#add!reader

[ayyy-pee]

waking up freezing and shivering, teeth chattering every night because your husband is a blanket hog. you know it's not on purpose. he just can't help it. doesn't even know he does it most times. you'd think after years together you'd be used to it, but waking up curled into the fetal position as you try to retain even a smidge of warmth is something you don't think you'll ever adjust to.

so you reach behind you, feeling your spouses large form wrapped snug as a bug in your shared blanket and you grip onto the fabric. you pull as hard as you can but you don't manage to move him even an inch. you try once more...same result.

"ken..." you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself. no response. "kento..."

he doesn't budge. you're tempted to just get up and go grab another blanket, but your husband, despite his seriousness, can get quite pouty when you do that. so you tap him hard instead sure to jab him in the spot you know is his most sensitive. this seems to do the trick as he grunts in response.

"I'm cold," you tell nanami and he sits up quickly, realizing what he's done. his pajama top hangs off one shoulder. his blonde hair is pointing every which way and sleep is heavy on his eyelids, threatening to weigh him down again any minute.

"I'm sorry, love," nanami speaks, voice rough and deep with exhaustion, but the sincerity in his apology clear.

then he's throwing the blanket back over you both. only he adds in a little extra warmth as he wraps his arm around your waist and throws a large leg over your body.

nanami buries his face in your neck, adjusting himself so that he can be as close to you as possible. only a few seconds pass before you hear his light snoring behind you. and you know the warmth you feel is from more than just his touch.

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ gojo was filthy rich, a ridiculous contrast to any other college student you knew. so, when his birthday rolled around, you couldn't help but feel a little lost trying to figure out how to celebrate.

after all, what do you get a guy who already has everything?

and yet, when you handed him a small, pink gift bag with glittery tissue paper sticking out, he beamed. giggled, even. he was over the moon that you'd remembered.

"you know you didn't have to get me anything, right, sugar?" he said, all swoon-y with the most ridiculous heart-eyes. oh, he was so genuinely grateful that you did. he'd cherish it forever, no matter what it was. honestly, you could've picked up a piece of trash from the curb, and gojo would probably proudly hang it above his bed, maybe even frame it.

"yeah, i know. i just wanted to. it's not much," you admitted, feeling a little sheepish.

he just told you to shut up, because it was everything to him. he was tearing at the tissue paper like a kid on christmas morning.

it was a lighter. a bedazzled one. baby blue with matching silver gemstones and little bursts of glitter. it even had tiny bows and pearls stuck on it. gojo grinned, thanking you profusely, telling you he really did need a new one. he was going to carry it everywhere and only use this one.

"can we put it to the test?" he asked, gazing at you with big, blue, puppy-dog eyes.

"it's your birthday, we can do whatever you want. there's more in there, though," you added, tilting your head innocently. you reached for the discarded bag on the floor, pulling out a single hair tie.

oh. oh.

"i like that idea, sugar, but i have something else in mind." he grinned. "put your hair up anyway, wouldn't want you getting drool in it."

you blinked, a little confused, but half an hour later, you were laid back on the bed, your eyes glazed over as they stared at the ceiling. he was between your legs, stomach-down on the mattress, kicking his legs playfully, a wide smile plastered on his face.

for him, there was no better way to spend his birthday than right here, between your thighs. his tongue flicked against your clit, two fingers sliding in and out of your tight, warm center. slickness coated his chin and the sheets beneath you. between now and then, he'll pause to take a drag, and you can feel the warm smoke hit your stomach, just below your belly button.

each time he leaned up to offer you a hit, nudging the blunt between your lips, you could taste yourself on it.

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. torture. waterboarding. hurt/no comfort.

> i haven't written in a long time. it's good to be back.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

Part 1

Traitor.

That's what Price thinks as Simon and Soap drag you from the table, nearly choking on your food as they give you no time to understand what's going on.

Alarms ring in your ears as you force the piece of stale bread down your throat, trying to stand on your feet but they're taller than you, so your feet end up dangling, useless. You take a deep breath, your voice shaking as much as you are.

"What's going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?", you ask, looking at Simon, desperate to find an explanation for this other than the anger and torment in his eyes.

Simon doesn't answer. Nobody does. Soap's grip tightens, but he doesn't say anything, his expression hard.

No.

No.

You can tell they are not joking when you realize they're taking you downstairs. Sweat rolls down your face, fear creeping from the base of your neck to your toes, making you snap. You beg them to tell you what's going on, to explain why you're being dragged down there. You kick and struggle, a sob ripped deep from your chest as you start screaming, begging for a reaction. And then, pain.

Tears fill your eyes when it's Simon who hits your stomach with his fist, effectively shutting you up. You can smell the blood from past tortures mixed with bleach, and, distantly, the scent of forgotten wet rags. There's something salty in the air, and that's when you freeze, the pain in your stomach becoming nothing compared to the fear that grows in your chest.

They know you.

You've been with them for nine years. They know your fears.

"No. No. Please. Simon, Johnny— Please, please, please" you beg, sobbing as you can't do anything but go limp and heavy in their grip, doing the best you can to keep them from tying you to the chair. But it's useless.

Stars and colors dance behind your eyes as a fist connects with the side of your chin. You wonder if it would be better if they made you pass out right now. Maybe if you bite your tongue, it could—

"Gag her" Price tells them.

He's trained you for nine years.

He knows you.

You try to bite down on Johnny's fingers as he stuffs your mouth with an old rag, but it's difficult when your senses are unfocused after such a hard punch. The rag wet and disgusting, the scent and the taste making you sob again, shaking your head, your eyes big as you look at Simon.

Please.

Then a wet rag is pressed to your face. You inhale sharply as cold buckets of salty water are dropped right on your face, the cloth making it impossible for you to breathe. Salty water fills your lungs, making you choke and cough around the gagging rag.

You can hear questions, accusations, but you're paralized with fear, with pain and grief.

Grief.

They've been your friends, your family for so long. It's impossible to tell if you'll live through this. It's impossible for you to think of them as anything but monsters.

You know they usually did this with traitors, with enemies when it was necessary.

And you know they never enjoy it.

You've scolded Simon for smoking so late at night, you've had so many drinks next to him when he can't even speak. Simon often flinches awake from nightmares, startling you and then sharing quiet nights side to side.

You know this.

But then Simon hits your face again, taking the rag out of your mouth, and you can't find the love you have for him. It's expelled from your body with each hard cough, with each drop of blood falling from your nose.

"Did you not hear me?" Price demands, his arms crossed. "I'll ask one more time, then."

Smack.

Your chest is heaving, the fear so paralizing you can't even feel each punch as much as you should.

"What did you tell them?" Price continues, not looking one bit anxious for you to answer. He stands in front of you, his feet dry despite the salt burning your lungs.

"I don't know what you're talking about" you manage, looking up at Price, your eyes wide and bloodshot.

With a hard yank on your hair until your head is thrown back again, you're gagged once more, and the rag is pressed to your face. The salty water keeps on filling your lungs, unable to breathe, unable to cough around the gag.

You can't say anything. You truly don't know shit.

Hours later, when it becomes clear you won't speak, Price kicks you across the chest, hard, and the chair flips back.

You're tied up to the chair, exhausted and wet, your lungs burning with salt.

