xel

24—he/him

[faerie-vn]

getting the recipes is a pain but here's the LI's fav food to gift!

Robin - Sticky Toffee Pudding

Kylar - Chili con Carne, Bakewell Tart

Whitney - Pizza, Chicken Vindaloo, Flapjack & Belgian Bun

Sydney - Apple Crumble

Black Wolf - Carnivore (basically steak)

Great Hawk - Carnivore (steak again)

Alex - Full English Breakfast, Apple Crumble & Steak

Avery - Souffle, Linguine & Steak

Eden - Sticky Toffee Pudding & Steak

[xx-harenchi]

A Guide to the Forest Shop

I have NO CLUE if anybody's done this but the past week has been hell trying to unlock every piece of content so I can wife up Gwylan (my newest obsession—sorry Wren 🥀) and some of the 'requirements' are kind of vague SO... after draining every drop of Gwylan content dry and getting my yearning to 100% with this bitch, here's a clothes guide to help you all get those interest points with Gwylan! It requires SCRUBBING through the game and getting every piece of content, so if you're not doing it with cheats... Good luck soldiers 🫡

As a side note: especially with Temple clothing, I am not positive on how to unlock some things so if anybody has any corrections/advice please let me know so I can fix it :)

ADDED/FINISHED the list thanks to the lovely anons in my DMs as well as Tumblr users helirubys, waxanatomy, and ambicutiebutt (not sure if y'all wanna be tagged but I sososo appreciate the help!).

What's so special about the forest shop?

Unlocking clothing is the ONE way to gain interest with Gwylan. If you want to romance them, it's a long process that involves unlocking every piece of in-game content there is. Once you unlock clothing, you can talk to Gwylan about how you obtained it. PLEASE NOTE you can NOT cheat unlock the clothing! Gwylan will know you used cheats and you will not gain any interest points! You can bypass some of this by editing the save file if you are truly that desperate, but seasonal clothing (Halloween, Christmas, Valentine's) cannot be unlocked this way.

With any of the holiday clothing, they automatically unlock, BUT you won't get special Gwylan dialogue or the interest points so I do highly recommend you unlock them before they're released for the season!

SEASONAL OUTFITS

Witch Set (includes Witch Dress, Broomstick, Witch Hat, and Witch Shoes): "In stock from the 21st of October, or get accustomed to tentacles."

Another holiday set. For this, you'll need to have multiple tentacle encounters until you get the 'prey' and 'witch' trait. The easiest way to do this (in my opinion) is to go out to see while hallucinating. You'll need tentacles enabled for this—obviously. Same with the other holiday outfits, you'll lose out on dialogue if you try to cheat this unlock in any way.

Pumpkin Set (includes Pumpkin Dress and Mini Pumpkin): "In stock from the 21st of October, or learn 15 recipes."

Very self-explanatory. You can learn recipes through housekeeping lessons at school. I did figure out if you edit the save to NOT unlock the dress but instead to add the recipes into your list (by editing "recipes": true), you can unlock the set and still get the special dialogue/interest. Alternatively, you can also learn recipes once you unlock Avery's mansion but that will happen way after Halloween I think, and it's not completely foolproof.

Skeleton Set (includes Skeleton Outfit and Skeleton Mask): "In stock from the 21st of October, or discover a crypt."

This one's pretty easy—you need to enter the catacombs. To do that, you'll enter the forest, go further about 2 or 3 clicks until you reach the Old Graveyard. You'll enter the graveyard, do a skullduggery check, and voila! You're in the catacombs. You'll want to be in the catacombs for the Mummy set too.

Mummy Set (includes Mummy Top, Mummy Skirt, and Mummy Face Wrap): "In stock from the 21st of October, or be wrapped up in spider's silk."

You'll need to enable Spiders and Swarms for this one if they aren't enabled already. Once you're in the crypts, keep traveling west and eventually you'll encounter spiders. This took me a bit to get to, but eventually you'll be completely cocooned in spider webs. I think you can ALSO get this by cleaning attics on Danube Street, but I haven't tried that route and I feel like that might take even longer.

Scarecrow Set (includes Scarecrow Shirt and Scarecrow Hat): "In stock from the 21st of October, or flawlessly defend a multitude of fields from assault."

I HATED THIS ONE SO MUCH. I love Alex, I really do, but what the fuck! To unlock this, you have to unlock all 9 fields of the farm and defend them all from Remy without losing a single one. This made me crash out.

Futuristic Set (includes Futuristic Bodysuit and Futuristic Shades): "In stock from the 21st of October, or become too invested in a strange arcade game."

So for this, I think you can only encounter the game while hallucinating. Go into the arcade, and there SHOULD be a 'lone, mysterious cabinet' you can investigate. You can only play it once a day; eventually you'll get encounters through it, although I think they're randomized because I did this on three different saves and had different encounters among them. After the second encounter, you SHOULD have unlocked the suit and the arcade game will disappear.

Vampire Set (includes Vampire Jacket and Classy Vampire Jacket): "In stock from the 21st of October, or succumb to a jealous lover's longing."

This is one of the TWO sets you unlock through Kylar (the other being the Rose Wedding set). To unlock this, you'll need to have a couple of things set up: You'll need to have gotten a stuffed owl plush from Kylar, and have their jealousy up high. Then, you get to piss him off. I did this by sleeping with Robin in the orphanage room, in which I got a "Something is watching" or something like that after the encounter, although I've heard you can sleep with Whitney as well as long as it's IN your room and the owl is already in there. After this, walk around outside a bit and eventually Kylar will kidnap you. After that, you just need to get the "Stockholm Syndrome: Kylar" trait and it'll unlock the vampire set. You can manipulate NPCs feelings with cheats if you want to speed up this process.

Christmas Set (includes Christmas Dress, Jingle Bell Dress, Christmas Shirt, Christmas Trousers, Christmas Hat, Mini Snowman, Christmas Leg Warmers, Candy Cane, Reindeer Slippers, and Christmas Boots): "In stock from the 18th of December, or leave a generous gift to a family in need."

The 'generous gift' will be left on Domas Street. When you break into people's homes to steal, you'll eventually come across a home where you are given the option to leave money for them because the home is destitute. I left 1,000 just to be certain, I'm not sure if you can get away with less. If you edit the save to unlock this, you will NOT be able to get this dialogue with Gwylan, so the only way to get this is to start thieving homes on Domas.

Gift Set (includes Gift Wrappings and Gift Bow): "In stock from the 7th of February, or face a unique punishment for stealing clothes."

So you'll need to steal from Gwylan's shop twice for this. Just walk out with clothes—the first time you come in, the shop will attack you and steal all your clothes (so don't wear anything you don't want to lose!). Walk back out and steal more clothes, come back in, the shop will once again steal your clothes and wrap you up in gift wrappings. You'll also be banned from the shop for a day as a heads up.

ADDENDUM: Gwylan HAS to be there when you steal, otherwise you'll just get assaulted by the shop over and over again.

Rose Wedding Set (includes Rose Wedding Dress, Mini Rose Wedding Dress, Rose Wedding Suit, Frilly Rose Wedding Suit, and Rose Wedding Veil): "In stock from the 7th of February, or escape a forced wedding."

The other Kylar outfit, and probably one of my FAVE unlockable clothing besides the butterfly dress. For this, you'll need Kylar to be hysterical—to get that, have high love, lust, and jealousy. Then, just have lunch with Kylar. They'll drug your food and try to force you to marry them. This is also Kylar's dismissal quest: if you let the police arrest Kylar, you won't see them again in the game unless you go to prison, in which case you can break them out if you really want to.

TEMPLE SPECIFIC

Initiate's Robe: "Prove your purity."

Join the temple. EZ-PZ. I don't like the temple, but you'll want to join to both earn feats and unlock a bunch of clothing.

Holy Pendant: "Discover the soup kitchen."

To discover the soup kitchen, you'll just need to continuously pray at the temple. Eventually you'll trigger an encounter where a nun is going around, asking for donations. After you generously donate, they'll inform you of the soup kitchen.

ADDITION: You can also discover the soup kitchen through a task of Mickey's in which they'll ask you to deliver a note to River, OR by passing a S-rank seduction check to squeeze more out of a polite client at the spa. A note about the spa, though—you'll need a high hand skill and beauty to get employed there.

Nun's Habit Set (includes Nun's Habit and Monk's Habit): "Advance in rank at the temple."

This one's self-explanatory—join the temple. Once your grace is high enough, you'll talk to Jordan about advancing in rank. This can be unlocked through a save file edit if you don't want to go through all of that and will still get you the points but it is not recommended. If you're using cheats and want to speed run this, just manipulate your grace and talk to Jordan.

Sexy Nun Set (includes Sexy Nun's Habit, Sexy Priest's Vestments, Sexy Nun's Gloves and Sexy Nun's Stockings): "Purge enough corruption."

Lower the soft world corruption by at least 30 points. You can look at the wiki here to see how to do that exactly.

Confessor's Robe: "Be introduced to the temple's most exalted."

Meet the Bishop's hands! You'll need to be a second-tier monk/nun, and this is automatically unlocked after you complete your first successful purge at the confessional booth.

Exorcist's Garments (includes Exorcist's Cassock and and Exorcist's Habit): "Interrupt a heretical ritual."

You'll need to do a couple of things to get to this. First, you'll need to have unlocked dance shows from Charlie. You do this by getting your dance skill and Charlie's respect high enough for them to offer shows to you. Then, if you haven't already joined the temple, you'll want to do so (you may need to advance in rank, I can't remember if you have to). This trigger's a quest where Jordan asks you to 'keep an eye out' for a missing initiate during a dance show. Go perform at a party on Danube, and after saving the initiate you should unlock these.

Temple Sparring Garments (includes Monk's Sparring Habit and Nun's Sparring Habit): "Become proficient with one of the temple's holy tools."

Also only available to monks/nuns. Just reach at least B-rank in either the baton or whip by sparring in the cloister daily.

Evangelist's Uniform: "Successfully solicit a donation for the temple."

When asked to solicit donations for the temple, pull up an initiate's skirt. You'll need level 3 promiscuity.

Stone Pendant: "Find beneath a loose stone at the temple."

You'll need to be in the temple (obviously) to find this. Just snoop around and be nosy and you'll eventually get it.

Holy Stole: "Requires sufficient devotion."

Max out your grace! You'll know you have it when the bar is gold and glowing.

JOB SPECIFIC

Belly Dancer Set (includes Belly Dancer's Top, Harem Vest, Harem Pants, Belly Dancer's Veil, and Belly Dancer's Shoes): "Be offered the star role in a show at the brothel."

You'll need to have the brothel unlocked for this one. To do that, you'll need to go to the night club and be denied entry for not having an I.D. This should unlock Briar's brothel, where you can get your fake I.D. and also work at the brothel. Continue working there until you max everything out basically (but be careful to NOT piss Briar off).

Swan Lake Set (includes Swan Lake Dress, Fancy Swan Lake Dress, Swan Tiara, Swan Feathers, and Ballet Shoes): "Be offered special dancing jobs."

Go to the studio and take dance lessons from Charlie! Once your dance skill and Charlie's respect is high enough, he should offer the job to you. You'll need to do this all to unlock one of the temple outfits, as well.

Chef Set (includes Chef Jacket and Chef Hat): "Become famous for your cream buns."

To get this, you'll need to work at Sam's cafe. It takes a while, but eventually you can work as a chef and get to work on the cream buns' "special" ingredient. Just keep up at it and eventually you'll unlock this.

Fedora: "Eavesdrop as a bartender and learn about a criminal undertaking."

You'll get this at Darryl's club by working as a bartender. You'll need a fake I.D. from Briar first, though, which costs about $500 as a heads up.

MISC. ITEMS

Catsuit: "Pillage a shipment."

You'll want to have high skullduggery and athletics for this one. Just go to the docks and break into shipments until you find the catsuit (and, consequently, my fave NPC, Wren). It might take a couple nights to find it depending on if the RNG likes you or not.

Flower Crown: "Make one with someone special to you."

Have Robin as a love interest and go to the garden while they're at the orphanage. They should come out and ask if you want help with the garden, in which you're given the option to make them a flower crown!

Daisy: "Find daisy seeds."

Unlock the ability to plant daisies. If you somehow haven't gotten this, it just means you have to go out to the orphanage garden and search for seeds.

Rose: "In stock from the 7th of February, or get kissed by a rose."

WOW thank you guys for the correction on this one because I was SO wrong. You'll need to have unlocked rituals with Gwylan for this one. You'll need high yearning + high lust, and during the ritual a rose will bloom from their mouth and they'll kiss you.

Dark Pendant: "Discover Bailey's fear."

Unlock the orphanage loft! This will happen eventually throughout the game, and I'm not sure if it's dependent on rebelliousness/hope. The pendant will unlock once you discover the loft, though.

ADDITION: Looks like discovering the loft is pure RNG.

Jasper Pendant: "Get an impromptu science lesson."

This will unlock through Gwylan's quests for you. Eventually, Gwylan will ask you to bring them a gold choker, gold bracelets, and gold anklets—you'll need Sirris' adult shop unlocked for this quest, though. Once you bring back the jewelry, Gwylan will give you a science lesson on the properties of gold, and that will unlock the jasper pendant.

Feather Accessories (includes Feather Necklace and Feathered Hair Clip): "Romance an avian."

You'll need to romance Great Hawk and make them a love interest. I have that content disabled and was able to unlock it through a save file edit and still get the unique dialogue/points, BUT from then on Gwylan might ask you to bring back hawk feathers.

Loincloth: "Befriend a lonely hunter, or join a pack of wolves."

Self-explanatory—go deep enough into the woods until you are hunted down by either Eden or Black Wolf. I don't know the requirements on BW's side since I have them disabled as well, but for Eden you'll need to gain the "Stockholm Syndrome: Eden" trait before unlocking the loincloth.

ADDITION: Confirmed that you'll need the "Stockholm Syndrome: Wolves" trait if you go the BW route.

Shrine Maiden Set (includes Shrine Maiden Robes and Spirit Mask): "Become sufficiently foxy."

Gain the fox transformation. Since I have all bestiality content disabled, I was only able to get this through using cheats to give myself the TF. Not only will this unlock special dialogue with Gwylan, but it also opens up the opportunity to have 'hypnosis' sessions with Gwylan to help with acceptance.

ADDITION: You can also unlock this by praying to a shrine in the moors!

Fox Mask: "Attend an exclusive party."

You'll need to be on Avery's quest line and go on dates with him. Eventually, you'll go to a game night between Avery, Quinn, Leighton, and Bailey—you want Avery to win this game night. After he wins, he'll take you to the exclusive party where you'll unlock the mask.

Vintage Set (includes Vintage Pantsuit, Vintage Skirtsuit, Bowler Hat, and Military Beret): "Help an old fossil remember."

You unlock this through Winter and the history museum. Very specifically, you'll need the Bleeding Ward painting. You get this through doing a heist with Wren—you can unlock this quest by getting Wren to approach you in the pub. You'll want a high skullduggery for this (and I recommend a high dance skill, too!).

Rag Set (includes Rag Top and Rag Skirt): "Demonstrate historical torture devices to completion."

Also earned through Winter. I want to say it's through their classes but I'm not entirely sure, unfortunately.

Butterfly Set (includes Butterfly Dress and Butterfly Bow): "Become addicted to nectar."

OUGH This set is SO cute. To unlock it, you'll need plantpeople enabled. Go DEEP into the forest or moors while hallucinating and you'll encounter plantpeople. I think you have to unlock the trait 'nectar addict' or 'dendrophile' to obtain this, I think I got it in about 3 or 4 encounters. For the forest, you won't encounter plantpeople until you're past the lake so be careful about Black Wolf and Eden who might try to start hunting you.

School Set (includes Classic Serafuku, Serafuku, Gakuran, Serafuku Dress, and Sailor Ribbon): "Discover the headteacher's secret."

Pay attention in math class! Eventually, River will ask you to deliver a letter—open the letter. You'll get detention for it, but it will give you the login information to Leighton's computer. Later on when school is closed and locked up, you'll need to break in and get into Leighton's computer. Not only do you unlock the outfit, but you're given the chance to blackmail Leighton into never giving you detention. (Alternatively, you can report Leighton to the police with the information, OR do both like I did lol.)

Chain Set (includes Chain Tunic, Chain Leggings, and Chain Boots): "Learn the many tales of a witch and her gaoler."

You'll need to deliver the Hopeless Cycle painting to Winter. You'll get this painting through accepting a job from a shifty stranger on Domus Street, let them film you, and then turn the tables on them and get the key to the Serpent's Maze in the Farmlands.

Esoteric Spectacles: "Succeed a master."

Explore the flats on Barb Street! Eventually, you'll find the hookah parlor. Once unlocked, keep progressing the tentacle parlor/town upgrades and eventually you'll inherit the hookah parlor.

Succubus Set (includes Succubus Top, Succubus Lower Back Wings, Succubus Gloves, and Succubus Heels): "Become sufficiently impure, or take 15 virginities."

Not sure what the requirements for "sufficiently impure" is because my purity was at a 1 and it STILL didn't unlock, so I had to take 15 virginities. Annoying, but manageable, especially if you adjust the settings at the beginning so you're more likely to encounter virgins. Among named NPCS, though, Robin, Kylar, Sydney, and Great Hawk are all virgins (and Eden has a handholding virginity but I'm not sure if that counted towards this set).

ADDITION: I've been told you need to get the demon transformation which is acquired by KEEPING your purity at 0 for 30 days.

Janet Dress: "Lose yourself in a classic romance tale."

Go to school and read the story of "Janet and Raul" in the library until you're given the option to imagine yourself as Janet. The dress should unlock after.

Sage Witch Hat: "Take part in an intimate concord."

I don't think this unlocks until you do a ritual with Gwylan. For the sake of spoilers, I won't head into specifics but this will probably be one of the last things you unlock.

Familiar Collar: "At last, yours to keep."

Another thing unlocked through Gwylan's storyline and probably the VERY last thing you'll unlock. You'll need to have unlocked them as a love interest to get this, which means unlocking every other piece of clothing first.

"SOFT" BAD ENDS (recommend saving these for last if you plan on unlocking without cheats)

Slut Shirt: "Survive slavery in an underground brothel."

There are a couple of ways to get to the underground brothel. Refusing to pay Bailey might get you there, but it's not a surefire way (I found he's more likely to sell me off to Eden. Sigh.). Pissing Briar off is another way, I think—start working at the brothel, and then start prostituting yourself out instead. There might be other ways, but I'm not sure. Either way, you'll need to escape the underground brothel, which will take a while, so I suggest doing this as one of the last ones.

ADDITION: The easiest way to get to the underground brothel is to do Mickey's favor in uploading a USB to Briar's computer and not bother with a distraction or escape route.

Prison Set (includes Prison Shirt, Prison Trousers, and Prison Jumpsuit): "Get sent to prison."

You'll need to basically have all of your crime stats maxed. Maybe evade arrest a few times before turning yourself in at the police station—eventually, they should send you to prison. It was such a PAIN breaking out as a heads up—apparently if you have the harpy TF it's easier, but I not only didn't have the harpy transformation but was also trying to break Kylar out. Wouldn't recommend. Easiest way to max your crime stats are through assault, thieving, and evading arrest. If you blackmail Leighton, your coercion should get pretty high in one go, as well.

Cow Set (includes Cow Bra, Cow Panties, Cow Bell, Cow Socks, and Cow Sleeves): "Become livestock."

You need to access Remy's underground farm. There are a couple ways to do this, but the easiest I've found is by passing out in the moors by Remy's estate. There is also a LOW chance that you can get kidnapped while helping somebody move boxes on the street (in where they'll throw you into the van), but the easiest for sure is to just pass out on the moors.

ADDENDUM: You do NOT need the cow transformation to unlock this! Just wind up on Remy's farm—you can escape right after and have this set unlocked still.

Unbound Straightjacket: "Escape the asylum."

Unlocking the asylum is kind of annoying in that you have to pass out multiple times on the street from stress. Eventually, Doctor Harper will take you to the asylum instead of sending you back with Bailey—then, all you have to do is escape. Out of all of the soft bad ends, I think this one is the easiest to escape from.

ADDITION: If you've unlocked weekly appointments with Harper, get your trauma up and eventually you'll get a message saying Harper will have to intervene if they see you in this state. Go see them and they'll take you to the asylum.

Islander Mask: "Build with foreign wood."

Reaching the island is probably the most annoying thing ever. I HATE the island. To do this, you need to pass out at sea and HOPE you get picked up by Zephyr the Pirate. Eventually, their crew will dump you overboard and you'll end up at the island. Getting to the island is annoying enough—being on there just sucks, especially if you're doing a save without cheats. You'll need to build shelter on the island and befriend the islanders before you're finally able to unlock the mask. And good luck getting off!!!! Island is my least favorite part of this whole game and I'm so tired of hunting for food on there only to come up with fucking walnuts every time! Make me crash out!

ADDITION: You can also go to the island directly through Jordan. With maxed grace as a nun/monk, they'll request the player to retrieve a holy spear from the island. Then, you'll ask Winter about it and explore the old sewers until you find the Smuggler's Pub, where you can directly ask Zephyr to take you there!

[angelmemoriam]

♱ birthday wish

this johann fic was a birthday gift for @parasiticdecay and he's given me permission to post it because our accounts are starving for content so...i hope yall enjoy?

INFO: 2k words, gender neutral reader

TW: amputation, domestic abuse, typical yandere stuff

It hurts. It really fucking hurts and you’re starting to regret whatever the dumb fucking decision you’ve made.

I mean, sure, you knew escape wasn’t going to be easy but god fucking damn. You weren’t expecting literal bear traps being hidden in the house no matter how deranged your kidnapper was. Most other people would keep the traps outside, maybe around the borders of the place but not right outside the damn door.

After making sure he was gone for the day, you finally decided to enact on your brilliant escape plan. Having been confined for who knows how long, escape was the only thing on your mind, and the only thing that actually kept you sane and going despite the meticulous cruelty of your kidnapper. It was hard to evade him, and to even predict his coming and going. Sometimes he never leaves the house, and sometimes he’s gone for too long that you find yourself missing him, then feeling disgusted by it. He kept his schedule unpredictable, and you knew it was on purpose, so you've spent entirely too long trying to make something concrete.

When the door to the basement, the place where you’ve been confined, opened without a hitch, you should’ve known something was up. Hell, you should’ve known everything was too good to be true. The stars aligned too well in your favour, something that hasn’t happened since you got locked away. No way a careful man like him would just leave a door unlocked, but you were on cloud nine, much too euphoric to stop and think and that was your first and biggest mistake. 

Stupid and blissfully unaware, you hauled yourself up against the door and took a decisive step out. 

The snapping was instant, locking you into place as you fell onto the hard concrete floor. A thud as loud as the pain that takes over your whole body. It took you a moment to feel the pain, and an even longer moment before you finally looked down at your now bloody foot and let out a blood-curdling scream that you were sure the neighbours would have heard but were even more sure that your kidnapper already had the foresight to sound-proof his walls.

A fucking bear trap.

Its harsh, metal jaws are now deep into your flesh and bones, digging into you with every breath you take, as if taunting you into staying still, every movement a threat to yourself. The pain was agonising, throbbing. You swear you can feel every rip and tear in your muscles, every bloody gaping hole that each tooth in the jaws left in your flesh. You lay there, trying your very best to suck in your breath and calm the fuck down, mind racing as it scrambles to figure out another escape plan.

Cold sweat dots your forehead as you heave on the cold floor, and the sheer dress you’ve been given to wear feels sticky against your torso, you wish you could tear it off and run out naked. 

Despair was starting to creep into the depths of your mind despite how hopeful you were just seconds ago. Mere fucking seconds. Freedom was so close yet so, so, fucking far. You wanted to kick and scream and throw a bloody tantrum out of sheer frustration but the fact that your foot was pinned down like you were a wild animal, inconsequential prey, made that impossible. It was degrading and an insult to injury, not only were you sure that he taunted you into making this impossible escape by leaving the door open, he was probably lurking somewhere in the corner, enjoying your pathetic plight and sordid display whilst sprawled all over his floor. 

As if on cue, you hear the sound of heavy boots echo across the coldness of the concrete. 

Those damn boots.

Averting your gaze, choosing to continue staring at the floor ahead of you, foolishly holding onto whatever glimmer of hope that should have disappeared long ago…you didn’t want to look into his eyes. His eyes that you’re sure are filled with both mild dismay and a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction. Disappointed in your disobedience, but delighted at how pathetic and vulnerable you looked. 

“Now look at what you did,” His voice sounded out.

It was foreign and far away in your ears, perhaps your mind was still trying to reject the reality of the situation, choosing to still believe you have a chance of getting away. You wanted to crawl in the opposite direction, you really did, but fuck was the pain excruciating.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” A sorry excuse of feigned gentleness, as if you would fall for that again like you did at the beginning of your relationship, even if a part of you still leaned towards the affection he readily gave you when you obeyed. Knowing him as well as you do now though, you knew that this was the outcome that he wanted. 

Your kidnapper was none other than your boyfriend after all. He was the sweetest man you’ve even known, and always showered you in gifts and affection. He never once made you doubt his love for you, not once raised his voice, he was unlike any other man you've ever dated. Ironic. He was so utterly devoted to you and you were convinced that this was the man you’ll marry, spend the rest of your life together in domestic bliss.

Unbeknownst to you, he was drugging you every chance he got. You got sicker with every sip of tea he brewed, and grew more and more reliant on him as he took care of your every need and want. It was sweet, you thought. Any other man would’ve gotten fed up by then and moved on to a healthier person, but not Johann, never Johann. He always seemed to enjoy taking care of you. Though, in hindsight, you didn’t know or realise that it was all part of his game, his design.

“I go out to get a cake for us to celebrate my birthday together, and look at what I get in return. Disobedience. Is this my present?”

A part of you really wanted to tell him to fuck off and suck it, as if you would ever willingly spend another birthday with him ever again but the other part of you knew better than to aggravate the predator in its natural habitat, its hunting ground. A really, really tiny voice in your whispered, "I'm sorry for disobeying," but you refused to acknowledge it.

You felt his finger trace and prod gently at your foot, giving a semblance of care even though you knew better. He was inspecting your wound like you were an injured animal, not caring about your thoughts and inputs at all. After a long, suffocating silence, he spoke, “This isn’t good, I’m going to have to cut it off.”

What?

Cut what off?

“Wait here, angel.”

What?

Dread. Fucking overwhelming dread. The feeling creeped in on you and swallowed you whole as you fought back a panic attack. There’s no actual way he was going to cut your fucking foot off, right? Was he intending to permanently disable you? Suddenly the pain in your leg was forgotten as your entire body grows cold and stiff and you manage to find the strength to start crawling. The dreadful sound of metal dragging against the concrete rang in your ears as you hurriedly tried to haul your heavy body towards the door, any door.

It was a pathetic effort really, but hell you would rather continue to fight than give up when this is your last, ever chance.

