and you could feel his chest shaking with uneven breaths, a whimper catching on his lips.

Your mouth quirked into a satisfied smirk. You went out today, expecting to find yourself at someone’s mercy in bed - men often tended to prefer domming instead of bottoming and it was hard to find a girl brave enough to follow you home these days, you supposed it was because Gotham was less safe for women than your hometown. It was just your luck that somehow you danced right into a man’s arms you could probably break enough to have some fun.

Pleased, you kept one of your hands in the stranger’s head, twisting strands of his hair. Your other hand travelled down his chest, pulling on one of his covered nipples, while he rutted against you. Turning your head enough to lick his bobbing adam's apple, your fingers finally reached their intended destination and you quickly opened his belt, ready to feel your prize up. His hands gripped your waist tighter, to the point of pain. A weak sob catched your attention and your back stiffened. Fuck was he crying? Did you do something wrong?

You brought his ear close to your lips so he could hear you speak despite the loud music and other people moaning.

“Do you want me to stop, baby?”

The sobs got louder and you tried to move away from him. Horny or not that was not something you wanted to deal with, no matter how ecstatic his cries made you feel. But his hands didn’t let you move far away, their hold on you unrelenting. He nuzzled his face into your neck before nipping you with teeth and you trembled in your core. It seemed to finally calm him down enough to speak.

“Sorry, it’s been awhile since someone took care of me”

He guided your hand into his pants and his boxers so you could feel how hard he was. You squeezed him and tugged your hand up and down a couple of times before stopping at his tip to gather precome. He twitched so wonderfully against you, whole body trembling with desire and in the corner of your eye you could see his mouth parted around his fist that previously gave you permission to touch his warmth. Poor boy, you were just getting started and he already was so overwhelmed. You purposely didn’t stop dancing to the music, your ass making circles to ground down hard on him.

Your hand was cramping from the uncomfortable position and you knew your neck would hurt tomorrow from nuzzling it against the man’s neck where you licked, bitten and sucked marks into it. You caught a hint of blue in his teary eyes when your gaze locked with his and gave him your best smile, with your teeth gleaming in the club’s lights. He was close, you knew it from the way he humped your fist more aggressively, movements lacking precision. You laughed at his clear desperation, already deciding what you were gonna do with him. How could you refuse this boy, when he was serving himself on a silver platter for you?

You stopped touching him, taking your hands off his body and he whimpered like a kicked dog, scratching you in protest. You decided to punish him for it later, when you got him naked under you, at your mercy with no way to run away. But that was a thought better saved for later - he seemed pretty lost in his head, likely to hit subspace soon and you needed actual consent before taking him anywhere. So you arched your back to make it easier for him to hear you.

“Your place or mine baby? Ohh and I will need to put a name to this pretty face”

That seemed to wake him up a little, clarity returning to his eyes.

(They scared you for a minute, they were so dark and calculating, like he was getting ready to strike you and was only waiting for the perfect moment)

“Mine, I can drive us there. And my name is Tim”

You raised a brow at him - he was definitely drunk, a pink blush covering him from his ears to down his collarbone before disappearing behind his shirt with its two buttons opened. But you were so boozed yourself that it didn’t occur to you to say no, you only nodded your head and focused on refixing his belt.

You completely missed his dark smile, much more dangerous than yours. That night you went home with Tim Drake, thinking you were the one holding power in your little dynamic. You didn’t tell your friends where you were going and with whom, too horny to remember their existence, your brain and memory foggy. They will spend the rest of the night looking for you before giving up, sure you will call them in the morning and they will scream at you for being too reckless.

But you call them in the morning, nor will you call them a day after. You will never call them again and no matter how many times they will call GCPD you will never be found, your missing person case buried under countless others. They will inform your parents that Gotham swallowed you and they can only count on it spitting you out in pieces or your body showing up in Gotham’s Harbour.

Tim walks you into the night, to your new home giddy with excitement. He can’t believe his luck, that you willingly walked right into his life. He thought he would need to force you, drag you kicking and screaming into his bed but turns out you were just as eager as him to start your new life together. His eyes stray from your face illuminated by the street lights to your back and the curve of your waist, he can’t decide which place would be better for your mark - yours and his. You see Tim really can’t afford to wear a wedding ring, it’s too recognisable, too easy to lose. But a scar burned or cut into his skin? That’s something he will never lose, that will stay with him forever. He will let you plan the design with him - couples chose the wedding rings together, don’t they?

