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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 15 days ago

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Indigo wins!

Voted green myself.

Fucked up rainbow:

The Rainbow as Boyfriends

♡ AN: from the Promptlist

♡ TW: fluff, different types of drugs, really soft yandere, if yandere at all

♡ FEM reader

Red is loud with a passion that comes across as aggressive to some. He’s charismatic and likeable, but can also be both narcissistic and judgmental, with a habit of butting in where he’s not wanted and flaking when the responsibility becomes too much.

He’s got red hair, but it might be fake—you’re not sure—gelled up in needles, and a cut on his right brow he most definitely had coming. 'Cause if you think he’s loud on the regular, you can bet he’s even louder when drunk. And Red loves getting drunk—bar-hopping and clubbing, he'll drink his fill and dance until the sweat pours, but will just as quickly square up and fight someone until they're both thrown out or taken and thrown inside the drunk tank.

He’s got bloody knuckles and bruises everywhere—on top of tattoos he’s been collecting since he was fourteen—a patchwork of poor decisions he looks back on fondly.

He’s got a lot of opinions and dies on random hills every day, but doesn’t remember any of them come morning. Fighting is a frivolous thing to him—he doesn’t think too much of it, and will sling his arms around the shoulders of someone he soccer-punched the night before.

He doesn’t always get when or why people are upset with him, brushing it off, thinking they’ll get over it. That’s not to say he doesn’t apologize—he does—throws them around like they cost him nothing, because they don't. And he doesn’t get how that isn’t good enough.

He doesn’t bear any grudges himself, and those he does bear he buries so deep within himself that he never ever has to think about them—ones such as the torn relationship he has with his father and his first love. Forgotten. No longer his problem.

You don’t think you’ve ever really seen him angry, but you can say the same for happy, and that's why you can't really bring yourself to fall in love with him, knowing you're only going to get yourself hurt. He’s too destructive to hold onto—always with a bright, big smile on his face, even when someone is shouting and throwing fists at him.

You don’t know… You think he cries in bed when he can’t sleep.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Atsumu ♡ BLLK – Shido ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Togame

Orange is warm. Always pinging you if you want to go sunbathing.

As expected, he’s tan with ginger curls, freckle-faced and muscly, seizing any and all opportunities to take off his shirt. He’s a stickler for sunscreen, though, carrying one on him at all times and interrogating you about wearing it to the point of applying it without asking.

He hasn’t got a single tattoo, not even so much as a wave, despite his love for the beach—he's just never thought to spend money on it. But what he lacks in tattoos, he more than makes up for in scars. He’s a sporty guy—sort of reckless—happy-go-lucky, be it with a ball, frisbee, or a surfboard, and it has led to some interesting accidents and several stitches.

He’s also an avid ocean preserver. Collecting plastic from the sands and helping wildlife back into the water. He brought you along once, at midnight, when the tide was low. You'd collected stranded starfish and tossed them back into the waves.

You were drunk, but ever since you’ve been struck with this sense of guilt you’ve never had before. To think that starfish actually dry up and die once the tide pulls out is a horror you didn’t need to know.

But it only goes to show how sweet a guy Orange really is. He never made it to college because he’d already decided what he wanted to do a long time ago, planning on taking over the beach cafe where he’s worked his entire life. He calls the owner there his uncle, even though they aren’t related, and is practically running the place already.

He’s a simple guy with simple plans and simple dreams, but at the same time, you can’t help but feel as though he’s smarter than all the rest of you. He’s the guy who has it all figured out. You can’t tell if he’s actively decided to let go of all bigger ideas and dreams, or if he’s been that enlightened since birth.

In any case, you stick around him, hoping that some of that peace of mind of his will rub off on you. Everyone’s so caught up in being famous today that you forget you have real life to live.

But out here, on the beach with him, phone tucked away in a locker, toes in the sand with no makeup on except for sunscreen, and no bustling city cars or club chatter, just frivolous laughter and the sound of splashing waves, you can be content with the fact that no one knows who you are.

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Shoto, Denki, Hawks, Natsuo, FatGum, Mirio ♡ JJK – Yuji ♡ HQ – Yamaguchi, Hinata, Sugawara, Bokuto, Osamu, Ushijima, Ukai ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ DS – Tanjiro ♡ WB – Umemiya

Yellow was born rich and grew up wild for no reason.

He’s daddy’s golden boy, but acts and dresses like a gang member every time he leaves the house outside of any and all family occasions, galas, and charity events.

He’s like Bruce Wayne, without the crime-fighting, and if Batman were just his street name.

Not that you real street urchins don’t spot him a mile away. But hey, he’s fun and likes spending money, so you let him hang out despite him being from the other side of town.

He likes riding fast cars and taking fast drugs and is surprisingly good at drag racing. Actually, he’s the best. Blew every single one of you away when he took on the previous best racer. You thought he was high on something and acting stupid, but no. Won fair and square like it was nothing to him.

It all makes sense when you learn his father’s the owner of a major automobile conglomerate. As his son, he’s got several fast cars—several of each big brand, new models and retro ones, collectors' items and ones that are personally customized.

Your jaw is on the floor as he takes you through the garage. You have to scoff at the term—garage—as if it isn’t a whole underground parking lot beneath his house.

You’re surprised to find out he actually does work on them. In overalls with a wrench, oil stains and all.

He tells you he always dreamt of being a real racer, running his own team right alongside Red Bull and McLaren. But when you ask him why he doesn’t, he tells you dreams are for poor people—that cars are a business, not for play.

You don’t know. It’s the first time you fully realize how truly different the two of you are. You’d ignored the expensive clothing and salon hair up until then. But now it was suddenly all you could see.

You’re just the flag girl who initiated his first race—the girlfriend he doesn’t introduce to his parents because he has no real intention of staying with you for long. So you decide to rip off the band-aid and break up with him.

He’s dumbfounded.

But just like the golden boy he is, he’ll win you back by sparing no expense.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Touya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Gojo ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Lev, Oikawa, Atsumu ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Rin ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Doma

Green is an earthy guy. He knows everything about any botanical type you can name—which can overwinter, which can survive with minimal sun, which needs water every day. He can even bring flowers back from the dead. He’s like a witch doctor for plants.

His parents own the flower shop he manages, as well as the plantation from which the flowers come.

You start working there, sort of on a whim, just after college. You don’t know why, you’ve never considered yourself especially green-fingered, but they were hiring, and you, despite having a degree, didn’t really know what you were or wanted to be doing yet.

Green is about your age, so it’s a very chill job. And the plants make for nice scenery and a pleasant aroma as you try to figure out your life. In fact, it’s so nice you end up getting a little lost in it.

And Green is so laid back, you end up becoming good friends, and after seeing the way he carries those big bags of soil on his back so easily, you end up becoming a little more than that, despite him being your boss. So, with the benefits being as good as the salary, there wasn’t much to encourage you to leave.

But how could you have known?

You thought he was a normal guy until he casually took you into one of the greenhouses on the far side of the plantation on day, just to help him with some plants there he’d told you, only for it to be a whole ass weed garden you hadn’t known anything about.

The salary suddenly makes more sense then.

He’s so normal about it, you’re almost convinced it isn’t illegal, the way he adjusts the sprinklers for a light drizzle, and tells you to check each plant for any damage and disease.

You didn’t know if you should say anything at first, but of course you do—asking him what it’s all for. To which he responds by just smiling that dopey smile of his, bringing you in for a lazy hug while placing a soft kiss on your forehead, then telling you it’s best not to ask any questions.

You don’t know… but it sort of feels like what he really meant to say was Shut up and do your job.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuji, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Yamaguchi, Hinata, Sugawara, Kuro, Bokuto, Atsumu, Osamu, Ukai ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ WB – Kiryu, Umemiya, Togame

Blue is an artist—a tortured one.

Though not a particularly poor one.

He’s also a young entrepreneur who started his career in art curation while still in middle school, and therefore lives alone in his penthouse apartment, never once having ever bothered to turn on the lights.

He’s a real hermit with a tendency to fall in love with his own depression.

He can spend entire days in bed, awake, rolling around, thinking, wondering why he feels the way he feels, even though he knows that getting up would probably solve half of it. But when he finally does get out of bed, he simply wraps himself in the duvet and relocates to the sofa.

It’s a cocoon, he insists—his metamorphosis. He’ll come out when the sun goes down again. All night long in front of the canvas. So many shades of blue on his palette—it’s enough to get lost in.

You’re his assistant, but you feel like a nanny half the time. You have no idea how he’s managed the firm so far—he doesn’t even step out of his home, let alone go to any galleries where he can actually do business.

On top of that, he never answers his goddamn phone—all but forcing you to make the trip over. Shaking your head, you always buy dinner on the way, knowing he’s probably forgotten about it. Thinking you’ll hit two birds with one stone, you just make for you both.

You know the passcode to the door, and so you step right in like you live there—in fact, with how often you're there, sleeping over and tidying up, you're at the point you're fighting the urge to call it home.

Finding his phone uncharged in the middle of the floor, you sigh. You’re not sure, but you think he does it on purpose. Ignoring your texts, knowing you’ll be on your way.

He heard you come in, but doesn’t step away from his work, listening to you pad up the stairs to his studio. He’s in a bathrobe, hair greasy, nearly matted to his head, and just like a mother, you tell him to go march his ass into the shower while you make some food.

At least he actually listens to you when you come over. But my, he’s a handful. Over dinner, he even asks you to just move in for real, given that you’re already doing the job of a wife.

But he writes your checks, and they’re well beyond what you’d make if you were an actual nanny, so you guess you’ll put up with him for a little while longer.

♡ BNHA – Shoto, Shigaraki, Touya, Hawks, young Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Megumi, Yuuta, Choso, Higuruma ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins, Suna ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Ego ♡ DS – Zenitsu

Indigo is a guy who never sleeps. He’s all late nights, dark clothes, and too many drinks to count, and yet never seems too drunk.

He’s like a bottomless well. A wishing well of sorts that doesn’t mind listening to all your drunken ramblings while the two of you sit on the floor after the party’s over.

You should have shut up hours ago, but he doesn’t mind. He just watches you silently as you spill all your deepest, darkest secrets—a small smile on his lips, you can’t see. But his intentions aren’t bad. He just finds you cute, is all.

He’s at every party—outside, leaning against the back of the house with a cigarette between his lips. The darkness of the night makes his eye color impossible to place—they just look black.

You seek him out for reasons you’re not too sure of yet. Or… the mysterious hot guy—how could you refuse?

You’re tipsy, giggling, all smiles and more, twirling and accepting his offer of a puff with your lips and not your hands, so that he has to hold it for you. He smiles, and this time you see it, further spurring you on.

You ask him then and there, in the night, to go skinny dipping with you alone. And he just hums, lighting another cig, telling you to lead the way.

When he removes his shirt, you spot the tattoos in the moonlight. It’s strange—they’re all the girly type, but suit him so well—his astrology symbols, a heart, the infinity sign, an arrow, a flower, an anime cloud. You don’t know why, but it’s hot for some reason, like the doodles you'd make in a textbook instead of writing notes.

He isn’t what you would call a pretty boy, but he is pretty. Dark-eyed with long lashes, you might accuse him of wearing mascara, and yet it doesn’t run down his pink-dusted cheeks when you’re in the water.

Skin to skin to keep warm, naked and held on his lap, sharing kisses while bobbing in the lake, everything quiet except for breaths and the soft splashing around you, so close now you can finally spot the true color of his eyes—dark, dark, dark indigo blue.

It might be the drink in your system, but you swear, that way he looks at you—it’s enough to make you fall in love on the spot.

♡ BNHA – Shoto, Touya, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Geto, Megumi, Toji, Choso ♡ HQ – Suna, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ WB – Suo ♡ HxH – young Chrollo

Violet is an old soul, and yet a never-aging one at the same time. A soft, timeless presence—mild, like a breath of fresh air, a gentle breeze ruffling your hair.

Far removed from town, between a forest and a flower field runs a white gravel road, and at the end of it stands his cottage—pale bricks and ashen rooftiles that all but disappear within the foliage growing up and over it. And yet, peaking through the leaves and flowers are cute windows and a round wooden door leading inside.

Behind a picket fence connected to the house is a little garden where he grows tomatoes, salad, and carrots, which he’ll use to feed the fluffle of bunnies living out on the field. They all know and trust him, and so when he takes you through it for the first time, you feel convinced you’re dating a faun.

Everything about him is like a fairytale… Doe-eyed and silly, he’ll lie you down in the wildflowers and grass to watch clouds, both on your backs, giving them names while holding your hand. He’ll weave you a flower crown and name you a princess, and though it’s all odd and new to you, there isn’t a single thing about it that isn’t perfectly perfect.

He likes scented candles, incense, and organic food. He doesn’t touch alcohol or meat, but you’re very sure he’s got something in his tea and puts it in everything he bakes.

You don’t mind it. Or well… you’re a little sceptical when he first introduces you to mushrooms, but you trust him enough to try.

You don’t think you’ve ever really felt the forest before. Touching the trees as you pass them, feeling the deep wrinkles of bark run under your palm—it’s like the skin of something ancient. After taking a closer look, you swear you can spot the faces.

The wind is like a song, and the river sings along. You don’t know, you feel so small, but in a good way, in a way that everything around you suddenly becomes transcendent.

You look back at him, and hidden there, in the trees, you don’t even realize, but you’ve forgotten about the rest of the world.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Hawks, Shinso, Natsuo, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Sugawara, Kuro, Bokuto, Osamu ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Tomioka, Tanjiro ♡ WB – Kiryu, Nirei, Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 22 days ago

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this is so cozy and homely i love it

imagining bakugou and baro

dishes

cw: oral, needy, cnc if you squint, freeuse, creampie

"So, I did most of the dishes, except the cups," he paused for a moment, glancing away from me to the cups stacked neatly in the sink, "my hands are too big, so it's hard..."

"Oh," laughter bubbled out of me at the realization and I shook my head, "no, it's fine. I can do the cups, no worries."

His eyes found mine, slightly surprised at my easy acquiesce, "I mean, I can do something else, trade, make it up to you..."

"You really don't have to," came my easy reply as I nudged him towards the living room. He peeked over his shoulder, squinting his eyes in something akin to disapproval before he reluctantly shifted forward a few steps.

- - -

Arctic Monkeys played softly in the background as my hands made quick work of the cups, squeezing down into the holes with the sponge to get every nook and cranny. "How goes it?" he murmured, his lips suddenly nestled along the top of my head, his arms wrapping around my waist to stifle the immediate jerk of my body.

"You scared me!" I squeaked in dismay, dropping the cup I had been washing, water spattering across the backsplash, "It goes good, thank you."

"It goes well, does it?" he whispered against my ear, his fingers massaging down to the edge of my dress.

"What are you doing?" my whole body paused, thighs clenching together as the crisp air brushed across my upper thighs. He made a soft sound, almost as if admonishment for my question, his hands sliding along my thighs before firmly squeezing my ass.

"Making it up to you," he finally breathed, disappearing from beside me. His hands shifted, firmly trapping me against the counter as I felt him kneel behind me. My own hands found purchase on the sink just before the warmth of his tongue enveloped me. His nose pressed into me gently as he pried my thighs more apart, intent on devouring me. His tongue slid through my pussy folds, slurping like a man possessed as needy cries left me in increasing levels of desperation.

"Baby," I whined almost brokenly, finding myself pressing back against his tongue as the pleasure rushed through me. I was almost dizzy from how good his tongue felt, so when he added a finger pressed against my entrance, my knees buckled.

He kept me firmly standing, catching me against his face as he used my momentary weakness to snake his tongue across my clit. I moaned his name like a prayer, my legs trembling as pleasure removed every thought and need but him.

Then all too soon, cool air greeted my wet cunt as he pulled away. A breathy whine of disapproval left me as I tried to turn, almost to beg before he readjusted his grip on me. Fingers digging into my hips, he held me still as he maneuvered himself. The fat head of his cock slid between my thighs, nestling between my lips before pushing into my needy entrance.

"Fuck, babygirl," he groaned in praise, wrapping himself around me as his lips pressed against my cheek, "you're sucking me in so nice. Is my good girl needy? Have you been craving this?"

Every inch he sank into me brought another desperate plea from me, "Sir, please, please, yes.."

Once he was finally seated inside of me, he moaned softly in approval at the way my pussy clenched, tightening around him, almost as if to keep him deep forever. His cock slid out, almost to the very tip before he surged forward, thrusting so hard that I saw stars from the sharp pleasure. "More," comes my distorted whine, a keen, "God, more."

My begging continued and every beg was met with a matched thrust, harder and deeper than the last until he was pounding into me. Our moans matched the insane pace, the resounding sound of his hips bouncing off my ass, the slap of skin on skin. "Don't stop," I begged, whined, turning to look at him with pouty eyes. He growled in primal lust as he pulled me in, his lips fastening on mine.

He swallowed my moans, our tongues colliding, swirling, tasting to match the harsh pace of our thrusts. His arms tightened their hold on me as my pussy tightened around him, soft squelching adding to the mess. The pleasure consumed me, his taste only adding to my desperation as I clung to him, inside and out.

A squeaking moan left me, lost in his own groan of pleasure as our lips clashed and we breathed together. My pussy spasmed, coating him in my sticky wetness just as he bottomed out inside me. I felt him throb inside me, once, twice, his hot cum pooling deep inside me as my walls milked him of every drop.

The messy kiss turned more gentle as he relaxed his hold on me, kissing down from my lips to my neck. "Did I make it up to you?" comes a soft rumble of his voice against my throat as I feel his hips rock gently, his cock pulling breathy moans from me at the whisper of pleasure.

"I think I might need extra convincing," comes my needy reply.

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 29 days ago

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autumn wins! i liked winter the most. kinda surprised more didn't like summer

The Four Seasons as Boyfriends

♡ TW: nsfw and fluff, really soft yandere, if yandere at all

♡ GN reader

Autumn is always half awake but never fully asleep.

In the morning, he likes pairing coffee with a smoke out on the balcony—standing shirtless, black tattoos on his pale skin, despite the cold wind, watching the sun rise, sporting tousled hair and dark sunken eyes.

He spends his days more or less the same way. There’s a briskness in the breeze and rain every other day, and all the leaves have turned shades of brown and orange, matting the ground in wet heaps, leaving the trees to look like skeletons. He likes going for short walks just before the sun goes down, when the sky is a warm pink and there ain’t a soul to be seen, and it feels like the two of you are the only people who’ve stayed behind before the apocalypse came.

At night, he’ll stay up late, watching Halloween movies with you in his arms, drinking something stronger than coffee, and smoking something different than cigarettes. He’ll never flinch when the gory scenes play. He’ll just run his thumb up and down your arm and hold you close with a low chuckle.

He’s a quiet guy who spends his time observing more than talking, a real philosopher, writing down things on this old typewriter he has, anything from crime novels to other horrific things. He’s somewhat grim that way—you think he might have been a mob boss in his previous life.

But he’s got this dry-humored side as well, and a romantic one too—one that whispers awfully heart-gripping things to you in bed, gives you small gifts on all your anniversaries. Half-mast dark eyes without a smile on his lips, bringing your palm up for a kiss.

Maybe it wasn’t a past life, you think, maybe he’s a vampire who’s been plenty of things. Come to think of it, you’ve only ever seen him outside when the sun has been safely hidden behind a veil of grey clouds. You don’t know, he just seems like he’s come from another age in the way he’ll treat every day like something to be enjoyed slowly, every moment together to be savored, and every detail of your face something to be not just remembered but cherished.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Megumi, Toji, Yuuta, Choso, Higuruma ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Iwaizumi, Sakusa, Suna ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Tomioka, Genya ♡ HxH – Chrollo, Illumi, Feitan

Winter wants to spend all his days inside, wrapped up with you in bed like a bear in hibernation. You have to all but fight your way out of his hold in order to get up.

He groans when you leave, whimpering at the cold, but eventually, he musters up enough willpower to follow you. He’ll have the duvet wrapped around him still, slippers padding towards the smell of breakfast. He’s still sleepy until he gets a good, warm cup of chocolate coffee.

Clad in a warm blue sweater, pilled from wear, but cozy still, and a pair of baggy corduroys and fuzzy socks in all sorts of colors.

He’s super reluctant about leaving the house—will literally find any excuse not to and do anything to avoid having to. He’ll stand in the mudroom with you like an obstinate brat as you dress him, putting on his scarf, hat, and gloves for him before pulling him into his jacket.

He’s pouty at first, whining about his nose freezing, but after a while, he gets more than happy-go-lucky in the snow. Acting just like a dog, bounding about, tackling you down, and rolling around with you so that you’re both sure to catch a cold.