He comes back with a saw in one hand and a syringe and some bandages in another, where the hell he got those from, you have no idea but all you knew was that you really didn’t want him to go through with this. You would rather continue being a willing prisoner in the basement with all your limbs intact than be confined without mobility, becoming nothing more than a plaything to be looked after by him every moment of the day. The thought of that was haunting, but what scared you even more was the realisation that a part of you would be satisfied with this arrangement-letting someone else care for every part of you and not needing to ever do anything again.

Panicking, the words just started spilling out of you, “No, wait, Johann please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for disobeying you and trying to escape, alright? I promise to stay put from now on, please, don’t do this to me.” Tears that you’ve miraculously managed to hold back this entire time streamed down your cheeks as the fear really, really set in this time. You really didn’t want this and you were hoping that your tears would sway him a little as it used to. He always had a soft spot for you, after all, even when he was cold and unfeeling towards anyone and anything else.

Isn't that why you're currently in this position?

Kneeling down in front of you, he grabs your face roughly with one hand and forces you to look him square in the eyes, the void staring back at you, “I’ve been nothing but nice and accommodating, and cute as you look right now, you have to know that there are consequences to every little disobedience. I didn’t want to have to do this angel…but remember, you made me.”

You stilled, blood running cold.

Honestly, in a way, he was right. 

Despite the unfair confinement and secret drugging, he has been nothing but continuously doting and affectionate, still caring for you like a devoted husband would. Sure you miss the outside world, you miss having social interactions, you miss going out and taking in the fresh air, but was life in the basement really so bad after all? Why did you try to escape again? 

Ah, you couldn’t tell if it was the fear or your still lingering affection for him that’s making you delirious. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not that cruel. I got you some painkillers.” He says, a tinge of excitement in his voice, as he waves the syringe in front of you before sticking it into your foot and pushing the contents inside. You knew he wasn't lying as the area started to go numb and tingle. Having been lying in pain for quite a while, you were almost relieved at the feeling if not for the staunch reminder of what was coming next.

Defeated, you were forced to watch as he placed the saw against your foot. “I’ve done this many times before, so I’ll be quick, don’t worry. Don't look, you'll only feel worse."

As the blade cuts into your skin and flesh, you turn away. You could barely feel the pain nor any of the previous sense of hope you had. It was slow, agonising, but you couldn’t really feel it anymore. A secret part of you wants to fight back, but you were drained emotionally and physically. Johann always had that effect on you after all, making you lose all instinct for survival just from his mere presence alone. You weren’t even sure if this was something he conditioned you into or just a subconscious habit you adopted after becoming used to his presence and care. 

More and more blood pooled around your foot and covered his entire hand, you just knew he was smiling softly at the sight while you were nauseous and had to look away. Having never been good at dealing with horror and gore, this was too squeamish for you and you thank the painkiller for making it easier to ignore what was happening. Eventually, he hits your bone and you wince in pain this time, causing him to coo at you, “We’re almost done, you’re doing well, see?” 

Tears continued to roll down your cheek even as you clock out of reality, lying as still as possible and begging whichever God is out there to hurry up and get it over with, maybe put you out of your misery while you're still at it. As the rest of your foot comes off with ease, you become less and less aware or conscious of the sticky, bloody mess you’ve made. You didn’t even want to see the newly detached foot nor the bloody, gory mess that is your leg right now, afraid that you might hurl.

You were almost certain that Johann wanted you to fight back a little harder, but the newfound reluctant obedience was enticing to him as well. There’s some sort of sick satisfaction he’s deriving from this, reminding you of just how wrong this man was in the head. How was he so good at being a partner and yet so dangerous? If he had just been violent and shitty like every other man out there, this wouldn’t have happened to you. It would've been so much easier to see the signs, to leave while you still can.

He put the saw down once it was done, staring at the bloody job done for a bit in pride and twisted delight. It was as if he was admiring a work of art and not a completely unnecessary procedure that he forced upon you. It was over, you’re stuck with him forever now. You’re not even sure what he’ll do with your detached foot, almost wanting to ask if he would taxidermise and keep it like some sick trophy but you were too scared of the answer, and too tired to do anything but dissociate. 

After he stopped the bleeding and bandaged your wound, Johann picks you up with ease. He smiles softly and nuzzles your head with his cheek, affectionate now that you have been completely subjugated. He holds you, soft and cold, against his warm body, like you're just a normal couple being affectionate after a long day of labour.

“Who knew my birthday wish would come true so fast.”

[parasiticdecay]

FRAGILE REALITIES. you get to see his 'real' side. † ​⋮ TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEAD DOVE, Kidnapping, He's rough and scary, and even more perverted, Yotsuya is a weirdo idk, slight... suggestive comments? Bad English and even worse grammar. † ​⋮ WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Pounding. Vibrating. A sensation so strong it felt as if the universe was closing around it.

Your emotions, your thoughts, familiar smells and sounds, the feeling of cloth touching your skin or the sound of your heart pounding, everything that existed before ‘now’ disappeared from your head, replaced with a sensation of ‘everything’.

The figure sitting in front of you had a familiar shape, and when your eyes finally focused on the reality unfolding in front of you, that stare of his became familiar, but not entirely.

“I don’t remember the last time I came down here. This basement is like that area of my mind I refuse to visit.” A laugh escaped from his chest; it sounded forced, completely fabricated. “But it feels good—the humidity, the constriction, you can’t deny these walls around you like you can deny the sky over your head.” 

The man in front of you couldn’t stop messing up his hair (a nervous gesture), his eyes were so focused on you, you felt as if their image was engraving itself on your very own bone marrow. “Does it hurt? The ropes, I mean, I tried not to tighten them up too much.”

That’s when you noticed the ropes scraping against your skin, a sensation as suffocating as grounding. 

You tried moving, trying to loosen up the bindings, but that only caused you more pain, burning onto your skin. “Hey, no. Don’t do that. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” The man whispered, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of red.

When he stood up, you felt the instinct to get up and walk away from him, but of course, you couldn’t.

He kneeled in front of you, his hands grabbing the sides of your thighs, caressing the exposed skin, an intimate gesture that in this context terrified you even more. His fingers got under your ropes, tugging them and caressing the burning marks underneath. “So cute… I like how they look—the marks, I mean.”

“Yotsuya… W-Why…?” Was the only thing that managed to escape from your throat; your voice was so weak, you doubted for a moment that it reached his ears. But it was hard that a man like him would miss anything from you.

“Mmm, I wonder why? Well, there are many reasons. A lot of them.” He took a moment to press his lips against your thigh, threading a dangerous line between the appropriate and the perverse. “I think if you ask me for a reason why I shouldn’t have done this, I would find an answer more quickly.”

Yotsuya’s fingers continued to play with the ropes in a way that it didn’t loosen them up entirely, but pulled them away from your skin just enough to admire the marks. “You look so cute when you’re still. I think I could burst now.”

Of happiness or in his pants? You didn’t know the answer.

…anyways.

The version of Yotsuya in front of you was completely unknown, like a distorted mirror reflection; you couldn’t tell if this was reality or a macabre maquination of your own brain. But his voice… was the same, his body, his face, but there’s a slight glint in his eyes that preluded a storm. Total collapse.

“Hey.” his voice dragged you out of your thoughts, and when you lowered your head, you found an expression full of somberness that quickly changed into one of fragile stillness.

“You have no idea how many times I repainted these walls. I didn’t know what color to choose, so I tried them all.” He gestured around at the cream-colored walls around you two, his tone surprisingly conversational.

“I think I was just trying to hold myself back with ‘It has to be perfect before bringing them’, and I trapped myself on a loop where I just went back here to find excuses to not do it-”

“So you were planning on kidnapping me for a long time?” 

Yotsuya stopped his words, his lips forming a fine line. “Much before you even looked at me, what’s the difference in knowing that?” 

A shiver ran down your spine, knowing that someone you trusted for so long—someone you gave so much of you was planning on doing this all the time, even way before you even knew him. It was a thought so bizarre, so foreign that it made it hard to assimilate.

“I was tired. Of seeing you talking with others, of pretending I could control myself. The truth is—no, I can’t control myself. I still want to kill them, I *should*.” His words were so bitter, it was as if they were already covered in blood. Yotsuya tried to force a smile, but the mask quickly slipped into the one you didn’t recognize. “You, you were so kind to me. There was no way I could let you go.”

Yotsuya’s hands—big, calloused, trembling—held yours, his face inching closer to them, and short after he began to sprinkle feather-light kisses against your knuckles. “These hands… you’ve touched me, and shown me that there’s something else besides pain for someone like me. I don’t want them to touch anyone else.”

You felt repulsed because his touch still sent those sensations down your body, the old Yotsuya did, even in this horrible situation, it was like your brain wasn’t fully processing yet. Going from ‘love’ to ‘hate’ was getting hard for you, trapped in the lukewarm middle where everything became blurry and terrifying.

His face lifted a little, until he it was right in front of you. You saw those eyes again, so dark and infinite, you couldn’t see your reflection in them, but they were clearly staring at you. His nose bumped against yours for a bit, making the air escape from your throat.

“You can breathe. I want to breathe the air you let out, too. Fill my lungs with you.” His smile was a little mischievous now. He dragged his hands up until he grabbed your shoulders, pressing his torso against yours until he basically forced your ribcage to let all the air you were holding back escape from your lungs. “Yes… That’s it.”

Lips pressed against your cheek—dangerously close to your eye— you tried to pull away, but Yotsuya held you in place. “These eyes, I couldn’t stand them reflecting someone else.”

“You’re crazy,” you mumbled.

“Can you tell me something that isn’t obvious?” He answered abruptly, a laugh escaping from his chest, low and gravelly. “Water’s wet, the sky is blue, are we mentioning obvious things now?” 

His sarcasm irritated you, it was completely out of place for someone who used to be so timid and close-off like Yotsuya, maybe this was the real him when he was in a space where he had full control.

“Oh, come on, don’t be angry at me. I was just playing, you like playing too, don’t you?” You didn’t notice when he started to hover near your ear, his voice was so loud and clear is made you cringe in your seat.

“Remember? You liked to poke fun at me, to fool around with me, with—” a pause, his lips pursed, swallowing heavily. “--others.”

Yotsuya’s body tensed, his fingers digging into your forearms until you felt the familiar searing pain of his fingertips. “I let you play, I did, because I knew one day you’d end up. Right. Here.” 

You closed your eyes, praying this was just a nightmare, and when you opened them back, the suffocating sensation of Yotsuya’s presence would be long gone. You’d be back in your room, or anywhere far away from him. You pressed them so hard static began to form behind your eyelids, but somehow, the image of Yotsuya’s bitter expression was still there.

“...And now you refuse to look at me, you’re so cruel.” he sounded dejected, a little pouty; it made you cringe even further. “I’ve been waiting for so. Long. Waiting for you to look at me, and now you can’t do it?” 

Suddenly, like a devastating wave going through your body, something pushed your back, tilting your chair just enough until it was sent crashing against the cold concrete with a loud ‘bang’. You let out a choked scream, instantly opening your eyes, your chest rising up and down desperately. 

When you tilted your neck up, Yotsuya’s silhouette formed in front of you, barely illuminated by the neon light hanging over his head, obscuring his entire expression. You couldn’t differentiate his features all too well, but you knew whatever expression you’d find there wouldn’t be to your liking.

“Now you look at me…” he slowly stalked closer to you, the you that stared at him with eyes open like a deer in headlights, you undivided attention now back on him.

When he got closer, you could now see the bitter smile on Yotsuya’s lips, his coppery hair a mess around his fringe. He leaned closer, caging your torso between his toned legs, making himself a spot hovering over you. “Yes—look at me real good.”

Yotsuya’s hands began to slide down his body until he found the first two buttons of his shirt, quickly undoing them, until his shirt was no more covering his torso, revealing the pale skin underneath. When his chest was completely exposed, Yotsuya smiled. “This is the man who loves you.”

Cautiously, he started to lean closer until his chest pressed against your ear; you couldn’t move from the fear, forced to hear the unremitting drum of his heart, the sound bouncing around the walls of your skull, blurring all common sense. “Do you hear it? That. is yours.”

“Everything is yours.”

His skin was warm, but the warmth wasn’t welcome; the dual contrast between the cold concrete pressing against your back and the hot skin of Yotsuya’s skin overstimulated you. “Never forget that, okay?”

“This is me, in all its naked, horrible truth.” 

[parasiticdecay]

400+ notes for this slop writing is crazy... Thanks for the support this is my first time (and hopefully not last) writing something proper-ish since my previous blogs.

Lmk if yall want me to write something else soon while I try to finish artwork pieces.

[lovelake]

the first (and perhaps last) to ever touch

you find out kylar’s been creeping on one of the sweet orphans and decide to give him a taste of his own medicine. it doesn’t end like you thought it would.

m!kylar x gn!reader | mdni 3.4k wc, non-con: non-consensual kissing, touching, and orgasm, dead dove: do not eat, not beta read

note: this was written kind of half-assedly in between study breaks for my midterms so it’s definitely not my best and it was supposed to be much darker, but like idk what happened </3 I’m glad I at least wrote again YAYYY thank you to everyone who encouraged me !!

masterlist read on ao3

Unbridled hatred and jealousy intertwine into a stomach-churning blend. You’ve made him dig his nails into his palms and hit his thighs hard enough to bruise not just in the dead of night when he’s up sick with insecurity, but also in public as he watches you with wrathful red-rimmed eyes. 

This begs the question: what exactly did you do to deserve this unwarranted enemy? You’ve never been mean to Kylar unlike most other people here, hell, you’ve never uttered a single word to him other than a greeting! When you said hi to him, he bristled like an agitated cat and shot you a glare. If he had claws and the guts to act on his emotions, you’d be his scratching post. There was also that one time that he snapped the pencil he was using to sketch as you walked past him—your presence just seems to bother him.

The only mistake you made was being close to the person who’s the object of all his sick desires. Recently, your shoulder has been soaked with the tears of an orphan you’re particularly fond and protective over—one whose kindness makes them an easy target in this world, they don’t have the backbone to drive Kylar away for the fear that he’ll be aggressive if they avoid him. But all kindness does to guys like Kylar is make them think their advances will be wanted in the future.

Maybe you’re dense in the head, this is what Kylar personally thinks. The person he admires and holds dearly in his heart…unfortunately…seems to be completely head over heels for you! He sees it in the way they link their arms with you as the two of you walk to school and the way your name is written in their personal journal (one he has no business reading). Is he merely delusional and making baseless assumptions up in his head? Probably, but he’ll never acknowledge it.

So, yes. Kylar absolutely, positively, without a single doubt, hates you with every fiber of his being.

Whatever hatred he holds for you, your heart returns it tenfold. Just who does he think he is? Does he know just how much he torments your dear fellow orphan? Does he really think stealing their intimate clothes and sneaking into their room to masturbate over them at the dead of night is okay? Just how sick is this guy?!

In the past, you felt bad about how much emotional and physical torment he received. Many people in the orphanage are subjected to that very same treatment, and you do your best to intervene if possible, so that sympathy used to extend to Kylar. Now, though, you would never so much as shed a tear for him. On the contrary, you’ve tossed and turned in bed for countless weeks thinking of ways you can play with him. 

There’s not much you can take from Kylar—his parents are as good as dead, he’s the target of constant gossip and bullying, he has nobody to turn to, and the so-called “love of his life” holds nothing but disgust towards him. 

What more is left for there to do other than to give him the bitter and nauseating taste of his own medicine? Unwanted touch will be your weapon after you mess with him a little. Honestly, you’re certain this won’t work in the long run, guys like him don’t change their ways so easily. Still, you need to take your anger out somehow. 

He’s always so focused on stalking his beloved that he doesn't notice the moment you start watching his every move. He didn’t feel a sense of unease until one day he reached into one of his pockets and realized that the underwear he stole that same morning was gone. 

Where did it go? Right to the trash can, of course! You didn’t dare return it to its owner, who knows what that creep had done to them. Even a much needed trip to a washing machine wouldn’t be enough.

A week following that, he found that the precious shrine he treasured was completely gone. Everything—the hand-drawn portrait, fresh flowers, and letters, were all stolen. It must have been one of Whitney’s god-awful friends. Or…had his beloved found it and taken it down out of embarrassment or anger? Either way, he stood there for a while, dazed and grieving the loss of the shrine he worked so hard to make and protect from the eyes of others. 

He also found a neat stack of printed paper in his bookbag. Each one had a picture of him going about his daily routine. He tried to be hopeful and believe that his beloved was somehow behind it, but it was no use, it disturbed him to his core either way. He’s a stalker without a guilty conscience, but he can’t handle being the one stalked.

You have no idea where the hell Kylar lives and you don’t plan on finding out. Instead, you came up with a simple plan to your fellow orphan: you’ll switch rooms with them at night for a week and catch Kylar off guard that way. 

Obviously, it doesn’t take very long for that night to arrive given how obsessed he is.

Kylar’s waiting outside, crouching and occasionally peeking into the room to make sure that his beloved is deep asleep. After seeing no movement from the figure on the bed for a good ten minutes, he finally enters. Autumn leaves slip through the window alongside him, scattering against the wooden floor, the color of them serve as a sign for him to stop and turn back—or at least, to think twice before going through with this again. 

Nature’s warnings go unnoticed.

A familiar yet unwelcome fragrance wafts over to him, jealousy already barges into his mind as he concludes that his love must’ve spent some time with you before going to sleep, because the room smells just like you.

He can totally live with this. So what if the two of you had hung out so much to the point your scent rubbed off on them? Did the two of you hug or cuddle? Ah. It’s nothing. It totally doesn’t make him want to stab himself in the stomach and—

Actually, he can’t live with this; death would be better than living with this!

It’s okay—nights like these always leave him in high spirits. All he has to do is rub off his own scent instead. One day, he’ll be able to do this same routine without worrying about making too much noise or about drawing his love out of sleep as he hovers over them. 

The bed creaks as he puts his weight on it, he’s slow with his movements despite the burning impatience rushing through his veins.

The hips he’s straddling feel different than usual, but he doesn’t think much of it other than that he’ll have to upgrade his doll in the future to match the change. His brain is overheating with all the improper thoughts circulating in it, and he lets out a soft sigh as he tries to reign his urges in. Though his “love” is unconscious, he can’t go too far without the fear of waking them. The limit for what he can do is use their hand. 

So, he does what he always does. 

He pulls down his zipper, but before he can relieve himself from his briefs, he’s tugged by the collar of his hoodie and pulled down. His lips are cold from all the time he spent outside, but they immediately warm up with the press of another pair.  

He’s being kissed! His beloved is kissing him! 

Kylar tries to pull away, feeling completely nervous and lost. Though he’s over the moon, he also hasn’t even confessed yet and he doesn’t know how to act normal when something unexpected happens. Everything in him is telling him to run away. You cup the back of his head to keep him in place, fingers digging into his hair with so much force you probably ripped some strands off. 

His beloved is…unexpectedly aggressive, Kylar thinks to himself. Not that he really minds this approach, in fact, he hardens a bit more. 

It’s only when his head clears that horror washes over him.

Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. He has traced over his beloved’s lips with his fingers enough times to know the shape and plushness of them. These lips, however, feel completely foreign to him. 

His eyes snap open, and they’re met with the sight of ones so cold and scornful he feels like he’s plummeting through a jagged mountain of snow; goosebumps rise throughout him in an instant and he goes flaccid beneath his pants.

Unfortunately for him, he fits neither into the group of people who fight or flee when facing danger or an unwanted situation at this particular moment. Though he’s usually quick to scatter, he freezes this time—his muscles refuse to move and no amount of adrenaline will push him into action. He stays like this for a while, unblinking even as his vision goes blurry and static fills his ears. 

All he can do is whimper out of mental anguish, heart shattering as his first kiss is forcibly taken by the person he loathes. Nausea pools in his stomach, and his head is already throbbing—his body is rejecting you with all it has.

It’s not like you’re enjoying the kiss either. Who the hell likes the subtle taste of garlic on anything other than actual food? His lips are chapped and scabbed, rough to even graze against. Even so, knowing you’re causing him the very same discomfort he causes your friend is enough to make this all worth it.

Fat tears form on the corner of his eyes, he frantically wipes his lips once you finally pull away. 

“No…no…” Up until this point, Kylar has never held hands with anyone, never kissed anyone, never bared his neck for anyone. The bitterness of all that had gone away once he developed an obsession with that person. From then on, he clung onto his physical purity, doing everything to shield it until it could be swept away like something from a fairytale book. He’s been dreaming of the day their lips met his with tenderness that would melt away all his sorrow. 

But this concern doesn’t take priority in his head, not yet. Instead, it’s the fact that you’re in his beloved’s bed.

“Why is it you?!” He shouts the question in a rare fit of courage—one born from misery and incredulity. “Why are you in their bed? Did you…did you sleep with them?!”

Your hand lowers to cup his jaw, giving it a firm shake. You fail to reign in your anger. “How could you ask such a thing? Why are you crawling into their bed at night like you’re some kind of sleep paralysis demon?” 

At this, Kylar falls silent. When you phrase it like that, how can he even muster a response to defend himself and make it seem like he was doing something righteous?

He can now piece together the puzzle regarding the mystery of who took down the shrine—it was you. The pictures were also you. The underwear, he’s not so sure, maybe he dropped them by accident. 

But why would you do this? He can only think of one (completely wrong) reason, one that someone as insecure as him would usually never think of. If he puts himself in your shoes, why would he decide to do all of this? It can’t be because you like his beloved, otherwise why would you purposely kiss him? So, there’s only one option left. It must be jealousy! And why would you be jealous? It can only be because you have feelings for him!

If someone were to call him a hypocrite for feeling uneasy at the thought of the person he hates the most having a thing for him, he wouldn’t know what to think. It’s okay if he makes a sex doll with scarily accurate measurements. It’s okay if he takes pictures of the person he loves. It’s okay if he uses his beloved’s body to get off when his need for them is too high. But another person turning the tables on him? He can’t handle that!

“I-I don’t love you.” He says, delivering the rejection icily—as if it’s meant to ensure that a million daggers pierce through your heart, the same sensation he feels whenever his beloved doesn’t even bother looking his way when they cross paths. 

Your temples hurt at what he’s implying by saying such a thing so suddenly, steam could burst from your ears. “What the fuck? I don’t love you, either!”

“Then why…why…” are you doing this, he wants to ask. His emotions are jumbled into a ball—one moment he feels disgusted, the other he feels hatred, the next he feels humiliation, then anger, and on and on.

“To let you know how it feels.” No matter how angry you are, you can’t get the full explanation out, it’s not like he deserves to hear it anyway.  

He’s done a lot—things that sent chills down your spine and made your stomach churn when your fellow orphan recounted it to you. They’d woken up several times with a sticky substance on their body, sometimes on their hand, other times on their neck with some on their face. It’s obvious how far Kylar takes these nights. He doesn’t even seem to acknowledge the creepiness and wrongness of all his actions, and it frustrates you all the more.

A simple forced kiss won’t suffice for revenge. Many of his first times are up for grabs, but you’d rather die than touch him down there skin-to-skin, so your options are limited.

Upon seeing the look in your eye, he tenses. “W-What are you—”

Hand sliding down to wrap around his neck, you waste no time in pushing him to his back and lodging your knee between his thighs. Kylar bites down on his lip, reopening a past cut there. His noises, however pathetic they may be, are reserved for one person alone—and that person isn’t you. 

That’s just fine with you, you’re not in the mood to hear him whining. After all, you don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression given the thin walls.

“After tonight, I don’t want you stepping foot in here again. Understand?” Rubbing your knee against him, you watch as he quivers and grabs the sheets. Oh yeah—you’re definitely getting new sheets for the orphan you’re protecting, until then, they can sleep in your room.

Kylar knows he stands no chance like this, he’s too weak to fight you, and too frightened to try escaping. All his bones turn to jelly.

He ends up shaking his head instead and clinging onto his stubborn hope of his affections being returned one day. With much difficulty, he manages to swallow down a whimper and refute by saying, “we’re meant to be together.”

“What kind of sick logic is that? Just because you’re certain that you’ll end up with someone doesn’t give you the right to break into their fucking room twice a week!”

“I…” His train of thought is lost, eyes wide as he starts hardening again. He’s never been touched like this by anyone, and unfortunately for him, he’s always had a very sensitive body—one that’s quick to react with just a little bit of stimulation.

He drapes one of his forearms across his eyes and grits his teeth. He doesn’t stand a chance against you, but if he can block you out of his sight, maybe this will be more bearable. The only way he can cope is by pretending his beloved is the one touching him instead.

But would his beloved really squeeze down on his throat and roughly grind their knee against him like this? He repeats the answer yes, yes, yes in his head like a mantra so he doesn’t crumble to pieces. Your voice breaks through his method of comfort, he’ll need to find a new one. 

“Just get it through your thick skull, they don’t love you.”

Deep down, Kylar knows this already. There’s nothing to love about him. And the fact you’re here tonight and know about all his wrongs (though he won’t acknowledge them as such), means that his beloved caught onto everything he’s been doing and relayed it to you. It’s a lost cause.

A completely unhealthy thought flutters across his mind: as much as he hates this, at least someone is willing to touch him. Even Whitney had never dared to do anything like kiss him, which is why protecting his first kiss had been easy for the most part—no one wanted to touch him. He’s bitterly aware that even his beloved would never want to graze their lips or skin against him. He knows you’re also repulsed by him, and yet…

Even with this pitiful mindset though, he doesn’t like you even a little bit. It’s simply reassuring in a sick way. 

Your knee already feels a little damp, but you don’t mull it over. What is he covering his eyes for? Wouldn’t covering his mouth be better ? Out of spite, you yank his arm away. You immediately regret it.

If Kylar didn’t have such a bad reputation, he’d probably have a few admirers. It’s a pity he’s so fucked in the head, he’s a sight to see when he’s underneath someone. 

During the day, he always has his head lowered, shoulders tensed, and an overall demeanor that makes people either want to steer clear of him or bully him. It’s different here in bed—his head tilts back against the pillow and his body arches this way and that. Soft tufts of hair cling onto his forehead, and his lowered lashes are like short curtains for his cheeks. 

Really, if you didn’t hate him, this erotic sight would turn you on, instead, it just pisses you off and you want nothing more than it to be erased from your mind.

Your knee stops, and there’s nothing Kylar can do about the way his hips move on their own to get more friction; his nerves feel only pleasure and send the command for movement straight to his brain in order to chase after it, completely ignoring his actual desire to flee.

You cast him an exasperated look, but it clearly goes unnoticed by him. 

Driven by an unknown and abrupt urge, you dip down to his ear, voice quiet and harsh. “Kylar—”

You don’t even get to finish, but he does. Hearing a shaky moan, you lean back in shock. 

His orgasm washes over him shamefully hard—like he’s been tossed in an ocean with deadly waves and no anchor to cling onto, all he can do is try to endure the storm and wait for clarity to pour through the clouds. He’s drowning in the water—no, it’s just your hand clamping over his mouth to muffle the whines he had been on the verge of releasing when his jaw involuntarily went slack.

