lorimnnn

[lorimnnn]

hot take lowkey

be so honest. be so honest!!!

alfred pennyworth is an old man that can GET IT UP. that man is FIT. the only battle he's really fighting is hairloss, but otherwise, he is muscular. he is in shape. if he really wanted to, he could gun down all of Gotham's worst villains in a night. that man is hot.

have we just not noticed or do we genuinely not like him ??? i know he's a sweet old man but he's also a sweet old MAN.

[lorimnnn]

i love corrupting "conventional" men

i LOVE being the source of his undoing. i love making him discover sides of himself he can never un-know. sure, one can say i chewed him up and spit him out, that i ruined him, but does it really count if he didn't even know that he would like it this much? there's no going back, and that's the point. your little cis-het 'masculine' man lifestyle will never be enough for you again.

honey, if you wanted conventional, you should have dated a conventional woman.

[lorimnnn]

that wide eyed, deer-in-head-lights look when they realise they've been out-freaked...

hot.

[lorimnnn]

femdom | random character x reader | smut; mdni

it's 3:30am right now but i just had the most beautiful idea

you're a junior police officer who just got promoted to the special crimes unit, and your newness has naturally got the team coddling you and avoiding involving you when possible. plus, it doesn't help that you're sweet in nature; cheerful, soft-spoken, dressing in a spring wardrobe despite the coldest seasons that never seem to end within the chilly confines of the office--- you don't exactly look the part of a ruthless, thick-skinned detective that wears their mortality like a second skin and at any moment's notice, would lunge into the heart of terrorist gunfire. if anything, you look like a body they'd ID at the scene. another statistic. nobody really understands how you got into this industry or why you're in it, let alone what miracle worked in your favour to get you this far. nobody questions it either, though. it's hard to when you're so good at keeping your head down and obeying the instructions they give you, which is very uncharacteristic of every rookie they've ever been assigned.

so there you are again, babysitting a criminal. a grown man. it's your fifth day with him doing nothing while your team runs around sprouting branches from the latest case; all of which are short, rotten and weak. you've never seen more dead-ends in your life. then again, there is something off about this case, and while nobody believes you, you're confident that they're missing something huge, and the complexity of the whole thing is a clue on its own.

you're also ninety-nine percent sure that the seemingly disposable lackey that they've caught purely for dummy intel is more important than they think, but who you were kidding?

you'd embarrass yourself more trying to explain it to them than having them figure it out anyway knowing you were right. they were all high and mighty government ghouls; it'd not only be a waste of breath, but a useless donation of dignity, too. and that was already hard to keep. not like you started with much.

"I'm bored."

you pause, raising your gaze from your laptop to the stranger in the corner of the cabin. for all five days that you'd been around him, he hadn't spoke. he'd smirked, scowled, glared like he was going to kill you, but hadn't spoke, and you'd reconciled with creating a mental guidebook on his physical cues to figure out what he needed in what moment. furrow of the brows and zoning out means 'i will cannabalise you and then myself if i don't eat in the next ten minutes'. bouncing of the leg means 'i need to pee right fucking now'. grinding of the jaw means 'i want to sleep but i also can't sleep but if i don't sleep i might miss something. i'll just rest my eyes...'

somehow, hearing him voice his needs was enough to disrupt your entire system. it was just two words, but you felt out of your depth; did he want something? surely, he wanted something. what did he figure out that finally prompted him to talk?

you gnaw at the inside of your cheek, debating whether or not to answer. that felt dangerous. you push yourself to your knees from where you're draped over the bed in the middle of the room, watching your show and shamelessly inhaling the head detective's lunch donut. she'll get over it. in her eyes, you could do no wrong if she expected nothing from you.

"i'm bored," your hostage calls out again. he stares at you impatiently and cocks his head. "i know you can talk. talk to me."

"are you hungry?"

"what?"

"thirsty?"

"huh? no."

"do you need to---"

'no, I don't need to take a fucking piss. i'm bored."

'okay,' you say, but do nothing about it. You just continue to stare at him as he stares at you, the awkward silence yawning wider between us as he waits and you make him wait longer. your show hums into the quiet, unpaused.

'can you pick a show that we can both watch, at least?" he says gruffly. "your shit pisses me off. everyone's a blockhead and the plot hasn't moved anywhere for a whole season."

'it's a slow burn," you mumble. 'it's supposed to be that way."

'slow burn?' he scoffs. 'there's not even a spark. you've been watching this shit since i wound up here and they haven't even found the sticks to make one. change it.'

you sniff. 'i like my show. and for your information, they just held hands. if you were paying attention, you'd know that. can you be quiet now, please? unless you have something useful to say." you stare at him. he's quiet. 'that's what i thought.'

he wrinkles his nose at me, but there's no real heat behind it. you guess the five days mellowed him out. what used to be a feral dog of a man spitting in the lead detectives face is now just some random guy trying to watch your low-budget romance show that has too many seasons. all the tattoos and muscles and scars mean nothing, now. he's into your girly show, and he knows it.

begrudgingly, you angle my laptop his way.

'stacy is just about to confess," you say softly. 'i know you're watching. i know you'd want to see it happen.'

'whatever,' he grinds out, but doesn't complain. he does squint, however. you faintly recall seeing something on his file about being short sighted and sigh, getting up and bringing the laptop with you. great. so he's blind and into girly shows-- is he even trying to be a problem? he's pretty bad at it. you're starting to feel like if you just asked nicely, he'd tell me whatever you want.

i pull a seat up next to him and set my laptop down on the table.

he stares at me.

you point at the screen. 'you're going to miss it if you stare at me."

he quirks a brow instead. 'you're a little weird, doll."

you frown. 'that's a strange way of saying thank you.'

'c'mere and i'll show you how grateful i am.'

you stare at him.

he stares at you.

'your record doesn't say you have any sexual assault or harassment charges against you,' you say, looking away. 'i'm disappointed.'

"'cause i don't."

"uh huh."

"i'm serious, doll. was just tryin' my luck."

'yup."

'you're real pretty."

'so i've heard."

"you've been taking good care of me, too.'

"i get paid to."

okay guys lowkey i opened my drafts and i do NOT remember what the idea was so i'm going to just freestyle it

'for such a sweet face, you can be pretty cold when you want to."

you sigh, slamming your laptop shut. the sharpness of the sound startles him--- this large, tough man relentlessly flirting with you--- and when he looks at you, this softness in your demeanor has completely dispersed. what's left is a cold, hard shell, a robotic expression and calculating eyes.

he tenses.