You build a snowman together, make angels, and a little igloo where he’s deadset on the two of you sleeping tonight. Yeah, not likely, is all you think, knowing him and how the minute the two of you get home, he’s going to hunker down with all the duvets and blankets he can find and cry about how he’s never going outside again.

And sure enough, the two of you trudged home, freezing cold and exhausted from all the frivolity, he in a whiny mood. You enter the shower together, and he just stands there, arms around you, draping you with his entire body under the water, defrosting.

Like before, you end up doing things for him. Shampooing the sweat out of his hat-hair and soaping the rest of him up, then doing yourself the same way.

He’s just as clingy when you’re done. Dressed in fluffy robes, he’ll hold you close on his lap and put on a Christmas movie, something funny, something for children, The Grinch or Home Alone, or a romcom you’ve watched a thousand times before.

He’ll eat gingerbread men instead of dinner, drink one too many cups of eggnog, and tell you how he wants to curl up inside your heart where it's nice and toasty and stay there forever—meanwhile, his hand explores your naked body under your robe.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Toaya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Hinata, Tanaka, Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma, Zenitsu ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Spring is an early bird. Big breakfast spreads every day, wild flowers on the table in a hand-painted coffee mug, toasted bread with a dozen types of spreads, sliced meat, cheese, scrambled eggs, different jams, strawberry, peach, blueberry, apricot, raspberry, and all the currants.

He’s always got a big goofy smile on his face, wearing baggy dongeries and bright pastel-colored T-shirts—green, pink, yellow, and blue. His hair is fluffy, his eyes are round, and he’s always got a new pair of suede sneakers on.

He’d make a great dad, having the personality of a guy who’s a kindergarten teacher, the way he’s all about DIY easter decorations. He has his own craft cart, fully equipped with different colored paper, patterned tape, and glitter in all pretty colors.

He’s never been a very traditional guy, always raving about new ideas, dreams he’s had, things he’s seen when scrolling through Pinterest—you can't hope to keep up...

Your walls have all been painted—not like other walls—but as if the wallpaper were canvas. All your chairs have been bought at yard sales and other second-hand stores, refurbished by him, and hand-painted in different colors with cushions in different fabrics. Your coffee table is an old wine crate he found at a junkyard. All your blankets are knitted with spare yarn from all his other projects.

He also scrapbooks like no other, filling the pages with receipts and tickets he’s saved from your outings and vacations, and Polaroid pictures he’s taken of you, with dates and locations written along the white bottom.

Not to mention, how in the kitchen window, he’s hung the empty egg husks from breakfast, decorated with swirls and dots, with letters spelling Happy Easter!

He also makes you love letters—indulgent paragraphs with an overwhelming amount of love-bombing and hopes and dreams about your future together, always with the wording of a five-year-old child talking about their favorite type of food.

Yeah, he’s no poet, but it’s the thought that counts, and so A for effort!

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji ♡ HQ – Hinata, Sugawara, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei, Umemiya

Summer is tan with tan lines from his swimming trunks. He’s all smiles and loud laughter, too careless for shades and sunscreen, and so you’re the one who’s left running after him when he sprints towards the water, like a parent, shouting at him to put on some protection.

He filled the cooler up with sodas and beers before you left home, and has brought along firelighters, making a bonfire on the sand for grilled fruits, vegetables, and meats, so that the two of you can spend the day.

His hair is sun-damaged and bleached with saltwater, but he makes it look good with his freckled face, looking as though he lives on the beach. He’ll go in the water several times, never tiring.

He likes to promenade in flip-flops like he’s on constant vacation, always shirtless, letting his swim-trunks dry while the two of you walk along the shore as the sun gets low, giving you his sweater once the air gets a little chilly. Making plans for how you can fill the rest of the summer.

He’s got never-ending ideas, you don’t think you’ll have time for it all—hiking, biking, camping, festivals, outdoor movies, picnics, farmers markets, berry picking, kite flying, ice cream, gardening, going diving, sailing, fishing, hot air balloons, parachuting, bungee jumping, skydiving—yeah, his ideas get progressively more extreme as he goes.

But at home, when he’s all drained out from the sun, he’s a quiet presence. Warm still, but calm, lining up pretty seashells and dried-up corals along all the windowsills, before the two of you hit the shower. Washing off salt and sweat, and about a bucket's worth of sand that remains between the cracks in the tiles.

He’ll leave kisses against your neck and shoulder, murmur things in a voice you don’t recognize from the day, but a grainier one belonging to the night, telling you all the dirty things he’s going to do to you now that the sun’s fully down.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Touya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji ♡ HQ – Hinata, Sugawara, Tanaka, Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira, Shido ♡ WB – Umemiya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 1 month ago

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dont mind if i do!

test subject one clone!nanami x coworker!reader

should you clone your coworker?

no.

did you?

yes.

"this is highly unethical," the clone scoffed, brow furrowed and frown tight at his own reflection in the mirror. flexing his fingers and touching his clean blond hair. you had to cut it yourself, copying the nearly cropped style of the original.

"yeah, yeah," you murmured, once again trying to shove the plain lab coat towards him to cover him up since ijichi was running late with new clothes.

he didn't take it, his intense amber stare shifting up to your flustered face.

"you, or, uh, the other you, signed off on it," you clarified, hoping he wouldn't demand more answers than you were authorized to give.

that overworked and overwhelmed nanami had begrudgingly agreed to be apart of this program to help take care of curses so the students wouldn't be such great risk of getting killed on missions.

that he was just a lab specimen to see how viable this project would really be.

new nanami tch-ed, and it was almost funny to watch him go to push the goggles up his nose before he remembered they weren't there. instincts hard-wired in, most of his memories planted - with the exception of the past few months.

he was the perfect test subject.

gojo was too risky, geto too unstable.

not nanami though.

a man of morals, lived by rigid rules and restrictions, something the higher-ups hoped would be instilled in this copy of him.

"I wanted to fuck you," he bluntly spoke, squinting as he dragged his eyes over you once again, taking in the way your shirt clung to your chest under your lab coat, the outline of your hips and the length of your legs.

"w-what?" you stammered out, almost dropping the clipboard still clutched in your hand. nanami had never given you so much as a second glance. nothing more than a curt nod or a polite wave outside of work conversation.

"always wearing those tight little skirts, bending over every time I, he, was around," he corrected himself, stoic even now, but there was a grit to his voice the old nanami never had before.

he pushed off the cold exam table, standing tall in front of the mirror as he re-examined his own muscular form, the hard ridges and divots of his sculpted chest, clinically assessing himself.

your heart stalled when he turned to you.

had he always been that tall? this broad?

unable to help yourself, your own gaze trailed down his admittedly beautiful body, the soft blond fuzz of his happy trail and beneath it-

oh.

you guessed even this nanami wasn't a liar.

"well?" he grunted, stepping closer, noting the way it made your breath hitch, your nerves burn. "you're responsible for me now."

it wasn't a question. no, it was a demand.

"suppose so," you nervously mumbled, swallowing hard like you were trying to dislodge what felt like your heart in your throat. technically, that was your job, after all.

"will you help me break this body in then?"

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 1 month ago

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ooh~

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ paranoid yandere prompts

"you were gone for seven minutes. you said you'll only be gone for five. what happened in those two minutes, huh? who were you talking to?"

"why won't you look me in the eyes anymore? look at me. just me. only me."

cries when you look even the slightest bit upset at him.

"what did i do? please, don't look at me like that! i hate it, i hate it so much!! just tell me what to do, and i'll do it. anything!"

mumbles about you in his sleep, how he'll never let you slip out of his grasp into the hands of someone underserving of your goodness.

"hmm.. *snores* precious... if i catch.. *snores* you with... *snores* someone else.. i will.... *snores* kill them..."

d1 overthinker. bro imagines you running away with that one guy you made eye contact with for 0.2 seconds at the grocery store.

needs reassurance 24/7, he'll go insane from his thoughts alone.

"you love me and only me, right? you'll never leave me? promise?"

#yan blog #yanblr #yandere #writing #yandere x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #male yandere #yandere writing #yandere x darling #dialogue prompt #writing prompts #yandere x you #female reader #paranoid yanere

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 1 month ago

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Gratitude for the win! Mine fave was Charity~

Yandere Seven Heavenly Virtues

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, nsfw, noncon/dubcon, kidnapping, yandere, harsh language, sexual exploitation, age gap, bondage, vomiting/forced/emeto, implied piss-drinking, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Humility is a filthy rich businessman.

You’re a pretty little young thing on his contract—silly signature keeping you prisoner like a leash. Yeah, you thought being a sugarbaby was going to be a glamorous gig. But he makes it anything but, keeping you in his penthouse dressed like a peasant girl in only an old-fashioned chemise you have to handwash with a washboard, only allowing you baths in a tin tub with all but freezing cold water you have to gather yourself by the bucket.

You wait on him hand and foot. Like a maid, back in the 1800s. You make his bed, clean his bathroom, serve him food, and eat the scraps he tosses on the floor for you, licking the marble clean like a dog.

He’s into extreme subjugation with a kink of utterly humiliating you, fetishizing watching you clean his house and iron his shirts despite having actual maids who already do that sort of thing.

He’s a freak.

Honestly, you thought his senior age was going to keep him mild and mannered and more than happy with some short, sweet vanilla sex. You’d be long gone ages ago if it weren’t for the binding contract you’d signed back when the two of you hadn’t even started the arrangement and you thought the worst thing he would ever ask for was anal.

You really should have read the fine print. But alas, here you are… kissing his boots with only yourself to blame. And you mean that in a literal sense.

“That’s a good girl. Lick it clean. Earn it,” he groans from above.

You try to block it out the best you can. Keeping your eyes closed, you envision it’s anything else. The only issue is that you’ve yet to find anything that has the same leathery texture as a dress shoe.

At least he isn’t stomping on your head, though he might as well be—the way he’s stomping on your pride like a spent cigarette and all but grinding it into nothing, no embers left.

“Mmh, that’s enough for now, com’ere,” he says after a while. “On the bed.”

You really wish that were better. But far from it.

“Look at you—groveling for coin—offering your body to a man twice your age.” He tuts his tongue at you where you lie before him, thighs spread, presenting yourself in the missionary position he loves so much, giving vanilla sex a bad name.

“Not a shred of pride left in you, is there? Just a humble little slut ready to take everything and anything this old man gives her.” He feels the smooth inside of your thighs with both hands, stroking and feeling you up like putty with an ugly smile on his face.

“Open your mouth for me, baby,” he demands while leaning forward.

And you obey, already knowing what to expect but having no legal stance to disobey despite desperately wanting to. Eyes closed while rolling your tongue out like a welcome mat.

The disgust ignites goosebumps across your body, spreading instantly like wildfire in a dry field—bone-dry despite the blob of spit he’d dropped on your tongue.

“Drink up.” He’s gleeful as he watches you swallow and downright delighted when raising his brow, asking, “What do we say?”

What pride you have left, you swallow to make space for the words. “Thank you, master.”

“What a good girl,” he praises, now with his hands at the meeting point. “Spreading your legs so wide, showing me your pussy.”

His thumb is crass, pushing your slumbering clit like a button. You’re quite certain he likes you dry. In fact, you’re sure he prefers it. Or else he’d put his drool to better use instead of making you swallow it.

“Such a pretty thing—and you’re giving it all to me just for some spare change?” he cooes—playing a game, using your pussy instead of a gameboard. “What a poor baby—needing to whore herself for a living.”

The slaps makes blood rush to your cunt, followed by unwilling wetness. And again, all you can say is, “Thank you, master.”

And that’s how it goes. Him, with going in raw with his viagra-spiked cock and a fist wrapped tightly around your throat, slapping your perky titties while they bounce as he straight abuses your womb—uncaring if you cum, only caring for how hard you squeeze and milk him.

Your eyes roll back, trying to let your mind take you anywhere else. At least you’ll be rich by the end of your contract, you think.

You desperately need it—now more than before.

You know? To pay for all the therapy you’re going to need.

♡ BNHA – Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Aiku ♡ AOT – Erwin, Zeke

Patience is your therapist.

You’d been a real wreck. Not really an alcoholic but more or less—a destructive whore, at least. Something about getting old had you feeling a little crazy, making you act like a teenager discovering booze and sex as if for the first time. Blacked out after yet another day of ill choices, you roll around in bed and wallow in the sickness, feeling a sharp and sudden sting. Rushing to the bathroom, chanting curses out loud, you turn around before the mirror and find a pair of angel wings tattooed on your lower back. And it’s in the following moment that you finally decide it’s high time you seek professional help.

Best decision of your life. Hands-down. You’d always been skeptical about therapy, but he’s really made you turn over a new leaf. You regret ever having waited. What’s not to like? Having a nice older gentleman listening to all your issues and troubles and giving his sage advice in turn, always warmly thanking you for showing up and telling you how he hopes to see you the same time next week.

He’s like a father. Teaching you self-respect, how not to invite random men back home from the club, keeping you from falling off track, going weeks and months now without a single drunken night full of stupid decisions, he’s even helped you with cutting off toxic friends without any lingering feelings of guilt haunting you.

For the first time in a very long time, you finally feel your age—still young and free, but ready to let the wild part rest, fully prepared to live your life responsibly as an adult should.

He listens to you ramble, telling him you feel like a new person, thanking him for all his help, saying that he’s cured you. And all he does is smile—that kind old smile you’ve put all your trust in.

He really has fixed you, hasn’t he? Polished you like a dirty dime he’d picked out of the gutter. Looking like sloppy whore he’d found in the worst part of downtown, now sitting there all pretty like a good god-fearing girl.

You were a real handful. He’s had to be very patient. And now, all that patience has finally borne fruit. He never once doubted it would—those who wait never wait in vain.

“I’ve been saving up for this. Haven’t cum once since we started seeing each other,” he groans, hands tangled in your hair, holding your face steady while your arms and hands twist to be freed behind you, using all the air in your lungs to scream—but to no use. Nothing ever leaves these soundproof walls. It’s all confidential.

“Be a good girl now and relax your throat, this pretty face of yours isn't going to fuck itself. And I’ve got two big balls' worth stored up all for you,” he hums, sending his cock through the ring-gag he’s fixed between your teeth, paying your throaty wails no mind, liking how they strum his length as he props your mouth like a pacifier, watching the fearful tears trail down from your terror-wide eyes, nose leaking above the pretty circle of your widely-stretched lips.

He only smiles as his cockhead presses up against the back.

“Gonna give you a nice big reward for finally completing your sessions—so be sure to swallow every drop once it comes.”

You try to pull your hands free for dear life, but the white straitjacket is a contraption meant for the most volatile of patients, not mild-issued muggles such as you. And so he abuses your throat to his heart’s content while you struggle—hacking away at your uvula and enjoying the tight way you gag around him until he finally stills up, throwing his head back and blowing his load right onto your tongue with a loudly enjoyed “Fuck yes!”

It's thicker than you’ve experienced before, and there's a lot. A whole mouthful and more—so much it’s spilling down the side of your chin, running the same path as the drool before it.

“There's more, baby,” he insists in a last-gasp voice, slowly rubbing your face into his crotch. “Wait for it… Get every last drop.”

You sob with his cock in your mouth—his pulsing tip pressed up against the inner-wall of your cheek, making it bulge on the outside, feeling the rest of his load pump out onto your taste-buds, making you retch. And still, he keeps gyrating against your face, slowly, savoring it, wiping himself against the wet, welcoming bed of your tongue, letting it tease the last of him out.

Then he sighs, full-chested and pleased, before backing up and tilting your head up.

“Swallow,” he orders, looking into your open-ring mouth and the pretty white he’d just dumped inside it. Keeping you still with a firm grip around your jaw when you try to shake and spit to the best of your ability.

His gritty fingertips are rough against the softness of your cheeks, pinching them hollow while he sighs, “I’m a very patient man, sweetheart, I can stand here all day with my cock in your face if that’s what it takes. ‘Cause sooner or later, one way or the other, you are gonna take your medicine like a good girl.”

You refuse. But after a small while, you fear it’ll take the wrong pipe as you feel it starting to trickle down your throat on its own, and you cave. Swallowing harshly—open-mouth and all.

And he grins. “Good girl.” Giving your jaw a jiggle while leering down at you.

“Next is your yellow medicine.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Kenjaku ♡ BLLK – Aiku

Diligence is your personal trainer.

He’s uber professional, not letting you give up or rest before you’ve completed your goals for the day, and always making sure you stretch properly after.

You didn't know things were weird. You thought it was normal. How could you have known? You’ve never had a personal trainer before. So what if his bulge squeezed tightly against your mound? It’s not exactly avoidable in this position, and he’s only helping you stretch, right? What’s the harm? You wouldn’t exactly be able to get into this position on your own, now would you? Folded flat, knees by your head, feet behind it, thighs on par with your spine. Never, not even in a million years, would you ever be able to manage!

“Get off!” you squeak—all air pushed out of you. “This is not–”

Okay—that's what you were going to say, but the word is robbed. Trampled by the guy squatting above you—using your own bike shorts and panties against you, having pulled them down to your ankles and wrapped the crotch around the back of your neck—keeping you fixed in the odd position all to his liking.

“I don’t think so, baby. I’ve put in the work,” he gruffs. “And now I'm gonna reap what I sowed and get my dick’s-worth out’a this tight little pussy of yours—give it a good workout just like I did the rest of you, train it to take cock like a champ. Then we’ll see about rewarding it with a little clit-rub—if you’re a good girl, that is.”

He pulls himself out of his sweats while you flail around like a flibbed bug that’s had all its legs ripped off—achieving nothing except exhaustion as he taps your bared pussy with the thick curve of his cock, fucking himself through the chub of your gathered lips for a moment before pressing through them, bullying your hole open with his fat tip—not even savoring it with going slow, but pile-driving himself ball’s deep on the first thrust.

And even then, when buried from stem to stern, he only whistles at the tightness for a fleeting moment, offering but a breathy chuckle. Holding your thighs in a squeeze while all but sitting on you as he starts to pound you fast and utter fucking silly—ball’s slapping your ass while you cunt starts spitting form the vaccum, making noises that have you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head trying to block it out.

“No slacking now, squeeze me with all you got!” he encourages strictly despite the way you refuse, treating it the same way he does when you try to weasel out of doing all your reps. “I wanna feel this pretty little muscle of yours work for it!”

You can’t control it, but you do exactly as he says. Struggling for air in the pressed position—only able to wheeze out moans like a squeaky toy. Feeling him pound your guts—almost like there’s someone kicking you in the stomach. There isn’t much left for you to do but tighten up every core muscle.

“That’s what I thought—sex is the best trainin’ for girls like you,” he laughs with rust. “It’s only natural. Men put in the work, and bitches put out to repay ‘em.”

Free of air and all sensible thinking, you can only dumbly nod in agreement while he continues to jeer from above, “Lucky you, huh? Allowed to lounge around all day—just a lazy little stay-at-home slut.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Shido

Temperance is your health trainer.

He keeps you on track, telling you when and what to eat and when and how to work off the calories. You don’t know why you hired him exactly... Suppose you just wanted to know what it would be like, as well as a little curious about the results.

And sure enough, you are losing weight—but holy hell if it isn’t the worst you’ve felt about yourself ever. You’re hungry all the time, and none of your clothes fit anymore. You just wear baggy stuff and feel miserable all day long.

So you decide to quit. You’re going to call and tell him tomorrow. But for tonight, you’re going to enjoy a big tub of Ben & Jerry's to your heart's content, and nothing and no one is going to stop you. And tomorrow, you’re not even going to bother beating yourself up about it.

Or… at least, that’s what you thought…

But it turns out he’d planned a surprise visit.

“You indulged. And now we gotta take out the trash.” His voice is cold and sharp, laced with a certain anger, joined by a streak of sadism as his fingers claw into your cheeks, holding you steady while forcing the digits of his other hand into your mouth, clawing the tips down your throat where he curls them harshly into your tongue.

“Don’t struggle,” is all he says to your screaming, having tied your wrist behind your back with one of your knee-high fuzzy socks—those you wear when you want to cuddle up and get all cozy by yourself—now being used to keep you on your knees before the couch, where he’d caught you red-handed like a pig rolling around in its own filth.

You throw up violently. All melted ice cream with bits of cookie-dough still intact.

“That’s it, come on now—everything must out–” he drawls through gritted teeth, holding you in a tough grip to keep you from fighting as you start coughing and retching around his sticky fingers that don’t stop their pursuit but continue to bury themselves as deep as they can reach down your gullet, as if he wants to reach all the way down into your stomach and start hand-shoveling. “Every last crumb of junk until there’s nothing left.”

You only notice the raging bulge in his pants once you’re done, once every last drop of stomach acid is spent, and you’re left hollow on the inside. That’s when you notice it—how horribly hard it all had made him.

“I thought I could be lenient…” he clicks his tongue. “But I see now, I was wrong.”