Memories of you as a child, nearly drown to death by your cousins, fill your mind. It had been a good day, until it wasn't.

Simon had held you when you told him, kissed you, and tucked you in for a good night sleep.

Johnny managed to make you crackle when you told him, patting your head, and saying your cousin had awful skills.

Now, there's nothing. Nothing but pain, and the burning in your lungs.

The door springs open, and the three men leave.

Only then do you close your eyes, passing out.

Masterlist | Part 2

buy me a coffee

[deniable-masterpiece]

pixels just do it better sometimes

and

[forgettable-au]

PROLOGUE

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 1-9)

AND SO IT BEGINS!

[CONTINUE] [MASTERPOST]

[xitsensunmoon]

The local vampire is quite annoyed with you keeping him company being awake this late at night. But maybe five more minutes of mutual bickering will satisfy him enough to let you do your thing. As long as you're in his sight

[pupkashi]

satoru is the kind of boyfriend that you are constantly falling in with over and over again

he takes out a spider that you found in the hallway, promising he’ll let it into the backyard and won’t kill it. he’ll tease you relentlessly for running to the other side of the house while on the phone with him, begging him to come home to take care of the ‘grave danger’ you were in. satoru never once tells you how his heart flutters knowing your instinct is to cal him for help.

satoru is the kind of lover to pick flowers for you when you walk hand in hand, giggling as a spring breeze hits the two of you. he smiles, bending down and picking the daisy from the ground.

“look! i got you a flower” he grins, handing the small flower to you with a smile on his face.

“oh wow this just for me? you broke the bank with this one” he can’t help but laugh loudly, “I’m in deep credit card debt,” he replies, “think you can cover dinner for tonight?” you laugh, nodding your head- knowing he’d never let you pay for anything as long as he was around.

the kind of boyfriend to run late, but pick up flowers on the way to make it up to you, buying extravagant bouquets on a whim and making sure every vase in your home is filled with flowers at any given moment. there comes a point in the relationship where you have to sit him down and ask him softly to cut down the flower buying to once a week, as you’d run out of vases to put the flowers in.

satoru ends up buying you more vases, but realizes it’s gotten out of hand when you have no free surfaces in your home due to the overflowing amount of flora. he cuts it down to once a week after he found a bee in the house one day.

your lover brings back souvenirs from all the places he goes when on missions, trinkets that he knew you’d love spilling out of his pockets as he walks into your shared home.

“i think you’d love this little bunny figure so i got it!” he’s beaming at you, his face lights up even more when he sees how excited you are, gushing over the small figure and thanking him with a plethora of kisses.

satoru is the kind of boyfriend to tell you ‘told you so’ when you get cold because you didn’t bring a jacket, all while simultaneously taking his off and giving it to you. he tries his best to hide how much colder he is to try and make sure you stay warm, but his shivering six foot something body is hard to miss.

“satoru i think you’re colder than i was, please just take it back” you beg, shoving his jacket back into his hands, he just shakes his head, teeth slightly chattering as he lies to your face.

“im not even cold, you need to stay warm” he’s steadfast and stubborn on his stance, only taking his jacket back when you two enter a cafe and make it a point to say how hot you felt when you stepped inside.

satoru is the kind of boyfriend to hang mistletoes all over the house, giggling when he pulls you in by your waist and places a giddy kiss on your lips.

“man i love christmas” he sighs, pointing at the fourth mistletoe in the last hour as you two decorated for the holidays.

“seriously how many of these did you buy?” you laugh, pulling him closer to you and placing your lips on his. satoru smiles into the kiss, chasing after your lips even when you pull away and managing to steal one last kiss.

“mmm, alot” he whispers, snowy hair tickling your face as he presses a kiss to your cheek before continuing on with the tree lights.

satoru gojo is the kind of boyfriend to kiss you from 11:59 pm on New Year’s Eve to 12:01 am on New Year’s Day, just to say he made out with you into another year. he also does it just to make sure you can’t say you haven’t kiss him since last year.

“you’ve been kissing me since last year sweetheart just admit you’re crazy about me” he teases you, his cheeks and ears flush from the two cups of champagne he’s had.

“angel boy you have no idea” you giggle, taking in how beautiful he looks as the fireworks pop around the two of you, making his crystalline eyes shine a little brighter.

satoru gojo is the kind of boyfriend that makes you believe in soulmates, because there was no other way to describe what he was to you other than that.

satoru gojo was your soulmate, and you were his.

a/n: hi hi ! just wanted to write something short and sweet to get me back into the flow of writing <3 hopefully this help kill my writers block :3

masterlist

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[onlyyvette]

idk why but i just needed to get this off my chest :p

warnings: a little bit of corruption + dom reader + handjobs

Personally, I absolutely love the idea of having a "straight" guy as one of your favorite bros. The two of you have such a good relationship, always meeting up at the gym with each other, bringing an extra water bottle for the other, hanging out at each other's home, great stuff. Until he brings up the idea of blowing off some steam by jerking each other off. Like bros though, of course.

And like a good friend, you agree because that's what bros do! Totally not because of his perfectly sculpted arms, that big and bouncy chest, and thighs that would absolutely crush you between them. Of course not.

Little do you know, your bro has been struggling with a little crush on you. By crush, he means that he needs you to fuck him so hard he breaks. He always thought he was straight, never even gave it much thought besides the guys he would see once in a while that he would find hot if he were a girl. That was until the moment he saw you half-naked in the showers, his eyes nearly glued to you unclothed dick. He couldn't help but feel a throb himself while he ogled your form.

Of course he was still straight! It was only normal that a male would want to size up another male, just guys being guys. And it's pretty normal for guys to jerk off together, right?

Maybe he was wrong.

He can barely keep up with your precum slicked hand moving up and down your cocks, he's too busy whimpering and fucking up into your fist. He's letting out whines of Bro, slow down and Too much, if only he could hear himself, how pathetic he sounds nearly losing his mind just from getting jerked off by another man, his bro.

He's so damn sexy like this, his brows scrunched up as he holds back his tears. Beads of sweat roll down his flushed and panting face. You might pull on his dick a little too hard, but he's so cute you can't help yourself. His eeks of pleasure only worsens(betters) his situation.

By the time he's already shot his load, another one upcoming, you finally release. As his mind tries its best to unscramble itself, he can't help but want to do something like this again, or even go further. You may call him gay for it, but you have to understand, right? It's just bros helping out bros.

[hadaldemon]

dumb lil thought I had at work

Shadow Tako/Tako Milk form

[cindol]

a woman’s back is the sexiest thing ever and nanami kento is a man who finds that attractive.

nanami loves date nights, nights where he’s away from his office job and he can finally be with his wife but god, he finds getting to the actual date when he walks into his shared bedroom you both share and see you fitting on a backless black dress.

your back was a pretty site. You frequented the local gym sometimes and took good care of your back, so it was nice smooth and oiled and had a nice contrast with the black backless sleeveless dress you were wearing.

nanami’s staring was put to a stop when you giggled, finally done putting the dress on to say, “what are you just staring off into space for kento? Cmon, let’s enjoy our date night.” walking over to him to join arms with him and a seduction in your alluring voice.

at the dinner date each time he can look at your back he takes a gander. Every time you get up when you accidentally dropped the restaurant’s menu and bended down to grab it he could see your back and even when you were on the way to the bathroom he was taking a look at your back as you walked off.

