#only relentless mockery

[ozzgin]

IM SORRY, but I need a whole smut fanfic with yandere ASMRtist where he just straight up fucks reader and posts it, and people like it

Even better if it was an accident! Although let me add a little disclaimer that this concept turned more BDSM-oriented than I initially planned, but it has no correlation whatsoever to ASMR. Just wanted to point it out because the community already struggles with the sexualization of content. The guy just happens to be kinky. Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, NSFW, BDSM themes (bondage, spanking, collaring, name-calling)

He’s doing his usual sound recording, yet today it a little different. You're particularly cheeky, kneeling before him, back arched and bottom up. The pillow is soaked with your drool, lips forcefully parted by a bit gag. You're a mess.

Today, he's particularly aroused by your hooded eyes and damp skin. No harm in taking a break from his work, is there? His hand lands another rough spank, followed by his fingers tracing across your privacy. It seems he isn't the only one terribly pent up.

He gives you a little encouraging jolt before clarifying with a spoken order: "Spread."

You obediently follow his instructions, eager to be touched by more than his hand. He grins at your visible excitement.

"My, what a greedy whore you're being today. You're still red and swollen from the spanking, are you sure you want me to do even more damage?"

He presses himself into you as if to prove his point, though the feeling of his throbbing erection really only makes matters worse. You nod desperately and groan.

Once he's done pounding the life out of you, he stands up nonchalantly and dusts off his hands, gazing at his masterpiece: you're sprawled onto the mattress, heaving, dripping with his seed. Another fruitful day of pleasing his Darling.

He quickly finishes the last retouches of the recorded ASMR session and uploads it to his channel, distracted by the thought of a potential second round.

"Don't get up", he demands from his chair. "I'm not done with you yet." Judging by your expression, however, it's not likely you had any other intention to begin with.

Later in the evening, he idly checks his phone, somewhat surprised by the sudden influx of views and comments.

"Wow, this is probably your longest video so far. You're spoiling us", someone writes.

"What's the stuff at the end? Sounds bizarrely wet, yet tingly", someone else wonders.

His smile abruptly pales as it dawns of him: he never stopped recording. In a moment of anger, he throws his phone into the nearest wall, and you stumble over, startled by the commotion.

Damn it! That was his special moment. He feels like he'd just fucked you before the masses. His precious time - meant to be savored - has been tainted by the ears of plebeians.

He marches towards the bedroom, pulling you after him by the little house collar you must wear inside. No matter, he tells himself frantically, he'll just have to redo it. He'll fuck you even better this time, and it'll be for him only.

[Yandere!ASMRtist Concept] | [More yandere works]

[pseudowho]

18+, MDNI, Shinazugawa Sanemi is a filthy monster

Full of hot air. Annoying piece of shit, waste of time--

You and Sanemi approached the safehouse, scraped and bloody and pissed off. You felt every scrap of annoyance as an electric frisson over your skin, made irritatingly worse every time he brushed against you.

You stuck a palm out, trying to shove him further away from you, and only succeeded in shoving yourself further from him, so bizarrely immovable was he. His face, already stormy, snarled.

"What's your fucking problem?"

"Stay out of my space Shinazugawa--"

"--you're the one fucking staggering--"

"--yeah, well, it's hard carrying the whole team--"

Sanemi laughed, mirthless. Now bracketed by arching wisteria, in a tunnel to the door, he hammered his fist on dark wood, turning his back to you.

"Yeah, alright kid, the circus called--"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Shinazugawa--"

"--yeah, yeah, they want their clown back--"

The pair of you were too busy bickering, sniping and biting, to thank the elderly woman who let you in. She rubbed a single wizened hand down her face.

As you stormed away to the baths, the old woman caught Sanemi, saying something to him that made him spit feathers, apoplectic and vengeful. You didn't care to listen, and instead shut the sliding door, sunk yourself into the awaiting hot bath, and stuck your head briefly underwater to scream.

Somewhat calmed, but still brittle and fractious, you encased your body in a fine white robe, leaving your clothes aside to be de-bloodied by the house staff. Stepping out, you were greeted by the old woman who had welcomed you inside.

"Come along, dear. It's a good thing you two are married, I only had one room--"

You frowned, uncertain, and about to open your mouth to argue back before being unceremoniously shoved into a room, the woman a little too eager to escape from you before you could throw vitriol at her.

You turned on the spot, flustered, in a handsome traditional room. A large, squashy bedroll lay upon the floor...and Sanemi sat upon it, looking pugnacious and nonchalant.

"...get out of my fucking room, Shina--"

"Shut the fuck up. It's our room for the night."

You faltered, short-circuiting and drawing your robe closer to yourself, feeling so naked. Sanemi continued, stripping his uniform top off, throwing it aside. You felt yourself flush hot from head to toes, despite yourself, at his chest and back, all hewn stone and sculpture. He still didn't look at you as he continued.

"They only had one room. They were about to turn us away, so I convinced them we're married. You're welcome."

You fizzlecracked with rage, burning with mortification.

"You? Married to you?"

Sanemi bristled, offended. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean--"

"Oooo I'm your little wifey now am I? Lucky little Sanemi, so fortunate to have such a lovely wife protecting him in battle--"

"--you are such a pain in the ass--"

"--I'll be your dutiful wife, shall I? Here, let me take your clothes, dear one, I shall wash them--"

Sanemi stood slowly now, his shoulders hunched beneath something dark, approaching you like a tiger on the hunt. You continued your relentless mockery, furious at having to share a room with him, as if you could hide how badly you dreamed of him at night, when you weren't tearing each other to shreds--

"--cook meals for you, rub your shoulders and listen to all your woes. Such a perfect little wife--"

You felt yourself shoved back to the wall, squeaking as Sanemi's sweat and blood filled your nose. One strong hand clamped over your mouth, a forearm planted above your head. He panted, seething under your constant barrage of abuse.

His voice was so low, you could barely hear but for the tickle of his breath on your neck, and you shivered to feel him lock you in place, planting a knee between your legs.

"Yeah. That's it. You'll be my little wife. And I'll be your doting husband...if you don't want to sleep in the fucking forest for the night."

You trembled, raising your hands to press weakly at his chest, certain you couldn't hide it now, the longing behind the mockery--

Sanemi didn't move, a shudder running through him as your palms grazed against his nipples. His voice continued, gravelly under the strain of your plush body, caged against his.

"I'll listen to you tell me about your day...and I'll be interested, too. I'll actually listen."

You felt a blush smatter across your breasts, barely contained by your robe and not unnoticed by Sanemi as he continued.

"I'll tell you I missed you...and you'll take the piss out of me like always, but it's just because you missed me too and can't find the words to say it."

Your breaths came hot and fast, tear-filled eyes glimmering up at him as he deconstructed you, foreplay through playing house.

"And I'll pull you close...much closer than this...more like this--" Sanemi pressed his whole body flush to yours, and you groaned. Sanemi caught it in his palm, feeling his cock harden against his thigh at you, trapped like a little rabbit beneath him.

"And I'll kiss you...until you're squirming, and begging me for more. And I'm a devoted husband, so I'll undo your robe...and slip my hands inside to squeeze you so hard, you bruise, until you're all wet and peachy for me..."

Your head swam, feeling yourself wetten as if by some Pavlovian magic. You clamped your thighs around Sanemi's knee, his eyes dark to feel the heat of your empty core against him.

"...and I'll get you ready with my fingers...'cos I'm big, y'know? And you're great at taking me...but I like to feel your cunt shaking around my hand, while I fuck you with it."

Your fingernails pressed crescents into his pecs, now, supple and pliable against the wall as he fucked the fight out of you with his words, all this time just tearing each other to shreds just to avoid telling him and now what for if it never worked all along were you always so fucking obvious--

"And then...I'll use some of that soaking little pussy cream to cover my cock, jack it off it a few times to get it ready for you, but I'll lick the rest off 'cos I know you like that--"

You moaned into Sanemi's palm, squirming hard enough to free one breast, and Sanemi cursed under his breath, his voice rough and wavering as he drank down your trembling curves.

"...and 'cos I'm your husband...I'll fuck into you all at once. And I'll fuck you, and fuck you, until you're yelling out my name, but it won't be Shinazugawa anymore 'cos that's your name, too, wife, it'll be Sanemi instead...or something like that, anyway, 'cos I'll be honest, you'll be too fucked out to talk properly when my cock's splitting you in half. Finally. A way to shut that fucking potty mouth of yours."

Your hands trailed up his chest, beginning to wrap around his neck, involuntarily rubbing your clit over his knee with a shaking moan, throbbing with the promise--

Sanemi released you, stepping away abruptly, leaving you cold and gasping and wet against the wall.

"As your husband, anyway. Not that I am. So shut the fuck up...and go to bed."

You sunk to the floor, stunned and speechless, unable to form a single comeback. You gasped up at Sanemi, his back to you as he undid his hakama. His head, all ruffled white spikes, came up once more with an ah! of realisation, and he shot his final, critical hit.

"...and I'd cum inside you. Obviously. Doting husbands like you all round and pretty and full of their seed, right?"

[00valentina-writes00]

Face riding 🥱

Synopsis: Exactly what It sounds like (Buuuuut vi is the one on your face.)

Warnings: HEAVY NSFW (also kinda short-)

MEN DNI

•|||——————————————————————|||•

“You sure about this?” Vi asked, her voice low and gravelly, betraying the barest hint of nerves beneath her usual bravado. Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

You didn’t hesitate. “More than anything.”

Her lips curled into a smirk, but there was no mockery in it—just anticipation. She stepped closer, her movements deliberate, each one sending a shiver down your spine. When she finally reached you, she paused, studying your face as if committing every detail to memory. Then, with a confidence that left no room for doubt, she straddled your shoulders, her powerful (but somehow soft?) thighs framing your head. The heat radiating from her body was overwhelming, and when she leaned back slightly, exposing herself to you, your breath caught in your throat.