He breaths heavily as he starts pulling you away from the mess—nasty grip in your hair—dragging you across the floor, down the hallway, towards the ajar door at the very end—the one that gives a sneak peek at your bed.

“I should have gone with my instincts from the get-go,” he states. “A girl like you should be on a strict diet of cum and nothing else. So, you better make it a habit of swallowing every drop.”

There’s a raspy laugh—halfway unhinged, halfway deadfast.

“I don’t think it’ll be too hard for a glutton like you.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Overhaul, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Daichi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Erwin ♡ WB – Umemiya

Chastity is your crazy cult leader.

A middle-aged madman who happens to be obsessed with preserving your virginity.

He’s sick with it—utterly unhinged. Concealing your pussy behind black tape, two strips marking a cross upon your entrance—or, your purity, as he likes to call it—cooing at you about how cute it is, how it needs to be preserved.

He doesn’t kiss you, either.

And the restriction makes him so hard—fucking his meat through those pretty pious lips, feeding you his cum when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet. It makes him all feverish from head to toe.

“Don’t worry,” he’ll say, vowing, “I’ll protect your virginity until the day I die, I promise.”

It only makes you shudder and sob. All but begging him to take your pussy instead when he starts prepping your ass with rough fingers.

He just shakes his head and mollycoddles you, “No, no, no, sweetie—your precious virginity is something to cherish, not something for you to throw away.”

You keep begging as he eases into you, softly bouncing you on his lap, balls-deep in your tight ass, fucking you leisurely whilst cuddling your bound body—a hand holding your cunt, cupping it over the tape, giving it a few soft strokes every then and there—as if consoling it for being denied.

“I know, I know, baby—it’s so overwhelming, isn’t it? You want cock in your sweet pussy so bad,” he all but mocks your whining, rubbing one of your nipples between his fingers—twisting, pinching, and pulling—making you squirm, wanting to rub your thighs together so bad, but not allowed to.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to keep you pure, baby. I’ll never let anything corrupt your sacred little virgin gem.”

You all but grind against his hand, but he keeps the touch so light it only serves to make you wish for more. The tape all but peels off on its own like a wet bandage from how slick you get. Pussy all chubby with need, desperate to be touched—but cruelly ignored.

He sighs sternly, “Such a needy little virgin.” Clicking his tongue, he huffs again. “Look at the mess you’re making.”

Your cunt drips down his balls where he’s busy stuffing your ass, filling it up with cum from the sight of how wrecked you look—pussy throbbing with need, all glossy and begging to be sated.

He only smiles, ball’s spent and satisfied, cock softening as he shakes his head at you.

“I’ll have to wash you extra thoroughly tonight.”

He carries you bridal-style, then washes you without even touching it, only with a soft stream of cold water rinsing all the arousal off—like he’s watering a plant—making the waste of pussy juice run down the drain.

And then he fixes a nice snug chastity belt around you—to keep your grubby hands away from playing with yourself.

“Poor thing—I know it’s torture,” he coos, watching you cry for some relief, trying to rub yourself against his thigh. “But I can’t give you what you want.”

The smile on his lips is all but a sneer as he kisses your forehead, hugging you close and rocking with you as if to comfort you.

“Nothing is ever ruining your sweet virginity.”

No, no, nothing at all. It’s all for him to admire—his greatest, most sacred possession. If anything were to happen to it, it would be nothing short of a travesty—he’d be livid with grief.

So you could only regret it when he walks in on you after coming home one day, only to find it butchered…

It’s like stepping into a crime scene.

Your chastity belt has somehow been pried off and thrown aside, discarded like unwanted trash.

Your precious nightgown has been done the same injustice, lying in a torn heap just shy of the bed.

Then there’s you—lying in a puddle of your own undoing, high off of bliss with three fingers savaging your poor, sweet virgin pussy—every jerk off your hips furthering your fall from grace.

That’s when he realizes… he’s been treating you like something sacred for so long… when really, all this time you’ve been nothing but a filthy whore.

That’s right… a slut who’s only good for being a dirty hole he’s going to bury all his sin inside—like a dumpster.

And since you brought it all on yourself, you’re not allowed to regret it now. A whore should be used several times every single day by her master—so much she should never be able to leave the bed again.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Aizawa, Overhaul, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Kenjaku ♡ AOT – Erwin ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya

Gratitude is your traditional husband.

And you’re his sweet and pretty stay-at-home wife.

You wake up and make the bed in the morning, air out the house, beat the carpets, do the laundry, and tidy up room after room—it’s never much when you do it every day—after which you take a long shower where you do all sorts of maintenance, go to your wardrobe and pick out a flowy dress, apply a modest amount of makeup before the mirror, and do your hair up all nicely.

And then you get started on making dinner, frilly white apron tied together behind your back in a pretty bow, priding yourself on making everything from scratch. While it simmers and cooks, you clean up and make sure everything’s perfectly splendid for when he comes home. Setting the dinner table with candles and flowers you went out and picked while tilling the garden earlier, then fixing his plate, so that everything’s ready and waiting for him when he comes through the door.

You greet him with a smile and a hug, and a soft “Welcome home~”

And he in turn smiles lazily and says “Thank you, sweetheart—something smells good, ” and kisses you on the cheek, giving your ass a firm squeeze before lowering his voice into a rusty rumble, “Almost as good as you look.”

You only giggle, asking, “Really?” Feeling flush and ticklish in his hands as they continue to roam freely, up and down your thin dress, burying his face in the dip of your neck and inhaling your fresh scent.

“Mh, good enough to eat.”

You take his hungry kisses with an open mouth, letting his tongue make a home down your throat and only moaning sweetly in return. And when he finally parts, you use what breath you have to ask, “After dinner?”

It would be such waste if the food got cold after all.

He groans, squeezing you tightly against his body, letting you feel the firm bump, before sighing with rust and conceding, “Not a second after.”

The two of you take your seats on either side of the table, then hold hands in the middle. Eyes closed, he begins like usual, “I’m grateful for my beautiful home, the delicious food we’re about to eat, and my loving wife, who makes me the luckiest man in the world.”

And then you, “I’m grateful for my beautiful life and my amazing husband who makes it all possible.”

Then you eat. You ask him about his day, and he answers in detail, and you listen as if his office antiques are your obsession. And after dinner, you take the dishes while he goes to get himself washed up. You’re all smiles when he returns, ready to make his every desire come true—right there on the cleared table if that’s what he wants.

“I have something for you,” he says. “Close your eyes and turn around.”

You do as suggested, spinning around with your back to him. He takes off your old pearl necklace and replaces it with something light and cold. You turn back around, holding the pretty diamonds in your hand while looking down at them in your reflection.

“Do you like it?” he asks, calm smile on his lips, watching you with love and something darker you never dare put a name to.

You only beam, bright enough for none of it to matter, jumping into his arms while squealing, “I love it!”

He hugs you back, like before, molding you against him, chin on your shoulder and voice at your ear, “Aren’t I good to you?”

“Yes, the best,” you agree.

“Yeah? Show me. Take off everything except your new gift.”

Of course you do, obeying so prettily, like it’s your favorite thing to do, stripping yourself down until you’re just a pretty pin-up doll in a nudie magazine he’d bring with him into war.

“God, I love you, my pretty housewife,” he chants when he has you up against the wall, greedy hands gripping your ass, propping you up to take him as he fucks the moans off your soft lips. “Prettiest in the world and all mine, ain’t that right?”

You nod sweetly, breathing in his exhale like it’s your very life-essence.

“Yeah? You belong to me?” he moans, mouth finding your ear, nibbling on it before sucking your neck full of teeth marks that have you nodding faster.

“Mh, say it,” he growls under his breath, all raggedy and hot. “Let me hear your pretty voice.”

“I belong to you,” you gasp, “Yours–all yours.”

He grins against your throat, “That’s right. ”

Hips stilling, he makes sure he’s all the way inside you, spilling his worth right at the mouth of your womb and feeding it all his worth.

“There’s nothing else you want...”

Mumbling into your wet skin, sore from his endless attention.

“You just wanna be my happy housewife forever…”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Touya, Hawks, younger Enji ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku

Charity is a goodwill worker.

You’re such a skittish little thing—he can’t bear the thought of leaving you to fend for yourself out in the streets all alone with all those ruthless thugs. You’ll be eaten alive! No, he just has to take you in—he’s got more than enough space—no payment required. Trust him, just seeing you get out of those filthy rags is more than enough.

Oh, and aren’t you a sight for sore eyes when you’re cleaned up all nicely? All soft skin in your birthday suit while he lathers you up in expensive lotion. You may squirm now, but you’ll thank him later on. He just needs to teach you first. Come time, you’ll learn to like eating out of his hand. He might have wrangled you in from the streets like some sort of wildling, but you’ll be a housebroken pet for him soon enough, you’ll see. You’ll love all his soft touches so much you’ll moan for him in the sweetest gratitude.

“Poor baby… you’ve probably never been in a soft bed like this before, huh?” he hums when he has you down on his Egyptian sheets, tied up with silken rope—so that you don’t hurt yourself.

“Please, please, please don’t, please,” you whimper and squirm as he crawls on top of you, terrified out of your sweet mind where you lie, spread open like a starfish that’s had its arms pinned down with nail and hammer.

“You don’t have to beg me, darling—I’ll give you everything I have and more,” he only croons while pumping your pretty freshly-shaven pussy on three of his thick fingers, making sure you’re all wet and ready for the next thing.

“No, no, no, please–” you whine, sobbing, trying desperately at twisting and hiding, but kept right where he wants you as he lifts his heavy cock between your thighs, kissing and licking your wet slit with his tip before finding purchase at your entrance.

“No—” you croak as he starts easing inside, treading your pretty cunt over his length like a condom bought three sizes too small. Fitting him all snug with a sting that makes your breath erratic, looking down at it as if you expect to be split in two.

He pushes his palm down on the bulge when he’s buried to the hilt.

“There we go, all six inches,” he hums, roosting inside you without letting up, keeping you propped full while feeling you squeeze him tight like a vice.

“Ah, please, pull it out, pull it out!” you shriek, wiggling your hips, wanting to escape higher up the bed, but kept in place by the leashes holding your feet tied to each bedpost.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over and licking up the pained tears running down your cheek. “I'm not forgetting about your little clitty.”

Next to you, resting heavy in the bed, was a big black wand with a power cord plugged into the wall. You’d never seen anything like it before—it looked more equipped to be a power tool than something belonging in a bed. You’re convinced he’s planning on drilling a hole through you when he picks it up and turns it on, buzzing loudly and spinning full circles around itself.

“No, please!”

He brings it down right above where he has you stuffed, pressing it against your clit, merrily kneading the pearl to his heart’s content with the viscous vibrations—paying your protests no mind.

“Ah, no, please! Please turn it off!” you wail while shaking, immediately taken by a vivid toe-curling climax, looking like he’s exorcising a demon out of you with the way you lay there spasming and drooling.

“Yeah, you like that? Your pretty pussy’s hugging me so sweetly, so, so good–”

He only hums as your voice reaches highs he bets you didn’t even know you were capable of. Watching your chest arch off the bed and your hands wring themselves silly. Only beginning to roll his hips back and forth, fucking your pussy while it makes a mess everywhere.

“Aww, you’ve been neglected for so long, haven’t you, baby?” he babies, “I can feel it—so touch-starved you’ve already wet yourself.”

He smiles and turns up the power on the toy while he says it, making your clit go both numb and haywire under the attack. It isn’t long before your lower belly twists in desperation yet again, making you pant as it unravels.

“That’s it, baby, let go for me,” he encourages, watching you tense up and shiver, feeling your pussy throttle him tightly. “Such a sweet girl. Go on, cum as much as you want. I’ll take good care of you from now on—you won’t ever go without again”

Once more, he turns up the power and send you into another thrashing seizure, making you think you’re going to die—panting and drooling and sweating, feverish and delirious, moaning around his salty fingers as he messages your tongue and fucks you with slow abandon.“I’ll give you everything you deserve,” he smiles, watching you all but lose your mind. “And more.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Gojo, oldman Yuuta ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Isagi, Aiku ♡ AOT – Erwin, Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 1 month ago

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TW: Yandere Hybrids, Somnophilia, Dubcon, Oral fixation, Overstimulation, Gagging, Crying during sex, Power dynamics, Humiliation, Knotting mentions, Manipulation WC: Under 1k

A/n: have I yapped about this? Probably. Mmmm well here's more yapping about Satoru's suckling problem.

Imagine bringing home a puppy hybrid. They're sweet, loud, impossibly affectionate. They make great additions to the family! Now you got a real pretty kind with snowy white ears that twitch when he’s happy, a big fluffy white tail that wags wildly whenever you walk through the door before his arms snake around your waist, and the brightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen.

Satoru. Sure he's sweet. Clingy. Always wants to be touching you, whether it’s his head in your lap, tail thumping against you, or palms nudging under your shirt just to feel skin.

You got a great deal! You weren't even sure why the agency was offering him so cheap! They did warn you about a little problem, sourced from anxiety. Suckling. Though they assured you its common with puppy hybrids.

It starts small. Barely even noticeable. Just the blankets at first. Then your socks. Then your clean laundry, pulled warm from the dryer only to find damp chew spots on the crotch of your panties. You figure it’s probably the anxiety. Poor thing’s home all day, curled up alone, waiting for his human to come back. He probably misses your scent. Probably needs comfort.

But comfort becomes a little more complicated when you wake in the middle of the night to wet heat lapping at your chest. When you find him latched onto your soft nipple like a pacifier, soft pitchy whines in the back of his throat as his hips rock gently against your leg, grinding himself through his boxers, a wet spot forming in the front.

You try to be good. Attempting to gently peel him off. Drowsily hushing his protests. But your body betrays you. Slurps echo embarrassingly loud when the flat of his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud. You’re sure you came in your sleep. More than once based on the slick between your thighs. Thankful he hasn't discovered that region, giving you time to correct his behavior before it gets worse. Your poor soft nipples are sore for days, and even the cream you bought doesn’t help.

And now nothing else soothes him. Not blankets, not toys, not even the shirts you leave behind that smell like you. He wants you. Wants your tits in his mouth, wants to be smothered by the soft mounds for the rest of his life.

So, what do you do?

You get him a friend. A dominat hybrid. Someone who can put him in his place.

Which is how fox hybrid!Suguru ends up in your home, quiet, slow-moving, sticks mostly to himself. Occasionally narrows his keen eyes at Satoru's antics. Though it didn't work out like you'd imagine.

He’s not the solution. He’s the problem.

Because he doesn’t correct Satoru’s behavior, he cultivates it. Encourages it.

“You’ve spoiled him,” Suguru murmurs one night, his firm chest pressed to your back, voice thick and deep against your ear. His arm is slung around your hips, strong, holding you open while whine into his long dark hair, attempting to hide yourself away.

“No - not my fault - ” you try, but your voice dies in a choked sob when a soft tongue flattens against your cunt again, suckling on your puffy clit like it’s candy.

Between your thighs, Satoru whines. Loud. Messy. His pretty blue eyes are hazy with need, pupils blown wide as his hands clutch your thighs, nails breaking skin and buries his face even deeper in your pussy. His ears are drooping low, flicking with every moan you make, and his cock is leaking all over your sheets as he humps the bed like a mindless mutt.

“See?” Suguru hums. “He likes direction.”

You’re overstimulated. Sore. Barely coherent. Your clit aches, your hole’s fluttering, and you don’t even realize you’re crying until Suguru kisses the tears from your cheeks, soothing you while his other hand grabs the panties you wore yesterday and shoves them between your teeth.

“There we go,” he croons, lips brushing over your cheek. “Let him taste you properly.”

You sob around the gag as Satoru moans, loud and high-pitched, grinding his tongue deeper like he’s trying to fuck you with it. Your hole aching at the desperate pushes. His nose nudges your clit with every thrust and his tail is wagging wildly behind him, thumping against the bed. You’re cumming. Again. Again. You don’t even know which number you’re on.

Suguru just watches. Eyes heavy-lidded and glowing in the moonlight. Something hard pressed against your back. His hand never leaves your belly, his claws gently stroking patterns over the soft skin.

“You’re lucky,” he murmurs against your ear, before shoving Satoru's face more into your cunt, a loud groan leaving the pup's lips. “your sweet puppy hasn’t learned how to knot yet.”

#Yandere satoru gojo #Hybrid au #Yandere suguru geto #Yandere #Yandere satosugu x reader #Yandere satoru x reader #Yandere suguru x reader

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 2 months ago

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not gonna say anything, but gonna leave this here for... reasons

Watching Toji take a piss + tiny blow job…. :3

Toji shifts under you for the third time in five minutes, heavy arms tightening around your waist. You don’t miss the way his jaw flexes, or the way his muscled thighs tense beneath where you’re perched on his lap, snuggled into his chest like you belong right there, glued to him. His voice finally cuts through the quiet—deep and strained.

“Darling”, he rumbles, a slight whine at the edges of his tone, “I gotta piss. Bad”.

You whined and hug him tighter, your soft cheek smooshed against his broad chest. You don’t want to let him go—he’s so warm and he feels sooo comfy under you like a big teddy bear. You feel him groan low in his chest, a frustrated sound, one of his hands squeezing your hip like he’s pleading.

“I’m serious, kiddo. M’about to bust”.

Reluctantly, you pull back while pouting up at him. His green eyes catch yours, pinched with urgency but still soft, fond even. He kisses your forehead quickly before setting you off his lap, grumbling under his breath as he hurries toward the bathroom, his big hand cupping himself through his sweatpants like he’s about to start leaking if he doesn’t hurry.

You follow behind him, barefoot and quiet, peeking in from the bathroom door just as he yanks his sweats down and his cock flops out—thick, flushed at the tip, and twitching slightly. He doesn’t even have time to shut the door.

The moment he finally releases— a thick, powerful stream shoots out, splashing noisily into the toilet. Toji sighs, loud and relieved, his whole body finally relaxing as the tension drains out of him. His head tips back, Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes fluttering half shut as if it’s pleasurable.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, a ragged groan, his stream still going strong.

You can’t look away—your thighs clench together as you watch it, fascinated, almost hypnotized by how long it goes on, the way his cock pulses slightly with the force of it.

Finally, the stream tapers off, a few last strong spurts hitting the water before he gives a final, shaky sigh.

He shakes himself a little, but a few golden droplets cling stubbornly to his flushed tip, glistening in the light.

Before he can tuck himself away, you’re kneeling in front of him, your hands settling gently on his thighs to steady yourself on the floor. Toji freezes, staring down at you with blown pupils and parted lips.

“Baby…” he warns, his voice rough and unsure, but he doesn’t stop you.

You lean in with your tongue peeking out, and slowly you lap up the lingering droplets, savoring the musky, salty taste from his leaking tip. Toji groans—a low, helpless sound escaping his throat, one hand tangling in your hair, his cock giving a heavy little twitch against your lips.

“Fuck you’re something else, baby,” he rasps, voice trembling just a little as if he’s surprised, pride and affection thick in every word.

You hum against the fat head of his cock, tongue swirling around it lazily before you pull back just far enough to let a thin string of saliva and leftover gold drip from your tongue to his tip. His stomach flexes hard.

“You gonna let me clean the rest?” you whisper, eyes gleaming up at him with something wicked.

Toji lets out a shaky laugh, somewhere between turned on and wrecked which is understandable because even in his 43 years of living, he’s never met anyone as freaky as you. “You’re fucking—hnngh—insane,” he pants, “but yeah, sweetheart. Knock yourself out”.

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft, licking a slow, wet stripe all the way to the base that’s decorated with his curly pubes. He watches you, his jaw slack with every muscle in his thighs trembling as you mouth at him like it’s worship. And when you suck one of his balls into your mouth, his knees nearly buckle.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—gonna end up cumming in your mouth if you keep that up”.

You glance up again, your lips slighty swollen with your tongue peeking between your teeth.

“That’s the plan”.

He groans like you punched the air out of him—he grabs a fistful of your hair, guiding your mouth right back to the tip of his cock.

“Open up, baby,” he growls. “You wanted nasty—gonna give it to you”.

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 2 months ago

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oh god i love this

Yandere Vlogger who gains a following by stalking you.

TW. DDNE ! MDNI ! Stalking, Implied NonCon, Voyeurism, Kidnapping

It started out with a few, weird videos that barely got any views.

He had a shaky camera, and he'd rarely ever talk. In fact, he didn't even show you in the beginning. It was more of videos he took walking in random places without showing his face. Honestly, it looked like he hadn't intended for anyone but himself to see the uploads, yet somehow they ended up floating across the feeds of some people.

| What is this even about lol | This is kind of strange... | What are you doing?