[spookysanta]

Old Man. (MBJ)

Summary: You love to clown Michael about his age. But you quickly learn — again and again — that he might have a couple greys in his beard, but there’s nothing old about him.

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x Younger!Reader

Warnings: SMUTTTTTTTT, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, hair pulling, rough oral (m!receiveing), oral (both), slight degradation, insatiable!Michael, this is an amalgamation of a bunch of scenes i was too slutty to cut out

who's ready to get fucked uppppp! another item checked off my heathen draft checklist. have i been working on this for the last two weeks while i'm at work? yes. am i sorry? no. i'm salaried. i still got paid. so we're good! pleaaaaase send me some asks if you've got any ideas for a new fic. thxxxx

MINORS DNI PLS

The night started with a simple movie, a hoodie you stole from him and refused to return, your bare legs curled in his lap. One of his hands was lazily resting on your thigh, the other nursing a glass of dark liquor.

You were supposed to be relaxing.

But you just couldn’t help yourself.

Michael stretched, arms overhead, back arching slightly, and the obscene series of cracks that popped from his shoulders echoed around the living room. You paused the movie, turned slowly toward him, blinking with faux concern. “…That was your bones?”

He gave you a side-eye. “Don’t start.”

“I thought the popcorn bag was poppin’ again,” you grinned, eyes gleaming. “You okay, grandpa?”

“Keep playin’ with me,” he warned, sipping slowly.

You leaned in, faux whispering like you were trying to protect his pride. “You want me to grab the Bengay, or you good?”

Michael didn’t respond at first. Just held your gaze. Silent. Calm. Then slowly, dangerously calm, he said with a hum, “Aight. Bet.”

You giggled like it was nothing. But you felt it. The shift. His hand flexed a little tighter on your thigh. His jaw ticked. And you – naive, sweet, stupid little you – kept pushing.

When the credits rolled on The Wood and he said something about seeing it back in the day, you really lost it. “Baaaaaabe,” you gasped through laughter. “I was literally in diapers. That’s crazy. You were watchin’ Mike and Slim get into fights over girls and I was still eating applesauce and watchin’ Blue’s Clues.”

Michael just stared at you. Blank face. The kind of silence that spelled your doom.

And you were wheezing. Bent over, laughing like you paid yourself to do stand-up. You slapped his chest. “I’m–I’m sorry, I’m just saying, that’s before my ti–AH!”

You didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence.

Because in one swift motion, Michael grabbed you by the waist and flipped you onto your back. Your head bounced lightly against the couch pillow, laughter dying in your throat as his full weight pressed down over you. His hand wrapped around both your wrists and pinned them above your head. And his voice, low, deadly, and smug, brushed right along your jaw. “You done?”

“…Maybe.”

He tilted his head. “Oh, you're cute today, huh?”

“Always.”

He smirked. But there was nothing funny in the way his other hand slid down your body, skimming under the hem of your borrowed hoodie to brush over your bare stomach.

“Y’know what’s not funny?” he asked. “You thinkin’ any of these lil boys you messed with before me could ever do what I do to you.”

You blinked. Your mouth parted but no words came out.

“That’s what I thought.”

And then? Then he dragged his hand into your shorts.

You gasped, hips bucking, but he pinned you tighter, shushing you like you were interrupting him. “Still wanna play?” he murmured, fingers slipping into your folds. “Still wanna talk shit?”

Your voice cracked. “Michael–”

“Say it with your chest, baby,” he mocked. “You had all that mouth five minutes ago.”

You were soaked. Embarrassingly so. And he felt it.

“See?” he whispered, brushing your clit in slow, punishing circles. “This is why I don’t take you seriously. You talk like I can’t handle you, but your pussy doesn't know how to act when I put hands on you.”

You whimpered. And that’s when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

The screen lit up. Tati. You knew she’d be asking something ridiculous. Probably a meme. Probably an “is this you and Michael” message. You tried to reach for it against his grip, but he snatched your wrists into a tighter hold.

“Oh no,” he tsked, feigning disappointment. “You're busy right now, remember?”

“Michael–”

He didn’t even let you finish. Slid two fingers deep inside, curling just right, watching you fall apart beneath him. “You gon’ apologize?” he asked calmly, thumb still teasing, pace brutal in its precision. “Or you want me to keep proving my point?”

“I’m–I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I didn’t mean–”

“Oh, you meant it,” he growled, sliding down your body, lips dragging along your inner thigh. “And now I mean to make you forget every one of your little jokes.”

You should’ve known better.

He warned you. Gave you every chance to stop. But no. Your ass just had to crack jokes, had to flex your youth, your smart-ass mouth, like he wasn’t twice the man any of those little boys before him ever dreamed of being.

And now look at you. Legs shaking. Breath caught in your lungs like you had to think about how to exhale. And you weren’t even in the bedroom yet.

Michael tossed the blanket aside, arms hooking under your knees as he stood, lifting you like you didn’t weigh a damn thing. Your shorts were still tangled around one ankle,like  a taunt to modesty. He didn’t bother fixing them.

You clung to his hoodie, face buried in the fabric, chest heaving.

He didn’t say much as he carried you. Just huffed a laugh under his breath and muttered, “Mouth still workin’? Or I finally fucked the jokes outta you?”

You whimpered something that might’ve been a word.

“Mmhm. Thought so.”

The hallway was a blur of shadows and low light, his footsteps heavy and steady. He kicked the bedroom door open and dropped you down in the center of the bed. You bounced once as your back hit the duvet, hair spilling around your face, thighs trembling, eyes wide.

The hoodie came off in one fluid pull, revealing his torso. Chocolate skin, broad chest, sweat-slick abs that flexed with every move. His sweatpants followed, slow, deliberate, dragging down inch by inch until he stepped out of them.

Your eyes darted to the bulge in his boxers. And honestly, you hated how much that made your mouth water. And as if he knew – 

“On your knees.” His voice cracked like thunder.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. “Wh–”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” his index finger – the one that was just inside you downstairs, actually, how ironic – pointed to the carpet as if to say duh. 

You obeyed. Legs weak. Sliding off the bed, you stared up at him, lips parted, still dazed from what he’d done to you on the couch.

He gripped your jaw, tilting your face. “You think I’m old, baby?” he asked, stroking the side of your throat with his thumb.

You shook your head.

“No?” he smirked. “Then why you walkin’ around like I can’t break you in half if I wanted to?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

His hand slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make you gasp, and he brought your mouth to him like it was owed. Like it was yours to worship.

You sucked him off like your life depended on it. Eagerly, desperately, like he was air and you’d been drowning. He groaned low in his throat, head thrown back as you took him slow and deep, letting him guide your movements until his grip tightened and he cursed under his breath.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it. Show me how much that smart mouth really loves me.”

You moaned, messy and wet, tears clinging to your lashes when he finally pulled away and lifted you back onto the bed. You didn’t get a second to breathe before he was over you again, cock heavy and hot between your thighs, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other handling his cock at your entrance.

“You remember what you said earlier?” he asked, tone so low it rumbled in your chest.

