One order of fucked up please

[mirumonster]

Please read before interacting! This is important info about my blog and it's contents so you won't get surprised.

INFO

This blog focuses on fictional unhealthy relationships and NSFW. No one here is ok and that's just fine. Content warnings include, but are not limited to: Yanderes, non-consensual sex, abuse & stalking. Each post will feature content warnings in the tags so you should be able to avoid what you don't want to see. I can also add content warnings as needed and requested. I'd rather overtag just in case!

Minors please don't interact! This blog is intended for adults! If I realise anyone interacting with my posts is a minor I'll block them!

English isn't my first language so there might be mistakes I miss or things might be worded weirdly

Feel free to send asks about my characters or characters from listed fandoms! I focus on writing female reader almost exclusively.

All characters are assumed to be +18

I'm open to criticism and polite discussion about darker themes in my writing. Though 90% of the time the answers will not be eloquent and can be boiled down to "it's a kink." If I feel like you might be rude just for the sake of being rude I will not answer.

Fandoms you can request from:

Anything tagged with #plot bunny is free real estate! I'd be super honoured to know if you got inspired by any of my writing!

Consider checking out my ao3 to see my more polished works!

Baldur's Gate 3, Dragon Age (games 1-3), Fire Emblem Three Houses, Riverdale

[ginger-commander-is-tired]

I ran some fractals and encountered some incredibly mature sense of humor. Michael was impressed.

The actual screenshot

We waited for another player to come back and they guy decided it was a perfect time to say this.

[rawme-price]

Thinking about alpha!ghost who never really learned to control his scent, and reader who's nose doesn't work right after an injury.

Which, of course, means you and ghost get along well.

You don't really understand why people tend to avoid ghost, probably something to do with the scents you'll never be able to pick up. Kyle says he just smells 'aggressive'. People give him space in response to social cues you don't recognize.

"Oh! Hi, simon!" You perk up when ghost finds you in the recroom. You scoot over so he can sit next to you, and tilt your head up so he can rub his wrist into your neck. "How was the briefing? Anything interesting?"

You pointedly ignore the looks people throw ghost. You're aware he can't control his scent, something many people love to complain about. Sure, it's probably rude to be broadcasting 'fuck off' constantly, but you don't think it warrants the grimaces and people leaving a room because of him.

You never stopped to consider he was smelling like anything other than aggressive until price pulled you aside.

"Look, kid, I know it doesn't bother you," price rubs a hand over his face, looking oddly uncomfortable "but you need to stop encouraging ghost. It's inappropriate."

"What?" You ask, genuinely confused. "What am I encouraging?? I'm not allowed to be friends with him??"

"No, you're not allowed to get him going." Price huffs. He narrows his eyes at you, silent for a moment, before letting out a pained sigh "bloody hell, kid. You do know he's been courting you, right?"

"...what." no fucking way.

"Yes. And he reeks of horny alpha all. The. Damn. Time." Price looks at you pointedly, as if this is your fault "it's not exactly pleasant for everyone else on base."

"Oh...oh gosh." You bury your face in your hands, replaying all the times you glared back at people, assuming they were just being mean. "Oh my god."

Price just stands, leads you back out of his office "i think you and ghost should have a chat."

"Yeah...yeah we should." You agree.

...you should probably take him somewhere off base before that chat. Yknow, to spare the others ghosts scent when you accept his courting.

[yanderedrabbles]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

Gross yandere big brother who loves nothing more than watching his OnlyFans model sister getting railed. Until the day he decides jerking off isn't enough, and it's about time he got to taste the real thing. Tags: male yandere x fem reader, incest, impact play, masturbation, noncon implications, degradation, gross and shamelessly perverted yandere/unsuspecting reader, 6.9k words

You're one of those faceless porno creators that are a dime a dozen. Just a broke college kid trying to make a little extra cash by posting short videos of you fucking yourself silly. 

You've got a great body, but so does everyone else on the site. There's nothing particularly special about you, so your big bro isn't entirely sure why he decides to subscribe to you. 

The first time he watches you, all he feels is a dull spark of recognition. Are you a mutual friend, maybe? A one night stand? Your profile shows that you're both from the same city, so it isn't that much of a stretch to assume he's bumped into you at some point. 

As he unbuckles his belt, he can't help but smirk at the sounds you make. You don’t talk, but you don't need to. You're trying to stuff a massive purple dildo into a pussy too tight for it, and every gasp and bitten off moan is deliciously authentic.  

He comes to the sight of your toy turning creamy white as you fuck yourself with it. God, you're a cute little thing, aren’t you? Trying so hard to play with the big toys when you're clearly out of your depth. Squirming and panting, wriggling your hips like that will ease the stretch. He bets he could split you over his cock and get the same reaction out of you. 

He tips you generously, because he might be a filthy perv but he likes to think he's a gentleman too. 

The next time he's in the mood to rub one out, he finds himself navigating to your profile out of pure instinct. You've posted a brand new video, a cute little striptease that ends with you stuffing three fingers into yourself and moaning into your pillow. You're a sensitive mess of a girl, and there's no way you're faking the shake in your thighs when you touch yourself. He comes hard, his head tossed back against the headboard and his eyes narrowed. 

Who the hell are you anyway? He just can't shake that sense of familiarity. Looking at your body, he can't imagine you were just a one night stand. He sure as shit would have remembered a pussy like that. 

A barista maybe. Or an old classmate. 

If only you would talk. That would probably put him at ease. A voice is much easier to recognise than a moan. When he shuts his laptop, the memory of you is still echoing in his head. 

It doesn't take long for you to become his go-to girl. He learns a hell of a lot about you — you're pretty sensitive around your nipples, and you come almost instantly when you pinch your clit. It gets to the point where he could probably make you squirt from muscle memory alone, that's how well he knows you. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he mutters around his cigarette, smoke curling between his teeth. His hair is messy from jerking off and he brushes it back absentmindedly. “C'mon doll, just give me a hint.”

You don't. Your dorm room is pretty but generic, and your camera angles never show the view through your windows, or anything else recognisable. 

He isn’t sure why he's so obsessed with figuring you out. He's never really cared much in the past — faceless girls are prettier when they're a mystery anyway.

Maybe it's the nagging part of his brain that insists he knows you somehow. Or maybe it's just the sick, dangerous part of him that wants you to reshoot all your videos using his dick instead. 