He was surprised to get any comments at all, but the last one especially jumped out at him. Any rational person wouldn't talk about how they'd been secretly following the love of their life to some random stranger, but he was far from rational.

Instead of replying in the comments, he made another video.

Why I Do This

" It's because I love her, and I want to make sure she's safe," he said with a shrug. The camera was propped up on a cafe table, and his face was clearly in view. Well groomed, handsome, young... he certainly didn't seem the type to be a deranged lunatic. "Besides, I like the thought that one day she'll see this and know how much I care." After he spoke, the footage was cut with a shot of his shoes slapping against pavement, wandering in some unknown location.

That one got quite a bit of views. Hundreds this time, out of seemingly nowhere.

| Woah is this guy for Real? | No way is he serious, this is probably just some project or some shit. | Lol who cares if it's real, it's kind of interesting | I wish I had a boyfriend like that | You should show us your partner lmao

The videos would come every other day or so now. There seemed to be a bit more editing involved, and the few glimpses of you that the audience got became like a fun guessing game.

"I never expected anyone to be interested in this," he admitted, this time more quietly in a library study area. " I thought people would think that this whole thing is weird, but there are, what? A thousand of you now? So strange... and here I thought I was the weird one," He chuckled and brushed his hair back gently. Just out of sight in the camera was your seated form, working diligently on an assignment. If only you knew how much he cared. Not only that, if only you knew how many people thought he was cool for loving you the way he did.

| Guys I'm starting to get kind of freaked out. Is the person getting stalked okay? | Nah, it's not real. No way. If he was for real he wouldn't be showing his face | Woah the quality has gone up so much! The sneaking into the house portion of the videos are always so creepy and realistic! Keep up the good work! | You should go into acting man | Our beloved stalker is getting pretty bold lol. I wonder how this series will end lol

Sure enough, he started having more fun making the videos. He invested in a higher quality camera, and he started to become more and more obsessed with not only following you, but documenting the whole thing. He invested in a new camera and bought new editing software. Plus, with the ad revenue he was getting from his growing viewers, he could afford to buy trackers and other things...

"Thanks to you guys, I've finally got enough to bring them home," he practically beamed as he stared into the black lens. He was hidden in a bush, the glow of your house lights illuminating his face. He held up a bundle of ropes and some cuffs. "I really couldn't have done this without your support. I'm really grateful. I might have to lay low for a while after this... but hopefully I'll be putting out some more videos about getting them settled in their new home. Again, thanks for everything."

When a missing persons alert was put out for you, hardly anyone paid any attention. His viewers didn't know your name, and he was smart enough to hide your face, so no one suspected a thing. Soon enough, you were a forgotten statistic to everyone but him.

| Woah new video! | The new set looks great! | They're acting is so realistic lol. It gives me chills. | Hey don't they kinda look like that one person...? | I'm glad to see how this series progressed lol, the stalking was getting kind of boring

"They love you," he hummed as he scrolled through the comments, the screen lighting up the darkened room. You were bound in his lap, whimpering, blindfolded and gagged as he rubbed soothing circles into your hip. "Not as much as I can, but I told you everyone was rooting for us to get together," He smiled and planted a kiss to the crown of your head.

He then stood up, carrying you in his strong arms before laying you down on his bed. He switched on the lighting and turned on the various cameras he had set up to catch your expressions from every angle. His voice was sickeningly sweet as he got you tied down and ready, his eyes flashing with barely contained obsession. "Now... some people have been asking for more... exclusive content. I think it's only fair we let them see... I wouldn't have you if it wasn't for them after all. Be good for me okay?"

#yandere x reader #yandere #tw yandere #yandere male #x reader #yandere x you #yandere concept #yandere boy #male yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere stalker #tw stalking

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 2 months ago

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ooooh living doll, love that!

a toymaker's desire o(≧▽≦)o

brief sum: not one but two yan toymakers!!

notice! semi-based off of @yanderenightmare's post about yan captors !! its perfectly written (as all of their stuff)!!! btw this might be a bit long i realize. i spent sm words on the coming to life part :,)

There was something so intimate about constructing your face. Your head, the curve of your nose, your eye shape. It felt so personal. From this moment he knew you were gonna be the favorite out of all the dolls they've had.

After being fully made there was never a day that went by where you weren't dolled up. Even though you weren't alive they dressed you for every occasion. For example when it's bed time they choose from various types of pretty pajamas to put you in, one might even read a bedtime story for you. When it's morning hours you're put in frilly dresses or if they want to go for something more casual they'd put you in a baby doll dress. If they have to attend a gala or something fancy and punctual they'd dress you in a long dress adorned with intricate details with satin bows and silk gloves and lace. You obviously never end up going with them. If we're being honest though, if it weren't for societal norms and the stares and looks they'd get, you'd definitely end up going.

They love you so much, it's weird. You don't show signs of life but they feel strangely attached to you. They feel as if you all were meant to be. If we're being honest, it took a while for one of them to understand the obsession with you, he thought it was creepy if anything. However, over time he started to understand, their love for you transcended words and life altogether. No one's quite sure what had happened, they say that is was fate, it was destiny, etc. But your vitalization was truly something unexplainable.

It was a silent night in the manor today. The boys had already put you to bed and read you a story. Born staring, all you could look at was the pink bed canopy curtains that decorated the sides of the bed. You're not sure what had happened but suddenly you could blink. Hm, that's weird—You're a ball jointed doll, ball jointed dolls don't have joints in their eyelids. Even if they did they probably would still need someone to help them blink. Before you had the chance to think about it more you could move your eyes too! Your eyes usually are just straight across you couldn't move them before. This makes you wonder actually, if you can move your eyes and eyelids, you can move other body parts, right?

Almost instantaneously after thinking about it you could move your head. Honestly, it hurt like hell, now you're starting to understand why humans complain about the pain they feel. You decided to take another chance and just try try to sit up, that's is easy enough, right? When you hoisted your back up to sit in an up-right position it felt like a huge stab of pain in your lower back. You wanted to scream, you almost did actually, but you wouldn't want to wake up the boys, would you? They do so much for you that they don't have to. At the very least you owe them uninterrupted sleep.

Now that you're finally sitting up-right how about giving walking a go? You flung your legs over the side of the bed and decided to stand up. Honestly, this isn't that far off from being unable to move. You just have a lot more feeling in your feet. You decide to try walking! Though, this one is probably the hardest of all. You've never walked before, not even when you were a solid doll. You just try to copy what you see humans do! Uhh, one foot forward and uhh another one forward? You try to put another foot forward but you end up wobbling a lot. Oh my—You never realized how much balance that goes into walking! You end up falling, thank god it didn't make much of a sound though. That whole night though, you were fixated on getting walking right. It took you up until almost the break of dawn to get it right, once you finally walked good enough for your satisfaction you just passed out sleeping on the floor.

It was finally morning and the boys had the most perfect sleep! One of them went downstairs to make food and some coffee, the other went to go get you dressed for the day. As soon as he opened the door he was met with shock, you're on the floor and not on the bed as he left you.. Huh, weird. It's okay, as long as you're here he's fine! As he was about to pick you up he realized you're a bit heavier than usual, that's unusual but that's fine. Maybe he's just now noticing how heavy you are, you are a doll after all! As he picked you up, he realized, you're very not stiff? Your joints are much more limp and more prone to moving. Maybe he's just tired and his brain is just messing with him. Upon putting you on the bed he realizes, why is your chest rising and falling—Oh my god, are you breathing? This can't be right! You're a doll, is his brain playing games with him? He starts to put his hand on your chest. What the hell! Why does he feel a heartbeat?! Are you even the same doll he's loved? He looks at your face and body, I mean, you do look relatively the same.. He lifts up your sleeves and realizes your doll joints are gone..

Upon feeling all of this commotion along your body, your eyes start to carefully open. "What the hell.." You hear a masculine voice say, huh, he sounds just like one of your owners. As your eyes start to focus and make of what you're seeing, oh, it is him! He looks scared, and suddenly he pushes you off of him and backs away from the you. He starts to yell for your other owner. "You have to come see this, I don't know what happened!" He sounds so panicked, he looks terrified of you. Seeing this makes you a bit self conscious if anything, you're still the doll they know and love. You're not any different. You finally open your mouth to say something, "You still love me, right?" Moments go by and no response. The silence being so loud between you guys, you almost thought it was the end of the road for you until you see his face get less and less tense and his eyes start to soften. He walks towards you and gives a warm, deep embrace. "How could I not, my baby?"

౨ৎ

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 2 months ago

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you guys are all freaky masochists

my fave's sloth~

Yandere Seven Deadly Sins

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, gangbang, harsh language, sexual exploitation, bondage, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Pride is an artist, and you, poor dear, are lucky enough to be his muse.

You’d caught his eye one day simply by coincidence while working your part-time job as a barista.

And though it had been a rather unorthodox request—between balancing school and work and constantly finding yourself both strapped for cash and strapped for time—you’d decided to quit and take him up on his offer—as what he was offering was about twice what you could make at the cafe anyway.

He’s not that much older than you, but he’s old money. And while you're stuck in community college, he goes to an elite art school—which he doesn’t even show up to, 'cause why would he? They can't afford to kick him out anyway, given his father’s donations make up half of their yearly budget.

And so he's free to self-study as much as he wants.

Yeah... he’s a little too used to getting what he wants—exactly how he wants it—without delay. So when you struggle to come to your sessions on time due to having to take the bus to the other side of town, he decides to solve it by buying you a car. And when he doesn’t feel like that’s sufficient enough, he buys you an apartment right above his own studio. And when you try to reject, he only has three concise words for you.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The way he says it leaves very little up for debate. In fact, it leaves you mute each and every time.

It was nice in the beginning—you didn’t protest to anything other than his overpriced gifts. You were flattered and blushy and giddy and more than happy to sit pretty for him for hours at a time while he sketched and sculpted and painted and whatnot. It was essentially nothing in comparison to the luxuries he gave you in return.

But you think, at some point along the way, he must have forgotten that he only owns the artworks he makes of you—not you yourself.

“N-naked?” you stutter, looking at him wide-eyed where he stands in his usual apron—flecked with the proof of your countless sessions. Honestly, it was getting to be a little strange posing for him in a room stuffed with a myriad of sketches, paintings, and statues of yourself. Hadn’t he had enough?

“I can’t capture you correctly when you wear all these rags,” he says—clinically, though with a pinch of impatience just shy of vexation—eyeing you from head to toe, almost with a look of disgust while beholding your clothes, despite being the one who’d bought them. “They obscure everything. So take them off.”

You knew he’d probably had about a hundred models undress for him, and stand here—old, young, men, women—you knew it probably didn’t mean much to him. He probably regarded it the same way he does everything—without even batting an eye. However…

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do that…” You fiddle with your fingers, standing there, still dressed despite him standing ready at his easel, foot-tapping while waiting for you, already with a stick of charcoal between his fingers.

“Why are you making a fuss? You think I haven’t seen a naked body before?” he jokes, but without humor—no, rather strictness as if you’re wasting very precious time. “This is standard practice—don’t make it anything than what it is.”

There he goes again with those very final words that make you feel all in all kind of silly.

You bite your lip and mull it over before ever-so-begrudgingly uttering a weak little, “Okay…”

You suppose he was right. This is a job, and it’s just nudity—just another shape in the eyes of an artist—it doesn’t mean anything—is what you tell yourself while you undress. Still, you can’t help but feel flush—heart pounding in your chest as you fold your clothes all neatly for some other nervous reason.

“Resume the pose,” he says—almost like a drill sergeant. And you jump into place, timidly rushing over to the chaise where you lie down like before.

This does feel like it would be a better painting, you admit. More reminiscent of Renaissance art and such. Not that you know much about it, but thinking back to field trips through the museum, you seem to remember having seen plenty of portraits of naked ladies lying on pretty but uncomfortable sofas just like this.

He seems very invested, at least. A deep furl between his brows, nearly scowling at you while he works—though you’ve come to learn that it’s just his concentration face.

After a while, he sets his charcoal down and wipes his blackened hands on his apron.

You sit up, asking, “Are you done?” All but ready to leap from your seat to your clothes and finally cover yourself again.

“No, keep still,” he all but reprimands—voice intense as he stalks across the floor over to you with determination written plainly across his face.

You draw back in place as he rests his knee on the chaise and leans forward. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come and correct your pose, but you couldn’t help but flinch this time around, feeling just a bit too exposed.

His hands are warm and overworked, both dry and a bit clammy all at the same time. You didn’t mind much when you wore clothes, but it felt a bit too intimate now as he touched your bare skin. But you bear with it despite that.

Eyes closed, you repeat that same line from before—it doesn’t mean anything, this is standard practice, it doesn’t mean anything.

It works in calming your breath for a moment, but then he grabs your tit.

You gasp, jolting back while stuttering, “Wha–what are you doing?”

And yet, he keeps his steal gaze just as fixed and unfazed as before, sighing at you as if you were overreacting, before stating rather simply, “Getting a better understanding of your body.” He then reaches toward you again, showing no concern for how you shrink away. “It’s easier to replicate when I know it by hand.”

Again, you let his voice silence you, and again, you closed your eyes and let his hands wander—around your chest, up your neck, down your belly, and then—

“Wait! That can’t be necessary—” you blurt out, this time with your arms and hands shooting forth to distance him.

“Oh, trust me—it is.” Again, he pays you no mind, simply bearing over you with his entitled hands roaming whatever place he so wishes and chooses. Only clicking his tongue at you when you squirm, “Don’t fuss.”

You don’t exactly push him away, though you don’t exactly make his pursuit easier for him—lying there beneath his touches, wiggling and whimpering, though not really protesting either as he feels your slit.

Your fingers curl into his arms, gripping his messy shirt streaked with paint and coal—as his fingers run through your lips, teasing your entrance and your clit. He twists his hand around and presses his thumb down on the pearl after it perks for attention, then enters you with his pointer finger—drawing out wetness before promptly feeding you another.

You bite your lip as they curl and spread within you, testing you out while rubbing firm circles into your clit.

Gingerly, your hips return it, starting to move in tune with his ministrations. Thighs trembling, keeping your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you start to pant—small moans leaving your lips with every breath, feeling it build within you—a small flame at first, nursed until it fills and all but fights for room within you before finally bursting.

“That’s it—that’s the expression,” he purrs—voice much softer than usual—cupping your face with his other hand, holding you steady while taking in those dopey eyes sparkling with pleasure and those parted lips that never dare speak up—eyeing you like he's the proud owner of a prized possession. “Perfect.”

He hums, sounding pleased, then gets off you shortly after, sauntering back to his easel.

“You can get dressed now. I got what I needed,” he states, picking the stick of charcoal up again, ripping the last sketch off for a fresh sheet before starting anew as if nothing had happened.

And you, still lying there, are left just as mute as usual.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Touya, Hawks, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Baro ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi

Wrath is your ex-boyfriend who refuses to get it through his thick skull that the two of you are over.

Any time you talk to another guy, he beats him up—to a fucking pulp, no less.

He’s always been that way, and still, it wasn’t always like this…

You started dating each other when you were young. He was rough around the edges, and you liked that about him—tattoos from his neck down to his ankles—the type your parents would have a heart attack if you ever brought home.

He was going to be a professional fighter, he’d say—mixed martial arts. He had all the rage and zero technique, but still, he’d land some of the best on their ass all through pure strength of will alone.

He was near impossible to train, though—always too wired to be able to take any pointers. And that’s why he needed you. You were his reliever. He’d fuck you like it was his last day on earth, and suddenly he’d be able to do anything. Like an enhancement drug, everything would start moving in slow motion, and he could somehow see all the moves of his opponent before they ever made them.

You admit you liked hearing him preach about it. It made you feel important—made you feel as if half the win, or at least some of it, was yours. And when he started raking in the dough as the champion, winning multiple titles across several tournaments, you were more than happy to be his lucky charm and cheer him on from the sidelines.

But then, you had this awful and sudden feeling of being just that—a tool for his success and nothing else. Sure, he’d give you presents—pretty things he thought suited you well—but you hadn’t gone on a date since his career started, nor had you had a proper sit-down dinner together either. He’d stick to his diet regime, be out training at the gym all day, and you’d be home, going about your own business.

And while you were doing that, you’d think—about the nature of your relationship. And what you found is that all it really entails in the end is him demanding a fuck whenever he needed it—before a tournament, before training, before an interview. And then, after coming to that glum conclusion, you can’t help but feel like nothing more than another one of those items he keeps loose in his gym bag.

And those thoughts only got validated when you tried denying him sex for the first time…

You were just curious, really—curious to see what he’d do. If he’d beg, if he’d plead, if he’d say boo, don’t be that way while down on his hands and knees for you.

But of course... he can’t get anything else but angry.

“If you’re not gonna give me the one thing you're useful for, then what the fuck do I keep you around for?” is what he’d said—no, barked. “You think you’re special? If you’re not gonna put out, I might as well go out and find me someone who will.”

He’d fucked off to some other room with a huff and left you standing there.

And you don’t know, amidst the shell shock and the ache of your heart coming undone... suddenly, you had no idea why you were there or with him or what you were supposed to do—and when you found no answer to any of those questions, it made no sense for you to stay. And so you went to your shared bedroom—or his bedroom, as a matter of fact, which you’d stayed in for the last months—quickly grabbed your things—your things specifically, and not all the other stuff he’d thrown at you—and stuffed it all haphazardly in your bag, then gone out to the entryway to put your shoes on.

That’s when he’d reared his head again with the gall of asking, “Where the fuck are you going?”

He hadn’t had that same raised tone as before. No, this time it was lowered—frayed—with a touch of urgency and unease as if balancing on the edge of a knife—as if he knew he'd done something wrong and was reaping the consequences and yet still hadn't the balls to simply apologize and correct it.

And so, you hadn’t answered him.

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” he’d stated then, coming closer, ready to grab your arm with that hint of alarm in his voice increased. “Hey, I asked you fucking a question—”

That’s when you’d twisted around and slapped him. You’d put all your might into it as well, though you doubt it compared to much of what he’d felt in the ring.

And still, he’d looked at you as if he’d just lost all his titles.

He hadn’t said anything else after that—just stood there with his mouth agape as you opened the door and slammed it shut behind you. In fact, you don't think he even dared do so much as take a breath.

You’d gone and crashed at a friend's and rethought your life. There was no way you could ever go back, after all—not after what he’d said. Treating you like a stay-at-home whore. Who the fuck does he think he is?

What an asshole—you'd tried convincing yourself as you cried yourself to sleep…

The days and weeks after were nothing if not fucked up and toxic, to say the least. You’d go out to have a fun time and try to forget about him, but he’d always show up out of the blue to ruin everything—being his usual douche self.

Though… you can’t exactly claim to be any better than him—not after finding yourself in bed with his number-one up-and-coming rival.

Of course, it ends up all over the news—big headlines plastered on every gossip platform pushing your private affairs for all to see—a real media circus if there ever was one.

You end up back in his apartment. To talk, he’d said—a pretense you had a hard time believing in. He’s never been one to talk much. Honestly, you don’t know why you even bothered coming over when he asked. There might even be a chance he’ll kill you. This is how most homicides start, after all.

The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes. You look off to the side, waiting for him to speak because fuck knows you have nothing to say.

Meanwhile, he just stares at you—his big, hulking body leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands braided before his face. It’s the type of posture he’ll have when sitting in the corner of the ring—he’s got that same look in his eyes, too, deadset on you.

It makes you a little nervous, actually—maybe he really does plan on killing you.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks suddenly.

You almost scoff—almost roll your eyes, but you end up simply returning his dead glare. “Is that really what you asked me here for?”

He doesn’t answer that question. He just keeps staring at you.

You huff out a sigh, “I don’t know, maybe I just wondered what it would be like to be fucked like a woman for once and not someone’s toy.”

You don’t know why you decided to take it there when you both know why you’d done it. What other fucking reason would there be other than to get back at him? It’s a stupid question to begin with, and so you give it a stupid answer in return. And you won’t deny it feels fucking good—seeing him like this. Five o’clock shadow, eyebags, and uncut, disheveled hair.

He looks like a wreck, and rightfully so. Fuck knows what a mess you’d been before you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed. Funny what the single simple thought of revenge can do for someone so lost.

He scrapes his thumb down his jawline, over his stubble—a deep sigh running through him as he leans back on the couch. Offering no other reaction as he says, “I can sit here and act threatened, but you and I both know he was shit compared to me.”

He throws his arms up against the headrest, chin tipped up. Thinking he can hide it, thinking you can’t see right through him—to how hard he’s fighting to upkeep the poker face.

He’s forgetting who his opponent is.

“I know you, babe—I know your body. And there's no fucking way some shitstain you just met–”

“His dick was bigger,” you interrupt—face blank because two can play that silly game, and you do it better.