She was breathtaking. Her pink hair, tousled and wild, framed her flushed face perfectly. Her bare chest rose and fell with each steadying breath, and below, the thin strip of vibrantly curly colored hair matched her top. The scent of her arousal hit you like a wave, dizzying and sweet, and you couldn’t help but lean in closer, drawn to her like a magnet. Her lips were swollen and glistening in the dim light of the room, a small throb of her clit welcomed your mouth as you got closer.

Vi’s hand slid into your hair, her fingers tightening slightly as she tilted her hips forward, bringing herself within reach. “Go on,” she murmured, her voice husky with need. “Show me what you’ve got.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands found her hips, gripping them firmly as you pulled her closer still. The first taste of her was electric, a burst of flavor that sent sparks through your entire body. She was warm, wet, and impossibly soft, and the sound she made—a low, guttural groan—was enough to make your own body ache with desire.

Your tongue traced the length of her slit, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of her. Her thighs tensed around your head, and her grip on your hair tightened as she let out another moan, this one louder, more desperate. You could feel her pulse racing against your mouth, her body trembling with anticipation as you teased her entrance, circling it with the tip of your tongue before dipping inside.

“Fuck,” she hissed, her voice breaking on the word. Her hips bucked against your face, seeking more, and you were more than willing to give it to her. You focused on her clit, alternating between gentle flicks and firm pressure, each movement eliciting a new sound from her—gasps, whimpers, and curses that only spurred you on.

Her breathing grew erratic, her chest heaving as she struggled to hold herself together. “Don’t stop,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need. “Please, don’t stop.”

You obeyed, your tongue working faster now, relentless in its pursuit of her pleasure. She was close—you could feel it in the way her muscles clenched around you, hear it in the ragged edge of her cries. Her hands tugged at your hair, pulling you even closer, and you let her guide the pace, surrendering to her instincts.

“Right there,” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. “Oh god, right fucking there.”

You doubled down, focusing all your attention on that sensitive bundle of nerves, swirling your tongue around it in tight, rapid circles. Her thighs squeezed around your head, trapping you in place as her body began to quake. The sounds escaping her lips were primal, unfiltered, and utterly intoxicating.

When her orgasm hit, it was like a storm breaking. Her entire body convulsed, her back arching as she cried out, the sound echoing off the walls. Waves of pleasure rolled through her, and you could feel every shudder, every tremor as she came undone. You stayed with her, your tongue gentling but never stopping, coaxing every last drop of ecstasy from her until she finally went limp, her thighs loosening their grip on your head.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of her labored breathing. Then, slowly, she slid down from your shoulders, her body still trembling as she settled onto your lap. Her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you close, and for the first time since she walked into the room, she seemed completely at ease

“That was…” she started, her voice hoarse, but she trailed off, unable to find the words. Instead, she kissed you, deep and hungry, pouring everything she felt into the embrace. When she finally pulled away, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Guess I owe you one, huh?”

Before you could respond, her lips found yours again, silencing any protest with a kiss that left no room for doubt. Her hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and plane with a possessiveness that made your heart race. When she broke the kiss, her eyes locked onto yours, dark with promise

[leona-hawthorne]

۶ৎ boyfriend’s brother!mattheo eating you out while tom’s in the shower

boyfriend’s brother mattheo x fem reader warnings ; 18+ mdni, oral f!recieving, fingering, cheating boyfriend’s brother mattheo moodboard

navigation. au collection. m.list. bfb!mattheo.

you don’t know how it got this far. or maybe you do. 

you don’t even have time to think, not when mattheo’s got you exactly where he wants you—sprawled out on tom’s bed, your thighs trembling in his grip, his mouth pressed against your cunt like it’s his last fucking meal. his tongue is relentless, messy and eager, flicking against your clit before dragging down to fuck into you, obscene sounds filling the room with every desperate, sloppy lick.

“mattheo—” your voice is a strangled whisper, your fingers pulling at his curls, like you’re not sure whether you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer.

“oh, now you remember my name?” he taunts, pulling back just enough to look up at you through dark lashes. his chin is glistening with your arousal, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “that’s funny. thought it was ‘tom, tom, tom’ with you.”

“you’re a dick.”

“mm. but i’m the one with my tongue on your pussy, not him.” he punctuates his words with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, swirling it over your clit just to hear your breath hitch. “what does that say about you, sweetheart? you know my brother’s right there.”

panic flares in your chest, your head snapping toward the bathroom door. tom’s still in the shower, the sound of running water muffling everything, but not enough. not if you keep making noise like this. “mattheo, we—we can’t—”

“we already are.” his voice is thick with amusement, fingers digging into your thighs as he tilts his head, dragging his tongue in slow circles around your clit. “fuckin’ soaked, princess. all that talk about how much you love my brother, yet look at you.” he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, all mockery, all smug satisfaction. “letting me eat you out on his bed.”

your stomach tightens, shame curling through you, but not enough to stop you from rocking your hips against his mouth when he slides two fingers inside of you, curling them just right. your back arches off the mattress, a broken moan slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

mattheo tsks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his lips are shining with you, his chin dripping, and the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach flip. like he owns you. like he’s already won. “so fuckin’ easy,” he mutters, pumping his fingers slow, deep. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing light, teasing circles that have your thighs shaking. “thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

“fuck you,” you hiss, but it comes out breathy, wrecked, and he grins.

“yeah, we’ll do that too.” he buries his face between your legs again, tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, and your hands fly to your mouth, desperate to muffle the moans spilling from your lips. but he’s not having it. he yanks one of your hands away, pinning it to your stomach, his other hand still gripping your thigh open. “don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growls. “i wanna hear you. wanna hear every little sound you make.”

your head tips back against the pillows, your free hand twisting in the sheets. “mattheo—oh my god—”

“c’mon, princess. cum on my tongue,” he urges, voice thick with hunger, with something darker, something possessive. he sucks your clit between his lips, and the coil in your stomach snaps, pleasure slamming into you so hard you forget everything—where you are, who you’re supposed to be loyal to. the only thing that exists is mattheo’s mouth, his hands, the low, satisfied chuckle he lets out as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

he doesn’t stop until you’re squirming away, too sensitive, your breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes gleaming.

he leans over you, caging you in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “go clean yourself up, princess. wouldn’t want tom to see you like this, yeah?”

and just like that, he’s gone, slipping out the door like he was never there, leaving you wrecked, panting, and stained with the taste of betrayal.

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[sweetpupii]

　thank god cait's uniform has pockets to hide the pink vibrator remote because she's planning on using it during the whole ceremony. yeah, yeah, guard the stage, look out for any suspicious people and whatever… she's far too focused on the way you fidget with the fabric of your uniform as you look around, squirming a little in a way that makes her look down to hold back a small giggle. not wanting to draw attention to herself.

sneaky little shit, got as far away from you as possible to not hear any complaints.

she just wasn't having it today. no amount of whining and puppy dog eyes you give could get her to back down. hopefully that'll teach you to stop getting on her last nerve at the most inopportune times.

keeping her in bed for longer than necessary because 'you were cold’ on a sunny and nowhere near cold morning, the little touches under her nightgown with those coy eyes that hid your true intentions ( or so you thought because she can read you like an open book by now ), the gentle kisses and bites on her neck that quickly turned heated and ended up with a couple hickeys that were a pain to cover before arriving at the gala. late.

we're you dumb or did you really think she'd be nice enough to wait until you guys got to her bedroom to turn on the vibrator?

either way, you might regret agreeing to her little idea.

more people are starting to arrive but her duty is to be there and intervene only if something bad happens so she can keep having fun while you pat down people to let them in with a forced, polite smile. you shift on your feet, pretending to adjust the holster at your thigh. It’s an innocent enough motion to anyone watching, but caitlyn knows better.

her thumb grazes the remote in her pocket, toggling the setting up one notch higher. a quick glance in your direction tells her all she needs to know: the way your head dips slightly, teeth pressing into your bottom lip as your hand briefly grips the table for balance. you recover quickly, but not before her eyes catch the faint tremble in your legs.

perfect.

when she finally makes her way over to you, the calm authority in her tone betrays none of her mischief. “I’ll be taking her to assist with another entrance.” she tells the nearby guard, who barely spares a glance before nodding in approval.

her hand is warm and steady on your lower back as she leads you away, her grip firm enough to keep you from protesting. not that you could form a coherent argument right now, not with your mind clouded by the relentless buzzing and caitlyn’s touch.

she is not taking you to the other entrance, she's obviously taking you backstage to an empty room.

immediately closing the door, leaning her body weight against it just in case, pulling out the remote from her pocket to turn it up. the buzzing in between your legs now louder and definitely more overwhelming.

“fuck, cait, I'm sorry—” the quiver in your voice, the way you had to lean onto the desk behind you to hold yourself up while your knees trembled and threatened to give up made something flutter in caitlyn's belly, damn.

“sorry?” she repeats, her tone silky but laced with mockery. she holds up the remote in one hand, her thumb hovering over the button as if she was hesitating. “darling, you’re always sorry. but somehow, you never learn.”

she presses the button, and the buzzing between your legs ramps up another level, sharp and insistent. your breath catches, and your knees almost buckle at the sensation. “cait—caitlyn, please,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, clear desperation.

“you had so much to say earlier this morning,” the enforcer pointed out with a soft laugh, taking a step closer. her free hand reaches out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet her eyes. “is my name all you can manage to say now? how funny.”

your thighs clench together in a futile attempt to dull the vibration, but it only makes it worse. heat blooms in your cheeks, spreading down your neck, as you bite your lip to muffle the whimper threatening to escape. she notices—of course, she does—and leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a rather sloppy kiss.

she wasn't supposed to kiss you, she never does when trying to teach a lesson but she couldn't resist this time... sigh.

“no need to hold back,” she murmurs against your lips, “we’re alone here.”

“i can't...” you manage, your voice breaking. tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming pleasure inside you.

“yes, you can,” she says firmly, one hand brushes along your side, a grounding touch that only makes the intensity more acute. “you always can.”

she watches you intently, taking in every shudder, every gasp, every tremble of your legs as you struggle to stay upright. her chest swells with satisfaction at the sight of you, undone and helpless under her control.

when your legs finally give out, she catches you effortlessly; pulling you close, stroking your back to let you pant against her shoulder, trailing soft kisses down your jaw as she presses the button to turn the vibrator off…only to start it back at the lowest setting.

