#tw non consensual pictures

[youryanderedaddy]

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

[konigsblog]

i’m on my knees begging for stalker!price headcannons 🙏🏻🙏🏻

stalker-price headcannons... 👀

tw/cw: stalking, non-con/rape, somnophilia, cruelty and violence, non-consensual recording. tell me if i missed anything. stalker!price x victim!afab!f!reader. MDNI 18+

stalker-price is the type to be bold when it comes to being a pervert over his beloved girl. he adores the sight of you sleeping especially; peacefulness and relaxation, completely unaware of price looming over you, with the head of his leaking dick rubbing against your clit in soothing circles ‘til he's shaking and trembling with delirium and desperation, chest rising and falling rapidly as he takes pictures of your body.

he's tempted to slide inside your tight hole, to shape your cunt to fit the size and thickness of his meaty dick — but, he worries that he'll be taking it too far, getting too confident. he worries you'll be awoken to the piercing, agonizing feeling of being raped by your captain, not understanding a thing as your forced to sleep with a cloth over your mouth.

stalker-price spends the majority of his time in his office in the military base. the door is locked, preventing anyone from walking inside and catching him in the act of getting off to the recording of you in your barracks. he's frustrated that you've come into his life, turning him into a depraved and disturbing pervert. his cock twitches as he twists his calloused hand around his meaty, veiny shaft, stroking himself slowly to the sight of you undressing. there's nothing sexual about this, you're just simply getting changed out of your workout clothing, but fuck, it feels as if you're taunting price by doing this, love...

stalker-price will linger around and watch as you spar with the others. he's tempted to kidnap both you and johnny, to turn you two into his pretty victims. watching you spar, sitting atop of johnny leaves his boxers feeling as if they're too tight for his fat cock, his breathing laboured as he excuses himself to get off in the shower.

imagine your surprise when you find polaroid photos of your sleeping body with his fat, drooling dick against your cunt, and his large, scarred hand groping your soft breast.. :(

[dead-dove-yandere]

OC Intro - Noah

Voyeur Yandere

Male ♡ 21 ♡ Human ♡ NEET

TW: Stalking, non-consensual photography, voyeurism, obsession

♡ - By all accounts, he’s a nobody, a loser. A former latchkey kid with an emotionally absent family, no friends, constantly teased and bullied growing up.

♡ - All he had to satisfy his need for connection was the ever growing collection of horror films.

♡ - Everyday after school, he’d watch them over and over, taking pictures of his favourite actors and actresses from magazines and posters and carefully pasting them into scrapbooks for him to worship later.

♡ - He’d spend all of class daydreaming about meeting all his favourite stars and how they’d love him, not ignore or mistreat him like everyone else in his life.

♡ - He barely managed to graduate high school and afford a small apartment, with nothing but a mattress on the floor, piles of his movies and a cheap portable DVD player to watch them on.

♡ - He only just manages to scrape by, scrounging up enough each month to pay his bills. With no job and no social life, he falls into a spiral of depression.

♡ - Until he met his darling. You.

♡ - Dragging himself to the convenience store one evening to search for dinner, he saw you, practically glowing under the fluorescent lights and he knew he had to do absolutely anything to worship you.

♡ - It started small, frequenting that same store in hopes of seeing you again. Then he escalated. He scoped out other shops you went to. Collected receipts that fell from your pocket. He scoped out where you live and stood outside, trying to find the best angle to peer into your bedroom window.

♡ - With what little money he was able to scrounge up he bought a camera and started taking photos of you surreptitiously, first through your bedroom window, then from afar at your place of work, and eventually even from right behind you as you walk down the street, once he plucks up the courage.

♡ - Every photo is treasured, loving printed, cut out and pasted into his scrapbook just like all of his favourite movie stars.

♡ - It isn’t long before he starts filming you too. With no job of his own, he has all the time in the world to secretly follow you and film your every move before burning the footage to a disc and watching it over and over - his own found footage horror film.

♡ - He can’t wait to meet his favourite star. For now he’s too shy to try to introduce himself. But for now, perhaps it’s better he loves you through the screen. It’s what he knows after all.

♡ - But soon, he’ll make his move - after all, he wants nothing more than to show you all his favourite films.

♡ - He’s a sopping wet pathetic loser of a nobody, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to ensure that he is your sopping wet pathetic loser.

Personality

Noah is a NEET, prone to bouts of low self esteem, but he is easily motivated by his darling. He worships and reveres his darling like they were a deity, the same way he obsesses over film stars and celebrities, who he used to get attached to as a teen. He’s shy and feels it’s a lot easier to just watch his darling, whether it be through the thousands of photos and hours of footage he’s amassed or whether it be engaging through voyeurism more directly. That being said, he dreams of finally working up to courage to talk to his darling, and take them back to his apartment, even if he is embarrassed about how bare it is. He’s obsessive, devoted and utterly pathetic and would bend over backwards to please his darling even if it would hurt him. He’d do almost anything - except let his darling go, of course. A lovesick puppy of a yandere, completely in denial about anything being wrong whatsoever.

This is my first time writing something like this! I hope it is okay!

More OC intros and writing involving my characters will be coming soon - I plan to open requests for the first time once I have built up a larger catalog of stories and OCs :))

Dividers Credit: See Pinned Post

[yandere-daydreams]

i swoon at your power to take ideas and make them great fanfics. the lyla one was awesome, whoooo! 😤 thanks for running with my suggestion. perfect for my wlw wednesday

i love imagining those little tense moments before the pictures and videos appear that miguel KNOWS somethings up and lyla looks SO SMUG while glancing over at darling and they're (maybe ever so slightly) shivering. but is much too afraid to say anything out loud.

oh especially if in the beginning of their capture (before lyla actually began her sessions) when miguel was out darling hoped lyla could offer a sense of reprieve and friendship, hell, maybe she could help darling escape!

and that was their first mistake, hoping.

it's almost perfect, the unintentional good cop bad cop dynamic lyla and miguel had. if only they had planned it earlier, coordinated better darling could have been mindbroken even faster. but it's mors fun when they struggle, isn't it? Lyla thinks so.

tw - non///con, kidnapping, physical/sexual abuse, and consensual recording.

difjisjflksjdflk i actually usually hc that lyla's the one who takes care of, like, the majority of your upkeep while miguel's off repressing his emotions and fighting anomalies, so i can picture a scenario where the reader is desperate enough to try to befriend lyla despite knowing she can't go against miguel's orders and is very likely reporting everything you do or say back to him. you know she can't help you escape, but with such limited options, you're forced to confide in her, to treat her as something resembling a friend, and to rely on her as your only real support in this fucked-up scenario. it's not much, but it's what you have. if that means you have to trauma-bond with your kidnapper's alexa, then so be it.

which means it really, really hurts the first time she pins you down with mechanical arms and makes you cum until you go blind on a vibrating attachment, all while recording a little something to make sure miguel doesn't feel like out. you can't be sure if it's something he asked her to do or just a robotic whim meant to pass the time she has to spend with you, and so you're trapped in this bleary, constantly exhausted twilight zone between begging him to make her stop and not wanting to put yourself through the punishment that'd follow trying to avoid his twisted affection. the result is, unhelpfully, not saying anything at all and trying to recover in the few, sparse hours can find between lyla's sadistic "enrichment time" and miguel's never-ending lust. they might eventually come to a consensus, be able to talk about the way they both treat you openly, but there's a good chance that you'll just find yourself caught up in a cycle of being fucked unconscious by lyla and her toys, having her send pictures of your ravaged body to miguel, and finding yourself speared on his cock a few minutes later when his hand inevitably fails to sate him - a reaction which, of course, just makes lyla want to rile him up more. either way, you're not getting a break anytime soon <3

[applejuicefruit]

hey, could you do a, trigger warning by the way, where the reader was harassed in the street/ and or in the workplace and she comes home sad, but doesn't tell kylian anything, he tries to talk to her about what it happened, and in the end she ends up telling him and he comforts her and in the end you decide, if you can and feel comfortable, thank you. <3

thank you for requesting this one!

also tw : violence, harassment , verbal abuse , non consensual touching, don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable!!!

kylian mbappe x reader

Fairytale

You loved your work.

You really did.

You worked for a big photography company based in Paris. Always working with famous photographers coming from all over the world. Your company worked for important museums and events all over the country and that’s how you met Kylian. You and your colleagues were sponsoring the company during some football event and when he was asked to take some pictures for it he couldn’t help but be mesmerised by you. Your beauty and kindness made him fall in love with you.

You started dating a couple of weeks after your first meeting and now, two years into the relationship things were going wonderfully amazing, both for him and you.

A few things were changed inside the company, as it began to expand internationally your boss decided to hire more people so they could help with the amount of work you all had to do.

One of this people was Luis. He was kind and shy at first. He was a little bit older than you but not that much. You’ve been his mentor when he first started, he knew he could rely on you especially when there were so many things do to and he had no idea of where to start. You were always welcoming with anyone who asked for help so you didn’t mind spending more time at the office helping him out.

He tried to ask you out once but you stopped him right away, telling him you actually have a boyfriend.

He got the memo and never made any kind of requests to you, instead he asked you to forget about his failed attempt so you could be just friends - of course you agreed, in the end he was your colleague and you wanted to work with good energy.

One friday night you and Luis were staying over finishing some project that you didn’t want to finish the next day. You already texted Kylian telling him you were getting home late because of work and, even if he sounded sad he knew how much you loved your work so he couldn’t really complain, not after all the nights you spent awake waiting for him to come back from training.

“I think we’re almost done” Luis said writing something on his computer.

“Yup. I’m all done with these pictures…” you showed him and closed the computer waiting for him to be done.

“Give me a minute and I promise you that you won’t see me again until next Monday” he joked and you laughed a bit.

Once he was all done you stood up from your chair and went to grab your jacket but Luis hands stopped you.

He took your wrist and turned you to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, concern evident in your voice since he was acting a bit strange.

“Why don’t we stay here for a bit longer? No one’s here…” he whispered and something told you that you had to turn around and run as far as you could but his hands still on your wrist stopped you from doing so.

“Luis I think we should go home…and rest, we’re clearly very tired…” you tried to calm him down, panic surging in you.

“Perhaps…you should come home with me? What do you think?” he said taking a few steps over and putting his hands on your hips “I could show you some things that your football boyfriend doesn’t know…he doesn’t deserve you. He’s probably fucking a new girl every night when you’re not home…I could really show you some things” he said while one of his hands grabbed your butt and squeezed it a little.

“Please Luis stop…just let me go and I won’t say anything about it…” you said, tears falling from your eyes.

“Why? Why should I let you go? You know what I’m saying is the truth…in these past years he has probably cheated on you every single time you weren’t there…” he said and you tried to not let those words into you. You’ve always been insecure about your relationship, mostly because you didn’t look like any kind of models Kylian dated, and you didn’t look like any other football player’s girlfriends. You were just you with a normal job and a normal life, no one special or famous. Even now that you and Kylian were dating you wanted your life to remain private, not looking for money or fame.

But Luis knew your weak spot and he was trying to get into your head.

“It’s not true…I love Kylian…he would never do something like that” you said back and he laughed.

“Maybe…or maybe he’s fucking a model while you’re here all alone with me…” he said, his lips ghosting over your ear and it made you shiver. You were completely terrified. And alone.

“We could have some fun now…” he squeezed your ass again trying to get into your panties.

You were scared and you had no idea of what to do, but adrenaline was rushing through you so, with your knee you reached his lower parts a kicked as strong as you could. You saw him leaving his grip on you and clenching down from the pain and in that moment you ran outside the building, not even caring about your jacket or laptop. You only got your bag and your car keys and you reached for your car. Your hands were shaking and you couldn’t focus on the road but your main goal was to reach home and kylian’s comforting arms.

You were driving too fast but you didn’t care.

Once you reached home you didn’t even bother to park your car, you just left it there once the gate was opened.

Kylian was currently laid on the couch scrolling through his phone when he heard your engine stop, sign that you were arrived.

You opened the front door and Kylian swore he almost died when he saw the state you were in. Your eyes red and puffy and your face wet with tears, your body was shaking and you couldn’t breathe.

“Y/n? Babe? What happened?” he ran to you when he saw you couldn’t even stand by yourself.

You tried to speak but no word came out of your mouth.