He’s shut up for a moment—you can see a vein pulse, but it’s quickly stifled, and he smirks instead, snickering despite his grit teeth, “Sorry, that must'a hurt given how much you cry with me.”

This time, you don’t refrain from scoffing and rolling your eyes, “That's all you have to say? Thought you were a fighter.”

“You want me to get jealous? Is that it?” he accuses then, starting to crack, throwing your scoff back at you, “Tch—should've fucked somebody important then.”

This time, you skip the eye-roll and flat-out laugh instead, “I'll keep that in mind. Next time, I'll call up your dad-”

That did it—got him out of his seat and everything. “Shut your mouth.” Standing big and hunched, all muscles and fury.

And you react in kind. Glad that you’re finally getting somewhere. “Make me.”

"You're fucking–" He clenched his fist in the air, scrunching his face in frustration, withholding a growl before releasing a heavy sigh instead.

Dropping his arms, shoulders slumping—hanging his head the same way whilst mumbling under his breath, “Fuck this… fuck this entire thing.”

And just as quickly as he’d sprung to his feet, he flopped down on the couch again.

“I don't wanna play games…” He looks up at you—now with the look of a starved and beaten dog. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

He reaches out slowly—big hands cradling your thighs, pulling you towards him gently, and you let him—put off by that strange new look in his eyes.

“You can fuck half the world, and I'd still only want you.”

It’s an odd confession. Unexpected coming from him. You’d anticipated more of a fight, not whatever this is. Looking at you with glossy eyes on the verge of tears. Suddenly, you feel kind of mean, struck with this sense of guilt for having reduced him to such a state.

“Don't take the high road. It doesn't suit you,” you declare, though without much bite.

And he just sighs, “Fuck that, we’re even now.” Pulling you even closer still—into his lap—he makes you straddle him. Forehead to forehead without kissing you yet. “So, are you gonna let me fuck you, or are you really gonna make me beg?”

And though you would kind of like to see what he’d look like on his knees, the sight of him like this was good enough proof that he’d learned his lesson despite it not being an apology.

Besides, he'd been all too right when he’d said the other guy couldn’t fuck you like him.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Shido ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Uvogin

Sloth is a street urchin.

You volunteer at the homeless shelter and can’t help but feel extra sorry for him. He’s only around your age—so young yet with no future to speak of.

This winter, given it’s going to be an especially harsh one, all volunteers have been asked if they have any spare room they can be so kind as to give to those less fortunate. And though you’re not that well off yourself, you still have an extra room you’ve only been using as storage.

So, unable to look the other way, you decide to clean it out, get a bed, and host him.

You took precautions first, naturally—just to be safe. But, from what you could tell, he’s neither a drug addict nor has any criminal record to speak of. No, he’s just another abandoned kid who'd society had failed.

This is the least you can do to correct its wrongs.

And, of course, he falls in love with you for it. Not only do you give him a place of rest—but you make him warm food, give him fresh clothes, do his laundry, draw his bath, watch movies with him every night, and always ask him if he has everything he needs. You even cut his long, shaggy hair for him and give him luxuries such as face-lotion.

You’re a saint, too good for a filthy sinner like him, but he’ll never let you know that... No, your pity feels too nice—taking such good care of him—he’s going to leach off of you and your honeycomb heart for the rest of his life if he can help it.

He doesn't look too bad after he cleans up, and after a few more weeks of eating well and getting enough rest—he stops lurching and starts standing up straight, looking lanky and lean with muscle—at which point you can’t deny he’s even a little hot. You know… in that scrappy sort of way.

You feel weird about it, of course—guilty even. He’s a homeless guy you’re housing—you’d be nothing if not downright evil if you took advantage of him. But after a few weeks of settling in, he starts feeling like more of a normal roommate and not a stranger. And with that familiarity, you both lose the distance and become more lax and loose around each other—wearing less, talking casually, not afraid to brush up against each other, and before you even know it, you find yourself folded in half beneath him on the living room couch.

You don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into—but his cock’s so big he’s pounding the sense right out of you with every thrust.

He’s not even going fast. No, rather slow, actually—taking his time as if savoring it. But that doesn't take away from the pleasure bubbling up inside of you where his strokes hit so heavy, resting deep within, so fulfilling that it all but replaces your better judgment with the sole need to squeeze him with all you've got.

“Mh, you’re pussy’s so nice and warm—I could stay inside you forever.”

You’re so wet it’s ridiculous—like never before—like you’re the one who’s been starved and neglected and not the other way around. Getting your breath all but knocked out of you, getting fucked so utterly full, he’s making you kick your feet and curl your toes in the air, bucking your hips back into him like you’re desperately begging for more.

He’s got your knees hooked over his arms, keeping you neatly pressed under him. “You’re so good to me—so, so sweet, you must be the sweetest girl in the whole entire world. My guardian angel.”

All you’re able to do is babble and moan in return—misty- and cross-eyed with your dewy face cradled in his hands.

You just hold onto his wrists while he speaks fondly against your lips, “You saved me when no one else even bothered looking. Let me return the favor—give this pretty pussy all the thanks it deserves.”

When he re-angles and hits you in a different spot, the switch in your lower belly is immediate—making your whole body seize up and shiver, breath shuddering in your throat, followed swiftly by a pulse migrating from your core all throughout your body, tasting oversweet on your tongue enough to make you drool.

He locks lips with yours, slurping your spit up sloppily and keeping himself fully sleaved as you peak—feeling your wet, gummy walls tighten and flutter, rippling along his length like a rush of kisses.

Then, right before it fully dies down, he picks up the pace again and rekindles it—because fuck knows he’s well-rested and over-due and the farthest thing from done with you just yet.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Suna, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Togame

Gluttony is a five-star chef.

You start off as a waitress at his restaurant. And yet, he’s the one who developed an appetite—for you and your pleasing smile and that busy-bee swing you have in your hip as you hop around from table to table.

He licks his lips at the sight of you more than he does the food he makes. He even had the uniforms altered in your image—made the skirts shorter and shirts tighter.

He's utterly shameless, but who can blame him? You’re such a little bite-sized treat—he just has to taste you.

And taste you, he most certainly does.

For breakfast and for brunch and lunch and dinner and supper, as well as a midnight snack.

“Your pussy juice is my favorite,” he groans from between your legs.

Fat-muscled chef’s arms, tattooed with all types of silly patches, curled tightly around your thighs, keeping you close despite those times you try and push away when it gets to be a little too much—because fuck knows he doesn’t have the same reservations. Nose and tongue and chin deep in your slit, slurping you down while filling you up with his words, “I want to flavor every meal I make with you.”

You keep a hand over your face, kissing your knuckles, sometimes with a bite—whimpering pitifully, “Gross…”

Of course, you can’t help but cringe when he says things like that. He’s your boss, after all, not a porn actor. Still, you don’t say it with much conviction. It’s just that you get so embarrassed you don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles, still with his face buried. “Don’t be childish.” Words muffled as he doubles down on his efforts of sucking on your clit like a piece of candy.

“I’m not,” you whine. “You're just weird.”

He smacks off of you at that, a refreshing sigh leaving him rugged and raspy, a devilish look in his eyes as if he’s about to eat you for real. “I’m a world-renowned chef—are you implying I don’t know my flavors?”

Everything in your gut coils with anticipation, nearly rumbling with need, while he pulls your lower half up and even closer—face glossy with the way he’d gorged himself already—licking his teeth now as he refocuses on your clit alone.

Flattening his tongue on it while he speaks, sounding like some type of beast, “I’ve tasted everything the world has to offer. And I'm telling you, this pretty little thing between your legs is the best there is.”

You can’t stand looking up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you hide your face with both hands. Mumbling out a weak, “Pervert...”

Again, he snickers, shaking his head as if he’s ripping into flesh when he’s really just got his tongue out—straight motorboating your poor pussy.

When done, he drops you onto the bed again, grinning while replying to your insult, “Can’t argue with that,” before promptly kissing and licking up your belly—with fingers replacing his tongue, pumping you on his knuckles, getting you ready.

He groans when his mouth reaches your chest, lips wrapped around a nipple, “If only these titties had milk. I could feast on you from every position.”

You don’t know if you should giggle or grumble—he’s such a baby—and a spoiled one at that. But really, his fingering is making it difficult to do anything but stammer and try and keep it together, “We talked about this—I’m not taking hormones just to breastfeed you, you weirdo.”

He whines then, “Please—it’s my only wish in the entire world—I need it.”

You struggle to argue, feeling like you’re under siege—an onslaught set out to make you breathless. “Well—” you pant, gritting your teeth and bearing it. “We can’t always get what we want.”

“Oh, I’ll see about that.” He takes it as a challenge, this time really locking his lips around your nipple and suckling—releasing just briefly to say, “I bet if I suck on these babies enough, they’ll give me what I want.”

He keeps his fingers working diligently while at it—used to multitasking—curling and spreading them out within you, pumping you so fast, you barely have the time to beg him to “Stop that—” before you’re already shaking and cumming for what must be the seventh time already.

He laughs breathily, kissing your teat goodbye as he lifts himself up again. Pulling his fingers out of you, he brings them to his lips and blithely sucks them off.

“You know I can’t stop, dear. I’m so hungry—I’m ravenous.”

You watch him from over the tips of your fingers. So hot and mortified you think you’re soon to pass out. Breathing heavily behind your hands, muttering, “You’re a glutton—that’s what you are.”

Again, he just cheerfully snickers, bowing down to your halfway-hidden face with a smile. “I hardly see how it’s my fault I can’t get enough of you.”

He spreads your legs again and finds his place between them.

“You’re the one who got me hooked—so you better take responsibility for it.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Todo ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Ukai ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ HxH – Uvogin ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Lust is your boss. He's the owner of the strip club where you work, your pimp when money’s tight, as well as the porndirector of all your lovely little films.

Yeah, you might as well have a tramp stamp of his name on your ass, the way he practically owns you…

He's around ten years older and has basically taught you all about sex from when you were only a fledgling in the industry. You live at his studio above the club since he keeps all your money in a bank account under his name, calling you his little sugarbaby and telling you you’ll get an allowance and that you can get more if and when you ask him nicely and tell him what it’s for.

“Don’t be a brat, baby. You know how I hate it when you're a bad girl,” he says when you raise the topic of moving out, treating it as if you’re a child threatening to run away from home.

“I don’t belong to you. Give me what you owe me.”

Honestly, you have no idea where you got the courage.

But is it courage? Or is it just plain stupidity? Because, though you’re increasingly more terrified as you quickly watch him lose his temper, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. And so, if you knew this is what was going to happen—why the fuck would you put yourself through it?

Must be madness.

“I give you everything, don't I? Food, clothes, a home,” he chastises, bearing over you while you’re down on scuffed knees, holding your wrist in a bruising grip and your face just as fiercely—nearly tearing the skin off your cheeks with the bite of his nails.

“And still, you have the fucking nerve to act like a goddamn bitch.”

You hiccup on sobs, spluttering out a desperate “Please—I’m sorry–”

"You and your entire slut body belong to me, you understand that?"

"Yes-yes—please—I'm sorry! You're right! I belong to you! I'm sorry!"

That seems to calm him just a bit—at least enough to take the bite away from his voice, now cooing at you in an ugly mocking attempt at sweetness, “Yeah, you do every single little thing I ask. ‘Cause if you’re not gonna behave like a good girl, I have no other choice but to treat you like a bad one.”

He lets your audience be rowdier than usual that night, allowing them to slap and grab, then forces you to have an extra rough shoot afterward—with tighter bondage, more toys, bigger guys making use of you like a piece of meat, smacking and choking you as they find out how many cocks your holes can fit, every last one finishing on your face.

Then, when you’re all done and all used up for the day, he brings you upstairs—home, sweet home—where he treats you to some much-unwanted after-care...

You shiver and shake despite the hot water. Sitting in the bathtub, laying back with your spine against his chest, feeling thin like a sheet of paper, all crumbled up and torn—sniffling and sniveling as the after-shock of the day still ricochets through you like wind through a hollow husk.

“The shoot today was rough, huh?” he drawls, washing you with his own hands. Stroking your poor sore cunt despite how it makes you whimper. “Yeah... was it a little too rough for you, hm?”

You don’t do anything in return—but your body language says enough on its own, and he allows it to be your answer.

Sighing heavily, he wraps you up with both arms and squeezes you tighter, chin resting atop your head.

“You know… if you’d just be my good girl, I’d give you a good girl to-do list. Let you stay here all day, do some house chores while I’m gone, make love when I get home, hm? Doesn’t that sound better?”

He traces a welted bruise on the inside of your thigh, one you got from the shoot—roughly the shape of a hand, and a dozen more others layered on top of it. It makes you suck in a hiss.

“But if you’re gonna be a bad girl, then this is what you get.”

He settles into the grove of your neck, purring against your ear. “Are you gonna be my good girl from now on? Hm?”

You bite your lip, breath shuddering while nodding pitifully.

And still, he insists, “Say it so I can hear it.”

The water’s gone cold around you—just like everything else, as you say, “I’ll be a good girl.”

He seems pleased, at least. Nuzzling against your cheek with chin stubble and a smirk, asking, “Yeah? Whose?”

Your voice is small and pathetic, nearly a wince, “Yours.”

He groans then, “That’s right. My good girl.” Lifting his hand from the water, he takes hold of your chin, fingers pressing into those designated sore spots as he angles your face toward him and gives you a heartless kiss before growling against your lips, “And don’t you ever fucking dare forget it again.”

After he’s finished washing you up, he carries you out to bed. It's one you fear much more than the one down in the studio.

Because in this bed, just like every night in this hellhole… he starts teaching every last one of your holes who they belong to.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Reo, Shido, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

Envy is your enemy.

Or, well, no, he’s not your enemy, but you’re most certainly his enemy.

You’re just not aware of it because of what a ditzy and clueless airhead you are.

But fuck, he can’t stand you—you and your fake personality, acting all bubbly and sweet, cheering him on, always telling him to do his best—condescending little bitch acting like everyone’s friend—like he doesn’t see through you right to your rotten core. You don’t fool him—he knows you’re as bad as the rest of them, so just quit pretending like you’re better or something.

You’re under the false impression that the two of you are friends. You just think he has a strange sense of humor, but you laugh politely even when you don’t always get the joke.

Well, maybe it’s not so much politeness, but the fact that you have a big fat hopeless crush on him.

It infuriates him. He throws your niceties back in your face as insults, and you just laugh. How low do you think of him? Honestly? How tall is that high horse of yours that you have your head constantly in the clouds?

Poor you… you just think he’s so cool—always saying what he feels like, not a lame people-pleasing goodie-two-shoes such as yourself. You can’t help but follow him around like a lost puppy all day long. You’re always making sure you sit next to him during lectures—heart almost beating out of your chest, holding back from squealing when your prayers are answered, and the two of you are finally paired for a project together.

It really feels like the universe is on your side, and so you just can’t stop yourself from going the full mile—making chocolates and preparing him a hand-written love letter. You know he’ll think you’re a little silly, that he’ll make fun of you for it—but you can’t expect to get anywhere without putting your heart on the line, can you? For a chance at love, the risk must be worth it!

Yeah, you’re such a hopeless romantic—you feel it as he punches his fist through your ribs when he rips out your poor heart and stomps all over it.

“I fucking get it already! You’re little miss pretty and popular. Would you quit rubbing it in my face, or do I really have to spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Fucking. Like. You,” he seethes through grit teeth. “Go pick another one of the hundreds dying to be your partner and leave me the fuck alone!”

You shrink where you stand, shocked doe-eyes rapidly welling up like a flood, lips wobbling as you choke on your words, “Oh… okay… I’m sorry… I just… I–”

“You-you-you what?” he barks at your stuttering. “Spit it out already! What the fuck do you want?”

“I just-I-I just always thought you were amazing. So…”

His face contorts, scrunches up in a grimace different from anger, though not without it, as he spits out, “What the fuck are you on about now?”

But his voice is a little diminished now, with confusion usurping the place of his hate, suddenly feeling a little out of sorts because… what did you actually just say?

“I just, I really like you–” you repeat, hanging your head, only barely able to mumble through the tears blocking your throat. “But I guess I’ve just annoyed you all this time—I’m sorry...”

Only now does he notice you’re trying to hand him something—a flat little box with a pink note attached.

“This is for you, but I understand if you don’t want it.” Unable to look up, you just stretch your arms out until it gently bumps into him.

Baffled, he accepts without thinking.

“I’m sorry—I’ll leave you alone from now on.” And then you run off, disappearing with a sob that all but shoots him through the chest.

And slowly bleeding out, he remains standing there, eyes glued to where you'd left—mouthing the word what…

What did you just say?

Like? Him?

Did he mishear you, or did you just confess?

No way—that can’t be it, right?

But what the fuck is this heart-shaped letter, then?

"What the fuck did I just do?"

You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out all night the next day—your usual bubbly personality reduced to a ghost in a shell, walking the hallways like a zombie, slowly and without purpose, eyes on the ground—letting everyone bump into you.

You don't even so much as bat an eye when someone runs straight over you, fully knocking all your books and folders onto the floor.

You just get on your knees and start recollecting them.

A newfound hate flares up within him at the sight. “Hey, you!" He stomps over. "Watch where the fuck you’re going next time, dipshit.”

You look up at the sound of his voice—flinching before you notice it’s not directed at you.

No, rather, he’s got a boy up against the lockers, lifted by his collar onto the tip of his toes. Face only a few inches from his, glaring at him harsher than he’d glared at you yesterday.

“Now apologize to the girl before I punch your ugly face in.”

You stare at the altercation with large eyes, only able to blink as the boy who’d bumped into you starts spluttering on the verge of tears, “I–I’m sorry–I didn’t see you! Sorry!”

You don’t answer. Shocked and speechless, you remain on the floor in confusion, asking yourself why’s he doing this? Didn’t he cuss you out yesterday, or was it all a bad dream like you'd hoped?

He throws the boy on his way, then gets on his knees down alongside you—proceeding to help you gather your things.

You only watch on in wordless bewilderment until he starts muttering something under his breath.

“I’m sorry I made you cry yesterday.” He stacks all your things in a neat pile next to you while continuing his apology. “And for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

He keeps his eyes fixed to the floor where his hands busily roam around until there was nothing more to retrieve.

He then hesitantly looks up at you—eyes flittering—a little too ashamed to hold your gaze as he says, “Your chocolates were really good.”

That’s when your heart starts fluttering again—as if new life was just breathed in and revived it.

He can see it as well—how you light up like a rekindled candle.

“They were?” you gush, shuffling closer on your knees all excitedly—face brighter than the sun on cloudfree summer day.

It blinds him—nearly stunts him, only able to utter a meager, almost shy, “Yeah.”

He then slings his bag in front of him and pulls something out.

A lunchbox.

“I made you these..." he swallows thickly. "As an apology…”

He’s utterly red—from the tips of his ears to his neck and entire face, even his hands.

“For me?”

“Yeah..." He reaches it over stiffly. “They’re not as good as yours, though...”

You eagerly accept despite his nervousness, popping the lid off where the two of you sit—right there in the middle of the hallway floor, with other students walking around you like water passing two rocks in a stream.

His blush grows ever more intense as you pick one of his crudely made chocolates up, not even examining it before throwing one into your mouth.

It was his first time making anything that required a recipe. And they most certainly did not come out well, but he figured the embarrassment was part of his atonement.

He didn’t actually expect you to try them.

But there you are—lying through your teeth, saying, “I think they’re great!”

He can only scoff out a soft laugh. “Of course you would.”

Turns out, you really are just a nice person after all. You don’t have the heart to be mean at all, do you? Yeah, you don’t even have it in you to feel any of the ugly things he keeps inside. In fact, he bets you don’t even have the means of knowing such ugly things exist.

That must be what he’s envied about you all this time…

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Shinso ♡ JJK – virgin Sukuna, Megumi ♡ HQ – Tsukishima ♡ BLLK – Rin, Sae ♡ DS – Genya

Greed is your clingy childhood friend.

He doesn’t want to share you with anyone and gets viscerally jealous each time you hang out with others. It’s as if he feels boils rising beneath his skin, simmering with a violent need to kill anyone and everyone you ever come into contact with—even if it’s just a passerby who accidentally brushes against you.

He can’t stand other people—how they think they can just come along and be your friend when he’s been your friend since you both were in diapers. What? Do they really expect him to share you with them? Just like that? No way. You’re his best friend. They should all go find themselves their own.

Actually, the term best friend doesn’t even really cut it… It’s a little too childish. You’ve both grown out of it. And besides, it never really fully encompassed what the two of you actually are to each other. You’re so much more than just friends, after all. Yeah, what you really are is soulmates. Yeah, that sounds more right. Soulmates.