“…no–”

He slammed into you in one stroke. Your body arched. “Oh fuck–”

“You remember now?”

You screamed. Not a yell, not a moan. Like an actual scream. He grinned like he was proud of himself, then started moving.

Every thrust hit home. Deep. Unrelenting. Your legs were spread wide, locked around his waist. The bedframe slammed the wall in time with your gasps. He kissed you hard, tongue claiming your mouth, then dragged his lips down your neck, your chest, your breasts – biting, sucking, devouring.

“You like talkin’ shit?” he panted, his strokes turning savage. “Then go ahead. Say somethin’ now.”

You couldn’t. You weren’t even forming words anymore. Just sobbing into the pillow, clawing at the sheets above you like you’d fall apart if you let go.

“That’s what I thought.”

He kept going. Harder. Slower. Rougher. One leg thrown over his shoulder, your body bent and folded to take him as deep as humanly possible.

He watched you fall apart. The way your stomach trembled, your chest heaved, your jaw dropped in that perfect O as your body convulsed around him and you came so hard you forgot how to breathe.

But he wasn’t done.

Not until he’d fucked you through the mattress.

Not until he’d made you cum again. And again. And again.

Not until you were crying his name and begging for mercy.

Not until he collapsed on top of you, both of you sweat-drenched and broken, your body twitching through the aftershocks under his like you were still recovering from an exorcism.

He kissed your temple. Brushed damp hair back from your face. Whispered against your skin. “Still think I’m old?”

You shook your head, unable to form a thought.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

–

Morning sunlight streamed in through the blinds, soft and golden, casting lines across your bare legs tangled in the sheets. The house was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint sizzle of bacon coming from the kitchen.

Michael stood at the stove in nothing but gray sweats, his broad back flexing as he flipped pancakes like he didn’t break you in half the night before. He was whistling. 

Whistling. 

Happy. Clearly very pleased with himself.

You walked in gingerly, hair still messy, hoodie thrown over your sore body, and the slightest limp in your step. 

He clocked it immediately. “Mornin’, baby,” he said over his shoulder, smug as hell. Bastard. “Sleep good?”

You shot him a glare that held no real weight. “You tried to rearrange my spinal column.”

Michael grinned. “Did I succeed?”

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t answer. Just grabbed a cup from the cabinet, poured yourself some juice, and leaned against the counter.

“I was nice,” he said. “You had jokes, remember? I was just tryna make sure you remembered who you were talkin’ to.”

“Mm,” you sipped. “Could’ve just shown me your driver’s license, old man.”

It slipped out before you could stop it. The room went still.

You froze.

Michael turned his head slow. Real slow. That little crooked smile stretched across his face like a wolf baring its teeth. “What was that?”

You slapped your hand over your mouth like that would undo it. Eyes wide. Shaking your head like no no no nope didn’t say that, even though the evidence was loud and clear.

His brows lifted. “Really?”

You were gone before he could put the spatula down. “BABE–!” you yelped, darting out of the kitchen, juice sloshing dangerously in your cup.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t make it very far.

Michael stalked after you, bare feet against the floor like a threat, laughing deep and dark from the back of his throat. “Oh nah. Don’t run now. You were BOLD a second ago!”

You threw the juice cup on the hallway table and made a sharp left toward the bedroom, sliding sock-footed like a cartoon character. “I take it BACK!”

“You meant it!” he shouted, footsteps getting louder.

“I DIDN’T, I SWEAR–”

He caught you halfway through the doorway, arms around your waist, lifting you right off the ground like you weighed nothing. You screamed through laughter, legs kicking. “Kari!”

“Nah, keep that same energy!” he said, tossing you onto the bed.

You bounced once. Tried to scramble away.

He pounced, landing right on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head like last night was muscle memory, like he was built for this. You squealed, squirmed, already breathless with laughter and anticipation. “ See, I was gonna let you rest,” he said, shaking his head like he was disappointed in you. “I really was.”

“You should,” you said weakly. “You’re probably still sore–”

He kissed you hard, swallowing the laugh before it could leave your throat. “Too late.”

His mouth moved down your jaw, to your throat, down to where the hoodie was barely hanging on your body. “You wanna keep acting up?” he grumbled, dragging the hoodie up over your hips. “Cool. Let me show you what happens when you play too much.”

You writhed beneath him, still laughing, but it was panicked now. Desperate. Your body remembered exactly what he did to you last night. The ache between your thighs hadn’t even faded. But Michael wasn’t interested in mercy. Not when you kept calling him old.

He peeled your hoodie off entirely, exposing your bare chest, your soft belly, the deep grooves of finger-shaped bruises blooming along your hips like love notes. “Damn, baby,” he muttered, dragging his knuckles down the side of your ribs. “I did all this?”

You nodded, cheeks hot, lips parted.

He grinned. “Good.”

He moved slow(er) this time, kissing your neck. 

Sweet. Soft. Which only made it worse. 

Ugh. Just punish me, already! You thought, brows furrowed in anticipation.

He worked down your body like he had all the time in the world, tongue tracing lazy circles on your collarbone, his hands kneading your thighs until your toes curled into the sheets. “You remember the rules, right?” he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. “Smart mouths get shut up.”

You whimpered.

“Wanna test me again?”

You shook your head.

He smirked. “Nah, you do. That’s why you ran.” Then he bit your inner thigh. Not hard. Just enough to make you yelp.

You didn’t get to process when his mouth was on you again.

He released your wrists to spread you open with his thumbs, flattening his tongue against your clit and dragging it slowly back and forth. No rush, no mercy. Just languid, wet strokes, over and over, until your back arched and your fingers clawed the sheets.

You moaned loud, tried to close your legs.

He held them open. He made you take it. Made you feel every inch of his tongue, the press of his nose, the scrape of his teeth.

His one – devious, downright evil – goal was to make you cum. As many times, and as violently, as he could. When you came, it hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your whole body shook. You sobbed out his name. Your thighs clamped tight around his face and he didn’t move. Just moaned into your pussy like it got him high.

When he finally pulled away, your eyes were glassy. Michael crawled back up your body, slow and heavy, dragging his cock against your still-throbbing center. “I want you to feel me this time,” he whispered. “Every stroke. Every inch.”

You whimpered, trying to close your legs. But he just slid between them again, lined himself up, and sank into you to the hilt with a deep thrust that knocked air out of your lungs.

Your mouth dropped open, no sound coming out at all.

Michael didn’t move. Just watched your face. Studied the way your lashes fluttered, the way your hands scrambled to hold on to something. “You okay, baby?” he asked, voice thick, teasing.

You nodded weakly.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Good. ‘Cause I’m just getting started.”

Then he pulled out painfully slow… and slammed back in.

He kept the pace like that. Slow, heavy, unrelenting. Your nails carved red lines down his back but he didn’t stop. Just kept fucking you like he was trying to leave a permanent impression, like your body was a memory foam mattress and he was trying to stamp his name into it.

“Still think I’m old?” he grunted, biting your shoulder.

You shook your head. “Mm-mm–”

“Say it.”

“You’re not–fuck–you’re not old, Michael, please–”

He snapped his hips harder, and you shattered again, crying out, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave breaking over rocks.

