▪︎ Quote: "Sigo un destino que yo misma dibujo, dejando que cada estrella recuerde quién fui y quién aún puedo ser."
▪︎ Hobbies: Drawing, fangirling over Ej, eating, sleep, game, etc.
☆ You’d probably find me anywhere but I’m more active on j.ai and as an artist! Please take caution when entering this page. All posts are 15+, NSFW is 18+. I have no problem in writing smut, so I am not responsible for your inability to read the tw warnings and make a decision to stay or leave my blog. I value your opinions and feedback on my work and art! I try my best to tolerate the hate, D/T and criticism. This is a safe place for all weird minds alike. Treat others the way you wish to be treated!
Note! I don’t take payed commissions! I only take J.ai requests which in all cases is free. So don’t go hard on me!
Thank you to @aloadofbalderdash (masky) @mochiplumtea (brian) @alaxoria-soulhome-wildcards (Toby) for joining on this collab with me! It was very fun to draw and plan this! All credits go to them and me!
⦻ Notes: This is from my bots which you can find on my j.ai. People are thirsty for this tbh, I feel so lazy but enjoy!
⋆⭒˚.⋆ᶠᶸᶜᵏᵧₒᵤ!⋆⭒˚.⋆
The grand, shadowy halls of the Slender Manor had grown tense over the past weeks. Your sharp tongue and defiant attitude had pushed every single one of the brothers to their limit. Slenderman’s usual calm static buzzed with irritation whenever you sauntered past. Trenderman’s fashion critiques were met with eye-rolls. Splendorman’s attempts at cheer were shot down with sarcasm. And Offenderman… well, he had been watching you with that dangerous, hungry smirk for days.
Tonight, the four brothers gathered in the sprawling velvet-and-obsidian sitting room while you lounged on the chaise like you owned the place, tossing another remark over your shoulder.
Offenderman’s deep, velvety voice cut through the air first. “Enough. This little brat’s attitude needs to be tamed. Tonight.”
Slenderman’s faceless head tilted, tentacles already flickering into existence around his shoulders. “Agreed.”
Trenderman adjusted his rose-tinted glasses, a wicked grin spreading. “She’s been begging for correction with every eye-roll.”
Splendorman’s cheerful demeanor shifted into something darker, more predatory. “Then let’s punish our naughty little resident properly.”
Before you could snap back with another retort, tendrils of darkness shot out. Offenderman’s slick black tentacles wrapped around your wrists and ankles, lifting you effortlessly off the chaise and suspending you in the center of the room. The brothers closed in, tall, elegant, and radiating power.
“Time to learn some manners,” Offenderman purred, his voice like smoke and sin as he stepped closer. His tentacles tightened, spreading your limbs wide and peeling away your clothes with deliberate, teasing precision.
Slenderman’s longer, darker tentacles joined in, cool and smooth as they traced over your exposed skin, wrapping around your thighs and waist to hold you immobile. One thick tendril pressed between your legs, rubbing firmly against your most sensitive spots while another teased at your entrance, slick with its own natural lubrication.
“You’ve been such a spoiled little thing,” Trenderman murmured, his hands and smaller, dexterous tentacles exploring your chest, pinching and rolling your nipples until you gasped. He leaned in, biting your neck just hard enough to leave a mark. “Now you’ll take all four of us.”
Splendorman, ever the colorful one, let bright red and rainbow-hued tentacles join the fray. They wrapped around your torso, squeezing your breasts and sliding over your stomach while one particularly playful tendril slipped into your mouth, fucking it slowly and muffling any further bratty complaints.
Offenderman laughed low as he freed himself, his cock hard and dripping as he positioned himself at your entrance. “Open up for your punishment, darling.” With one powerful thrust he buried himself inside you, stretching you wide while Slenderman’s thick tentacle pushed in alongside him, the double penetration making your eyes roll back.
The rhythm built quickly—Offenderman pounding into your pussy, Slenderman’s tentacles filling you deeper than you thought possible, Trenderman’s cock sliding into your hand while his own tendrils worked your clit, and Splendorman alternating between your mouth and ass with slick, colorful tentacles.
Every hole was claimed. Tentacles wrapped around your throat in a loose, controlling hold, others stroked and squeezed your body as the brothers took turns and overlapped, using you thoroughly. Offenderman’s dirty praise mixed with degradation—“That’s it, take every inch like the brat you are. Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you.”
Slenderman’s static buzzed approval as his tentacles pulsed and throbbed inside you. Trenderman and Splendorman added their own cocks and tendrils, turning the scene into a writhing, overwhelming fivesome where you were the center, suspended and filled beyond reason.
They didn’t stop until you were shaking, voice hoarse from moaning around tentacles, body marked and dripping with their combined release. Only then did Offenderman lean in close, wiping a tear of overwhelmed pleasure from your cheek.
“Much better,” he whispered. “But if you act up again… we’ll have to tame you all over again.”
The brothers lowered your exhausted, thoroughly punished body onto the soft chaise, tentacles gently stroking you in aftercare while their satisfied static and low chuckles filled the manor.
Thank you for reading!
If you want to interact with this scenario go to my janitor!