And the bond between soulmates is like the bond between an addict and their favorite drug. You wouldn’t ask an addict to share his favorite drug, now would you? No. Not unless you’re prepared to either kill or be killed.

But he can’t say he blames them for wanting you, either. Of course, they’d want you—anyone would.

He pities them, actually. And you make it no better for the poor suckers, stringing them all along—acting as if there’s enough of you to go around. Well, there just isn’t. And even if there was, he shouldn't have to share you with anyone.

Yeah, the problem here is you. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand that you’re his.

Well… seems like he’ll just have to teach you once and for all, now, doesn’t it?

“What’s… this?” you mumble groggily once you wake, sluggishly tugging your bound wrists—not yet aware of what they are. Your eyes blow wide once you do—voice turning sharply frantic, “What’s happening?”

“We’re having a play date like we used to.” He comes into view just as the panic sets in—and though his face has all the familiarity to be a sign of comfort, his words evoke no such feeling within you.

“Remember? How we used to play house?" he says. "Granted, we're a little older now… so I thought I’d change it up a bit.”

He stands before the bed you’re currently lying tied down on. But he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s something very wrong about all of him. Seeming way too at ease for the situation.

“Instead of making mud pies…” he continues. “I'm gonna fuck you and give you a creampie.”

Your heart lurches up into your throat at his words, and you choke. Your clothes from the day have been removed, leaving you naked. You spot them lying on the floor in a heap while you spastically look around for clues as to “What the fuck’s going on? This isn’t funny–”

“Shut up,” he says—his demeanor still as nonchalant as he climbs on top of you and pushes something past your lips, nudging it deep down in your throat.

Feeling it as it scrapes your tongue, you can tell it’s your lace panties, and you gag—shaking your head, trying to dislodge both it and his fingers, but he holds you steady.

“I have things to say. So, be a good friend and listen.”

You start crying then—brows cinched as you look up at him in terror, full-tremoring now while struggling under his weight and the all-too-intimate way he starts touching you.

“I'm glad you’re still a virgin…” he suddenly says, running his hands down your breasts, catching your nipples between his fingers.

You twist in disgust, halfway convinced you’re having some godawful fucked up dream—that this just can’t be happening—but somehow, at the same time, something deep in your gut that’s been lying there for a while ignored by your kind heart doesn't find it completely without warning, having felt how strange he'd been acting as of late—always looking at you a certain way and saying certain concerning things—certain concerning things he’s saying right now, “I’d kill all those little toy friends of yours if you were ever so stupid to let them have it.”

He glares at you—looking every bit angry, and yet you can’t describe it exactly. Something about that look in his eyes makes him seem like a complete stranger to you. Then he cracks a smile, and it makes it all the worse. Bowing down until his forehead presses clean against yours, noses rubbing against each other.

“But I think you knew. Didn’t you? Knew how it wouldn’t be right. Knew it was mine to take.”

He shuffles backward until he’s separating your thighs instead of straddling your waist. And you croak with an especially full-chested sob as his touches travel further down along with him—with savage goosebumps running rampant across your body once he rubs his thumb crassly over your slit.

“You see?” his breath shudders in his throat—thick with something mortifying that’s bound to ruin you forever. “It’s so happy to see me.”

You whine and scramble, trying to force your thighs shut—but he has the upper hand—keeping you spread with his body while two of his fingers slip through your lips and bully themselves inside.

He pumps them in and out with zero regard to how you recoil—only sneering at the way you worm in disgust, “At least your pussy understands where its loyalties lie.”

It’s not long before his ministrations draw wetness, and he pulls them out—inspecting them in the dim light he’s left on. Rubbing the digits together before putting them in his mouth.

You close your eyes with a whimper while listening to the sickening sounds of him sucking them clean.

He puts both hands around your neck next. He doesn't squeeze hard, but your breath stops nonetheless. Eyes stinging with both spent and still-welling tears.

“I’m upset with you,” he states, brushing his lips over your parted ones, still stuffed and silenced with your own underwear. “But I’ll forgive you if you apologize and swear to me that you meant it when you said we’d be friends forever.”

That look in his eyes—you still can’t explain it. Desperate, desolate, deranged, and enraged—something downright sick.

“But since you can’t talk right now, you’ll have to prove it some other way...”

One of the hands disappears, and you hear the following sounds of a zipper being undone, then the rustling of his pants being shoved down.

“Cum on my cock, and I’ll know.”

The room tastes of blood and something rotten as he frees his cock and graces your clit.

“Actions speak louder than words anyway, after all, don’t they? So cum on my cock, and I’ll cum in your pussy, so we can seal our friendship again—just like the time we married each other on the playground.”

He enters you, and you think you might just die in the mix of horror and grief.

And yet you remain perfectly alive—even as he rips through you and splits both you and your heart apart.

“You can think of this as the honeymoon,” he whispers. “Always and forever, happily ever after, never apart.”

♡ BNHA – Deku ♡ JJK – Yuuta ♡ HQ – Tendou ♡ BLLK – Bachira ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 3 months ago

Text

monday for the win for once, but friday in second? didn't think people would react that well to emeto. guess i forgot we're all freaks here

Yandere Days of the Week

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, drugging, alcohol/poisoning, vomiting/forced, abuse of power, plotting murder, waterboarding-ish, squirting, implied bottle-fucking

♡ FEM reader

♡ INSPO: this by the lovely @yanderedrabbles

Monday is your strict boss.

He’s always breathing down your neck around the office, checking if you come in on time, laying into you when you’re anything but perfectly on the dot—not even allowing you to get settled into your cubicle before dumping a workload onto your desk on top of the one you already have, coming back with a fresh one right after lunch again.

You know you’re probably just being sensitive, but you feel as though he singles you out. Barking at you to redo things, even after you’d gone through the extra measure of running it by a coworker who’d given you the thumbs up. You don’t know, it sort of feels as if he has it out for you.

Being yelled at is already bad enough, not to mention how he’ll demand you work late to make up for the slack. And yet, that’s not even the worst part!

No, the absolute worst part is that he’ll insist on staying behind, too—to supervise you.

It’s utterly nerve-wracking. ‘Cause he isn’t only your boss, he’s also sort of… well… really hot. Always dressed sharply in a tailored pin-striped suit and those sharp-tipped newly-polished shoes—hair slick with a fresh barbershop cut and a chiseled face to match.

He smells good, too. And it all just makes it extra awkward for you. Especially when you stay late together, alone. He’ll remove his tie and jacket, then button up his collar and roll up his sleeves—flexing those burly arms of his and that fat wristwatch that’s worth more than your entire life savings.

That neat hair of his will start to fall apart as the late hours take their toll, getting disheveled and only sexier for it—and the way he’ll drag his ring-clad fingers through it with a groan, looking at you with such a fierce glare, you actually have to calm your breath and suppress the urge to rub your thighs together.

But although his voice is definitely something you could dream about, you could do without it when he talks down to you, always admonishing you, grumbling about what a poor employee you are, how you only give him more work to do, how he should be compensated for it.

You’re certain he’s going to fire you soon.

And it turns out soon is even sooner than you’d thought or hoped.

This is it, you think, once he calls you into his office. He’s finally going to do it. You’re going to have to find a new job now—without a good recommendation to help you out, no less. Knowing him and how much he despises you, he’ll probably give you a really poor review on top of it all—he might even call around to make sure no one ever hires you again.

You’re almost about to cry.

“You’re about the worst employee I’ve ever had,” he states, sitting behind his desk with you standing before him, twiddling your fingers while looking sorrowfully down at your heels, hoping he’d have enough mercy to at least make it quick. “But since firing people is fucking impossible nowadays, I’m just gonna haf’to relocate you somewhere else you won’t be damn useless.”

You look up at that. Tears held back in surprise.

Wait, so… he’s not firing you?

He sighs, looking through your employee files, making the changes, “And given it’s the only job open right now, starting today, you’ll be my new personal assistant.”

Gathering everything, he brandishes the documents with his signature, then looks up at you while sliding the pen and papers over.

“Think you can handle that?”

Stunned, you only briefly think about how you’re overqualified to be a personal assistant, but at the same time, you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care, blinded with relief that you hadn’t been sacked.

You just nod your head all prettily, signing just as quickly while vowing, “I’ll try my best, sir.”

He becomes significantly nicer after that—always praising you for a job well done and giving you pretty gifts on top of your paycheck, which, funny enough, is nearly double what it used to be, all the while telling you how lost he’d be without you there keeping his life together.

You can’t help but let it all go to your head, completely forgetting that you had bigger plans than being an assistant.

He brings you everywhere he goes now. Out of the building on business meetings, out of the country on business trips. Expensive dinners, fancy hotel rooms, big yachts and galas. You can’t complain—too busy picking your jaw up from the floor—too busy to notice his leer and how he plans to keep you by his side for the rest of his life—too busy to understand that when he stays work late, he doesn’t mean doing paperwork.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Enji, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Toji, Higuruma, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Chrollo

Tuesday is your old classmate who just moved in across the hall.

It’s a funny coincidence, you both agree, as neither of you lives in your hometown anymore—what a small world, huh?

You’ll meet each other in the mornings when you both set out for work and small talk on your way down the stairs, then up the stairs when coming home again. It’s impressive how often it happens.

He’s always asking for the two of you to catch up—always inviting you over for dinner to talk about old times and what you’ve gotten up to since.

You never know what to say… You don’t feel like the two of you were all that close during school, so you’ve turned him down each time, hoping if you ask him for a rain check enough times, he’ll eventually just forget.

But after coming home, tired after a grueling Monday and an even harder Tuesday, on top of realizing you didn’t have anything stocked up in the fridge, you end up agreeing to his home-cooked meal when he offers in favor of ordering takeout.

He lights up at once, “Great!”

It’s a bit of an overreaction, you think. But hey, he just moved here—maybe he hasn’t made any friends yet. It’s not easy being in a new place—he’s probably dying for some company.

Shoot, now you feel a little bad for not having agreed earlier. You remember how it had been yourself when all you ever did was go to work every day—not knowing what else to get up to in the city. Maybe you could give him a hand, tell him about a few places—just to help him get on his feet.

“Yeah, just let me shower and change, and I’ll come over,” you say, unlocking your apartment.

“Sure thing! See you soon!” he cheers, watching you go with a big beaming smile on his face, only turning around to unlock his own place when you’d closed your door.

He’s a little strange, you can’t help but think—or maybe he’s just that eager. Thinking about it, you don’t remember much about him from college. Honestly, he’s one of those faces that just sort of end up blending into the background. He never made any impact in class or at any parties or other gatherings. You don’t know, he was always rather quiet. You don’t remember him having any friends either.

But whatever, people change, and he seems nice enough—maybe he was just more concerned with his average. Fucks knows you weren’t.

You shower quickly, not bothering to wash your hair or put on anything too nice. It’s only a Tuesday, after all—it should be casual. A bralette, boxers, baggy T-shirt, shorts, and slippers later, and you pop out the door and knock on his.

He’s quick to answer. “Hey! Come in, come in—it’s almost done!”

“Cool, thanks,” you say. “Smells good.”

He ushers you to take a seat at the tiny kitchen table he has. Similar to yours, actually—these apartments aren’t all that big. Still, his place is poorly furnished. But then again, he only moved in a little while ago, so you won’t judge.

He rushes over with dinner shortly. Spaghetti, meatballs, and red sauce. A classic. You’re not complaining. However, you could have done without the candles and moody lighting. It’s the kind of thing you’d expect from a corny date, but you decide to ignore it.

“Wine?” he offers despite it being only Tuesday.

You know you probably shouldn’t, but the start of the week has been hard, and you honestly wouldn’t mind the good night's sleep that follows a few glasses of red or anything that would make the affair go over a little more smoothly.

“Sure, why not.”

And yet, it’s still a little awkward. You don’t know what to talk about—you just end up droning on about work, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Then you remember what you’d thought about earlier and start talking about some of the places and things he should check out now that he lives here. You try asking him about his work and why he decided to move here, but he doesn’t seem very interested in talking about himself.

After finishing, it isn’t long before you feel drowsy. You blame it on the wine at first—starting to think it was time you thank him for the hospitality and excuse yourself. But as soon as you get up, you’re already falling over.

No worries, though. He’s been waiting and ready to catch you for a while.

“It took you some time to agree to come—I was afraid you’d never say yes, but I’m glad you finally did… I was about to take other drastic measures…”

You’re so sleepy it’s suddenly impossible to grasp what he’s saying—as well as have any sort of grasp on the situation while you’re being carried bridal style away from the living room, through a door into a very dark room.

“I bet you don’t remember me that well, huh?” he continues as he lays you down on something soft, something that swallows your body in a way you can’t really decide if it feels nice or not.

He keeps talking while you try to figure it out, “Hm, that’s fine. I remember you very well.”

You connect one and two associations and come to conclude the thing beneath you is a bed. It ripples and dips with the added weight once your neighbor crawls over you. Your body doesn’t yet recognize being alarmed, but something behind the fuzz that’s taken over your mind still has enough common sense to make you feel as if something’s not right.

“I just had to follow after you, you know?” he keeps rambling, but you’re only barely able to listen. “I just needed some time to save up the money and all, but I was right behind you. And made sure I’d get this apartment right next to yours.”

He looks at your pretty face—all spaced out—stroking your cheek all slow and delicately.

He sighs, “Heh, I know they say that if you love someone, you should let them go—but I just couldn’t find it in me.”

His hand travels further down—eyes following the trail. Down, down, down, until reaching the hem of your shirt.

“I had a crush on you since day one, you know?” he confesses while pulling your tee up over your bra, exposing your pretty chest to him. He licks his lips, breath shuddering, and yet he keeps preaching despite it, “All three years. I wanted to tell you, but you were always surrounded by those pesky friends of yours. It was impossible to catch you alone.”

He feels your skin with a gentle touch as if in reverence. Still, now that you’re getting used to the effects of whatever it is he’s drugged you with, you’re lucid enough to feel the treacherous hard-on he has rubbing against you.

“Unlike me…” He stills for a moment, and something dark takes over. “I was always alone.”

Beyond uncomfortable, beyond alarmed, you’re fully terrified now. You want to scream, but you can’t find the strength to move, even just a finger. Completely limb, and yet not numb, but sensitive to all his awful touches.

“But that’s all in the past.” He smiles. “Now that I finally have you all to myself.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Tenko ♡ JJK – Yuuta ♡ HQ – Yamaguchi ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

Wednesday is the cheerful clerk who works at your local grocery store.

You like doing your grocery shopping on Hump day. It only makes sense, after all—you’ve made it through the first half of the week and deserve to spoil yourself a little!

He’s only just a bit older than you and yet still plays the older and wiser card—all in good fun, though, making a few comments about your lifestyle, jokingly telling you that “Candies are strictly for the weekend, you know?” A brow quirked while looking at you slyly.

And you’ll return his banter, giggling while saying, “A little fun never killed no one.”

It’s an innocent flirt the two of you share—neither of you really expects anything in return. He’s just a really friendly guy—always coming over to help you in the store. Tall as he is, he reaches the top shelf, barely needing to stretch his arm. Sometimes, he’ll even take a look at your shopping list and help you gather everything, bag your items, and then carry them out to your car as if the two of you are the people around and the store isn’t filled with dozens of other shoppers in bigger need of his assistance.

He mostly only sees you on Wednesday, but he knows your entire life story and your day-to-day schedule the way the two of you end up talking. Usually, people would be wary of sharing things with strangers, but you trust him with so much exactly because he is a stranger—treating him no different from a confidant. No one knows you as intimately as him. He knows all your little habits—from what you eat on a daily basis to what brand of soap you use, even what type of tampons and pads you like.

He doesn’t appreciate you eating things outside of the groceries the two of you pick together. He fucking hates it, actually—it makes it feel like you’re cheating on him. Every time you eat out, order in, go to a bar or cafe, even a fucking candy store is like a stab to his back and heart all at the same time. It drives him crazy—he might just burn all those places down to the ground.

But he never lets any of that show when you’re in the store. It’s not your fault after all that there are so many temptations out in the world. You just need a little help saying no.

You don’t have to worry though. After he becomes your boyfriend, he’ll be that help for you.

Yeah, all you have to do is stay home and he’ll make sure you get what you need. He won’t let you indulge as much as you do now, of course, but he won’t be too strict either, so don’t fret.

He’ll make sure you get all the right nutrients to lead a long, happy, healthy life—get your body ripe and ready to start a family.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Yukimiya, Aiku ♡ WB – Suo, Umemiya, Togame

Thursday is your is your random-ass friend who’ll drop by unannounced. It’s never anything crazy, though—no, just a fun hang-out to get a little headstart on the weekend. He’ll bring a joint or maybe some gummies—he likes to keep you guessing. And the two of you will watch cartoons or shitty reality TV, play a round or a dozen of Mario Cart or the like—giggling over each other’s commentary.

He’s chill, laidback, a fan of both comfortable silences and making good conversation. A really good friend.

Yeah, a really good friend who likes sticking his tongue down your throat when you’re knocked out from all the laced drugs he keeps passing you.

“God, you’re so clueless,” he moans when bearing over your passed-out body where you lie all comfortably oblivious on the couch. “Just a naive cutie pie who’s gonna get her gullible little pussy used.”

You make him so hard—you have no idea how he licks your face and kisses your eyelids. Drunk of the power he has over you and feeling all but unhinged because of it.

He feels your limp tongue with his fingers, playing with it while grinding against your thigh. Breaths thick with lust—eyes half-mast, getting overstimulated by all the nasty things he’s going to do to you and how you will never ever find out about any of it.

“You know I fuck you raw every time I come over? That’s right, every single time,” he laughs and shudders in delight, whispering the truth into your ear despite knowing you’re in no state to hear it.

“Mh, I use this body like my own personal sex doll. There’s not a spot left I haven’t touched.” He tugs down your top and takes both your tits in his hand, squeezing them as if they belong to him because, in his mind, in these special precious moments he shares with you, there’s not a part of you that doesn’t belong to him and there’s not a part of you he can’t do whatever he wishes with.

And so, he sucks and licks your pretty tits too and keeps raving, “You’re all mine, every single part of you—I own it all.”

He pulls up your skirt and strokes your cunt through your panties, sliding his fingertip through the slit as if he’s teasing you even though you’re going to stay just as unresponsive no matter what. But in his mind, he imagines it wants him—that your pussy desperately craves him without you knowing—that it’s a secret the two of them share with each other and that they're somehow in cahoots on keeping you oblivious.

“You’re always so tight and wet—it takes everything in me not to cum inside, but we wouldn’t want you figuring things out and ruining our fun, now would we?” he rambles, finally sliding your panties to the side so that he could slip his digits within, pumping you sweetly while you sleep oh-so-soundly and blissfully unaware, getting you good and ready to take his cock in the next minute.

“Yeah, it’s gonna stay our fun little secret forever.”

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Karasu, Shido ♡ WB – Togame

Friday is the bartender at your go-to club.

He’s seen you in every state of drunkenness possible—from tipsy, plastered, sloppily drunk to flat-out shit-faced. You’re a bit of an alcoholic, you know that? Once you start, you can’t seem to stop yourself. If someone puts a drink in front of your face, you dont even think before grabbing it—all laughs and zero critical thinking.

Of course, the way he overserves you, you’re bound to get fucked up.

“Wanna go home…”

He holds your drowsy body against his chest, keeping you upright.

“My shift’s done, and my place is right above here, so you don’t gotta worry,” he says, soothing you as you cling to his side, utterly unable to stand on your own two feet, flinching at the flashing strobe lights and wincing from the blaring party music—feeling as if there’s a seismic eight earthquake raging on inside your poor head.

“Where’ my friends?” your words are so slurred, they’re barely audible.

But he hears you, chuckling before cooing at you, “Let’s get you someplace comfortable, and then we’ll contact your friends, okay? Sound good?”

You burble a few incoherent sounds before uttering out a weak, “Okay…”

“Alright then, baby, don’t worry, I got you,” he purrs in return, getting a better grip around your body as he leads you out of the club, into the elevator, and up to his flat.

“I feel sick…” you mumble, whimpering.

And he coos, “I know, baby, it’s okay, I’ll help you.”

He leads you to his bathroom, setting you down on your knees in front of the toilet. You don’t think much of it when he lifts up your little party dress and tugs it off over your head—feeling as if he’s just making you comfortable. Yeah, he's just taking care of you.

“Let’s empty that system of trash, yeah?”

He gets down on his own knees just behind you, cradling you as he gathers your hair back with both hands—gripping it a little too tightly in a single fist before being just as rough, sticking two of his thick digits deep into the back of your throat.

You immediately gag and throw up.

And he hums, sounding pleased while praising you, “That’s a good girl—get it all out.”