But he still didn’t stop. “You wanted to act up?” he panted, fucking you through it. “Now you gon’ take all of this.”

You weren’t even speaking anymore. Just babbling, trembling, letting him use your body however he wanted.

And when he finally came, spilling deep inside, teeth gritted, groaning your name like a prayer, you were limp. Gone. A complete puddle of ecstasy melted into the mattress, eyes unfocused, mouth slack.

He collapsed on top of you, chest to chest, hearts pounding together. For a long time, the only sound in the room was your breathing and his heartbeat in your ear. And then, Michael pulled back, kissed your nose, and brushed sweat-slick hair off your forehead. “You gon’ behave now?”

You couldn’t speak.. just gave him a dazed thumbs up.

Michael laughed. Laughed, kissed your cheek again, and stood up, stretching like he hadn’t just turned you into pulp. “I’ll get you some water.”

As he walked out of the room, still naked, still grinning, you let your hand fall over your face and whispered to no one in particular: “…I need to mind my business.”

 

Later, as the morning bled into the afternoon and found yourself tangled in his embrace, eyes closed in a blissful daze, you felt something.

Movement. 

The kind of movement to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your eyes popped open, all inklings of drowsiness leaving your body.

And there he was, towering above you like he was hunting. Michael slid back down your body, eyes locked on yours. He didn’t say a word; just spread you out again, thighs pushed open with his forearms locked tight beneath them. You were too tired to fight his insatiability. And frankly, you deserved more love-making than the brutal punishment he’d provided two days in a row.

But there was no warm-up. He didn’t offer any teasing. No playful licks. His lips locked around your clit and put his tongue to work like his life depended on it. And these are the moments where he was most dangerous.

Because Michael didn’t eat pussy to make you cum.

He ate you out like he was trying to ruin you for every man who would ever think about stepping to you again. 

Like he wanted a piece of you to keep with him at all times.

Like your orgasm was a challenge, and his ego would never let him lose.

Your back arched the second his tongue hit just right at that spot – laid flat and wide.

You tried reaching for something – anything – for purchase, but your fingers just clawed the sheets. Your legs twitched, tried to close, but his forearms locked tighter, his way of saying you weren’t going anywhere, without his mouth ever leaving your aching cunt.

“About to cum already?” he murmured between strokes. His lips glistened, beard damp with your juices, tongue still circling slow. “I just started, baby.”

You whined, almost wanting to climb out of your skin. The pleasure, the overstimulation, the ache that still burned in your hips when you tried to wriggle away… it was too much. 

But then came the fingers.

His index and middle fingers sunk perfectly deep inside, your hole practically begging for them to enter. Curling up with pinpoint accuracy, pressing against that spot that made you curse god. He didn’t even break rhythm, tongue still flicking, lips never letting go, while his fingers pumped in and out of you with intent.

It was absolutely filthy the way he knew exactly how to unravel you.

And before you could even think – you couldn’t stop it. Your body snapped, and the orgasm hit like a tidal wave – violent, raw, loud. “Michael–!”

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Didn’t even linger to come up for air.

If anything, he got hungrier. “You’re not done,” he growled, voice muffled against your clit. “Give me another.”

You cried out, shaking your head. A shallow “Uh-uh” escaped your throat in protest, but your hips bucked into his mouth like your body had already betrayed you.

And then… you felt the build. The tingle. That oh-so sickeningly-sweet, painfully-blissful pressure low in your belly that warned you it was about to get messy. “No–Michael, please, I–”

“You what?” he taunted. “Gon’ squirt for me?”

You whined.

“Go ahead, baby. Fuckin’ drench me.”

Your brain couldn’t move fast enough before your thighs clamped around his face and the gush of it hit hard everywhere, hot and wet like a flood. His face, his mouth, his chest. And the bed – the poor bed – was completely soaked. Your body shook, back arched so hard it felt like you’d ascended to heaven, and you screamed his name like an apology for every utterance of the word “old” within his earshot.

Michael moaned. Like, actually.

Like it turned him on, like the taste of you soaking his face made his cock twitch, made his hunger double. He kept licking, sloppy now, messy, his beard slick and jaw locked like he wanted every last drop.

You tried to crawl back. Pull away. “It’s t-too m-much, Michael, I c-can’t–”

He grabbed your hips, yanked you right back down to his mouth. “I said give me another.”

You sobbed as he dragged it out of you… over and over. Until your body was wrung dry, twitching with aftershocks, tears streaming down your cheeks, thighs sticky and shaking, voice hoarse from screaming.

When he finally pulled back, he looked up at you like he just conquered something sacred – his lips swollen, his beard wet, and his chest heaving. 

You were a ruined, soaked mess on the bed. But Michael… 

Michael looked refreshed. Smug. Charged. Like every drop of you he swallowed sent lightning straight to his cock – and he was still starving. “You still with me, baby?” he asked, even though he could see the answer written all over your face: dazed, eyes glossy, mouth parted and gasping.

You managed a nod. A twitch of your fingers.

He grinned like that was permission enough. “Then turn over.”

You didn’t move – more specifically, you couldn’t move.

So he flipped you face-down into the sheets, hips yanked up and back until you were on your knees, your ass arched high and your chest pressed low into the mattress. You could barely hold yourself up as your thighs shook. Your pussy was swollen and glistening, practically pulsing in desperation

Michael just groaned. “Look at this fuckin’ pussy,” he muttered behind you, dragging his fingers through the slick. You jolted. “Still drippin’ for me. Still open. You meant it when you said I was old, huh? That's why you actin’ up?”

You shook your head into the pillow.

He slapped your ass. Just once. Sharp. “That was a question.”

“No,” you gasped. “I didn’t–I didn’t mean it–”

“Oh you absolutely did,” Grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance, taunting the hole with his leaking head. “And now you gon’ take what you started.”

The air rushed out of your lungs as he pushed into you again. Your knees nearly gave out, but his hand was already fisting in your hair, pulling your head up as he started to fuck you deep.

He didn’t dare to fuck you fast. Well, not yet, at least. Just long, heavy strokes that pressed every inch of him into you until you were babbling nonsense. Your mouth hung open. Drool hit the sheets. “Oh my God–”

Michael just moaned behind you, gripping your hip with one hand, your hair with the other, driving into you like he was building something permanent. “You feel that?” he growled, dragging his cock out slow, then slamming back in hard. “Ain’t no little boy ever made you feel like this.”

“Michael–”

He yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear. “Say it.”

You sobbed. “No one–no one ever–fuck, baby–”

“You gon’ behave now?”

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks.

But he wasn’t finished – even though you relented, he still wasn’t satisfied, while your pussy was still fluttering around him like it couldn’t stand to be empty, and while your thighs were sticky and trembling from rounds one and two (and three, honestly) and you still had more to give.

He dropped your hair and pressed his palm between your shoulder blades, pushing you flat into the bed. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them down behind your back, and fucked into you hard, truly punishing you like the ragdoll he loved to turn you into.

Your voice cracked as you squirted again, just a little, just enough to make him growl. “You like this shit,” he spat, slapping your ass again. “You love actin’ up just to get fucked stupid.”

You didn’t even try to deny it. Because you were already cumming on his cock again, a silent scream stuck in your throat, your whole body convulsing as you lost yourself.