"what do you think is happening right now?'

"what?"

"what do you think this is?" you murmur, setting your laptop aside and shifting your chair to face him head-on. you swing one leg over the other and cock your head. "did you think we were friends?"

"on our way there, maybe."

a small smirk flickers at the corner of your lips, and you lean forward, planting your chin on your fist. "funny. you think you're funny."

"you're two-faced as fuck."

"and you're hiding something."

he lifts his chin. "oh. so you wanna talk business, doll?"

"depends. are you going to talk? or am I going to have to make you?'

he sneers. "try your best."

the laugh that spills from your mouth is sweet-sounding, gentle, like bells. it's innocent enough. but the looseness of your posture and the way you hold yourself makes it sound nothing short of deranged--- and now, that smallness of your character, that unassuming quietness, the steady sweetness... it all becomes increasingly clear that it was a veil for whatever unpredictable monster writhed inside.

"what do you think i'm going to do to you?" you touch your chest. "me? lil ol me? the lackey?"

"i'm not one to underestimate."

"are you one to overestimate, then?"

he grits his teeth. "nothing i won't be prepared for. if you're looking for answers, then you won't find them in me."

"won't I?" you purr. "See, i've been studying. I've been spending some time with you. I know that you know something important."

"what... what are you doing right now?"

"what are you talking about?"

he squints. "why are you talking to me like that?"

you lift one leg, planting your foot on the edge of his chair between his knees. his breath hitches, and his gaze darts from your toes to your face as though the double take might make him see you better. then you kick.

his chair swings backwards and hits the ground.

"motherfucker-"

"language," you tut, standing over him. he wriggles on the floor, yanking against his restraints. there's a new kind of panic possessing him, now. not the kind that comes from the fear of getting hurt, but the fear of his own reaction, the fear of his unknown. you stand with a leg on either side of his ribs, staring down at him as though you are watching listlessly through a screen. 'relax. i won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"fuck off."

you grin. "you talk so big for someone who's face is so red. you like this, don't you? I knew you would. i've been watching closely, you know. i figured that violence would do nothing for you. it's not really in your head that you're not a winner in this situation, is it? because you know that you could get yourself out at any minute. but you won't. you know why?"

his snarls at you, bucking off the chair like the momentum will swing him upright again. He tries to twist on to his side, and you frown, stomping on his shoulder. He hisses as the ground slams into his back.

"well," you continue. "it's because I know you're interested in me. and that's your weakness, isn't it? you know someone's coming for you, so you think, 'i might as well have fun'. But no. No no no."

the panic seems to flare as you lower yourself on to your knees, hovering over him in a straddle. of course, there is nothing objectively wrong about what you're doing. you could make the excuse that you're about to hit him, punch him, have your way with him to hopefully choke out an answer--- in which case he should be completely fine. but it's clear that you were right about one thing. you smirk.

'silly darling,' you coo. 'you think I wouldn't pick up on the fact that you want to be treated like a dog?"

his eyes widen. "what?"

"you've been getting hard getting hand fed and walked to go piss. did you think I wouldn't notice?"

his cheeks flare red, and he sputters. "you--- you---"

"y-y-you," you mock, dropping your weight on to his stomach and rolling your eyes. you seize his face with one hand and wiggle it, pouting at him. "me, what? me, me, me? is that what you've been thinking about? is that what you've been exciting yourself over?"

he pants, his chest heaving with each breath. the more he looks at you and the more he talks, the more red his face grows. nervous sweat collects at his temples, and his eyes flutter. lust wars with outrage in those dark, arrogant eyes, and you revel in it, bathe in it, thrive in it.

"am i wrong?"

his feeble attempt to turn away from the intensity of your stare only pushes his face into your palm, and you grin, taking the opportunity to reel your hand back and strike him. he gasps, bucking up and off the chair. you squeal, delighted, as you are lifted off the ground.

"i guess not. but you have words, don't you?" you croon. "come on. say them."

he grinds his teeth, glaring at you. a red handprint blooms over the side of his face, and as if seeing exactly what you're seeing--- this large, imposing criminal rendered into a pathetic mess beneath you, trembling and hot and sweaty with need--- he shudders.

"fuck. fine. you got me."

you cover your mouth, trying to smother a smug laugh. "I got you?"

"yes."

"good boy, answering me so honestly." you drag your hand down his chest, over your own thigh, behind you. he squeezes his eyes shut as fingers ghost over the probing outline of his cock. "you want me to take care of that?"

"obviously."

you pull your hand back. "oh?"

"fuck!" he barks. "yes! fuck! Please!"

you chew the inside of your cheek. you hadn't meant to find a thrill in all of this, but somewhere along the way, you had discovered that you may have enjoyed this more than you thought. you fight another delirious smile and press your palm against him, your heart lurching in your chest at the faint whine echoing in the back of his throat.

"tell you what," you whisper. "let's make a deal.'

"no."

"you'll like this deal."

"i'm not answering you for shit. you can't make me." he glares at you. "and i'll report you for pulling this shit."

"just hear me out," you say sweetly, nimbly undoing the buttons of his pants and pulling down the zip--- without breaking eye contact with him once. "you can listen, right? dogs can listen."

his cheeks flame again, and he clamps his jaw shut.

"good boy," you croon. "now, first of all, let's get one thing straight. it doesn't matter what you tell them. they'll never believe you. second, whatever you tell me, I won't be telling them, because I want this to be my case. I can't have them taking credit for my efforts, can I? No, that's right. And thirdly..."

you hook a finger under the waistband of his boxers, tugging it away from his cock. somewhere along the way he had grown pliant. he stopped struggling. he stopped trying to bite off your face. now, he looks like he'd do anything to wrap your pretty hand around his length and get to work, even if it means resorting to begging, whining and pleading to the point of no return.

"thirdly?" he pants, clenching his fists.

you smile. "thirdly, for every answer you give me, i'll make you cum."

he flinches. 'that's your reward? no fucking man can cum that---"

"oh, but you can," you say, leaning back against his thighs. "and you will. what do you say?"

the look that scrunches his face together is deliciously conflicted, and even more so needy. but no matter how conflicted he might be, his decision was already made--- and his answer arranged all nice and pretty for the taking.

"Good boy."

---

when the detectives come back, you're feeding the hostage soup. the bowl sits on the table, steaming, and you're negotiating a next mouthful as he lays there, seemingly resistant.

what they don't notice is his flushed cheeks, the undone button of his pants or the way he breathes--- hot and heavy, as though he is running a fever. what they do notice, however, is that you're glowing, a bit more cheerful than usual and a bit brighter than they're used to. You turn to them with a smile.