He doesn’t pull his digits out despite you struggling, trying to wrench away—no, he just uses his bigger body to keep you pressed and hunched over the toilet bowl while finger-fucking the back of your throat—smiling sadistically while at it.

“Come on now, baby, I know you got more in there. Let it out.”

He keeps you there for half an hour, making you dry gag and spit, mascara streaming down your pretty face as he feels your smaller body convulse under his weight. Fuck, it’s enough to make his cock pre.

“Good girl,” he purrs, petting your hair and placing a kiss on your temple, all while you shudder and sniffle. “Let’s get you washed up, hm?”

He reclaims his harsh grip on your hair, just as tightfisted, using it to make you crawl across the tiles until reaching the tub. He takes his place behind you—trapping you between his legs, thighs, and crotch, keeping you locked against the porcelain edge while he fetches the showerhead and immediately sprays your face with the cold at full force.

“Open up, baby, let’s wash your mouth out.”

You yelp, whining, but he finds your protesting more amusing. Finding your nose with his other hand, he pinches it shut. Making you gape and gasp for breath through the water stream.

But he doesn’t leave it at that. No. The shower head is about the same size as your fist and proving to be just small enough to allow him to force it into your mouth—all but waterboarding you.

He has to chuckle at your fussing—you’re so weak he barely has to put in any effort keeping you in place—he nearly busts in his pants feeling it. But the best part is how when he lets go of your nose, the water starts coming up and out your nostrils.

He let’s go before you drown, of course. Snuff isn’t on the menu tonight. He’s been stalking you for far too long—he can’t just waste it with foreplay.

You collapse on the floor, shivering and coughing—head a spinning mess, still wasted, riddled with shock yet stifled by exhaustion to do anything but lie there, trembling against the wet tiles.

“No, no, no, baby, you can't fall asleep yet. The party’s still far from over,” he admonishes, giving your cheek a few small slaps before grabbing your upper arm and pulling you up. “Yeah, come here—I’m far from finished with you...”

He carries you out of the bathroom and drops you on his bed.

“God, you’re fucking dumb,” he grabs your face, pinching your lips while giving it an ugly kiss. “Did your mommy never tell you not to go home with strangers, huh?”

Leaving you there, he goes off to find your purse.

“Let’s let your friends know you’re home safe, hm.”

You try getting up while he’s gone, crawling around in the bedsheet like a worm, but not managing to get anywhere.

He watches you and scoffs while typing up a message, hitting send to your most recent group chat. It only takes a minute before all the dumb bitches you call friends send hearts in return, saying how fun tonight was.

They have no idea what they’re missing out on.

He saunters back to you. Enjoying every second of watching you squirm. Thank fuck for alcohol, and god bless dumb party girls.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” He grins while grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “You’re not going anywhere, baby—you’re staying right here with me where I can have my fun with you.”

His hands go up and down your soft skin, thinking of all the pretty marks he’s going to leave on you before curling his fingers around your slutty string panties.

The lace is all wet from his earlier actions as he tugs it down your thighs and legs, tossing it over his shoulder before spreading your legs and pulling you even closer.

“Aw, you got your pussy all clean-shaven for me?” he awes with a smirk, “What a good girl you are.”

He’d planned on having a bit more fun with you before giving in to his urges, but seeing your pretty little cunt so ready to be fucked, he couldn't be asked to wait any longer, needing to fuck you like he’d been wanting to ever since he first spotted you in the club so many TGIFs ago.

“You sure like to party, don’t you?” he rasps while buckling up his belt and zipping himself down, letting his pants drop before grabbing his painfully hard cock. “Always at the club shaking this pretty little ass of yours—just a dumb party animal, huh?” He just knows your little cunt’s going to squeeze him tight like a trap—he isn’t even going to give you a finger test before bullying himself inside.

“Yeah, you like having fun—you havin’ fun now, babe?” he bows down, biting your cheek while putting his head to your entrance, pressing inside despite the resistance.

He was right—you are fucking tight, taking his cock just the way he thought you would.

“Fucking slut,” he groans as he starts thrusting, hugging your thighs tight. “Begging to get gangbanged out on that fucking dance floor—dancin’ like a fucking stripper for free and for all to see.”

Fuck, how he’s going to ruin you—give you a necklace of hickies all around your throat as he fucks you into a mess, then press a beer bottle inside you once he’s done—keep his cum in you all night long.

“You deserve to be used. And I’m gonna use yah for all you’re worth.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kuro, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Karasu, Shido, Aiku ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Kaji, Togame

Saturday is a gym-bro. There isn’t a day he doesn’t go. Yep, not even Saturday.

You try to go as often as you can muster. But no, you don’t go every day, especially during the weekend—and that gives him a good reason to come up to when you do—teasing you about how he missed you last time. Acting all smug and cocky when asking you what bad habits you got up to on Friday that made you skip out.

He makes you feel sheepish standing next to him as he all but bullies you for being an itty-bitty weakling.

He’s not exactly being fair. It’s not as if you’re especially weak compared to everyone else. It’s just that absolutely everyone’s an itty-bitty weakling standing next to him. The guy’s pure muscle and taller than most of the equipment, for crying out loud!

One time, he’d demonstrated his strength by daring you to hang from his bicep. And sure enough, he could lift you like you were nothing. Using you like a dumbbell—which is what he’ll sometimes call you.

You’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. It’s flattering, but honestly, you think guys like him are a bit too much. His leg has the same girth as your thigh, and so does his neck—not to mention how you think he has enough strength in his hand alone to pulverize your skull in one simple squeeze.

Besides, he’s way too full of himself. You get being proud about health and fitness, but holy shit, does he never shut up? He’s always bragging about how much he benches and how many reps he does every day—and on top of everything, he seems to always be watching and studying you, commenting about your form, and mansplaining how you can get better.

He gets on your nerves.

But then again, the guy does seem to know what he’s talking about. And after several weeks of neither seeing nor feeling much results, you finally decide to let him help you out.

And he does. Taking you through all the motions, from warm-ups to really pushing yourself, and now, the cool-down stretches.

Though… you can’t exactly say there’s much cooling down involved in the way he has you full-feverish, sweating more than you did during the actual workout. In the locker room, suspended against his swole chest with his arms locked around your thighs, folding you clean in half, fingers locked behind your neck as he bounces you on his thick length. And fuck, even his fucking dick is riddled with muscles and veins—feeling as if he’s fucking you with an arm the way he’s stretching you out and punching your guts to mush.

“You holdin’ out, dumbbell?” he mocks, knowing you’re a mess. “Tap out any time, yeah?”

Fuck him, you think—as if you can move your arms in this position—as if you can even speak or make any sound except full-on panting like a bitch and drooling like one too.

One more hit, and you’re spraying—and he insists on fucking you just as hard through it. Straight pounding your wet cunt until he’s sure you’re empty before dropping you back down on your own two feet.

But just because you’ve cum like a shower doesn’t mean he’s done. No, far from it, as he rushes you up against the lockers next and continues where he left off.

The cool metal feels good against your cheek, so good you don’t even mind how he’s pressing you flat and free of air—keeping your neck in a chokehold and your hair in his other fist while fucking into you from behind.

“Trust me, this is way better exercise for someone like you,” he grunts with a grin, feeling you go limp. Your knees shot and your whole body listless, kept up solely by his strength like a puppet on strings.

He rasps out a laugh, “I’ll be your personal trainer, free of charge—just meet me after my reps, and I’ll put you to work and make sure you go home feeling proud.”

Yeah, sure, if you don’t pass out before then.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Kunigami, Shido, Baro, Aiku ♡ DS – Akaza ♡ WB – Togame

Sunday is the religious guy who always comes and knocks on your door to share his faith.

You don’t share his views, but you’d invited him in for lemonade and pastries once.

You don’t know exactly why. You usually just say no thank you and close the door, but that time, well, you’d just finished making cupcakes, and the house smelled like a bakery—it seemed like a waste not to have company.

Sundays were usually so anticlimactic you never really knew what to make of them. But after that, you came to really enjoy spending them baking, always trying out new fun recipes. And before you even knew it, since he always came knocking on your door on Sundays to enlighten you bout God, it quickly became a thing of ritual for you to invite him in.

You’d always thought strictly religious people such as him were more… how do you say… fanatic? Or, at the very least, be somewhat passionate about talking about their God. But he doesn’t seem to be very interested in telling you about that at all. No, he seems much more invested in you and how you’ve been since last time.

Oh well, you think—maybe he’s more accepting of people having different life views and isn’t deadset on changing minds after all. Maybe that was never his agenda—maybe he’s simply a good samaritan going door to door to see if he’s needed or wanted. That is what religion is all about, after all.

Little do you know, though… he’s not really a religious guy at all…

No, he’s actually a serial killer who’d been hunting for his next victim.

He thought you were just perfect, exactly his type—pretty and kind and dumb, just like prey should be. Oh, but then, you became a little too perfect, didn’t you? Inviting him in with such big doe eyes, despite living all alone, feeding him cupcakes, and telling him tales about your life as if he isn’t a total stranger. You might as well be begging him to make you his victim.

But he can’t waste perfection.

And so, instead of abducting you and frolicking in your screams as he cuts you up into a dozen pieces, he abducts you and frolics in your screams as he sucks your pussy into a dozen orgasms.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Tomiyama

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

6K notes · View notes

yanderenightmare-reblogs · 3 months ago

Text

actually so hot

— ARE YOU LISTENING?

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

wc: 2.3k

tags: dubcon, noncon elements, vomit/emeto, power imbalance, cockwarming

summary: The name of the game is cruel and unusual punishment, and you just happen to be the unlucky winner.

notes: yeah idk. read the tags and read them again before you click the read more. sex is dubcon at best, the vomit is def noncon. you've been warned. dividers by @/adornedwithlight

❥ ao3 link here

After the months you’ve spent at the monastery, you have no idea how Geto-sama feels about you. Now and then you see him, but he’s distant at best, unreadable at worst.

Rumors float around and they always find their way to you. Sometimes innocent ones, other times things you have no stake in. But there’s one that seeps through the halls of the monastery, one that makes your stomach tighten, your breathing needle sharp.

Geto-sama isn’t very fond of you.

It’s childish, you know you shouldn’t let it bother you. But it does. Especially when it’s followed by baseless accusations that you know aren’t true.

You’re irresponsible. A burden to the family. As you walk down the corridors, you swear you can hear the echoes of your peers' voices–what is your contribution?

Though you know this isn’t true, it still weighs on your conscience. Just enough for you to get desperate to prove everyone wrong, shut them up for once.

But you weren’t able to.

You’ll admit, it was a poor decision made in the heat of the moment. Sick of hearing whispers of your incompetence, you would do anything to prove it, including bringing back a curse for your beloved master. Though you’re out of practice, a grade two should be well within your capabilities.

Unfortunately, some things are a lot easier said than done.

It’s a miracle he noticed something was amiss. If it weren’t for him coming to your rescue, you would be nothing but a pile of broken bones by now. And while you’re grateful for him saving you, it does not spare you from the embarrassment and shame of the now reinforced idea that you’re irresponsible.

The trip back to the monastery was held together by an eerie silence. Suguru wore no emotion on his face while you wore yours on your sleeve, all wandering eyes and nervous tics. By the time the two of you make it back to a private room, nothing has changed. You’re still a nervous wreck, and Suguru does nothing to acknowledge it.

He simply sits down on the armchair, letting out a heavy sigh as he bends. Slowly, he places his chin on his hand and tuts. “Why did you do it?”

You’re barely able to look him in the eye. “I felt like I needed to prove myself.”

“Why?” he asks again, his voice low and dangerous.

You inhale sharply as an attempt to get the words out easier. It doesn’t help.

“I’ve heard some people say that you don’t like me,” you state, and the words choke on the way out, a ball forming in your throat as you attempt to push them out, “because I’m irresponsible.”

“The first half isn’t true. I’m actually quite fond of you…” he pauses, and you get your hopes up in the brief silence, “but you did prove the latter.”

As quickly as you got your hopes up, they crash to the floor. It stings, hearing him say that.

”There’s a reason why things are the way they are…” he trails off, eyes analyzing your form from top to bottom. It feels like he’s dissecting you with a scalpel in hand, cutting into the skin to see what’s hidden underneath.

“You don’t need to prove anything,” he hums with–if you’re not mistaken–the slightest hint of amusement, “but you do need to be punished.”

Even though this is supposed to be a punishment, his words send heat rushing to your face. It only worsens when he beckons you to come closer, your breath hitching when he’s close enough to touch.

”Don’t be shy,” Suguru coos, patting his lap, gesturing for you to come take your seat. It feels like a trap, but you know you can’t refuse him.

Awkwardly, you raise one leg over the other, gently sitting down, doing your best to avoid touching chests together because that would be too much for your poor heart. Seeing him this up close is a sight to behold. Soft skin that can only be achieved with a meticulous multi-step care routine. Silky tresses of obsidian that makes you wonder how he takes care of it, if he has someone brush it for him in the mornings. You feel a tinge of jealousy at the thought.

“Is this something you do with the others?” you ask, hushed and quiet because you’re unsure if this question will spur on another punishment.

He tilts his head quizzically before smiling gently. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “No.”

It shouldn’t excite you, but it does. Something hot and honeyed makes its way down your core when his large hands wrap around your upper thighs and straddle you closer to him until you feel something hard pressed against your clothed cunt.

The sensation is enough to make your heart race, and intensifies even more when you realize you don’t even know what your punishment is yet.

His hands pull and adjust your skirt until he exposes your underwear. From there his hands are agonizingly slow, his finger tracing up your thigh until he reaches the gusset. With a swift movement he pulls it off to the side, the sudden exposure to the cold air making you wince.

”Geto-sama?”

Your question goes unanswered.

It feels far from a punishment when his fingers make their way to your clit, gently tracing circles until you can’t hold your voice back. As soon as he hears you moan for him, it’s as if he’s trying to rip it out of you, motions becoming tighter and faster as your breath quickens.

And as quickly as he gets you on the precipice, he takes his fingers away, making you whine at the loss of his touch.

“This is a punishment,” he reminds you, a teasing lilt woven into his voice, “turn around.”

So you do as he says, waiting in anxious anticipation for what comes next.

You hear the sounds of fabric shuffling and shifting before something hot and hard presses against your ass. A shaky breath leaves your lips as he rubs against you. Geto’s patience knows no bounds, while you’re desperate for him to get it over with, grinding against his cock to entice him to put it in already. He finally heeds your call, but only after pressing against your hole teasingly before pulling away a few times, just to hear that high pitched whine when he doesn’t give you the satisfaction.

When he finally gives you what you want, you nearly regret asking for it. Geto takes his sweet time putting himself into you. It’s painfully slow, as if you can feel every part of your pussy stretch itself out for him inch by inch. All you can do is steady your breathing until he bottoms out, and let out a shaky moan when he does.

Geto doesn’t let you catch your breath before asking, “You know about my curse technique, don’t you?”

This hardly feels like the time to have a talk about sorcery and the like, but it’s not like you have many options.

”I’m aware, yes,” you do your best to sound composed, though your voice is breathy, your head somewhere else entirely as you look down where you’re connected to him. That aching need grows at the sight of it, your hips moving before you realize what you’re doing.

“How much are you aware of?” Geto continues, and the contrast between your composures is laughable. His hands grip tightly onto your hips, holding them in place.

“You can absorb cursed spirits, and you have a lot of them stored up.” You hope this is the right answer, as if this is a test you have a chance of passing.

(You don’t.)

“Do you know how I absorb them?” he coos, as if he’s amused by your answer. It’s difficult to tell if his interest is genuine or not, but realistically you guess it’s somewhere in the middle. Getting tested about his cursed technique isn’t exactly what you had in mind as a punishment, but Geto can be a bit of an eccentric character when he wants to be. Cult leader things, you suppose.

”No.” you reply, ashamed because it’s the truth. You’re not exactly trusted with much in regards to cursed spirits, working more with administrative tasks that are deemed too tedious for the stronger curse users.

His thumb brushes against your lips before he gets closer, so close the warmth of his breath tickles the shell of your ear. “I swallow them.”

It’s a strange mental image to conjure, and not one you particularly want to imagine at the moment. If you were to be honest, you think it's beneath him, but you'd never voice that opinion out loud.

“Have I ever told you about the taste of a curse?” His timbre changes to something dark and low, a threat lurking beneath the surface of his words. Suddenly, despite yourself, you feel exposed. Like a deer in headlights, frozen and staring down the car that’s going to run it over. Nothing good can come from this.

You do not know. You do not want to know. But one thing is certain: he’ll tell you anyway.

“It tastes horrible,” he states simply. He presses his lips against your neck, gently nibbling against the supple skin. The way he kisses you is soft, something too intimate for a subordinate and superior. It’s almost enough to distract you from the words that leave his mouth next, “like a rag soaked in vomit.”

And though his words strike fear in your heart, it’s not enough to pull yourself off of him. You shouldn’t be enjoying yourself, but Geto has a way with his fingers. With the way he has you melting in his hands when he touches your puffy clit, desperate for any kind of simulation.

“It makes you want to retch and gag, yet nothing comes out.” His words don’t match his actions–the former filling you with unease, the latter keeping you on the edge of pleasure. Either way, your heart beats faster, along with an unsettling tincture of cortisol and adrenaline coursing through your body.

His thumb gently swipes over your lips before pushing into the seam, a demand for an opening. You give it to him before you can stop to think about it and the way his fingers touch your tongue makes your stomach twist in fear. It’s cold, analytical, like a researcher examining a specimen with gloved hands, pressing and prodding with the goal of invoking some kind of reaction.

“Since you want to know so badly, why don’t you have a taste?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond, shifting gears to stuff his fingers down your throat as deep as possible. The sounds that leave your lips are unfamiliar and unwelcome to your ears, forced retches and coughs filling the empty room as you receive your punishment.

Geto doesn’t blink when you vomit, nor does he move his fingers away. He simply watches with a cold eye as you empty the contents of your stomach onto his arm and the floor.

There’s nowhere to run, his free arm wrapped firmly around your waist to bring you further into him. Every muscle in your body tightens in all the wrong ways as he attempts to get another out of you. It comes out too easily, as if your body is willing to give him whatever he wants.

If this is what his affection is like, you don’t want to experience his contempt. Or maybe it’d be better. Gracious. A quick cut to the throat. A gunshot to the chest. Not whatever this is, this drawn out torture, rendering you into a pathetic state where you can’t even beg for mercy.

The muscles in your stomach ache from twisting and constricting when there’s nothing left to purge, but Geto doesn’t stop. Even when your throat burns with bile in places it shouldn’t be, when you claw and scratch into his arms enough to draw blood. Not until he gets a few shallow strokes in, grunting at the way your body tightens up for him with his fingers down your throat.

Geto can’t stop himself from cumming inside you, not when every part of you seems to be gripping around him for all his worth. Drool spills from your mouth as he empties himself inside you, each hot spurt of his seed making you groan.

“Maybe, I was a bit rough,” Geto removes his hand from your mouth and returns to the soft tone he carries when talking with his family, though it does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it puts you on edge, in fear that he wants to take more from you.

“But you did good for me. Surely, that warrants a reward.”

You don’t want whatever reward he’s offering but you’re too scared, too worn out to fight. You don’t give him a nod, you simply watch as his fingers find your clit. Despite his cruelty, his fingers are generous, and it’s jarring enough to give you whiplash.

Like his punishments, Geto’s swift with his rewards, drawing tighter and tighter circles around your clit until you cum with his softening cock inside you. Your orgasm is tainted even though pleasure courses through your body, your muscles too worn out to truly indulge. Even still, your cunt convulses around him as you cry and cough when you finally recieve that release you’ve (regrettably) been begging for.

Geto slowly pulls his fingers away from you as you come down from your high, his arms wrapping you in a gentle embrace. Every hair on your body stands, every nerve on high alert.

“I hope you learned your lesson. I won’t be so nice next time.”

#sen writes #s.jjk #sen fics #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #suguru geto x reader #cw.dubcon #cw.noncon

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 4 months ago

Text

this here

Lover's Quarrel

Pairing: Dark (aged-up) Katsuki Bakugo x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: You get away from Bakugo’s toxic clutches. But soon your peace comes to an end.

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; minor Violence/Abuse.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

I just realized today is his birthday, so here it is :) hope you guys like this.

–

“...you better damn pick up my calls, (Y/N). I’m losing my patience here so you better get that fucking attitude out of your system or I’ll do it for you. Swear to god I’m gonna drag your stupid ass back home if you don’t come to your damn senses and if you fucking think that-”

You press a button, closing the voicemail with a sigh. Throwing your phone to the bed’s edge, you turn your back to it, curling yourself into a ball.

Your mind is an unstable whirlwind of thoughts and worries and a solitary tear rolls down your face. It’s not fair.