And he followed you over the edge not long after – the hold on your hips gripping you so tight you’d feel everything tomorrow, spilling deep inside you with a loud shuddering moan and a gasp of your name, head thrown back.

He pulled out slow, collapsing onto the mattress and pulling you into him, your back to his chest. The mess between you two was evidence of your punishment(s), though all he wanted in that moment was to kiss the back of your neck and shoulders as you both came down from your highs.

“You still think I’m old?” he whispered, smug as hell.

You groaned. “I think… I need physical therapy.”

Michael laughed. “Good. I’ll make the appointment for us.”

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[sunsburns]

honestly i feel like joaquin gives best friends to lovers vibes. and the moment you realize he likes you (meanwhile you've liked him for years) is gonna be in the middle of one of those heated arguments you have with each other bc he's jealous of the new guy you're seeing but one of you is stubborn and doesn't wanna admit it. idk if this counts as a request but if you like the idea i'd love to see you write something abt it!!

yes yes! i feel like it would be even better if the two of you had been working together for soo long too. like you’re in the middle of a stakeout or a mission and he’s suddenly bringing it up for the first time, trying to be all suave and subtle and you’re like ????

the stakeout had been dragging for hours.

the two of you were stationed in an unmarked van on a dimly lit street, watching the back entrance of an old warehouse where your target was supposed to show. you and joaquín torres had done plenty of missions like this before—long hours, bad takeout, and enough banter to keep you both from losing it.

except this time, he wasn’t talking.

not really, anyway. he was pretending to be busy, fiddling with the comms setup even if it had already been working fine since the start of the op.

the van was cramped, parked just far enough from the target building to stay out of sight. the only light inside comes from the dim glow of yours tablet and the occasional flicker of streetlights through the tinted windows.

and then, out of nowhere—

“you never did tell me how your date went last week.”

you barely heard him over the quiet hum of the surveillance feed. your attention is fixed on the warehouse across the street, waiting for movement, but his words pull you out of it.

you glance over, catching him looking away the second you do. subtlety had never been his strong suit.

“i didn’t think you’d want to know,” you said, testing the waters.

“of course i do.”

something in his voice made you pause. it wasn’t the usual teasing or lighthearted prodding—it was earnest. which was odd, considering the first time you brought it up there had been no jokes and joaquín had not been this curious. if anything, he’d gone uncharacteristically quiet, then changed the subject entirely.

but you’d brushed it off at the time.

still, you decide to humour him. “it went well.”

silence. then the soft creak of leather as he shifts in his seat.

“so, is there a second date coming?”

the casual tone didn’t fool you.

you smiled, mostly to yourself. “maybe.”

you expect some kind of quip, a halfhearted joke to brush it off. but you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened, how his fingers flexed against his knee.

for someone who was an expert at recon, joaquín was terrible at hiding his tells. always had been. every thought he had crossed his face before he could stop it, which is why you’ve never had to second-guess him.

but that? that was weird.

“why? do you care?” you ask, turning slightly toward him.

“i don’t,” he said too quickly. “just wondering if i gotta learn this guy’s name or not.”

your smile grew wider. “oh? so you do care.”

he finally looked at you, “that’s not what i—“ he exhaled sharply. “forget it.”

you couldn’t.

you studied him for a moment, the furrow in his brow, the slight clench of his jaw. this was the longest conversation you’ve had outside of mission chatter in a week. and now he suddenly wanted to know about your love life?

“joaquín,” you started, voice slower now. “if there’s something you wanna say—“

“i only care when it affects our work.”

that made you bristle. “oh. am i too distracted for you?”

“that’s not what i said.”

“it’s exactly what you said.” you turned toward him fully now, forgetting about the stakeout for a second. “you didn’t have a problem last week when i was watching your six, but suddenly i go on a date and now i’m not focused enough for you?”

“that’s not—“ he stopped himself, dragging a hand down his face. “tu—you’re impossible.”

“like you’re any better,” you fired back. “you’ve been acting weird ever since i mentioned this guy, and now you’re bringing it up in the middle of a mission like it’s relevant intel? what’s your deal, torres? what’s going on? what are you trying to say?”

he pressed his lips together, clearly debating something. you knew him well enough to see the war happening behind his eyes, the push and pull of something he'd been trying to keep locked down.

“i’m not—i’m not trying to say anything,” he muttered.

your eyes narrowed. “bullshit.”

his lips curled into something sour, “i don’t get you sometimes.” his voice was lower now, “you’ll pick up on the smallest details in the field, but when it comes to this?” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, frustrated, “it’s like you’re choosing not to see it.”

that stopped you cold.

because for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you let yourself think about it. really think about it.

like the way joaquín always made sure you had the last protein bar on long missions, even if it meant going without. or the way he always covered your blind spots in a fight, positioning himself between you and danger without hesitation. the way his voice changed when he spoke to you, softening in a way it never did for anyone else.

the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

god.

your stomach twisted. you had spent so long convincing yourself that none of it meant anything. that it was just who he was—loyal, protective, a damn good partner. that was the only way you had managed to push your feelings down, to keep yourself from ruining what you had with him.

because the truth?

you had been in love with joaquín torres for years.

and it had been eating you alive.

the only reason you had gone out with someone else at all was because you had needed to move on. you couldn’t keep wanting something that wasn’t yours. couldn’t keep looking at him like he hung the damn moon when he was always just out of reach.

but now—now—he was looking at you like he was waiting for you to say something. like he wanted you to see it.

like maybe you hadn’t been crazy all along.

“joaquín.”

he just shook his head, frowning like he was mad at himself for even saying anything. “doesn’t matter.” the frustration drained from his voice, leaving behind something hollow. “forget i said anything.”

then he turned away like the conversation was over.

but it wasn’t.

because now, there was no taking it back.

and you weren’t sure if you even wanted to.

before you could respond, sam’s voice crackled over the comms.

“guys," he said, slow and unimpressed. “you do realize your mic is on, right?”

heat flooded your face.

joaquín scrambled to reach for the radio, red in the face. “sorry. must’ve turned it on by accident.”

“glad we’re getting some entertainment while we wait, sam continued, and you could almost see that grin on his face. “but unless you two wanna keep broadcasting your love confession to the team, maybe save it for after the mission?”

[thedropsofblood]

A wolf in hunter's clothing

Warnings: Dub-con, age gap (????), mostly gender neutral but made with male reader in mind, size difference, started as rough -> slightly sweet mid-way, bratty reader, overstimulation, blindfolding, implied obsessive behaviour.

Word count: 8k

Minors DNI, do not report, I WILL cry /nsrs

Isekai, the act of transporting a person from earth to a different planet, world, universe, usually of a novel or a video game. It was a childish concept that you haven't bothered and never intended to look into, until you got 'isekaied' yourself.

Unlike what your younger siblings have told you, instead of beautiful vast magical worlds filled with sub-human species and a logical storyplot, you ended up in the most boring case scenario, a fairy tale. Specifically, the "Red Riding Hood" children's book that fell out of the shelf and onto the ground next to you while you were at a bookstore.

As any normal person does, you picked up the book, hoping to put it back to it's original spot, but got your body sucked into the pages instead. To be fair, it could've been worse, so, so much worse. You luckily didn't become the new Red Riding Hood, instead, you became the older brother of the Red Riding Hood.