“don't look at me like that,” caitlyn whispers, a tiny ( cruel ) smile playing at her lips as she guides you down to the chair. “you already had your fun in the morning, am I not allowed to do the same?”

masterlist

[regressionschool]

For cummies

Lisa lies on the changing table, her legs spread wide and her thick diaper snugly secured around her. The pastel designs on the front are still visible—for now. Mommy stands over her, smiling down with that mixture of adoration and teasing that always makes Lisa squirm. The soft hum of the vibrator hidden in Lisa’s diaper fills the air, low and steady, sending teasing vibrations through the thick padding.

“Look at my little princess,” Mommy coos, her tone dripping with playful mockery. “All snug in her nappy, and already wriggling so much. Can’t even hold still for Mommy, can you?” Lisa whimpers softly, gripping the sides of the table. Her body reacts despite herself, her hips shifting slightly in response to the persistent buzz between her legs. The crinkling sound of her diaper is loud and unmissable, a reminder of exactly where she is—and what she’s become.

Mommy leans closer, resting her hand lightly on the front of Lisa’s diaper. The vibrations travel through the padding, into Mommy’s palm, and her grin widens as she presses down just a little. “That’s it,” Mommy murmurs, her voice almost a purr. “Let it happen, baby. Just let go for Mommy.”

And then, Lisa feels it. The last shred of control slips away, and warmth begins to spread through her diaper. It’s sudden, unstoppable, and utterly humiliating. Lisa gasps, her face turning bright red as the wetness saturates the padding. Mommy freezes for a moment, feeling the unmistakable heat beneath her hand. Slowly, her grin deepens. “Oh, my,” she says, her voice dripping with mock surprise. “Did my little girl just go pee-pee in her nappy? Right here, right now?”

Lisa whimpers, too embarrassed to respond, but that only seems to encourage Mommy. She presses her hand firmly against the soggy diaper, squeezing the warm, squishy padding. “That’s what I thought,” Mommy teases, her tone now both proud and condescending. “You couldn’t hold it, could you? My little one doesn’t even try anymore. You’ve given up all your potty training… all for Mommy.”

Lisa squirms, her body trembling beneath Mommy’s hand. The teasing, the warmth, the relentless buzzing—it’s too much.

“That’s a good baby,” Mommy whispers, leaning down to kiss Lisa’s forehead. “Now, let’s see just how much more my little princess can handle.”

All captions also availabe on my Patreon

[rafedaddy01]

Sleeping over at your best friends place

Walking into rafes office in the house in the middle of the night (hes still working)

Stripping out of your pjs infront of him and telling him "either you f me or I am gonna start screaming for help"

Rafe telling you over and over how much he hates you as he is thrusting into you

"If you hate me soo much , why are you so hard?"

When hes about to pull out "pull out and I will scream for help"

-

“You have two choices,” you say calmly, letting your clothes fall to the floor. “Either you give me what I want, or I scream loud enough to wake the whole house. Imagine what your wife would think… or worse, your daughter.”

“Fuck you,” Rafe mutters under his breath, his jaw tightening as he reluctantly pushes himself up from his office chair. “Get over here.”

He grabs you by the waist, his grip firm as he sweeps the clutter off his desk with one hand. Pinning you down against the cold surface, he leans in close, his voice low and dripping with venom. “I hate you so much.”

He freezes for a moment, his breath heavy as he hovers over you. The tension crackles in the air like a live wire, his anger barely masking something darker, something undeniable. You smirk, your voice dripping with mockery as you tilt your head to meet his heated gaze. "If you hate me so much," you purr, letting the words linger, "then why is your dick hard?"

“Fuck you, Y/N,” he growls through clenched teeth, his frustration spilling over as his grip on your waist tightens. His eyes blaze with a mix of anger and something he refuses to name, the war between his words and actions written all over his face.

A smug smirk spreads across your lips as you get exactly what you want. Your fingers trail to his belt, undoing the buckle with deliberate precision before pulling it free from the loops. The sound of his zipper sliding down fills the charged air as your hand slips inside, palming him through the fabric. His head falls back, a low groan escaping his lips, raw and unrestrained. When his eyes meet yours again, the anger has melted away, replaced by an unmistakable hunger. Without hesitation, he frees himself and thrusts into you, drawing a shared moan from both of you as the tension finally snaps.

His hips slam into you at a relentless pace, each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs. His mouth finds your chest, lips hot and desperate as he licks, sucks, and nips at your sensitive skin. "That's it," you cry out, your voice breaking with each movement. "Just like that-don't stop!"

His bangs fall messily in front of his face, damp with sweat from the force of his movements. They cling to his forehead, and your fingers instinctively reach up to brush them away, exposing his flushed features. Your eyes meet, and the truth is written all over him-he's enjoying this far more than he's willing to admit. His pupils are blown wide, his nostrils flaring with every squeeze your pussy gives around his cock, dragging a guttural groan from deep within him.

The room is consumed by the sounds of your ragged breaths mingling with his, the wet squelch of your pussy taking him in over and over, and the relentless creak of the desk rocking beneath you with every thrust. Each sound only fuels the intensity, amplifying the raw, desperate energy between you.

The desk digging into your back was sure to leave bruises by tomorrow, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. All that mattered was Rafe Cameron, fucking you raw against it, fulfilling the forbidden desire you'd harbored since the day you befriended his daughter.

You met each of his thrusts with equal intensity, your body pushing back against him as you spread your legs wider, giving him more. His growl rumbled through the room, and his grip on your hips tightened, his movements becoming rougher as he drove into you.

"Rafe," you moaned, your voice desperate. "I'm gonna cum-don't stop, please."

He groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he watches you move beneath him, each thrust deep and relentless. His breathing becomes more erratic, his eyes dark with desire as he feels your body clenching around him. "Fuck," he gasps, his voice thick with lust. "This pussy is squeezing me so good." His words are barely a whisper, but they send a jolt of heat through you, making the moment feel even more intense.

His hand came up to your throat. His possessiveness showing, he wrapped his thick digits around and squeezed. “Such a good girl for daddy”

“But also such a naughty girl for manipulating me into fucking you”

Your gaze locks with his, intensity building between you, as your fingers trail down your body, finding your clit, your touch deliberate and teasing.

“Are you close to cumming daddy?” You teased him as you felt his cock twitch inside you.

The word slips from his lips in a low, strained breath as he feels the tension building between you, his body reacting instinctively to the pressure mounting. His grip on you tightens, his jaw clenched, and his eyes flicker with a mix of frustration and desire. “Shit,” he mutters, unable to hold back any longer.

“Uh uh, I want your cum inside me”

Rafes about to pull out until you speak. Your legs wrap around him tighter and hold him in place as your eyes challenge him. “Fuck, your such a manipulative bitch”

Unable to pull out, he starts thrusting faster. Chasing his high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck”.

“Yes, right there!”

He grits his teeth, his body trembling as the wave of sensation hits him. “Holy shit,” he breathes out, his voice strained with surprise and intensity, unable to keep the reaction from escaping.

You feel the warmth of him till you up. Twitching as you both come down from your highs. A feeling of mixed emotions settled in the air between you. Rafe knows he’s pussy whipped and you know that you have him in your control. This is going to be a fun game.

He slowly pulls out of you as he redresses without saying a single word. He runs his fingers through his soaked hair a few times as he watches you still sitting on his table, spread out and not having a care in the world about his own cum dripping out of you and all over his desk.

You slip a finger in between your slit and gather both your juices, holding out for rafe. And of course he complies, leaning in and sucking your fingers clean as you call him a good boy.

“Such a good boy” you rub his cheek before standing up and redressing.

Rafe looks at you, his gaze intense but quiet, a hint of something deeper in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says, his voice low, almost inaudible. There’s an unmistakable edge to it, a sense that he’s already hooked, addicted to whatever it is between you two.

You smirk, watching the shift in his expression, the way his posture changes as the realization hits him. The vulnerability, the need in his eyes—it’s all there, and you’ve got him right where you want him. “That’s more like it, Rafe,” you say with a teasing tone, your voice dripping with satisfaction. The words hang in the air, a reminder that you’ve got control now, and he’s already hooked.

Rafe’s eyes narrow, his tone low and serious as he looks at you. There’s an undeniable intensity in his gaze, a mixture of caution and something more possessive. “Not a word of this to anyone,” he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. He’s clearly aware of the consequences if anyone finds out, but the underlying tension suggests he might not mind keeping this between you two, for now.

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10 @writingroom21 @wtfdudesblog @akobx @obxrafeandjj

[buttercandy16]

The Bully

PAIRING(s): DarkStudent!Agatha Harkness x Student!Reader

SUMMARY: Agatha Harkness, a senior, takes pleasure in tormenting you, her shy junior. As the bullying escalates, you can’t shake the feeling that there's more to her cruelty than just power.

WARNING(s): Non-Con, Bullying, Obsession, Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, Violence, Harassment, Power Dynamics, Dark Themes.

A/N: Gotta admit this is twisted. Better not proceed if this is not your cup of tea.

The first day of junior year was supposed to be a fresh start. It was supposed to be a time for you to blend in with the crowd, get through the year unnoticed, and maybe—just maybe—feel like you belonged somewhere.

But that dream was shattered the moment Agatha Harkness laid her eyes on you.

Agatha was not the typical queen bee of the school—she didn’t just command attention; she demanded it. Beautiful in a way that made you feel invisible by comparison, her striking blue eyes had a chilling coldness to them, as if they could see right through you. She moved through the halls like a predator stalking its prey, her every step deliberate, her smile a weapon that made even the strongest students quake in their boots.

You? You were nothing special. You were shy, quiet, the kind of person who tried to stay out of the spotlight. But Agatha, in her twisted mind, saw you. From that moment, you became her target.

And Agatha was relentless.

At first, Agatha’s bullying was subtle. A misplaced book here, a whispered insult there. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just part of the high school experience. But the problem was, Agatha didn’t stop. She enjoyed it.