None of this is fair.

You pull the blankets over you, but even their warmth isn't enough to calm the cold that scatters through your body.

A sob breaks your composure and you hastily push your face into the pillow, smothering down the ugly sobs and whines that break out.

It takes a long time until your eyes are finally dry and you have no more tears to weep.

But even afterwards, as you finally fall asleep, the heavy feeling still weighs on your heart.

Ding.

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

Your friend looks at you and you’re quick to mute the notifications that pop up, eyes catching sight of the messages that Bakugo is spamming you before you black the screen.

“I know I’ve asked before, but is everything really okay?” she asks, ignoring the movie on display in favor of looking at you, a concerned wrinkle settling between her brows.

“You seem… so distracted ever since you came. Is it about Bakugo?”

You shift on the couch, uncomfortable.

“It’s nothing.” you hesitantly tell her, measuring your words carefully. None of your friends know about the depth of Bakugo’s dark side and you’d rather not involve them.

Even though you’re almost sure that she suspects something is up, especially with the unannounced way you dropped by unannounced a couple of days ago, asking if you could stay a few days.

“You can tell me, you know that, right? I’m not gonna judge or whatever.”

You nod, giving her a small smile but no words come out of you despite the hefty weight on your mind. You don’t want to burden her with your problems.

“I know, don’t worry. We’re just giving it some time. Lover’s quarrel and all.” you try to joke even though there's no humor in your smile.

"I see, okay." your friend draws a small smile, hesitating for a moment before letting it be.

Work drags far too slowly.

Boring paperwork to be filled, a few documents that need reviewing.

Nothing that actually manages to successfully distract you away from your current problems. If anything, it leaves you with far too much time for your mind to wander through your situation.

A definitive break-up is more complicated than what it seems as you’re aware that Bakugo won’t peacefully accept that.

Just the idea of having to deal with an even angrier Katsuki has you cowering further into your chair and you distract yourself by opening your work email, digging into the emails that need to be answered.

You’ll think about Bakugo later.

“Later” arrives much earlier than what you expect.

When the clock hits 6 p.m you reluctantly turn off the computer, gathering your jacket and your purse.

When you check your phone out of habit, the lack of messages surprises you. Strange.

Maybe Bakugo is finally catching the hints that you want to be left alone? You sure hope so.

You couldn’t be more wrong about it and you almost jump when your co-worker shrieks in delight, nudging your arm as you retrieve your car keys from the purse.

“Oh god, he’s so cute, damn. Seems like someone was eager to see you.”

Your heart drops at the sight of the blonde man that leans against your car, crimson eyes fixed on you.

“You’re so lucky. My boyfriend never comes to pick me up.” she whines before finally saying a distracted goodbye, throwing adoration filled glances at Bakugo when she walks away.

For a moment, you consider leaving your car in the open parking-lot. You could take the bus to your friend’s apartment. It would be no big deal, only half an hour before reaching her place.

But the impassive expression on your boyfriend’s face warns you not to ignore him and you don’t doubt Bakugo’s ability to cause a overly explosive scene right in front of your workplace.

Your legs walk on their own towards him and he straightens up, pushing himself off the hood as he walks to you, meeting you half-way, far too close for your comfort.

He’s wearing civilian clothes, you notice. They make his firm muscles bulge from beneath the thin material, the veins in his arms popping out with his hands hidden in the pant’s pockets, as always.

“What do you want?”

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“Talk then.”

Irritation seeps into Bakugo’s face. He’s never had much patience.

“We can talk in your car. The keys.”

Despite his stretched hand, you don’t deposit the keys in his palm. It’s your car. It’s your life. You have to fight for it.

“Y/n.”

You take a step back, shaking your head.

“If you wanna talk, then we can talk here. Out in the open.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with ire, and it compels you to take another tiny step away from him.

“Will you stop fucking stepping away from me?” his voice booms loudly through the empty parking lot, eliciting a wince from you. “Quit acting like I’m gonna beat you to a bloody pulp or somethin’. I’m just trying to take you back home, you idiot.”

“But I’m not going back.”

“You are.”

You clench your teeth, hoping it would help ease out the incoming flow of angry tears that threatens to spill at any moment now.

“I said. I’m not going back.”

Bakugo ignores your words, losing his patience upon your refusal.

“Like hell you aren’t. I’ve had enough of this stupid attitude of yours.”

His hand latches to your wrist, holding it in a bruising grip, tight enough for you to feel the bones in your hands being painfully compressed together.

“Ah, Katsuki, you’re hurting me!” you cry out, attempting to release his grip by using your free hand.

But your fingers are far too weak to pull him away and he groans when your nails scratch him. It makes him grip your hand harder and you sob, body limpless following forward when Bakugo tugs you in his direction.

You bump into his hard chest, head sharply pulled back with his callous hand enveloping the back of your neck, his large palm easily covering all of it.

The tall hero doesn’t even bother looking around, unafraid of the possibility of someone walking by. Bakugo’s never been one to be overzealous, much less now that the position on Pro Hero Number 2 belongs to him.

“You’ve had your fun these past days. But it’s over now, y’hear me?” the tips of his fingers dig into your neck, and you’re barely able to hold his threatening gaze, already knowing that you’re not coming out on top of this.

“You’re coming back home with me. No fuckin' fuss, no complaining, and that’s final. Like hell I’m gonna let you get away from me, so you better start fixing that attitude.”

He squeezes your neck, looking at you with deadly eyes.

“You hear me? Brat.”

He keeps his hand on the back of your neck when guiding you to your own car, unceremoniously pushing you to the passenger’s seat before claiming the steering wheel for himself.

A few tears escape from your eyes and you turn your face to the window, ignoring the sharp looks Bakugo throws your way.

You hug yourself, all of your hope dissolving at the realization that you’re never truly gonna be free from him.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #yandere bnha #bnha x reader #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #mha x reader #yandere my hero academia #yandere x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo #tw: toxic relationships #tw: yandere

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 4 months ago

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wee

you know what im eating my words....ive said in the past that cnc does nothing for me but cnc with shidou....just thinking about how much he gets off on you fighting him HARD. like genuinely trying to fight him off as hard as you can. and how much he gets off on winning every time and bullying his way between your legs

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yanderenightmare-reblogs · 4 months ago

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🔞Every orgasm comes with a zero at the end of your bank account.

♡ Yandere! DILF's x Fem. Reader. Sugar Daddy, Old Money, Professor, Sponsor

♡ Headcanons. Midas Eyes - Part 3

♡ Word Count. 3,057

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who should be repulsive. A man-child in his late thirties who spends obscene amounts of money on everything except dignity. A peacock draped in silk and cashmere, leather shoes that cost more than an entire human life, a watch that gleams like the price of someone's soul. Gaudy, loud, excessive. He reeks of expensive cologne and desperation, of old money envy and cocaine dreams. And yet, here you are, letting him fuck you raw in the penthouse suite of a hotel that costs a year's salary just to breathe in.

You're so fucking good at this.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy groans, breath hot against your neck, hands bruising your hips as he fucks you into the mattress like he’s trying to hammer his name into your body. He has the stamina of a man who has nothing better to do than chase pleasure and the money to afford every enhancement available. You don’t know if it's the genetics, the hormone injections, or sheer willpower that makes him last so long, but it's obscene, and it works.

“Fuck, you’re—” he pants, a laugh caught between his teeth. “You’re just so good for me, princess.”

You moan because it gets you more things. Louder, a little breathy, making sure your body clenches just right around him. He groans like you’ve fed him a shot of pure heroin and throws another ten thousand into your mental bank account. You let yourself go slack, let him manhandle you however he wants, plaything that you are. He likes to think he’s in charge. He isn’t.

Not when he’s gripping your thighs so tight he might leave fingerprints on your bones. Not when his voice is breaking, so desperate, so fucking eager, like he’s about to worship at the altar of your cunt.

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters. “Gonna stuff you so full, baby, fuck, just take it, take it all, yeah?”

You bite your lip, nodding prettily, and he loses it. Thrusts go sloppy, frantic, all that practiced charm falling apart as he groans against your shoulder, spilling deep inside like he thinks he can buy you with his cum.

And maybe he can.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy flops next to you, panting, still hard. Of course he is. He always is.

“Again?” He grins, running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair.

You stretch, arching your back just enough to make his breath hitch. Then you turn, lazily trailing a finger down his stomach, watching his abs tense beneath your touch.

“A hundred grand,” you murmur.

He stares. Then he laughs. Loud, delighted, and just drunk enough to think this is the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You’re a menace,” he says, grabbing your wrist and rolling you onto your back. His cock presses against your thigh, hard and needy. “Fine. But I get to make you cry for it this time.”

You smile, letting your eyes flash with that hypnotic galaxy hue. His pupils blow wide, breath hitching, completely enthralled. He’s already under your control, but you let him think he still has some.

“Go ahead, Daddy,” you purr. “Make me earn it.”

———

♡ Yandere! Old Money who was born into wealth so vast, it would take you several lifetimes to count the zeros in his family’s offshore accounts. Who never had to work a day in his life but did so anyway—because ruling over empires is simply what men like him do. Who was bred for supremacy, sculpted for dominance, and taught that anything can be bought.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who trained you, shaped you, and refined you like a diamond under pressure. Who took a filthy, starving guttersnipe and made her into a masterpiece. Who remembers the first time he saw you—some nameless thing, all hunger and teeth, tearing through a gilded party with the eyes of a wolf in a silk dress. Who saw potential in you, who sharpened your mind, your body, your soul. Who honed you into a weapon, only to find that the blade had a mind of its own.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who both despises and adores what you’ve become. A whore with no loyalty, a predator without a master. Who made you into something untouchable, yet still seethes with jealousy every time another man gets too close. Who is tormented by the fact that the very skills he bestowed upon you are now being used to elude him. Who doesn’t care how much you cost—because at the end of the day, you are his investment. His creation. His.

You never really understood love. Never cared to. Love was an abstract thing, messy and useless, the sentimental currency of the weak. Money, on the other hand—that, you understood. The raw power of it, the absolute control. You could make anyone do anything for enough money. But there was always one exception. Him.

It had started as a game. A little cat-and-mouse. A battle of wills between the old master and his disobedient little protégé. But now? Now it was something far worse.

Now you were in his bed.

Now his breath was against your ear, his hands moving over your body like they had every right to be there. As if they had never left.

“You come back to me like a bad habit,” he murmured, voice rich and deep, laced with amusement and something darker. His fingers traced down your spine, sending an involuntary shiver through you. “But I suppose I should be flattered. Even the most expensive sluts still come home to their first owner.”

You should have left. You should have fought. But you didn’t.

Because you knew, deep down, that this was always how it would end.

His grip was firm as he pulled you onto his lap, your silk robe slipping from your shoulders. The candlelight glowed against his sharp features, those cold, aristocratic eyes drinking you in like fine wine.

“How much?” he asked, deceptively soft. “How much do I have to pay to remind you of your place?”

You smirked, reaching up to run a finger down his cheek. “All of it.”

The answer made something wicked flash in his gaze.

“Greedy girl.” His hand closed around your throat, not enough to choke, just enough to remind you that you were nothing in his hands. “You think you can sell yourself to the highest bidder and I won’t notice? That I won’t hunt down every single man who has ever touched you and make them disappear?”

“You trained me for this,” you reminded him, tilting your head, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Don’t act surprised when I outgrew you.”

♡ Yandere! Old Money chuckled, dark and amused. “Outgrew me?” His grip tightened, forcing your legs apart as he shifted, the silk sheets whispering beneath you. “Oh, darling.” His free hand slid up your thigh, tracing the inside like he was claiming territory. “You haven’t outgrown anything.”

His mouth found yours in a searing kiss, all dominance and possession, teeth and tongue warring for control. You gasped into it, back arching as his hand found its way between your legs, teasing, taunting. He was cruel, methodical, drawing out every sound he wanted from you with the skill of a man who had never been denied anything in his life.

“You act so untouchable,” he murmured against your lips, his fingers sinking into you with devastating precision. “So untouchable, yet look at you now.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound. But he wasn’t done yet.

♡ Yandere! Old Money pulled back, surveying you like an artist admiring his own work, his own creation. Then, with an almost lazy arrogance, he unbuckled his belt.

You watched, entranced, as he freed himself—thick, hard, proud, the very embodiment of dominance. Your mouth went dry, your body betraying you as he pressed the tip against your entrance, teasing, just barely there.

“Say it,” he commanded.

You refused.

His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back as he thrust in all at once, bottoming out so deep you nearly sobbed.

“Say it.” His voice was low, a whisper of silk and steel.

You gasped, trembling, but held his gaze, even as he started moving. Slow at first, deep, dragging, making you feel every inch of him. Then faster. Harder. Ruthless.

“You,” you finally choked out, your pride shattering like glass. “You own me.”

The words ignited something in him. His grip tightened, his pace brutal, pounding into you like he was branding himself into your very soul. You clawed at his back, nails digging into flesh, but he only laughed.

“That’s right,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “You can sell your body all you want, little girl. But your soul? Your soul belongs to me.”

And in that moment, as he drove you to the edge of oblivion, you knew he was right.

You could have all the money in the world.

But you would never escape him.

———

♡ Yandere! Professor who has the poise of a man carved out of marble—cool, composed, and entirely unreadable. A man with the patience of a saint and the mind of a devil. His words are scripture; his touch, a revelation. He speaks in measured tones, every syllable deliberate, as though calculating the exact reaction each word will elicit from you.

♡ Yandere! Professor who watches you over the rim of his glasses, calculating, assessing. He is not moved by beauty alone—intellect is what ensnares him, and you, for all your feigned simplicity, are a masterpiece of complexity. You lure men with your body, but he is the only one who sees the hunger beneath. The void you so desperately try to fill with money. He has no interest in your wealth, only in possessing you—mind, body, and soul.

♡ Yandere! Professor who has studied you longer than you've known. Who understands your patterns, your weaknesses, the exact inflection in your voice when you are lying. He does not need to tame you; he needs only to set the right trap and wait. You are a strategist, a predator, but so is he. And in this game of chess, you are already in checkmate.

♡ Yandere! Professor who fucks like a man unraveling scripture. Every touch is precise, every movement methodical, unraveling you in ways you did not think possible. He does not need to be cruel to dominate you. He simply dismantles you with patience, with precision. You, who have seduced kings and moguls, who have named your price and watched the world pay it—now trembling under a man who has not spent a single cent on you just yet.

♡ Yandere! Professor who does not believe in rushing. Who makes you beg, not with words, but with silence. With the way he simply watches you, fingers tracing the outline of your ribs, the dip of your waist. Who keeps you spread open on his desk, untouched, until your body betrays you, slick and shivering, whispering pleas you swore you’d never give him.

♡ Yandere! Professor who does not kiss you. Not at first. He will taste every inch of your skin, bite into your throat, your shoulder, but he will not give you the intimacy of lips pressed to yours. Not until you’ve earned it. And when he finally does, it is not tender. It is ownership. It is his teeth against your lower lip, his tongue carving his claim into your mouth, swallowing every noise, every breath, until you are left gasping, dizzy from the sheer control he exerts.

♡ Yandere! Professor who takes his time. Who makes you sit on his cock, unmoving, as he reads a book, as if your desperation is of no concern to him. As if your pleasure is simply a matter of patience. Who will stroke your thighs absentmindedly, turn a page, glance at you over his glasses with a look so calm it is maddening.

"You are always in such a hurry," he murmurs, fingers grazing over the sensitive flesh between your legs, deliberately avoiding where you need him most. "And yet, for all your intellect, you fail to grasp the simplest lesson: anticipation makes the reward sweeter."

♡ Yandere! Professor who teaches you the meaning of desperation. Who coaxes sounds from your throat you did not know you were capable of making. Who turns your arrogance into broken cries, into choked-out prayers, into the breathless realization that, for the first time, you are not the one in control.

♡ Yandere! Professor who marks you, but never where others can see. His teeth bruise the inside of your thighs, the curve of your hip, the swell of your breasts. His fingers dig crescents into the softness of your waist, but when you stand before your admirers, you look as flawless as ever. No one will ever know the depth of your submission. No one will ever see how he reduces you to nothing but trembling need.

♡ Yandere! Professor who makes you say his name. Properly. Not in moans, not in screams, but in reverence. In acknowledgment of the fact that, despite everything, despite your hunger for wealth and power, despite the way you have played and conquered men like pawns—he is the only one who has ever truly had you.

♡ Yandere! Professor who does not allow you to leave his bed until you are completely ruined. Until your body is boneless, your mind too fogged with pleasure to form coherent thoughts. Who cradles your face after, thumb brushing over your swollen lips, watching you with quiet satisfaction.

"Money is not the only thing worth worshiping, my dear. But don’t worry—I have all the time in the world to teach you."

———

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who never had money, not really.

Not the kind that keeps your hands clean, anyway. It was all blood and sweat and torn muscle—fought for in the filth, carved out in the trenches, scraped together with broken fingers and clenched teeth. He’s the kind of rich that still walks like he’s got nothing, the kind of powerful that still looks at people like they might turn on him at any second. And you—

You, with your dead gaze and even deader heart, the whore with a price tag bigger than a small country’s GDP—you fascinate him. Not in some romantic, poetic way. No, he isn’t built for that kind of weakness. It’s visceral. It’s in the way his jaw tightens when you move, the way his hands twitch when you speak.

You’re money. You are the thing he’s fought for all his life. And now you want him to own you?

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who doesn't fall for your tricks.

Most men are easy. One look, one shift in tone, one tilt of your head and they crumble like the worthless sacks of flesh they are. But him? He watches you like a predator sizing up a rival. You’ve met a lot of men in your line of work. Soft ones, weak ones, strong ones who thought they were stronger than you. But he’s something else.

He doesn’t give a fuck about your Midas Eyes.

That first night, when you sat in his lap and whispered the price in his ear, he just laughed. Low and dark. A sound that sent something unpleasant slithering down your spine. And then he grabbed your jaw, rough, unforgiving.

“Try that shit on me, and I’ll break your legs.”

You believed him.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who fucks like he fights—dirty, brutal, and without mercy.

The first time he takes you, it’s not in some luxury suite with satin sheets and a view of the city skyline. It’s in the grimy backseat of a blacked-out car, somewhere between a deal gone wrong and another fight that left someone (not him) bleeding out in an alley.

You’re bent over his lap, dress hiked up, face pressed against cracked leather while he yanks your panties down with zero patience. There’s no tenderness, no soft prelude—just the sound of his belt unbuckling, the sharp bite of cold metal against your thigh as he restrains you, the hard press of his cock against your slit as he forces you open.

“You want money, right?” His voice is a rasp against your ear, breath hot, words edged with amusement and something darker. His fingers dig into your hip, keeping you in place. “So work for it.”

And then he shoves inside.

The stretch burns, delicious and cruel. You gasp, but he doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t let you adjust. Just thrusts, hard and deep, filling you up until your body molds to him.

He doesn’t fuck like a man who cares. He fucks like a man who takes.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who likes to see you break.

You thought you were good at playing the game, but he’s better. You moan for him, whimper his name, pretend to shudder when he hits the right spot—but he sees right through you. And it pisses him off.

So he makes it worse.

He angles his thrusts just right, buries himself so deep it feels like he’s rearranging your guts. His fingers slip between your legs, rubbing tight, ruthless circles around your clit. The belt around your wrists tightens. The car rocks with the force of it.

And when you finally, finally cum—when you arch and shudder and cry out like the perfect little whore he paid for—he doesn’t stop.

He keeps fucking you. Keeps using you. Keeps pounding into your oversensitive cunt until you’re sobbing from the overstimulation, until your thighs shake and your breath comes in ragged, broken little gasps.

“Thought you wanted money, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with mockery. His hand grips the back of your neck, forcing your head down. “Gotta earn it.”

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who pays you just to keep you.

He never tells you to stop seeing other men. He doesn’t have to.

Because when you wake up the next morning, sore and wrecked and aching in places you didn’t know could ache, there’s a suitcase on the nightstand.

It’s full of cash.

More money than you’ve ever seen in one place. More than you could make in months.

A message, loud and clear.

You’re his now.

And there’s no fucking way you’re leaving.

Yandere! DILFs

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Sugar Daddy, Old Money, Professor, Sponsor

Headcanons 1 : Midas Eyes (General)

Some women play hard to get. You play impossible to afford.

You're not a gold digger. You're an entrepreneur. And business is booming.

🔞Every orgasm comes with a zero at the end of your bank account.

He’s not jealous. He just needs to remind you why no one else can fuck you like he does.

🔞"You wanna act like a whore? Then be one. On your knees. Now."

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @yandereaficionado , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia , @hopingtocleaemedschool , @doncellaescarlata , @futuristicxie

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

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