Either way, he can't get you out of his head. You're his dream girl, now that he thinks about it. Your tits, your moan, everything about you is just fucking perfect. You're real. In the way most other porno girls aren't. And that makes you almost attainable. 

He doesn't mean to be a creep, honest. But he'd treat you so good if you gave him a chance. Who could possibly know you better than the man who's watched you come dozens of times? All you gotta do is give him a chance, doll. Just one little hint. 

His patience pays off eventually. And by God, he wishes it never did. 

Your latest video starts off as they all do. You're spread out on your sheets, your latest lingerie on full display. Today, it's a pretty pastel blue set that looks absolutely delicious with your skin tone, one bra strap already slipping off your shoulder. 

He rubs himself through his jeans, his cock stiffening up even though he's barely a minute in. Fucking hell, you look amazing. 

What will it be today, doll? Sex machine? Monster dildo? Nipple clamps? Your appetite is practically insatiable these days. 

You tap at something nearby and he straightens up. A mic, one of those podcast ones all the hottest models use for their jerk off instruction videos. Is this it? After months of lurking and praying, is he finally going to hear your voice?

“I thought I would do something special today,” you start off, “to thank you all for watching me. I've been a naughty girl and I think you—”

He slams his laptop shut. 

No way. No fucking way. 

Your voice is low and sultry, but there's no disguising it. 

You're his fucking sister. 

Okay, deep breaths. It's probably a mistake. Mics can be deceiving, and yours is brand new. It's probably just sound distortion. 

Besides, his prim and proper sister is away at college and working part time as an assistant. There's no way the girl who barely even dated in high school is spreading her legs on the internet. No way. 

It's all just a big misunderstanding. No need to freak out. 

He opens his laptop carefully. The video immediately continues where it left off. 

“—you should punish me for it. I know I said I wasn't ready to take the next step, but there's only one punishment for a dirty, needy slut like me. You need to bend me over your knee and spank me ‘til I learn my place.”

He pauses the video. Everything is dulled and slow, like he's underwater. He knows people can sometimes sound alike, but this is too fucking weird. 

Maybe there's something he's missing. You wear wigs pretty often in your videos, so he doesn't know your natural hair colour. But there's got to be something that gives you away. 

He looks around your room. A silky white bedspread, some plants on the nightstand, a poster for an indie band he's never heard of…and a shelf of plushies. 

He's noticed them a few times before and never really given it much thought. Plenty of girls collect them. 

He grabs his phone and punches in your number without once looking away from the computer. 

It rings for a solid minute before you answer, your voice bleary from being woken up. 

“Hey, big bro. What's up?”

He swallows hard. “Hey…funny thing. I was browsing that collectibles website you like and I saw they had a bunch of new releases.”

“Hmm? That's nice. I guess I'll check it out later.”

“No, that's not why I'm calling. It's, like, a limited release. So I wanted to grab you something while they're still in stock. I'm going to run down the list and you tell me what you own already, ‘kay?”

“You really don't have to—” 

“Do you have the weird looking blue one?”

“Cinnabun? Yeah, I have him.”

“And the reddish pink one with the horns?”

“Balthazar. Yep, I've got him too.”

“Purple one that looks kind of like a turtle?”

“He's a tortoise, thank you very much. And he was limited edition.”

“Got it. And they're pretty common, right?”

“Excuse you? My collection is all first gen. I'd like to see someone with the exact same ones.”

“God, sis, you're unbelievable. By the way, is that orchid I sent you holding up okay?”

“Yeah, actually. I keep it in my room.”

“Right, right. Just checking. Sorry to wake you.”

“It's fine.” You yawn. “Miss you, big bro.”

“Miss you too, pipsqueak. See you soon, yeah?”

After he hangs up, he sets his phone down carefully. He stares at the screen until his eyes burn. There's your collection of plushies — first gen and hard to come by. There's the plant he bought you for your first semester. And there's you, in nothing but a pair of sheer lace panties. 

The realisation comes slowly, like his brain doesn't want to acknowledge what he already knows. 

He's been jerking off to his little sister for months. 

No. No. What kind of perverted joke is this? Is God laughing at him right now? This is fucking sick. 

He presses play on the video out of sheer twisted curiosity. Now that he knows it's you, he can see the resemblance. Your skin tone, your approximate height and weight. Fucking hell, how was he so blind?

You're running your fingers down your sides, teasing him as you talk. He's too zoned out to pay attention to what you're actually saying. It's only when you pick up a spanking paddle from the nightstand that he snaps to attention. 

Oh, this is new.

He watches as you bend over a little — just enough to spread the plush of your ass — before reaching back and giving yourself a light tap with the paddle. You hiss through your teeth. 

What's wrong, sis? More sensitive than you realised?

He should turn the video off. That's what any normal person would do after seeing their sibling in such a sexual, compromising position. But he can’t. 

It's like looking at a car crash. That innate curiosity to know, even if the things you see are terrible and twisted. 

You spank yourself again, a little harder this time. The flesh of your ass jiggles from the impact.

Feeling brave, sis? I could spank you red and bruised if you wanted me to. 

God, that's a twisted thought. But not an entirely unpleasant one. He can picture it so clearly — you looking at him over your shoulder, your lips pouty and slick, begging him to please go easy, big bro, it hurts.

Okay, some wires are getting crossed. His stupid, horny cock doesn’t know the difference between family and strangers. He should just log off and try to forget about it. Fuck, he should probably delete his whole account after this. 

You spank yourself again, four or five hits in direct succession. You gasp after each one, like you're trying to ignore the impact. You're not shy about using your new mic to its full potential either. He can hear every soft, whispered please as the paddle comes down. 

This is the hottest you've ever looked. Your page has always been a little masochistic, but seeing you fully embracing it is a ridiculously hot turn on. 

He hates to admit it, but maybe he's always had a little bit of a thing for you. When you were still living together before he left for college, you used to make breakfast in nothing but your pyjama shorts and tank top. Tiny, silky things meant for hot summer nights. Didn't he find any excuse to skip breakfast so he wouldn't have to look at you? He never acknowledged it, not even to himself, but his cock used to chub up at the sight of you. 

Is it any surprise that you've been getting him off so easy?

He groans and runs a hand through his hair. What is wrong with him? And even worse, why the fuck does he still have a hard on?

He shifts in his chair, hissing as his dick rubs against the coarse denim of his jeans. He isn't thinking clearly. The best thing right now would be to rub one out and then get back to fixing this mess. Not to you, of course. That would be beyond weird.