You’d be walking down the hallway, and Agatha’s friends would bump into you on purpose, sending your books scattering across the floor. The laughter that followed was always louder than necessary. Her voice would ring out from behind you, sharp and mocking, “Watch where you’re going, loser.”

She’d whisper just loud enough for the people around you to hear during group assignments: “She doesn’t even belong here. Do you know how pathetic you look?” The others would laugh, and you would shrink in your seat, staring at your half-eaten meal, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole. The words stung, but the sneers from the others—the agreement in their faces—cut deeper.

On one memorable occasion, she ensured your diary ended up projected on the screen in homeroom. Every scribbled insecurity, every desperate wish for normalcy, displayed to the class as Agatha read from it aloud, her voice dripping with mockery.

"Oh, look! 'I hope someone notices me.' How sweet! Everyone's noticing you now."

You begged her to stop, choking back sobs as laughter roared around you. Agatha didn’t relent. She wasn’t just enjoying your misery; she was feeding on it.

But Agatha was only getting started.

By the time the second month of school rolled around, Agatha’s cruel games had become a daily torture. Every corner you turned, there she was—either waiting for you or making sure you felt her presence.

One day in the cafeteria, you sat with your tray, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach. As you picked up your fork, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Before you could react, Agatha’s voice pierced through the noise of the cafeteria. “Hey, loser, don’t forget your real place.”

Suddenly, her drink—what had to be an entire cup of soda—was poured over your head. The sticky liquid dripped down your face, soaking your hair and clothes, as the entire cafeteria erupted in laughter.

“Smile for me, sweetheart,” she purred as you cried, leaning in close enough for you to smell her faint lavender perfume. “You look so pretty when you break.”

Your throat burned with the urge to scream, but you couldn’t make a sound. The laughter of your classmates filled your ears, drowning out everything else.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, frozen, drenched in humiliation. All you could do was stare at your hands, your fingers trembling while you silently cried.

But what terrified you most wasn’t the public bullying or even the physical taunts. It was how she stared when no one was looking.

Agatha watched you.

Her blue eyes followed you down corridors, across the cafeteria, and into the deepest parts of your nightmares. Sometimes you’d catch her in the distance, leaning against a wall, smirking as you tripped under her latest setup. But sometimes, you’d find her lurking nearby, standing too close, leaning too near, the edge of her voice dropping into something soft and intimate.

“You’ll thank me one day,” she murmured once, brushing an invisible strand of hair from your shoulder as you flinched back. “When you realize I’m the only one who cares enough to notice you.”

Over the next few weeks, the bullying turned sadistic. It wasn’t just about humiliating you anymore; Agatha wanted to break you. She wanted to make you feel like you didn’t belong. She wanted you to feel the weight of her presence crushing you every single day.

Your clothes were slashed—deliberately, carefully, the marks too precise to be an accident.

Your locker was spray-painted with cruel words. “Ugly” was the least of them. “Slut,” “Worthless,” “No one will ever love you,” the words taunted as you opened it.

Every time you tried to stand up for yourself, Agatha was there, sneering. “What? You think you have any power here? Look around you. No one cares about you. You’re nothing.”

You felt broken. Every day you woke up, dreading the thought of facing her. But you couldn’t escape. You couldn’t run.

By mid-semester, you were unraveling. Your grades slipped, and you stopped attending events. The weight of constant ridicule hung over you like a storm cloud.

You stopped eating, stopped sleeping. You stared at the ceiling at night, wondering if it was worth getting up in the morning.

She had you exactly where she wanted you

When Clara transferred to your school, you thought you’d found salvation. Clara wasn’t afraid to sit with you, to stand between you and the others who Agatha had rallied to her side. For the first time, you felt seen in a way that didn’t break you.

But the price of Clara’s kindness was high. Agatha hated her with a fervor you’d never seen before.

Agatha was watching, always watching. The moment she saw you with Clara, a new kind of fire ignited in her cold eyes. She was jealous. Jealous of Clara’s ability to make you smile, to make you forget for just a second the hell you lived in.

Clara’s presence only intensified Agatha’s cruelty. She started targeting Clara, too, making her life as miserable as she made yours. 

And Agatha enjoyed every second of it.

It started with petty taunts. Clara’s appearance, her laugh—nothing was off-limits. But Agatha’s rage simmered just under the surface.

Then Clara’s locker was defaced. “Homewrecker” was scrawled across it in angry red paint.

When Clara found her gym bag shredded and her phone destroyed in the cafeteria, Agatha’s smug grin was all you needed to see.

“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” Clara finally snapped one afternoon, shoving past Agatha in the hallway. You’d never seen her stand up to Agatha like that.

But that was the mistake.

Agatha didn’t respond. She simply stared, a storm brewing in her eyes.

The day it all shattered was an ordinary one—or so you thought. The cafeteria buzzed with its usual noise, students laughing, trading whispers, and tossing food across tables. You sat with Clara, your head low, desperate to avoid Agatha’s gaze.

But the room stilled the moment she walked in.

Agatha’s steps were slow, deliberate, every student shrinking back as she passed. You could feel the heat of her stare long before she reached your table.

“Move,” she snapped at Clara, her voice like steel.

Clara squared her shoulders, her hand trembling on the table. “I’m not going anywhere.”

What happened next was a blur. Agatha grabbed Clara by the hair, yanking her from her seat and dragging her to the center of the cafeteria. The screams echoed in your ears.

The students gathered in a horrified semi-circle as Agatha pulled out a blade. She pressed it to Clara’s neck, her voice eerily calm.

“She’s mine,” Agatha said, her eyes finding yours as she tightened her grip on Clara’s hair. “You’re mine. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to love you.”

“Stop it!” you screamed, rushing to pull Agatha away.

There was no cruelty in her gaze—only desperation.

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I had to make you see me.”

Her confession twisted something inside you—a sick, horrifying realization that the torment, the humiliation, all of it, had been her twisted way of keeping you close.

You choked on a sob, unable to respond, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before you.

Then, with a deliberate motion, Agatha sliced a thin line across Clara’s cheek—not deep enough to do permanent damage but enough to draw blood. Clara screamed, struggling against her hold.

“Do you see now?” Agatha’s voice broke, her obsessive rage bleeding into desperation. “No one can have you but me!”

She threw Clara to the floor, letting the crowd scatter like flies as she advanced toward you. Blood smeared across her hand as she reached out, grabbing your wrist in a viselike grip.

“You don’t need anyone else,” she whispered, her eyes wild and glistening with something raw and unhinged. “Say it.”

The room seemed to spin as her breath brushed your ear. “Say you’re mine.”

Tears streamed down your face as the truth—her obsession—finally clicked into place. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t even hate. It was something darker, more consuming, and far more terrifying.

When you didn’t answer, Agatha’s grip tightened, her nails biting into your skin.

“You don’t have a choice,” she hissed. “You’ve always been mine.”

The cafeteria ringing with the chaotic noise around you, the violent energy from Agatha and the blood that painted the scene still pulsating in your veins. The sight of Clara’s blood streaking down her face mingled with the stares of students who had no idea whether to intervene or stare in utter terror. Some stared, captivated by the violent outburst, while others simply backed away, knowing better than to involve themselves.

Agatha’s pupils dilated in sheer madness, her smirk was full of an almost palpable hunger that gnawed at you, making you feel nauseous. Her fingers were still stained with Clara’s blood. "That was your fault, you know," she purred. "If you hadn’t pulled Clara into this, you would still be mine alone.”

The air felt thick with dread and something darker—a possessive heat, almost sexual in its intensity. Agatha's voice was lower now, dripping with an edge that made every word feel like a knife twisting into your heart.

“Isn’t that right?” she whispered.Her body pressed up against yours, no longer the cruel manipulator, but the woman possessed, desperate, and incapable of understanding love beyond her twisted perception of ownership.

You couldn’t breathe. Your throat felt like it was closing up as Agatha continued, undeterred, making the space between you feel suffocating.

“You think you can escape me?” Agatha’s hand caressed your cheek—deliberate, slow—and then, before you had a chance to react, she forced her lips onto yours in a searing, aggressive kiss. The cold edge of the blade still gleamed in her fingers, pressing against the soft, trembling skin of your neck. She was testing your limits, consuming you.

“You belong to me. You’ll always belong to me,” she whispered against your lips as you tried to pull back, your body repulsing the contact, but Agatha wasn’t giving you an escape. She was insistent. Every inch of her energy radiated possessiveness and torment. It was unbearable—her grip tightened on you, suffocating all sense of resistance you had.

The pain inside you deepened, like your very identity was being ripped apart.

Her teeth scraped against your bottom lip, drawing a whimper from you that only seemed to fuel her hunger. The blade pressed harder, a silent threat that kept you frozen in place as her other hand slid down your body, rough and possessive. She didn’t care that the entire cafeteria was watching, that Clara was bleeding on the floor, that you were trembling in her grasp. All that mattered was her need to dominate, to own you completely.

Her fingers found the hem of your shirt, yanking it up with a force that made you gasp. The cold air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her touch as she groped your chest, her nails digging into your flesh. “You think you can hide from me?” she sneered, her breath hot against your ear. “You think anyone else can touch you like this?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you tried to push her away, but she was too strong. Her hand moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, Agatha, don’t—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, her fingers pressing against you, rough and unyielding. “You don’t get to say no to me. You’re mine, and I’ll take what’s mine whenever I want.”

Her touch was cruel, deliberate, designed to hurt as much as it was to claim. You bit your lip to stifle a cry, but she didn’t miss the way your body shuddered under her hand. “That’s it,” she purred, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “You can’t hide how much you want this. How much you need me.”

You wanted to scream, to fight back, but the blade at your throat kept you still, your body betraying you as she worked you with ruthless precision. The room spun around you, the sounds of the cafeteria fading into a distant hum as Agatha’s touch consumed you. Her breath was hot against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as she whispered, “You’ll never escape me. Never.”

Her fingers moved faster, harder, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, a sound that only seemed to fuel her frenzy. “That’s it,” she growled, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Let them all see how much you belong to me.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the world, but it was impossible. The feel of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice—it was everywhere, consuming you, breaking you. And when she finally pulled her hand away, leaving you trembling and exposed, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “This is just the beginning. I’m not done with you yet.”