You blink in shock. How many minutes have passed? Oh Kylar, not only is he doomed in all things related to love and socialization, but he also lasted less than three minutes even with clothing in the way and the lack of loving caresses. He’d clearly only last like a minute with anything more extreme. 

He lets go of the sheets and weakly tries to push your knee away, already feeling throbs of overstimulation from its weight on his crotch.

You pull your hand and knee back as if they’ve been scalded. After regaining his breath, Kylar looks up at you through wet lashes. 

Honestly, the two of you look equally as disturbed as the other in this staring contest. Kylar’s panicked and nauseated by the fact his first orgasm at the hands of another person was because of you—no, not because any of the major town jackasses like Whitney or perverted strangers—but by you. You, on the other hand, are sickened that he finished after you merely whispered his name. Your intention was to tell him what a fucking creep he is, not to send him over the edge!

“You…” You honestly don’t even know what to say to him. You’re not like Whitney in the sense that you’d take it any further than you need to. Even if you do something as simple as lecture him right now, he probably wouldn’t register any of it. “Get out of my sight. And don’t let me catch you in here again!”

Kylar, of course, doesn’t learn his lesson.

[maladaptiveobsession]

An Assemblage of Lewdities

(AKA: Mal’s DOL Masterlist)

🔞 nsfw

🧷 primarily sfw (possible suggestive innuendos and references)

Love Interests —

“too little, too late” pt. 1 🧷

↳ how the love-interests react to your suicide (gn!reader, male!love-interests)

“pubic preferences” 🔞

↳ the general attitude each male love-interest has towards pubic hair (gn!afab!reader, male!love-interests)

“bloody pussy” 🔞

↳ the general attitude each male love interest has towards period sex (gn!afab!reader, male!love-interests)

Alex

“that cute guy is kissing me!” 🧷

↳ the reader is intoxicated, doesn’t recognize their partner, and says something along the lines of the post title (gn!reader, male!alex)

Avery

Black Wolf

Eden

“that cute guy is kissing me!” 🧷

↳ the reader is intoxicated, doesn’t recognize their partner, and says something along the lines of the post title (gn!reader, male eden)

Great Hawk

Kylar

kinktober (2024) day 1: pegging 🔞

↳ kylar and you try out the new strap-on he picked out; aka kylar being a slut for painal and degredation (gn!afab!reader, male!kylar)

Robin

“robin’s shocking discovery” 🔞

↳ robin discovers the porn you drew of him (gn!reader, male!robin)

Corrupt!Sydney

Pure!Sydney

Whitney

Remaining NNPCs —

Bailey

“too little, too late” pt 2 🧷

↳ bailey’s reaction to your suicide (gn!reader, male!bailey)

“that cute guy is kissing me!” 🧷

↳ the reader is intoxicated, doesn’t recognize their partner, and says something along the lines of the post title (gn!reader, male!bailey)

“your body was always mine” 🔞

↳ you owe Bailey, but are short on cash, so he takes your virginity as payment (gn!afab!reader, male!bailey)

Briar

random thoughts of briar 🔞 (gn!reader, male!briar)

Charlie

Darryl

“darryl’s dismay” 🧷

↳ darryl is forced to reckon with the fact that the figure still haunting his nightmares now haunts your reality (gn!reader, male!darryl)

Doren

Gwlyan

Harper

Jordan

Landry

Leighton

“leighton’s delight” 🧷

↳ leighton stumbles across your journal full of dirty thoughts featuring him (gn!reader, male!leighton)

Mickey

Morgan

Niki

Remy

“remy’s runt” 🔞

↳ yandere!remy becomes infatuated with his littlest, most obedient cow/bull (gn!reader, gn!remy)

River

Quinn

Sam

Sirris

“unprofessionalism” 🔞

↳ your collar inspires unprofessional thoughts in winter and sirris (gn!reader, male!sirris)

“favoritism: sirris” 🔞

↳ a yandere!sirris takes advantage of your visit to his house (gn!reader, male!sirris)

Winter

“unprofessionalism” 🔞

↳ your collar inspires unprofessional thoughts in winter and sirris (gn!reader, male!winter)

Wren

Zephyr

Persistent NPCs—

Anxious Guard

Methodical Guard

Relaxed Guard

Veteran Guard

Scarred Inmate

Ivory Wraith

Night Monster

Office Manager

Assortments —

“magic pocket pussy” 🔞

↳ various npcs acquire a magical pocket pussy synced to you (gn!afab!reader, male!various)

dol kink scale 🧷

↳ how kinky various characters are rated on a scale of 1-10 (gn!various)

“jealousy and isolation” 🧷

↳ how various yandere!characters might isolate you (gn!reader, gn!various)

“pussy muching” 🔞

↳ how much various characters like eating pussy and which prefer to give versus recieve (gn!reader, gn!various)

“overstimulation” 🔞

↳ various scenarios of the reader being overstimulated (gn!reader + gn!amab!reader, male!various + gn!various)

various reactions to a trans/genderqueer reader 🧷 (gn!reader, gn!various)

various reactions to you declining to sit on their face due to a fear of hurting them 🔞 (gn!afab!reader, gn!various)

“fanged devotion” 🧷

↳ how might various npcs sink their teeth into you (gn!reader, gn!various)

[yanderedrabbles]

Christine - A Yandere Short Story

Based on Christine by Stephen King After your boyfriend's death, you're eager to sell his vintage Mustang. The car reminds you far too much of him and worse than that, it feels oddly alive. The only problem? Your dead boyfriend isn't ready to let go. Tags: Male Yanderes x Fem Reader, Horror, Character Death, 12k words Taglist: @mel-vaz

When your boyfriend died, you and Christine were the only witnesses.

All through his funeral, you kept thinking of ways to get rid of her. You were being paranoid and you knew it - she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. But having her around put you on edge, made you grit your teeth until your jaw ached.

After the wake, you approached your boyfriend's parents and asked if you could have her. They were pale and shaken, reeling from the suddeness of death just as much as from grief. His father nodded like a sleep walker, his voice older than his years.

"He would have wanted you to have her. She's yours."

His mother squeezed your shoulder. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear. Whatever his faults, my boy loved you. I know that."

You managed a smile, managed to thank them through the tears that were suddenly falling. But your mind was on Christine. Always on Christine.

You were the last to leave the funeral parlour. You tried to tell yourself it was a coincidence, but deep down you knew the truth. You were scared. Scared of Christine, scared of your too quiet townhouse, scared of the dreams that would come when you closed your eyes.

It was early evening and the streetlights were coming on in the narrow tree lined avenue outside the funeral parlour. When you stepped out, goosebumps crawled across your arms.

She was waiting for you.

Christine. Your boyfriend's 1969 Mustang, cherry red and entirely rebuilt.

She was directly under a streetlight and her paint gleamed. The light reflected off her windshield so you couldn't see inside, but for a second it seemed like someone was already sitting behind the wheel.

You squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them, the shadow driver was gone.

Christine. For most of your relationship, you loved her just as much as your boyfriend did. She was a labour of love and you felt it every time you sat in her passenger seat.

But things were different now.

You walked towards her cautiously. It was ridiculous to be scared of a car, but you were.

When you opened the driver side door, you almost expected to see your boyfriend. Despite the funeral, the wake, the late morning call to please come and identify a body down at the morgue, you still expected to see him. Light green eyes looking up at you, half smile that was half teasing and half lecherous.

The seats were empty.

You slid behind the wheel, your breathing shaky. You almost never drove Christine. Not that your boyfriend didn't offer. It was just that you liked riding passenger - liked looking over and seeing your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, liked seeing the muscles flex in his forearm when he steered.

The car still smelled like him. That was the first thing you noticed. Despite being impounded for a week while the cops did forensics, despite the valet scrubbing and steaming the seats to get the blood out, it still smelled like him.

You rested your head against the steering wheel, closed your eyes and sobbed for the first time since the night you killed your boyfriend.

When you put Christine up for sale, the calls started coming in almost immediately. It wasn't surprising - she was in incredible shape, she ran like a dream, and her white leather upholstery was original.

At first, you thought you'd be able to sell her before the month was up. The buyers would look under the hood and whistle in admiration.

But something always changed when they took her for a test drive. You couldn't understand it - she would drive perfectly but by the time you got home, the buyers were almost always frowning at you, or worse - not looking at you at all.

No matter how fanatic they were at first, no one wanted Christine.

You dropped the price and then dropped it again, but still no takers. The car spent all winter in the garage. You'd turn her on to idle every few days, clean off any dust and check that the mice weren't nibbling at the wiring, but you never stuck around for long.

It hurt to leave her locked away - your boyfriend poured so much of himself into her - but it hurt even worse to drive her. Whenever you were behind the wheel, you could feel the gaping emptiness of the passenger seat, could still see the bloodstains.

It was on the first warm day of spring when someone finally bought her.

Colt Guilder called you when you were just about ready to give up on selling her. You were literally about to take down the ad when your phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, with a slight southern drawl that immediately reminded you of your boyfriend.

"Can I come and take a look today? I wouldn't want to impose ma'am, but I'm in a hurry to see her before anyone else gets a chance to buy her."

Her. Even the older buyers didn't really call cars 'her' anymore.

"Sure. You can come by this afternoon."

You were sitting on the porch steps when he pulled up, a jug of iced tea and your novel abandoned next to you. He stepped out of his Jeep, a tall man in blue jeans and boots, and you felt your heart lurch. Something deep inside you told you that this was the man who would finally take her off your hands.

He smiled at you as he approached and for a second you wanted to warn him away. Wanted to tell him the truth about Christine.

"Howdy ma'am. I'm real happy you agreed to meet me so last minute."

You smiled at him and shook his hand and bit back the truth. Oh, how you would come to hate that decision.

When he pulled up, Colt wasn't expecting the Mustang's owner to be a pretty little thing in a sundress. He was a gentleman, his mama raised him right, but even he had trouble keeping his eyes on your face and not letting them wander lower.

His hand swallowed yours when he shook it and it was hard not to notice the softness of your skin. Whoever rebuilt the Mustang, it wasn't you. You had the hands of a lady, not a mechanic.

"The car is out back. Keys are waiting for you. She's been serviced pretty regularly and my... my boyfriend built her up himself."

You started for the garage and he fell into step behind you. You were so much shorter than him - it was kind of cute to see your head bobbing in front of him. Like a pixie in a sundress.

"How come your man ain't the one to sell it?"

He wasn't surprised you had a boyfriend. Hell, he'd have tried his luck if he could. No doubt other men had the same idea.

"He... he passed away a few moths ago."

He cringed. Nice going, Colt. Bringing up painful memories only three sentences into conversation. Must be a world record.

"I'm so sorry ma'am. I had no idea."

You shrugged. "It's fine."

He was about to say something else when Christine came into view. Her grille was a newly buffed silver and her deep red paint caught the spring sun.

He gave a low whistle. "Pictures don't do her justice."

You smiled at that, but edged out of the car's direct line of sight. Neither of you consciously noticed it, but you approached the car like you would an animal. Slightly from the side so it couldn't charge at you.

"Mind if I take a look under the hood?"

"Be my guest."

He popped the hood and let out another low whistle. Without even looking past the surface level stuff, it was clear your boyfriend knew how to build an engine. The Mustang looked almost new.

"How long did this take?"

You leaned against the garage door and crossed your arms.

"A long time. He bought her a few months after we started dating. She was gonna be scrapped - looked like a total rust bucket."

He raised his eyebrows. If that was true, the body restoration alone must have cost a fortune. Did you realise how valuable a vintage ride like this was worth?

"Y'know, just from looking under the hood, I can tell you could get at least three times as much as you're asking."

If his uncle heard him sabotaging himself like that, he'd have given Colt a whack on the head. Truth was, he wanted the car. Wanted her so bad he would have taken out three separate loans to afford her.

But he wasn't a monster. It wasn't fair to buy something so fine from a girl who might not understand its true worth.

You raised your brows, more surprised at his honesty than at his statement.

"I know she's worth more. But I'm in a hurry to get rid of her. And well..."

You looked away. "People find the car a bit strange."

It was his turn to be surprised. He couldn't see any red flags in her upkeep or her paintwork. Maybe it was a deeper issue.

You pushed yourself away from the wall and nodded at the door.

"Keys are waiting for you. Take her for a drive and decide for yourself."

The interior was just as well taken care of as he expected - a tough job when the upholstery was mostly white. The keys had a tag attached with a name engraved in metal.

"Christine?"

"It's what we call her. It was a joke at first but the name sort of stuck."

You slid into the passenger seat and tugged your seat belt across your chest. He glanced at you out the corner of his eye and -

'Silly thing, doesn't she know better than to get into a car with a stranger twice her size?'

He shook his head, like that could dislodge the idea. He wasn't that sort of man, wasn't some kind predator with a mind full of filth.

'It would be so easy. You're so much bigger than her, so much stronger. You want her. Why not just take what you want?'

Where the hell was this coming from? He might have a guilty thought every once in a while, but he was always quick to squash it down. It wasn't like him to think something so...forceful about a girl.

He turned the key and the engine roared to life. And it really was a roar. V8 engine growling so loud he could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.

Oh baby, he was sold on her right then and there. The devil himself couldn't have outbid him. What little boy didn't dream of a car like this? Didn't spend his childhood looking through magazines and brawling over matchbox versions?

The clutch was smooth as butter as he cruised down your driveway and turned onto the main road.

God, he wanted to gun it. Floor the gas and find out for himself just how powerful old school muscle was.

He looked over at you, about to ask if you knew exactly what your boyfriend did to the engine. You were looking out at the passing trees, your hair stirring in the slight breeze from his open window.

'She looks like she belongs here, with you.'

It was another foreign thought, something he wouldn't expect of himself. But it was true. The Mustang would have felt empty without you - in your sundress and white sneakers, you completed the picture. Your boyfriend must have rebuilt the car just for you, as a way to keep you next to him. Colt wasn't sure why he thought that, but somehow he knew it was true. Whoever your man was, he put so much of himself into this car that Colt almost felt like he was right next to the guy.

You turned to him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

"What do you think?"

"She runs sweet as apple pie."

You felt your heart stutter. Your boyfriend used to say the exact same thing.

"You alright there sweetheart? You look a little pale."

"Sorry. Just a little car sick."

Car sick was right - you were sick to hell of this damn car and the way it played with your emotions.

"C'mon, I know a diner just off the highway. We can stop for some fresh air and a bite to eat. You'll feel better in no time."

You didn't have time to protest before he switched lanes and turned onto the highway.

The diner he took you to really was just off the highway, a retro looking spot railed off from a steep cliff.

"How did you know about this place?"

He shrugged. "I must have heard about it from someone."

Strange. Colt didn't think he'd ever seen the place before, much less heard about it. But when you looked at him with that slight hint of panic, that sudden fear, somehow he knew this was the place to bring you.

He climbed out and opened your door for you before you had a chance to do it yourself.

"You know this place?" he asked.

If anything, you looked even paler than before. "Yeah. My boyfriend and I used to come up here pretty often."

He frowned, annoyed at himself for somehow making this even worse. "We can go somewhere else if you want."

"No!" You took a deep breath. "No, this is fine. I just need a moment away from the car, that's all."

He led you to a picnic table near the edge of the cliff. Far below you, the main road clung to the cliffside and disappeared into the trees.

"You just sit pretty and I'll grab us some chow."

You smiled up at him. "Thanks Colt. Really. I know this is probably eating into your day."

He waved it away. "Trust me, this is a much better way to spend the weekend than what I had planned."

It was true. He'd wanted to see the car and somehow that turned into lunch with a pretty girl at a table with one hell of a view. Maybe Christine had some good luck about her. Maybe all of this was just meant to be.

When he stepped into the diner, he was greeted by jukebox country music and the smell of good, strong coffee. He didn't bother to look at the menu. Somehow, he knew exactly what to order.

"I'll have a banana spilt, some fries and a toasted sandwich." He smiled at the elderly waitress. "Please and thank you Agnes."

"Sure thing sugar."

He frowned. How the hell did he know the waitress's name?

Must have seen her name tag, right? That made sense. Must have been a half second, subconscious glance.

When she handed him his change, he dropped his eyes to her lapel. No name tag. No label. Not even a necklace with her initials on it.

It was a warm spring day but he still shivered. Something strange was going on.

No, don't be ridiculous. Agnes was a common name, a vintage diner kind of name. That was probably why he said it. His mind must have just made a lucky guess. There's no way he could know her name when he didn't even know about the diner until he pulled up.

Unless... it wasn't him that knew her name. Maybe it was someone else, something else speaking through him.

"C'mon Colt, don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself.

"You say something sugar?"

He jerked his head to the side, his heart lurching. Just the waitress, just Agnes, looking at him with raised brows.

"No ma'am. Just thinking out loud."

"Alrighty then. Here's your order. Be careful not to spill the chocolate sauce. It's hell to clean up."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. Have a good day."

He was stupidly happy to step out of the restaurant. The place must have been getting to him. Why else was he suddenly so superstitious?

"You doing okay Colt?" you asked.

He grinned at you. "Just dandy sweetheart. I got you a banana split and some French fries."

"Oh! That's perfect, thank you."

See? Nothing strange at all. He had a sweet ride and a sweeter girl waiting for him. Why worry about some weird diner?

He sat down across from you and unwrapped his sandwich. Behind you, Christine looked at him with a shining chrome smile.

"Listen, you can get a whole lot more for a car that fine. But if you're willing to let her go for the price in the ad, I'll buy her today," he said.

You froze, a fry halfway to your mouth. He really wanted her? He wasn't coming up with some lame excuse or hurrying off with a mumbled apology?

"Done," you said, a bit too quickly.

You were finally getting rid of Christine. No more nightmares, no more tip toeing around the garage like you were scared she might notice you, no more unwanted memories every time you laid eyes on her.

You were burying your past like it should have been buried on the day of your boyfriend's funeral.

He offered you his hand and you shook it, a genuine smile on your face.

"She's all yours." And thank God for that.

Colt drove you home and followed you into the house to collect the car registration papers.

You frowned at your empty desk drawer. You could have sworn you left the documents right here...

You popped your head into the living room where Colt was waiting.

"Give me a second. I think I left them upstairs."

"Sure. I'm in no hurry."

He wandered around your living room while you were gone, too keyed up to sit still. It was a neat, modern room with art on the walls. The big bay windows opened onto the front yard and the driveway where Christine sat waiting for him.

Part of him still couldn't believe it. She really was his dream car. The sort of ride all his work buddies would be green with envy over.

He leaned against the windowsil and then quickly looked down when his hand brushed something metallic.

Picture frames, the small kind that usually sat on a desk. He picked one up, the frame cool against his skin. It was a picture of you and someone he guessed to be your boyfriend. Both of you were in formal wear - you in a deep red evening gown and him in a tailored tux. Christine was parked in the background, her red a compliment to your dress.

Your boyfriend was handsome in a rough cut sort of way, his hair swept back and a tattoo just peeking out of his shirt. He was looking directly at the camera while you looked up at him, his arm curled tightly around your waist.

Colt frowned. There was something about the man's expression... a kind of possessive meanness. He seemed the type of guy to start a fight and then finish it no matter what, a real tough customer.

And the way he held you... some might call it loving but Colt found it more proprietary than anything else.

'Mine. My girl, no matter what. Try and take her from me and I'll show you a world of hurt.'

Colt put the picture down with a frown and scanned the others. Out hiking on the mountains, at the beach, holding a huge bouquet while he kissed you. A perfect couple except... except for the way he looked at you. Sweet, yes. But somehow dangerous, in the way rattlesnakes and cougars were. Fine if they weren't disturbed, but tread on their territory and there'd be hell to pay.

He moved away when he heard you coming down the stairs. You were a little flushed, a little out of breath, but you grinned at him and waved a stack of papers.

"Finally found them! Just need to sign the change of ownership forms and she's all yours."

He watched you as you searched for a pen, your sundress swishing 'round your thighs. He didn't like your boyfriend - dead or not, he seemed like one mean bastard - but seeing you so happy, so flushed with life and hope and joy, Colt found he could almost understand the other man. If you were his girl, he'd hold you just as tight.

You finally found a pen and he scribbled his signature on the dotted line.

"Well, seems like you're the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang. Congratulations."

He carefully took the papers from you, his fingers brushing yours. "Real good doing business with you sweetheart."

You lead him out to the car, going through the list of things he'd need to do to properly register the car as his. Real cute of you, to think he didn't know it all already.

He slid into the driver's seat and when he touched the wheel, he felt that same sense of power. And under it, a strange feeling of being not quiet alone in the car.

You stood outside his window, running through a catalogue of spares and repairs that he might want to check out. If he had to guess, you seemed nervous.

He leaned back and smiled at you. "It's alright y/n. I ain't changing my mind. Deals done, remember?"

It was the first time using your name and it sent a small bolt of electricity jolting through him.

'Her name is mighty sweet, ain't it? Meant to be said oh so softly, meant to be savoured.'

You looked at him like you felt it too, your cheeks just a little warmer than before.

Oh Lord, what sort of bastard was he? Feeling this way about you when your boyfriend was in the ground for scarcely half a year? You were probably still mourning, still nursing your broken heart. He should be a gentleman and leave you alone, shouldn't take advantage of your vulnerability. He should be a good man.

'You'd be an idiot to let her go.'

The thought streaked through his mind. It almost didn't feel like his own idea. Wherever the thought came from, it wasn't wrong. He really would be an idiot to not ask you out when he had a chance. He got lucky with the car - prize piece like this would have been snatched up in a matter of hours. If he didn't ask you out, if he didn't push his luck for the second time, the same thing might happen with you.

"How 'bout I take you out to dinner later this week? As a thank you."

You looked unsure, your eyes jumping down to the car keys like you were expecting an objection.

"Please? I know Christine must mean a lot to you. I'd feel a whole lot better taking her off your hands if I could thank you properly."

You bit your lower lip and he found his eyes drawn to the sight of it. Please say yes please say-

"Yes, I think I'd like that. But no later than eight, okay?"

YES! He rubbed a palm across his jaw to hide his smile.

"I'll bring you home early, promise."

"I'll hold you to that, cowboy."

Oh god, he wanted to melt when you called him that. It was so silly - big guy like him getting butterflies over a sort-of kind-of date.

'Atta boy. You ain't gonna regret it.'

He was too distracted watching you walk away to realise the thought wasn't his own.

That night, you slept without dreaming. For the first time since your boyfriend's death, you didn't see his face when you closed your eyes.

You woke up the next morning expecting to be relieved. Christine was gone, wasn't that exactly what you wanted?

Yes, but...but what happens next? You weren't an idiot nor were you unduly superstitious, but Christine didn't feel like a normal car. Maybe that's what happens after a violent death - things change, the blood seeps through the fabric and poisons the aura, or the energy, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.

You made yourself breakfast but couldn't eat more than a few bites.

Okay, try and be logical. It was probably just your guilt playing tricks on you. You loved Christine and you loved your boyfriend, so it was only natural that you'd feel terrible about selling her. That's all. Blood and death can't change the nature of an inanimate object, no matter how violent or grisly it might have been.

Right. Just your guilty conscience. No need to work yourself up.

Across town, Colt slept through his alarm. He was dreaming, a sweet little fantasy of cruising down the highway on a brilliant summer day. You were next to him, your sundress even shorter than before, smiling at him and running your hand up his thigh.

You were his girl. His and his alone. He could feel the certainty of it in every part of him. You loved him, you stood by him, you did everything you could to support him, you were his.

Christine purred through her gears and he pushed the gas a little more, eager to get home. He would show you exactly how much he appreciated you - inch by inch and kiss by kiss.

"I love you darlin'. I need you to know that," he said. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was raspier, with an edge of meanness that not even love could soften.

You looked at him, smiling all soft and sweet. "I know. I've always known."

Colt jerked awake, smiling and shivering at the same time. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, disoriented and feeling like a stranger in his own body.

"One hell of a dream," he muttered.

'Not a dream cowboy. A memory from someone long dead.'

He ignored the thought, his mind already focused on the day ahead. He'd driven Christine home yesterday, but left his Jeep parked outside your house. He could either get one of his buddies pick it up or take a taxi over and get it himself.

Was it even a choice? He wanted to see you again. If he had to pay an ungodly amount for an Uber, he would.

Should he call you before showing up at your door? What would be a good time to see you? He didn't want to show up too late and catch you in a rush to leave.

'She'll be awake by now. But she'll only leave for work after twelve.'

How did he know that? Did you mention it yesterday?

He climbed out of bed and half stumbled to the bathroom. As the steam clouded up the mirror, he thought of his dream. And what might have happened if he'd stayed asleep longer. Maybe your hand would wander further up his thigh, and then...

He lathered up his fist and took hold of himself. He was already hard from just the thought of you. Your sundress looked so damn flimsy. He could probably yank it off you with just one hand.

He groaned, his forehead pressed against the tile. Picturing your hand dwarfed by his when you shook on the sale; how soft your skin was, how good it would feel if you touched him just like this.

'Fucking yourself like a dog at the thought of her.'

He agreed. You really were turning him into a dog.

You were sitting in your living room, trying and failing to read your novel, when he knocked on your front window. You struggled to smooth down your hair while you scrambled for the door.

"Hi Colt! Came to pick up your Jeep?"

He was wearing blue jeans again today, with a tight wife beater that showed off arms thick with muscle.

"Yes ma'am. Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."

That made you smile. How often does someone go out of their way to check up on a stranger?

"I don't think so. But I've got some fresh orange juice and donuts, if you'd like to come in."

He smiled at you and for a second his gaze dipped down past your chin. "There's nothing I'd like better."

He took up a lot of space at your kitchen table, but you found it comforting. The room felt too big without your boyfriend to fill it.

You flipped open the box of donuts and he picked out the mint chocolate one.

"Never really liked the mint ones," he told you, "But I've got an awful craving for one right now."

"Oh I never liked them much either. It was my boyfriend who was the die-hard mint fan."

He looked away from you, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It must be hard for you. Losing him so suddenly."

"It was. It is. Everyone keeps telling me it gets easier, but it hasn't. Up until last night, I dreamt about him everynight."

"Dreamt of him?" he asked you suddenly, his eyes intense.

"Yep. Every single night. It was like I was reliving my memories again and again."

He looked a bit perturbed at your statement, but you put it down to him feeling awkward about the conversation. Death is never a fun or casual topic.

"So how's Christine treating you?"

"Like a dream. I was thinking of taking her down the coast next weekend. All open road and sea air." He paused, seeming to weigh something up in his mind. "Why don't you join me? The morning after I take you out to dinner. We can pack a picnic and have lunch at the cape."

"That sounds incredible." You looked down at your hands, slightly uneasy but not sure why. Your boyfriend spoke about doing that once. A mini road trip with the windows down and the sea breeze in your hair.

It's not that strange that Colt had the same idea, right? Everyone knew the coast road was a long, quiet stretch. Perfect for putting Christine to the test.

"You're gonna love it," he said. "I'll even make my world famous tiramisu."