It's not as bad as it sounds, like, you have a loving and caring family of both parents and an adorable younger sister, as well as a grandmother who you occasionally visits for the first 18 years of your life. What more could you ask for?

The life of your younger sister, that's what you could ask for. Even if they're technically not real, you couldn't help but care for them, care for the years of family meetings, the little happy moments, the vacations, even something as trivial as a meal together. And yet, imagine how your heart sunk in once you heard your mother tell your sister to deliver the cookies to your grandmother tomorrow after hearing rumors of the hunter being on break on the same day.

It made your anxiety levels go wayhire. Your sister's and your grandmother's life depended on the hunter after all, what would happen to them if there's no more hunter? Will they die under the wolf's hands? Can you even escape this book if they die?

.

.

.

Would you be trapped here forever then? What about your family outside of this? Would they even still remember you after 18 years? Worse, what if they just, hate you now?

Why should you even leave this place if that's the case?...

You crawled onto a ball on your bed, hugging onto the soft pillow in search of even a little bit of comfort. This place wasn't real, none of this is, your world was simply a scramble of words combined together by some random old man hundreds of years back, hell, you weren't even supposed to be here, why would you care if your supposed 'sister' and 'grandmother' dies?

Yet you found yourself restless. You had an idea on what to do, god knows if it'll work, but... It'll never hurt to try, right?

You throw your pillow away and change into warmer clothes, turning off the lights before sneaking out of the house through the window, heading directly towards the bright tavern in the middle of the town.

"Brother, why are you not eating? Do you not like it?" The voice of your sister knocked you right out of your thoughts, scrambling to take a bite out of the sandwich she made for you.

"No no- it's good, it's good, I'm just thinking about what I need to get for groceries." Your sister barely bought your excuse, barely. You can still see her crossing her arms and pouting in the corner of your eyes. She was glaring at you for a few solid minutes, as if trying to pry the truth from you. With a huff, she leaned back against the chair and muttered under her breath.

"Remember to buy some candy for me while you're at it then, I'm gonna go now. I don't wanna leave grandma waiting." You let out a mental sigh of relief, ruffling your little sister's hair. "You're just as childish as ever." You chuckled.

Before you sister leaves, she jumped into your arms to give you a hug causing a small smile escapes from your mouth. Your hand reached up to pat her on the head, if you had to be honest, you don't know if you regret your deal with the hunter or not anymore.

"Shit... If I knew slacking off would get you on my dick, I would've taken so many vacations."

The hunter chuckled, leaning in to place a loving kiss on your forehead. You pushed his head back to give him a glare, well, as best as a glare could be with the blindfold covering your eyes. You barked, gritting your teeth as you tried to kick him in the stomach.

"Shut the fuck up and just get it done with already. This deal was only for my family, bastard. Bet you can't even get anyone else to get into bed with you without forcing them into shitty deals-" Your words were cut mid way when he firmly slapped you across your face, his other hand gripping your ankle and hosteling your leg onto his shoulder.

You hissed in annoyance, yet a part of you felt pride for successfully pissing the hunter off. You can only assume what his face was like right now, is he glaring down at you like a lamb in the slaughter or is that stupid smug smirk on his face away? You didn't even have time to guess twice before he shoved his fingers into your mouth with a firm "Suck."

You held yourself back from laughing when you got your answer immediately, this guy was pissed as fuck. You decided to comply anyways, sucking on his fingers and making sure to bite them lightly as you pulled back.

"Sweetheart, did nobody teach you to not play with fire?" His hand wandered down to thrust his fingers roughing into you, his other hand gripping onto your chin to muffle your noises with a kiss.

This fucking bastard didn't even give you a warning before he turned you into puddy over his fingers, you bit onto the bottom of his lips, but instead of him pulling away, he continued on, ignoring the way you clawed onto his back as if you were trying to murder him.

Your hands reach up to try and remove your blindfold out of annoyance, leading to his hand snapping up to hold your wrists together, the other one pulling out of you to unbuckle his belt. "Good boys don't disobey their orders, sweetheart." He chuckled half-heartedly.

That scratched you in the worst way possible, but before you could even react, he thrust the tip of his dick into you, stealing all the air out of your lungs. "Fucking! Ugh- Warn me!" Your nails dug onto your palm, you felt like all your body strength just disappeared into thin air.

You didn't even have time to complain about it after he thrusted fully into you, huffing at the sight of your body shaking like a leaf under him. It was adorable how your attitude went away as soon as he entered, but to be fair, you would probably be more horrified when you realized his dick made a small bump on your stomach.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" He chuckled, placing a kiss on your forehead as he started moving at a fairly gentle pace. He freed your wrists to grip onto your hips, leaning forward to place comforting kisses on your neck. "Come on, let me hear those beautiful noises of yours, sweetheart."

You bit the bottom of your lip to the point of drawing blood, your hands gripping onto the bedsheets underneath to the point of your knuckles turning white. Despite your efforts, some small muffled noises still managed to escape your throat, which was enough for him to speed up his ravage with a satisfied grin.

"You're truly so, so adorable, sweetheart." He groaned, hugging you and burying his face into your collarbone. Your hand moved to grip onto his hair to try and push him away, but it barely felt like anything to him due to the lack of strength in your body. Your antics didn't last long anyways, you were already a cock-drunk moaning mess under him, and at this point, he thinks he likes you better this way.

Those thoughts made him bite your neck roughly as he threw away all self control he had, prioritizing on chasing his own pleasure instead. You wouldn't have complained if you didn't get overstimulated from that, you already came a few moments beforehand, and he didn't even give you a break from abusing your sweet spot even more.

You couldn't be bothered to try and stay quiet when you felt like you would break under him. As a warm feeling filled your stomach, you felt lightheaded as you closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down from the climax.

He pulled you into a hug, his hand patting you on the back of your head as he pulled out and rested you on your side. Before you drifted off to sleep, you felt a kiss on your cheek as he muttered something you couldn't make out.

A/N: This was supposed to be wolf X reader but I felt like writing some dilfs today, wondering if I should start writing more dilfs...

[omgfangirlland]

I'm going to need all of you to hear me out on what I'm about to spew, but I have yandere!batfam brain rot, and I just came across Yan!girldad!nolan grayson.

HEAR ME OUT!

Putting a page break here cuz idk how long this will be-

So- the usual neglected batsis that as a youngster craved the attention of her fam, but after being brushed away, after being ignored, after being straight up forgotten about, says fuck it, y'all aren't worth my love, I'll use the Wayne money to do as I please.

So she does. She uses the monthly allowance that is on auto pay straight to her card to do arts, to paint her heart away, to draw and play video games, to fund and pay off anything from homeless shelters to medical bills, trying to make a dent into the Wayne fortune both in selfish and non-selfish ways. She's basically a petty tween.

But then she wakes up with powers. She thinks she's a meta- batman doesn't like metas, that's what she thinks, she doesn't know Bruce doesn't want metas in Gotham due to Gotham being ground zero for meta trafficking. Boom, panic.