The blade disappeared from your neck, but the threat lingered, heavy and unspoken. Agatha stepped back, her eyes blazing with a dark, possessive hunger.

The weight of her command rolling off her tongue with the kind of authority that made the room shrink.

"All of you. Leave," she said, her voice low but biting. The onlookers flinched, uncertainty flickering in their wide eyes as they shifted nervously. "And let me make this clear—what you saw here today? You saw nothing. Speak of it, and I'll remind you why that blade was mine to wield."

The tension was suffocating. One by one, the witnesses filed out, not daring to meet her gaze. Some stumbled in their haste to flee, boots clattering against the stone floor, even Clara followed along but Agatha didn’t seem to care. Her focus remained fixed entirely on you.

When the last of them had gone and the room was swallowed by silence, she turned her full attention back to you. Her lips curled into something too satisfied to be called a smile, yet not quite sinister enough to be a smirk. It was the look of someone who had just claimed exactly what they wanted—someone who knew the gravity of what they’d done and reveled in it.

Her presence was all-consuming. She didn’t move closer, didn’t speak, but the air between you still bristled with the weight of unspoken things. The blade was gone, yet its absence almost felt worse—like the void it left was filled with something sharper, heavier.

Agatha tilted her head, studying you, as if relishing how small and cornered she’d made you feel. Then, finally, she broke the silence.

"You're mine now," she murmured, her voice silky and unyielding. "And you’ll come to understand—I always get what I want."

Her gaze lingered a moment longer, searing into yours, before she turned away, leaving the room heavy with the remnants of her presence.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to follow, vote, reblog, and comment 💜

[sturnlsstuff]

imagine ghostface!chris fucking you with the handle of his knife

you are completely on another planet, your legs shaking from the amount of orgasms you have had in the past minutes. you didn't think that what was happening could turn you on so much, but it did - now chris knew it too, his smirk never leaving his face, watching your reactions and hearing the increasingly louder moans leaving your mouth.

"looook at that, how you're creamin' around my fuckin' knife, holyyyy shit—" he licks his lips, watching as your pussy perfectly sucks the handle of his knife in, the wet squelching echoes through the room. "how does it feel, hm? good?" his tone was dripping with mockery, obviously knowing that it must feel amazing. you just nod, words stucking in your throat when chris puts more pressure against your clit, circling it harder with his thumb. "feelin' it deep?"

"y-yes—" your grip on the sheets tightens, back arching upwards as you try to get more friction. chris watches as the handle of his knife slides in and out your sensitive cunt, soaked in your arousal, some even dripping on his hand. his relentless pace makes your toes curl.

"open your eyes, y'know i love seeing you when you 'bout to cum—" his tone low, hoarse with his own desire. you're fully aware that when you do it, you'll be gone for. though you obey anyway, your eyes fluttering open and glancing at the ghostface mask he had on. chris was between your legs, spreading them apart with his body, his hand fucking his knife into you while the other one keeps playing with your swollen bud. "--theeere you go, such a good fuckin' girl."

every thrust overwhelms you with pleasure, mouth slack opened as you let out more sweet noises, that were already printed in chris's brain. your walls clench around the thing as you weakly try to warn him, "c-chris, i'm so— close— mmmh, oh— right... there--"

"fuck, so pretty when you're like this-" he groans, his thumb rubbing more desperately around your clit. "come alllll over my knife, princess— so fuckin' naughty, jesus--"

he overstimulates you, hitting your g-spot so good with each movement that tears were running down your cheeks, broken cries leaving your mouth. "shittt, look at you..." he admires your little expressions, the way you're not able to keep looking at him and at some point your eyes roll back, body starts to shake even more and he can only see your hole leaking cum around the handle of his knife.

"fuck, i could do this all night long—" he looks back at your face, pleasure written all over it. he doesn't even slow down as you ride out your orgasm, gasping for air. "what you think, princess? can gimme a little more?"

[crimsonnsstuff]

Sweet little thing

Warnings: age gap, In-ho being perverted, p in v,

Here’s a smutty fanfic for you:

---

You were just a young, naïve thing when you first met In-ho. He was older, maybe in his mid-thirties. One evening, you found yourself alone with him in his apartment, the air thick with tension. In-ho looked at you with a perverted grin, his eyes roaming over your body in a way that made you feel both scared and excited.

"You look so innocent," he murmured, stepping closer. His voice was rough, sending shivers down your spine. Before you could react, In-ho grabbed you, pulling you into a heated kiss. His hands were everywhere, squeezing, touching, claiming. You gasped against his mouth, feeling his hard body pressed against yours.

Without warning, he pushed you onto the couch. "You're going to be mine tonight," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. His hands worked quickly, stripping away your clothes until you were bare before him. In-ho's eyes darkened with lust as he looked at you. "Such a pretty little thing," he said, his voice dripping with desire. He didn't waste time; he was upon you, his fingers finding your most sensitive spots, making you squirm and moan.

He didn't bother with much foreplay. His need was too urgent. He positioned himself between your legs, his gaze locked with yours. "You're going to feel everything," he promised, his voice low and menacing. Then, he was inside you, filling you completely. His movements were rough, relentless. Each thrust was like a shockwave, driving you closer to the edge. In-ho was ruthless, fucking you senseless, his perverted whispers filling the room, telling you how good you felt, how he loved having control over you.

Your mind was a blur, overwhelmed by the sensation, by his dominance. You couldn't think; you could only feel. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you until you were crying out his name, your body. “You like this, don't you? Being fucked by an older man like the slut you are?" He's relentless, his voice a mix of mockery and lust. You can barely speak, your words replaced by moans and gasps as he takes you over and over.

The pleasure builds, your body trembling under his assault. You're close, so close, when he reaches around, his fingers finding your clit. "Come for me, you dirty girl," he commands, and you do, your orgasm hitting you like a wave, your body convulsing around him.

In-ho doesn't stop until he's satisfied, until he's filled you completely, his groans mixing with your cries of pleasure. When he finally pulls out, you're both breathless, the only sound in the room the heavy breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

He helps you stand, his touch gentler now, but there's still a hunger in his eyes. "Don't think this is the last time," he whispers, giving you a slap on the ass before sending you out to clean up, leaving you with the promise of more to come.

[ohimsummer]

...I CAN DO BETTER

— minors dni, jealous! satoru x virgin! reader, both of them came in their pants lol, dryhumping, consensual recording/photography, teasing because it's satoru gojo, degradation (use of slut), nipple play, biting/hickeys

sequel to “anything you can do…”

If there is one thing a Satoru Gojo will not allow, it is to be one-upped by Suguru, no matter what it was.

He had too much pride. It was so easy for Geto to bait him into a competition because Gojo would do anything if it meant being declared the winner. Shoko would warn him that his pride would be his downfall, and would land him in quite the unfavorable predicament if he kept it up. Judging from where he was now though, Satoru would beg to differ.

His smirk grows wider at your longing whine, pressing his bulge harder against the growing wet patch of your panties. He smoothes a hand over your bare thigh, pinches you out the blue and can’t help but giggle when you flinch and yelp. The camera app open on his phone, Gojo twists and turns the device to get the best angle of little ol’ you.

Satoru was, of course, quite unhappy at the dark spot on your neck. Because who did Suguru think he was marking you as if you belonged to him? And you, how dare you give Geto the privilege of seeing you so pathetic and desperate first? And, even worse, cumming on his thigh? Appalling. Sickening, even. Satoru’s headache got worse every time Suguru rubbed it in his face.

“She was so cute.”, he brags in a soft, nonchalant voice, dripping with delight. “Should’ve been there, Satoru, she came all over me.”

And Satoru doesn’t know that your display wasn’t as thrilling as Geto makes it out to be. You only came on his leg, fully clothed, but Geto can tell by the protruding veins along his friend’s forehead that Gojo assumes you were bent over the dresser and fucked silly. Unfortunately false, but where’s the fun in correcting him on that?

“S- Satoru–,” you whimper, fabric of your skirt bunched around your waist and between your fingers.” Please, please…”

Gojo steadily grinds into your core, and you think you might just fucking die. The firm tip of his dick rubs into your throbbing clit so nicely, though barely satiating the dull ache in your pussy. You clench around nothing, drunk and tense and so lost in such a simple pleasure as you messily rock your hips to meet his thrusts.

“So needy, sweetheart.” His mockery is relentless. “Actin’ like such a little slut. You always this desperate for some dick, baby, or is it just mine?”

The minute your head falls to one side and breaks his gaze, suddenly your cheeks are smushed between fingers and Gojo forces you to look at him again. “Answer me.”

A meek whisper trickles from your mouth, lips littered in indentations where you’ve sank your teeth into them. “Just yours…”

He lowers the phone a little and holds his hand up to his ear, then leans closer, all this while still massaging his stiff cock against your swollen clit. “A little louder, baby, so Suguru will hear.”

Before you can register his words, Gojo gives you a particularly sharp thrust that mashes his tip against your clit so perfectly and you can’t help crying out for him. “J-just yours, Satoru–!”

His free hand runs beneath your shirt, up to your bare breasts underneath, and Satoru carelessly thumbs a nipple beneath his finger. “Aww, Suguru will be so disappointed.”

There’s not a chance to protest, instead he’s mindlessly driving himself into your cunt again, low grunts and broken moans leaving him. Gojo props his phone up on your nightstand and, now that his other hand is free, begins leaving his touch all over your body. He looms over your weak, shivering form, mercilessly humping against you and eager to swallow the saccharine whines that escape your lips. Your legs, on either side of his waist, clench around him and it feels like your body has a mind of its own as you so desperately grind back against him.

“S-Sato-“, he lands another kiss on your lips, interrupting your plea. “Satoru..!”