"Oh. Welcome back. Any luck?"

"Barely," the lead detective sighs, shedding her jacket. "Another dead end. Thankfully we've got a tip to look into, but that's tomorrow's problem. Did he talk?"

"No," you say, seemingly dejected. "I tried, but it was the same. Not a word."

"Silence?" The lead detective muses, quirking a brow. "That's a new one. That's suspicious."

"That's what I'm saying."

"You want someone to stay back with you for the next few days?"

"Oh, no." You grin, looking back at him. "We'll be fine."

[lorimnnn]

i believe in female perversion!!!

women can be perverts too! women can lust and be horny want to bang a person on sight. women have deranged fantasies about laying people out in the middle of a crowded place. women can daydream about all the filthy things they want to do to you. women can be wolves.

i'm so tired of this purity narrative, and i'm even more tired of the same pervert character stereotypes being recycled over and over again. i'm sick of needs being written like crimes, and for embraced desired to be written about like a glaring red stamps on our foreheads reading 'whore' in big fat capital letters. also, i'm also sick of female perverts being written as insensitive, feeling-illiterate boneheads!! perversion does not equal sexual assault! what the fuck?

I BELIEVE IN LUSTY WOMEN AS THE ORDINARY WOMAN!

on tumblr especially, seeing people get so uncomfortable and feed into male-centric myths about women is really disappointing. i think you forget that tumblr is one of the only social media platforms that is not an avenue for building a career, not really. we don't really have influencers or sponsorships or anything like that. it's a stage for self-expression, no matter how unconventional. no matter how perverse. tumblr is built on the idea that no matter who you are, there is always going to be someone like you on the other end of a hashtag. so, to see so many people bullying others in replies, censoring ideas with their own socially institutionalised beliefs and going out of their way to inject community fanbases with anti and hate content is so disappointing and infuriating. too many of you are too comfortable treating the digital world as your storybook. you are the main character of your story, yes, but not of our mutual and shared world. and especially not in realms that you don't belong in because you forfeit the privilege of having a conditionless membership in it, regardless of whether you want it.

it's just so upsetting.

'this is fucked' 'this is not it' 'yeah... no'

just because someone agrees with you doesn't make you any less of a bully. just because you don't believe in something doesn't mean it's WRONG. just because you don't think about something doesn't mean that it doesn't have a right to exist.

and so, back to what i was saying, women can be perverse creatures without being monsters. i want to see more horny mcs please!

[lorimnnn]

bruce wayne x femdom!reader | minors dni | slight corruption dynamic | dom x sub dynamic | unedited

thinking of bruce wayne who goes on a date with another random sugar baby to get his usual, non-committal, romantic fix.

fully prepared to go by the script, he dons his playboy persona and prepares to blow his wallet spoiling you as the expected rich, older man looking for one thing and one thing alone. he's dominant. slightly arrogant. unquestionably in charge. slightly cold. everything goes to plan... mostly. he can't help but feel there is something off about your saccharine smile and soft eyes, but he puts it down to your gold digging personality. its nothing he hasn't seen before. it just means your time together will probably be cut short.

oh, how wrong he is. how wrong he is, he realises, when he finally gets you alone and he finds himself being shoved down on to the bed. in the few seconds he takes to recover, you have already crawled over him, your knee grinding into his cock, the nail job he paid for sinking into his cheeks as you grab him by the jaw. that look in your eyes has become bottomless. the smile turning up the corners of your lips has gone from cheeky to wolfish, and the whole thing feels blinding, a beam of smug mirth that makes him feel so erotically pathetic, he becomes terrified he might cum in his pants at any moment. for the first time in bruce wayne's life, he feels like prey instead of predator. he fears you will eat him alive the same way he had intended to do to you.

and worse?

after a night of treating him like a dog, fucking him stupid and milking him dry, he finds that he likes it. too much. and what he thought would be a contractual fling is about to become a lot more.

bruce wayne who nearly pounds down your door begging for you. he falls to his knees and holds you by the waist like a preacher and his god.

bruce wayne who sheds his stress when he's with you. batman, the paparazzi, everything--- none of it matters when you are the one in control, unknowingly shouldering it for him.

bruce wayne who can never go back. you are everything he was looking for before he knew there was a purpose; you are his purpose. maybe you hadn't expected him to want to see you after your night spent together. it was easy to expect him to be repulsed by your face after humiliating him and everything he stood for like that in the span of one night, but you were wrong. now you have to deal with a billionaire who would do anything for you... and a vigilante who relied on being disrespected in his free time to maintain respect in his city of crime.

bruce wayne, charismatic bachelor and epitome of the "top dog" in a world of obscene riches and devastating poverty, a crumbling society and garden of violence... who will bark if his woman asks him to.

basically, bruce wayne who finds his entire nervous system jump started because he meets a freaky woman into bullying rich, arrogant men... and is horrified to realise that he really, really likes it.

---

guys I'm working on the Jason fic I swear 😭 it's fully plotted and I have a whole whiteboard for it rn. exam season just ended and in the midst of moving as well--- I'm doing my best to put out what I can!!! thank you for showing my work so much love these past few weeks with the reblogs and likes. I've also been LOVING your replies and messages. please spam me darling 🥹 its literally my fave thing

anyway I came up with this idea because I've been reading "in the doghouse" (korean 18+ manhwa) and the love interest, the imperial crown prince, is a d1 freak who loves being the main characters subby little puppy despite having to uphold the expectations of being such a dominant and coveted bachelor in society. every time he gets dominated, he doesn't have to think because someone is doing the thinking for him. and so I was like, thats sort of like bruce. bruce has the whole world at his feet and yet it feels more like its on his shoulders. wouldn't he love to have the control torn from his hands? so... yeah LOLOL

[lorimnnn]

update: guys... it's fully plotted.

hehe

I don't know if I'm insane for this, but...

Jason Todd who had a fat crush on one of Bruce's younger girlfriends. She was nothing short of motherly, patient and kind, but his heart always pounded faster in her presence, face scarlet, throat bobbing as he fought for his life to keep sane.

When he comes back to life, he makes a beeline for her. He doesn't know why. A part of it is purely instinctual. He discovers that shortly after his death, Bruce and her broke up, and she she's living alone in a nice house he pays for out of guilt for disrupting her previously peaceful civilian life.

Of course, she takes him in. Of course, she doesn't treat him any different from how she used to.

