#cw rap3

[sillygirlsillierthoughts]

who else is up thinking about puppyplay and cnc tonight? >:3 nobody? just me? omg i was just kidding i totally don’t want a big strong man to pull on my leash while he takes advantage of me that’s craaaazy ._.

[kabr0ztrousers]

hi, big fan of your writings!! could you do a fem!reader being free-use’d and bred by anthropomorphic bug people, with noncon/dubcon, and intox/drug venom? the darker and more objectifying, the better!

More bugs? Plus egging, intox, noncon and the reader having a really, really bad time? Sounds like fun!

Kabr0z Writes Episode 45: Resistance

This episode concerns Chitinids, we've seen them before in episodes 25 and 26

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Noncon; warcrimes; military occupation; intox; freeuse; Interspecies; group sex; oviposition; implied impending character death; parasitic pregnancy; forced breeding;

A/N: Another day, another reminder that requests are open, and that if you want to see anything, send an ask or a DM and it'll be added to the list of stories to tell!

Long-time readers will notice a bit of a retcon with a returning species of alien bugs, but hell to it! Nobody's reading these for the rich, cohesive world

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The cities were clean. The streets quiet. Everything eerily safe and sterile. The Chitinid gunships patrolling sky saw to that. They were silent, hanging ominously in the air in exactly the way bricks don't.

You hurried from your office, aiming to get to the old library before one of them noticed something awry. There's always people on the streets, going to and fro, everybody had jobs although nobody really did anything at them. The work was just sitting in meetings and firing off salvos of emails that would be diligently opened and summarily ignored. Chitinid tech had ended world hunger, cured almost all disease, even fixed the climate. Only problem is, it came at the cost of billions of human lives.

They didn't try to hide the farms, where people were processed and converted to semi-conscious milk producers, or the trade in human pets where some of the wealthiest of your insectile overlords would own a human or four, implanting them with cruel machinery to force their subservience. They also didn't hide the 60-minute war, the last stand of the old world. London, New York, Washington, LA, every city with more than a million people was emptied within ten minutes of formal first contact. Humanity launched every warhead that seventy years of paranoia and hate had stockpiled. Those suspension fields caught every one, redirecting them to deep space. The last of mankind capitulated.

Except you, and a dozen or so others you knew of. Rebels in the dark. Your cell was in terse contact with another, who told you they knew of at least one other, and so the chain went on. It's safer if no one link in the chain know too much about any of the others, but some interesting word has come down the grapevine. In your bag was a thermos filled with nitroglycerin, one of your friends was working on a detonator, a set of elevator codes had came over the radio.

The plan was simple, get to the parts together, get to the roof of a building, and drop the package onto a gunship. It wouldn't win the war, it wouldn't even reallt slow them down, but it would send a message. They hadn't won yet, far from it.

The cell met in a cellar under the library. The building had been a pub decades ago, and the old cellar still existed under the stone floor, the hatch hidden under a rug behind the reception desk. Nobody said much, the group was too close knit to need signs and countersigns. The device came together gradually, a cacophony of held breath as the mercury fulminate charge was lowered into the flask, and you were set.

No time to lose. The plan was your baby, and you weren't going to leave it to chance. The codes you had were for an office building, likely to be empty this late at night. You dodged the pools of light coming from the streetlamps. The foyer was unlocked, as promised, and the lift code worked. Clutching your flask to your chest, you ascended the building. It used to be some bank or other, now it's the same office as everywhere else, but the building was still tall.

The penthouse office. You moved carefully, an overeager step would echo off the polished marble tile. The huge desk stood unoccupied, the roof access behind it. You made for the rail overlooking the west corner of the building, and there it was. A black shape on the dim streets below. The gunship stopped at the intersection and scanned its surroundings. You dropped the bomb.

An azure light caught it in midair, projected from the gunship. You ran. A confinement field shone down over you, inches from the door back into the office. Dust whipped around you. The world flipped.

You're in a cell now. Three Chitinids stood watching you. They spoke amongst themselves, or maybe they were speaking to you? You never learned the chittering language they used, and they don't normally speak English. You tried to move in the azure light, the tingling numbness stopped that. One of the bugs held a screen to your face. The library. Your stomach knotted up as you realised, this is a live feed.

Gunfire rained on the old building, within seconds it was rubble, a minute reduced it to a hole. You screamed, rage and hate filling your voice. The bugs laughed, keeping up the bombardment.