It’s the way you’re so desperate and needy and so fucking endearing, no wonder Suguru couldn’t keep his hands off you. Gojo had to end this quick, too much longer and he’d be ripping these flimsy, cotton panties off (and they’re just so cute with a little blue bow in the center that’s calling for him) and having his way with you until Suguru’s name was completely erased from your mind, all on another video to add to his now-growing collection. But, he wouldn’t, not yet anyway. Not that he doesn’t want to, but really just out of bitterness because fuck Suguru for having his way with you and fuck you for letting him.

Before Satoru finishes up, he litters your neck in love bites; they’re spread across your collar, up your jaw, and especially over the previous mark Geto made as a big ‘fuck you’ to that man. And shit, why not, on your chest too. Signs of his possession all over your pretty tits, and the sight almost has him immediately cumming in his pants.

He realizes too late that you’ve gone silent, and looks up to see your head thrown back and bottom lip tucked right between your teeth. Your trembling form is enough to push Satoru closer to his own high, though in the back of his mind he refuses to believe that you deserve such a luxury after being naughty with Suguru.

Your little droplets of cum squirt onto his pants, and your release triggers his own before he can relish in knowing he got you to squirt for him and Suguru didn’t. Gojo dumps a hot load into his boxers, which in turn soaks all the way to the front of his trousers. Chest heaving, Satoru grabs his phone, ends the video, and again holds the device above your writhing figure. In all the excitement, he almost forgot what he was doing all this for.

“Up here, sweetheart.,” he sings at you, and he’s satisfied when your lids flutter open to look at the lens.

Satoru snaps a few pictures of your fucked-out form. Some with your soaked, cumstained pussy just cropped out the bottom, some exposing the marks on your tits, and even one where he uses your skirt to hide his cock, which he’s laid over your cunt. He didn’t actually do what the picture implies, but Gojo thinks the look on Suguru’s face when he assumes he fucked you senseless will be worth it. You certainly look the part, gasping and sweaty and quivering all from him just humping your little clit.

“Don’t you look perfect.”, Satoru grins as he taps around some more on his phone, and your eyes widen when he shows you the screen. “You make such a cute wallpaper, babe!”

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

2

Y/N

"Now this one's called Mouser," Powder says, shoving the mini smoke bomb into my palms.

"Mouser?" I peer at the scrawled whiskers and ears.

"Yeah, silly, 'cause it's a mouse," she giggles, prodding one of the ears. "Ya like it?" She looks so hopeful when she asks that, like a puppy just wanting to make its owner happy.

I nod, smiling. "I love it. It's so cute. What color does it boom to?"

"Guess!" Powder singsongs, and I groan.

"Don’t make me guess. I hate guessi—"

"Just guess! Pleeeaase."

"Fine... pink?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Blue?"

"Guess again!" But before I can... BOOM.

I jolt awake in bed, panting softly. This is an infestation, relentless and vile. First, she worms her way into my daily routine, always there… looming. It’s disgusting, absolutely revolting. And now, this ridiculous fixation is ruining my sleep schedule—worse, my study schedule.

I find myself at my vanity, applying a ridiculous amount of makeup to hide the bags under my eyes. It’s fine, just a slip-up—one tiny mistake. Nobody has to know everything fell apart. Not today, not ever.

My hairbrush clatters to the floor as I throw it, frustration rising. No. No. My entire day cannot be derailed by this one tiny lapse. It was just a dream. My subconscious was simply in the mood to revisit the past, nothing more.

I take a deep breath and focus, moving with deliberate precision. When my hair is halfway secured in a perfect pink bow, I grab my uniform. The school uniform is simple—appropriate, modest, as it should be. Certain people, however, don’t wear it that way, why did my mind jump to her so instantly? There are plenty of other people who flaunt the dress code, make a mockery of it. Why her? It’s infuriating. Completely nonsensical.

I grab my bag from its designated spot by the door, double-checking its contents—binder, planner, pens in their correct case, and books for every class, organized by schedule. Satisfied, I sling it over my shoulder and head downstairs, the rhythmic click of my Mary Janes echoing throughout the otherwise empty house.

I move through the familiar routine—toast, tea, and the faint hum of the dishwasher in the background. Every detail falls into place, a perfect puzzle...

Until I step outside. The cool morning air brushes my skin, crisp and biting, and my mind drifts again. Why her? I shake the thought away, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. This is school. My space. My domain of control and focus. She can’t ruin that too. She won’t.

By the time I reach the front gates, my mental walls are firmly in place. They hold strong as i rush over to Cait and Mel waiting by our grouping of lockers. But then I catch a flash of blue in the corner of my vision—braids swaying, a grin that’s far too self-assured. My barricades shudder, and I bite down on my lip. Hard. Hard enough for those tiny droplets of blood to form.

I force my eyes forward, swallowing the sharp sting. Today will be just like any other. I won’t let her mess it up.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

School’s supposed to be a regular thing for me—well, that’s a lie. I only show up when Silco’s got that whole “I’ll cut your allowance!” thing looming over my head.

He's always 100000% bluffing, the mans a softie at heart.

Anyway, I only actually give a shit about the damn place when I’ve got a deal lined up. And hey, two days in a row?

Fucking impressive.

Todays little deal is 3g of molly, ecstasy, MDMA whatever floats ya boat.

It's a person by person basis. The pompous little Pilties will always call it Molly, like saying ecstasy would give them a fucking meltdown.

Like somehow Molly makes it sound all sweet and innocent—total bullshit to be honest.

As I march through the school parking lot, boots thudding against the cracked tarmac, I spot her. Miss Saboteur. I shove the bag of pills out of sight, just in time.

Ha, not today, toots.

She's standing there with her little Piltie entourage.

Honestly, it's pathetic. Her naivety to the class divide. And she let me tell you Y/N must be insanely thick because its very, very obvious.

You can even see it in the lovely parking lot.

On one side, you’ve got these busted-up Chevys and beat-to-hell sedans. On the other? Shiny Cadillacs and those fancy little luxury cars, the ones that scream Daddy’s money with every brrrrr of the engine.

A very diverse range if i do say so myself.

But ladies and gents, deny it all she wants, roots stick—Zaunite dirt doesn’t just brush off.

I toss the little purple baggie into locker 505 as requested, and it lands with a soft plop at the bottom. Job done.

The bell rings, but who even cares? School’s just a place to mess with people, anyway. Everyone’s all in their little cliques, walking like robots to their boring classrooms, all stiff and predictable.

So fucking boring.

I shove my way through the crowd, elbowing a few people ���cause why the hell not? My boots clunk on the floor, and I can practically hear them wincing behind me. Good. I love that sound.

The second-floor art stairwell is, by far, the best skipping spot.

none of those nosy hall monitors or teachers lurking. Plus, it’s got this weird, artsy vibe from all the random graffiti and doodles left behind.

Honestly? It’s mostly me. Who else has the guts? Or the creativity? Maybe Ekko, when I rope him in. He always starts with "Jinx, don’t," blah, blah, blah—but give him five minutes, and he’s tagging like it’s his idea. Classic

So, I’m waiting for him now. He’s my usual skipping buddy—rebelling against authority and all that jazz.

By the time Mr Boy Saviour appears I've got a shit eating grin on my face as a doodle a certain girl on the wall, a little too focused on getting the details right.

"Look," I chuckle, "she's got horns."

"That Y/N again?" He leans in front of my masterpiece, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I giggle, lying through my teeth. "Totally not."

Liar, liar, liar.

"Gosh Ekko, get off my back, heard of artistic expression?" My grin vanishes, like, boom, gone in an instant.

Poor guy’s used to my outbursts by now. He just plops down next to me when I curl my knees to my chest, all casual-like, like I didn’t just snap at him for no damn reason.

But there is a reason, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

"I don't even get why you still talk about her, Ekko," I mutter into the fabric of my ripped tights. "I fucking hate her."

"Right, don't lie," Ekko says, leaning back against the wall, his voice all too casual. "You’ve been drawing her nonstop for the past week."

I huff, glaring at the floor.

Typical. He always knows.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Calls me out like it’s nothing. I roll my eyes, sinking into my knees even further.

“Shut up, Ekko,” I mutter, my fingers twitching against the ripped fabric of my tights. “It’s not like that.”

It totally is, though.

"Don't lie, you've been drawing her for days," Ekko says, grinning like he knows something I don't.

I squint at him. "I’m not—" I cut myself off, glancing at the sketch again.

Shit.

He leans closer, all smug, "Oh really? Then what’s this?" He points at the doodle like it’s the evidence that’ll finally put me on trial.

"Fuck off," I mutter, tossing the pen in his direction like it's some kind of missile, damn wish it was before stomping off.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hey this is my first fanfiction on Tumblr, hope you like it :) please like and reblog!

[pseudowho]

Fright Night! Multi-Fic

The local fair has a Halloween fright night! Actors and zombies and terror, oh my! You drag your boyfriend to it...how does that go for you?

Gojo, Geto, Toji, Higuruma and Ino

18+, NSFW/suggestive in parts

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Gojo: Goes in smiling. Obnoxious laughter the whole way, and it only worsens when you're screaming at every single actor. As you cringe away from a dead-eyed bride, Gojo tickles your ribs until you squirm.

"Awww, baby, you scared? You're scared, right?"

As if in answer to his question, and received with heaps of cackles, you screech when some hideous creature with no teeth and bloodstained rags lunges at you from the dark.

"Satoru-- hold my hand--"

"--ahhh, yeah, okay...c'mere."

He pulls you in, and you scuttle to keep up with his long-legged stride. Still, the horrors continue and so does his mockery.

His teasing is relentless. Your fear is gradually replaced by indignant prickling anger. You take your chance, when it comes.

"You go in first," you beg Satoru, outside a horrifying old room full of dolls, "please, Satoru, check it out first before I go--"

He huffs as if actually bothered, but his shit-eating grin gives him away as he ambles inside. "Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twi--"

You promptly shove the door closed with a bang! and yank a chair beneath the doorknob. You've heard rumours about this room; you are not disappointed. Satoru's voice sounds wary. The doorknob rattles just once, and you bite your lip with a smile.

"--hey...hey, babe, the...the dolls are moving."

Nervous laughter from the room. You try to hide the laughter in your voice.

"Oh yeah? You okay?"