Of course, Jason doesn't do anything odd just yet. He still feels young on the inside; a gangly teenage boy who doesn't know any better and just wanted the soft touch of the only woman who was ever gentle with him in his life. He sleeps in her bed and sobs in her arms, trails after her on grocery runs, carries all her bags when she goes shopping. But it hits him one day as he's watching her wash dishes after dinner---- it hits him that everything is different. That she is much smaller than him and somehow ten times more beautiful than before, and he is a large, dangerous man.

And that if he wants you that bad.... well. What's stopping him from having you?

Jason Todd who is all big and gruff and scary, but is completely submissive for his woman.

Jason Todd who likes older women.

Jason Todd who's really just a stray puppy in need of warm, gentle hands and a command uttered sweetly into his ear.

And, well---

Bruce Wayne who comes back into the picture when he realises his son is alive, and isn't prepared to deal with him as a rival for your love.

Is this something you guys would read if i turned it onto a fic??

[lorimnnn]

I don't know if I'm insane for this, but...

Jason Todd who had a fat crush on one of Bruce's younger girlfriends. She was nothing short of motherly, patient and kind, but his heart always pounded faster in her presence, face scarlet, throat bobbing as he fought for his life to keep sane.

When he comes back to life, he makes a beeline for her. He doesn't know why. A part of it is purely instinctual. He discovers that shortly after his death, Bruce and her broke up, and she she's living alone in a nice house he pays for out of guilt for disrupting her previously peaceful civilian life.

Of course, she takes him in. Of course, she doesn't treat him any different from how she used to.

Of course, Jason doesn't do anything odd just yet. He still feels young on the inside; a gangly teenage boy who doesn't know any better and just wanted the soft touch of the only woman who was ever gentle with him in his life. He sleeps in her bed and sobs in her arms, trails after her on grocery runs, carries all her bags when she goes shopping. But it hits him one day as he's watching her wash dishes after dinner---- it hits him that everything is different. That she is much smaller than him and somehow ten times more beautiful than before, and he is a large, dangerous man.

And that if he wants you that bad.... well. What's stopping him from having you?

Jason Todd who is all big and gruff and scary, but is completely submissive for his woman.

Jason Todd who likes older women.

Jason Todd who's really just a stray puppy in need of warm, gentle hands and a command uttered sweetly into his ear.

And, well---

Bruce Wayne who comes back into the picture when he realises his son is alive, and isn't prepared to deal with him as a rival for your love.

Is this something you guys would read if i turned it onto a fic??

[lorimnnn]

do you ever get turned on by the filth you write? or is that just me...

[lorimnnn]

heard we were into mermaids these days hehe which is great because SO AM I

afab reader | predator and prey dynamic | dubcon

yandere!mermaid who's kept in the tank of some rich dick's mansion. he swims in aimless circles and does tricks to keep his guests entertained, feigning happiness to keep himself alive even as his soul rots in his chest. he reconciles with his fate to die there... and then you come along. the housekeeper.

yandere!mermaid who gets a sick thrill out of baiting you to look at him. whatever your boss has told you has terrified you into keep your head down when you pass--- but he wouldn't be surprised if that was just you. you're skittish, shy and diligent, and rarely stray from your work unless there is an unfinished shot sitting on the kitchen counter. he rams himself against the glass when you go reach for it and roars with laughter when you jump and scuttle away.

yandere!mermaid who squares you up the first day you are entrusted to clean the face of his tank. you're resolute, refusing to make eye contact with him, violently scrubbing the glass until the water dries up and your listlessly dragging the rag up and down. he looms over you. his eyes are sharp and hungry, and more calculating than any predator. it's a stark contrast to his usual, performative smile.

yandere!mermaid who grows more and more enamoured by your fear. he wonders if you're one of those humans who know too much; the type with storybearing grandparents who have tainted your life with knowledge you were never supposed to have.

yandere!mermaid who decides he's been way too nice. the next time you clean his tank, he flings a piece of plastic coral against the glass. it startles you so much that you drop the rag and look up at him.

yandere!mermaid who smiles at you, all sharp-teeth and narrowed eyes. a shudder rolls down his spine at the tears that spill down your cheeks. ah. so you know.

yandere!mermaid who was once a predator of the sea. before his human owner caught him and imprisoned him like a housepet, he was a hunter, worse than any shark or creature that your pitiful mortal race hadn't discovered yet. fools. none of you had any idea how terrible he could be.

yandere!mermaid who gnashes his teeth at you and laughs hysterically when it sends you running. oh, he's obsessed.

yandere!mermaid who makes a toy out of you. he may be the one behind the glass and stuck in a column in the wall, but you're the one with the racing heart, the shaking hands, the sweat sliding down the length of your nose. you're the one who dreads every order that your boss gives you, terrified that it will have something to do with the monster in the tank. it's like you've jinxed it by looking at him. nowadays, every order your boss gives you does have something to do with the tank.

yandere!mermaid who squints, trying to discern the meaning behind the exchange between you and your boss. The stupid man is pointing at him again. He's giving you instructions, and he knows that from your passive nodding. Then he's checking that shiny circle on his wrist and hurrying past you, absent-mindedly patting your head.

yandere!mermaid who rejoices when he realises that you have been put on feeding duty. usually, the boss will do it. he'll have a gun outstretched just to make sure that he doesn't do anything, but here's the thing: you're disposable, lonely and cheap. he doesn't lose anything by losing you. so no gun. just luck. well--- he's also on a business trip and can't do anything about it, but it feels a lot like he's sacrificing you.

yandere!mermaid who waits for you, his eyes over the water and his hair billowing around his head. you have the bucket of fish squeezed against your chest as though you are seeking comfort in the embrace it will never return. pathetic. it makes him want you even more.

yandere!mermaid who doesn't wait for you to throw the fish into the water. he lunges for you when you're close enough and seizes your wrist.

yandere!mermaid who delights in your scream. it's been too long since he's had prey. it's been too long since he's been able to scent fear so acute and desperate; he wants to roll in it, bathe in it, have it consume him. it manifests as a tight ball of excitement in his chest that feels like it will explode at any minute.

yandere!mermaid who wraps you up in his arms and drags you under the surface. your scream cuts off into a steam of bubbles, and he sighs. he can't have you drowning that quickly.

yandere!mermaid who lets you think you stand a chance, loosening his grip just enough to let you gasp in a breath of air before dragging you underwater all over again.

yandere!mermaid who laughs when you try to fight him. your flailing is nothing short of clumsy, and your swimming ability is worse than he thought. he makes quick work of grabbing your wrists and binding them to your body with one, lithe arm wrapped around your chest, binding you to him.