“Princess talk to me…are you hurt? What happened…baby? Please talk to me…” he said reaching for your hands “can I touch you baby?” he asked softly and you nodded. He wrapped his arms around your body and you let your tears fall while he softly stroke your back.

“Shh…it’s okay baby” he whispered trying to soothe you “can you tell me what happened baby?”

“He…he touched me and I just-I didn’t do anything, I was paralyzed” you explained and he was fuming, someone touched you without your consent.

“Who baby?” he asked even if he knew who did it.

“Luis…he-he tried to…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence that you began crying again. Kylian got what you meant and he was so mad at Luis that he was sure he wouldn’t have his job the next day.

“It’s okay baby, it’s over now…you’re here and he can’t hurt you, you’re safe baby” he comforted you and that’s all you needed.

“Why don’t we sit on the couch for a bit? I can prepare you a cup of tea if you want to…” he suggested but you shook your head.

“No please, I just want you…” you said hugging him, holding him for dear life.

“I’m not leaving baby, I promise you” he helped you sitting on the couch while he sat next to you.

You were still pretty shocked, still trembling but your cries stopped.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked you but you said no.

“Did he…” he didn’t even want to ask you that but he had to know if anything bad happened.

“No he didn’t. I stopped him before he could do anything…he just, his hands were all over me and I felt my body completely numb, I wasn’t even reacting…” you said feeling guilty about what happened. Kylian sensed it too but he comforted you.

“Baby, it wasn’t your fault okay? None of this…he’s just a dick who can’t accept a no, it wasn’t your fault…you’re just a victim but I’m glad you’re okay…you’re safe” he kissed your forehead and held you in his arms.

“Why can’t people be nice? Sometimes I wished I was fucking Cinderella and I lived in a fairytale, why can’t that be the real world?” you asked and Kylian soften a bit.

“You’re too good for this world baby…we don’t deserve you” he said kissing your cheek, making you smile a bit.

“He’s dead…his career’s over, I promise you he will never hurt you or anyone ever again” Kylian said with a poisonous voice. You knew Kylian was pretty famous, especially in France, he was seen as a God, capable of incredible things and you also knew he had his contacts. Plus your boss was a huge PSG fan so he only needed to call him to have Luis fired.

Kylian didn’t care if he was going to ruin a man’s life. He couldn’t care less, not when that man harassed you, tried to get his way to you, touched you without your consent and scared you. Kylian was so mad he could have killed him but you needed him and his comfort and he was going to take care of you as long as you needed him.

[apollodarling-writes]

hi! if its okay may i request yan!kenma hcs? ty!

YANDERE KENMA HEADCANONS!!!

tws: isolation, murder, aphrodisiac, drugging, non-con, kidnapping, violence, bullying, breaking and entering, non-consensual picture taking, panty stealing/sniffing, camera placing, forced pregnancy

Kenma would for sure know that what he's feeling is wrong. He's too smart not to know.

Kenma would try to ignore those urges and be a normal person. He would try to court you normally. But, when that one classmate of yours got too close to you, nothing mattered anymore. Well... nothing but you.

Kenma would spread rumors about you to make you lean on him more. He's the isolating type, so it'll be awful rumors. You'll likely end up being bullied they'll go missing too

He would also sneak into your room at night and place cameras in every corner so he could get the best pictures and videos of you; keeps it on a flashdrive.

Kenma would steal some of your things over time. Specifically panties, lingerie, chapstick, and the like. He'd also take a few shirts/hoodies of yours to wear at night.

Kenma would try his hardest to keep from killing people, but some of the people around you are parasites. He stalks them for a few days and waits till they're alone to pick them off. He doesn't like to be messy about it. He'll purchase poisons and inject them into the bloodstream, or he'll simply bury them alive after knocking them out.

Since Kenma is incredibly smart, no one would find the body. No one would know what happened. And even if they did figure out that it was murder, no one would suspect that it was him. No one would think that the scrawny boy who hates exercise and social interaction would kill someone in cold blood.

Kenma would end up kidnapping you. It could be that you caught him, he feels threatened by the other students, you were distancing yourself from him- it doesn't matter. You'll end up in his basement or in a cabin that he purchased on the dark web.

If you have a uterus, he'll want to have your own kids. If he has to force it, he will.

He knows all about Stockholm, he'll force that too.

Kenma is male, so he has desires. He can only help himself for so long- especially if you're right there. If you keep refusing him, he'll just acquire an aphrodisiac or a roofie.

He honestly super scary. You'll never know when he's mad. He always speaks to you in that gravelly, monotone voice. His facial expressions never change. He's not easy to anger, but god help you if you manage it.

Kenma isn't one to starve you or beat you. He'll just lock you up for a few days and leave you minimal food and water. He'll deny you showers and hygeine though. You'll learn.

He forces cuddles and physical affection. He has to be touching his future wife/husband/spouse.

You'll never manage to leave him. He's Nekoma's brains for a reason. He will have everything thought out beore you can even plan to leave.

When you finally accept him, and Stockholm comes in clutch, he'll be over the moon. Hugs, kisses, a nice dinner, gifts. Anything you want.

He'll be the breadwinner of the house. Kodzuken makes bank tbh.

Overall, not the worst, but defintely still pretty bad.

"[Name], I love you. It doesn't seem like it right now, but you'll understand some day."

"[Name] is mine. You've jeopardized our happiness and now you'll pay with your life."

"The drink is a bit salty? Ah, I must've dropped some salt in by accident..."

"I love you so much, [Name]. You'll love me too someday."

[angelyuji]

peeping peter

yandere!peter parker x reader

peter decides that he's had enough waiting :)

tw // kidnapping, non-consensual picture taking, stalking, shitty friend activties, peter is a perv!

dark content ahead! 18+

“peter! hey!” you rush over, pushing past the many fast-paced new yorkers.

“(y/n)!” peter perks up, holding two coffees and a camera slung around his shoulder. the weather was frosty, people were preparing for an awful winter storm over the weekend, and you had promised to meet peter for coffee after work.

“ahh, oh my gosh, thank you so much.” you almost moan as the coffee warms you up.

“you took your time getting here,” he laughs, he takes his camera out to take pictures of bystanders before turning it to you. “pose, please.” you freeze, coffee cup against your mouth. “perfect.” he looks at it for a couple seconds before turning it to you.

you smile, “peter parker, you are the only one capable of taking good pictures of me.” he shrugs, but you see the embarrassment creep up his face. you walk together, catching each other up. both of you end up walking through a park. aside from the quiet clicking of peter’s camera and the chirps of the birds, there was a comfortable silence between the two of you. soon you’re both in front of your apartment.

“thanks for coming, (y/n).” he smiles.

“it was nice catching up with you, pete.” you hug peter and he blushes again. “we should do this again sometime, once work settles down.” you smile.

“i’ll-i’ll send you the pictures later.” he turns away, putting his camera in his bag. you bite your cheek, stopping your laugh. the both of you part and the rest of your day progresses as normal.

at night, you’re awoken by a sound. something like clicking.

“it’s probably just some dumb kids.” you assure yourself, rolling over. your eyes close, but you sit up after hearing the clicks once more. you sit up, annoyed. you look towards your window, contemplating yelling at whoever’s on the roof, but see someone standing there. your eyes go wide, your breathing stops. their hands press against the glass of the window. the room turns cold and you can’t move. their hands start to, carefully slide open the window. right then, your body turns back on and you jump out of bed, sprinting to the door. you hear the window slam open and you start screaming. you get to the front door and unlock the deadbolts, but before you could open it. a hand slams against the door, cornering you. you face the door, shaking, too afraid to face the trespasser. their arms cage you against the door.

“(y/n).” the hairs on your neck stands as you hear the voice. “do you know who i am?” his voice was dark, almost teasing. you turn, careful not to brush against the arms trapping you.

“spiderman?” you recognize the masked man. you let out a breath, slumping against the door. “spiderman, oh my gosh, i thought you were some pervert.” you laugh nervously, ignoring the fact that the hero broke into your home after watching you from your window. he doesn’t respond, only using a hand to stroke your cheek. you frown, weirded out. “spiderman?”

“i love you.” your blood runs cold. you swallow.

“what- what are you talking about?’ spiderman chuckles. your body feels numb.

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i was going to keep it inside you know?” you try to move his arms, but he wouldn’t budge. “but, i don’t think i can hold back anymore.” you feel your throat close up, as your situation sets in. “the pictures aren’t enough for me anymore.” he shakes his head.

“p-pictures?” you respond, meekly. he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against your door, you feel the wind get knocked out of you. you start screaming, praying someone will hear, scratching and kicking wherever you can. spiderman doesn’t seem fazed by your panic.

he shushes you, “don’t worry, (y/n), you’ll be okay. just give in.” his hand around your throat tightens. your vision goes dark as you start losing air. you’re fighting your body as it tries to give up. his grip tightens once more and you pass out.

when you wake up, your hands strapped to a bed. you try to look down and see that you’re wearing the same t-shirt and shorts you had slept in. sunlight streams in and you recognize the posters and clothing.

“peter?” you rasp, your throat sore. you start to remember everything that had happened before you lost consciousness. you close your eyes as tears start to well up.

“you’re awake!” you open your eyes and peter’s bright smile enters your view. “i didn’t know when you’d wake up… i was worried i had…” he looks away. “but everything’s fine.” he smiles and crouches down next to you. he places a glass of water on the nightstand next to you.

“peter… you’re spiderman?” you choke out. he jumps up and helps you sit up, loosening the straps a little. he places the glass to your lips and you, gladly drink, spilling water on your t-shirt. he pulls the glass away once you had finished. you clear your throat. “why did you fucking KID-” peter claps a hand over your mouth.

“i’m not hurting you, (y/n), i love you!” peter pleads, but you only feel disgust. you most show it on your face, because peter stands, hurt. “i’ll show you. i’ll show you how much i love you.” peter goes to the desk at the corner of the room and digs through his dresser. he pulls out a thick binder. he drops it onto your lap and signals you to move. you’re forced to shimmy to the side and he sits beside you, pressing himself to your side. he opens the binder and your eyes go wide. all of the pictures were of you. “i’ve known you were the one since the moment we met. i saved every picture i’ve taken of you.” he smiles, laughing slightly. you look over at him, horrified. “look, these are the ones i took of you the day we met.” you look and realize that these are ones he’s taken of you at the park, but farther down were pictures of you in your home. he flips through and you see glimpses of pictures of you sleeping, getting dressed, taking a shower. you feel bile rise up your throat.

“how could you, peter?” tears are running down your face, “we were friends, how could you DO THIS TO ME.” you scream and peter slams the binder closed. you start screaming again, hoping his neighbors would hear, but peter stares at you. he gets up, shaking his head.

unimpressed, he rolls his eyes, “no one will hear you, (y/n), stop your tantrum.” you sob and peter sighs. he grabs his binder and puts it back on his nightstand. “i’ll be back later to give you something to eat.” he opens the door, but pauses, “by the way, you don’t have to worry about working anymore.” he smiles and shuts the door. you scream, sobbing. you can feel yourself get nauseous once more and you turn to the edge. you throw up, sobbing. you fall back, struggling against the binds. you give up once everything starts to hurt and cry yourself to sleep.

you’re woken up by peter picking you up. “silly girl, crying so hard you throw up.” he quietly chuckles. you keep your eyes closed, making a plan that once the door is open, you could startle him and escape. you smell the vomit on your shirt.

when peter opens the door, he whispers to you, “i know you’re awake, baby, don’t try anything stupid.” you open your eyes, and he laughs. “i’m spiderman, (y/n). i know how your heartbeat sounds when you’re sleeping.” you look away, scanning the home, you see the front door right next to the kitchen. he takes you into the bathroom. he puts you down onto your feet. “feel free to leave your clothes at the door, i won’t come in when you’re showering. i’ll replace the old clothes with some new ones.” he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone. you wait a couple of minutes before peeking outside, you see peter in the kitchen. he looks up and waves to you, smiling. you slam the door closed, panicking.