A/N -> Wow this was a ride, a whole 5k of words of Tim being a crazy freak and reader matching him too much for their own good. I tried to make them as gender neutral as possible but if I failed I am sorry 🫤 Special thanks to the discord server Yael created, @mishkradetsa and @this0user0is0a0atar who helped me brainstorm how reader can insult Tim’s Red Robin costume. I don’t know when or if I will make a part two of this but I definitely plan on writing that Tim Drake fic with branding in the future

+ I am only human and this fic was not beta read so there are definitely mistakes here, please don’t point them out 🙏

#dc #yandere dc #yandere tim drake #yandere red robin #red robin x reader #tim drake x reader #yandere x reader #smut #tim drake smut #sub tim drake #bottom tim drake #dc x reader #dc smut #yandere batboys #yandere batfam #tim drake #red robin #x reader #i genuinely dont know what possed me to write this

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notsodelirious · 3 months ago

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U write sub Jason so fucking good it's not even funny im foaming at the mouth and going feral

Can u write some body worship for him please the man could really use it

Addicted to the idea of making him kneel in front of a mirror for me while I grab his chest and thighs and make him watch how pretty he is when he blushes UGH

I fear this is just going to become my legacy now (jk I love writing sub Jason)

synopsis: Jason has a few choice words about himself and you’re not about to let somebody talk about your boyfriend like that

notes: NSFW MDNI, also, some of the tags look scary (eg. spanking, pet play) but genuinely just tagging them bc they’re featured but they’re in no way central

tags: anal fingering, masturbation, mirror sex, very minimal spanking, vague undertones of pet play (this wasn’t intentional), overstimulation, reader is a little mean but I promise they’re making a point, gn!reader, 1.7k words, no use of y/n

idk either, just enjoy — also, big boy Jason

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

You were sitting on the bed, waiting for Jason to change out of his clothes so he could finally join you. You didn’t mean to be a creep as you watched him undress, but the sight of his back muscles flexing when he pulled his shirt off made you wolf whistle and grin.

He blushed as he turned back to face you, a small frown on his face.

“The fuck are you whistling for?”

“Are you telling me you don’t know why people whistle?”

He rolled his eyes, as if offended you’d question his knowledge of anything.

“I know why people fucking do it. I’m asking what you’re whistling at me for?”

“What do you mean? You’re insanely hot.”

“No, I’m not.”

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline as you regarded him, waiting for him to break character and laugh and tell you that he’s just pulling your leg and he didn’t mean it.

Because how dare he imply that your boyfriend wasn’t the hottest piece of ass alive.

“Come here,” you said, as you clambered off the bed and took his arm, leading him to the large full length mirror hung on your wall. Jason followed, very much reluctantly, like he was about to drag his feet like a toddler. “That-” you pointed to his reflection in the mirror as you came to a stop, “-is the hottest man I’ve ever known.”

Jason crossed his arms, a frown still tugging at his lips as he angled himself away from the reflection and towards you, “Okay, well when the only men you’ve ever known are me and your father, I sure hope I’m the hottest.”

Any other time, you would have laughed sarcastically, punched him in the arm and said something quippy back—but now an actual sadness settled in your gut, wrapped around your heart and lungs like thorns. That was the shit you couldn’t let slip and you’d be damned if you did nothing about it.

“Drop the sweatpants for me,” you said as you stepped back to give him a little more space. He raised an eyebrow, sceptical, but complied soon enough, dropping his pants, and then his underwear when you gestured him to do so. You beckoned him closer with a wave of your hand before gently nudging him to turn towards the mirror.

“The fuck are you playing at?”

“Proving to you that you’re hot as shit,” you said as you stood behind him, “On your knees.” He dropped to sit on his heels, legs almost nonchalantly spread as his soft dick hung between his thighs, hands rested on them.

“I don’t think I’m ugly,” he said as he looked up at you in the mirror as you stood over him, “I’m just not-“

You hushed him softly as you placed your hand against his mouth.

“Shut up,” you said kindly as you ran your other hand through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp softly, making him close his eyes and sigh, “You’re more than hot; you’re fucking gorgeous—got that?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t, considering your hand was still placed over his mouth.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” you said as you tugged his hair back, bending his head back so he’d look up at you. You removed your hand from his face, smiling softly when you met his eager and tender gaze, “You’re going to jerk off, you’re not going to look away from the mirror—that’s all you need to worry about, yeah? You get to cum when I tell you so.”

He nodded as best he could considering you were still gripping his hair.

“Give me your right hand,” he obliged, reaching his right hand up for you—you leaned down to lick it, wetting his palm before you straightened up and let go of his hair, “Go for it, big boy.”

His wet fingers wrapped around his limp cock, making himself groan as he slowly began to pump his cock, making it stir to life beneath his own touch. A gentle blush bloomed across his cheeks: from your gaze or the sight of himself in the mirror, you couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter—Jason kept to your word, eyes on his reflection as he touched himself.

You got down onto your knees behind him, making sure you could still see your reflections as you reached around his back to rest your hands on his chest. The touch was soft at first, almost innocent as you ran your hands across his skin, feeling him up, watching as his blush spread to the tip of ears down his neck.

“I love your tits,” you said against his ear as you kissed the shell of it, squeezing the pecs in question, pushing them together in a mock-cleavage.

“They aren’t-“

You pinched his nipples, tugging on them and rolling them between your fingers, effectively silencing him as he moaned in favour of talking.