He looks back at the screen after you yelp particularly loudly. There's a dark spot on your panties where your dampness has started to seep through, and your ass cheeks are bright with colour. You're really turned on by this, aren't you? Little pervert. 

You know, you've acted out some pretty risque fantasies on your channel. Who's to say that you wouldn't get a little thrill knowing your big bro is watching?

He shifts again, palming his cock through his jeans. He's already jerked off to you before — and it's totally fucked, true — so would one more time really make a difference? It's not like he can undo any of this. He might as well take care of his boner while you're on screen. Really get his money's worth before he cancels the subscription. 

Besides, he's got way too much to think about already. It's best to clear his head and you've always been a fucking champ at making that happen. 

The sound of his belt coming undone is damning. If he were a poetic man, he would say it was the sound of his integrity crumbling. As it is, he's too focused on the curve of your hips to say much at all. 

He fists his cock roughly, not bothering to lube up. Just a few pulls is all it ought to take. He's fucking rock hard already, and no wonder. Look at you, rubbing the edge of the padel against your panties. Bet you want a little relief, huh? Want someone to ease that itch deep inside you? 

“C'mon, sis,” he mutters, his Adam's apple bobbing hard when he swallows. “Just fuck yourself already. You know you want it.”

He would give anything to run a hand over your ass right now. You'd probably be burning hot, and extra sensitive. You'd probably yelp when he squeezed you. 

Go easy, big bro. Your hands are too big. 

He huffs out a laugh. “That's what you get for being such a fucking brat, sis. Learnt your lesson yet?”

Yes! Yes, I'll be good. Just fuck me already. Please, big bro, I need you. 

He grunts and tugs at his dick a little faster. His balls have never felt so damn full in his life. Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? 

“You gonna take my come, sis? Gonna drink it all up?”

I'm sorry for making you mad. Please can I have your come? Pretty please?

On screen, you're on your knees and easing yourself down onto a cock almost as thick as his forearm. You look cute like that, but God, you'd look even better on his lap. Sitting with your knees on either side of him, your face buried in his neck…He'd be holding onto your ass and rubbing a thumb over the welts the paddle left behind. Maybe he'd squeeze you real hard if you didn't take his cock inside you fast enough. 

“Don't worry, babe,” he grunts, “I'll go slow the first time. ‘Cause I care about you.”

You moan, your back arched and your nipples poking forward. That's the image he comes to — his own sister, with a cock deep inside her. 

He snarls at you, suddenly angry. His come is trickling across his knuckles and he doesn't want to dwell on the sudden shame burning in his chest. 

Fucking slut. Bet you wanted him to see you, huh? You could've blocked any IP addresses from your city, but you didn’t. You wanted this. Sick little freak. 

The light from the monitor reflects off the dewy sweat clinging to his collarbones. When he spreads his fingers, his cum stretches in milky thin strands. 

He glares at the screen. “See the mess you made? Fucking brat.”

He leaves his belt unbuckled and stands. His shoulders ache from the tension and he rolls them out slowly. A nice cold beer is exactly what he needs right now. Something to dull the ugly, guilty thoughts crawling through his mind. 

When he gets back from the kitchen, your video is nearly over. He takes a long sip as he watches you winding down. Your cunt is a drooling mess, and your dildo isn't much better off. 

He leans down to log off but his fingers hover over the keys. It's not fair that you're getting away with this. Not fair that you get to go about unscathed while he's mired in lechery and guilt. You should have known better. His parents didn't raise a whore.

He finds himself typing out a message to you before he can stop himself. 

I know exactly who you are, slut. When the semester is over, I'm coming for you.

He adds in your full address and legal name too. That ought to scare you. Maybe you'll even delete your account and he won't have to wrestle with himself about blocking you. 

He's teaching you a lesson about internet safety, like the good big brother he is. And if he can scare you enough that you come home early from college? Well, that's just a bonus. 

When you call him the next morning, he can’t fully hide his smile. 

“What's up, pipsqueak?”

“Umm…nothing much. This might be random, but do you mind if I crash at your place for a few days?” You can't hide the tremor in your voice. 

He pushes his hair out of his face and makes a show of contemplating. 

“Yeah, I've still got a spare room if you need it. Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer too quickly, “Just having an issue with my new place. I think I'll need to move out soon.”

“Aww, that sucks. I can pick you up at around ten?”

“It's fine. It's…better if I take the bus.”

What's wrong, sis, worried about a stalker?

“If that's what you want. Need my help packing?”

“No. Umm, no thanks. I know you're busy today. I'll see you later this afternoon?”

“Sure.” He pauses, weighing the odds. “You'll tell me if you're in trouble, right? That's what I'm here for, pipsqueak. I'll make everything all better.”

You pull in a shaky breath, and he can almost see you trying to hold yourself together long enough to finish the call. 

“I'm okay, big bro. Promise.”

After you hang up, he pulls up your page on his phone. Seems you haven’t blocked him yet. Does the site not have a feature for that?

He tells himself that it's good you're coming over. It will give him a chance to clear the air. Prove to himself that last night — jerking off to you even after figuring out who you are — was just a lapse in judgement. 

He's not some sick freak. Anyone would do the same thing in his position. Jerking off to you for months probably gave him some kind of Pavlovian response. It's not weird, it's just biology. 

And now that he knows the truth, everything will go back to normal. 

…Right?

You show up right on time, a small duffle slung over your shoulder. You look tired, but much less nervous than he expected. Being away from your apparently doxxed apartment must be a relief. 

You hug him before he's even done greeting you. You're still shorter than him — no surprise there — and your head comes up to around his collarbone. 

“Long time no see, sis.” 

He buries his nose in your hair. You smell like strawberry shampoo and cotton candy. Some sick part of him wants nothing more than to take a bite. 

“Hey, big bro. Missed you.”

He pulls away and ruffles your hair. “I know you did, pipsqueak.”

You swat at him, frowning. “Don’t touch the hair mister, I just got it done.”

“What? Don’t like me messing with you?” He tugs at the hem of your shirt. “You'd better stop me then.”

“Ugh, you are soooo annoying.”

“But you still love me. C’mon, I ordered your favourite.”

You trail after him towards the kitchen, your heels clicking softly against the floor. Why the hell are you wearing heels and a skirt anyway? You used to be a sweats and hoody kind of girl. Don’t you know how many men are probably drooling over you in the streets? It's not safe to go around looking like that. 

“How was the ride over?” he asks.