You raised a brow. "You know how to make tiramisu?" Big guy like him didn't really seem the patisserie type. Did he have a cute apron with bows on it too?

He pointed his donut at you, blue eyes twinkling. "Not just any tiramisu. World famous."

You snorted out a laugh and for the first time in months, you kitchen felt like a happy place.

He dreamt about you again that night. Christine was parked in a dark corner on the edge of a cliffside hiking trail. He could hear waves crashing far below. It was nighttime, with the full moon outlining your face in silver and shadow.

He was in the driver's seat and you were straddling his lap. You were wearing a sweater and a cute pleated skirt that seemed oh so short with the way you leaned over him.

"You've been ignoring me," you accused him. You were pouting in an adorably petulant way. He looked at your lips - red and slightly swollen - and knew that he'd just been kissing you.

"I haven't been ignorin' you sugar. I've just been busy."

He spoke with that same raspy voice that somehow wasn't his.

"Too busy to say hello or drop by for dinner?"

You shifted in his lap and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. Oh, you damn tease.

"I'm filthy and tired after work sweetheart. You wouldn't want me."

You frowned, going from slightly annoyed to full blown angry.

"I always want you, you idiot. I'm not scared of a few stains. I like it when you come home smelling like the workshop. I like it when you're dirty from work." You tugged at his collar. "I like you. Why don't you get that?"

'Because you're too good for me.' He almost said it. It was on the tip of his tongue and it was only some dull instinct that kept him quiet. How couldn't you see it? You were everything he wasn't. You were educated and kind and selfless. He was just some bastard from the wrong side of the tracks.

He wanted to impress you. He wanted to be worthy of you. Fixing up the Mustang was just the start of it. He didn't care that it took him all summer and pretty much all of his pay cheque to do. He wanted a ride that he would be proud to pick you up in.

And it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing ever felt like enough.

He looked away from you and stayed silent.

You sighed and brought your palms up to his cheeks, gently turned his face back to yours. "I like you. I'm dating you. I want to spend time with you, no matter how grouchy you are. Okay?"

He should be a gentleman and let you go, shouldn't take advantage of your kindness. He should be a good man.

"Okay," he said and leaned forward to kiss you.

He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a gentleman. He was going to hold onto you for as long as he could.

Colt woke up with a snarl, slamming his fist on his alarm so hard the clock face cracked.

"I didn't want it to end, goddammit."

He rubbed his hand over his face. The dream felt so real. He could feel the late fall chill, could smell your shampoo and taste your cherry lip gloss. He wanted to go right back to sleep and fall back into that wonderful fantasy.

He scowled and threw the covers off. Dreams could wait, work couldn't.

All through the day he was snappish and irritable. One of the apprentices messed up an order and he snarled at them to stop being so fucking useless and fix it. His coworkers shot each other looks behind his back. He was behaving entirely out of character but both him and his buddies were helpless to stop it. It was only when he got home at the end of his shift that he realised why.

He wanted to dream about you again.

There wasn't any guarantee that he would. Dreams weren't exactly scheduled network programming. But somehow he knew it would happen.

He ended up going to bed before eight, a world record for someone who usually only considered sleeping when it was well past midnight.

He was right. He did dream of you.

You were in a bikini this time, lounging on a lawn chair in the backyard. You had sunglasses on and there was a slight sheen of baby oil on your skin. Your phone was on shuffle and pop music was blaring from the speakers.

You weren't expecting him and he kept his steps real quiet as he approached you. He kept expecting you to hear him and shoot up, and he was slightly annoyed when you didn't. What if he was a serial killer or some sick pervert, sneaking up on you while you were so vulnerable? Did you have no spatial awareness?

He made it all the way to the back of your chair and you were still totally oblivious. There was a magazine and a glass of ice tea on a small table next to you. You were softly humming along to the music.

He took a minute to just admire you. Your body stretched out and entirely at his mercy. His girl, his gorgeous girl.

He leaned down until his lips were right next to your ear.

"Hey there sugar. You miss me?"

You shot up with a shriek, your sunglasses flying. You whirled on him, grabbing your magazine like thirty pages of glossy Cosmo was going to help you fight off an attacker.

Your eyes narrowed when you recognised him and you smacked his chest, hard.

"You asshole! You gave me a heart attack!"

He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of you so riled up.

"You're lucky it was me and not someone else. Not everyone has such noble intentions."

"Yeah right. Was it your noble intention to scare the living daylights out of me?"

He held up his palms in a placating gesture. "Just teachin' you a lesson sweetheart. I was standing there for a good few minutes and you didn't notice a damn thing."

He cast a critical eye across your backyard. "I reckon some high wooden fencing would do the trick. 'Bout seven feet high, sunken flowerbeds on either side like trenches to make it even harder to get a leg up."

"I don't want a fence."

He ignored you, already mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need. "A nice light coloured wood. Pine maybe. Will match your house much better."

You sat back down, the fight draining out of you as your adrenaline dissipated. "What are you doing here? Did you get off work early?"

He narrowed his eyes but you didn't seem to notice. "Why? Don't want me around?"

That shocked you enough that you twisted around in your chair to look at him.

"Of course I want you around! Don't ever imply otherwise. This is a lovely surprise." You paused. "Near heart attack aside of course."

It was funny how easily you could calm him down. One sentence was all it took to get him smiling again. He leaned forward and hooked one finger under the strap of your bikini top.

"I haven't seen this one before. New?"

You blushed and looked down. "Mm-hmm."

"It's cute. But..."

You glanced up at him, suddenly self conscious. "But what?"

He grinned wolfishly. "But...you would look so much better without it."

He tugged at the bow holding your top up. The strings unravelled and fell down your back. The bra cups started to slip down too, and his eyes were glued to their steady fall.

He was going to teach you a whole 'nother lesson about wearing such a skimpy outfit where anyone could see you. Show you exactly what sick, twisted bastards would do to your body. Teach you a lesson you won't forget, so maybe, just maybe... you'd learn to be more cautious around men like him.

Colt woke up with a hunger like death. His cock so hard it was actually throbbing. He didn't feel well rested, despite having slept more than he had in two weeks.

It played over and over again in his mind. The strings unravelling, your bikini top sliding off... Always stopping right at the good part, the part he most wanted to see.

He got ready for the day with a savage efficiency. Bolting back his protein shake without even tasting it. He didn't realise it, but he'd started counting down the days until he could see you again. Just two more days. Two more nights of dreams and then you'd be there in the flesh and he could finally - finally what? He shook his head to clear away the dirty thoughts that were crowding him.

He was being a real bastard. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, when he had no right to. You hadn't shown any romantic or physical interest in him. You were clearly still grieving your man. He needed to get himself under control - what you needed in your life was a friend, not another man to obsess over you.

He forced himself to take a cold shower. Forced himself to avoid thinking about you. And to especially avoid thinking about the you from his dream.

'Good luck with that buddy. I used to be so tired I was falling asleep on my feet and I still couldn't get her out of my head.'

Work was thankfully busy that day and he threw himself into it with every feverish ounce of energy he had. Whenever his thoughts wandered towards you, he would find something else to do. He didn't eat anything at all and he didn't even notice getting hungry. He took on an extra shift and finished long after the sun went down, his muscles a hurting mess and his head not much better.

Christine was the last car left in the parking lot, sitting under a streetlight like she was waiting for him. He found his steps unintentionally getting slower the closer he came to her.

In the dark and lonely emptiness of the parking lot, she didn't feel like a normal car. If anything, she seemed to be watching him. Her headlights like eyes and her grille a silvery gash of a smile.

If he had to guess, he'd say the car was almost unhappy with him.

"Because I'm thinking about her?" He asked as he climbed behind the wheel. Immediately, he felt stupid and superstitious for talking out loud.

'Because you aren't thinking about her.'

He'd driven Christine to work the last few days despite not wanting to cause unnecessary wear and tear. Being in the car, driving it, was still a thrill.

Not tonight though.

He felt on edge, wanting to get out as soon as possible. She purred to life with the same thrumming power as always but his throat was tight with a nervousness he couldn't explain.

The inside of the car was suffocatingly quiet. He turned on the radio and old school rock 'n roll poured out.

'Just the sort of thing her boyfriend used to listen to,' he thought to himself. And then he laughed a stuttering, barking sort of laugh because there was no logical way he could have known that.

'Take it easy big guy. You and I are just gonna cruise. That's all.'

A nice cruise. Yeah, that sounded good. Calm his nerves, get rid of the nameless dread that was building all day. He relaxed into his seat, the streetlights crawling past in a hypnotic line of bright and dark.

He didn't notice when the radio dial moved on its own and the station changed from rock 'n roll to country. The singer sounded awfully familiar. His voice a kind of husky rasp. He was singing about his girl, his pretty woman, and he was singing about the grave and he was singing about the dark that waited.

'Oh,' he thought to himself dully, 'That's the voice I keep hearing in my dreams.'

When he finally reached home, it was two in the morning and the petrol gauge showed an empty tank. He'd somehow driven enough to eat through a full tank of gas. A drive that should have taken twenty minutes took five hours.

He got out of the car on legs that felt numb and cold. He couldn't remember driving. He couldn't remember the strange music or the even stranger passenger that rode with him. In his mind, there existed the clear cut memory of leaving work and climbing into Christine. Then there was nothing but a long, grey blankness that was tinged with a muted terror.

He collapsed into bed still in his work clothes. By morning, his mind would have stitched over all those things too terrible to contemplate. He would wake up feeling groggy and confused, and probably put it down to the strain of a long day.

Colt slept after driving with the dead and didn't dream.

On the day before your date, he found an engagement ring under the passenger side carpet.

He had no reason to look there, no reason to pull the carpet up by its seams. But he did it anyway and his reward was a silver and diamond band with blood dried in the crevices. There was an engraving on the inside and he had to take it out into the sun to try and read it.

'Mine. Forever and always.'

He shivered despite standing in the bright midmorming sun. Most rings would say 'yours' instead of 'mine.' He had no doubt that the change was entirely intentional. Your boyfriend was staking his claim on you - not just with the ring but with the intention behind it.

He looked at the brownish red stains and knew in his heart they were blood. Your boyfriend's blood.

Colt didn't know how the man died, but looking at the ring, he felt sure that it was bloody and far from natural. How would a blood stained ring end up in Christine? If the guy had been in accident sure. But the car was in perfect condition. The ring shouldn't have been there.

Unless he was murdered. Soaked in blood and tossed around during the struggle, the ring probably got pushed under the seam of the carpet. It was a sealed off spot and even a forensics team might miss something that small.

It was an outlandish and macabre theory to be basing entirely off one mysterious engagement ring. If he stopped to think about it, he would no doubt be able to poke a dozen separate holes into his theory.

Somehow, he knew it was true. The same way he suddenly knew Christine wasn't just an ordinary car and that his dreams about you were far from natural.

He felt a queer prickling all across his nape. He wasn't the type to scare easily, but this... This frightened him. He didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like if he looked up at the rear view mirror, he'd see someone in the back seat. No, not just someone. He'd see the dead man who owned the car before him.

He'd see the man who wanted to marry you.

He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. He wasn't a superstitious man. He didn't let fancies of ghosts and ghouls affect him. But even he couldn't deny the way he felt. His gut was telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He climbed out of Christine like a man scared of waking a sleeping bear. He didn't even bother to grab the keys.

He couldn't explain any of it. Not the dreams, not the thoughts that felt like someone else, not the prickling certainty that a man died right where he'd been sitting.

He got into his his Jeep and pulled out of the driveway, his eyes on Christine the entire time. Like she'd somehow roar to life and slam into him.

He didn't know where he was driving to until he parked. A bar across town, a real rough spot that on most days even he wouldn't want to stop at. But today wasn't like most days.

The place was dark and the folk sitting around weren't exactly the friendly sort. He settled at the bar and ordered a tequila without really thinking about it.

Funny. He used to hate tequila.

It went down like fire, and he shuddered. He wanted to laugh. What else was a mam supposed to drink when the world didn't make a lick of sense anymore?

"Give me another one." His voice was raspier somehow. Even though that never happened when he drank vodka or whiskey.

There were mirrored shelves opposite him and he caught sight of his eyes. A pale green. He tossed back his second shot and tried to tell himself it was just a trick of the light.

He wasn't sure who to talk to. Not the Sheriff's Office. Yeah officer, there was a man murdered in my car and now I can't stop dreaming about his girlfriend didn't exactly scream unimpeachable sobriety.

And not the pastor either. Father, I'm being haunted by filthy thoughts and I'm not sure if they're my own. He doubted the old man at his mother's church was qualified to deal with that sort of thing.

But he couldn't keep quiet either. He had to tell someone about it. If they called him crazy at least it was an acknowledgement. At least it was better than being dead drunk and being scared of his own eyes in the mirror.

Who could possibly know anything about it? Oh. Of course.

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and almost threw it across the room when it wouldn't turn on. He charged it every night, goddammit.

"There a pay phone somewhere 'round here?" he asked the bartender.

The man jerked his face at the side door that lead to the back parking lot. Colt stumbled out - swaying on his feet far worse than two drinks should warrant.

It was late afternoon. He shaded his eyes and tried looked at the sun like it was deliberately lying to him. He arrived at midday and he couldn't have been in there for more than twenty minutes. How the hell was it this late?

'Time moves differently when you're dead cowboy. You should know that by now.'

The payphone was in the shadow of the bar and he shivered when he stepped out of the sun. Wrong. It was all wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. Why was the voice still in his head when Christine was all the way across town? Why did he still feel life he wasn't quiet alone?

It was only when he had the receiver up against his ear that he realised he didn't know your number. Shit.

He leaned his forearm against the payphone and rested his forehead against it. Could he maybe get a taxi and show up at your house? He scoffed. Yeah, that would go well. Showing up dead drunk just to say he knew you liked short skirts in fall and that he dreamed of pulling off your bikini top. He'd be lucky if you only mildly tazed him.

Fuck. Okay. Home again. Sleep it off. Charge his phone. Call you in the morning and try not to sound too crazy. He could manage that.

He called the taxi company listed in the phone book. Half wondering if they were still in operation. When it finally connected, the call was thick with static.

"Yeah?" The man's voice was raspy and standoffish.

"Can I get a cab at Ronnie's on Westside?"

The man laughed. "Oh you must be a real tough customer to be drinking there. Didn't think you'd have the balls cowboy."

Colt wanted to cuss him out. What kind of fucker answers the phone and insults you less than two sentences in? He squeezed the receiver until he felt he could control his voice.

"Yeah. I'm a real mean guy. So can I get my cab or not?"

"Oh, I'll send you a ride alright." There was a mocking tilt to his voice. "Best fucking ride you'll ever take. Just sit pretty. You'll know when it's for you."

The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He hung up without another word.

The streetlights were coming on and the gold of sunset was giving way to the awful in-between greyness of twilight. He waited for his ride.

You came home to find flowers on your doorstep. A bouquet of white roses. You froze. There was only one man who sent you flowers and he was cold and dead for the better part of a year.

You picked the card up by the edge and flicked it open.

Hope you didn't forget our date. See you soon dollface.

-Colt

Oh. You laughed, ridiculously relieved. Of course.

Dinner tomorrow night with the cowboy. You took the roses inside and hunted around for a vase. Was it actually a date? He'd said it was a thank you dinner, but it wouldn't hurt to dress up a little. Do your makeup a bit fancy, maybe wear your new heels. It'd been months since you'd gone out, had a nice dinner with a friend. This could be good for you. Just one more step back into normalcy.

The clouds were starting to gather and as evening came on, they broke with a shudder of thunder.

You curled up on your couch, all the lights on. It was going to be a bad storm. The first really awful one in almost half a year. You tried not to, but it got you thinking about that night. The night your boyfriend proposed to you. The night you killed him.

You closed your eyes and tried not to see it, but the memories followed you even past the darkness. You couldn't run from them for long.

It was cold outside, rain drumming on Christine's roof. Sharp, constant. Your boyfriend was in the driver's seat, buckling his belt. A lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.

You liked it when he looked at you like that. Satisfied. Mellow. It never lasted long, but in the few minutes after fucking you, he would agree to just about anything.

"I'm drunk on you baby," he'd said once. "Heads all woozy. Would do anything for you. Fucking anything."

Christine's windows were all fogged up, and you traced little hearts on the glass. To be honest, you felt a little drunk on him too. Heart still pounding, head reeling. Cunt still fluttering and full. He was so good at reading you, at fucking you just how you needed it. No man before him could make you come so hard, or do it so easy.

"I got something to ask you, baby."

You turned to him, hand reaching out for his and pulling it into your lap.

"Yes?"

He rubbed a thumb across your knuckles. He wasn't looking at your face, just down at your interlinked hands.

"You're my girl, yeah?"

"Obviously. I love you."

"And you ain't going to leave me?"

"Never."

He sighed. Managed to raise his eyes to meet yours. You weren't used to seeing him nervous. Usually he'd just bull doze his way through a conversation, not stopping until he got what he wanted. This was...new. It made a whole new crop of butterflies start up in your stomach.

"Will you marry me?"

You froze. What? Where was this coming from? You loved him. You cared about him. But marriage? That was such a big step. Such a grown up thing.

"I've got money put away. And Christine. I can put a deposit down on a house by the end of the month. Can pay for a nice wedding too. All white and frilly, like you want."

"I..."

"You don't got to worry 'bout your student loans neither. We can pay 'em off a whole lot faster if we're together. You can even go back to school if you want. Get that second degree you're always talking about."

"I...can't."

You pulled your hands away from his. Looked away from him.

"I love you. I really do. But it's too...much. We're too young. I... I just don't want to rush into things and make a mistake."

He was quiet. Awfully, dangerously quiet. His hand was still in your lap and you could feel when he clenched it into a fist.

"Is there another man?"

"What?"

You whirled to face him, suddenly angry. How could he even suggest...

"I haven't touched another man since the day you asked me out."

He wasn't smiling anymore. His green eyes were narrowed, mean.

"Who are you fucking? Which bastard is it? Huh?"

"No one! There's no one else. I just don't want to get married and make a -"

"Mistake? You think I'm a fucking mistake?"

You flinched. His voice was even louder in the closeness of the car. It made your ears throb.

His fist uncurled and he grabbed your hand, hard. Yanked you towards him so your upper body was sprawled across the gear shift.

"Was it a mistake to fuck me? A mistake to say you loved me?"

"No! That's not what I-"

He cut you off with a hand around your throat.

"You want to leave me. That it? You're going to fucking leave me?"

You pulled at his fingers with your free hand but it was useless. His grip was getting tighter the angrier he got. Your head felt all swollen, your nose and throat burning.

"Please just -"

"No! No fucking please. No changing your mind at the last minute. You ain't gonna be my girl? Ain't gonna be my wife?"

He pulled you towards his face, his lips barely brushing yours.

"If you won't be mine, then you'll just have to fucking die. It's me or no one else, baby. I told you that, all those months ago."

You scrambled for some way to get loose, but you were in an awkward position and he had all the leverage.

"I fucking warned you. I told you that if you dated me you couldn't ever leave. I knew I was going to fall in love with you. Hell, I was half in love before you even said hello. I tried. But you just didn't listen, did you?"

Your hand brushed something cold and metallic in the centre console. His switch blade. He usually kept it in his back pocket to help with work. Oh, and he kept it sharp. You grabbed it, more on instinct than anything else.

Your head was pounding and your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears. But the rain was somehow worse. Falling so loud you thought you'd never get the sound out of your head.

You tried to plead with him again, reason, beg, whatever it took. But when you tried to speak he just closed his fist even tighter and your words died in your throat with a shudder.

Oh god, he was really going to do it. He's eyes were wild, mad with something beyond reason. He'd seen reason in the rearview mirror about a hundred miles ago and now he was headed straight down the highway of fucking insanity.

How? How could the man you loved be choking the breath out of you?

Because he loves you. Because he'd rather see you dead than lose you. Because you were too damn blind with love to notice how dangerous he is.

White starbursts bloomed across your vision. Little fireworks to celebrate your brain dying.

You stabbed him.

You didn't fully mean to. You were half mad with fear, half dead in his grip. Not sure what you were doing until you felt the blood.

The switchblade sunk straight into his neck.

You didn't even pull it out. Just left it there and scrambled back when his grip on you loosened, your chest heaving. You throat and eyes and nose all felt swollen. Your lungs burned like fire.

He reached up and touched his neck. Looked down at his fingers like he couldn't believe the blood was his.

You might have tried to save him then. Might have come to your senses and called the ambulance, might have stripped off your shirt and tried to stop the bleeding.

But a knife in his throat apparently wasn't enough to stop him. He looked at you and there wasn't anything rational left in him. He reached for you again, hands curled like claws. He was dying and all he wanted to do was take you with him.

You screamed. So loud that it made your own ears ring.

You grabbed the knife and pulled. You didn't realise it was acting like a stopper until his blood splashed on you. Hot, stinking of metal. It sprayed across your face, got into your mouth and nose, soaked the whole front of your shirt.

You scrambled for the door handle and fell backwards out of the Mustang. Landed on your ass and pushed yourself away.

He was halfway over the passenger seat by then, hands still reaching, mouth pulled into an ugly snarl.

You kicked the door shut.

It slammed with a bang and mercifully blocked him from view. Your turned onto your knees, pushed yourself to your feet and ran.

The rain was coming down so fast that it stung your skin. You didn't rightly know where you were going. Only that it was away.

You still don't know how you made it home. You were a twenty minute drive away and it was too dark to see more than three feet in front of you. Must have been luck. Must have been fate.

When you got home, you were shaking so hard you couldn't even open the door for a good five minutes.

You stripped off your clothes right there on the doorstep and threw them in the trash. Switch blade too. You don't know how you managed to hold onto it during that wild, reckless run.

You took a long shower. Sat under the hot water with your knees curled to your chest. Too scared to cry.

At some point, the better part of your brain must have taken over. You vaguely remember burning the bloodstained clothes. Remember taking a drive and throwing the bleached switchblade out the window.

And when the call came a few days later, to please come down and identify a body, you were calm enough to not give yourself away.

If it was anyone else, maybe the cops would have tried harder. But your boyfriend was a rough man from the rough side of town. They gave you looks of sympathy but shook their heads behind your back.

Guy like him had it coming.

When it was all said and done, you and Christine were the only ones who knew the truth.

Colt waited all evening for a cab that never came. And when the storm started, he was annoyed enough to consider driving home on his own. He'd only had two shots. And that was a few hours ago. He'd be fine. Folk got away with worse all the time.

He left the bar with his jacket over his head and his eyes darting down the road. The rain was sheeting and he had to scramble to make it to his Jeep without getting totally soaked.

Wet and hungry and still a little drunk, Christine didn't seem like quite so big an issue. He was just jumping at ghosts. Tequila got his thoughts all twisted up, that's all.

Driving was miserable. Even with his headlights on bright and his wipers cranked all the way up, he was having real trouble seeing the road. The yellow line was the only thing he could properly rely on.

When the headlights showed up behind him, it took him a while to notice them getting closer.

"Guy's got a death wish, driving so fast in this weather."

The driver behind him was gaining quickly. Colt expected them to try and overtake, but they didn't. Just got closer and closer. A car's length away. And then half. And then almost kissing his bumper.

"Why is this dude so up my ass?"

He hit the gas, but the guy behind him didn't care. Just picked up and kept coming. Revved it a little and Colt could hear the engine even through the rain. Some kind of muscle car. A loud, growling thing.

Almost like a...Mustang.

His whole back suddenly felt icy. It couldn't be. Christine was back home, keys still in the ignition. Even if someone did steal her, why the fuck would they track him down? Must be another muscle car, with some ego tripping asshole behind the wheel.

He told himself all that and more, but his foot pressed harder on the gas.

And still the Mustang kept coming.

The speedometer crept upwards. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.

Too fast for the narrow roads, and sure as hell too fast for a rainy night like this one.

A curve was coming up soon, the road ringed off with guard rails. He could see the reflectors glinting orange at him. Shit.

He took it wide, drifting into the opposite lane. He could feel his tires slipping a little and he hit the breaks just enough to steady the Jeep.

The Mustang didn't have any trouble with the curve. Stayed in its lane and gained a little more speed, so that when they were straight again, its hood was in line with his trunk.

Good. Maybe now the fucker would finally overtake him.

He couldn't see the car clearly. The headlights were bouncing right off his side mirrors. He couldn't even make out the silhouette of the driver.

Screech.

The Mustang's hood scraped against the side of his Jeep. The whole car lurched to the side, tires slipping.

"Fuck!"

Colt gunned it again, trying to out race the mad man. But whoever was behind him had no intention of letting that happen. They kept pace with him, blocking him from getting back in his lane.

Lightning flashed and Colt looked in the mirror just in time to see the car properly.

The thunder was loud enough to drown out his scream.

The car trying to run him off the road was none other than the 1969 cherry red Mustang that should have been sitting in his yard. Maybe he could have accepted it as a coincidence. Someone else had the exact same car as him and just happened to be driving like an asshole. Maybe he could have accepted that.

But the car didn't have a driver.

He saw it clear as day. The lightning glared straight through all the windows and there wasn't a single person in that car.

Impossible. This can't be real. There's no fucking way.

He could almost hear the laugh.

'Do I got you scared cowboy?'

Colt didn't have time to answer. The road was merging into the cliffside, and the wall of rock kept him trapped. There were lights coming straight at him, the blaring of a horn as whoever it was tried to warn him.

He slammed hard on the brakes. Christine shot ahead and at the last second he managed to edge back into his lane. The headlights roared past, the huge semi exhaling a spray of water and smoke.

It would have flattened him, even in his Jeep.

Christine's tail lights were a pair of glaring red eyes in the rain, until suddenly they weren't. Gone.

Colt slowed the Jeep, parked on the shoulder.

The rain was drumming on the roof and his hands were shaking. He got out of the car, water soaking through his shirt almost immediately.

The paint on the back door was scratched off in huge swathes. The metal was dented.

He climbed back behind the wheel, mind teetering on the edge of something past sanity. The world wasn't sane anymore. Nothing was.

He heard the growl of the Mustang through the rain. No headlights this time, just the whine of tires on slick tar.

Where?! Where was she?!

Christine slammed into the Jeep head on. All Colt saw was her red face and silver smile in the glare of his headlights before his whole world was filled with the grinding of steel on steel. His head slammed backwards, the whole car shuddering.

The airbags came on, blinding him.

Christine didn't stop after hitting him. He yanked the hand break up but she kept pushing forward, edging his car closer and closer to the edge. He felt it when the guard rail scratched against his bumper.

An ugly scream of metal, but the rails held. Christine didn't seem to like that. She pulled back, her tires shrieking as she got ready to slam forward again.

Colt jumped just before she hit the Jeep. His seat belt was almost the death of him. It wouldn't release and he couldn't see the catch in the dark. He must have had at least one lucky star though, because the door wasn't too mangled and he managed to kick it open just in time.

He landed hard, on his hands and knees.

Metal shrieked. Christine slammed into the Jeep hard enough to send it through the rails. He turned just in time to see his car go tilting off the road and down into the dark.