“That’s not what you say when somebody compliments you,” you chastised softly as you continued to play with his nipples, watching him as he arched his back into your touch and quickened his hand, “You have nice tits,” you repeated.

“Th-thank you,” he stuttered out as he pushed his hips into his hand, matching his own pace with his thrusts.

“You’re welcome, big boy,” you cooed before your hands finally left his chest, freeing him from the soft torture. You trailed your hands downwards, brushing over his tummy, feeling muscles quieter under your touch: it wasn’t that he was unhealthy when you first met him, but two years into the relationship, he had gained a healthy layer of chub on his body from the meals you had shared together and there was quite literally nothing sexier.

You squeezed his waist, fingers dimpling his skin, before you shifted a little from behind him so you could comfortably dig your hands into his thighs.

“I really like these too,” you said as you rested your cheek on his shoulder, feeling the shift of his body with each stroke of his cock. You brushed your hand over his butt, groping him there too, “And your ass; both very fuckable.”

“I- I’m not-“

You knew he wasn’t expecting the harsh slap to his thigh from his startled yelp and his temporary pause.

“Try again,” you said as you knead his ass.

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he began to stroke his cock again, now slick from the pre-cum pearling from his tip, red and eager. You hummed, pulled your hands away from him before presenting him with your middle and ring finger, and pressed them to his lips. “Suck. Don’t stop touching yourself.”

He took you into his mouth comfortably, sucking and lapping at your fingers, moaning noisily. You met his gaze in the mirror, saw his eyes roam over his reflection, his desperate body and leaking cock and parted lips: he was a painting and he was gorgeous.

You finally pulled your fingers out of his mouth when you deemed them wet enough before brushing them across his asshole.

“Fuck…” His hand stuttered for a moment, like his brain couldn’t process both sensations at once. His fist around his cock tightened ever so slightly, likely not enough to hurt himself but enough to not cum on the spot.

“Ready?” You pushed the first finger in before getting a response and Jason tensed, a small strain keen leaving his mouth. “Relax, baby. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

It took him a minute to finally relax and you were able to push your entire finger into his rectum, thrusting in and out slowly to begin stretching him up.

“Keep touching yourself,” you reminded him softly—which he did, moaning a little louder as the dual stimulations pushed himself closer and closer to the edge.

“Please, please, I need to…”

“Do you need to cum, big boy?” you cooed softly as you thrust your fingers into him a little faster, making him whimper and writhe. His walls clenched around you, hot flesh trying to suck you in, keep you there. “You know, you’re so pretty when you beg.”

“Thank you,” he panted, “Thank you.”

“Good boy.”

Carefully, you introduced your second finger, still slick from his spit, forcing him open a little faster, brushing your fingers along his warm, tight walls, curling them into his prostate.

You laughed softly as he yelped, pressing down against his bundle of nerves again just to see him grow more agitated and needy again. His own hand picked up pace again, thighs quivering as he brought himself closer.

“Please?” he asked softly as he looked down at you, puppy eyes pleading and desperate. “Please, please, I’ve been good-”

“You have,” you acquiesced calmly as you nodded, “You’ve been so good for me, the prettiest boy I know.”

“Thank you, thank you, I-“

“Come for me, baby.”

He obliged, letting his orgasm slam into him full force. He came into his hand as you continued to finger him, dragging your fingers across his nerves over and over again, leaving him trembling and keening from pleasure and overstimulation. You kissed his shoulder as he finally fell limp.

“Good boy,” you cooed as you watched his entire frame wracked with shivers as you continued to pleasure him, even after his cock softened and he sank down on his haunches. “One more.”

“C-can’t,” he mumbled out as his breathing stuttered, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath but you wouldn’t physically let him. You moved to gripped his cock when he let go, using his cum as lubricant as you kept your fingers buried deep inside his ass, teasingly pressing down against his prostate.

“I know you can,” you kissed his cheek, his neck, his shoulder and he trembled beneath your lips, whining loudly as the overstimulation overcame him, with nowhere to flee. “Just one more.”

“Too much, too- ah!” The second orgasm caught him by surprise, his limp cock giving a valiant twitch as it spurted cum again, dribbling onto your palm, which you promptly licked up. His eyes followed your hand as he practically went limp, leaning his body weight against you. “Mmh, ah- baby, baby, enough, red.”

You’d had no plans of continuing after his second orgasm, but you thanked him softly for the use of his safeword as you pet his thigh.

You were kinder this time around when you pulled your fingers out of him, mumbling soft praises when he whimpered.

“Who’s a pretty boy?” you asked softly as you both admired the sight of his debauched body in the mirror.

“I am.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

a/n: I actually rewrote like 90% of it because I was so displeased with my original draft—I still don’t know if I did the prompt justice but I’m happier with this version

request are temporarily closed as I work through my current ones and start on my assignments (but the ask box is still open, refer to my pinned post or dm me if you have more questions)

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