You shrug. “Fine. Guess I’m just a bit jumpy lately.”

He watches from the corner of his eye as you lean against the kitchen counter and cross your arms. There’s a pucker between your brows and he has to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing your frown. 

“Happens to the best of us, kiddo. Living on your own getting to you?”

“Maybe. Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.” You half heartedly poke his arm. “When did you have the time to put on so much muscle anyway?” 

“Oh, this?” He flexes his bicep, his shirt going taught. “Must have picked it up at some point.”

“Yeah, right. Meat head.”

He ignores you and gets started on warming the food. He watches you in the microwave mirror. 

“So, how has the semester been so far? Meet anyone special?” he asks. 

“Mmm, it's been fine. Rough towards the middle, but I pulled through.”

Yeah, you weren't posting or camming much for a couple of weeks. He remembers that part of the year clear as day, because it was like his own personal version of No Nut November. Fucking hellish. 

“And I did sort of…kind of meet someone,” you continue. 

He focuses on setting out the food to hide his surprise. When the fuck did you get into a relationship? Does the bastard know about your dirty little secret?

“Is it serious?”

“Maybe. I don't know. But I really like him.”

Are you insane? Do you know how many creeps there are on college campuses? This guy could be some sick fuck waiting for a chance to spike your drink. Really, does he have to do all the thinking for you?

“Am I going to meet the lucky guy anytime soon?” he asks casually.

Meet him and gouge his fucking eyes out more like.

“Not a chance! You always scare them off. Remember my senior year prom date?”

He snorts. “That little weasel? You were way too good for him and you know it, babe.”

“You almost broke his jaw.”

“He should have had a tougher jaw then.”

You stifle a giggle and slip into a chair. “You’re a menace, bro.”

He brushes his shoulder against yours when he sets your food down. “Just looking out for you, pipsqueak.”

See? He’s being perfectly normal about this whole thing. Jerking off to you was a little lapse in judgement and nothing more. There have probably been plenty of awkward coincidences like that before in the porn industry. He’s handling it in a really mature way.

And look at you — you’re way more relaxed than you were this morning. So it’s all working out fine.

After supper, he leaves you to unpack and shower. When he hears the water turning on, he forces himself to go out and take a slow walk around the block. Perfectly normal. Perfectly well balanced. Not at all a perv.

…Okay, so maybe he might have thought of peeking in on you. But that’s just natural curiosity! Can you really blame a guy for wondering if the real thing is as good as the videos?

He didn’t act on it though, and that’s the important part.

When he gets home, the bathroom is steamed up and the smell of your body wash is thick in the air. You’re sitting on his couch in a loose white t-shirt, your hair still damp.

He grunts when you greet him, and mutters some excuse about finishing a work project. Why the fuck is your t-shirt so thin? He can see your nipples pressing against the fabric, beaded hard from the air conditioning.  

God, why do you have to make this so hard? Do you have no self-awareness? Sure, he’s your brother, but he’s still a man. You should know that there are biological reactions that he just can’t control. 

He locks his bedroom door behind him and kicks off his shoes with a huff. Have you posted anything new on your page since you came over? He should check. Afterall, he’s got to make sure you’ve learned your lesson about stranger danger.

He pulls up your page and then instantly freezes in place.

You little slut. You ungrateful, stubborn bitch.

If it were only a new video up on your page, maybe he wouldn’t be so mad. But no. You had to go and film yourself in his fucking shower. 

You’re standing with your back against the wall, your tits covered in soap and lather, as you rub rough circles against your clit. He can’t hear you over the sound of the water, but he doesn’t need to. He can imagine it pretty damn clearly.

What is wrong with you? And after he spent all that time agonising over peeking in on you. Turns out he shouldn’t have bothered, because you’re all too happy to take his fantasies and make them a reality. 

Also, his fucking water bill! So what if he has a pretty decent job? You don’t fuck yourself for twenty minutes under constantly running water when you’re a guest. 

This is even worse than he thought. You’re clearly some kind of nympho. What kind of little freak fucks themselves in their brother's shower? You probably wanted him to catch you. Insatiable thing.

Oh, and look at the caption you posted. 

LOVING my new shower!! Plenty of room in here for two ;)

You’re incorrigible. You need someone to teach you a lesson, right here and right now. He fingers his belt absently. A few good, hard spanks ought to do it. And nothing like that wimpy little spanking you gave yourself the other day. No. This time, you won’t be able to sit for days.

You laugh at something out in the lounge and he shakes himself back into the present. God, what is he thinking? It’s always been this way with you. Like there’s some switch in his head that only you can flip.

Like the time he punched your prom date. The guy didn’t even do anything wrong. All he remembers is seeing the kid put an arm around your waist and then he was on the floor, his nose all bloody and his jaw half broken. He doesn’t even remember throwing the punch.

It must be a big brother’s natural instinct, right? You’re his baby sister. Of course he’s going to be a little irrational about things when it comes to you.

The key thing is to just keep it all under control. So you fucked yourself in his shower. No big deal. It’s fine. He’ll just go to bed and everything will be fine in the morning.

Everything is not fine in the morning. 

It’s laundry day and you’re still fast asleep in his guest room. That isn’t the issue. The issue is your fucking underwear.

He should have noticed yesterday’s clothes in the hamper, but it’s only when he’s unloading it all into the machine that he realises he’s holding your panties.

They’re one of your everyday pairs — not the lacy, barely-there thongs you wear in your videos. But it’s still got him frozen on his knees in front of the washing machine, his eyes bugging out of his skull. 

What the fuck? What. The. Fuck.

The crotch is stained with your discharge, and he rubs his thumb across it without thinking. This was between your legs all day yesterday. This is you.

He brings his thumb to his tongue slowly. You taste just a little salty, but it’s too old for him to catch much more than that. What do you taste like right now? Are you sweet and salty from sleep? Or a little bitter, enough to make his tongue buzz? 

He could find out for himself.

You’re just one room over, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him for long. Hell, you’re probably just as curious about him. Who knows, you might not even wake up when he touches you. It wouldn’t be that terrible to satiate his curiosity, would it? 

He slams the washing machine shut much harder than he needs to. 

Hey, Doc. The filthy, intrusive, possibly illegal thoughts are back again.

He needs to clear his head. He’ll go for a run maybe, and then he’ll get breakfast and try his hardest to be a normal human being for the rest of the day. Totally manageable.

Oh, and he’s going to stop wondering what his sister tastes like. That too.