One approached you, pushing its sharp mandibles into your face. Strong hands gripped your clothing, tearing it off. You floated, naked and immobile as the three bugs paced around you, pinching and prodding, laughing at your yelps and threats. One grabbed your ass, pulling you weightlessly towards it in the field. A sharp barb jutted out from its mouthparts, and sank into your shoulder.

Your yells turned to moans. It had drugged you with something. Your body got hotter. You tried to turn and grapple it, but all the strength in the world wouldn't move you. One in front stepped up to you, both forelimbs on your tits as one of the lower arms grabbed your cunt, sinking angled fingers into you.

Your body spasmed, you swore as you felt yourself clench around him. The one behind you laughed and bit you again, giving you another dose of the venom.

You came around the fingers stuck in you, cursing and crying as you did. It released your tits and knelt down in front of you, using its forelimb to tease your clit as it pumped its hand into you.

Tears welled in your eyes as you felt another orgasm come on, you tried to suppress it. The one forcing its hands into your cunt bit you. Its mouth barb lanced into the flesh above your womb, instantly driving you over the edge again. You felt yourself spasm and squirt uncontrollably as the roaches laughed at you again. They tipped you over, flipping you end over end in the light, bringing you to rest face-up, waist high to them.

They loomed over you. Sizing you up as you quivered and squirmed, your breath catching, fluid still dripping in thick droplets from your cunt. Chitinous plates parted on the one stood near your face. A long, ribbed appendage slid out of the gap, dripping dark fluid of its own onto your face. You felt your legs part and what you imagined would be a similar thing brush the lips of your swollen cunt. A chittered word, and both thrust into you at once.

The slime was thick, and bitter. It hurt your throat to swallow it, but it filled you with heat, stronger than the venom from their mouths. The one in your pussy was having a similar effect, making your walls shudder and clench against it, the ribs of its exoskeletal cock stimulating you as he slid them in and out of you. Tears were streaming down your face now, moans turning to screams, and back to moans as the cocktail of aphrodisiac mingled in you, driving you beyond your breaking point.

All you could feel was the cocks pounding your body, again and again making you cum all over them.

All you could see was the screen, the smoking hole that was the library burned into your mind's eye.

You felt the one in your throat cum. It forced itself further in, spraying a thick slime down your neck. You gagged, the instinct to swallow the only thing stopping you drowning on the thick cock-slime being pumped into your belly.

It hurt. The slow-moving load coating your insides. Every beat of your heart making your head spin. You couldn't even feel the one in your cunt unloading into your clenching womb. The potent drugs in their sexual fluids keeping you dazed and in a constant orgasm.

You didn't notice the third had a different appendage. Wider, with a bulbous tip. You didn't sense it slide into you, pumping eggs into your cunt where they lodged into your womb, fertilising from the ocean of bug spunk in your body. You could half-see it as it lay its ovipositor on your lips, stopping your breathing as it forced its way into your throat. More eggs, pushing down into your stomach, fertilising, embedding.

You wouldn't be able to know what would happen to you when the eggs hatch.

You couldn't know the hosts of Chitinid young rarely survive to tell of what happens next.

You'll find out

######################################

Dark enough for you?

[chrollohearttags]

this na’ziyah harris case has been tearing me up so bad and I just can’t get over it. it’s so heartbreaking but not surprising how older black women will coddle predators but villify young black girls for things they have no control over. even if it’s never been to the extent of full SA, I feel like a majority of us in the community at some point has experienced predatory behavior from an older man or being called ‘fast’ or ‘grown’ simply because we developed faster. and the moms, aunties, grannies, etc blamed us for what a grown adult has done or said. not to mention this sick bastard gave a 4 y/o VD and hurt his own daughter (I couldn’t specify if it was the same child but either way it’s disgusting) ik they’re turning his nasty ass every way but loose in that fucking cell but it still doesn’t change the fact that he stole all of these poor babies’ innocence and na’ziyah’s life. I really hate how our ppl move sometimes man…that whole family failed her and I pray one day she can be found and laid to rest 💔

[theangryman]

Remember, the most important thing when seeking help for your sexual assault is that people can’t *like* the way you were sexually assaulted.

[spiral-obsessed]

Cock makes me drop so bad

All i need is to see one and it makes me a drooling mindless whore, eyes crossed and mouth open.

I can’t help it, its written in my dna.

My mouth is incomplete without a cock in it

I serve cock.

I suck my brains away.

[d4ddysd0lly]

Want to be passed around by you and all of your friends :3

please fill me with all of your loads... please please...