yandere!mermaid who shudders at the scent of your tears bleeding into the water. You're so scared. So, deliciously scared. You've tried everything at this point, fighting him, running away, even submitting. it seems the last one is his favourite. his long, fin-like ears tickle the side of your face as he drags the collar of your shirt away from your neck and down your shoulder with his teeth.

yandere!mermaid who realises you think he's going to eat you. your face is all scrunched up, button lip pinned between your teeth, hands balled up into fists as you prepare for him to sink his teeth into the juncture of your neck. Oh, how wrong you are.

yandere!mermaid who will eat you, just not the way you think.

yandere!mermaid who lets the sharp tips of his teeth graze your pulse just to hear the muted yelp bubble out of your mouth.

yandere!mermaid who sinks his claws into the gaps between the buttons of your uniform and tears it off.

yandere!mermaid who rotates you in the water, admiring the contrast in your anatomy compared to his. no scales. all smooth. all soft, all delicate. your skin feels good against his palms and you quiver every time he touches you. it seems you still haven't caught on, not yet. your eyes are still screwed shut and your chest is tight around the last of your air.

yandere!mermaid who can't have you drowning on him when the fun's just started.

yandere!mermaid who turns your back to him so he can fold you over the edge of the tank, bent in half at the hips. you squirm, confused, scared, wary with anticipation, and then---

yandere!mermaid who leans in and presses his face into your core. his first lick is experimental more than anything. just one long stripe up the entre of your slit, the tip of his tongue absently flicking over your clit. when you jolt and bend your legs, toes curled, he is seized with the need to do it again.

yandere!mermaid who gets more and more excited with your reactions. the raw, carnal wanting squirms within him, and it grows monstrous with every yelp, every gasp, every movement that you make. at some point, you stopped resisting entirely and started swivelling your hips into his face, your cheeks hot with shame.

yandere!mermaid who grows addicted to your taste. he devours and devours and devours until he forgets his motive, lost in the slick and faint sweetness drawing him in. his long, pointed tongue thrusts in and out of your hole as though he is searching for something inside of you--- more of that sweetness, that musk, that distinct, human flavour that is all you. he pins your hips down against the glass when you burst; suddenly there is so much of it, too much of it, and he is never letting you go.

yandere!mermaid who tugs you back into the water so only your head remains unsubmerged. his body presses you flat against the glass, and it's cold against your chest, your stomach, your thighs--- but not colder than the large cock probing into your back.

~~~

He doesn't know how humans work. He barely knows how this sort of thing works between his people, and even then, his experience was far and few in between, if there at all. None of the merfolk had interested him, and he hadn't exactly appealed to them, either. Too violent. Too sporadic. Too impulsive. Too insane.

After all, it was because of those exact qualities that he ended up here.

"What are you?" he whispers, his voice hot in your ear. Your shudder draws a groan from his mouth, and he grips your waist tighter, his claws pricking the soft skin of your belly. He has never prayed harder for you to understand him. "What have you done to me?"

Perhaps it was nothing to do with meeting the right mer. Perhaps it was everything to do with having not met the right human yet.

Everything with you feels like instinct.

He adjusts his hips to align with yours. The head of his cock pushes into that tunnel he had filled with his tongue just before, and the heat that kisses his tip overwhelms his body as though he has dove into a pit of eels. He clenches his jaw.

"Is this right?" he asks you, but you're no better. Your eyes have gone glassy and you are singing. Sort of. The sounds coming out of your mouth can't be reminiscent of any language, that's for sure. "I want to... I want to..."

He tilts his hips forward. That hole between your legs eats up his cock like it's alive, and he feels it stretch around his head until it is tight around it's undersides; a perfect fit, even with a little pushing. His entire body quivers and jerks. It feels as though there is a crack in the centre of his mind, and it is breaking him to pieces.

"So good," he hisses, closing the gap between your hips and his before he can think to stop himself. "So, so good..."

You're flailing again. He's about to pull out when your snatch a fistful of his hair into your hand and cry out, yanking hard.

At first, he's startled by the pain. He stares at you, outraged and puzzled by your actions... until he notes the way you are looking at him. Really looking at him. You haven't done that before, not willingly. And the look in your eyes is better than any words either of your languages could have conveyed--- the wanton need, the desperation, the unbridled demand that he move. Ah. Suddenly the hand in his hair felt more endearing than anything, more sickeningly adorable, excitable, and shocked by his body's own foreign reaction, he doubles over into your back.

Is this normal?

Is it normal to want to breed someone so badly?

You make a high-pitched, keening sound, tugging his hair again. He shudders.

"Horrible," he mutters, staring at you with a deliciously helpless, angry look on his face. As if this whole thing is your fault. "You're horrible."

He tugs you back into the water as he pulls his hips back and pounds your sopping, needy cunt.

~~~

do we want the boss's reaction AHAHAAHA

i think i forgot to add that he's a sexy hot lonely businessman

[lorimnnn]

there's nothing like looking up at your man after he experimentally spits in your mouth and asking, "can you slap me a little?"

the question will bounce between you for a second. you'll be reminded of those computers on sleep mode with the rainbow bubbles scattering like marbles in space. he'll glitch. the anticipatory silence yawns wide between you as he wraps his head around what you'd just asked him, picking between each letter, each syllable, each word before he finally manages to take in the question altogether.

"Oh." he stares. "Oh."

his eyes will glaze over with foreign want. he knew you were a freak. obviously. how much, though--- that's a different question. but he's been doing his research for you. he's been corrupting his search history with ways to please you, but most of it was a reach. obviously. you wouldn't actually want to go that far... obviously?

don't you know how long it took him to even get around to spitting in your mouth? hello?

"Um. Okay."

he gives you a little tap on the cheek, and the corner of your mouth twitches up into the start of a laugh. he looks so out of his depth above you, so sickeningly horny that it feels paralysing, and yet too unsure about what to do about it to do anything at all. the only thing that he's sure of is that he'd rather be castrated than do something to accidentally displease you. it's that very look that turns you on even more; that frantic nervousness, that desperation, that acute need that has made him so pliant and malleable. it's funny. it's funny because he's doing all these things to "dominate" you when you're the one in control.

"Harder," You whisper.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll tell you when it's too much."

he tries again. his palm landing against your cheek is punctuated by a small clap, and he grimaces, his gaze scouring the rest of your face for an indication that you don't like it. he ignores the twinge between his legs and calls himself every degrading combination of slurs known to man.

"Harder."

again.