He gets back from his run right around the time you’re making breakfast for yourself. You’re in the shirt from last night, the outline of your tits just visible through the fabric, and when he looks down he realises your thighs are almost totally exposed.

“You’re up early, bro.” 

“Had some chores.”

You run an eye over him — did he imagine the way you lingered on his low-slung sweats? — and shrug. 

“Made breakfast if you want some. But you might want to shower first.”

He grins. “Why? You think I’m sweaty?”

“I can see it.”

“Oh, yeah? Come and have a better look.”

You shriek when he grabs you, but you’ve backed yourself into a corner and it’s all too easy to pin you against the kitchen cupboards. He rubs his face against yours, laughing.

“Eewww! Get off, you’re getting your gross man-sweat all over me!”

“C’mon, sis. You fall for it everytime.”

“Mum! I’m going to tell mum about this.” You shove at his chest but he just doubles down, rubbing his hair across your neck.

When he finally stops laughing long enough to stand up straight, you make your move. You stand on your toes and lick his face all the way from his jaw to his temple.

“What the—” He scrubs at his face. “Oh, now you’re asking for it, you little brat.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“And I’m the gross one in this family?”

You’re giggling and still shoving at his chest when he realises how close you are. You’re practically pressed against him, your knee rubbing his inner thigh. His heart spikes into overdrive and he pushes himself away in a hurry.

You freeze up, looking startled. 

“I should grab a shower,” he mutters.

“Umm, yeah. Are you oka—”

“Fine. Just fine, sis. Keep breakfast warm for me, ‘kay?”

He’s gone before you can ask him any more questions.

He avoids you for the rest of the day. He tells you that work is being a total bitch and then locks himself in his room until his heart stops racing. 

Your body…he scrolls through your public promo page with his eyes narrowed. It's strange — having you pressed up against him felt exactly the way he always pictured it. He stops on a pic of you in a skimpy little bikini, posing in the sand at the local beach. He should have recognised you months ago. How didn't he?

Maybe it's fate. 

You've never been able to hold onto a boyfriend for long, and after watching you fuck yourself online for months it doesn't surprise him. You've got kinks and standards regular guys probably can't keep up with. Chances are, you haven’t been fucked properly in months, if ever. 

And the funny thing is, he's never been able to hold onto a girlfriend either. Oh, they can be pretty or funny or charming. But at the end of the day, they're always lacking some kind of spark. That it factor that makes a man want to drop to his knees and eat them out for hours. 

It's not their fault, not really. It's just that none of them were ever you. Now that he sees it, it's pretty fucking obvious. 

He's never been able to love a girl because no other girl is you. 

And if you're meant to be his, then it's only logical that he's yours too. Who else knows you as well as he does? Who's been there for you through every heart break? It's him. It's always been him. 

All he needs to do is convince you. 

You'll see his side of things eventually.  You'll have to. So what if it's a little taboo? The people condemning it aren't living through it, they don't feel how right it is. 

He's done trying to fight it. And who is he kidding? After this morning, it's clear he's not capable of that. 

The only question is how to tell. And as he scrolls through your feed, the answer is pretty fucking obvious. 

“Hey, sis?” He sticks his head out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. “Could you grab my toiletries bag from my room, please?”

“Sure, where is it?”

“Somewhere on my desk. Thanks, babe, you're a total lifesaver.”

You breeze past him and he waits until he hears you open the door to his room before he wraps a towel around his waist and follows you.

It takes you a while to notice his laptop, but it's pretty obvious when you do. You stiffen up, your hands flying to your mouth. You stare at the porno profile he has open — your profile — without blinking. 

“Sis?”

You whirl around, your expression absolutely mortified. He leans in the doorway, his face a perfect mask of concern. His hair is still damp from the shower and a few stray drops trickle down his chest. 

“What's wrong?”

“Your laptop…”

His eyes skip past you to his desk and he shrugs.

“What about it? That’s my favourite girl you're looking at.”

“I should go. Really, it was so nice to catch up but the bus leaves in like an hour and you know how bad the delays are and—”

He catches your shoulders when you try to walk past him, and gently pushes you back into the room. You're looking everywhere but at his face.

“Aww, don’t tell me you never pay for porn, sis. We're all adults here.”

You try to shrug him off but it's no use. “It's fine. I just need to go. Like right now.”

He laughs and squeezes your shoulders. “You said you were staying until you found a new place, right? Why the hurry?”

He really shouldn't keep drawing this out, but he'll be fucked if seeing you blushing and looking away isn’t absolutely delicious. He's been thinking about this moment for days, ever since it clicked in his head how perfect you are for him. Maybe it's mean to indulge himself like this but stopping is plain impossible. 

“I have a month before my lease can be broken, but I still have work to do and stuff. And my boss is a total nightmare. Really sorry, but you know how it is.”

Oh, you're lying to him. It’s fucking adorable. 

“I'm sure your boss will understand, babe.”

“No, no she won't. I need this job. I can't get caught slacking now. There’s spreadsheets and pitch decks and—”

“Babe.”

Your knees hit the edge of his bed and you sit down with a huff. His hands are still on your shoulders and he brings them a little closer to your neck, until his thumbs are near the hollow of your collar bones.

“C'mon, I told you when we were kids that you shouldn’t ever lie to your big brother. You've got a shit poker face.” 

You're looking up at him with your eyes all wide and scared. Is this what they mean by doe eyed? Because you sure as shit look like a deer in headlights right now. 

“What…” You swallow hard and try again. “What are you talking about?”

No point dragging it out now. 

“Sis, you and I both know you don't work as an assistant.” He drops his voice, his fingers digging into your shoulders for a brief second.  “And you and I both know it's your profile up on my laptop right now.”

God, he wishes he could take a picture of you. When he runs his thumb up your neck, he can feel your pulse racing.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of, sis,” he says kindly, “We all do dumb shit for quick cash. It's fine. And it's our little secret, right?”

“You won't tell anyone?” Your voice is small. 

He scoffs. “Of course not. Why the hell would I do that?”

You exhale slowly and he can feel the tension melting from your shoulders. Good. Better to get your guard down. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, not able to look at him at all. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

Fucking hell, his cock is rock hard. Seeing you so damn scared has all the blood rushing south whether he wants it to or not.

“There is one teensy tiny little issue though, sis.”

“What?” 

He leans down and brushes his lips across the shell of your ear. “You've gotten me all worked up. I've been jerking off to you for the better part of a year. Don't you think that's pretty fucking unfair?”