I want to feel warm and full so bad I want to feel your cum dripping down my thighs

I wanna feel it start to dribble down my cheek while I stare up at you

[kabr0ztrousers]

how about some orientation play? 👀 you decide the perspective! fem character is a lesbian and has a girlfriend, but is convinced (coerced? forced? drugged?) by a big beefy werewolf boi to come home with him “just to hang out as friends”, and she gets dominated, scent-markied, and impregnated by him over the course of days, gf texting her frantically the entire time wondering where she is, concerned something bad happened to her. mr wolf then sends pics and videos of the entire encounter to her gf using her phone while she’s passed out. maybe the gf is into it and joins in, or maybe she’s “okay” with being cucked because she just loves her gf too much to leave her, and becomes an uncomfortable third wheel in their relationship. maybe mr wolf gives her the same treatment and they become a throuple!

Kabr0z Writes episode 111: Orientation

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

The AO3 is filling out, albeit gradually

CWs: noncon; kidnap; oral sex; knotting; impregnation; dykebreaking;

A/N: I am once again asking for your requests, remember folks this show runs on the kindness of strangers keeping things nice and fresh! If you think your submission is too much, drop it into the askbox and add it to the queue!

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You were at a bar when it all started. You and Tabs had had a huge row over... Something or other and you needed to cool your jets before crawling back and admitting she was right. So you'd done what you always did when this happened: got on your glad-rags and went to your favourite watering hole.

That's where you met him.

He introduced himself as Jules. A steely-grey werewolf who clearly spent more time in the gym than most. He wore a mesh top and tight, leather three-quarter length pants. Every rippling sinew of his arms, his legs, his chest were on full display, as was the grotesque bulge between his thighs. This asshole was definitely not leaving anything to the imagination.

He sat next to you and started yapping about something or other, you didn't really care. When he kept buying you drinks you didn't accept, you started to get irritated at him. You moved away, you sat at different tables, the guy stayed on you like stink on a pig.

Eventually you decided to say fuck it, and left. Stepping out into the cold night air, simmering in your irritation at the lupine who'd made it his raison d'etre to irritate you. You hurried away from the bar, moving from light to shadow and back as you passed under the streetlamps. Watching as your shadow lengthened and shortened under you. Only half-aware of the sounds of the city around you.

A hand grabbed you from an alley. Clamping around your mouth and nose as it dragged you struggling into the gloom. A bag fell over your head, filled with sharp-smelling fumes. A punch to the gut sent you gasping. Your head swum. You were out.

You awoke chained to a bedframe. Your feet were manacled to the headboard, your arms stretched behind you to the legs at the foot of the bed, leaving your head hanging perilously over the edge. Your neck hurt like hell as you lifted your head to look around. The room was small, unadorned, bare concrete walls and a steel door, the only illumination coming from a tiny nightlight plugged into an outlet on the wall.

You heard music. Harvest Moon, by Neil Young. Your song.

Wait a minute. It's looping the intro. That's your ringtone.

You struggled against the manacles holding you to the bed, the metal cutting into your skin. They weren't going anywhere. You slumped, trying to get yourself in a more comfortable position to reassess your situation.

The door opened. A figure stood in the doorway, closing it behind them before turning on the light. The asshole from the bar.

"Feeling better?" He crouched next to the bed, pushing his face into yours "You'd been asleep for a day or so, whoever's on that phone really wants to talk to you"

You spat at him, but only got it on yourself

"Sprited, aren't you?" He stood "I'll knock that out of you, don't worry"

You realised then why your head is where it is. The bed was perfectly lined up with his crotch, and you're perfectly positioned as a hole.

He peeled his pants down, just below that bulge. Settling his sheath and balls on your face, giving you no choice but to huff his musk with every breath. You felt as his cock started to emerge, sliding out of the sheath and edging its way onto your face.

You tried to turn away from him, but a strong hand took your head, pinching your nose shut. You held your breath as long as you could before gasping for air. His cock thrust into your mouth, choking you with his spurting precum. He fucked your face, hard and fast, thrusting into your throat and making you choke until he was satisfied, pulling out to cum on your face, before picking up your phone and snapping a photo of you. He showed it to you, your red face, smudged mascara and all, covered in ropes of thick lupine cum.

He laughed, a cruel, barking laugh, and left the unit, leaving you alone with your ringing phone and the glowing nightlight.