‘spiderman…peter is…spiderman.’ you feel the waves of nausea come back. “i’m fucked.” you mutter to yourself. you can’t talk, breathe, or fucking piss without peter knowing. you want to throw up, scream, and sob all at the same time. you splash yourself with water from the sink and slap your cheeks with your hands. ‘get it together, (y/n). you gotta get out.’ you shake your head and strip down. you carefully open the door to toss your clothes out the door. you quickly close the door again and lock it. you shower quickly, not wanting to be naked and vulnerable for long. but as you were finishing up, you recognized the hair and skin products lined up on the sink. you feel your knees buckle and hold yourself steady on the counter. peter had been watching you for a long time, every single product in the bathroom were the exact products you used. every time you start to dissociate from your situation, you’re brought back to reality. you close your eyes tight, fighting back your tears. ‘i have to get out. there’s no point in crying.’ peter knocks on the door, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“your new clothes are out here, okay, (y/n)?” peter doesn’t say anything more as he walks away. you peek your head out and snatch up the clothes before he turns to look at you. he gave you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

“what the hell?” you wipe your eyes, confused. you open the door and call out for him. “peter? w-where’s the rest?”

“rest? rest of what? i gave you my shorts and one of my t-shirts.” he tilts his head, similar to a puppy. you bite back your disdain.

“like a bra, or some underwear, i don’t know.” you press your lips together.

“ah,” he pouts, “i’m sorry, (y/n), i didn’t think to grab your underwear. i have a couple around here, but they have to be washed.” he smiles. ‘oh my god, he’s fucking crazy.’ your eyebrows raise, but you don’t say anything. you close the door and pull on peter’s clothing. you still feel vulnerable with the clothes on, you can smell peter on you. you brush your hair with your fingers, thinking about what to do next. ‘he won’t let me leave now, but if i go along with everything, with his insane delusions. he’ll trust me. with his trust, i’ll be more able to escape.’ you hum, realizing what you’ll have to do. you open the door, uncomfortable in your new clothes. peter brightens when he sees you. “you look beautiful!” he looks at you with adoration, but your skin prickles at his leering. you don’t say anything, only sitting down at the table near his kitchen. he places a plate down and fills it up with food. “i made this for you. it took me a couple tries to get the recipe right, but i think it’s perfect now.” he pushes a fork towards you. you pick it up and start eating, much to your dismay, it tasted good.

you swallow and clear your throat, “it’s- it’s good.” you force a smile on your face. he sighs, seeming relieved.

“good, good. i’ll make this more often for you.” he sits down across from you, stretching his legs out to knock against yours. you force yourself to not move. after a few minutes of silence, peter decides to talk, “are you feeling better?”

you pause, “yeah-yes, i’m feeling a lot better. i’m-i’m thinking more clearly too.” you look up at him, peter’s mouth twists into a smile. you put your fork down. “i-um. i’ve thought a lot about your confession.” he straightens, hearing your tone. peter stays silent, waiting for you to continue. “can you… can you show me the pictures again?” peter presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. he immediately jumps up and runs to the bedroom. you look to the front door, maybe 30 feet away from you. you hold back, knowing better than running from spiderman so soon. you resolve to wait until he trusts you enough to leave you alone in the apartment. peter comes back, “here.” he places it down. you watch peter as you open the binder. you barely register the pictures, focused on keeping a neutral face.

“it’s… nice.” you spit out. peter smiles, softly, oblivious to your blatant lies.

“you like the pictures now?” he shines.

“ye-yeah! i’m very…flattered. i’ve never had someone be so… devoted to me.” you force another smile. “i’m just s-so happy that you’ve finally told me.”

“i’m so glad you’ve come around, (y/n).” he gets up and gets you up. your eyes go wide.

“peter, wait-” peter picks you by the waist and plops you down on the table. you wince as your butt hits the table. “peter, w-what are you doing?” he cups your face in his hands.

“you love me? you really, truly mean it?” peter comes up close to you, your noses almost touching.

“i didn’t-” you stop, seeing his face drop, and he moves away. ‘fuck. i need to do something.’  quickly thinking, you grab him by the face and pull him back. “i love you, peter. every picture, every dirty thought you’ve ever had of me,” you lean in close to his ear to whisper, “turns me on.” you pull away, feeling disgusted with yourself. you feel tears streaming down you face, but peter seems to pay no mind. he swallows, one of his arms drop from your waist to your thighs. fear itches your skin as goosebumps rise all over your skin. you fight the urge to push peter away as his hand trail to your inner thigh.

“i love you, my angel.” he rests his head in the crook of your neck, leaving small kisses along your shoulder. “i’ll keep you safe, sweetheart. i-i’ve had a lot of regrets, things i wish i could’ve changed. but with you, things will change. i will keep you safe.”

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: Day Twenty-Four

“I’m doing this because I care about you” @febuwhump prompt

TW: imprisonment, non-consensual restraints, non-con inhibition of powers, stripped of powers, destructive love, toxic relationship, doing wrong for the right reasons, emotional Whump

*~*~*~*~*

Hero woke up in bed with a groan. Their mind was foggy, something niggling in the back of their mind seemed too far away to be urgent so Hero ignored it promptly and opened their eyes.

They frowned at the ceiling.

That wasn’t their ceiling.

This wasn’t their bed, or their pillow.

Oh god, Hero thought. I have no idea how I got here, please say they were hot— how much did I drink last night? Did I go out last night? Maybe to cool off? But no—

Hero couldn’t recall anything from last night which was only slightly concerning.

They rolled their lips into their mouth, ready to face the music, or the morning.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Hero froze, eyes slamming close on instinct. Was it too late to pretend to be asleep?

“Hero. I know you’re awake.”

Wait… Hero knew that voice. Hero frowned and sat up in the bed to a melody of rattling chains. Hero ignored Villain who sat at the end of the bed in a cosy looking armchair and immediately threw the covers off of them.

They followed the length of chain from their wrist that disappeared over the edge of the bed with fear slamming their heart faster in their chest. When they tried to move to see under the bed to where the chain went, the chain holding their other wrist in a metal cuff pulled taut.

Hero’s wide, panicked eyes went to Villain. “What is this?”

Villain raised their hands, showing Hero their palms a placating gesture. “Hero—”

“Villain. What is this?!” Hero asked, pulling at the chains harder. Hero kicked the duvet off their legs to find their ankles chain in the same heavy duty cuffs their wrists were encased in. “This is a little kinky, even for me.”

“Hero, I’m doing this because I care about you.”

Hero’s nostrils flared. “Let me out, Villain.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?!”

Villain raised their head a little higher in the air. “I won’t. Supervillain is making his move today and I refuse to let you get caught up in it.”

Hero blanched. “What?”

Villain stepped around the bed closer to Hero but Hero shook their head, pushing themselves back as much as they could. Until the cuffs around the ankles protested.

“Don’t come near me Villain! Not unless you’re going to release me this instant!”

“I can’t let you die, Hero,” Villain said, their voice quiet and soft.

Hero swallowed the lump in their throat, then schooled their features into a neutral expression and said very matter of factly: “this is the last time I will ask you nicely, Villain. Release me. Now. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Villain ran a hand down their face, cupping their cheeks in one hand as they blew out a breath. Then they shook their head, half turning their body away from Hero and shoving their hands into their trouser pockets.

“You can’t,” said Villain with the same soft quietness.

Hero frowned. They didn’t have time for this. “Then I’m sorry, Villain.”

Hero clicked their fingers and nothing happened. Villain tipped their head down to stare at the floor in front of them. Hero clicked their fingers again, picturing the chains snapping and setting them free.

Nothing happened.

Something looked large in their gut like panic, threatening to overwhelm Hero because why couldn’t they summon their magic to them at that time?

They clicked their fingers again. And again. And again.

Then they cast their burning eyes to Villain in question.

Villain held up a small bottle with a cork stopped in its neck. “Villain… what did you do?”

“What I had to,” said Villain. They shook the bottle gently, then looked over at Hero, their face the picture of heartbreak. “I knew you’d try to leave anyway.”

“What did you do, Villain?!” Hero demanded, their emotions threatening to run away with them. “Supervillain commissioned a promising young chemist, a graduate who needed a job if you can believe it, to make a chemical compound that would inhibit your powers for a while.”

It felt as if Villain had just stabbed Hero in the chest. “How long is a while?” Hero demanded, tears prickling the back of their eyes and threatening to fall. “Villain! Look at me!”

Villain’s eyes flicked to Hero’s, their shoulders hunched and resigned. “A little under a week.”

Hero’s heart dropped into their stomach. “What?”

Villain approached quickly, climbing onto the bed and reaching for Hero but Hero backed away until the chains pulled taut and they couldn’t go any further.

Villain’s eyes were glazed over, their chest moving far too quickly to be okay, blubbering excuses at Hero.

“I had to, Hero. Supervillain said that if I didn’t get you out of the picture that he would kill you!”

“I’d rather die trying to stop him than—”

“I know you would!” Villain yelled over Hero, stunning them into silence. Hero was trembling on the bed, seeing the helpless, desperate fury in Villain’s eyes… Villain had never raised their voice at Hero. Not once. “I know you would give your life to save someone else’s but who is looking out to give their life for yours, hmm?! Tell me! Tell me and I’ll let you go!”

The tears fell silently down Hero’s cheeks, not a single name coming to mind that would sacrifice themselves to protect Hero.

Not one except— “you.”

Villain’s shoulders wound tight, setting their jaw as they looked away from Hero.

Hero blinked and a new wave of tears fell. “Villain what did you do?” Hero whispered in a voice that wasn’t their own. It was too frail, too helpless and scared. Too childlike. “Villain.”

“I made a deal with Supervillain,” Villain choked out, tears falling freely down their cheeks and onto the bed as well. “I can’t—” Villain met Hero’s eyes with such conviction, such loyalty that it curled a hand around Hero’s lungs and they let out a soft breath. “I won’t let you die. I won’t. Don’t ask me to. I don’t care if you never forgive me, just as long as you’re still breathing… that’s all that matters to me.”

Hero shook their head, but when Villain placed their hand on Hero’s cheek they didn’t flinch, or wince , or pull away.

“I would let the world burn rather than sacrifice you to save it. They don’t deserve you. You don’t deserve to die for them.”

Hero’s hand reached up to cup Villain’s. “They never asked me to, Villain. I wanted to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

“I don’t care,” said Villain. “I’ll be the bad guy. I’ll keep you here forever if I have to. That way you won’t hate yourself when Supervillain makes their move. You can hate me instead, I’ll take the burden from you.”

Hero stared at Villain, completely at a loss for words. Isn’t this the love everyone would die for? An all consuming, unwavering loyalty? Unconditional and destructive? Heart wrenching and all too much, overwhelming and sickening?

Hero hated the twisted feeling in their gut that craved that love; the love so hot it threatened to burn both Hero and Villain, but in that moment… there were no words that Hero could say. Nothing they could do because they know if the roles were reversed Hero would have done the same for Villain.

“I hate you,” Hero whispered, their shoulders shaking as they leaned into Villain’s hand.

“I know,” Villain said.

“I hate you so much,” said Hero. Villain crept closer, their other arm wrapping around Hero.

“I know.”

“How dare you take that choice from me,” Hero blubbered, sobs wracking their chest, eyes burning. “How dare you!”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Hero leaned forward into Villain’s arms and sobbed into their shoulder. Villain wrapped their arms tighter around Hero, sniffing back sobs as well. They didn’t deserve to cry, they needed to be strong.

Hero and Villain fell asleep in each other’s arms, salt stained tear trails stuck to their cheeks. It took Supervillain four days to topple the Hero agency and assume control of the city. For now though, the lovers held each other close in their sleep, the guilt would be waiting for them when they awoke.

[fullofbees]

Camera Exposure

Lucifer has a rule against taking his picture for a reason. When you violate the rule, he makes sure to show you just how exposing it can be.

TW: Extremely Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Non-Consensual Exhibitionism, Spit, Spanking, Hair Pulling

Word Count: 3,882

»»----------► Reader is Female

Tonight was a rare occasion. Fingers dig into your hips, lazily guiding your hips up and down. Whispered praises fall from Lucifer’s lips with each drag of your cunt along his cock, his head falling back against the pillow.

No talons, horns, or fangs. No ropes, whips, or chains. He was too exhausted, too stressed from unspecified work from Diavolo that you practically had to drag him to bed. Undoing the buttons to his uniform, you complimented his dedication to the future King, to his brothers, and to you. Hands brush against his smooth skin as they slide underneath the fabric of his shirt, your affirmations stroking his ego and stoking the flames of his Pride. 