I think she has powers like flying, super strength, and like immediate healing if not "iron skin" like Superman. So she wakes because she hits the ceiling due to flying while asleep. She panics, falls, maybe breaks something, nobody comes to check on her-

Now, she always has toyed with the idea of leaving, but this? THIS? Breaking point, she packs necessities and the Wayne card and says bye-bye Gotham, good morning... Chicago? NYC? Idk, whichever place Omni man lives in ig.

The batfam, of course, doesn't notice. In this universe, I think even Alfred won't have been paying that much attention to batsis, man's too busy. So what if one day he does his rounds, cleaning, opens a door he hasn't been in a while.

The room is dusty. Dusty beyond hell, and one singular photo of batsis at like a kindergarten graduation makes him drop everything, including his heart. Old man goes feral, absolutely crazy, because where the fuck is this kid, this little baby, that he went and picked up because Bruce couldn't be bothered.

The batfam goes crazy too. In the mean time-

Batsis is, surprisingly, living her best life. Initially, she planned on getting an under the table job- clean a bar, babysit, be the errand girl of some shady drag dealer, etc. But Nolan sees her while she tries to get her powers under control, shakily flying, accidentally blowing to pieces a tree as she leans against it.

Omni-man as he lurks in the shadows: Debbie would love a daughter. I would love a daughter.

Batsis would call it kidnapping, Nolan calls it adopting without extra steps. Debbie takes one look at this shaken kid and immediately goes mama mode while reprimanding Nolan about taking a kid off the streets and not warning her so she could prepare better.

Mark? It takes about 2 hours before he realizes that they can be training buddies and that they have similar taste in some things. That's his baby sister. No arguments, just baby sis. Batsis? Much like a hungry, cold cat, she accepts her fate. It does feel nice to finally have some attention on her.

So she trains with Nolan and Mark, gets great, becomes a reluctant superhero, deliberately ignores Nolan's rants about her becoming such a great warrior, his little girl on the way of becoming the greatest conquror. Gothamite batsis just shrugs it off as just a Thursday.

Back with the batfam, pure chaos. Everyone is in shambles. How could they forget about a whole kid? Their siblings, Bruce's youngest daughter. Guilt is slowly turning into madness, and madness is slowly turning into a need to prove they can be better, that they weren't deliberately overlooking an innocent child because of personal pettiness, they were just distracted but now they'll right their wrongs.

Bonus p1:

Superman finally meeting batsis: What do you mean you're Bruce's kid? 😃 What do you mean you're a meta and instead of coming to uncle Clark you go and get adopted by murderous Omni-man? 🙂 What do you mean you kinda approve of him killing his enemies? 🫠

Batsis just wants Joker to die.

Bonus pt2:

Dick: What do you mean she's calling that other Grayson boy big brother? 😀

Damien: What do you mean I have another sibling? What do you mean she's calling that purple alien bastard her little brother?! I blame you, father.

Bonus pt3:

John Constantine: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GAVE ONE OF BATMAN'S KIDS IMMORTALITY AND MAGICAL POWERS?

The deity/entity batsis has been depicting in her paintings for years: *shrugs* I was bored, my little priestess was sad, she's not anymore 🤷

That's the plot twist, batsis is actually magical, but her powers work the way they do because that's the only way she knows how to fight with them. Magic isn't on her thought as a possibility, even if she was into the occult.

Cue John drinking for 3 days straight before having the courage(or will) to go to the Bat.

[specsthesecond]

Western monsters! Yeehaw!!

ᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒᨒ

🤠 Orc cowboy with a massive steed almost twice the size of a normal horse. He finds it funny how scared you are of the absolute beast so he all but forces you to get on its back and teaches you how to ride it. You're terrified at first but your attitude quickly changes when he settles behind you, placing his hands over yours on the reins, pressing up close and talking low in your ear in that rich southern drawl.

🐍 Outlaw rattlesnake naga who kidnaps you to do the whole tie you to the train tracks bit but halts in their tracks (haha) when they lick the air and taste...arousal? Perhaps the innocent victim they have over their shoulder isn't so innocent after all.

🐎 Centaur who offers a ride to a poor frantic human only to realise he's been tricked into being the getaway horse for a bandit when the sherrif starts chasing and yelling after them. He easily outruns the Sherrif's horse but now has to deal with being on the run with a theif! A cute thief but still a thief!

🐮 Sneeking into a barn just to have a warm place to sleep for the night only to wake up surrounded by curious cow hybrids. They start pampering and coddling you because you must be so scared and lost, you poor thing. The ranger doesn't take kindly to finding you in a cuddle pile, drinking his prized milk from the source while getting fondled and licked by his prized cows.

🐊 Crocodile hybrid Sherrif who becomes quite fond of the new outlaw in his town. Every time you outsmart him and get away it just makes his dick harder and his heart beat faster. When he finally catches you, after one hell of a chase, he doesn't drag you to the jailhouse but instead to his home. He's rambling on about how someone so cunning and resourceful would be the perfect mate and how he'll breed you full of his eggs to prove it to you.

[tojisun]

you’ve just given me a thought

Reader sitting on Johnnys face with Simon fucking him. Johnnys pushing reader down harder on his face, all pussy drunk, smothered in her and it gets to a point where Simon has to physically pull reader off of Johnny just to let him breath because he wasn’t gonna do it himself and certainly wasn’t going to let reader go. He’s all flushed and breathing heavy getting air back in his lungs, face covered in squirt 🫣

oh lord i may have died and ascended-

and the way johnny’s got a vice grip on your thighs or on the dip of your hips, pushing you down on his face, either to muffle his moans on the hot press of your skin because simon’s fucking him so good, hitting his prostate so well, or to lick up at your pussy because it is so wet and warm, and your slick is so delicious, he can’t help but gulp it down because he wants more—

“joh-nny,” you hiccup, his name slipping from your gritted teeth in a slurred hiss. “stop! stop, please!”

it’s too much, too fast, and johnny’s frantic movements are only making you anxious. you can’t even feel his breath against your cunt anymore, and you tremble, wide-eyed as the cold wash of worry mixes with your desires.

you fist at his hair, trying to pry him off your cunt so you can get to your knees for a second, but your squirming just makes johnny grip your body harder. he digs his tongue in deeper, and you let out a drawled-out whine at the drag of his nose against your hardened clit.

“simon!” you sob, your breaths hitching as you tremble. “make’im stop! simon, make’im—”

“fuckin’ hell,” simon murmurs, breathless himself, his voice a rich timbre from somewhere close behind you. you feel his arms wrap around your chest before he pulls you towards him.

you lazily topple off johnny’s face and into simon’s space, your back pressed flush against his chest. you tip your head down, feeling the way simon does the same, and you two watch as johnny catches his breath.

he is flushed oh-so beautifully, his nose all flared as he gulps down air. his face is wet, messy with your slick, and you watch, with a silent gasp, johnny poke his tongue out to lave at his glistening lips, tasting the remnants of your euphoria.

you jump when you feel simon buck his body forward, jostling you and johnny together. johnny hisses, his face crumpling in his pleasure, and—

“oh,” you say, reaching down to stuff yourself with your fingers. “si, do tha’ again, please?”

simon hooks his chin on your shoulder, grunting in his own bliss when he pulls out, slow like he is deliberate in teasing johnny, only to punch his cock back in johnny. you three share a moan.