"Harder," You insist, your heart pounding in your chest. the wetness between your legs has slicked down the inside of your thighs, and it's so hot, so sticky, so humid that the skin begins to sting and get irritated. but it's not enough. he's so close. "I want you to slap me. Like, don't knock me out or anything. But humble me."

"Are you sure?"

"So sure," You say. You make sure to say it with the kind of tone that has enough sharpness not to be questioned, only obeyed.

His eyes flutter as he gulps. "Okay."

this time, he really slaps you. he slaps you like you're some whore he hired off one of those sketchy ads cluttering those sketchier websites, like he picked you up from the club, like he bought you and now owns you. he slaps you with just enough disrespect to humiliate you. the rest of it feels more disciplinary. like you're dumb. greedy. needy. like you're so cockdrunk you can't even think, which is exactly where that slap sends you.

when you look up at him, your eyes are softened with love.

it sends him over the edge.

"Fuck," he mutters, planting his hand flat against your chest and stamping the mattress with your body. he gets it. it all clicks. it's yet another disgusting part of himself that you've irreversibly awakened. he would have never have known he was into it if it weren't for you.

gentle. sweet. romantic. vanilla.

how far the mighty have fallen.

"Fuck. You freak. You like it when I hurt you? Fine. I'll hurt you."

[lorimnnn]

i don't wanna be fucked like a slut and then discarded.

i wanna be fucked like you've never been loved before; i want to be used and folded and manhandled like i'm some sex doll you bought for cheap online. i want your eyes rolling back, your entire body flushed, tears pricking the surface of your eyes. i want you spent and overstimulated but unable to control yourself as your hips snap up into mine, because it feels so good, too good, and even though your vision is bordered in black, it's not enough to command your body to pull away.

you need it. you need it you need it you need it.

your thoughts are a mush in your head, melted into soup by the heat heavy in your cheeks. you can't string together a single coherent sentence. you barely know what's happening.

your mind is blank.

maybe you're even begging me to understand. "i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. i'm sorry...."

see, if you fuck me like i'm a slut, the goal is to just get it out of your system. that can take five minutes. that's not enough for me.

i want to be fucked like you're the slut.

[lorimnnn]

MEN WHO YEARN !!!!

[lorimnnn]

nerd!yandere who, at least by appearance, is a harmless puppy. you think you have the upper hand by pursuing him, but little do you know you are walking right into his open jaws with very, very sharp teeth.

nerd!yandere who you flirt with almost relentlessly. it's too fun making him nervous, sitting so close that he can smell your perfume and feel the warmth of your body seeping into the narrow distance between your arms on the desk. you give him the look assuming he doesn't know to do with it. he doesn't. it haunts him at night and has him so needy that his teeth chatter.

nerd!yandere who can't breathe when you're around. you know this. you play with his hair when you're talking to your friends like it's as normal as fidgeting with your pen when you're zoning out in class. it's all "absent-minded", and he can't do anything but sit there and take it. he trembles in his seat and tries not to scream bloody murder at the heat brewing between his legs.

nerd!yandere who does all your homework without asking. he can barely get a word out and everything he wants to say only comes out in choked syllables, so he gives up on conversation completely and finds a different way to keep your attention. of course, you tell him he doesn't have to, but he's done by the time you realise what he's doing. you assume he's just being nice.

nerd!yandere who shudders when your friends start scolding you for treating him like a 'puppy'. They tell you this when you're already draped all over him; he's hunched over his desk doing your homework, and you're folded over his back with your arms around his neck and your chin on the top of his head. He can feel your breasts pressed against his shoulder blades and it makes him feverish and sick with yearning, and he can barely process anything outside his peripheral, but he hears that. He hears their disdain. Strangely, however, he enjoys being called your puppy--- he enjoys being called yours.

nerd!yandere who knows you don't even know his name or the first thing about him, and don't care to, either. he also knows that you assume he feels the same way about you, but that's where you're wrong. he knows everything about you. he knows when you've bought new clothes or changed your perfume or the palette you frequent for your makeup just by the reflectiveness of the shimmer. He knows all your subjects, which friends are in which classes, and which boys could become a problem if you get bored of him. Luckily, you don't seem to. Yet.

nerd!yandere who is 'sick' for the rest of the day you choose to sit in his lap for the first time. one moment, you're peering over his shoulder to check that the essay he's writing for you doesn't sound too smart. the next you're complaining that you can't see anything, and he's meekly apologising for it. then you're grinning. then you're maneuvering on to his lap and nestling your pretty ass right into the most shameful part of his body--- the part that is always, without fail, hard for you, and is hard when you sit on it. he's so drunk off the feeling that he has to go home and do something about it before he faints in the middle of the hallway from blue balls.

nerd!yandere who nearly dies on the spot when you text him, "where did you go? missed my puppy, lol." he gets so distracted touching himself to that message that he forgets to reply and accidentally leaves you on read.

nerd!yandere who flinches when you avoid him the day after.

nerd!yandere who is too embarrassed to ask why, but apparently, staring at you the whole day like a lost puppy is not below him.

nerd!yandere who won't chase after you, but will follow you outside your awareness. he takes note of how you frantically check your phone and pout every. single. time.

nerd!yandere who is so fucking stupid. there he is, posessed with jealousy as he watches you, not realising that you're actually waiting for him to message you back.

nerd!yandere who, naturally, gets the wrong idea when you go to a party and get a little too chatty with one of the jocks at the frat party.

nerd!yandere who takes care of it.

nerd!yandere who is so confused he thinks he will go insane. why are you still checking your phone? who are you looking for? who are you waiting for?

nerd!yandere who is struck with horror when you set your phone down for a second to go do something and he sees it: the unanswered message.

nerd!yandere who absolutely stands there, slack-jawed, and can only utter a broken "fuuuuuuuckkkkkk."

nerd!yandere who rocks up to your place without notice and hurriedly knocks on the door. you answer it reluctantly, hair messy, eyes bleary, saliva drying in a patch in the corner of your mouth. It's 2am, afterall. He only realises this when your eyes widen with recognition and then...confusion.

nerd!yandere who speaks clearly to you for the first time since you've met him.

"I'm sorry."

"W-what? What are you--- how are you---"

"I'm sorry for not answering your message. I got distracted. But I... I missed you." He wrings his hands. "I like you. I want you."

Your lips part. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

You pause, considering him. He looks like he ran here, chest heaving, hair wind blown and sticking up at endearingly odd angles. The red in his cheeks is glaring and pathetically telling, but it's what draws you in and has drawn you in from the start; you follow it to the tips of his ears, his neck, down into the unbuttoned collar of his stupidly nerdy shirt that now, you realise, is pulled taut over a broad chest. He's actually kind of strong.