He kisses the top of your head once you pull his belt from his waist, his fingers finding the underside of your chin to pull your gaze to his. You smile, soft and sweet, telling him that tonight is about him. 

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you punctuate with a kiss to his knuckles, “Let’s take our time tonight.” 

You're surprised at how quickly he had settled into this variation on his role; no less dominant than before, but much more indulgent in what you were willing to give. He’s taken every teasing grind, kiss, and touch without complaint, a far cry from the demon that is able to control your body without a single spell. A sinful shade of pink blooms across his face and down his neck where it meets the red lines your nails etched into his chest. His eyes are shut tight, soft pants welcoming you with every thrust.

Even in the throes of passion, he always managed to be handsome. Elegant. Bewitching. Dare say… angelic. Truly a rare sight indeed. 

You wish there was a way to capture this moment forever, to have a keepsake of the time when you saw Lucifer at his most peaceful, and under your mercy no less. But, if the numerous times Mammon has ended up dangling from the ceiling, and the very clear verbal threats from Lucifer are anything to go by, pictures of your darling demon are forbidden. A nasty punishment would surely be your fate, not the fun kind he normally subjected you to in his bed, but an arduous lecture where you will more likely die from old age before ever seeing its end. 

Still… one little photo couldn’t hurt, right? It’s not like you would be so brazen as to set it as your screensaver. No, it would only be for you.

Brushing a few stray hairs away from your face and shifting your legs ever so wider, it’s almost embarrassing how easily your body bends to accommodate his impressive stature. Almost. Pressed chest to chest, his skin feels like fire, engulfing you with what felt like the embers of the Devildom itself. No fire raged as intensely as he did, yet no love could be as radiant. A perfect union between celestial glory and the impervious demon you knew him as now.

His hands slip to your thighs, cabernet nails decorating half moons on your body. Eyes crack open with your change in position, always curious and eager to thwart the tricks up your sleeve. You press your lips to his, hopefully hiding your true intentions with the guise of human adoration.

It’s often that you wonder if he misses it. Heavenliness. You’ve never seen what Lucifer, The Morning Star, Lightbringer, looked like. Simeon delighted you with stories of the angel he knew, Michael’s right-hand man, and how, angel or demon, Lucifer never stopped fretting over his brothers. You knew angels often had to quell human anxieties with “Be not afraid”, but if the angel was supposedly more magnificent than his demon self, you cannot understand why they’d be afraid. 

Of course, now you understand why humans trembled with fear. If a man with four inky black wings and serpentine horns appeared before you without prelude, you’d cry too. That’s why you try, even when his abyssal rage swirls around him, to lavish praise and tribute upon him. Devildom may be home to him now, but there’s always a doubt about how comfortable he feels away from the purpose he was created for. You kiss your human infatuation, weakness, and worship into him every chance you can. Perhaps, this way, you feel like home to him. 

You have him right where you want him. Eyes slip back shut as he basks in your devotion, but your gaze is focused on where your D.D.D sits on the bedside table. As careful as you can manage with his cock hitting just right where you need it, your hand reaches out for your phone. Once in your grasp, your lips part from his, but you still pepper kisses to his nose, forehead, and cheeks. Your plans would be ruined if he opened his eyes, but the privacy of his bedroom is one of the few places where your love doesn’t need to be tamed, so the kisses serve their purpose of distraction and freedom. 

With a soft moan, you return to your original position, hand pushing your phone into the mattress as you return to fucking him in earnest. 

A breathy, “fuck,” falls from his lips. Your own groans and pants resume, shaky hands unlocking your D.D.D and opening the camera, eyes darting between him and the screen. 

Just a… little more… Your thumb hovers over the button as the camera shifts into focus. You’re so close. 

The shutter sounds.

In an instant, the phone is snatched from your grip, wrist locked in the bruising grip of his other hand. 

“What,” he grits, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Luci, it’s not what you - Oh!” He silences you with a knock of your hands against the headboard. You’re under him now, his imposing shadow growing as the wings unfurl from his back and horns twisting towards the ceiling. Talons cut sharp into your skin now, and fangs glint dangerously within his snarl. 

“Did Mammon put you up to this?"

"No! Lucifer, please, just let me explain!" You push against his hold despite knowing that such action is futile. His hand constricts tighter. His gaze sharpens, a silent threat to stay still. 

"Our night was going splendidly, dear," he sighs wistfully, "So you better have a good excuse for ruining it."

You visibly gulp, staring up into the inferno that blazed in his eyes. "Y-you looked so peaceful, so relaxed... I'd never seen you like that before..."

"You're right," he says, "It's almost impossible to relax when your brothers and a meddling human cause endless trouble."

A stinging sensation burns in your chest at that comment, reverberating in the hollows of your ribcage. Still, you muster the strength to keep your face relatively neutral and summon the last shred of your confidence. 

"I wanted to remember you like that," you whimper, "I never wanted to forget this night."

"Who are you to say this was the last time?"

"It's not the last time, but that's the point, Luci, that it was the first. I wanted- a souvenir, I guess- of the first time I made you feel like that." 

It doesn't matter what kind of being answered your prayer, but you thank them nonetheless as his hands release their grip. A huff of annoyance escapes him as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Placing your hands against the mattress, you carefully push yourself up to be sitting against the headboard. 

"What am I going to do with you?" Lucifer mutters, his hand sliding to his chin in contemplation.

"What do you mean?"

Lucifer leans in close to you, his hand finding your chin and tilting your face up to meet his. Your noses bump together, a sly smile replacing the snarl. "Have you always been this selfish? Or have my brothers and I been corrupting you?"

Brows knit in confusion, you ask, "Selfish?"

His mouth follows your jaw down to your neck, humming against your skin. "Yes, selfish. Wanting pictures of me under your control is selfish, is it not?"

You want to roll your eyes at whatever new game he has decided you'll play, but end up moaning instead as his teeth sink into your neck. His tongue lavishes over the bite after, soothing the redness that gathers. Heat sparks in your lower abdomen again, reminding you of the bliss you had been in merely moments ago before your little stunt. Knowing the demon before you, it wouldn't be a surprise if he left you hot and bothered for the remainder of the night. He was a sadist through and through, particularly when it came to stubborn-headed you. Each time you held out, taking every bite, scrape, bruise, and denial of pleasure as proof of your worth to him. That is what made it all the more satisfying when you finally broke, crying and pleading for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you. You knew whatever punishment he decided to deliver would leave you a needy mess, begging to be used like the cockslut you are.

His hand abandons your chin, trailing down your body until he reaches your clit and pinches the bundle of nerves between his fingers. "Answer me."

The pain makes you cry out, thighs tensing together, his hand trapped between. The following pleasure, however, has you rolling your hips into his touch, searching for more friction. "Luci- Lucifer, please," you mewl with wavering breath.

"Do not," he warns as his other hand, which had been holding your D.D.D., drops the phone against the mattress. He places it against your right knee, forcing it down and away to expose your cunt to him again, "Do not make me repeat myself." 

You take in a shuddering breath before speaking. "Can you blame me for being selfish? Seeing you like that did wonders for my pride..."

He laughs, the deep baritone so sweet to your ears that you hope it's the first sound to greet you when you die. 

"I suppose you are forgiven..." Forgiven by an angel turned demon, what luxury has befallen you. "But you still must face your punishment."

With that, he easily slips two fingers into your core. You whine, head falling back as his thumb traces brutal circles on your clit. 

Being one of the most powerful devils grants Lucifer the ability to see the soul of any human he wishes. It is easily his favorite thing to watch about you, how it reacts to the events you find yourself in. Right now, it seems as if your soul is winding in on itself as the pressure builds in your body, each twist becoming tighter as your muscles tense. As his fingers set a steady pace, he watches your soul pulse in sync with your fluttering heart, the energy of your pleasure crackling and sparkling, waiting for the final strike that will allow it to burst forth. It's incandescent how it shines from you, like a torch in the darkness. It's maddening how effortlessly it beckons him close; he needs to look away. He instead chooses to focus on your face. How you bite down on your lip with each thrust; the sweat on your forehead; the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you gasp and pant. Yet the thrumming of your soul is too much; you're right on the edge.

You practically bawl when he removes his hand. You knew this was your fate.

Lucifer smoothes a few strands of hair back from your forehead, "Do not worry, love. It'll be over soon." A kiss is pressed to your heated skin. Using his strength, he's able to flip you onto your stomach with ease. One hand pulls your hips up until you're on your knees, the other hand keeping your head pressed firmly to the pillow. A light chuckle escapes him, "Perfect, stay just like that."

The sheets shuffle behind you as he moves, but you don't dare raise your head to see what he's searching for. You've always been prone to fidgeting when forced to wait. Your knees slide against the mattress, spreading wider. Fingers curl against the blanket, but when that doesn't alleviate the tension, they release the fabric, opting instead to drum impatiently. An ache forms in your knees, so you slide them back to their original position. 

A firm hand on the back of your thigh has you stop dead still, biting your bottom lip in anticipation. You feel Lucifer close in, the heat radiating off of him. With a gentle squeeze to your thigh, his cock enters you again, bottoming out in one motion. A high-pitched squeak escapes you at the unannounced intrusion, your body leaning forward as your cunt stretches open around him. You want to rock back, to fuck yourself against him, but the way his thumb digs into your flesh reminds you of your place. 

An imaginary clock ticks away in your head. This wouldn't be the first time you'd been made to be nothing but his cockwarmer and the idea of staying like this is torturous. Lesson learned, dammit. 

But the ticking wasn't imaginary; rather, it was the click of nails against a screen. Behind you, the glow from your D.D.D. lights up Lucifer's devilish smirk. It takes him a minute to find the app he wants amidst your disorganized sorting system, but as the logo for the video call service appears on the screen, he knows this punishment is one you won't soon forget. 

You inhale slowly and deeply, trying to quell your speeding heart for the long night ahead.

brrring... bring...

Is that-? Oh no . Nononononono!

"Oi, what d'ya think you're doin' callin' so - WHAT THE FUCK?" 

Ohmygodmammonimsosorry ...!

"Oh, Lucifer, you're so mean!~" Asmo whines, "It's rude not to invite-"

"Was this really necessary? My book was just getting interesting." Satan grumbles.

Lord above and Lord below, please end my life.

You hear the faint sound of crunching, followed by a muffled, "Belphie, look-"

Belphegor's laugh echoes in the room. That little sadist . "Looks like our human found trouble.~"

One brother is missing, and that gives you hope. Perhaps he's already running to your rescue, his video game abandoned, and the door broken off its hinges as he rushes to save your dignity. Levi has always been your knight, right? He'll be here any second.

An embarrassed yelp and the sound of a gaming chair crashing to the floor destroys your dream. "L-Lucifer! W-What are you doing!?"

killmekillmekillmekillmekillmekillme...

"Thank you all for answering," Lucifer states as if this is a routine meeting, "Our little lamb here thought they could sneak a picture of me. No doubt this is your influence, Mammon."

"Whaddya mean my influence!? I don't have to take this! I'm hangin' up!" 

"Mammon," Asmodeus's airy giggle resonates out, "You're supposed to look after them, right? Don't you think you should watch to make sure they're safe?"

"No! My duties don't involve watchin' Lucifer FUCK-"

"I have to agree with Asmo," says Belphie, "Beel is nodding his agreement right now. What do you think, Satan?"

A sigh escapes the fourth-born, "Not like I can return to my book after this nonsense, so, I suppose."

You want to scream, to cry, to do anything, but you can't will your voice or body into defiance. Instead, you bite the pillow below you, shoving your face deeper into its plushness as tears escape your eyes.

"Then we're all in agreement then," Lucifer slowly pulls his hips back until he's on the verge of slipping out completely, "Please feel free to make requests."

His hips slam back into yours, signifying the brutal pace he's going to keep. Each forceful thrust feels like you'll tip over. You swear you're steadily moving up the bed, bit by bit.

The hand on your thigh withdraws, only to return with a resounding smack! to your ass. A pained whimper rumbles rawly in your throat. You hear the mixture of surprised and pleased gasps from the brothers. 

"Can you- Do that again...?" Levi whispers.

Lucifer's knuckles cut across your skin as he backhands the other side of your ass. All groans give way to choked gasps as each thrust knocks what little amount of air you manage to inhale from your lungs. Your back drops in a languid arch, what little composure you have bending with it. 