For a second, he thought he might have made it. Maybe she didn't notice him. Maybe it was all over.

Christine pulled back and her headlights washed over him, still on his hands and knees. One of the lights was hanging loose from the crash, making her look lopsided. The rain was still coming down hard and the droplets were gold in the light between them.

She revved.

Colt scrambled to his feet and ran straight for the guard rail. He jumped.

It wasn't a sheer drop. It was instead a steep slope, thick with shale and slippery with water. His knees buckled under him and he ended up on his back, half rolling and half sliding down the embankment. His palms were bleeding and as he fell, the gravel lodged itself in his open skin.

He couldn't see where he was headed. Could only try and and protect his head and brace for impact.

His slide ended with a boulder. He slammed into it his ribs first. Heard a crack before all the air was knocked straight out of him.

He could see the headlights way up above him, cutting through the rain.

At least she can't follow me down here.

True. Christine couldn't follow him.

But that's when Colt saw him. The driver. Coming to stand in front of the headlights, the silhouette of a man.

The silhouette stepped through the gash in the railing left by the Jeep and dropped out of the light.

Colt knew he should run. He could hear the shale slipping as the other man came down. Controlled. Measured. Nothing like his own tumble.

But he couldn't move. Everything hurt. Breathing sent sharp spikes of pain all across his chest.

"Well, well cowboy. Look at you."

The voice was low and raspy, mean. He knew that voice. Had been hearing it in his head and in his dreams and was fool enough to think it was his own.

His eyes were getting used to the dark. He could just about see the stranger. Tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. There was dirt thick on his boots, in the folds of his clothes. Not the black shale of the slope, but a reddish clay.

Kind of like in the cemetery.

No, he realised as the stranger squated down in front of him. Exactly like the cemetery. It was grave dirt he was seeing.

He was looking at a dead man.

The stranger might have been handsome once, but now one cheek was filled with holes. Ugly, clustered together things that showed his teeth. His other cheek was a mass of white. Worms, tiny little worms wriggling in and out of his face.

Colt wanted to scream. And vomit. And then scream some more.

There was a dark hole in the stranger's neck and when he moved it oozed a sticky, thick kind of blood.

"You know why I'm here?"

Colt didn't really notice it at first, but his voice was different. Thicker somehow. Like his vocal cords were packed full of dirt and blood.

Colt coughed and his whole chest hurt so bad he thought he was dying. Something was definitely broken. He'd be lucky if there wasn't internal bleeding too.

"Let me guess. Came to punish me for my sins?"

The dead man laughed.

"Not yours, no. Don't give much of a damn about you. I'm here to get what's mine."

The pieces were clicking together in his head.

"Your girl."

"My girl," your boyfriend agreed.

He reached for him, the nails on his hand either blue or totally ripped off. His skin filled with holes that showed pale white tendons and ugly pink flesh.

That was when the adrenaline really kicked in. Colt shoved at the man with one hand and pushed himself up with the other. It was like touching a carcass at the butcher. Cold. Limp. Just a piece of meat. No human should ever have to feel a body in that state.

He made it to his knees before the bastard hit back. Your boyfriend kicked straight at his jaw and Colt's head flew backward, smashed into the rock behind him. He dropped back down like a stone.

"Why you gotta be so fucking difficult, hmm?"

Colt was too out of it to pull away. The man reached for him and the skin of his hand was crawling with bugs. He grabbed his collar and dragged him up.

"Just gonna go to sleep for a little while cowboy. Maybe you'll wake up. Maybe you won't. Either way, I've waited too fucking long to let this chance go."

The corpse kissed him. Or more accurately, pressed his open lips against his and breathed.

His lips were cold and stiff and utterly beyond human. The taste was rancid. Worse than the worst thing he'd ever had. Metallic like blood, sweet like rotted meat.

Colt fainted.

The rain drummed down. Christine sat on the roadside and waited, her hood and paintwork back to normal. In bed, you tossed and turned in the hands of a nightmare.

The thing that was Colt Guilder opened its eyes.

It was your phone that woke you up. Your ringtone blasting even through your dreams.

You fumbled for it, eyes squinted against the brightness.

"Hello?"

The call was thick with static. Still, you recognised the voice. Would know it even from beyond the grave.

"Hey beautiful. Did ya miss me?" 

[inkyquince]

Degrees of Lewdity Masterlist

Avery The Businessperson

Revenge (Getting Revenge against Avery for dumping you)

Clingy (Avery becoming clingy)

New Stepdad- (Avery as a stepdad)

Avery's Bitch (Picking out his new dog!reader; Hijacked Post)

Welcome to Avery's Hunt For His Next Sugar Baby (Picking out his sugar baby; Hijacked Post)

Bailey The Caretaker

Simmering- (Lazy Sex with Bailey)

Bailey Black and Blues (Blood play with Bailey)

Things That Go Bump In The Night (Somnophilia with Bailey)

Daddy Dearest (Bailey somnophilia and incest)

Briar The Brothel Owner

Briar, You Dick (PC gets assaulted and Briar fixes their makeup)

His Rings (Briar Hand Kink)

Eden The Hunter

Trapped- (PC caught in Eden’s Snare)

Withered White Roses In The Attic (Classmate! Eden being worse than usual)

Innocent Crush (Eden struggling with a crush on male!reader)

Bitching an Alpha (Eden the alpha bitches a fellow alpha)

Harper The Doctor

Doctor, Doctor, I... I forgot what I'm here for. (Harper hypnotizing and conditioning PC)

The Nasty Next Door (Harper as the Town Yandere)

The Doctor's Needs (Harper being a worse doctor more than ever)

Horny Harper the Hypnotist (Hijacked Post)

New Year's Kiss With Harper

Harper creeping on Hermaphrodite Reader Letter

Kylar The Loner

Peeking Pervert- (Kylar tries to rescue his notebook, just to get an eyeful of his worst nightmare, featuring Whitney.)

Chemist Kylar

Kylar's New Job (Kylar the masseuse)

Kylar Sexting

Kylar Stalker Letter- (Kylar being a nasty)

Kylar Creepy Omegaverse Letter- (Thirsting after Beta Reader)

Landry The Criminal

The Backrooms- (Landry x F!PC)

Leighton The Headteacher

Leighton’s Favourite Videos- (What he loves to watch)

Leighton Thoughts- (Headcannons for Boy toy Leighton)

Dilf Leighton Saga: (The Nanny, Breeding The Nanny)

Maid Service (Leighton finds his new favourite service)

Leighton Sexting

Head boy Leighton (the beginning)

Head boy Leighton and his pet

Introducing Head boy Leighton to your Parents(and the consequences)

Mason The Swim Teacher

The Itch- (Mason Chikan)

Scumbag Mason Thoughts

Prison Guards

Prison Guard Punishment- (Short thing about guards using you)

Method's Weakness (Get Caught riding methodical guard)

Quinn The Mayor

... Quinn tho (THANKS BESTOAN, NOW THAT'S A LAD I'D CLIMB)

Quinn thought- (Based off of bestoan's picture!)

General Quinn Thirst

Remy The Farmer

Liberties- (Remy taking liberties with Wren’s Partner)

Dearest Step-Daddy (Remy adopting PC as revenge)

Remy's Journal (Remy x Cowboy!PC)

River the Maths Teacher

The Pup's Revenge (Dog boy! Reader revenge on River)

Whitney The Bully

Whitney’s Oral Fixation (General Thoughts)

Whitney’s Punishment (Whitney punishing the reader for working at the brothel) 

Tattoo Artist Whitney

Sloppy Sunday (Whitney wakes up with you in his bed)

Jock Whitney- (Jock Whitney thoughts with outcast/cheerleader reader)

You are what you smoke… Fag (Whitney struggling with gay feelings)

Wren The Smuggler

Wren the Terrible Roommate

Wren’s Unionizing Perks (Wren getting to fuck the boss' spouse)

[inkyquince]

Misc. Characters

SFW

Comfort Thoughts (Soft Headcannons about main LI's)

Rubber Ducky!

Stagnant (Vent Piece) 

Ruining His Life (SFW piece about Bailey as a Father) 

Love Interests’ Favourite and Least Favourite TF’s

Helping Them Redress (Leighton, Bailey, Darryl, Wren)

LI not being comfortable around their Exes (Robin, Kylar, Whitney)

Holding Whitney's Dick as He Pees

Avery Surveillance

NSFW

Late Night Help- (Asshole Ensemble To The Rescue When Reader Is Drugged) 

Realistic Vibrator Headcannons- (Robin, Kylar, Whitney, Eden, Avery, Alex, Sydney)

Male Love Interests Make Reader Squirt- (Robin, Kylar, Whitney, Eden, Avery, Alex, Sydney)

Shifted Lips- (Briar and Bailey not quite kissing reader) 

Fleshlite Punishment- (People who would use a fleshlight as a punishment)

Cum Drunk (Various people getting cum drunk off the PC)

Thigh Riding (Thigh Riding with Male! LI)  

Cucking Spouses with Work Husbands (Various characters getting cucked by reader)

Beautiful Bride- (AFAB Reader in Bridal Lingerie)

Stealth Mode Perverts-(Perverts who jerk off under the table at you versus up skirt photos)

Hungry For Hog (Harper, Briar, Darryl, Wren, Whitney's dick preferences)

The Fall Is Quicker from the Ground (River, Jordan and Darryl being accidentally corrupted)

Massage Patrons Thirst (Doren, River, Leighton, Harper, Bailey)

The Necklace (Eden, Veteran Guard, Bailey, Briar, Darryl, Ivory Wraith)

Kitty Cam (Leighton, Darryl, Great Hawk Kylar with kitty!camboy reader)

FWB with Older Generation When Young (Bailey, Eden, Remy, Harper, Briar)

Omega Harper (being a mean doctor to his omega patients)

Blowing off LI for older NPCs (Leighton, Avery, Harper, River, Quinn, Doren)

Tall Men <3 (Bailey, Morgan, Veteran Guard)

Boys Night Out (Briar, Remy, Bailey visiting PC in the stocks)

Teachers, a pocket pussy and your insta feed

Bitter Ex Husbands (Avery, Bailey, Remy)

Types of Baby Trap (Kylar, Avery, Harper, Morgan, Bailey, Whitney, Remy.)

Headmaster's Lesson and The Fallout

Headmaster’s Lesson- (Leighton has to punish his staff for letting you get away with so much shit.)

Aftermath (Sequel to Headmaster’s Lesson)

Love Hotel- (Leighton x PC x River)

Teacher Fuck Fest (Spin off, featuring dog person! Reader)

House Spouse Era

House Spouse- (House Spouse reader who unknowingly attracts gazes) 

Greed - (Quinn with House Spouse!)

B&B (Bailey and Briar with House Spouse!)

Briar ruining House Spouse (and we thank him for it)

Realistic House Spouse with Briar + Bailey

Vindictive- (Briar x House spouse)

Whitney The Deadbeat Dad and Avery, the Dad that Stepped Up (... Weird side tangent with Whitney angst, that's connected to the house spouse era)

Wren Versus Stepdads

Wren Versus Avery, Bailey, Leighton, Harper, Niki, Remy (Wren trying to step up but it's hard against these guys as your new husband)

How His Kid Turns Out (how kiddo ends up with each stepdad)

Shared By Three AU

(Stepbrothers! niki and remy and farmhand want those male readussy. Maybe also the dad.)

Shared Three Ways: Part 1 (Wren gets the first taste.)

Shared By Three: Part 2 (Niki gets a taste too)

Remy's Dad Kinks

Polyamorous (if you squint sometimes)

Poly Relationship thoughts- (Kylar/ Whitney and Remy/Avery)

Avery pimping out his kid to Quinn

Scummy Remy and Wren (Best Friends make you suck dick)

Blood of The Covenant (Omega Hunt Collab, Jordan x Reader x Sydney)

Wremussy One-Night Stand

Kicking Up A Fuss- (Remy x F!PC x Wren)

Snake Eyes- (Naga!Remy x PC x Wren)

Wren and The Boss' Spouse Letter

Balls (Briar x Reader x Bailey)

River x Leighton Toomfoolery

River's Kid and Uncle Leighton

The Show (Leighton x Cow!PC x River)

Whitney The Bully

Dog Days (Whitney fucks his pet dogperson)

Whitney Beefing With Half The Town

Whitney Versus Bailey

Whitney Versus Wren

Remy The Farmer

Remy as a Yandere

Leighton the Headteacher

Darling Divorced Daddy (Incest, Somno, Noncon)

Avery the Business Person

Obsessed Avery and his subordinate

Niki The Photographer

Older Niki and his younger muse

Bailey the Caretaker

Another Shit Day (Stripper Reader, rough sex, younger Bailey)

Misc.

Men's Big Hands (Doren, Veteran Guard, Eden)

Daddy and Mommy (When they enjoyed being called daddy or mommy. Briar, Bailey, Harper, Remy)

The Manspreaders

Whitney the Asshole Tattoo Artist (Dacryphilia)

Harper versus Briar on Kissing

Events!

Inky Halloween Event 2022-2023

[undead-merman]

Day Twenty One: Teacher Telepathy

Eden and GN Pc

This idea was from @inkyquince's professor Eden. Yes, I wrote this for Inky and Necro

Contains student and teacher relations, thoughts of kidnapping, abuse and extortion of reader, stalking, adoption with the intent to lock you up and fuck you

Fucking coffee grinder broke right on his first day. Snapped right in his hands before he could even make a cup. Normally he’d fix it, but this one was a welcoming gift from Sirris, some electrical hunk of shit instead of an old school mechanical one like he prefers. He doesn’t know how to fix this fucking thing.  He’s not even sure what happened to the old one. So now he’s without coffee and a grinder for it. He’d have to stop by that little run down place right at the forest edge to pick up another.

He grabbed his ham and cheese lunch, wrapped in a brown paper bag, a bottle of filtered water, and house keys before heading out. The sun had yet to rise, leaving the shadows as thick as dark as the thoughts of people passing by.

All of them, fucking disgusting.

Each one echoed in his head like a chamber. Disturbed and deprived thoughts from everyone, though a few thoughts resonate fear when he walked by. Fearing his face, his build, his walk, or even his scars. Some even … Lusted after him, thoughts they believed to be private were loud about what they’d do to him.

It just made his mood worse.

When he got to school and managed to get some coffee from there, it was watery, tasted like trash and some kind of cleaning chemical. He dumped it after the first drink and decided to opt for his water to settle him over as he sat in his room and looked over each class roster. Nothing special, not surprised.

So before everyone filed into his workshop, he took the time to start whittling and enjoy the rare silence.

-

The classes were as loud as he expected. Not just out loud, he could quiet them down in a second, but their thoughts were all over. It gave him a migraine instantly.

Some of them thought this class meat they could fuck around, either with each other or. He made sure to nip that idea right in the bud. It was a hassle just dealing with everyone. Though there was you. You minded your own business, you were particularly cute, not rowdy/ but one thing that stuck out was how calm your thoughts were. They weren’t as foul as the others in town. Sure you weren’t focused entirely on the task assigned but the thoughts about the dog you saw at the orphanage made him smile to himself.

His eyes hardly left you. He studied every part of you. The way you carried yourself, talked to your peers. He didn’t even realize till the end of class that he’d been completely enraptured by you. Even by the end of the school day, his thoughts lingered on you. Even when he got home and took a shower,

he found his thoughts lingering on you still.

Looking down, he saw his cock twitching to life, the dark head began to swell and leak. He ran a hand from his stomach down to his mess of pubes as he thought about your face. The heat of arousal just builds as he adds more kindling to it. Thinking about if you were a virgin or not. You seemed like it. His hand grabs his dick and began pumping.

How tight would you be around him? Were you a quiet moaner or a screamer? You seem like the type to like it rough, and he could provide that. Ram into your hole and until you see stars.

He spills on his hand, and he takes a moment to look at what he’s done. There's shame, though not as much as he’d thought there’d be. His contentedness outweighs anything else. He could do this again and have no problems with the fact that you are his student.

-

It’s been a few weeks now, he’s gotten used to the schedule, he knows almost everyone’s names now, even if he didn't really did not care for most of his students.

But you, he likes you. He keeps an eye on you in class. Watching you as you work and being one of the rare student’s he comes up to help instead of telling them to pay more attention in class before kicking them off the machines for the day. He would have been fine with simply having perverted thoughts about you and jerking off in the shower every night. He really would have, but you saw one of his whittled pieces and smiled looking over it.

Those soft hands of yours gliding over the carved out wolf, your head filled with nothing but genuine awe. Shit, he wanted to ruin you now. You were too docile and sweet for this damn town. He built a cage under his bed for you. It was a spur of them moment thing on a weekend after Sirris dragged him along for drinks. He hated drinking, he wasn’t even sure why he agreed. But the buzz in his stomach and head had him trying to busy his hands and lead to a half finished cage. And when he woke up to see it, he made sure to finish it. The idea of you under there had him just staring, picturing you inside, as he stroked his cock a bit harder this time around than normal. Grumbling when he realized his cum flew and he had to clean the bars.

He’d made his coffee for the day, sat at his seat waiting for the morning to start when he heard a knocking on the door. He frowned, sat up from the chair and swung it open, expecting some snotting idiot to ask him for an extension on a project. No, it was you. Project in hand.

You sat in with him making small talk that he strangely found himself enjoying as he gazed at your project. You did well. Surprisingly so, most students just turn it in for a grade with stuff he’s seen a dozen times before, but you added your own flair and seemed to work hard on it.

You’d be good as a house spouse. Fixing his clothes, taking time to sew up that rip in his nice cable knit sweater. He let one question out, just to test the waters and masking it as concern for you. You answered and seemed happy he was asking something more personal than just to put your name and date on your paper. He asked more, and before he knew it, his watch went off, five minutes before the first bell. You gave him a smile and a wave.

‘Mr. Eden looks handsome today.’

His heart went into his throat as you went out the door. He locked the door and fucked his fist. Cumming all over his hand with two minutes still left.

-

You came into his room more frequently. He could hear your thoughts. You found him safe, even nice. He couldn’t have been farther from those things. In fact, he was the most dangerous thing to you at this school. But he loved that. He loved how safe and secure you felt when he simply was just in the room with you. Would you feel the same way he sat you on his lap during class? Skull fucked you while there was a test going on?

“Mr. Eden are you married?”

He could be. He’d marry you. Not only that, but he’d take excellent care of you. Make sure you never felt lonely, the bed was always warm, He’d even make dinners for you if you made breakfast and coffee. He answers. No. he doesn’t elaborate. And you were content with that, just the way he likes it.

Though your fist catches his eye. Bruised, just ever so slightly, probably even covered up with some kind of make up. He studied you more as you looked at his news carving. Just under your school shirt right at the neck, rubbed off by the collar, was a bruise, one from a rope. He shouldn’t be surprised. You lived at the orphanage. He’d heard about your debt, he was acquainted with Bailey, after all.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d give Bailey a call about you?

-

Sure enough, he was right. He’d been getting you to pay over four thousand a week for the past few months. Figures. Bailey asked if he was interested in you, already sniffing out the reason. He didn’t fully respond, though that was because he didn’t have to.

“The brat hasn’t been able to make their payments. Probably won’t even have this week's either.”

Bailey still owed him that favor… He mentioned it, and he heard a very rare laugh come from him.

“You want them?”

That alone caused him to rub the front of his legs, feeling his trousers becoming tight.

-

It was faster than he expected. Bailey made a comment he was getting soft when he requested it look like an adoption, even though he didn’t actually care about signing it. It just had to look that way to you.

When you had gotten the news, you’d busted into his room blabbering and pulling him into a hug with big wet eyes. Your thoughts were loud today, like new year's celebrations. It was cute, he found himself petting your head and when you calmed down he could hear the thoughts you were trying to push out of your own mind.

‘He’s going to be my dad now… I shouldn’t think about that kind of stuff.’

He’d never dug into thoughts. Not like this. He chased after what you tried to bury. Fantasies about you and him. Not as filthy as what he had in mind, but the fact you saw him in that light had him clenching his hand so hard his nails were digging into his callouses. What was stopping him from pushing you onto the desk and fucking you, just like you both wanted? Tying you up and dragging you home to lock under his bed until you couldn’t do anything but drool over his cock and beg for him to claim you as his own.

He moved closer. Slowly dragging his hand-over your knee and working over your thigh. He could hear you, even though you weren’t talking. He adored the little conflict running through your mind. Even more so with the fact you didn’t move away. Your mind ran a muck, and he kept pushing. You didn’t stop him. Eternally, you were hoping for more. And he gave it to you. Large hands pushing into your underwear to grope you. His middle finger rubbing against your hole.

Soon enough you were in his lap, his fingers inside you, sloppy and wet. The sounds of your hole being abused, and your heavy breathing were loud in his empty classroom. Your fingers digging into the flesh of his arm as he watched you like a predator. You were just as tight as he hopped, if not more so.

Your toes and legs curled as you came from his hand alone. You were gasping for breath. He simply unfastened his buttons and pulled down his zipper. Slowly pulling out his fingers before pulling another confiscated packet of lube out and squeezed it onto his cock.

And he was going to have you all to himself when he finally got you home too.

[inkyquince]

So you know when you have dogpeople activated, it's a huge taboo to be caught fuckin em and such

So they have the usual dog roles don't they?

So just... Having thoughts...

characters. Whitney. Mention of Landry and Niki.

cw. Whitney times ahead. Dog-person reader. Mention of animal cruelty but nothing graphic, just a joke. Breeding, pet play to the extreme, taboo behaviors, for fucking DoL at least. Whitney watching you piss, make of that what you will. 2.6k words.

Whitney never really liked dogs. Everyone thought he should, a boy treasuring a loyal companion who wouldn’t mind sticking by him, even joining in on his shenanigans. They were wrong. Whitney was never a fan of dogs. Cats. Anything. 

Worse? Hybrids. Fucking useless. Not a full dog, not a full person. 

So, when his aunt surprised him with a dopey fucking dog, he was less than pleased. What the shit was he going to do with this thing? None of the pros of having a dog, all the cons of having a dog AND a fucking roommate. Even if the stupid thing didn’t even realize it. 

“Can just tie them up outside. It’ll walk itself, shit in the corner of the garden, piss. Just throw some chow out there and it’ll snarf that up.” One of his friends leaned over to light his cigarette, fingers curved against the wind blowing through the park. 

“Pretty sure that’s animal cruelty.” Someone piqued up, coughing after dragging on a shoddily rolled joint. 

“You’d only get half the sentence, though.” 

Whitney huffed to himself and took a drag on his cigarette, letting the heat fill his lungs, tickling his throat pleasantly before exhaling raggedly. 

“Should just sell the thing.” He mused, flicking the ash into the wet grass. “Get some fucking use out of it.” 

“Give it to Landry, he and that photographer use ‘em for those videos.” That piqued his interest. 

“What videos? The usual sick shit?” Whitney glanced over, aware of some of the shit the criminal helped produce. Fuck, that was the first time he ever jerked it to fucking internet porn. Some nasty fucking shit, not entirely… Legal, but fucking normal in this town. 

“Oh, better. Landry’s a sick fucking puppy, bro.” His lackey grinned up at him, so proud of catching Whitney’s interest at long last. “Yknow, those pups are horny, but you gotta just shake them off and then they just lick their own crotch for a while. But, y’know, some people? Some people… Fuck em.” “Yeah, no shit, cuntface.” Whitney wasn’t a fucking idiot. Hell, he loved sending stupid sluts to go grab something for him, only for them to get trapped with a dog person. Fucking rubbing their stupid cunts on their face, or getting mounted by a fat dick, and the stupid slut crying for someone to help them. No one wants to be seen getting rutted into or against by one of those stupid things. It’s fucking humiliating. The entire town labels you a pervert. “I know people fuck the-” “Landry films it. Films it and uploads it. Then give the dog-person over to the pound or something.” She relaxed against the grass, leaning back so glibly that she didn’t realize that she was lying in his cigarette ash. Idiot.  The others pulled faces at each other, grossed out at the thought  of anyone getting off on watching someone fucking or getting fucked by a dog-person. Whitney, however, squinted at her. 

“Any good?” “Whitney, gross-”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, are they any good?” 

“I mean… From the views alone, I’m saying Landry is making a neat little sum on the side.” She shrugged before pulling her phone out and typing on it, her long fake nails making the most annoying clicking noises. Whitney’s annoyance grew until she finally showed him a website she pulled up. All he got was a glimpse of a page packed with thumbnails of cocks and tits and dogtails before she took her phone back again. “I say, sell the thing to him, and if they’re good enough, you’ll get a nice bit of pocket money on the side.” “Hey, that’s not a bad idea, is it, Whit?” One of the other blockheads piqued up. “Grab random dog people and sell them?” “Landry’s not going to take any random mutt, shitlips.” “It’s Lipschitz! And fuck off, it was a good idea-”

“Yeah, for a dipshit-” 

Whitney rolled his eyes and leaned back on the swing again, exhaling the smoke from his nose as he ignored the bickering between his lackeys again. Yeah. Get rid of you, and get a nice payday. He could work with that. 

Except as he walked, he couldn’t help but mull it over. The site. The amount of videos. Curiosity nagged at him with each step, bringing him closer to his evening plans. 

His parents were never in anymore, especially in the evenings. Off, on a date night, wrapped up in each other, or at work, or at what the fuck ever. It’s always been up to him to make his own food, wash up, clean, except now he was doing it for two. Heated up something in the oven for himself and poured some food for you into your bowl, dragging on his cigarette as he watched you chew loudly, snarfing it down gratefully. Refilling your water as he washed his plate, jabbing at the chunks of food before giving up and leaving it to soak, so his mother would eventually take care of it. Pulling a face as you whined to be let out and nudging the backdoor open so you could trot out and make yourself comfy, stubbing out his cigarette as he watched you piss into the grass, feeling something warm in the curve of his belly. Eventually tugging you back inside and locking the door before heading upstairs, ignoring your excited little steps after him. Continued to ignore you as he flung himself into bed, as you nosed among his things, before tucking yourself under his cluttered desk with a little yawn. Whitney’s kicks off his pre-ripped jeans, underwear and shirt before giving his balls a rub, stretching out on his duvet. He slipped on some sweats, before dragging a blanket over his midriff, more focused on his phone, pulling up the website whats-her-fuck showed him earlier. 

It was obvious that most videos came from one person, with only a few being some real amateur shit, with shaky camera and an overexcited camera person. No, Landry’s shit was obviously good. Niki as the camera guy, appreciative angles, but also… 

It fucking looked good. 

The dog boy sitting all cute, blinking like a stupid bitch at the camera as it zoomed in on his big eyes before zooming out. Late at night, at the beach, his tail wagging, before the camera pans over to some guy, naked from the waist down. Cock bobbing as this dude massages his own balls. 

“This your dog?” A voice from behind the camera asks and the guy nods. “You fuck the pooch a lot?” 

“Oh yeah.” The guy’s obviously mic'd up, with the seashore wind picking up. “I got him from the pound and he just had such a cute ass. They’re so easy to train. Watch.” 