"--OH, FU-- yeah, I'm fine. You know me, I'm the stronge--"

Satoru's voice cuts off with a profoundly girly screech, and the doorknob rattles violently while you twist with silent hilarity, tears streaming down your cheeks as you choke out.

"Ohhhh, nooo, Satoru, the door's stuck!"

More screeches, bangs and horrifying eerie noises, but you're too busy pressed forwards on your knees, laughing and laughing to the confused looks of passers-by.

"The dolls aren't dolls! THE DOLLS AREN'T DOLLS! BABE! LET ME OUT!"

A guy leans down to you, pointing at the door.

"Hey, uh...can we go in?"

You wipe tears of mirth from your eyes, bursting into laughter as you hear Satoru scream again.

"No...no, sorry buddy. This one's gonna be taken for a while, I think."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Geto: Total con-artist. Though he croons to you, cloudsoft and soothing through your horror, he's the puppet master. The horror engineer. The king of manipulation.

Every time another actor leaps out to set fear aflame in your veins, Suguru only pretends to be surprised; he isn't. He's already led you around this maze three times, anticipating the flow of the actors, and bleeding you for maximum terror.

He doesn't want to admit how his cock twitches against his thigh every time you break down into a whimpering mess; but, he can't deny that he's getting off on this.

"Shhhh, shhh shhh shhh," he soothes, one arm holding you to his side while his lips and nose ghost the shell of your ear, "shhh, baby, it's okay...it's all just pretend. I'm here. I've got you."

You look confused, your memory tangled by fear; "I...I could swear we've been this way already, Suguru--"

"Trust me. I know the way. These mazes are all samey. You're just getting mixed up, silly. Come on."

He has distracted you again, of course. He walks forwards, looking back to you with a smile. You frown, looking down at Suguru's two empty hands...and wondering whose hand you are holding.

The scream you scream, as Suguru seamlessly replaces himself with a white-eyed, rotten-fleshed actor, sends a dribble of pre-cum down his thigh.

He's just waiting until he can get you home, switch off all the lights, and continue the scare trail straight into bed.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Toji: Utterly unbothered, and smirks his way around. Some of the actors approach, take one look at him, and then turn tail to scare someone else. Anyone else.

But halfway round, he gets bored, and disappears. You're left, abandoned; alone. Toji wants to get in on the action.

You're surrounded by screams, and silence, and dry ice in the dark, and you turn on the spot, spinning, frantic, your heart pounding, your tongue dry, sweat dripping down the small of your back--

Until the sound of metal on metal. Something scraping along a wall. Footsteps heavier than your own heartbeat. And, the one small light source you have is blocked, as a monster of a man in a boiler suit, mask and axe fills the doorway.

The whimper that leaves you is audible; "...Toji?" As if you could be so lucky.

Silence. His heavy, laboured breathing. The footsteps begin towards you, slowly at first...before he runs.

You run, too, shrieking like a banshee, too loud for you to hear the occasional laugh beneath the monstrous man's roars. You find yourself chased down to a dead end, your back and palms flat against the wall, chest heaving, and he approaches slowly, watching you behind his mask.

The blade of the (very blunt) axe strokes down, down, down the centre line of your torso to stop just over your sex, and you whimper, mortified by the trickle of arousal that creeps through you.

"T-Toji--" You whisper to yourself, "T-Toji, where the fuck--please please please help me--oh my god ohmygod ohmygod--"

A shiver seems to go through the man, who leans down and whispers, in a voice so familiar that your jaw drops.

"Like bein' chased, huh? What about bein' caught? You like bein' caught?"

Judging by the way his boiler suit tents, Toji likes it, at least.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Higuruma: Has not got the mental wherewithal for this, today. Perhaps another day, but not today. And it infuriates him, when his colourful imagination and adrenaline threaten to overtake his inherent logic that this is all just make-believe.

"For fuck's sa-- pull yourself together, Hiromi," he groans as another horrifying creature-person scuttles past in a contortionist twist. You're carried on his back, squealing and kicking into him, while he huffs at you with beleaguered fondness.

Every time something makes him jump, a noise of bewildered shock bursts out, and he growls at himself, running his hand back through his hair and pressing his forehead against a nearby wall.

A few actors, however, take one look at him and treat him as part of the furniture. Hiromi frowns.

"Some of them think I look scared enough, apparently."

You mumbled into his neck. "Scary enough, I think you mean. Look--"

You gently turn his face to a flaking full length mirror. Hiromi drinks himself in; still in a dishevelled suit and tie, sweatstains, coffee drip on his white shirt, and dark circles that surely have to be make-up.

Suddenly, it clicks.

"Ahhh," Hiromi breathes putting you down to your screeching indignation; he doesn't notice as you press yourself to the wall, instead rubbing his face and clothes on a discarded 'bloody' rag.

By the time he's finished, stepping slowly over to you, chin tilted down and looking down at you with beetle-black eyes, you feel a shiver running through you. He's...frightening. Clearly some awful spectral businessman, covered in blood and dirt and horror.

"You...wow. Yeah, Hiromi, you look...great."

Hiromi shrugs you onto his back with a satisfied little chuckle, and the rest of your scare trail is relatively unhindered. Passers-by skirt round him with a wary gaze, and the sinister little smile on his face only adds to the effect.

You stroke one finger down his chest, sultry and whispering.

"Hey, Hiro...stay like this, later, for...activities."

"You are utterly twisted, my love. I absolutely can."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Ino: Just as scared as you. Absolute chocolate teapot. You'd have done better taking a puppy with you, probably, because the actors approach Ino thinking he can take it, and he absolutely can't.

If Takuma could have jumped into your arms, a la Scooby Doo, he would have. Alas, he simply pulls his balaclava down in groaning terror. When other visitors then scream at him, too, thinking he's part of the crew, he raises his balaclava back up with a suppressed sob.

"Baby-- I can't take it-- I'm too weak-- my heart--"

"Takuma, I--" You shriek, too, when some ghastly woman in a bloodstained nightdress appears. She runs for you both, and you and Takuma sprint away, hand-in-hand, half-laughing, and half-crying.

By the time you round a corner, slamming the door to trap yourselves in a dark room, you and Ino hold each other, panting in the gloom. You feel a familiar hard press against your belly, and look up at Takuma with utter disbelief. He blushes, his lower lip drawing up and looking aside with a grumble.

"--are you excited, Takuma--"

"--aww, shit, babe, you know he don't make any sense--"

His words cut off with a strangled moan as you grip him through his pants, and, biting your lip, lower to your knees. Takuma's jaw drops, his cock twitching up as it's released. You whisper up at him in the dark.

"...emotional support blow-job?"

"F-fuck yeah, emotional support blow-job, I can be your hero after that--"

A few people come to investigate the ghostly little moans coming from your room, but Ino blocks the door with one trembling, jittering foot until the moans crescendo.

[00valentina-writes00]

Please do bratty reader x sevika. Overstimulation for punishment till reader cries but sevika doesn't stop because reader said 8 in a row isn't plenty.

I fear for some of your guy’s sanity tbh (this is so hot yes ofc)

♡♥︎“Not Plenty, Huh?”♥︎♡

Warnings: overstimulation, Sevika is Sevika, don’t mouth off to Sevika guys, fingering

Sevika’s fingers are wrapped tight around your jaw, her grip firm enough to keep your head still but not enough to hurt—yet. Her grey eyes flicker with something dark, something amused, something predatory as she watches you squirm beneath her.

“Eight in a row isn’t plenty?” she echoes, her lips curving into a smirk that makes your stomach flip. “That what you said, sweetheart?”

You had said that, with all the bratty defiance you could muster, panting, shaking, already spent but still running your mouth because you thought you could handle more.

Now?

Now, you’re a fucking mess.

Your thighs are trembling, slick and sticky with the evidence of your previous orgasms, the sheets beneath you ruined with your arousal. Your body is hypersensitive, nerves shot to hell, but Sevika isn’t the type to let you get away with mouthing off.

Her hand drags down the length of your torso, slow and deliberate, the heat of her palm leaving goosebumps in its wake. She takes her time, savoring the way you tremble, the way your breath hitches when her fingers slip lower—

And then she presses against your clit.

You sob, your back arching, body jolting at the sensation. It’s too much, the pressure sending a sharp, overwhelming wave of pleasure-pain straight through you, but Sevika just chuckles.

“Sensitive, baby?” she taunts, rubbing slow, lazy circles over your swollen clit, her touch barely there but still devastating. “Thought you could take more.”

You shake your head, eyes squeezing shut, but that’s not the answer she wants.

“Eyes on me,” she orders, voice dropping to a warning growl.

You force them open, tears clinging to your lashes, and Sevika fucking grins.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, pressing down harder, making you wail. “Already crying and I haven’t even gotten started.”

You whimper, shaking your head again, but there’s no mercy in her expression.

“You wanted more, didn’t you?” she purrs, her voice all honeyed mockery. “Go on, baby. Beg me to stop.”

You could. You should. But you’re too far gone, too fucked out to form words, only managing a choked gasp when she slips two fingers into you without warning, your walls clamping down so hard she groans at the feeling.

“Fuck,” she grits out, “squeezing me so damn tight, baby.”

She doesn’t wait for you to adjust. Doesn’t slow down. Just starts fucking you with those thick, relentless fingers, curling them just right, hitting that spot inside you that has your vision whiting out.

You sob her name, a desperate, wrecked little thing, your hands scrabbling at her wrist, your whole body shaking with overstimulation.

“Aww,” she coos, mock sympathy dripping from her tone. “Too much? Too bad.”

She doesn’t stop. Not when your legs try to snap shut around her hand. Not when your breath stutters. Not when another orgasm slams into you so hard it rips a scream from your throat.

You’re crying now, tears spilling freely, but Sevika just fucking smirks.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead against yours, voice dripping with wicked amusement. “That’s only nine.”

[erisv7]

— The Female Lead In a Yandere Harem Game

The Imperial Chronicle

Issue 157 | Year of the Tiger, 12th Moon Cycle

SCANDAL IN THE PALACE: THE EMPEROR BRINGS DISGRACE WITH A CONCUBINE

The lady glanced over the scandalous news once more. Her lips curling into a wry smile. Despite the insult of her husband's betrayal, she maintained indifferent. She carried herself with dignity, as if the scandal is unworthy of her concern.