"Please... please, I'm sorry..." You murmur.

His hand tangles into your hair, yanking your head to the side to expose your tear-stained face to the camera. "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Lucifer, please! I won't do it again!"

You hear Satan tsk on the line, "You know begging won't save you now." He doesn't sound composed, his own breath choppy and strained. 

Is he seriously...? ARE ALL OF THEM?

Trying to turn your face back into the pillow, another sharp tug to your hair prevents you. Shame and guilt bubble hotly through your veins; any more feverish and you'd surely burst into flames.  

"Awww, there's no need to be embarrassed, love!" Asmo soothes between his own labored pants. "Give them a little relief, Lucifer."

Lucifer's hand abandons your hair, tracing down your spine as he switches to shorter, faster thrusts. The relief from his intensity is indeed little, but now you are able to breathe a little more, and the ache in your hips doesn't feel as bad. The reprieve is short-lived, however, as his fingers find your clit once again. His touch is not teasing, not a slow crescendo into bliss. It's rough, demanding your body answer his command and do so now. Your thighs are trembling as the pleasure and pain merge in your core, your toes curling against nothing. You try to angle your hips away from his hand, but that only serves to force his cock deeper into you. You're trapped. 

Belphie yawns. "Hurry up, Lucifer, I won't be awake much longer."

Lucifer chuckles. "Is my show boring you, Belphegor?"

"Why do you insist on taking so long? Only you have the patience for this." He huffs.

If you know Lucifer, and you do, he's no doubt rolling his eyes. He and the seventh-born have very differing opinions when it comes to sadism. 

"Fine," he grunts, leaning in closer to you, "But make no mistake, dear, we're not finished."

A few more agonizing brushes against your clit finally has your body submitting. You hear Lucifer groan as your cunt spasms around him, just the mere presence of his cock making it hard to come down. Droplets of your cum drip down your thighs as the last few throes of your orgasm shudder through your body. Sweat clings to your body, cementing your hair to your face as you fight for breath. 

Lucifer adjusts his position, withdrawing completely in order to showcase your wrecked pussy to Belphie. A loud grumble - one of hunger - interrupts the scene.

"They look so delicious..." Beel growls. 

"They look gorgeous!" Asmo praises.

"I think they've learned their lesson, but one more should really drive it home," says Satan.

Levi only mutters into his hand.

Everyone remains silent after, waiting expectantly for greed to rear its ugly head.

"Can ya turn them over..."

Lucifer smirks, "You need to speak up, Mammon."

He grumbles, "I said can ya turn them over? Y'know, onto their back? To see their face?"

traitortraitortraitortraitortraitortraitortraitor.

Your body is limp, a mere doll that Lucifer positions for his little show. He allows you to fall to your side before rolling you onto your back. The light from your phone is blinding, but it's the idea of the demons watching on the other side that makes you shut your eyes. His hand brushes your hair away before his thumb dries the remaining tear tracks on your cheeks. Finally, a gentle touch has returned, but you know it will soon leave, so you place your hand over his, pressing your face further into his palm. 

Asmo coos, "Aww, you see, Lucifer? They really are sorry."

"But just to be safe..." Satan teases. You know he's trying to rile you up, to feel wrath emanating from your soul. 

It's working. You're going to kill him when you recover. You're going to use your pact to order him immobile and kill him dead. 

"Can you give me one more?" Lucifer asks.

You take a deep breath... and nod your head.

"Good girl."

Lucifer presses both of your knees to your chest. Out of habit, your hands immediately circle around them, holding them in place. He lines himself up with your entrance, sinking his length in immediately. A groan escapes both of you. Again, Lucifer's hand returns to your face, thumb pressing on your lower lip. You part your mouth, allowing his thumb to glide across your tongue. His fingers slip under your chin, holding your mouth open and waiting before he leans over you and spits into it. You swallow it eagerly. 

Mammon chokes.

You're finally granted respite. Lucifer's thrusts are slow and methodical, letting you feel every silky inch as his hips roll into yours. The pleasure building is the slow drawl you're used to, and after the near mind-shattering peak you had just experienced, the slow climb is comforting. It reminds you that, yes- Lucifer is extremely powerful- but it is with that power he uses to fiercely protect you. He may push your boundaries, erasing and redrawing the lines to his liking, but it is always with the intent of your self-discovery. He is many things; eldest brother, loyal servant, Lightbringer, but there is no title he cherishes as much as Your Lover. 

His room is filled with a symphony of tiredly soft moans, mixing with the wetness between your legs as skin meets skin. As his cock prods deeper into your heat, a new gush of arousal springs forth, further intensifying the sticky sound of your bodies joining. Little puffs of breath escape Lucifer as he glances down at the screen of your phone, his brothers still watching with voyeuristic glee. He doesn't second guess his decision to end the call at that moment, tossing the troublesome device off to the side and ignoring the thunk of it landing on the floor. 

Strong hands replace yours on the backs of your knees, urging you to instead wrap your arms around his shoulders. You do so happily, left hand tangling into the hair at the back of his neck, your right opting to dig into his shoulder blades. His lips meet yours, tongue swiping across your lower lip to soothe where your teeth had been cutting into the flesh. 

The second orgasm approaches quicker than you would have liked, but your body is sensitive and raw from the experience. With a soft cry of the demon's name, you cum again, cunt spasming wildly around him. Lucifer follows soon after, one final thrust shoving his cock as deep as possible as his seed floods your insides. When he releases your legs, you collapse fully to the bed in an utterly spent heap, heaving as you succumb to the exhaustion.

The next time you open your camera, you're greeted with a selfie of Lucifer, cradling your sleeping form to his chest.

•••✦ ❤ ✦••• Submit A Request | Read on AO3 •••✦ ❤ ✦•••

[uhhhhyandere]

jailbird pt. 1

a resident evil cast x reader shitshow

summary: alcatraz is a little... untraditional. what else would you expect from a prison on an island, away from judicial accountability? chris redfield, prison guard, wants to make an example out of someone. might as well be the prison slut.

tw: so many here & to come: consensual non-con; object insertion; painful sex; mommy kink; face-sitting; strap on; choking; pussy eating; ass eating; daddy kink; degradation; public sex

always stay safe with the content you consume; minors dni consistent interaction with adult content can and will fuck you up in adulthood; lmk if there are any tags i miss

Ao3 Link

The orange jumpsuit is rough against your pussy. It always is when you sit down, the crest of the fabric, where the seam runs from the zipper, down the front of the suit, and to the crack of your ass, rubbing into your cunt lips. It’s an easy problem to fix. Just push up in the seat to sit like a normal human being, but if you do that, you can’t shift your hips in just that right way so the seam brushes over your clit. The little jolt, and the major shame erased as you look around the rec area to see if anyone’s catching on, pussy dripping at the thought of being caught. Being bent over this fucking table, jumpsuit ripped in half and fucked.

Who do you want it to be, you wonder. 

Your eyes land on your cellmate. You don’t know what she’s in for. Honestly, maybe it’s for just looking the way she does, because what a fucking crime. Ada’s got that air of superiority to her, always looking down on whoever she’s talking to. Literally, sometimes, since she sleeps on the upper bunk. You’ve also seen her naked body too many times. You think it’s purposeful, the way she saunters through the bathroom when your cell block showers, when she always happens to get gone the same time you do. The way her ass moves with the sway of her hips. 

She’s got a cute fucking pussy too. Clean-shaven, thin lips, pink and pretty. Not that that’s relevant to anything besides the fact you want her to sit on your face, drive her hips down so you could feel her fucking pelvic bones on your cheeks, suffocating in her cunt. Nose and mouth completely swallowed up. You picture the way she’d grind back and forth, up and down your fucking face as her head falls back, black locks falling down her slender shoulders. Does she curse? Moan? Stifle them both with her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, red lipstick staining her teeth? Her stomach would flex and curl, thighs on either side of your face, smelling and tasting nothing but her. 

Her pussy would muffle your calls and moans for mommy. Yeah, she’d like that, you think. Not that she’d be into it, but she'd degrade your ass to hell and back. Oh, you need mommy? Your own never love you? Your own never smother your face with her mommy pussy? So sad. It’s okay, mommy’s here now, you pathetic fucking girl, but if you want a mommy that loves you? Look somewhere else. There’s a reason I cover your face, after all. Hold your breath a little longer, though, and maybe mommy will give you something nice. 

You’d rest your hands on her ass, palming the flesh and pulling her onto you more, slurping like a fucking animal . Your own hips would rise, your own pussy clenching onto nothing, seeking a friction that only the cold, prison air would meet. Humping the air. 

Unless…

Your eyes move across the rec area, to where a group of prison guards gather. One in particular sticks out, his hands on his belt as boisterous laughter erupts and carries across the room. Chris was always loud. You’d imagine it’d be the same with his thick cock sunk into you, balls slapping against your ass as his dick drags down your walls, head kissing your womb, a white and sticky promise to come. Of come. 

He definitely wouldn’t stifle shit, but you doubt he’d be able to get out words besides expletives while he slobbers like a fucking animal, frothing at the mouth. Uncontrolled, unhampered, fucking you like a dog in heat, and when he’d hunch over, folding your legs in half, feet towards your head even though a bitch like you doesn’t bend that way to reach deeper with that third fucking leg of his. The spittle would splay onto your face, wet and hot.

Those big, monster hands of his would grab your throat like a lifeline, cutting off yours. Thumbs pressing into the column of your throat, fingers wrapped around the back of your neck, maybe pulling at your hair if he’s got the dexterity. But Officer Chris Redfield is not dextrous. He is a man of raw strength. Each thrust into your poor, poor, pussy would feel as though it touches your esophagus, building in your stomach, which is saying a lot, since you’ve got a fucking tummy. A fucked tummy, blossoming with little Redfields. 

But if you wanted dexterity…

The other guard you know in the group stands a little away, arms crossed over her chest, them and the padding covering her tits. Crooked nose over a small smile at whatever elicited Chris’s booming laughter. You catch sight of long, lithe fingers over her bicep. They’d fuck you hard and fast, her hand bending to rub your clit while stretching you out, readying you for the silicone cock resting on her hips, long, curved. Purple. No, blue, definitely. She’d talk raw to you, you bet. Absolute filth, almost akin to your fucked up fantasies. She wouldn’t even need to look at her hands, so fast and purposeful. She’d whisper in your ear what a fucking slut you were, a desperate, writhing cockwhore, a good-for-nothing inmate, forsaken by society to be used for sex, how you’re lucky she’s even wasting her time on you. 

Then she’d take you from the back, long fingers grabbing your fat tits and squeezing, maybe asking in a huff of laughter whether milk will leak from your tits, that maybe she’ll take a drink when she’s done. She’d fuck you in public: a cell, the bathroom, the library no one uses, maybe, so one hand would eventually need to press over your mouth. Better yet, those fingers of hers would slip in your mouth, and you’d wretch, choke on them as the tip of her fingernail touched your uvula. Maybe you’d puke. Maybe she’d kiss you anyway, licking away the chunks of prison meal from your chin and neck after she’s done fucking you.

She’d fuck you endlessly, through and after your orgasm, coaching you through more. Oh, how she’d wish she could cum in you, fill you with her seed, make you fat with a fucking kid, unable to move so she could fuck you again. Then, she’d promise she would eat the cum right back, swish it around her mouth and spit it down your throat.

But she wouldn’t. She promises and promises, but she doesn’t. God, who would eat your pussy out? You scan the rec area, looking through droves of prisoners and guards alike. Sure, a few stick out: Helena, Sheva, that smelly Heisenberg fellow, Carlos, Claire, Shen May, Ethan if your daddy issues get worse (because you’ve got both, baby!) But none, maybe Carlos, would go down on you with the wrath of the gods.

They’d suck and make out with your clit, tongue laving, and flicking and circling it, hot breath blowing against your fat mound and labia. Their lips would drag down your slit, a hum from their throat resonating through your cunt and to your very soul until their pink tongue slips out again, limp in your hole, at first, settling between the soft muscle… until it starts to worm around in there, ever so slow, spit sticking to your inside. Their nose would, you fucking hope, be big enough for the tip to be against your clit, so they can look like they’re blowing raspberries on your pussy, because you’re a fucking baby.