The guy whistles and the puppy boy trots over excitedly, his bubble butt raised high and proud, almost inviting a pervert in. Whitney’s cock began to rise, tenting his sweats. He huffed to himself, laying his hand over his bulge and giving it a squeeze. The dog-person leans up to sniff a bit at the guy’s cock but doesn't seem that interested, more into sweetly nuzzling at his balls. There were a few chuckles from the men standing around and the pup looked around, tongue lolling out, tail wagging so hard at being the object of such enjoyment. 

“He’s cute.” The guy behind the camera said, to some murmurs of agreement. 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” The guy chuckled before snapping his fingers at the dog-boy. “Present.” 

The change was instantaneous. His ears perked up and his tail started going a mile miles per hour. Fuck, even his knotted cock sprang up so quickly that it earned an appreciative whistle. Within moments, he had fallen onto his back and rolled over onto his soft tummy, raising his ass, even humping the air a bit, as if trying to entice. 

“Yeah, puppy. You want a nice breeding, don’t you?” The guy dropped to his knees and Whitney had to slip his hand into his sweats at long lost, massaging at his shaft eagerly. 

The puppy-boy whined and raised his ass further, spreading his legs. 

“Breed! Please breed!” He whined, shaking his ass like he was about to pounce. 

Whitney groaned, his stomach tightening, slipping his cock free fully and jerking it with desperation. His thumb dragging against his slit, teasing out precum as he desperately played with himself. Fuck, he didn’t really get it before, but this was fucking doing it for him. Stupid sluts he enjoyed, but fuck. Trained stupid sluts, rolling over at the snap of his fingers? No wonder Landry was having success with this shit, way more appealing than anything he’s watched before- 

The feeling of something wet brushing the back of his hand made him cuss and nearly throw his phone. Blinking against the dark after staring at his phone screen for so long, it took him a moment to realise what the fuck that feeling even was. 

Your big stupid eyes were staring up at him, nudging your nose against the back of his hand with a look of blind adoration. 

“What ya watching?” Your tail was wagging, probably having heard the sound of an excited puppy-boy from across the room. 

Whitney glanced from your big, excited eyes, your tail wagging wildly, back to the his video, titled “Puppy-boy bred full at the beach”, with the camera in the perfect POV shot, showing a fat cock drilling the poor dog-person’s asshole, before looking back at you. You didn’t seem perturbed by his staring, stupid bitch you were, in fact, your smile at him just broadened, happy at the attention. Your happy little face so close to his fat cock, throbbing still in his hand. 

He slowly sat up, chucking his phone to the side, slipping into a cross legged position, cock pressing against his stomach. Whitney took hold of the base of his cock, a smirk slowly growing on his face as you remained close, tail wagging. Squeezing the base of his cock, he watched as your eyes went from looking at his face, to his erection with an innocent curiosity. He grinned and lightly tapped the head against your lips, smearing precum, and your tongue flicked out to taste it, before scrunching your cute little face up. 

“Salty.” You stuck out your tongue, as if airing it out would help. 

Whitney took the moment to drag his cock over it again, your rough tongue brushing over the slit in a way that almost had him grab you by your floppy ears and fuck your mouth… Well…

“Open.” Whitney demanded, and you whined, tail stilling for a moment before you opened your maw. 

Perfect. A sloppy, pink hole for him to fuck until you learn to love the taste of cock. Maybe that will up your value. 

In the dark of the room, with the only light being from his phone, the loudest noise was the wet slap of his cock rubbing against your drooling tongue, hitting the back of your throat, saliva swishing loudly as Whitney groaned. It wasn’t like the sluts at school. You couldn’t stop salivating, spit running down your chin as your tail continued to wag wildly. He could fucking condition you. Just the whiff of cock and you’d be a drooly, wet mess. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Who's my good puppy?” He groaned, letting his mouth run without meaning to. 

You whined with excitement, ears perking up at the first bit of positive reinforcement you had ever gotten from Whitney. 

“Yeah, you are. My cute, stupid, cockwhore puppy.” His tone was soft and your brain registered as good, as your brain clouded and you couldn’t stop drooling. “Gonna fuck you, huh? Gonna breed your stupid puppy hole, huh?” 

Your tail stopped all together, your eyes growing large and dark. Ah. Liked that word huh? Whitney yanked his cock out of your throat, drool spilling all over his floor, dripping from his erection and your tongue. 

“Alright. Roll over, or something. C’mon.” 

You whined and spread your legs from your seated position, sitting back on your haunches, showing off how excited you were, making a mess all over his floor. Squirming a bit, you fell onto your back, tail peeking out and wagging as you stared up at your master with unblemished love. Whitney smirked and kneeled down in front of you, leaning over for a moment to spit into your mouth before papping his slicked up cock against your hole, puffy and ready to be bred. 

The sound of the front door opening had him stilling for just a moment, and his cock softened a bit. If his parents found him with his stupid dog-person like this? What-

Your hole snagged against the tip of his cock, jerking his attention back to you as you whined and desperately humped at him. Alright. Fuck. Yeah. His pooch needed seeing to. As his parents moved around downstairs, his mother bemoaning the fact he left his dishes in the sink, he put a sweating palm over your mouth, letting you lick the salt from his palm as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your hole. Whitney groaned as he slowly sunk into you, your excited huffing slipping into a pleasured whine. 

“Good puppy.” Whitney hissed out between his teeth, his hips moving involuntarily as he fucked into your tight, sloppy heat. The squelching sound of his curved cock hitting deep into your hole was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever fucking heard. He’s heard sluts whining for cock, he’s fucked his fair share of whores, but jesus christ, this puppy-bitch was the best of both worlds. Loyal, dumb, like a dog, with the hole of the nastiest whore in town. Thoughts of selling you onto Landry, only seeing you fucked open on videos, slipped away, more focused on simultaneously trying to fuck deeper and deeper into you, but also keeping quiet as his parents ascended the staircase. 

“I should check on Whitney.” His mother whispered to his father, who just grunted. 

His panic flipped, both from his balls tightening as your heat clamped down around him, but also shock. Whitney was not going to get caught fucking his stupid fucking dog-person. With a low hiss, he hooked his arms around your thighs and picked you up, you nuzzling into his neck with a happy huff, stupid bitch. He almost had to wrestle you into bed, with you excitedly still trying to back up against his cock trapped in your hole. His mother’s voice came closer and he just barely yanked his covers up over him and you, with you still snuffling at his cheek. 

The door opened and a line of light cut across his room and there was a beat of silence, with you still lovingly nuzzling into him. 

“Awh. He finally let the pooch sleep on his bed.” His mother cooed. There was another beat, of her watching him, and you slowly humping at his cock, balls about to fucking burst inside his puppy-person with his mother fucking watching. 

After a beat, the door closed again, and Whitney let out a guttural moan into your shoulder, a few more humps from you more than enough to send him over the edge, cum flooding your hole as his mother’s footsteps retreated to the master bedroom. 

“Fucking… Hell…” Whitney raggedly breathed out as you shivered against him, beginning to lick affectionately at his chin. You were more of a person than a dog, he guessed. 

A few days later, he was back at the park, with you dozing against his knee as he sat at the fountain.  Whitney had struggled with selling you to Landry, with his friends around him remarking their surprise the mutt was still around and still as adoring of him as ever. With only the one who recommended  him the site giving him a knowing leer and petting your ears. 

[inkyquince]

The Problem Child

characters. Caleb (Love and Deep Space)

cw. Female Reader. Pseudo-incest (adopted siblings). Drugging (not of reader, and not in a sexual nature). Gentle coercion. Insane incest kink. light scent kink. implied clothes stealing. Reader receiving oral (Caleb doesn't even THINK about making you return the favor). Implied loss of virginity but not a big focus.

notes. A commission from @letstalktea! Final word count is slightly over 10k words! Also for V.Gen!

Caleb was always the one Grandmother had been the most wary of. He knew it from the first day they met each other, her soft smile doing nothing to offset the starched white color of her lab coat. By now he knew what they meant. Knew what they did. Her hands were soft, warm, but it didn’t mean her grip wasn’t firm, with nails that left marks. Never on him, no she learned her lesson that he could bite. No. Marks on.. You. 

It didn’t change anything when Grandmother took them away. With you, his other half, tucked into her side, clinging to her overcoat, his hand squished in her sweating one as they hurried in the night. She might have forgotten the monster that had stolen them away and kept them safe, but he never would. Caleb could keep a grudge for years, with his perfect memory. No, you used your memory as you should. Keeping track of his slights and when he owed you candies. The sweetest little sister anyone could have, who by a miracle, had no memory at all of what happened. Just.. The tail end of it. You sometimes woke up crying, and he’d be at your side in seconds, letting you curl your arms around his neck and holding him close, whimpering. You would mumble about smoke, and ash and debris and he’d be unable to be the one to chase them away. Caleb sometimes dreamed of cracking open your head, to slice the memory free, kiss the bleeding organ and stitch the skin back together. He’d be so careful, refusing to damage any part of you outside of the pain, the hurt, the panic. Maybe you’d feel a sharp pain every now and then, the phantom pain of something that should be there twinging at you, but he’d take that. You would too, with two painkillers, a glass of water and a kiss to the scar he left. 

But he couldn’t. Not when so young, with a wish that was impossible. Maybe Grandma would have succeeded, but he wouldn’t have allowed it. No, even when she would take the two of you for your shots, he’d watch closely, with a scowl that wouldn’t disappear, no matter how many lollipops were waved in his face by nurses. Even at home, he took over your scrapes, gently unpeeling plasters, dabbing cotton balls against blood, held your hand as the sting hit you. Caleb was the one to look after you. As he always would. 

This was a fact he knew ever since he’d even met you. Ever since he pressed his finger into the center of your small palm and felt you squeeze it feebly. He knew it every day, when he awoke, knowing there was something else out there, ready to hurt you at any moment. He hated that he had to pick his fights. Caleb could lock you into the attic, could hold you after every nightmare, could promise you that he would take you above the clouds, but someone would let you out. You could wander away. Someone else would get to you, let you out, unaware that this world would ruin you. 

Even worse… If he was the one to lock you up, if you knew he was the one, then you’d look at him differently. Caleb couldn’t bear that. He already did so much to keep… Dirtier parts of himself away from your eyes. He was proud of what he did for you, but you spooked easier than your pride would allow you to admit. Thunder made you shake, lighting had you hiding under your covers. A simple cut to your finger had you on the verge of tears, colds made you fuss worse than any teething baby. You claimed you could face down monsters, bullies, anything that awaited out there in the wilds. But he never really believed you, even with all your insisting that you could. 

Sometimes he overheard Grandma calling him a little monster, under her breath usually, whenever she got another call, from… School. Your friends’ parents. Whomever.  It was in the looks of the people he went against, with his group of friends flanking him. Sometimes in the eyes of adults, who thought they knew better. Maybe they did. After all, something deep inside of him knew. Knew that he could dote on you all he liked, carry you everywhere, make sure you would always be safe, but something had been written into his heart a long time ago, along with the minuscule scars from needles, and the nightmares were there was breathing tubes still pressed against his face, with monitors beeping loudly in the sterile room. 

They had made sure he had the heart of a predator, pumping hot blood through his veins. The same people who made you… 

You. 

The prey to his predator. The little red riding hood to his wolf. But in turn you were his weakness too. The hunter to his Wanderer. 

Maybe that’s why he liked to change the books he read to you when you needed to sleep. Red Riding Hood started winding her fingers into the Wolf’s fur and babbled about the flowers she picked up. You didn’t even notice when the grandmother was written out of his version. No one else, just you and your wolf. 

No, no one else. But stories couldn’t become reality, no matter how many times he scribbled out the words on the page and wrote in what he wanted. 

However, like a wolf, he did bite. 

Some no name boy in your class. He made you cry. You had brought one of your plushies to school. You had a nightmare the night before, curling against Caleb like the two of you were twins in the womb, safe. And Caleb couldn’t come with you into your classroom, he was the building over. As per usual, he waited for you, by the gates, waving his friends on. He made it clear to Grandma that he was taking over walking you home, no stops. And when you appeared, your pigtails loose and limp, your school bag hanging off your shoulder and dangling pathetically, with your plushie in one hand, its ripped bunny ears in your other hand. Fluff drifting in the wind, loosening from the open gash. 

He made fun of you. For your soft, pale yellow bunny that you had won yourself, tucked in your bag, with its long ears sticking out of the top. Then took it from you. And hurt you. 

You didn’t stop crying, even after he promised to get some sweets. To sew the ears back on. Just the act of someone hurting something you held dear, something with no nerve endings being hurt, made you ugly cry. Your empathetic, soft heart couldn’t take it. Blood was too violent of a liquid to be pumping through your veins. He could swear that the same stuffing that fattened your plushies flowed through your own body. 

And Grandma dared to look at him, when you two came through the door, like he caused this. She took your elbow and cooed and it wasn’t until you blubbered out what had happened, did she finally drop the accusatory look. 

While you were fed cookies and a mug of something warm, he went back out. Caleb wasn’t even sure what he did, letting the anger thrumming in his veins take control. He remembered using his Evol to make the boy drop to his knees, giving a cry of pain. All he did remember, is that the taste of blood didn’t leave his mouth for a week, even when he brushed his teeth under Grandma’s watchful eye. You mentioned in passing, swinging your connected hands as you walked, that one of the boys in your class had an accident and somehow ripped the top part of his ear. You couldn’t tell if it was torn all the way off, he had a big puffy bandage over all of it, but he resembled your one eared rabbit. 

It went on. Caleb coming to your rescue. Didn’t mean he couldn’t be the one teasing you senselessly most days. You’d stomp your foot like a little rabbit, exactly like the ones he saw all those years ago, their beady red eyes staring at him, sleek white fur clumped and ruffled. Even the way you’d glare at him from the side matched theirs. Except he got to pet you. Ruffling your hair every time he’d slight you, and you’d lose the glare and the pout… Most of the time. 

Except one time… 

He had said something. Or did something. But you stomped away from him, hair swishing as Caleb ambled after you, laughing his apologies. He didn’t even see the boy sitting there until you lunged forward, grabbing him by the hand holding the pages of the book open. 

“No! I’m going to play with Zayne and you’re not allowed to come!” You yanked the lanky kid after you, blind to the bewildered look behind his glasses. 

Caleb let the easy smile slip from his face. Whatever remained must have been chilling, if the look Zayne had on when he glanced back over his shoulder at him. They never seemed to really like each other, despite you liking the boy next door quite a lot and Caleb always being a few steps away. 

Time went on, you two grew up, Grandma’s back started having issues. Zayne moved away. You stopped coming to his bed when there were thunderstorms. You made your own friends, and you’d come to him when things were bad. You asked Grandma about certain things you were going through, even though Caleb took it upon himself to look everything up, wanting to be the one you could rely on no matter what. Periods, bras, feelings, everything in-between. It didn’t matter if you covered your ears and basically screeched every time he even tried to bring it up. 

It was bound to happen. You gently disentangling the strings that used to tie you together, even if you didn’t sever them completely. You’d never do that. While you seemed to thrive and float up above the rest of them, Caleb… Well. 

Grandmother went from wary to deeply vigilant. She sometimes probed you about him. He always overheard it. Maybe she was going slightly deaf and couldn’t whisper as low anymore. She’d ask if he had asked you to keep any secrets from anyone, bribed you with sweets or plushies. She did it when you were younger too, but she went from asking if you thought he was hurting anyone to if he ever made you uncomfortable. Which was stupid really. Caleb would burn himself for your comfort. He just made sure to ease you into most things, from tying your own shoelaces, to actually doing your homework instead of disappearing to the garden, to go play. 

What Grandma didn’t know was that you two were like swans. A swan pair, not needing anyone else, living their whole lives together. Even if he didn’t bribe you, you’d never tell on him… Mainly because he could do no wrong in your eyes. He was safe. He was good.

You were the only one to believe that, of course. Grandmother knew better, she had seen inside of him in every way. And there came the tipping point where Caleb knew he wasn’t good either. Safe? For you? Always. 

He stopped believing he was good one sunny day you two were sitting in the garden, you on your tummy in the grass, and he, cross legged beside you. He had just noticed a clip in your hair, one you didn’t leave the house with. A tiny heart decorated it, twinkling in the sun. Caleb flicked it and you scrunched your nose at him with annoyance as it slid out of place. 

“Caleb, stop.” You unclipped it and combed your strands back in place. 

“What is it?” 

“A hair clip, dummy.” 

“I know it’s a hair clip, bigger dummy.” Caleb rolled his eyes, but still leaned over to fix your hair in place for you to slide it in. “It’s new.” 

“It’s a present.” You clipped it back in, now kicking your feet gently. “A girl in my class gave it to me for Love Day, with some chocolates. Asked if we could go to the aquarium together for White Day.” 

Caleb stilled, his fingers still in your hair. For one moment, his head was silent. Then it was like a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. Others could see what he always saw. Something good and wonderful and someone to cherish. Maybe others could see, Zayne certainly did, but maybe he never thought that someone could see also… More. More than he did, at least. He knew the two of you would be together forever, swans. But he never thought of something like marriage. He loved you but it took a girl, with no face, no name, nothing to her, giving you some misshapen chocolates and a cheap hair clip, to realise that there was more to his love than just adoration, servitude, protection. More. Much more, much deeper, and whatever it was, it had teeth. The taste of blood tinged his tongue. 

“She’s pretty, but sometimes she pinches me to get my attention and Zayne, you remember Zayne?” Oblivious to something unfurling, growing, like a lick of flame to dried fuel, tinder waiting to be ruined, you babbled on, still kicking your grass stained feet. “Zayne once said he saw her chewing her ice cream and he was sure that she couldn’t go through life without chewing on it a bit first. It made me laugh and I accidentally snorted my juice, remember? I still miss him. Anyway, I thought back to that and starting thinking that if she wanted to kiss me in front of the fish, she might bite me instead and-” 

“Huh?” Caleb could feel smoke catching in his throat. 

“Kissing. What if she bites me first? She bites a lot of things. And that would kinda suck? But I don’t know if I should return her presents to me if I say I don’t want to go to the aquarium, but me and Granny already ate all the chocolates-” 

“You’d have a bad first kiss.” His words felt rushed, heated. 

“Yeah!” You looked up at him, a small pout already forming. 

Caleb took in your expression, breathing faster than he should. His palms were sweating. Why? He knew why. He was an excellent liar except to himself, he knew every thought and emotion that drove his actions, his tongue, his teeth. He was nervous, his body unsure while his mind had never been so clear before. 

It wasn’t dirty. Swift, close lipped, dry… Warm. The phantom of chocolate lingered on your lips. It was… Sweet. 

And then you burst into tears. 

“Caleb you, you, you- You!!” You got to your feet, grass stains covering your clothes, tears pricking your eyes. 

After one rabbit stomp of your foot, you darted back inside the house. Caleb was a bit stunned, the euphoria of your- his- both of your first kiss, your quick dart away, the fire beginning to grow to its full flame in his belly. He got back up, unable to help the laughter spilling from his lips, even as he entered the kitchen, Grandma moping at your tears. She looks up at him, angry, accusatory. 

“It was a joke!” Was the only thing he could manage, all of his teeth showing in his grin, still unable to stop the chuckles. 

That was the first time he ever felt like he deserved Grandma’s punishment, but also… He didn’t. It didn’t matter anyway, being sent to bed without dessert, since you hid a plate of moon cakes behind your back and tapped on his door. Your eyes puffy, but your smile intact, sweets in hand. Even you forgave him easily. You’d never be mad at him for too long. 

So life went on. 

You never had a boyfriend- or a girlfriend- while growing up. You still relied on him like he was your other half. Swans. As if he hadn’t hurt the other kids growing up. As if he didn’t still think about your first kiss in the garden, even though you more or less wiped it from your memory.

As if his teeth felt sharper, and the smoke wasn’t painting his insides black. As if he started locking his door before unzipping his trousers, just to drag his fingers against his half hard cock, drunk off just his thoughts. His beautiful, disgusting thoughts. First, he would just focus on the feeling of your lips against his. It was a pure moment, just the synapses in his brain couldn’t help but fire off at the memory. The time it took him to cum was embarrassingly short, if he looked back on it. But the more he got used to the pleasure, to last longer, the more he grew used to the memory. Still excited him, but it was barely a low burn compared to what it was before. 

Take the afternoon that you got your results, the affirmation that you were going to be gone by September, to university. It was different to him leaving for school. He was leaving you with a woman that couldn’t fight against you if needed. You were exactly where he left you, waving in the rear view mirror. Waving him back home too. Like you had been frozen in glass in the time he was away, learning, flying. Like you wouldn’t dare to move without his presence. 

But for you to wander off into the world? Not sit quiet and pretty for him to sweep you into his arms and feel you against him, his body?

It was a scrape against his heart, raw. Like your skinned knees when you tripped over your own laces. 

Grandma was so happy and you were practically hopping. The two of you started making plans, to buy new bedding, notebooks, cooking utensils, to prepare you for university, despite there still being 3 months before your term even started. 

Caleb wandered off, satisfied that his charade of smiles and congratulations was enough to appease the two women in his life. He went upstairs, to stand in your doorway, just drinking in the sight of your bedroom. An organised mess, Grandma always called it. The plushies had their place, as did the pictures, the buttons, the knick-knacks you loved to keep around. His eyes snagged on your hamper, nearly overflowing. He had been barred from doing the laundry, instead forever on kitchen duty, the day Grandma found your shirt tucked under his pillow. Completely innocent but ever since your first kiss, she had it out for him. 

With a low, slow exhale, he straightened up, coming to his full height before heading over to your laundry.

“Sorry, Gege just needs to grab something real quick.” He murmured under his breath before starting to idly sort through skirts, shirts, socks, until his fingers grazed the cotton trim of your underwear.

 He slipped them free of the bundle, scrutinising them more than he did his textbooks, his flight plans. Caleb examined them closely, running his thumb over the band before quickly pressing it to his face. Perfect. Worn for a day and thrown in the wash. He did wonder if he dug around more, he would find something you wore longer, but no, he doubted you were one to wear underwear longer than needed… Unlike him sometimes. He folded the garment neatly into a square and headed to his own room, down the hallway. Locking his door was a familiar sensation, downright Pavlovian with the way his cock perked up. 

Lying back, he unbuttoned the top of his jeans, enough to slip his cock free to lie against his stomach, already half hard. Caleb dragged his fingers against the shaft, up to his gently leaking head, but focused more on the underwear wrapped in his fist. A cute spot in the fabric made his brain whir. He could just imagine it. Something exciting you, pressing your thighs together, your pussy wetting itself, getting ready to be played with. Did you ignore it? Or did you hide away in your room, making yourself comfortable before dipping a hand into your underwear. Maybe slipped into the shower and tried to point the shower head at your clit, only to squeal and drop it with the pressure being too intense. He should have checked your drawers for a vibrator or any other toys. Caleb’s mind whirled with scenarios, you trying to work a toy into you, struggling to keep one against your clit, the shower, stuff he’d used before to work himself up, but something else probed at him. 

You, with your toys, with your sensitivity, with the shower head, shyly spreading your legs to show him. Even in his usual day dreams he was more of a voyeur, but… With you slipping free from him, going off-  

Caleb had scared everyone else off. You were going to be in Linkon. New people. Unbroken hymen. Not that an intact hymen meant you didn’t lose your virginity, but fuck, if it was up to Caleb, he’d make sure you were so properly deflowered. The pleasure would be so much that you wouldn’t mind when the creamy ring around the base of his cock was tinged red with blood. 

“Fuck.” The harsh hiss that slipped between his teeth surprised him, the image making him arch his back, thrusting into his hand roughly. 

He leaned over to his bedside drawer, yanking it open to retrieve a bottle of lube. His hand was too dry. He could forgo a firmer grip, for a wetter one. After all, he wouldn’t be like some sort of first boyfriend who had no idea where the clit was and would press into you practically dry. No, he would play with your pussy until you were embarrassingly wet. Not just fingering, he’d suck on your clit until you cried, weakly squirming and trying to kick him off, but he wouldn’t let you. 

His stroking got faster, tighter, warmed lube squelching obscenely. It was getting warmer, approaching how toasty your skin usually was whenever you two hugged, bumped hands, the one time he managed a pinch to just below your breasts while swimming. Earned him a shriek and a swat, with a mouthful of lake water, but worth it. He could just about imagine it would match how cosy it would be between your thighs. Closing his eyes, he could see it. Both of your legs tucked over his shoulder, your tits gently bouncing, still trapped in your bra. Your wide, doe-like eyes looking up at him, as his cock fucked the supple skin, the head peeking out just to drool even more precum onto your panties. Streaks of pearly fluid soaking into the fabric, bunching it up whenever he pushed further against you. You making soft noises every time his shaft rocked along that cute wet patch of your underwear, promising that when he finally peeled it off, the most delicious gift would be there, waiting for him to-

Knock knock knock! 

Caleb yanked his sheets up, over his crotch, his straining cock, flushed and angry, keeping one hand on it lest there be an embarrassing, obvious tent with his blanket. You poked your head in, even before he could give his permission. 

“Hey, hey- Huh? You okay?” You blinked at him, concern etched into your face.

“Yeah. Just taking a moment. What’s up?” 

“Grandma says we should have braised wings.” Your smile was contagious, and Caleb couldn’t help but to show his own teeth right back at you, even with his erection threatening to burst, the sight of you doing something intoxicating to both his heart and his straining balls. 

“Yeah? And who's going to make those?” He ran his tongue over his canine, drinking in the way you immediately pouted. 

“You! To celebrate! Especially after Grandma made me take a year before applying. I’ve been stuck at the doctor’s for most of the summer!” You whined, stepping into his room properly. “Show how proud you are and cook for me!” 

Your sentence trailed off into a childish whine. His cock twitched. He felt it dribble onto his thigh. Caleb couldn’t help it, slowly beginning to massage his shaft again, even with you right there, looking at him with your doe eyes.He had half the mind to urge you to come closer, sit on his bed right next to him. You loved him. You’d look if he asked you to look. Only looking, watching him play with his dick. You’d be quiet, only for a while before beginning to run your mouth. 

Not like in porn. “What are you doing, bro?” or “Stop, we shouldn’t!”. You trusted him. You’d trust him right the way over a cliff. If he wanted you to, you’d watch him stroke his fat cock. Ask you to hold the base as he worked the head. Hell, he could ask if you wanted to taste his balls. You’d scrunch your nose like a bunny and tell him that’s gross. But it would be like leaving peach mochi at your bedside and offering for you to have a bite while Grandma made dinner. You knew you probably shouldn’t, someone (Grandmother) would be mad later if/when she found out but it would be so good. And you trust Caleb and if Caleb gives you something and says it’s okay, you’re leaning over to tongue the sprinkled icing sugar off the soft pink bun. The image of you biting into it and cream running down your chin flickered across his mind and his breath caught in his throat. 

“Yeah?” Caleb exhaled slowly through his mouth. The question perked on the tip of his tongue, increasing how fast he was fisting his cock. Come over here, pip-squeak, big brother wants you to stay and play while. “Ask me nicely.” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. Brat. 