He doesn't give you time to think. He shoves you down onto your back and pins you to the bed by your shoulders. When he straddles your hips, you're too dazed to push him off. 

He knows exactly what you're feeling right now. Didn’t he feel the exact same way when he realised it was you he was jerking off to? That all consuming shock, like the world is suddenly a shitty dream. 

He has your shirt off before you come back to yourself. You push at his chest, your nails scraping his skin. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

There it is. The panic he's been waiting for. It sounds even better than he imagined. 

If you're the masochist, it only makes sense that he's the sadist. And after everything you've put him through? That panic is well earned. 

He doesn't bother answering you. He's already pulling at the hem of your skirt and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

You shriek when he brushes a thumb down the outside edge of your underwear. It's a cute, lacy little number. And he's sure he's seen you wear it before on cam. Well, well. Seems dreams do come true afterall. 

“Quit squirming, pipsqueak,” he grunts, one hand wrapping tight around your throat. “I've been studying you for months. This is going to feel fucking amazing.”

“This isn’t funny! Get off me.”

“No can do, sis.” 

He shifts forward and rubs his bulge against your panties. He groans low in his throat before he does it again. 

“You think you can just go off to college and meet some guy and fall in love?” he grinds out. “Not happening. You're mine, babe. All mine.”

He squeezes your throat when you try to push him off again. You gasp and go still, your hands shaking. 

“You don’t understand, sis. I was pretty fucking freaked out when I realised you were the girl I was getting off to. But then I had some time to think about it and I realised that you and I? We're perfect for each other.”

He reaches down and loosens his towel, sighing when his cock spills out. It's a veiny, bulbous thing, the head an angry blush red. Your eyes go wide when you see it and he can't hide his smirk. 

“Just your size, isn’t it, sis?” He taps the tip against your underwear, the precum soaking in and leaving a penny shaped patch of damp behind. You shudder at the feel of it. 

“See, you might not want this now. But you're staying with me for a long, long time. And when I'm done with you? Well, you'll be seeing things my way.”

“You're sick.”

He laughs and then dips his head to your jaw. Tenacious little brat, aren’t you? He drags his tongue up the side of your face. Your tears taste like ambrosia. 

“You're the one posting yourself naked on the internet for anyone with ten dollars to see. Not my fault I stumbled on your profile.”

“I'll tell mum.”

“Sure you will. How are you gonna start that conversion, hmm? ‘Sorry ma, but I've been fucking myself live on cam for months?’ You don't have the guts, pipsqueak.”

He ruts his cock against you again, his jaw clenching tight. “You try to tell anyone and I'll fuck your tight little ass next. You've been wanting to try that, haven’t you?”

“Fuck you, asshole.” 

“Real brave of you, babe. But you're already crying. How are you gonna stop me, hmm?”

You push at him again but he's always had more bulk than you. You might as well be trying to shift a boulder. 

When he kisses you, you jerk your head to the side. He isn't surprised by that and he doesn't let it stop him. Nothing good ever comes easy afterall. He kisses along your jaw instead, nipping at the fat of your cheek. 

“You always were a crybaby,” he mutters against your face, his breath washing hot across you. “But that's okay, sis. Because your big bro is here to make it all better.”

[sukurena-deactivated20260124]

bulking season hits ryomen sukuna like a religious calling. one morning you wake up and he’s already at the foot of the bed pulling on a hoodie that somehow still can’t contain his shoulders. he’s heavier this time of year—thicker, all that gym time turning into dense muscle that makes your brain short-circuit every time he walks past you.

his neck is wider, veins popping even when he’s relaxed. his traps sit high enough that half his shirts stretch weird over them. his chest is ridiculous now—the kind of chest that makes you sink into him like a weighted blanket when he pulls you close.

his waist is still tight, but his stomach? bigger, firmer, a bulked-up wall of warmth you can’t stop touching. he grumbles every time you put your cold hands under his hoodie, but he never pushes you away—just mutters, “you’re lucky i’m not cutting,” like he didn’t flex for you two minutes earlier.

his thighs are the worst temptation. they’ve always been big, but now they’re monstrous—thick enough that when he sits down the fabric of his sweats strains, thick enough that sitting on his lap feels like sitting on a damn radiator. he spreads his legs wider without thinking, smug when he pulls you between them.

even his hugs hit different. heavier, warmer. he wraps those giant arms around you and your face disappears into his chest, your feet barely on the ground. he holds you like you’re nothing, like your weight doesn’t register, like winter could never touch you as long as he’s there.

and he knows the effect he has. he’ll catch you staring while he’s meal-prepping some insane seven-egg, two-avocado, mystery-meat bowl and smirk without looking up. “stop eye-fucking me, brat,” he says, stirring lazily, “unless you’re planning on doing something about it.”

and at night? he’s hot as hell—literally. a walking furnace. you wake up sweating because he sleeps with one huge arm slung over your waist, dragging you into his chest like you’re part of him. he growls in his sleep if you try to escape.

“cold?” he mumbles into your neck at 3am, voice gravelly and half-asleep. you nod. he grunts, rolls on top of you, and covers you like a weighted comforter made of pure muscle.

“better?”

yes. obviously yes. because if winter is brutal, sukuna in bulking mode is the cure—a big, warm, terrifyingly jacked boyfriend who keeps you insulated, pinned, claimed, and overheated in every possible way.

bfs on a bulk rn... and omg

© sukurena — do not copy, repost, or translate my work !!

[rawme-price]

Price isn't stupid. He knows exactly what ghost thinks of his missus.

It was obvious from the first night ghost stayed in prices house, leg and arm in a cast. When price had told you about it, you insisted on offering his soldier a space to recover with help, and price has always been weak to you pleading.

Ghost, poor ghost, he is an open book after so many missions spent with price. Eyes tracking your every move as you serve large portions for your husband and guest, pausing on the way you casually kiss prices temple when passing by him.

Price knows ghost wants to fuck you. Not because he passed by the guest bedroom in the night—though he did and wasn't shocked by the sounds he heard—but because it's the same exact look ghost has given him on month-long missions. Desire, longing, and a horrible reluctance to actually act on it.

Price, he knows his wife too, knows that you can appreciate a thing like ghost, so he decides to do what his lieutenant is too scared to do.

Which is how ghost ends up in prices bed, head tucked into your neck while he runs desperately into you. He makes a pretty sight, flushed bright pink and glistening with sweat. Obviously overwhelmed by feeling you around him, so you coo "c'mon, si, you're doing good! Take your time, sweetie, enjoy yourself."