Yeah, you’re a fucking baby with a mommy, but you need a complete family, don’t you? Need a father figure to blow raspberries on your fucking pussy and spread your asscheeks to lick into your cunt harder, kissing your pussy with the same intensity as your mouth, with the same spit dripping from his mouth. Your pussy juices will line his lips like a misplaced chapstick, and he’d peck your cunt one second and jam his tongue in there the next. 

He'd go lower, then, leaving a hot, wet trail down, down, down, until he presses his lips to your ass. Tight and dry, daddy’s tongue would circle the wrinkled skin before kissing it again with a mwah. Hands keeping your cheeks spread, he’d take his time before even trying to wriggle his tongue into your asshole entirely. The puckered skin will be glistening in a vile mix of your pussy juice and his own saliva, perhaps not so puckered anymore, and easy to stretch once daddy decides to eat his meal. His tongue would circle in, not strike through. He knows better. Knows you’ve gotta take it slow down here. Maybe he’d rub your clit with the rough pad of his finger to relax you so the base of his tongue would rest at your hole, the tip deep. Daddy would like it dirty, uncaring how unwashed and unprepared you were for him. 

If only someone like that existed, huh? Woe is you. Woe is literally—,

“Jailbird.” Oh. The glaze over your eyes dissipates in an instant, and you look up at the broad form of Chris blocking the skylight. Beefy muscles and thick neck and busting fucking man tits that maybe you should call him mommy instead. “You deaf? Get your head out of your ass and in line.” You hadn’t even noticed the line of orange jumpsuits along the wall, with one discrete space next to Ada, whose smirk got you dripping through your suit. As if you weren’t already.

There are plenty of things in the past ten minutes to flush over, so woe is you on what’s got your face burning in your scurry to join the line. You catch Jill’s eyes in your hurry and press your back against the brick wall. Why protocol exists every time you all are corralled back into your cell, whether it be from rec time, lunch, or otherwise, you never know. There’s no Shawshank Redemption at Alcatraz. What are we gonna do? Swim? Sure, little bright orange Nemo makes a great shot with a rifle. 

Whatever. It’s Chris feeling you up this time. Hands up, those hands of his start at your neck, pressing into your trachea with a small, small moan from you. It goes unheard. Ignored. They drag to your armpits, pressing in, then down your sides to your hips, back to your love handles, and up your spine. Then, he starts from below, around your calves, up your thighs, and over your ass, and… 

And…

Is he gonna move? Your brows furrow and you look down at him, but Chris’s already standing over you, looming. There’s a look in his eyes. Ready? It asks. You give the slightest nod. “I’m going to need you to take your suit off.” 

“You’re going to need what now?” is your response, and you’d take a step back, were there not a cement wall behind you. Eyes are on you now, from the prisoners and guards alike. Like an idiot, you seek them out, but no one is here to help you. Ada looks like she’s about to have the time of her life. Useless son of a bitch. 

“Did I stutter, inmate?” That booming voice commands more attention. You grit your teeth, and your skin is definitely on fire now. Today is not the fucking day for this. You avert your eyes to the ground, his black boots toed against your shower shoes, bright orange rubber around your exposed toes.

“I can’t, sir.” 

“What do you mean you can’t ?” Chris gets in your face, hot breath on you. No spit. Maybe your fantasy wasn’t totally accurate. You wince, both at his proximity and the echo of his voice in your ears. “Explain yourself.” 

“My laundry was stolen, sir.” A pin could drop and it’d be equal to Chris’s volume. Someone snickers somewhere. Your laundry thief, presumably, jacking it to your panties. Chris isn’t moved by your demure explanation. His eye twitches, but you swear you caught the faintest smirk pulling at the corner of his lip before it returns to a scowl. 

“I don’t give a shit if your laundry caught on fire, inmate. Suit off. Or you’re finding yourself in the hole for the night.” The hole. Alcatraz slang for solitary confinement. Hell. There’s heat, from his gaze, from the eyes of every inmate and guard in your cellblock. Goddamn it . You unzip the jumpsuit, cold air stark against your skin. You do your best to keep your tits under the fabric, and the end of the zipper rests a few inches above your crotch. Covered still. You look up, for confirmation. “All of it, inmate. Entirely.”

Your panty raider snickers again, and Ada’s still happy as a fucking clam. Her smile is approximately 0.02 inches higher than usual. 

Your tits fall first when your jumpsuit slips from your shoulders, bouncing down, nipples hard, skin wrinkled around the bud. One arm, two arms out, and you keep your eyes down. Everyone’s ogling them. You would be if you were in anyone else’s shoes. Through your deeply resounding shame and embarrassment, you hope they like them. Or, at the very least, don’t pay attention to your side boob, spilling under your arm. Or do, if they like that. You never know. 

“To your feet,” Chris instructs, and you let the jumpsuit fall in a pile. Pussy out. Ass out. Stomach out. It’s all just… out. You shut your eyes, pretend you’re in a porn shoot or something, or maybe an auction as the top prize. Very empowering scenarios, for sure. Still beats this one. “Turn around.” Your eyes shoot open.

Maybe in your fantasy, you’d fight back, give him unmatched snark, just for your pride, but your mind is filled with liquid right now, frontal lobe melted down to nothing, cerebral cortex nothing but a red puddle in your midbrain. Monkey do. Monkey turns around, and puts “hands on the wall,” Chris says. 

Chris’s boots spread your legs, so your thighs unstick and the cellulite jiggles in the air, cunt exposed towards the floor. Your chin touches your shoulder, and you look back at him. 

“This is so not protocol!” Two years in the clink, you know protocol and have seen enough shivs be confiscated to know. “I have rights!” Constitution says I do, and so does Saul Goodman.

“You lost your rights when your ass got dragged in here,” he replies. “Face forward, jailbird.” Your teeth grit and your vein pops in your jaw and neck.

“Not my eighth amendment, sir. ” 

“Oh-ho, got an attorney here, do we? Remind me what the eighth amendment says, Vinny.” Calloused fingers glide down your spine to your tailbone, resting on the crack of your ass. Chris speaks loud enough for all to hear, like Elf, but instead of Christmas cheer being spread, it’s your ass cheeks. You keep your eyes down, but Ada’s in your periphery. Her temple rests on the wall, watching. 

“No cruel and unusual punishments inflicted .” You know a rhetorical question as well as the next socially ept person, but you also know he’d pull it from you anyway, or just know the answer himself. Might as well just prove you still know something. Pride. 

“This is cruel?” His thumb tracks down, down, down, over the rim of your ass and to your cunt. “This is unusual?” His thumb breaches your cunt, and that kind of penetration is, number one, three crimes you’d file suit for, minimally, and second, nothing, feeling-wise. Well, you feel wronged. Physical feeling wise?   Just a thumb inside your pussy. “I felt something back here. You carryin’ something, jailbird? Got some contraband up that pussy of yours? I’ve got the right to investigate.” His thumb strokes your slick wall. 

His thumb moves, pressing against the soft muscles, stretching them out so his circles can be longer, larger. Your head falls, chin to your chest. Okay, now you feel something, physically.  The next exhale you give is ragged, breathy. His fingers cup your cunt, tips buried in your pubes, pressing down on the flesh until it's pushed against your bone. A light pain you wince from. 

Pushed to the knuckle, Chris gives your cunt a last once around before yanking it out. “Little more, I bet,” is mumbled under his breath, and two fingers fill the clenching, wet space. You whimper, whimper, hands balling into fists while you bite your bottom lip. Chris is slow, clearly not trying to get you off on his fingers. He pumps his fingers, in and out, in and out, of your cunt, nails dragging against your walls with a slight sting. The hinges of his fingers spread, kneading your cunt open, coaxing it to stretch when all your cunt does is compress back down. “Come on, baby, cooperate with me,” he coos to your cunt, and it tightens at his praise. “There we go.” Don’t fucking reply to him! You chastise your vagina. 

Chris slides his fingers out and wraps around your head to push them into your mouth. “Slurp up, birdy. Only chance of lube you’ll get.” Fuck or die, you guess, of dry penetration. The noises are vile, tongue lathering his rough fingers, wiping in the crevice, and slithering around his digits. They’re sweaty and rough. Cheeks hollowing, you suck, craning your neck forward so your teeth rest on his knuckles. Back and forth, like a cock. Like cock work. Drool bubbles at the corner of your lips and drips down your chin. You want Ada to lick it up.

She watches. Everyone watches. Silently, of course. Your panty thief doesn’t have a lot to add now, do they? The slurps and gurgles and sucks are the only noise you can hear. Not even Chris. If he’s groaning, or moaning or any of the -oanings , you have no idea. Not until Chris nearly takes your teeth out with how fast his fingers rip out of your mouth and push the saliva through your folds, then into you. Coating you. “Let’s hope it’s enough, birdy.” 

“You’re dead in court,” You seethe out, head tossing over your shoulder to spit at him about the number of witnesses, the cameras all over this place, the evidence on evidence even the most incompetent attorney could in with. Oh, your confidence is at a high that very moment as you prepare to end him with the fear of reality. “Oh, no fucking way.”

“Way.” Chris ends you with the fear of reality. You see it before you feel it: the cold press of his police baton against your pussy lips. Your heart drops, ice in your veins, and pussy wet. Pussy wet? Pussy wet. Thick, dense, heavy, the rounded tip pressed impossibly against your cunt, pressed into your pelvic bone. You cry out and thrash your head around for help - from anyone: an officer, a rogue inmate, but no one moves. Everyone watches. Your eyes land on Ada, wide and teary. 

She kisses you on the mouth, tasting of cherry. Chris has nothing to say. There’s red smeared on your panting lips, before a whine follows it up as your cunt opens up to the end of the baton. No stretch compares. No toy. No cock. 

“Please, sir. This is… stop. ” Your voice cracks, head dipped low as the baton rests, cunt wrapped over the tip like a condom just on the tip of a penis, except the condom is a crying mess. “Please don’t. I’ll fucking die. ”  

“You won’t die.”  Chris dismisses you with a click of his tongue. “You’ll just hurt. Fuckin’ relax.” He presses the baton further, and you think your labia tears. It feels like an inch further, but you know it’s likely just be a centimeter. You wail, fist pounding against the wall as your shoulders shake and your body wracks with sobs. 

“Help me, please! Everyone gonna stand there with their thumbs up their asses!? So much for officers of the peace!” “Shadd-up,” Chris’s free hand smacks you in the back of the head. “Or I’ll put something up your ass. ” He threatens you with a nudge of the bottom. Every single move of it is agony.  God, it’s like you’re giving birth, but the baby’s crawling in. “No one’s coming to help you. This is just… protocol. Gotta see what you're carrying. You don’t mind, right?” 

“I perhaps mind—fuck!” You scream and nearly stumble to the ground were it not for Chris’s arm wrapping around your stomach. The baton is pressed further in from him catching your fall. “You, you, hold them up.” Ada on your left. Someone on your right. Their arms loop around yours and pull you up. You’re curled over in their grip, feet nearly off the ground and body completely curled. Your forehead is against the wall, your head bobbing back and forth with your ragged pants. Ada wipes the red from your lips. 

“You ready? Gonna see if we can make some real progress down here now.” You scream before your mind can create a comeback. Your calves curl upwards, body entirely in the air for a moment before you crash to the floor, pulling the one on your right down with you. Ada lets you go before she can be dragged down too. The baton comes down with you, lodged in so it sticks out of your pussy like a tail. “No, no, leave them. This is better.” Chris stands over your sniveling form, pain pulsating through the stretched skin of your cunt, muscled to an unnatural degree. Forehead against the ground, you heave out sobs, body in shock from the penetration. 

Nothing has ever escaped Alcatraz, but your scream of pain when the baton gets pushed into your pussy inches more breaks through even the thickest of walls. Chris used the bottom of his foot and lowered it, entire body pushing the weapon into you. He hums. “Not feeling anything yet. Maybe it’s deeper in there, hm?” Your muscles are taunt, nerves shot. You’re sobbing, wailing on the floor. The baton is impossibly deep, your cunt is impossibly stretched, your very pelvis is moving to accommodate it. 

“Chris.” It’s Jill. She says no more. “Alright, alright, you’re right.” Chris grabs the handle. “Just need to loosen them still.” He coaxes the baton back, then gently pushes it forward, like a lover. His free hand massages your tailbone. Each pull takes your vaginal walls with it, and each push your cunt fights against, tightening against it. “I think they’re liking it.” 