Outside of class, he's not just the flustered nerd you'd become too used to tormenting. You realise that this is a man. You're a little more attracted to him than you think.

It blinds you to the fact that you still don't know how he found out where you lived, or what lead him to realising what upset you, or why he's here at 2am at all times. You're only aware that there is an adorably nervous, meek nerd that is acting so small despite being so big. You had thought you knew exactly why he had gone home that day, but when he didn't answer, you'd reconciled with the fact that you had been wrong and might have been a horrible person.

But maybe you weren't wrong.

And maybe...

You reach out, dragging your index down the opening of his shirt. The button flies off when the tip of your finger grazes over it, and the entire upper half of his shirt seems to split open. A deliciously nervous yelp escapes his mouth.

"You don't mind that my hands are always all over you?" You murmur, continuing your trek south. "You don't mind that I rub myself all over your body like a cat in heat, even though you don't really know me?"

He groans. "I like it. Fuck. I love it."

"Do you need it?"

"Yes," he says, breathless and without hesitation. "I need it. I need it so bad. You don't--- you don't understand what it does to me, what you do to me, I, I, I..."

"You?"

"Please," he whispers. He falls to his knees in front of you, and drops his cheek into your previously wondering, now open hand. He clutches it like a hand of a god--- no. He clutches it tightly because you are his god; the only one he reveres, cherishes, obsesses over. But at least to your knowledge, perhaps the word 'like' would be enough. "Please."

~

nerd!yandere who shows you exactly how much he needs it when you invite him inside and into your bed.

nerd!yandere who ruts into you hard and fast, dragging you into the early hours of the morning where the sun is just spilling over the horizon. He makes sure you're asleep by the time it's fully up.

nerd!yandere who swipes the notifications about the dead jock away when he sees them flood your phone. he's irrelevant now.

you don't need to know about that.

[lorimnnn]

thinking about a man who fucks you into the mattress like a rabid dog. he laughs with smug satisfaction at the noises he hammers out of you, and the shame brands your cheeks with red.

"you're such a fuckin' freak, you know that? fuck. you get a kick out of lyin' to everyone about what you are? you deserve an oscar."

nobody would believe him if he told them, of course. but he doesn't have to. the shame is enough for you alone, because it will lead you back to him again and again, no matter how bad for you he is. but that's fine.

something that feels this good can't possibly be that bad, right?

[lorimnnn]

Werewolf!Yandere x Reader (Imagines) Summary: You abandon the city for a cottage in the woods, hoping for a peaceful change of pace. But something waits for you in the trees, watching, waiting. Obsessing. Synopsis: It had taken exactly three days; in the first, you bought the house. The second, you packed up your whole life and shipped it to your new, small-town address woven into the deep wood of the far reaches of the countryside. The third: you moved in. It had taken three days for you to forfeit the city and all you had ever known, hoping to start fresh in a place where the only person who could determine the trajectory of your life was the one that was keeping you company: you. Or so you thought. You have the strangest feeling that you are being surveilled, but it's hard to tell. Surely the wild dog pacing outside your door can't have anything to do with it, right?

TW: afab + fem!reader, obsession, mentions of animal attack, mentions of stalking and fraud, mentions of graphic night terrors Word count: TBD

Werewolf!Yandere who was abandoned in the snow as a child. He knows no gentility, no kindness, no tenderness. He is a killing machine who is more animal than man and dominates the seemingly quiet wood that you have just moved into-- naive, little you, fresh out of the city.

Werewolf!Yandere who watches you from the moment you move in. He surveils your every movement and observes you through the windows you so innocently expose to him. You don't realise that you aren't alone in this forest.

Werewolf!Yandere who appears to you during the day, hoping to intimidate you with his presence.

Werewolf!Yandere who doesn't know what to do when you mistake him for a wild dog.

Werewolf!Yandere, killing machine and king of the wild, who lets you pat him. It's the first token of kindness he has ever experienced, and it's... warm. It feels nice. It bleeds into every cell of his body and awakens the part of him that he had long-since forgotten about; his human soul.

Werewolf!Yandere who has found his mate, but doesn't realise it. Nobody ever taught him this

Werewolf!Yandere who greets you every morning and waits for you to come back every night. You start feeding him as though his fangs aren't red from his prey, and it's insulting. But he eats it anyway.

Werewolf!Yandere who keeps the other animals and creatures away from your house. There is an unspoken claim laid upon the cottage and the human that resides inside. It is a claim that nobody questions, and yet you believe that you lucked out with the real estate.

Werewolf!Yandere who starts aching for his daily pats. He becomes pathetic for it before he even realises it, and suddenly he is trembling with desperation, following your scent to the edge of town so he can walk you back, drunk off the intimacy of a walk with just the two of you.

Werewolf!Yandere who lets you domesticate him. You give him a dumb name and he wants to yell at you, but seeing you happy becomes his most dominant and primal need.

Werewolf!Yandere, free spirit and predator of the wood, who lets you put a collar on him.

Werewolf!Yandere who has only ever slept in the hard terrain of the forest floor, and occasionally a wet bed of soil. He doesn't know what to do with himself when you let him into your house and set him up a place to sleep by the fire. The house is a flower field of your scent and he is overwhelmed. The smoke is the only thing that neutralises the newborn, disturbing erring in the back of his mind.

Werewolf!Yandere who hears you scream in the middle of the night. He darts into your room, growling, and can't understand why you writhe and squirm with your eyes closed. You only calm when he licks your face, and so hesitantly, he invites himself into your bed. It's impossibly soft. It's nothing like he's ever felt before. It's almost uncomfortable.

Werewolf!Yandere who feels your arms slip around his body, your face nestled into his fur. That previously muted, disgusting human instinct crescendos into a scream in his mind, and he is overwhelmed by an obsessive call to claim. Whatever that means. He barely manages to sleep.

Werewolf!Yandere who spends almost every waking hour with you from dusk until dawn.

Werewolf!Yandere who has reconciled with his fate to be a housepet.

Werewolf!Yandere who is the first to notice something wrong one night. The grass crunches and a foreing scent wafts into the cottage. You are outside, cleaning to calm your mind after another terror. You're too late to come inside.

Werewolf!Yandere who tears the local pack's wolf who was stupid enough to attack you apart. The mangled, bloody mess is barely reminiscent of the animal it once was, and it is a message to all who have plotted similar ideas, assuming that the tyrant of the wood had grown weak, and his rule had diminished. It had not. Especially not after that night.