“Caleb, will you pleeeaaase make us Braised Wings for dinner because I finally get to go to university after being really ill for a long time and you love me and are really really proud of me for doing this!” You did your usual cute schtick, swaying a bit, your cardigan falling off your shoulder, skirt swishing along your thighs. 

Fuck. He could show you how much he loved you. Really loved you, loved you wholly, like a brother, a lover, a friend, like everything he could be to love you in full. His cock drooled thickly onto his hand, slipping between his fingers, down onto his covers. Caleb was too close to cumming. Cumming in front of you. The thought was dizzying. The only thing that could top it was the thought of cumming in you. 

“That’s all you had to say.” The words came out in a croak, his balls tightening. “Go on then. Prep the kitchen for me.” 

You gave a happy almost-chirp and zipped off, your skirt lifting to show him more of the back of your thighs for just a moment. Nearly showed  the edge of your panties. Were they just a bit wet, like the underwear clenched in his fist? 

That delicious thought electrified him. His balls drew in tight against his body, his cock throbbing in his hand and he couldn’t help but give a broken gasp as he came, cum splattering against his stomach. His slow, warm come down ached in a delicious way, as if there had been a hard to reach spot that he couldn’t get to for years, a thought that was hidden away and just out of reach, now being scratched until most of the skin was gone and all that was left was raw, shiny flesh. Unearthed. Breathing.

 It should have extinguished the burn inside. Or just fettered it, only for it to grow bigger later. Except it didn’t. It had been doused with oil, allowed to become a monster of flames and heat. 

Caleb felt it licking at his insides as he seasoned the chicken, tonguing his ribs as you sat just a few steps away, swinging your feet and nattering on about how excited you are, your lessons, meeting new people, seeing a new city. All the while he smiled and chuckled and batted your greedy fingers away from his cooking. Throughout dinner too, even as you wiggled in your seat in delight at the taste, his facade of blithe enjoyment of the evening. Even let you win once at cards before he did his big brother duty of thrashing you, all the while cooing that you’ll get him next time, just keep practising! 

Nothing could get him down. Especially when dark clouds began to roll in, blanketing the sky and starting to rumble like hunger. Thunderstorm. 

Means you would sleep uneasily. 

Means that he could go to you. And you’d let him slip into your sheets. 

It was the storm season. 

His cock dragged against his sweatpants as he kicked off the sheets and padded down the long hallway to your room. Caleb took a moment to press his ear against the door to Grandma’s room, where he heard soft snoring. You two used to have rooms opposite each other, but she stopped trusting him the day his age slipped into the double digits. Satisfied that his usual warden was deep asleep, he continued to your room. 

Didn’t even knock. You didn’t care of course. No, he could violate your privacy in a deeply disgusting way and you’d just think he’d be being a very mean older brother, like all the others in your class who grew up with big meanies like him. You were all tucked up in bed, frowning out the window, but smiled immediately when he slipped in, even scooching further in your bed, to make a space just for him.  

“Thunder doesn’t scare me anymore.” You said, even as you cuddled closer the moment he lay down next to you. 

“I know.” He wound his arm around your shoulders, pulling you even closer, tucking his nose into your hair and inhaling deeply. His cock throbbed with interest once again. You’ve always made him pick your shampoos and conditioners by making him do a sniff test. He always picked apple scents, artificial or not. Caleb pressed a kiss to your temple and you gave a soft hum of content.

You two lied there, curled up, puppies in a pen, kittens in a basket, bunnies in a burrow. His stomach was throbbing, as if TV static had slipped inside and the fuzz began to tickle the linings. He knew what he wanted to do. But also he knew that if he did something… 

His fingers began to gently trace along your shoulder blade, dipping lower, to your forearm. You wiggled a bit, as if it tickled you, but you only gave a soft huff at the sensation. Eventually his palm came to a stop against your rib cage. The hypnotic gentle thumps against his hand made something deep inside of him purr with satisfaction. He remembers watching your heart rate, instead just feeling it. Sitting with his feet on your bedside, your chilled hand in his. Caleb used to crawl into your bed then too, though you both were younger. It was after Grandmother became Grandma and pretended to care enough to take you to the hospital when you were ill, instead of taking you to her sewing room and breaking out her old kit to stitch you up or making you drink some echinacea. 

His arm tightened around you. He liked you more these days. He liked you spoiled and bratty and trying to run rings around him. Not quiet and drawn and looking at him with your big, watery eyes. 

Another kiss. Another hum. Caleb shifted down a bit, so you two were nose to nose, instead of lips to forehead. He could kiss you again. Like all those years ago. But no doubt you’d screech or something. 

He pulled back a bit, letting his hair flop into his eye, looking down at your gently sleepy face. Angel. 

“Hey, remember when we were younger, and whenever you were scared, I told you to hold onto my hand? And everything would be okay?” Caleb gently probes, pulling his hand away from your rib cage to brush strands from your face. 

“O’ course.” You murmured, already sleepy in his embrace.  

“So, you’d grab my hand if you were frightened, or didn’t like what was happening?” 

“Mhm.” 

With that guarantee, he tucked his hand against yours, ready to be grabbed if… If. 

Then he kissed you. Just on the forehead again, enjoying your repeated sigh of happiness when he did it. Did all little sisters sound so blissful when older brothers lavished them with this kind of attention? To be fair, he doubted most older brothers ever wanted to get as… Affectionate as he did. Hell, he already was more touchy than other boys he knew, even with just the hair ruffling and nose pinches.  

Another kiss, to the cheek this time. You wiggled your feet a bit, like you did when you were being tickled and were getting ready to lodge your foot into his rib. Another, a bit closer to your lips. His cock was desperately interested with what was going on, already hard again and digging into his stomach from how he was lying down. One more sweet, brotherly kiss to your cheek (Another soft sigh- No scrunch of your nose). 

Then one to your lips. For the first time in years, not since that day with the sun beating down on his neck, the faint taste of chocolate on your lips and the overwhelming wave that had threatened to engulf his entire being. 

Caleb pulled back. Looking down at you. Your eyes slowly opened. Then you blinked a few times, still sleepy and slow. 

“... That won’t upset me like it did when we were kids. Now lemme sleep, or I’m gonna have to kick you out, even if it is thundering.” You grumbled. Grumbled with a pout. Pouting at him. 

“Really?” He murmured, even as your eyes were closing again. 

Bolder, he did it again, lingering for a second longer this time. You huffed, as if you were getting annoyed by him. Rabbit stomp. But no hand holding. This time he licked his lips, dragging his tongue over his canine. He could taste blood.Caleb took a pause before leaning down, making sure not to go in too quickly this time, savouring the few seconds before your lips met. 

And it wasn't closed mouth this time. 

To be honest, it didn’t feel right, his parted lips against your shut ones, but it didn’t mean he didn’t get any leeway. You couldn’t help but to inhale just a bit. It was dizzying. Warm breath, the tip of his tongue brushing against your top teeth. Your pinky twitched against his hand. The kiss paused, Caleb not pulling away just yet, not wanting to, but knowing he didn’t want to push you at all. 

You made a soft noise, more of a sigh than a whine, and your fingers stilled. So he gently ran his tongue over your teeth, yours touching his for just a moment, but god, it got his cock leaking. He was going to cum in his sweatpants before you two even did… Anything. Anything real. 

But he couldn’t… Couldn’t ignore it. At all. Even a little bit. 

His fingers moved before he realised they did, his free hand dipping under his waistband to grip the base of his cock. He couldn’t help the grunt as he slowly pumped his shaft, already feeling the precum streaking down, instead focusing on peppering your lips with kisses. Caleb could swear that he felt you sometimes, clumsily, pursing your lips every now and then.

His thumb was rubbing against his drooling head when he finally opened his eyes, to look at you, to drink you in. Your own eyes were still closed, but when his desperate kisses paused, you slowly opened them, blinking. Dragging his tongue over his teeth, Caleb gave you a sharp smile, one he usually hid as he turned away from you, or aimed at most boys giving you puppy-love looks. He pressed another fleeting kiss to your lips, stomach tightening at the feeling, which just made his cock throb harder. He couldn’t even hide what he was doing now, the blanket bobbing slowly with each stroke. He couldn’t even catch his damn breath, and you couldn’t be completely clueless about what he was doing, even if you hadn’t watched porn, or… Or. Well, thinking about you finding out about male moaning anywhere other than a few sketchy sites was going to kill his erection, so instead he pressed closer to you, his cock head dragging against your tummy, your lovely soft stomach. 

“Give me a kiss.” He finally uttered. 

You made a small whine, blinking up at him. Your lips wet and glistening, and just… A little bit bitten. Did he do that? Or had you been nibbling? These questions faded away when you made another cute little noise before leaning your head up, eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth… And kissed him. 

Caleb came into the blanket. Some no doubt dripping onto your pajama top, maybe onto the skin of your tummy. 

“F-Fuck!” He hissed through his teeth, bucking his hips a few times, before finally having to let go of his softening cock. 

Your own eyes were glassy. Turned on? God, he hoped. He hoped you could feel your wet pussy as you rubbed your thighs together. Or maybe it was the shock of hearing him swear, since he hated doing it in front of you. And he would usually get smacked on the back of the head by Grandmother if she heard any sort of cussing from him. For just a moment, your gaze looked lost, as if you didn’t recognise him for a moment before going back to the soft haze of lust. 

Beneath the covers, both of you were sweaty. The heat, the breathless touching, the…. The wetness of… Everything. Caleb kicked some of the cover off of his feet, letting you both breathe, just a bit. 

Caleb was about to tuck his face into your neck, murmur softly about how good you were for him, how he wanted to make sure you also felt just as good, to dip his fingers into your sleep shorts and find out exactly how much you enjoyed playing with your big brother, if not for hearing a thump and shuffle from Grandma’s room. Even you stiffened up against him, knowing, while Grandma let a lot of what you shouldn’t do slip by, this would be a touch too bad for her to ignore. Caleb’s breath caught in his throat, heart thudding painfully in his chest. He was convinced you could hear it too. 

He pulled up his sweatpants, ignoring the cum cooling on the fabric and his skin. A throaty cough and more shifting, floorboards creaking, but no door opening just yet. Caleb slipped free of the sheets, breath catching in his throat at the momentary sight of your bare stomach, splattered with some of his cum and the sheets stained. He couldn’t help but to quickly lean in, tangle his fingers in your hair and kiss your forehead, exhaling shakily. You gave a soft sigh when he did so, tilting your head back a bit as if you were hoping for a-

Another wheezy cough. If he cared more, he’d check on her. No time either way. Another kiss to your head before taking long strides towards the door, making sure to avoid all the creaky spots in the floorboards. Creaking open the door, he could see that Grandma’s door was still shut. He glanced back at you, looking debaucherous, needy, all for him, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Shooting you a wry smile, he slipped out, quickly and quietly making his way to his own room, shutting his door just in time as light sliced open Grandmother’s own. He made it to his bed, his sensitive cock grating against his trousers unpleasantly, before his own door slowly opened. He could feel her piercing stare penetrate his bare back, still slightly sweaty from the heat between your sheets. Then, slowly, the door closed. He exhaled long and hard through his nose. 

It felt good. It felt like the fire deep inside of him was burning red hot, but it was safe… Not safe, no, that’s the wrong word. Enclosed, with no chance of burning him up alive. It could roar away, deep inside of him, snapping and hissing, but it wouldn’t lash its fiery tongue outside of him. Unless he lets it. 

He wakes the next day, feeling good. Fulfilled. A heavy weight gone from… Well, if he was uncouth, he’d say from his balls, but it wasn’t only the orgasm in your bed, it was also something in his stomach, right under his rib cage. Caleb had his breakfast, seated opposite from you at the table. You were slightly muted, not as chatty or animated, but you wiggled more in your seat, you seemed… More aware of your body. You brushed crumbs from your shirt, only for your fingers to freeze and quickly curl back into a fist, putting it in your lap. On the other hand, Caleb couldn’t stop touching you. As if a barrier had burnt down to ash. His foot kept sneaking forward to drag against your ankle. He playfully grabbed your waist while you were doing the washing up. Fingers in your hair, poking your soft belly, everything. 

Then the night came again. 

The sky rumbled, but didn’t split. Though, it was still enough of an invitation. Another creep along the hallway. 

It was right. It was good. 

Whispering for you to kiss him, the covers pulled over both of you. Your lips peppering his with little kisses as he slowly stroked himself, his cock head leaking all over your thighs, your shorts haven gotten shorter since the first night. Or that pair went missing. It could be anywhere, still stained, underneath his pillow.

You were… Naive. Gullible. But he knew that you also knew exactly what this was. What was happening as the blanket moved, one hand’s fingers tangled in your hair while the other hand was nowhere in sight. His soft groans against your lips, his heavy breathing. The fact that he moaned, telling you to tell him that you loved him. He came the moment you did, his face tucked into your neck, inhaling your scent as you rubbed your thighs together. 

“You’re not supposed to….” Your sentence trailed off, Caleb’s hand against your rib cage, his thumb slowly caressing just under your nipple. Even you knew that was a stupid line to draw at this stage, and you watched as he came in and swept it away with the tide. 

“Hm?” His sharp eyes dragged up to your face, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. 

You said nothing. A month ago, you’d have screeched and swatted at him for “accidentally” touching you there, before grumbling at him, telling him to be more careful. Now you just watched him with dilated eyes as he continued to skim his nails along your skin. With your continued silence, Caleb finally dragged his palm upwards, cupping your breast, enjoying the feel of it wholly filling his hand. You gave a mix of a whine and a sigh. He liked your noises. His greedy fingers brush against your nipple before giving it a gentle pinch.

“Ow.” You mumbled, using the back of your hand to shield your mouth for some reason. He chuckled and leaned in, kissing your naked palm. 

“Ow? Do you mean that, or…?” 

You fell silent once more, a quiet admittance. But you weren’t quiet for long. Not when your shirt was pulled up to your collarbones and his mouth became busy sucking and licking at your perky tits, the covers muffling all of your soft noises, breath shuddering against your ribs. Your body was so sweet and pliant for him, you didn’t even pretend to hold fast against his free hand slipping down, pinging your waistband (“Ow!”) before tucking his fingers against it, not moving. Not pulling his hand out or plunging it deeper. Rest, letting it rest. You didn’t notice, not with the attention spent on your tits, using his teeth to graze harshly before his tongue licked the swollen skin better. He felt like a dog with a tasty piece of meat, all for himself. 

Good thing he slipped extra sleeping drops into Grandma’s evening tea. She won’t be poking her nose into any rooms tonight. Otherwise he wouldn’t get to-

“Ah! C-Caleb! You’re… My…!” Nothing else coherent could be made out, your soft whines and gasps now risen into long, sweet moans. 

It confirmed something Caleb had wondered about ever since he discovered the joys of shakily playing with his cock. You were loud. Too loud for him to not have heard you touching yourself. With his middle finger slowly rolling against your cute, swollen clit, you were completely unable to keep it down. 

This was probably the first time you’d ever been touched down there. 

Bad news for him. He had just managed to keep from cumming all over himself the moment your fingertips grazed his cock head. Now, here he was, torturing your poor clit, which probably had only been touched whenever your underwear rode up and dragged against it. He did remember a few times your face flushed and you quietly wiggled in your seat, a hand sneaking up the side of your leg. No doubt to pull down your underwear a bit. 

Caleb could feel sweat trickling down his back. Finally, he left your clit alone, your gasps slowly dying as your body could finally relax. Not for long though. He was a bully, even when he did lovingly dote on you. The squeak you let out when his middle finger slowly pressed into you, welcomed by slick, got his cock twitching with sustained interest, alerting him to what it, he, really wanted. To be tucked deep inside of his little sister, warm and snug, instead of what he’s had all these years. A pillow stuffed under his hips for him to desperately hump, with his teeth digging so hard into his tongue that blood coated his mouth. Sometimes his brain wandered, clinging onto the thought of tasting you during the times you held a hot water bottle to your tummy, mumbling about getting a hot drink and some painkillers.

But now… It was real. 

It was real, and it was warm and it was soft and wet and it was you. 

“Want gege to make you feel good?” He finally murmurs, gently letting your nipple slip free from his tongue, swollen, puffy from his ruthless teasing. Your tongue gently drags over your chapped lips, your bottom lip wobbles. Hesitating. “I know you do. You want your brother to take care of you the same way you’ve been taking care of me.” 

After a beat of you simply looking at him with your soft, big eyes, begging even when your mouth couldn’t find the words, he couldn’t help but to smile at you, showing his teeth. You probably felt like you needed to keep whispering you two couldn’t do this, that Grandma was next door, putting up any and all objections you could think of, but he knew you. You were a little hedonist, first with your childish want for more plushies and sweet things in your life, which he was now nursing into something full fledged. Caleb wanted to tease a secret side out of you, a side that would see him and immediately let your legs spread open for him, to let his tongue drag over yours, to never get your own boyfriend while away from him, because everything you could ever need would be found with your big brother. You’d need him as he needed you. To set you alight inside, the same way you had done for him all those years back. 

He wanted you as sick as he was. 

You already trusted him fully, having allowed him to sneak into your room and letting him… Play with you. Of course you raised no objections when he shifts in your bed, instead moving further down the bed before resting on his belly. Caleb couldn’t help but to chuckle as you squeak and cover your clothed crotch with both of your hands, embarrassed by how close his face was to it. It didn’t mean that it hampered his ability to slide your sleep shorts down your legs, even though you refused to move your fingers an inch. He playfully flicks at your digits, before leaning in and biting the tip of one, making you squeak and yank your hands away. 

“Ow! Caleb!”

“That’s another ‘Ow’ you don’t mean.” He snickers before focusing his eyes on your poor pussy, slick from the attention, puffy from the lack of it. 

Before you could whine out an excuse, a response, anything, Caleb had tucked his face securely between your thighs, his lips immediately attaching to your clit and beginning to suck. You couldn’t help but to kick on instinct, arching your back as the pleasure crashed down onto you like a wave. Caleb himself couldn’t stop a moan from slipping free, your taste, your reactions, your everything totally overwhelming him. He couldn’t even stop himself from grinding against the mattress, two of his fingers quickly slipping onto your hole. You tightened around him immediately, the dizzying sound of squelching filling the room as he worked his digits, all the while you couldn’t stop from tensing, arching, wriggling, mewling. 

“Caleb…” You couldn’t help but to whisper, your own fingers fluttering against his hair, unsure if you could wind the strands between your fingers, to grab ahold of him as he became a beast, licking and sucking with abandon. 

It felt like torture, the way he was using his tongue and teeth on you, only sometime stopping to whisper for you to relax, trust him. That all he wanted to do was play with your princess parts after so long only being able to hump pillows and then his muscular thigh during these last few nights. You needed to be seen to, and he was going to be a good big brother to you, and make it up to you. 

He didn’t even notice that you came all over his mouth until you were weakly pressing against his shoulder with your foot, pushing him away, only to get the sight of his slick mouth, his tongue still hanging out as if he was trying to get a final taste before he was forced to depart. Your breathless pants finally clicked what happened and he couldn’t help but to grin down at you, before wiping his lips with his fingers before popping them back in to suck them clean. 

“Tell me you liked it.” He finally said, his cock threatening to burst against his stomach. 

“I… I like it.” You whispered after him, your body completely lax for the first time that night. 

“Again.” Caleb sat up to pull his trousers down enough for his erection to finally spring free, drooling thickly. “Say… Say ‘I loved it, gege.’ Say it.” 

“I…” You inhale at the sight of his bare cock filled Caleb with a deep smugness. He could tell you liked it. “Loved it, gege. I really loved it.” 

“Now… Now…” He desperately thought about what he really wanted to hear. “Tell me you love me. And that you want more.” 

Your eyes met his, need lurking deep within them. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, tongue darting out to drag against your own canine. Your eyes dropped to his hand  when he slipped it into the back pocket of his trousers, slipping a condom free. Your cute little inhale at the sight made his cock twitch. He tore the wrapping with his teeth, but didn’t take the rubber out, just stared down at you. 

“I love you, Caleb.” You finally murmured. “Caleb, I want more. I love you so much and it feels so good.” 

He could have moaned and collapsed if he was a weaker man. He was a weak man, but he always wanted to be strong for you, to take all the beatings from the world so you could curl against his chest and know you would always be safe with him. 

Instead he dove down, gripping your chin with his free hand, to press his lips against yours, your combined tastes invading all senses between you two. Caleb didn’t stop kissing you, proper kisses between two lovers, his tongue dragging against yours, your teeth, tasting you, even as his free hand went to work, rolling the condom down his erection, gripping the base tightly. The tip snagged against your leaking slit, nudging your clit before finding your hole, ready for him. The first press inside had your breath shuddering, your tits shivering against his chest even with his whole body blanketing yours. 

“Ah!” You pulled away from his hungry mouth, his greedy tongue, just to exclaim, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Caleb, it’s… It’s…”

“Say it,” He murmured against your temple, before giving it a kiss. His voice was desperate, even to himself. “Say it, say it.” 

“It’s so big.” You finally whined out, your knees coming up to squeeze his hips. 

That single, short sentence was enough for him. His cock was twitching and he wasn’t going to waste what stamina he had left just letting you hump his cock head gently. 

Caleb pushed all the way in, to the base, as you squealed and arched your back, squirming, against his body. You were trapped, helpless against him, and after a moment of making sure your keening wasn’t in pain, he began his strict, mean thrusts. He wasn’t even pulling all the way out, his movements siding on the side of ruthless grinding and pumping his erection into you. You clung to his arm and shoulder, nails digging in, your legs winding around his waist now. For a brief moment, his brain likened the position to when you demanded for him to let you “koala”, clinging to him as he went about his business, and blood rushed to his cock. 

He was so fucking filthy. You made him this disgusting pervert and he could do nothing but kiss the side of your face and neck, your own mouth whining against the crook of his shoulder. You took him so well, your insides desperately moulding to the shape of his cock, cunt so wet and needy that you began to weakly raise your hips to meet his cruel thrusts. A part of him wanted to pull out and slip the condom free, but there was something so… Disgustingly domestic, so sanitised about the dirty, taboo act taking place, it was making him dizzy just thinking about it. They gave away insane amounts of condoms at university, and given his reputation as a heart throb, he doubted anyone thought he’d hoard his, only to go through them all with his sister. Caleb couldn’t help the bark of a laugh he let out, ignoring the questioning whine you gave in between your hiccups and moans. 

“Caleb, Caleb!” You breathed every time he pressed deeper against a soft, spongy spot deep inside of you. 

He loved the way you chanted his name. The way you squeezed him when his hand slipped between your two bodies, just to play with your swollen clit despite the way you already twitched and wriggled when his pubic bone pressed against the bundle of nerves. Your fingers disappeared into his hair to tug, your thighs tightened around him. It took him a moment to realise those noises you were making had devolved from words and were all the sounds you could make as he ruined you with his cock. 

Then he felt you tighten and cum around him. 

It was too much. He shoved himself as deep as he could within you and gave a broken groan, alien to his own ears, as he finally came deep inside of you, filling the condom up easily. It felt like he released something more than his own semen, his heart unclenching and his spine relaxing. It was like he had a pain in his side for years and only now a splinter was being slipped free from the skin, leaving an open wound, but god, he loved that it now bled freely. 

Despite your weak sighs for him not to move, he was jostling you, Caleb still sat back on his haunches, looking down at the base of his cock, where the condom mouth had rolled up just a bit, but not snapped free. There was a pretty ring of cream around his cock, slick down his thighs, his own cum still trapped in the rubber. Quickly slipping it free and tying it off, he squinted at the shining texture before licking the outside a bit. 

“Gross.” You grumbled, arm over your eyes, chest heaving. 

“Nope. Just tasted like your pussy,” He aimed for the bin and managed a perfect throw. “And you already know I love how that tastes.” 

You weakly kicked him, only to be foiled by him gripping your foot and bringing it up to his shoulder, kissing the ankle. You two stayed like that for a while, you slowly coming down and him enjoying every breath, every gentle shift, every grumble that he ruined your sheets.

“Give me a kiss.” He finally said, sitting back fully and resting against the backboard of the bed. “C’mon.” 

He watched as you sluggishly pulled yourself up and leaned over, hair a mess and lips bitten and sucked. You pouted when he didn’t move at all closer to you, leaving you to flop against his chest and pepper his lips with kisses, grumbling between each one. 

Caleb felt something inside of him purr at the feeling. Not just the warm kisses but also… Just the fact you were doing it. He wasn’t the one kissing you, teasing you with teeth and tongue, but you… You were actively wanting to feel his lips against yours. Perfection.

“You liked that?” He asked, when you settled your cheek against his shoulder, putting your full body weight on him.

“Hmh.” You sighed softly, closing your eyes. 

“Use your big words.” 

“... I liked it, Caleb.” 

“How much?” 

You pulled back, just to scrunch your nose and squint at him. 

“You’re being meaaan.” 

“No, I’m not.” Caleb chided, beginning to curl a strand of your hair around his finger, smirking to himself. “I’m telling you to use your big girl words for me. Or did I fuck all of them loose from your brain?” 

You whined at him before slapping his stomach lightly, breath stuttering a bit as he tensed it. Oh. You liked that. He smiled to himself. 

“Say it.” He repeated, dropping a kiss to your cheek. 

“... I really liked it. It felt good and… And… Dizzying. And… I wouldn’t mind…” You trailed off, dragging your finger tips over his chest, right where his heart thudded rhythmically against his ribs. 

“And?” 

“... And I wouldn’t… Mind doing it again… Sometimes?” 

Caleb couldn’t stop a grin from spreading all over his face. He knew you felt his heart beat faster under your touch, and couldn’t stop himself from pressing a hard, long kiss against your soft mouth. You tried to grumble and pull away, but he just kept peppering them, on your lips, cheeks, forehead, even one for your nose. 

“I just hope Grandma didn’t hear anything.” You eventually mumbled, tucking your face against his collarbone. 

“... Probably not.” 

[dollya-robinprotector]

You feel light-headed and don't remember clearly how you left the school's party. The boys sure as hell offered you a little too much beverage. Somehow you feel sore all over your body.

What time is it now...

(1) Next

You open your eyes to... whatever this shit is...

...Now what?

(1) Try to go back to sleep | Willpower: ??? | ++Stress (2) Escape the room | Athletics: Challenging 5%

(3) It is what it is... | Promiscuity 5 | +++Love | +++Lust

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands  graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

[bunnygirllover45]

— CREATURES OF HABIT. ♱ TRIGGER WARNING(S): This one is about psychological training, pet play undertones (they're not undertones they're very on the nose but oh well.), slightly suggestive. dark content. Johann itself is a warning. WORD COUNT: 1k words. ADDITIONAL NOTES: First time writing something for this guy in a while, sorry if it sucks. I just enjoy writing psych yandere stuff.

The first months in Johann’s basement were grueling. The sudden change of pace, the claustrophobic sensation of always being surrounded by the same walls, you swore multiple times you were about to break, but each time you felt like that, Johann was always there to put you back in place like a beautiful —and fucked up— puzzle.