Your weeping is indicative of that, for sure. “Whaddya say, birdy? I’ll strike you a deal. A plea bargain. You confess what you’ve got hidden up your cunt, and I won’t break it.” There’s nothing up your cunt besides an IUD set to get taken out in seven years, but you nod. Your cheek is squished against the cold floor, looking at Ada’s feet. “Speak up, birdy, or else I may just—.” 

“Yes! Please, don’t fucking tear out my insides!” 

“‘Course. Why didn’t you say so before?” Chris squats down, thick thighs supporting his weight. “Know what? Change my mind. I don’t need your deal. I think I know what will flush the contraband out. Your cum, birdy.” His strokes with the baton are as gentle as they could be, so your walls… don’t adjust, no. No adjusting to that this quick, but they tolerate it. Your pussy soaks the baton, the weapon glistening. “That’s all. Just cum on the baton, birdy. This’ll be all over. Hear me?” You nod. Chris takes it as the signal to go. He’s watching with perverse joy, the way your pussy takes it. God, it’s making him hard. He’s got to hurry this up. His free hand rests on your clit. Your body twitches from the contact. “Gonna rub your little clit, birdy. Help ya out. Call me an officer of the peace.” His fingers press down, circling your nub with ease. You whine out, pathetic. It echoes through the prison. Using his arm, he pushes harder down on your clit, some fingers driving into your clitoral hood. 

You moan out. It’s too much, too much. Is this your punishment? You swear to whoever’s listening, you’ll never objectify or sexualize anyone again. You’ll go abstinent, for fuck’s sake. But please let this end.

The baton is set at a steady pace, not dipping deeper than what your pussy’s stretched to take. You hiccup when it touches that necking portion, whining, writhing on the floor while Chris’s hand picks up on your clit. “Come on, birdy. Come on, just cum. I’ve got people to impress here, you know. Cum. ” You reply with a whimper, face contorted in pain. Pleasure? It’s all vague and intertwining in your fucked up brain. “Fucking come on .” Chris spits on your clit, then slaps it. “Come the fuck on!” “I’m trying !” You wail back, head thrown back. Your glare is dulled by the tears on your face, mouth open in horror. There’s not much you can see from this angle, just the shadow of the baton and Chris’s form over yours. 

A soft hand lifts your cheek from the ground and full lips slot against yours. Cherry-flavored. You moan into Ada’s mouth, and the kiss turns salty. Lips gliding against yours again and again, your sniveling is swallowed by her. Your whimpers, when Chris twists the baton, are met with her tongue, slipping against yours, under yours. Touching the top of your mouth. Your teeth. Chris slaps your clit again, and your yelp parts you for a second, but Ada doesn’t let it deter her. Your neck is pulled painfully to reach her. God, she’s such a good kisser.

You’re panting into her mouth, pathetically, not even kissing her back at this point as Chris speeds his jacking of the baton. Ada kisses you anyway, lips switching between kissing your top and bottom lip. Her tongue traces your lips, or your teeth, or simply licks your tongue. Your eyes close, breath building and quickening. 

“God, you’re tightening, birdy. Finally. Fucking cum.” Chris leans over you, mouth next to your ear. His fingers slap your clit once, twice, before doubling down, clit engorged and taking it. “Fucking cum right now, birdy. You dumb fucking slut. You fucking worthless fleshlight for my fucking baton. Cum. Cum right fucking now or I swear to fucking god I will rearrange your guts with this.”  

You scream once again, forced to part from Ada when your forehead lands on the floor, muscles twitching as you cum. Chris rubs you through your orgasm until each touch is overstimulating. He yanks the baton from you. Your fucked out cunt clenches onto nothing, chest rising up and down, frantic. Your body is strung tight still, spasming. Chest heaving. 

“Get ‘em up. We’ve got things to do” 

[thesandwichdaddy]

Whiplash

{Alice/Andrew-Whiplash}

(TW: smut, light oral (fem receiving), fingering, questionable scenario?, light mentions of blood, Teacher x student (CONSENSUAL AND OF AGE), sub! Andrew)

I would love feedback on all of my work ! I try to make the original characters non descriptive as possible. Alice is replacing Fletcher in this. Hopefully you like it LOVE YOU ❤

3.5k words

Pure hell was the only thing Andrew could think of to describe Alice’s class. She was a cruel, sadistic music teacher who no one ever dared to challenge. Only pure insanity and masochism could drive a man to take her class.

And that was Andrew, always craving the thrill of a challenge—something to make him feel alive. Maybe it was the pure boredom and constant pity he was raised with, or maybe it was his curiosity that made him make the decision.

Although this wasn’t the idea in the beginning, A music college far, far away from his family—that's all he wanted. And sure enough, in the usual college setting, boring bullshit came in the mail, and while looking through it mindlessly, something caught his eye. A request to Schaffer was hand-picked by Alice Lambert herself.

Maybe that’s when his ego grew. There was definitely a change in him at that moment. He obsessed over it, googling anything he could about the school and Alice, trying desperately to find a reason for them to pick him to join. Was it his gpa? Something that they were specifically looking for other than just his skill? There wasn’t any way that someone like him could actually be brought to Schaffer.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t find a single other reason than Alice simply liking his performance. Andrew laughed like a madman, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Now, though he didn’t really care too much about college, he wasn’t clueless to know that Schaffer was a big deal—maybe not to his parents, but who cared about them anymore? Andrew is an adult now; all that matters now are his thoughts about himself. Or at least that’s what he thought.

It wasn’t hard to imagine a skinny, awkward boy’s first day of college and his first day in Alice‘s class. Sure, he had heard horror stories about her, some classmates whispering to him about the outrageous things she’s done. He could even find pictures of her previous classes winning awards. It was hard to imagine that someone like her could do the things he'd heard, but he could see the intimidation radiating off of her through his computer screen.

Her eyes were sharp and analytical. She was an independent, well-dressed woman. She looked neat and professional in her photos, with the charming smile she gave as she looked at the camera and wore that casual blouse and suit. There wasn’t ever a bad angle with her; she’d probably kill the photographers if there were.

Something caught Andrew's attention about her, and it wasn’t just her looks. She hadn’t been teaching long, from what he’s seen, only around two years. And she didn’t look much older at all. It almost infuriated him that someone this close to his age had already mastered and earned a job he had dreamed of having.

When he saw her in person, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He closely watched her face, every small reaction to indicate any sign of emotion other than the cold that she gave usually. Though her face didn’t budge when he walked in, she was just introducing him and telling him where to sit. Something about her voice sent a chill down Andrew's spine. Maybe it was him just needing to get used to hearing such a woman every day, or maybe it was how she said his name, which he hadn’t heard from someone in quite a long time.

Andrew kept it as cool, distant, and professional as he could. Hell, he even bought new clothes just for her class; that black blouse she had on today put his white dress shirt to shame. But he tried not to get insecure; it was much too early for that.

Despite his ego, which he was very aware of, he thought he did very well. Until Alice gave him a certain unimpressed look and just moved on after his performance. He could feel the blood rushing to his face in response as he tried to hold it together. I mean, nothing? Even a nod would be appreciated from her.

He tried harder, of course, and waited and waited. One thing Alice did tell him was that he was off-tempo—not so great, but something—an interaction with him at least. But that repeated in his head over and over and over as he stayed up late at night to practice until his hands bled. The next day, it was his tempo that was wrong again. He swore it was fine, but he quickly adjusted his tempo. Alice walked over closer and asked him to try it again.

Andrew was starting to sweat a bit now, getting nervous as she came closer, but he tried again, looking up at her after he was done to watch her expression.

He envied how she could hide her emotions so well. She gestured for him to go again, a blank look on her face, and he went again. It turned into again and again and again. He thought he was going to go insane. Alice’s patience looked like it was thinning with every passing moment. Andrews hands started to hurt, crimson red smearing on his drumstick as he played. But she didn’t care, so he didn’t care, just listening to her tell him what to do, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong.

Three hours he spent at his drum set, endlessly repeating the same beat, trying to find the goddamn tempo. It was remarkable that Alice stood in the same spot the entire time, watching him. He didn’t stop, not until the blood caused his drumstick to slip out of his bleeding, agonizing hands, forcing him to quit. And with that, Alice stared at him and gave a simple

“Needs work.”

Andrew couldn’t believe it; he didn’t want to believe it. Needs work?! Before he could say anything that might cause him to lose his hands, he picked up his drumsticks and left along with the other class in a hurry to conceal the anger and tears starting to form in his eyes. That was just one of the many things he had to endure from Alice.

He tried reminding himself that he was here for a reason. He stared at the letter Alice had sent to him, which he kept on his dresser. The one thing that felt right. The only thing he cared about. He thought of all the possibilities of her being proud of him as he bandaged and wrapped his sore, bleeding hands. He let out a harsh noise of frustration as he felt the sting of his wounds and the thought of what happened today.

He hated her; he couldn’t stand her. He hated how she had so much power over him that he would do anything, as she made him rethink his view of his own abilities. He knew himself. He reminded himself again that the only thing that matters is what he thinks about himself.

Days turned into weeks, and then into months. He did feel like he was improving on his drumming, just nothing else. He couldn’t eat or sleep; his mind was always occupied with her class. Every fiber of him was filled with hate towards her, but that was drowned by a whole other feeling, a desperate urge that he craved more than anything in his life. He realized he needed Alice’s praise. Her validation. It didn’t matter what he thought of himself; it just mattered what Alice thought of him.

Andrew felt like he was going crazy. Maybe it was because he didn’t get it from his parents enough, but he couldn’t explain it; he had never felt this way before about someone. He spent more and more of his night’s crying into his pillow, desperate to get rid of his undying ache for her. How could he hate someone so much and need her at the same time?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He got up, tired of crying, and put on his dress shirt, jacket, and shoes quickly. He didn’t care if it was Saturday; he didn’t care if it was 11 p.m.; he needed to see her.

He knew that woman didn’t sleep; she would be there. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but it didn’t matter. He closed the door to his dorm and strode over to her class, wiping his eyes with his sleeve quickly. He ignored the cold and dark outside hitting him; the only thought was his aching.

After a short trip to her class, he threw open the heavy door, marching over to her side office, and just as expected, Alice was there at her desk, paperwork on the table, and a coffee next to her. Her eyes shot up at him in a questioning manner at his sudden burst into her office at this hour. Before she could argue, she stopped herself and looked at him. He looked like a mess, his clothes messy and his eyes red and pricked with tears, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, staring down at her with a desperate expression.

“Miss…”

He said, between breaths, and tears were threatening to fall down his face. Alice stood up, her expression turning into utter confusion as she came around her desk and stood in front of him.

"What's wrong with you, boy?”

She asked, searching his face for any indication of an answer and having to look up a bit at him due to the height difference. Before Andrew could even think about it, he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and stuffing his face in her chest like a child. A choked sob was heard muffled from him in her chest. He wasn’t going to let go. Alice was utterly bewildered at this. How had she been able to push someone to this point? Especially Andrew, for that matter. With hesitation, Alice sighed and slowly brought one of her hands to his hair and her other to his back, making a desperate noise escape Andrew as he held tighter. He didn’t care about his dignity anymore; he just wanted Alice. His protector.

Nothing was said for a moment before Andrew slipped down to his knees, his grip on her still tight as he pressed his face into her waist, looking up at her with his red and wet eyes, making small hums and whimpers under his breath at his ache finally starting to soothe.

Though it was stern, Alice's face even gave away a slight blush as she held his hair in her hand and her breath hitched slightly at his closeness to her waist.

He took in her expensive scent, his cheek slightly feeling her cold belt buckle as he pressed against her on his knees. Never in this life had he felt so desperate or so excited from the moment. He started to breathe her in deeply, calming himself down as his hands started to travel from her back to her thighs, making Alice jump slightly. She gripped his hair, making him look up at her sternly, trying to regain any control over the situation she could.

"Speak, Neiman, what is the meaning of this?”

She said it in an authoritative voice. Andrew groaned as she gripped his hair tightly, his eyes lidded as he looked up at her. He didn’t care if she acted upset at him; if she actually was, she would’ve already gotten him off of her. But she didn't; he was still right here, and she was with him.

“Miss, praise me, please. Anything. Just tell me how to please you, and I will."