Ghost groans, wrapping his arms around your torso in a hug. He whines something into your neck that price can barely make out, but it has him eagerly pulling ghosts head away and grunting "say that again, simon. She wants to hear it."

"Mommy–" ghost gasps, eyes half-lidded. He whines, tears clinging to his lashes, but his hips only pick up speed "mommy– please– am i– am I good? Am I doing good?"

"Aww, yes, you are ghost. So good, perfect for me." You smile, tucking ghosts head to your chest. You smile at price, pulling him in for a kiss while ghosts hips stutter "so good for mommy, for both of us."

Ghost comes with a sob, and price has to finally step in to get ghost to pull out when it becomes clear he won't stop even when overstimulated. You make sure to press a kiss to his forehead, "john will get you cleaned up, okay? Then you're coming back here to cuddle. Got it?"

You doubt ghost actually got all of that, but you listen idly as price takes him to the bathroom and turns on the tub. You take a quick shower in the other one, and smile when you hear a gasped 'fuck! Dad–' muffled by running water.

[rawme-price]

Someone keeps eating ghosts lunch from the recroom fridge and he is not fucking happy about it.

Everyday he'll bring in food that he cooked for himself, something soap jokingly said would be good for him and actually was, and everyday some asshole takes it from the fridge.

Not today. No, today, ghost is waiting in a strategically placed chair to watch who is grabbing his chow. Probably some higher-up like last time, or a cocky recruit. Either way, ghost expects to finally get his revenge.

...he doesn't expect to see you.

The quiet secretary that handles the more boring paperwork, who he's unsure is even old enough to be handling all the sensitive information you do. He's pretty sure he's heard kyle mention you're in college.

"What are you doing with my lunch, kid?" Ghost asks bluntly, making you jump and turn around. You're hands still clutching the container clearly marked 'GHOST' in bold black sharpie.

"W- what?" You look between the container and ghost, eyes wide, before realization dawns. "This, this is your food? Holy shit, I'm so sorry!"

You frantically place the container back in, smiling nervously, "someone told me it was fine to take, and uh– I didn't think ghost was an actual name–"

"Don't you have your own?" Ghost interrupts. It sounds harsher than he intended, but he's curious as to why you're taking food in the first place.

You don't answer, choosing to look at the wall. Oh. oh. Okay. Ghost furrows his brows, studying you. Now that he thinks about it, the signs are there. How you wear exactly two nice outfits and simply switch between them through the week. How you always have a water bottle on you, never a soda or juice. It explains the tired look in your eyes, the lethargic way you stare at him.

You look alot like ghost used to.

"Here," he takes the box out of the fridge hands it to you. He fishes through his pockets and pulls out a protein bar too, sets it down with a hard look. "take this. Eat it, I'll know if you don't."

The next day, when you look in the fridge, there's two identical boxes next to eachother. One marked for ghost, and the other with your own name on it.

Neither of you say anything about it, at least not yet. Ghost is just happy when you return the empty box at the end of the day.

[rawme-price]

Johnny takes you home after the sloppiest make-out you've ever had in a bar, and you're so fucking ready to get railed by this hunk of a man, only to freeze when you see pink lace panties on the floor of his bedroom.

Of course you get pissed, why the hell is he bringing you home if he already has girl? He's making you the other woman? You're halfway through the door when he grabs your wrist, face burning red "those are mine, lass! I swear it tae ye!"

...you end up making him wear them, definitely to prove his point and not because you want to see his fat cock jammed into the lace. It looks, well, fucking delicious. Soap is blushing down to his chest, and even whines pathetically when you grip his bulge and tell him what a cute thing he is.

It's all the better when you find a matching bra in his drawers, making him wear it too while you ride him. Even after two orgasms soap is still going, hands gripping your hips and head thrown back with a keen "fuck! Fuck– lass, c'mon, more– please? I cannae do it– please!"

You make sure to snap some photos of his cum soaked panties, cock hanging out, as a little treat for yourself.

[rawme-price]

"Hey, kid, you need to breathe" a hand pats against your cheek, and you blearily look up to see price.

Face flushed, chest gleaming with sweat as he braces over you. His cock still hitting so fucking deep, it takes you a moment to actually register the words and breathe in a sudden gasp.

The black dancing at the edge of your vision recedes, and price smiles proudly "thereee we go. Good job, kid." A hand presses into the back of your knee and forces it wider, making you gasp "yer old man's cock a bit too much? Makes you too dumb to breathe?"

You want to deny him, to tell him no, you can handle it just fine but then he's proving your hips up just right and any thought is knocked out of you, lungs seizing as you try to bear the pleasure. It's always so embarrassing, how you can't seem to handle getting fucked without holding your breath unintentionally, but at least price takes it in stride.

"Fu– dad–" you whine, so overwhelmed yet still wanting more. The crows feet by prices eyes crease, and he leans down to bite your neck. Adding another one to your collar of bruises. "Aww, i know, i know. You can't help it, can't tell me to stop either."

"You love lying down and letting a man twice your age do what he wants, huh?" Price groans appreciatively when you clench particularly hard at that, laughing. "Mhh, and you say I'm the fuckin' pervert."

When he fills you up, making sure to thrust to the hilt so he can watch the cum spill out of you as he pulls out, he kisses your temple. "Deep breaths, love. I'll grab you some water."

[velvxtmoss]

Call me a whore but if an absolute DADDY manhandled me on my first shift, I would be preying on HIM! “Oh but the power imbalance!” Bitch I’ve got innocent eyes, a perverted mind, and unresolved trauma, theres no imbalance. That imbalance is a fucking lucky penny on the sidewalk, I’m picking it up and taking it with me wherever I go. That imbalance keeps me fed. That imbalance enriches my spirit.

[mirumonster]

shoutout to reader in all the fics being able to go on for multiple rounds truly an inspiration for us all

[553580]

something something medieval duchess reader, who is betrothed to a duke she has never met. her wedding dress hangs up in her room, a reminder that her life is truly not her own to control.

the night before her wedding, when she will finally meet her groom, a strange man sneaks into her bed, clamping a tobacco-scented hand over her mouth as he fucks her from behind, forcing her to look at her pretty dress as he violates her, cooing in her ear about what a pretty bride she'll make, how he'll enjoy the ceremonies even more knowing he'd ruined her the night before...

the next morning, as she wears her dress and says 'i do' in front of her family and her new husband, duke john price, she catches a familiar scent of tobacco on his hands as he puts the ring on her finger...