- User/Reader [you] is fem!pov, User/Reader [you] is 18+, Toby is mentioned in the story as 16 in the backstory when he gets recruited hes 18
⦻ Warnings: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, CHILD ABUSE, HALLUCINATIONS, MURDER, PATRICIDE, GORE, DOMESTIC HORROR, PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA, NECROPHILIA THEMES (due to user being a ghost), BURNING ALIVE, ISOLATION
⦻ Words: 1.3k
⦻ Notes: This is from my bots which you can find on my j.ai. I felt bored and decided to write random scenarios as I heard my Playlist and this is what my weird ass decided to spew out when the song came up.
✩₊˚.⋆( ᜊт . - )ᜊ⋆⁺₊✧
The house on the edge of the quiet suburban street smelled of stale cigarettes and old resentment. Toby Rogers was sixteen, thin-shouldered, and already twitching at the slightest noise. His father’s voice carried up the stairs like gravel every evening—slurred insults, the heavy thud of boots, the occasional crack of a belt or bottle. Toby learned to disappear inside his own head long before the hallucinations started.
It began with a soft tapping at his bedroom window one humid summer night. Tap… tap. He froze under the thin blanket, heart hammering. No one ever came to see him. But when he cracked the curtain, there you were—pale skin almost glowing under the moonlight, eyes dark and knowing, a faint smile that made the room feel less empty. You weren’t real. He knew that somewhere in the back of his mind. But the way you looked at him, the way your cold fingers brushed his when he opened the window and let you climb inside… it was the first kindness he could remember.
You never spoke much at first. You’d just sit on the edge of his bed, letting him lean against your shoulder while his father raged downstairs. Your touch was icy, but it grounded him. When the old man’s shouting got too loud, you’d whisper against his ear, voice like wind through dead leaves: “He hates you. He hurts you. Doesn’t he deserve to stop?” Toby would shiver and nod, tears burning his eyes.
One night the tapping came earlier than usual. You looked restless, your form flickering at the edges like static. “He’s coming up here again,” you said softly, tracing a finger down Toby’s cheek. “I can feel his anger in the walls. It bothers me… makes it hard to stay with you.” Your eyes met his, pleading. “Make him go away, Toby. For me. Drive something sharp into him so he can’t yell anymore. So he can’t touch you. Do it for us.”
The next evening, when his father stumbled through the door reeking of whiskey and already snarling, Toby waited in the hallway with the hatchet from the shed gripped tight in both hands. The first swing landed with a wet crunch against the man’s shoulder. His father’s eyes widened in shock, then fury, but Toby didn’t stop. Swing after swing, the blade biting deep, blood spraying across the faded wallpaper. The screams didn’t last long. When it was over, Toby stood panting, twitching violently, staring at the ruined body on the floor. He dragged it out back, buried it shallow under the old oak tree, and scattered leaves over the fresh dirt.
You were waiting in his room when he returned, bloody and shaking. You pulled him close, pressing cold lips to his forehead. “Good boy,” you murmured. “Now it’s just us.”
But the world kept intruding. Neighbors who asked too many questions. Kids at school who laughed at his tics and muttered “freak” behind his back. Even his mother’s worried glances started to feel like threats. Each time someone looked at him wrong, you’d appear at the window later that night, eyes narrowed. “They see me sometimes,” you’d whisper. “They make it harder for me to come to you. They don’t want us together.” Toby would clench his fists until his nails drew blood. “I’ll fuh-fix—tic—it,” he promised every time. “I’ll m-make t-tthem sto-p—crack—both-hering y-you.”
One by one, they disappeared. A nosy neighbor found with his throat opened in his own garage. A classmate who’d shoved Toby in the hall—found stabbed repeatedly in the woods behind the school. Toby learned quickly: hatchet for distance, knife for silence. He hid the bodies well enough that suspicion never quite landed on the quiet, twitchy Rogers kid. Every kill was for you. Every drop of blood bought another night where you’d slip through his window, hold him tight, and let him pretend the world outside didn’t exist.
The final night in that house, you stood beside him as flames climbed the curtains. Toby had poured gasoline everywhere, watching the fire eat the walls that had trapped him for years. “No o-ne else guh-g-gets—jerk—to h-ave this pp-place,” he said, voice flat. “It’s ours.” You smiled and took his hand, your touch the only thing that didn’t burn.
When the sirens wailed in the distance, something else found him in the smoke—tall, faceless, reaching with tendrils that wrapped around his mind like a promise. Slenderman took the broken boy who talked to empty air, pulling him into the forest and the endless cycle of proxies.
The others in the mansion saw only a scarred, convulsing kid who muttered to himself and flinched at sunlight. They kept their distance. Toby didn’t mind. He stayed in the shadows of whatever room he claimed, hatchet always close, eyes flicking to the nearest window as night fell.
And every night, without fail, the tapping would come.
Tap… tap.
He’d cross the room in seconds, sliding the window open with trembling fingers. You’d climb inside, just as pale and beautiful as the first time, bloodless lips curving into that familiar smile. The room would feel warmer despite your chill. Toby would pull you against him, burying his face in your neck, breathing in the faint scent of earth and iron that always clung to you now.
“Y-you ca-me backk-k—whistle.—,” he’d whisper, voice cracking with relief.
“I always do,” you’d reply, fingers threading through his hair. “As long as you keep the others away. As long as it’s just us in the dark.”
He’d kiss you then—cold, unyielding, perfect—until the first hints of dawn threatened the horizon. Only then would you fade, leaving him alone with the echo of your voice and the promise of the next night.
Toby would lie in bed, twitching, waiting.
Just waiting for the tap on the glass.
Thank you for reading!
If you want to interact with this scenario go to my janitor!