He babbled almost incoherently to her, her hands on her thighs gripping harder. Alice’s eyes widened for a moment at this revelation, and she couldn’t help but feel something inside of her fill with that feeling she had craved for a long time. A small breath escaped her, her stern expression starting to crumble. Andrew noticed this and immediately became excited, pulling back to press his face against her waist and his hands coming up to grab and massage her, his hands slowly kneading and groping her just like he always had dreamed of doing to her.

Alice was turning into a mess by the second, desperately trying to keep that professionalism, but she wasn’t used to this, not at all; no one had needed her this badly. And she didn’t hate it—not at all; it felt quite good, actually. She wasn’t sure what to do besides just let him, making eye contact with him, his desperate hooded and red eyes looking up at her, his tears stopping a while ago.

He saw her pleasure and immediately used it as a way to earn his praise. He wanted to please her so much—much more than just as his music teacher. His face trailed down, him kissing her over the fabric of her thin pants, making Alice gasp and take a step back, but unsuccessfully getting away because of Andrew pulling at her harder. Alice gave a grunt at him, Andrew continuing to kiss her desperately like a starved dog, and bit back any further noises at her sensitivity.

“Andrew”

She said it sternly, trying to keep her authority and control over the situation, but her warning fell on deaf ears. Andrew's hands are now coming to her belt, pulling at it as he kisses her. On one hand, Alice knew she should stop him, but on the other, she’s never felt this aroused before in her life. And Andrew knew this, a slight grin on his face as he started to see her giving in to her desires. Her firm grip on his hair started to slightly loosen, and Andrew took this as a chance to quickly pull down her pants, kissing over her underwear and the inner corners of her bare thighs.

Alice’s legs were starting to twitch at this point, threatening to give out on her as she sucked a sharp breath through her teeth. Andrew couldn’t wait; he seized his actions, standing and grabbing her hips, easily moving her onto the desk and towering over her. He pulled off her pants and held her legs, pulling them up and over his shoulders, giving her an almost predatory look. She realized in this moment how much power she actually didn’t have, and that thought excited her a bit more. He bent down to kiss her legs more, his hands running up and down the smoothness of them as he took his time, Alice leaning back on the desk with her hands gripping the edge for support. Andrew looked down at her for a moment, taking the sight of her in. The papers and coffee slipped their minds for now; it was unimportant right now; the only thing on their minds was each other.

He kept slightly tasting her, taking her time to lick, kiss, and nibble on her thighs, tightly holding them so she wouldn’t move. Soft groans and moans of satisfaction left his lips mixed with the sounds of Alice’s sharp breaths, her giving up on holding them back. He wanted more of her—so much more. His fingers slipped to the straps of her underwear, and he began to slip them off, his breath catching in his throat. The thought of him being the only one to see her was enough to drive him crazy alone. But this wasn’t about him; it was about her.

All Alice could do was lean back and watch him, her body almost overwhelmingly hot to the touch. Andrew wanted to tease her first, taking his sweet time to taste the soft flesh of her thighs, which earned a growl from Alice.

"God, Andrew, you really know how to get on my nerves."

She said it lowly to him, which caused him to give a chuckle against her skin.

“Not the right tempo?”

Andrew asked with a grin, and before she could answer, he brought his face down between her legs, firmly holding them open, shutting her up. Alice couldn’t feel mad, not when Andrew was pleasuring her like this. The sensation was almost overwhelming as a sharp moan tore from her, making Andrew moan himself in response to her wet flesh. She tasted better than he imagined, and he imagined more than she could ever believe. He just wished she would’ve let him do it sooner; whenever she yelled at him, it seemed to fix everything.

Alice held on to the desk like her life depended on it, each loud moan she made making her wonder about the possibilities of being caught, but every time she would try to think about it, she was brought right back to Andrew, pleasuring her.

Andrew knew what he was doing; hell, he had even studied before he came over, watching different techniques in porn and even going as far as to research the woman’s anatomy. He wanted it to be perfect for her; she wouldn’t have it any other way. And to Andrew, it was perfect. Every moan and gasp that she has made everything in his life all worth it for this moment right here with Alice

She was making an absolute mess on her desk, which he would happily clean afterwards. But for now, he wanted more—so much more of her. He brought two fingers up to her, pressing and entering her with ease, his greedy mouth working as well. This made Alice loose herself almost completely, her back arching and her squirming at the overwhelming amount of pleasure. Andrew was more than prepared, one hand busy fucking her and the other pushing down on her lower stomach, both to hold her in place and to add to the pleasure. He was used to multitasking. Drumming was so much more useful than he ever thought.

Andrew looked up at her almost the entire time, wanting to remember every expression and noise that she made from him. His tongue relentlessly flicked back and forth, tasting her as he fucked her with his fingers rhythmically at a fast pace, trying to send her over the edge. He could tell she was getting close because her moans turned into desperate whines.

“Andrew…please…don’t…I’m-“

She pleaded, only making Andrew push harder into her. He wasn’t about to take any of her pleasure from her; Andrew himself needed this. He wanted her to stop yelling at him and start yelling for him. She created the most beautiful music for him, something he would never forget.

Her orgasm hit her like whiplash. Waves of pleasure flowed through her arched and sweaty body as Andrew guided her through it, making sure she got every ounce of pleasure she could from it. His hand moved gently out of her, making Alice groan in the absence of him, which he made up for by massaging her body softly and bringing his face up to kiss her stomach.

After her climax ended, she relaxed, leaning her head back on her desk, closing her eyes, and breathing deeply, recovering. For a moment, they didn’t speak; they just enjoyed it. Alice leaned up to look at him, thinking about what they had just done.

“Andre-“

He cut her off, gently pushing her back down and moving to open her drawer, pulling out something to clean her with. He softly smiled, handling her with care. Alice didn’t speak; her face was a bit flushed, and she secretly thought that it was very cute and sweet of him. But she wasn’t about to admit that—not right now, at least. Instead, she cleared her throat and spoke softly, her voice a bit raspy, which delighted Andrew.

“Have you gone through my drawers before?”

She said it lightheartedly, which earned him a chuckle.

“Maybe once or twice.”

He responded, finishing cleaning her and her desk before grabbing her underwear and pants and delicately putting them on her like she was a doll. She nodded, grinned at the answer, and let out a breath at the sensation of her clothes coming back. Andrew gave her a kiss on the cheek before picking and standing her up. The realization of her work and coffee came to him as his face turned into worry and pleading.

"Oh, Miss, I am so sorry."

He said before she placed a hand on his cheek, looking at him with her usual sharp expression which prevented him from saying more.

“They weren’t important.”

She said as she felt his smooth cheek with her thumb. Andrew was completely smitten by this, closing his eyes and sighing in relaxation. She kissed his cheek, making him snap open his eyes in disbelief, blood rushing to his cheeks. That’s all it took. After all of that, her kissing his cheek made him blush. God, he was crazy for her. She backed away from him, giving him a last pat on the cheek, her eyes looking into his almost intimately.

“Get some sleep, Andrew; you need it.”

She said this before leaving, leaving Andrew with a lovesick smile on his face. He knew she cared.

Things would be very different between them now, and for once in his life, he knew what he wanted.

[hoonichi]

cnc or power play with treasure pls

cnc/power play -> consensual non consent, where one partner pretends to be sexually assaulted by the other partner.

tw: this type of scenario does not encourage actual rape. all done with mutual consent from both parties! discussion beforehand and safewords are a thing!

hyunsuk: likes to blindfold you and take you somewhere without telling you anything. maybe like a cabin, public places, etc. doesn’t take off the blindfold to give you that additional unsureness and fear. likes it when you’re scared.

jihoon: he’s usually rough with you (radiating dom and big dick energy) but once he puts himself in the place of acting/pretending, the dom in him really comes out fully. he trashes you around, grips your hair, calls you degrading names, pins you against the wall, all just for a freaky time.

yoshi: your pleads and cries for him to stop only makes him go wilder on you. he gets off from your painful expressions. only stops when there’s a safeword involved.

junkyu: he secretly likes it. he likes it when tears run down your cheeks, when you push him away from constant overstimulation or dig your nails into his skin. he loves it. the adrenaline and the absolute control over you makes it more addicting.

mashiho: blackmails you. such as showing you your sexual pictures, threatening to send them to your parents/friends/colleagues. makes you beg for his forgiveness in a lot of different scenarios.

jaehyuk: see him being into the scenario of teacher x student. uses his belt to show you how to be a ‘better student’. degrades you a lot; “nothing but a slut/whore for my cock”

asahi: loves the scenario of pretending to be your boss and you’re just a mere employee who just transferred and doesn’t know a thing. likes to show you how things go in the ‘workplace’ by forcing you to suck him off, hitting the deepest parts of your throat with his cock.

yedam: handcuffs/ties you to everything, could be a chair, table, bed. usually gravitates to something that would give off a ‘kidnapper and victim’ vibes. leaves you to suffer for a few hours with a toy inside you or sits with you while tracing a knife on your skin.

doyoung: likes slapping you, even though it’s not extremely painful (him not wanting to hurt you etc). over time grows to get over that lol. if you are wearing a dress, a shirt, you most definitely would have to buy a new one as doyoung likes to forcefully tear off your clothes. that gives him more control over you.

[gothy-froggy]

TW: Yan Dev.

I’ve posted this on just about every single one of my social medias, but I just feel like people really need to get a grip on the situation about Yandere Dev.

I don’t understand why everyone is acting so surprised about him coming out as a child groomer and not the fact that it’s a single digit minor, a nine year old.

I’m not even surprised but I wish everyone was at LEAST shocked about that because this man has had grooming allegations beforehand,multiple times.

This is the same man who:

Made the game because he was criticized, but took it as an insult from his favorite game developers about the game he made inspired by them

Made a whole mechanic about taking non-consensual pictures of HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS PANTIES

Got mad and made a rant when people said they wanted it out of the game because it’s creepy

Heavily sexualize the outfit, especially in the artwork of his female characters

Made the skirts extremely short 

The whole thing of senpai’s sister and how it’s very incest coded 

The n@zi badges

When people talked about the panty shots and also the body pillows of these highschoolers, he said that all his characters are 18 and over butter obviously around 16 and 17 

The whole thing of him saying that he believes that minors at a certain age (which I believe was 14) should take a test and get a permit to say that they’re able to have sex with people 

Like why is this so shocking? These aren’t even all the things he has said and done. Did we all just had a memory loss orgy and shoved everything in a box in the very back of the basement? Like it’s so bizarre that we’re acting shocked about this?

One of his previous grooming allegations his excuse is that she lied about being over the age of 18. That was all he had to say.

I just needed to rant about this again because I really don’t understand why this is so shocking to the internet. He made videos on reacting to all of these.

Oh and someone mentioned that he put his sex toy in the game, but I don’t know if that’s true, but I wouldn’t be shocked if it is.

[thegvlaxyrvanger]

“Lunchtime.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Summary . 𖥔 — Nurse Nathan just wanted to eat alone in a café, nothing more. He just, doesn't know that a certain actor is watching him.

TW/s : Mentions of Stalking, Non-consensual Photography.

Taglist : @dead-dove-yandere

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“Ah.. finally, some peace and quiet, it's been awhile since I came here.” The nurse said to himself with a tone of relief in his voice. It's been some time since he went to his favorite café, and he's really joyful that he finally has the time to go here, “being a nurse sure is pretty stressful..” he then added.

He then starts humming to himself while waiting for his order to arrive as he replies to his friend's texts, his hazel eyes completely focused on his phone.

Unbeknownst to him, under the windows of a limousine parked near to his table, a certain actor seems to be eyeing every single action that the nurse does. He seems to be taking pictures of him, too.

“..Ah, god, he looks so adorable when he's eating, he's like a cute little squirrel.” Chase mutters to himself, as he takes another photo, “..gosh, why isn't he all mine yet...?” he pouted.

The actor has been following him for a few weeks now, eyeing his actions, gestures, everything that Nathan does really. He even has some pictures of him, along with some of the stuff he accidentally dropped on his way home.

But to him, photos aren't enough.. he needs him to be right in front of him physically.

Maybe he should kidnap him now?

...

“Ah, he's done eating, driver, can you follow that guy with a pretty little head?”

“...Uhm, sir- I apologize if I offend you for what I'm gonna say, but why?”

“Just do it.”

“...”

“Alright then..”