[mirumonster]

You know it's a good jerk when there's blood everywhere afterwards

[ozzgin]

content: gender neutral reader, NSFW

Monster!Butler whose sole purpose is to serve you. He's been appointed by your family as a happy coincidence, though in reality - if he is to be honest - it's been his dream for much longer.

He loves having a little human under his care, and not just any human, but you! It's a rather amusing sight, you think, when you wake up in the morning and watch him struggle to unbutton your pajamas with his enormous, clawed hands.

The blasphemous creature will lovingly take care of all your needs. He means it, truly. So, you're only partly surprised when you notice his arm sliding further down during bath time, reaching for your plush skin and feeling around your sensitive areas.

"Do excuse my bragging, beloved," he says, ears flicking to the sound of your moans, "but I believe I am the best fit when it comes to pleasing you. No one else knows you quite like I do, wouldn't you agree?"

[mirumonster]

Older!reader getting fucked dumb by younger men my beloved.

Reader that's at least in their 30's, preferably 40's and thinks they're too old for the nice young man living next door.

[rawme-price]

Okay now imagine ghost who actually did die in that coffin, and came back as a literal ghost.

For some reason, no one bothered to inform you of this fact, or else you would have definitely told price about the touches you swear you can feel.

A hand at your nape that makes you shiver, someone brushing your thigh. You keep catching something just to the edge of your vision, a tall dark figure. You feel like you're going crazy, and decide maybe you're just too stressed about impressing this new team.

So that night you lie down in your bed, grab a nice toy, and get to work.

Half-way through, a phantom hand is clamping over your wrist, making you jump. You try to speak, try to yell, but find yourself frozen. Something pins your hands to the bed, and the strange presence starts moving the dildo inside you.

Honestly, you probably should have resisted more, but holy shit it just hit the spot you've been aiming for all night. You arch and spread your thighs, allowing the toy to be pumped in and out of you in a delicious pace.

Even after you cum the first time, the thing doesn't stop. It holds you down when you squirm in overstimulation and pulls two more out of you before you go boneless. Lying back and whining while is does what it wants.

You're so fucked out you don't even realize the dildo has been replaced with something else, something much bigger spreading you open. If you were to look you'd see nothing there but your gaping entrance.

For some reason, ghost is a lot nicer to you after that....weird.

[huckleberry-writes]

cw: yandere, period sex, fem! reader, dubcon, minors do not interact.

Yandere! Dick Grayson -- who becomes particularly insufferable when you’re on your period. Though truly, when isn’t he? There’s no off switch to that delusional brain of his. He’s so deeply entangled in the fantasy that he can’t recognize your loathing for what it is - in his mind, it’s just part of the romance. The biting remarks, the exhausted sighs, the scowl you wear only around him? All symptoms of affection. You’re just complicated. He likes complicated.

Every snapped insult only endears you to him further. “You’re so cute when you’re cranky,” he coos as a mere compliment, blue eyes shining with that boyish, unbearable sincerity. You could scream, and sometimes you do, but he just chuckles and wraps his arms tighter around you like your hatred is a bouquet of roses meant just for him.

Now, of course, he has little habits, maddening ones, that make the walls of your captivity feel even smaller. The way he trails behind you like a another shadow, shirtless of course, humming some outdated love song under his breath while you shuffle through another miserable cramp‑ridden day. The way he insists on being physically attached at all times, resting his chin on your shoulder, tangling his fingers with yours, pressing kisses to your temple while you recoil with acid lodged in your throat.

He leaves his clothes everywhere, hoping you’ll wear them; uses your shampoo just to smell like you; eats your snacks to better understand your cravings; drags his bare feet across the hardwood with no regard for sound or space - and always talks to you like you’re some fragile little thing he’s protecting instead of imprisoning.

“I love it when you glare at me,” he grins, brushing a thumb along your bottom lip like you haven’t just spent the last ten minutes threatening him. “You’re so expressive. All pouty today, it's cute.”

You shove him away - again. Again. Again. He just laughs, that grating mix of charm and delusion. “What’re you gonna do about it, baby? Feeling a little frustrated?” he teases, leaning in until his breath ghosts along your neck.

He’s already confiscated your tampons. Your pads. Your entire sense of bodily autonomy. Too many chemicals, he said. Can’t risk putting poison in that perfect little body, can we? You told him to rot. He kissed your forehead and promised to “look into better options.” Which, of course, meant pushing your thighs apart and whispering with a little too eager grin:

“Just free bleed on me, baby.”

He says the idea like it’s romantic. Like bleeding on his cock is somehow going to be healing. As if the act isn’t dehumanizing.

How your blood slicks his cock in dark, wet streaks, coating every inch of him in a color he swears was made just for him and is quickly becoming his new favorite color. He absolutely adores how the blood slides down the planes of his abdomen in slow, heavy rivulets, pooling hot against his skin before dripping onto the sheets below. The white fabric beneath you is already a mess, blooming in red hot stains spreading like petals with every deep, dragging thrust.

He calls it beautiful when your blood marks him. Holy, even. A sign that your bodies are moving in perfect rhythm - his breath against yours, his pulse syncing to the clench of your cunt. He fucks you slow when you’re cramping, hand pressed against your lower belly like he’s cradling the pain away. His other hand drifts lower, thumb circling your clit in lazy, unhurried spirals, greedy to watch your face when the pleasure breaks through the pain.

Your thighs tremble. Your hips arch. His skin is hot and sticky where it presses into yours. And it doesn’t help that he relishes putting you in the most vulnerable positions - open, pliant, utterly at his dispense.

“See?” he breathes, kissing the sweat along your collarbone. “I’m good for you. I’m the only one who knows how to love you through this.” You can’t help but clench around him, dragged through yet another orgasm. You just wish you could stare at the ceiling and let it all be over with, but Dick is far too familiar with your body for your mind to wander. His cock nudges against your cervix with each slow, intentional thrust, dragging you back down to him again and again.

Because if he can't alter your mind to love him, well, he certainly can make your body addicted to him.

And no matter how long you dream of the day one of those mask‑wearing psychopaths finally lands a clean shot - finally severs that perfect spine or caves in that too‑pretty face - Dick Grayson will always hold you like a lover, kiss like a devoted husband, and fuck you like a man who thinks he’s saving you.