Then, one day, out of nowhere, Johann introduced some ‘mental exercises’ for you. He told you they were so your brain didn’t stagnate over time due to the confinement, but you couldn’t help but feel like there were some ulterior motives behind it.  Most of the exercises were simple, from just sitting at a table and drawing shapes on paper to following basic instructions, no matter what was going on, Johann never skipped the routine.

Today’s exercise was simple enough: sit down and obey. Johann was really patient with you, so despite your early nervousness, you always found yourself quickly getting accustomed to the session, trying your best not to overthink how utterly weird the whole setting was. Being mentally trained by your kidnapper—no. Scratch that; lover.

“You know about Pavlov’s experiments?” Johann asked softly, tilting his head to look at you. His brown hair fell over his stare, obscuring his expression under the dim light of the basement. His legs were stretched under the table, brushing against yours. “Pavlov discovered that dogs were prone to begin to salivate once they saw the trainers that often brought them food, it was an unconscious action they made.”

“They associate ‘this person’ with ‘food’. The same goes with sounds.” He explained carefully, playing with the chain of the collar attached to your neck, tugging it lightly in an almost mindless manner. “Notice how sometimes when you make sounds in the kitchen your pet always comes? It’s because they relate that sound with food.” 

A smile tugged on Johann’s features as he focused his dark eyes back on you, the intensity in his eyes made you shiver—you knew that look all too well, some wicked idea just sparked inside his twisted head. “I thought it would be interesting to try that with you.” 

The way he whispered those words with that tone of his that was equally aloof as it hid some of his excitement made you tremble, but a part of you felt curious about the idea too. Lately, you found yourself associating the sound of the chain of your collar with going outside, Johann always kept the collar inside the house but not the chain, which was saved for when you two went outside for short walks —for your legs sake, as he says—.

“What… did you have in mind?” You managed to ask softly, staring at him with expectating eyes. Johann almost shrugged nonchalantly at your question, his fingers caressing the length of the chain around your neck before settling on top of your hand, intertwining his long fingers with yours, his thumb now tracing circles on your knuckles.

“I don’t really know, why don’t we start with something simple?” his free hand reached to cup your cheek, tenderly caressing your skin, you almost leaned into it before he surprised you by suddenly snapping his fingers against your ear. The sound left you confused for a second not because of its loudness but because of how close it felt, you self-consciously reached to cup your ear, staring at him with a frown. “Why did you do that…?” 

“Sorry.” He chuckled, pulling your hand away from your ear to replace it with his own. “You know I don’t like screaming at you, so each time I want you to be quiet I’ll do that, okay?” 

“Each time I snap my fingers, you’ll be quiet.” 

A part of you wanted to protest, but at least you gave him the benefit that he hadn’t ever screamed to you before when you tried to escape or do something that slightly annoyed him, he was gentle, in his own twisted way, but Johann also had to establish some limits if he wanted to keep peace inside the little paradise he made only for you. “Snap equals quiet. Repeat that to yourself mentally until it becomes like second nature.”

As you got lost in your thoughts for a few seconds, you suddenly felt Johann’s hand tracing your thigh, up and down, his nails scratching your skin in a way that didn’t make it hurt but tingle, it was suddenly so overstimulating, the feeling of him tracing maddeningly slow circles on your skin out of nowhere.

Your eyes snapped back to him, but Johann didn’t seem to have any expression at all, he only looked at you with those empty black voids of his eyes, completely still in his seat. Your legs began to tremble as he traced closer and closer to the skin of your thighs, scratching softly, caressing in his own, tenderly violent way. “What are you…?"

Snap.

You jolted suddenly, your mouth closing shut at the sudden sound. Johann’s chuckle followed your reaction, and as you slowly opened your eyes again you found him smiling at you, pupils swallowing his already dark irises. “I’m glad to see it’s already working.”

“But-” Snap. “Quiet.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his sudden abuse of power, but Johann only smiled at you. “Don’t pout… I’m just having fun with you.” He tugged at your lower lip playfully. “You’re a quick learner, I’m proud of you.” 

A sudden rush of heat reached your cheeks at his words, and you found yourself looking away from him, but suddenly Johann caught your chin between his fingers, clicking his tongue. “C’mon… don’t look away. I need to know if the training is working or not.” 

“And don’t tense your jaw either, you’ll make your face hurt.” His big hand now cupped your face, pressing at the sides of your cheeks to unclench your jaw, you sighed in a defeated manner. 

Johann slowly stood up, walking around the table until he was leaning behind you, his brown hair making your neck tickle and your skin prickle with goosebumps at the feeling of his breathing against your ear. “I should test it in other settings, don’t you think?” 

His voice was heavy with suggestive undertones, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the idea, nodding slowly you looked at Johann, he gave you a small smile before pressing his lips against your temple. “That’s my darling.” 

Until each one of my actions seeps into your brain matter— until you cannot breathe without copying the movements of my own chest. Until your very existence intertwines with mine.

[inkyquince]

cw. Baby trapping. Ranging from dub to noncon. Somnophilia, desperation versus spite. Pseudoincest because Morgan is Morgan.

Characters. Kylar, Avery, Harper, Morgan, Bailey, Whitney, Remy.

Baby traps you out of desperation:

Kylar. You can't leave him now, not ever! Not when you two are forever joined with the life growing inside of you. Would prick holes in the condoms you tell him to use, or just smears his own fingers with cum before fingering you greedily. Even crushes up fertility pills and puts them in your drink, watching you drink it down with wet, staring eyes. You wouldn't be allowed near anyone else the moment it's confirmed you're carrying his kid.

Avery. If you're leaving him before he leaves you. Leaving the town for university, leaving him for someone better off, or for love. You let him down easy, with a soft smile, and thank him for all the years of help. Help. What he had done for you reached beyond help. He was your saviour from god knows what. Anger burns in his veins but he just breathes low and even before asking if you want to have one last evening, just like the old times. How could you say no? You should have said no. You think it'll just be slow, soft, goodbye sex but the moment the handcuffs come out, you realise it won't be. In the hot tub, on the bed, against the balcony railing, Avery drills into you, slamming in deep with every thrust. You should have known to try and run when you reminded him of the condoms in his back pocket and he took them out just to throw them in the bin right in front of you. Cums deep inside of you every time, groaning into your neck. Dawn slips in through the curtains and Avery lights another cigarette before looking at your spent body next to him. Do you think your had any future now, with anyone or anything else, when swollen with a child?

Harper. You were going to be released. After so much time together at the asylum, you'd leave the intimate nest that kept you close to him at all times. He had been so blind to every thing other than his work, his work and you, that he hadn't realised that the time for you to go had arrived. Just one last night together. So he creeps to your room, just to watch you sleep a bit. Just that. Just watching. He always likes you like this, unaware and soft. He watches, soft, until he can't watch anymore. No more mandatory therapy. No more check ups. No more washing you in the shower, soapy fingers slipping between your thighs. Harper could make it mandatory, but who would make you go? What could force you to keep coming to him, to his office, to his embrace? Well, it's obvious. It's the time of your life that would be the most closely monitored with doctor's visits and check ups. He doesn't even take his shirt off, just shuck his trousers down to his thighs and climbs on top of you. Doesn't matter if you wake up. His desperate rutting into you, making sure to cum deep inside, the thoughtless need of it all, it doesn't feel like a disgusting act of violence, but tastes like the honeymoon night, with the only person for him.

Morgan. He always wanted grandkids. He loves grandkids. Seeing his baby round with life, and knowing it'll tie them to their papa for the rest of their life filled him with blind euphoria. No one could ever take you away from him, not like everyone from his wife, to the town had tried. You were his baby... He just had missed you so much. Doesn't help that you seemed so lonely at times, asking him to go to see your friends and go to your part time job. After all, he was the one insisting on home schooling and special cuddles since he made enough for the both of you. You needed to be home. You could have your baby for company, the same way he had his own for company. "Let daddy make you happy." He whispers to you, even as you act out. He just wants you to be happy. His baby deserves it all, his cock, his seed, your own bundle of joy.

Baby traps you out of spite:

Bailey. Maybe you ran your mouth just a bit too much that day. Maybe he was sick of your love sick puppies coming to the door and whine for some time with you. Maybe he just happened to grit his teeth to the point of pain as one of his brats sat before him, belly swollen as their baby daddy sat next to them, making plans to take them off his hands and live full time with them instead. Another source of income cut off. Maybe it was because you were his best earner and god knows if you fucking used protection. It didn't matter. What mattered is that, despite your pleas, he wasn't going to pull out. Slamming deep inside of you, hissing under his breath that you'd never be able to leave with any of your little boyfriends, not when another man's child grew in your belly. Later he might regret snapping like that, now that you had his brat. He might. Or he leans against your door frame, staring as you slept, shirt riding up to show the subtle bump of something growing inside of you.

Avery. But this time, if you're being bad. You ghosted him, you spurned him, you ran around with everyone in town without sparing a thought for the man that handed over enough money for you to thrive amongst Bailey's brats. Perhaps his snaps when he sees you flirting with one of his superiors, or that stupid kid you ran around with. Perhaps he waits outside the pub, smoking his imported cigarettes down to the filters until you appear, tipsy and looking like a whore. It doesn't take much to force you into the back of his car, ripping at your shirt to force it up, over your head to force your arms up, restraining you. You were his first. You were the one that was so perfect on every date before this rebellious streak. You've humiliated him. So there's nothing he'd want more than to return the favour. And when you're round with his child, and in need of support, he'd laugh. No one would believe you, a common street rat would have been forced to carry his child, him, a respected businessman. Doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy your hole squeezing tight around him as he roughly ruts into your poor guts.

Whitney. You dirty fucking whore. Running around with the greasy rat, the loser and the religious freak while he proclaims you as his bitch? Did the collar, did the tattoo, did your sore hole mean fucking nothing? So he corners you in the bathroom, snickering with his friends as he boxes you into the stall and begins to undo his belt. His bitch deserved a litter if you were going to let anyone who sniffed around you fuck you. Also it's just funny. The way the teachers would look at you with disappointment, the way your other dogs would stop sniffing around you. The way your uniform won't fit you at all in just a few months. Whitney still can't decide if he should show you off, the knocked up slut all for him, or to make you beg for him to keep you around. After all, the way you squealed and kicked on his cock, even now had him fucking dizzy.

Remy. Of course it made perfect sense. What sort of cow produces even more milk? One swollen with a calf. It helps that the idea occured to him after you made your latest successful escape attempt and Wren was the one to return you to your proper place in life. It's hard to run with a swollen belly, and milky tits. Maybe it would even endear him to you, snuffling into his hand, wanting some attention since your stupid, empty brain thought of him as master and as mate. So, with you struggling and huffing in your breeding bench, Remy sends everyone else out. He should just use some of the semen that the bulls deposited earlier, but why should he? Not when you were his favourite for so long, licking his fingers clean when the juices from the apple stained his skin. The one he looked forward to seeing the most. The one he fisted his cock to, imagining the way you'd keen and whine with his cock rutting into you and filling you up with his own milk. He could also prepare a room for your calf to live in, just so you'd paw at him to let you see his only heir, the one to inherit it all, even if they did have soft cow eyes and spotted, velvety ears.

[bunnygirllover45]

— THE THRILL OF THE HUNT.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann literally hunts down the reader, Small outburst at the end, and a lot of bullshit talk about hunting because I like it, DEAD DOVE. No violence was used.

Synopsis: You escape from Johann, he has to track you down. WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Johann wasn't exactly the thrill-seeking kind. He always preferred a slow-paced life, not filled with many excitements or tragedies. He wasn’t an adventurous spirit or a fiery soul in search of greater meaning. In his head, the only thing he needed was you.

And maybe that’s why this exact moment made his blood boil with newfound rapture, he could swear for a moment his skin bumped at the feeling of his heart throbbing so quickly against his ribcage. The thrill of the hunt, like his father used to say, made mere men become beasts, some because it was vital for their survival, others because of the rush of power it gave them.

But he couldn’t quite understand it until now. For him, hunts weren’t that exciting. The game was always too easy to track down, the footsteps effortlessly concealed. The gun didn’t feel heavy enough. His breath didn’t quicken at the mere chance of letting his prey slip away; he’ll always find a way to reach them again, after all. Animals have their habits; they’re easy to decipher once you know their true nature.

This is the type of hunt he’s been craving for so long. Johann had to press a hand against his mouth to prevent a low chuckle from escaping. Oh, how right his father was. This was truly trilling to the core, the kind of thrill that made a foreign heat rise towards his head and seep into his very brain tissue.

Humans aren’t like animals, their behavior is a little more erratic, animals can be divided between highly intelligent beings and straight-up dumb ones, but humans? All of them had their quirks, you couldn’t easily guess how prepared someone could be under certain circumstances. “Isn’t that so fucking interesting?” 

Lowering himself to the ground Johann reached to touch the freshly shaped footstep that his precious prey left behind. If they’re leaving such a pretty trail behind they’re expecting me to find them, what a tease.

“You know what kind of animals roam these types of terrains?” His voice was loud enough to carry its sound through the extremely quiet, when the hunt begins, the forest goes quiet, no need to scream. “Bears, moose, sometimes even wolves. Had to detangle a lot of ‘em from traps before, not without properly securing they won’t be able to bite, ‘course.” 

His heavy boots made the rotten wood and debris scattered around the forest soil yield under their weight, no need to change onto more quiet shoes, his bunny wouldn’t be able to hear him coming, surely their heartbeat was the only thing resounding inside their ears. Reaching into his pocket he took out his watch, starting a countdown. “I’ll give you two minutes to gain distance, cover your tracks, you can try hiding if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend staying still, it makes you easier to spot.” 

“Once the two minutes are done I’ll begin searching, I'll make a bird calling each 45 seconds, and once three minutes pass by, I’ll stop making bird callings and hunt in earnest, ‘kay? Just want to make the game easier for you, it isn’t fun if I’m the one with the upper hand all the time even if this is my subject.” 

With a deep sigh, he crouched down again, his hands fidgeting inside his pocket until he found a cigarette, the last one actually. Grabbing his lighter he lit up the tip, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke escape from his lips. 

His free hand reached to grab the gun he always had with him, it was an old friend of sorts, stuck by his side in all the worst situations, a lot of people meeting their death at the end of this same barrel. Maybe it should have your name, after all, people do name their guns sometimes.

The forest grew more eerily quiet, the sun setting down in the distance while Johann quietly awaited the starting gunshot of the race, he didn’t really need to put the time on his watch, he could already count the time down to the millisecond inside his head. “Forty-eight, forty-nine…” His gloved fingers tapped against his lips, hands tightly clad in leather gloves, perfect for the harsh Austrian winter. 

A part of him wished you didn’t even make the effort to run away, maybe finding you curled up against a rock or a tree just waiting for him to find you was more exciting than actually pursuing you, after all, that meant you truly gave up on the idea of leaving him behind—still, another part of his brain screamed for you to run, so he could find you and make sure you won’t try pulling up bullshit like this again.

Slowly he stood up, the watch making a low beeping sound before he began to walk, settling the gun back onto the strap around his thigh. Holding the cigarette in between his lips he began to prepare the clothes you were going to use once he caught you, after all, little you decided to escape both barefoot and barely dressed, the worst thing in this forest beside him was the cold. Holding the spare jacket he always brought with him inside his bag and a blanket he continued to walk nonchalantly, not even sparing a single stare in any direction that wasn’t just dead front and center. 

Johann's stare drifted onto the floor, a little disappointed that you didn’t take his recommendation into account, there, clear as day, were your pretty little marks for him to follow like a bloodhound. Johann even took the time to carefully make sure he didn’t accidentally step into any of them, not wanting to overshadow the loving tracks you left behind for him with his heavy boots.

He knew very well he was taking all of this too lightly, this was a high gamble where he could lose everything or gain all, but still the elated sense of happiness and bubbling excitement made him more self-confident, too sure you wouldn’t get away too far, and even if you did, he’d stay in the damn forest all the time necessary for you to realize you need to go back onto his loving arms.

Stopping dead in his tracks he turned around as he heard a small sound coming from behind a fallen stump, dead bark peeling off the tree’s corpse. There you are.

And there you were indeed, curled up in a ball, back pressing against the rough bark as you held your arms around your torso, bracing yourself from the harsh winter cold, from the shiver that ran down your shoulders towards your legs or the sight you so pathetically defenseless made him smile, a blush creeping up onto his features.

“You didn’t even run far enough to let me do any bird calls, are you that tired, baby?” He kneeled down in front of you, but as soon as you jolted up in surprise Johann’s hand shot to grab your wrist with unnerving quickness. His dark eyes bore into you, a small smile gracing his lips, but there was no emotion behind that expression of his. “That’s okay, next time I’ll give you some proper equipment, some shoes wouldn’t hurt.” 

His thumb caressed the skin of your wrist, while his other hand threw away the now almost half-smoked cigarette that Johann held in between his lips. Eventually he reached to grab your head in between them, rubbing your cheeks with such tenderness that it could be even soothing in a different situation. “There, you did good. Not good enough to grant you a reward, but you did have me a little scared back there.” His smile widened as he lied through his teeth. You frowned, tired, freezing cold and also breathless, but still with enough energy to try and pry his hand away from your wrist, it was useless, he was latched onto you like a handcuff. “Fuck yo—” Before you could even finish he reached to clasp his free hand onto your mouth, the sudden movement making you stumble backward, head pressing against the tree. “Fuckin’ language.” He whispered between his teeth, staring at you dead in the eyes. “You should be grateful I didn’t put a damn bullet in between those pretty eyes of yours. Runnin’ away from me like that? After all I did for you? I let you away from my sight for just a second and you go jolting away like a fucking rabbit.” 

Taking a deep breath he lowered his head, slowly pushing his hand away from your mouth, his face leaning closer to you, the only warm feeling gracing your warm body being his hot breath against your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He pushed your lower lip with his thumb, pressing a soft kiss onto your flesh as some sick and twisted kind of apology.

“I won’t be as lenient next time, ‘kay? You know I care about you a lot, meine Liebe, don’t want you getting hurt.” He forced a smile, leaning his forehead against yours, but again his voice was masked by the thumping sound of your heart against your ears. “Let’s get you back to the car, I’ll get you all warmed up and cozy.” 

You just let him grab you, his hands effortlessly grabbing you and carrying you bridal style as both of you made your way back toward the car, you stole a few glances at Johann’s face, finding a small smile and that darn blush in his cheeks that showed how much he enjoyed himself, maybe a twisted part of him was truly pleased by all of this, even if it just started as a rebellious act of trying to escape from your part.

“Hear that? It’s a White-tailed eagle. Birds of prey, always hunted them with my father as a child.” Suddenly the forest wasn’t so quiet anymore, the hunt has ended.

[bunnygirllover45]

— FLESH DIVINE.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann purposely weakens reader's body on this one, manipulation, Johann and the reader have an established friendship, reader has a crush on Johann?, suggestive kiss at the end ig. word count: almost 2k.

Johann was always meticulous, almost maniacally so. Maybe that was why he never got along with other people—he always had a way of pushing people away with his complicated nature. Always controlling, observing, and criticizing, a guy like him was hard to deal with, and you knew that very well.

Even though you managed to get through almost five years of friendship —a very rocky one at that— it still amazed you how someone who could seem so utterly unapproachable stuck by your side. Have you needed a shoulder to cry? Johann was there. Need a hand with your work? Johann is an expert on this, somehow.  Need someone to remind you when to take your meds? Oh, he had the days marked down in his calendar already. No way he could forget such important details, he was a meticulous man after all, remember?

Not that you weren’t reliable either, during his first breakup you were there. The memory was still fresh in your mind as you recall how utterly bored he looked as he told you about that girl you thought was his soulmate. Couldn’t help but wonder if he truly cared about any of the relationships he had before, or even if he cared about the ones he has now, but you held back from asking at the time. Johann really cares about you, if he didn’t then he wouldn’t go and take such measures to ensure you’re doing alright, or checking up on you, right?—the little bug gnawing at the back of your mind didn’t think the same.

He cares about you, he really does, right? Even when you’re this weak and unable to do anything for yourself, he doesn’t think you’re an annoyance.

“You’re spacing out again.” Johann’s deep voice pushed those thoughts away in a split second, the man stared at you, leaning in to tap with one finger against your forehead in a playful gesture that was a little strange taking into account he looked as expressionless as always. “You’re thinkin’ too much, gonna fry your brain into jelly if you keep doin’ that.” A small smile rose on the corners of his lips, black eyes staring at you with a little glint on them you couldn’t quite decipher. “I like you better when you don’t think.” The words made you shiver a little, ‘I like you— ’ and the rest was a blur inside your head. A part of you wished he genuinely meant that in another way, he liked you truly, entirely, not just a small part of you. “What’s that even supposed to mean?” You laughed a little, forcing a smile.”Last time you told me you ‘liked me better when I was sick’ should I be worried?” 

Johann’s eyes scanned your face for a second before he went back to pay attention to the stove; he was boiling some water to make you tea, Johann always made you some when he came home, you didn’t know why, he wasn’t even a fan of tea, but the gesture was sweet enough to make you forget how utterly weird it was the fact he only made one cup.

“Worried ‘bout what? I just said I like you when you’re sick because you’re more obedient. That’s it.” He turned to grab some cups from the cupboard as he spoke. “You’re less prone to pull out some bullshit and get hurt.” 

Your face twisted a little into disappointment, oh, so he meant that. With a deep sigh, you tapped your fingers against the table, head resting against the heel of your hand. His words really weren’t laced with any malice, he spoke with his usual soft and calm tone, so you knew he wasn’t jabbing at you or even really blaming you for anything, but it still hurt a little. Noticing your expression Johann quickly approached, leaning over the counter to pat your head, his hand lingering on top as he scratched a little, like you would do with a dog. “Hey, sorry, was I too harsh? Y’know I don’t mean it for real.” “I know, I do. But it just feels bad… I’m always depending on you and I— I’m starting to feel that I’m just a burden, you know.” Johann lifted his hand, the sudden movement making you stare back at him. Eyes widen a little as you notice how his hand is still hovering on top of your head, it was like his brain stopped midway, his black eyes pierced through you. “You’re not a burden. Not for me.” Your head fell downwards as you managed to speak again, fingers fidgeting against the edges of your clothes, Johann’s stare was like a nail digging onto your skin, it felt so fucking unyielding you just wanted to pull back, to get away from his eyes. Why is he even staring at you so intensely? You didn’t say anything that bad.

“Yet I’m still calling you each time I can’t get out of bed in the morning. I really don’t fucking know why my body is like this, I-I’ve been healthy all my life, and then all of the sudden—”

His hand shooted to grab at the sides of your face and tilt it upwards to stare back at him, his fingers weren’t harsh on your skin but you could still feel the lingering threat of his nails about to dig, veins around his forearms bulging with barely restrained rage, yet his face remained so calm. “You’re thinkin’ too much again.” He continued. “Will you just let me take of you? I don’t care if I need to get up the bad at fucking three in the morning to help you go to the bathroom, I will.” 

Your hand reached to grab his, trying to peel it away from your face, but Johann’s doesn’t even budge. “You’re not my family to have me as your responsibility, I’m really thankful, trust me, I am. But you’re my friend, and it’s not your job to take care of me when you’re always busy with college and—.” “I’ll quit college for you then.” What the fuck. Your eyes widen at his words, but he doesn’t look any less cold than a few seconds ago. “W-What…?” “You’re worried I’m wasting my time? I might be. I’m wasting my time by being away when I could be here with you.” 

You should be happy, really, he’s telling you something so sickly sweet yet the way his eyes never waver away from yours, the way he holds your face like he’s about to break you and yet still remains so gentle, the way he’s speaking so carefree about something that important— yes, you really can’t be happy. “What are you talking about? I don’t want you to do that. Hell, you worked so hard for this career!” “I worked hard for this, for us. My career? It’s just a fucking side hobby at this point when I want to distract my head for a little while.”

You didn’t even notice when he walked around the kitchen counter, now he stood there before you, crouched down to meet your eyes. His thumbs caressed your cheeks with a tenderness you never imagined a guy like Johann could have, the feeling helping your already confused and dizzy head become even dizzier. “You know. For the only thing my studies have helped me is to know where to start.” 

“Start—what?” 

A dark chuckle escaped his lips, it was rare to hear him laugh and it was even weirder to see him with such a delighted smile, if you squinted you could even see a small blush forming on his cheeks. His fingers kept caressing your face as he kept your head still, unable to make any movements, forcing you to stare. “Oh, don’t play coy. You said it yourself, your body was never like this, right?” “Feeling sick all of the sudden, being unable to walk sometimes due to your debilitating state, damn, sometimes when I look at you I wonder if you can even breathe for yourself. I would love to help if that isn’t the case.” 

Cold sweat began to form on the palms of the hands you clutched so tightly against his wrists, nails digging past the bandages and reaching to his skin, Johann didn’t even react to the stinging sensation, too lost on the heady feeling of excitement coursing through his veins. Leaning forward he pressed his body against yours, caging you against the chair. “That was me. All me. I even made sure you didn’t do any kind of physical activity to be extra sure you wouldn’t be able to handle it by yourself.” Bile rose inside your throat, what kind of fucked up person could say such things with that gleeful glint in their eyes? Was this the same Johann you knew all your life? Something felt so wrong, something with him was off this time, the hints were there but you were too blind to see.“And eventually like a flower, you bloomed into something beautiful and mine. Scheiße.”Your hands fell helplessly by your sides, you couldn’t even speak anymore, words long gone together with all the thoughts inside your head, the confusion and fear took a toll on you, and your weakened state made you unable to struggle, even if you wished to do so, your brain screaming to fucking kick him and run away. “You look pale, baby. Is your blood sugar running low? Here, let me help you.” Peeling his body away from just a second but not giving you enough room to even stand up Johann reached for something on the counter, you could some kind of paper being ripped, probably with his teeth or the free hand he didn’t hold against your shoulder, and then he went back to look at you again. “Here, say ‘aah’.” 

As you didn’t even make the attempt to move Johann frowned slightly. “Y’know I don’t want to be forceful with you, sometimes I’m afraid you might break if I do too much. But you don’t leave any other options, do you?” 

Next thing you know, Johann’s lips are against yours, tongue sliding with ease against yours, you could even feel his tongue piercing scraping against the roof of your mouth, he lets out a low amused sound like he was approving the taste of your lips. Being suddenly snapped out of your daze your hands reach to clutch against his shirt, clinging onto dear life as he devours you with eagerness. The kiss is unusually sweet, and you notice the small wrapper of the sugar you use for the tea empty on top of the counter. You close your eyes, embarrassed at how utterly disgusted you felt, not because of the sensations or the fact he was kissing you, but at how much you enjoyed it.

Once the two of you separated, you let out a breathy sigh of relief, and Johann wipes away your lips with his thumb, then his with the back of his hand. “There, much better now, right?”

You were right, Johann was truly a meticulous person.