"So, you're the concubine he picked."

The empress's voice was smooth, almost sweet. As she lounged back in her seat. With deliberate ease, she pressed the heel of her jeweled slipper onto the concubine's shoulder. A mockery of affection that carried the weight of her disdain.

[Name] knelt frozen, her mind racing. How had it come to this? She had never sought the Emperor's attention, nor wished to be dragged into the chaos of court life. Yet here she was, the plaything of power, caught in a game she had no hand in starting.

The empress tilted her head, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "I suppose even a pawn can be amusing." She mused, pressing down slightly harder. [Name] remained silent, her shame swallowed by a quiet resignation. It wasn’t defiance. Only the hollow understanding that her fate had never truly been her own.

"Do you know why he took you as a concubine?" The empress drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. She leaned closer, her piercing gaze slicing through [Name]'s composure. "It wasn’t for your charm, your wit, or even your beauty. No, it was for me."

[Name]’s breath caught, her confusion plain. The empress’s lips curled into a cruel smile as she continued.

"He chose you because I instructed him to. A quiet girl from an unremarkable family. I have no taste for men. Their arrogance, their fumbling desires. I find it all... distasteful. Women, though," She said, her fingers lightly brushing [Name]’s cheek. "Women are art. And you, my dear, are here because I wanted you."

[Name]’s mind reeled. She hadn’t chosen this life, hadn’t asked for any of it. Now she realized she wasn’t even the Emperor’s plaything. She was the empress’s pawn.

The empress reached out, tracing a cold finger along [Name]’s jaw. "How does it feel, knowing your purpose was never yours to decide?" She whispered, her tone held cruelty and amusement. [Name] lowered her eyes, swallowing her bitterness. What could she say? This, too, was out of her hands.

"Prove your worth," the empress commanded, her voice low and smooth. Yet laced with a threat. She turned on her heel, not waiting for an answer. "To my bedchamber."

[Name] followed in silence, her footsteps heavy with resignation. The gilded doors closed behind them, sealing her fate yet again.

Later, the empress stepped out into the cool night. The air fragrant with blooming jasmine. She walked slowly through the palace gardens, her demeanor serene. Yet her mind sharp with satisfaction. The night was hers, her control absolute.

Meanwhile, [Name] lay on the silken sheets. Staring blankly at the ornate ceiling. Her thoughts spiraled into absurdity as she tried to make sense of her life.

She was the protagonist of a game. The female lead, ensnared in a world where everyone’s desires revolved around her. Pulling her into their obsessions.

She stared at her reflection in the polished bronze mirror. Searching for the girl she used to be. Instead, she saw the character they had cast her as. An object of obsession in a game she never chose to play.

[Name]’s mind wandered through the faces of those who seemed hopelessly drawn to her. Their obsessions suffocating and relentless. Each one brought with them a peculiar brand of madness that tightened the web around her.

The Emperor

Beneath his regal demeanor was a possessive man who saw [Name] as the perfect jewel in his collection. His love was stifling, expressed through gilded cages and lavish displays. He watched her every move, ordering his spies to report on her daily activities. If she so much as smiled at another man, that person would vanish. His existence erased by the Emperor’s silent wrath.

The Empress

Her obsession was colder, sharper, like the edge of a blade. The empress viewed [Name] as her personal possession. A treasure she refused to share. She would isolate her, ensuring no one else could bask in her light. The empress's punishments were subtle but devastating: restricting [Name]’s movements, destroying her friendships, and whispering poison into her ears to make her doubt herself.

The Knight

The palace knight. Stoic and loyal, was consumed by a feral devotion. He would cut down anyone he perceived as a threat, his blade swift and merciless. His obsession bordered on worship, and he viewed himself as her eternal protector. Yet his protection came at a cost, her freedom. He would lock her away if it meant keeping her safe, even if she begged for release.

The Wizard

The court wizard was a man of intellect. But his love for [Name] turned his brilliance into something terrifying. He would weave enchantments to bind her to him. Spells that made her dreams twist with his image. His obsession was suffocating. His love an experiment. If she resisted, he would create illusions to isolate her from reality, ensuring she saw no one but him.

The Maid

The sweet, doting maid hid a darkness behind her kind smile. She adored [Name] with a devotion that bordered on madness. She sabotaged any attempt [Name] made to grow close to others. Spilling secrets and spreading rumors. Her yandere tendencies were quiet but insidious: poisoned tea for rivals, missing letters, and stolen moments where she would cling to [Name] as if her life depended on it.

Each of them was a piece of a puzzle [Name] had never asked to solve. Their affections weren’t love. They were chains, binding her tighter with every gesture, every whispered promise, and every desperate act. She was the center of their twisted universe, and there was no escape.

~~

INTRODUCTION : WIZARD

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Billford x Reader cuddles fluffee💕♥️💕

Ford and Reader fall asleep on the couch together after a really long day of working on the portal. Bill comes in possessing Ford, but Read has an absolute DEATH GRIP on Fords body, and they won't wake up either, so Bill is just stuck there, forced to cuddle against his will! The horror!!!

(and he definitely likes it more than he let's on, because let's face it, Bill NEEDS a hug-)

──★ Bill Cipher’s guide to suffering: step 1, get hugged ִֶָ࣪☾.

Ford x reader x Bill, sfw, fluff

thank u for this request hun, that's such an interesting idea to write! ♡

It’s late, too damn late to be functional. The portal project is relentless and tonight it swallowed both of you, brilliant scientists, whole. You’re tired. So tired you can’t remember the last time you blinked without feeling your eyes burn, so here you are, curled up on the couch with Ford. He’s warm, his arm rests on your waist, holding you. You could stay like this forever. No portal. No equations. No endless parade of chaos. Just you and him, your lovely smart genius. However, you think vaguely that this couch was never meant to hold two people like this, his broad shoulders, your tangled legs, but the thought slips away as soon as it arrives. You’re too tired to care.

Ford murmurs something half-formed, your name tangled with numbers, probably some nonsense that only makes sense to him. Again this portal. Honestly, you barely hear it, through the fog of half-sleep, all what you hear is the soft hum of his voice while his chest rises and falls with each breath.

“No, Ford, you need to rest.” you smile against him, because he doesn’t really need to finish this tonight, does he? It can wait. Your arms tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He doesn’t.

“But the portal—” he starts and you cut him off with a sleepy hum, nuzzling your face against the rough wool of his sweater. It smells like him and the faint chemical tang of whatever experiment went wrong today.

“Shhh,” you drag the sound out as if you’re trying to soothe a restless cat. “just. . . stay. For a little while. Please?”

He doesn’t argue, too tired, just as you. For the first time in the whole exhausting week, he lets himself relax with a quiet sigh. Finally. You close your eyes. Yeah. This is better.

Some hours later, Ford’s body stiffens beneath you before going still again. Then again he jerks under your hand, his muscles twitching and you frown, your brows knitting together as you pull him closer.

“Ford, it’s fine. Go back to sleep.” you calm him down, thinking he's having a bad dream. Unfortunately, this began to happen more and more often with Stanford.

“Well, aren’t you a little barnacle. . . Clingy, aren’t we, doll?”

The pet name barely registers. You shift against him, still half-asleep. “Ford?” you blink once, twice, before your eyelids sink shut again. You don’t even process the difference in his tone, the lazy mockery threading through his words.

“That’s me,” Ford's body moves, wanting to get up and that's when you tighten your grip, burrowing your head against his chest.

“Don’t. . . don’t go back to the lab. You need rest.”

“But babyyy, who else is going to do this if not me?

You freeze now. That word, Ford’s never called you that. Never used anything close to it, really. Your brain stumbles over the word.

Your reactions are too slow because sleep is what you need the most right now, you'll definitely ask him about it, but later. Ford tenses again, but you don’t let go. “Please, stay. Just for tonight. For me.” your voice muffled against him. “I’ll make coffee later. You’re so warm.”

He stiffens and you don’t understand why. You’re too drowsy to care.

Ford Bill laughs. “You’re a stubborn little thing, huh?”

You nod, nuzzling closer. “Love you, Ford. You’re safe here. Don’t worry about the portal. It’ll keep.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Bill tries to move Ford’s body again and fails. Your grip is too tight. “What the hell—”

“You’re not going anywhere.” you mutter, half-conscious but entirely stubborn.

Eww, that’s disgusting. All your stupid little human things, Bill thinks, lovey-dovey nonsense. Kisses and cuddles and 'i love you's. Ugh.

Bill hisses, struggling against the deadweight of Ford’s body and your death grip. “are you kidding me? let go, you clingy meat sack!”

You don’t respond, already drifting back to sleep, lulled by the familiar rhythm of Ford’s heartbeat under your ear.

Bill wants to shove you off, peel you away like the nuisance you are, but— but you’re warm.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

It’s infuriating, your face is tucked into his chest, like you actually trust him. Like he’s not a god of chaos who could snap his fingers and turn your precious little dimension upside down. The audacity of it.

And yet, he can’t quite bring himself to move. It’s disgusting. It’s uncomfortable. It’s. . . nice? No, no, no, no, no. He refuses. He refuses.

Fucking humans, sentimental little parasites. Always clinging, always needing, always—

You smile in your sleep.

Bill goes still, motionless, probably plotting your demise, cursing his predicament, but he doesn't move. He just lies there, trapped, a caged beast forced to endure the unexpected warmth of human affection.

And honestly it's kind of hilarious. The horror, you say? The real horror is watching Bill Cipher, the embodiment of chaos and destruction, forced to cuddle against his will. The horror is the look of utter bewilderment on his face, the way his single, malevolent eye seems to be pleading, begging for release.

Let him stew. Let him learn a little something about the human condition. Let him experience the unexpected comfort of a warm embrace. Besides, who knows? Maybe a little human affection will do him some good. Maybe it'll soften those sharp edges and melt that icy heart.

ps - barnacle: a person or thing that clings tenaciously :)