Werewolf!Yandere who acted in a rage against the other wolf, but was too late to save you from the start of a vicious attack. He can't take you to the doctor in this form. Dragging you through the snow was not an option, and it would take him too long. You were losing too much blood. He could smell your life draining inside your body--- fast.

Werewolf!Yandere who transforms into a human for the first time since he was only a discarded child. He transforms for you, and carries you, walking barefoot and naked in the snow until his toes are blue and his teeth chatter.

Werewolf!Yandere who delivers you to the doctor and transforms again, barking desperately at the man inside the clinic who doesn't understand him.

Werewolf!Yandere who refuses to leave your side as they work on you.

Werewolf!Yandere who is there, starving for days, waiting for you to wake up.

Werewolf!Yandere who gets kicked out of the clinic for getting too territorial. He's never had to contend with other people before. This is all new, and he's finding it difficult to adapt.

Werewolf!Yandere who paces outside the clinic for weeks on end. He can't function. The break in his routine is raw and jagged; he can't sleep without your warmth, can't breathe without the distant pattern of yours in the peripheral of his hearing. Can't eat. Can't do anything.

Werewolf!Yandere who becomes feral and hostile with anxiety. There is a feeling that runs hot in his veins and has no name for it. When he forces himself to go hunt, he finds himself turning human against his control. The feeling is much more acute in that form; he is sweaty, trembling, and his heart pounds in his chest to the thought of you.

Werewolf!Yandere who waits for weeks upon week until you are released, and only relaxes when he sees you limping back up to the cottage. He noses your hand to try help you back into the cottage. You laugh at the sound is everything he has longed for and needed.

Werewolf!Yandere who notices a flower tucked behind your ear. There is a rosy glow swept over your cheeks and your eyes are bright with a different kind of excitement.

Werewolf!Yandere who freezes when he smells the doctor on you. The same doctor that had tended to you and kicked him out. His blood boils with possessive instinct. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Werewolf!Yandere who is no longer content with being your dog when the doctor is considered your 'man'. He wants to be seen as a man.

Werewolf!Yandere who blocks the door on the night of your first date.

Werewolf!Yandere who's heart shatters at your scream.

Werewolf!Yandere who gets on to his knees, his head at your feet. The ferocious hunter that once terrorised the deep wood is nowhere to be found. The beast, the creature, the predator, the monster --- he is now a pathetic, crying ball at the foot of your door, begging for you to recognise him as your dearest and closest companion who had found home at your side for the last six months.

"Please," he whispers. His hands clutch the edge of your skirt to his face, hemming it with tears. He has never felt so small in his life. So pathetic. The burn of shame and humiliation radiate from him like smoke, but he is helpless against it. He is sick with most fervent, instinctual longing, and there is no going back. "Don't go."

A/N: what do you think? I've been so deeply invested in hybrid yandere fanfiction these days and it's lodged an idea so deep in my mind that I haven't been able to think about anything else. I've also been listening to some audiobooks these days--- have you heard of the Pumpkin Spice Cafe by Laurie Gilmore? It's this adorable small-town romance with CHEMISTRY in it, and it's a slow-burn, too!! Anyway, my point was that I've been on a small-town romance high and it ended up workiing out perfectly with my werewolf OC. I do need some help though. I haven't given him a name... And I'm not really keen on calling him Werewolf!Yandere every time I write about him in story format. Help me decide? Note: I'm keen on using slightly non-human names because he doesn't remember/have a birth name!

As always, thank you for reading! I'm working on the full version of this story as we speak. I'm so excited. I almost want to work on it seriously! LOLOL! Please share your love and follow to keep up with the updates!

[lorimnnn]

masterlist + about me !!!

𝐈’𝐦 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐧!! ♥ 

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!  𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧, 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬. 

𝐒𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫, 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫:

SLASHERS (films):

Michael Myers (Halloween)

Hyperfemme Bimbo Girlfriend

Ex-Babysitter!Reader part 1

Ex-Babysitter!Reader part 2

Ex-Babysitter!Reader part 3

Ex-Babysitter!Reader part 4

*part 5 has been in my drafts for so long... I’m so super sorry! If you were waiting this whole time, unfortunately I don’t think I will ever finish it or release it :(

Sinclair Brothers (House of Wax)

Reverse Harem Drabble!

Ghostface (Scream)

Ethan Landry Drabble

Leatherface (Texas Chainsaw Massacre)

Brahms Heelshire (The Boy)

Harry Warden (My Bloody Valentine)

KILLERS (dbd):

Ghostface

Unrequited Love

Crybaby Reader

Trickster

Crybaby Reader

The Oni

Reader takes off their shoes!

Taking pity on a new survivor

The Huntress

Taking pity on a new survivor

The Hillbilly

Taking pity on a new survivor

The Wraith

The Trapper

The Knight

MARVEL

YANDERE IMAGINES 

Nerd!Yandere 

Your man’s the only one who knows you’re a freak

MONSTERFUCKER IMAGINES (COMING SOON)

Mermaid!Yandere 

Werewolf!Yandere

ALIENFUCKER IMAGINES (COMING SOON)

DRABBLES

Asking your man to slap you a little

I wanna be fucked like you’re the slut!

Thinking about a forbidden man who matches your freak

CONFESSIONS OF A ROMANTIC (COMING SOON)

This is a new section I want to experiment with. See, my special interest is love in all forms. The yearning kind, the pining kind, the crush kind, even the unrequited kind. Sometimes the obsessive kind.

When you’re writing a lot of demented, unhinged fiction and sort of marinating in very specific hashtags, it becomes so easy to lose touch with reality. I’ve seen a scary amount of new-gen femcels spawn as a result of the past few years, and I want my space to be an occasional reminder that real love exists too. Assuming that you might scroll and scroll and scroll my feed, I want you to stumble upon a real, authentic snapshot of feeling in it’s rawest, truest form. Please send messages about how much you love your partner! The romantic tea brewing in your life! All of the above! 

If this doesn’t work out, then I don’t mind. But I’d love to see where it goes.

ASK BOX

Finally, my inbox is open! I’m mostly open to any kinds of requests, but I have a few absolute no-nos. If you intend to send in a request, please read!

No pedophilia. Age gap is okay but for all ancient beings for example, the reader will not be ‘small, petite and skinny’. i know what you’re doing.

No piss/fecal kinks (however, period kinks are okay)

No discrimination (racism, ableism, homophobia etc.)

Please be polite! 

𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬?

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!