The next day he was back, stinking of alcohol. He hadn't changed, or if he had, he had multiples. This time he didn't bother mocking you, wordlessly stripping out of his clothes and climbing onto the bed. He tore off your underwear, flipping up the short dress you'd been wearing for days. Something cold and wet touched your cunt, he was slathering on lube, his fingers working it into your folds as he prepared you. He wasn't planning on going in dry, whether your cunt cooperated or not.

His cock pressed at your entrance as he loomed over you. You'd never taken a real one, only Tabs's strap, and that wasn't particularly big.

He on the other hand, was particularly big. You felt him start to stretch you, screaming for him to stop, to get off you, to let you go. He wasn't listening. He fucked into you, thrusting hard and fast. He didn't care that you weren't enjoying it, you weren't there to enjoy it. You were there to be enjoyed. To be used by him. Your screams turned to sobs, then to whimpers. His cock rubbed against your cervix, already you were leaking that ubiquitous precum. You could feel him filling you, pounding his leaking, throbbing cock into you even as you begged him to stop.

But you weren't begging him to stop, not anymore.

Your moans were little more than "please, please, please"

Your cunt gripping him so sweetly.

Your mouth hung open for him to stuff his tongue into

His knot slipped in to your welcoming hole. You moaned as it engorged, filling you, tying you both together as his fluids thickened. You watched as he pulled your phone out from behind him, pointing it at you as your tongue lolled and your womb filled. You could feel a crust of his dried spunk on your face. You looked straight down the barrel of the camera, still making your pathetic little sounds as the throbbing meat in your cunt unloaded rope after rope into you.

You didn't struggle as he pressed the sensor to your fingertip. As he sent the photos to Tabs. The phone started ringing immediately. He answered it

"Hi there!" He grinned "Aww, she's a little" a grunt "Tied up right now... Tell you what, I'll give you an address. Come alone, and you'll get to see her again."

God, what is she getting herself into?

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There's more to this one, but it's been a rough day writing so far, so we'll leave it here for now, and come back another day to see how this ends...

Spoilers, it won't be well

[mildly-breathing-mutt]

Just a cut.

yandere house invader x reader.

𝜗𝜚: wound fingering Literally, blood, finger sucking, threat of rape and implied rape, non-consensual touching, masked man, home invasion, No pronouns used but reader is afab, height difference (taller man) , dumbification, degradation, light cannibalism and necrophilia reference. Dead dove do not eat.

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It started with a simple noise, a light click of the door opening but already you were on high alert. Stopping the process of going to bed and going silent, unmoving. You didn’t know if you had imagined the noise and risking it just wasn’t worth it so, silently, you listened.

Light humming, the voice of a man seemingly unbothered broke the silence followed by the sounds of footsteps and the reality truly sets in. You were not alone anymore. Your mind goes haywire, thinking about everything, you could run away or maybe hide and call the cops. After all only one man could be heard, probably a robbery, he’ll take your valuables and leave.

But he doesn’t leave, in fact the footsteps get closer and closer to your room. They do not bother to pick up anything on the way. This wasn’t a robbery and so fear sets in. At your own detriment, you weren’t quick on your feet, you freeze. Staring at the door, immobile, terrified and wordlessly cursing yourself for being so incompetent in this moment.

He just opens the door like it was a common occurrence and look at you. Wearing a ski mask you couldn’t see his expression, only his eyes but you could feel in his gaze the amusement he had seeing you like this. You stare back at him like a deer in headlights. He felt imposing, too tall, too large but you couldn’t know if it was fear speaking.

“You make it too easy” He spoke with a scoff of disdain before chuckling slightly to himself. “I’m starting to doubt you’ll even fight me off”

His voice resonate in your head, processing his words and the underlying threat. As he gets closer and hunch down to be face to face with you, you snap back to reality and back away. Looking around frantically for an escape but the door wasn’t an option anymore and you weren’t delusional enough to believe you could ever overpower him.

And again he simply scoff in disdain. “You’re not the smartest huh?” In a swift move he grabs your wrist and pulls you to the bed. The movement comes to him way to easily, you can’t even begin to fight it off as you fall on your back onto the mattress. He got up onto it too, pinning you down.

“Not gonna scream?” You didn’t, you couldn’t even muster up a single peep, frozen in fear which made him sigh, twilight a lock of you hair with his finger. “Well that’s okay, I can make you. I do like a challenge”

When he pulls out a knife you don’t scream but your eyes do widen in fear, you didn’t want to die, not like this but he didn’t use it to cut you, simply your pyjamas shirt and he felt quite glad you weren’t the type to wear a bra. Simply uttering a small “Cute” before stabbing you on the side of the waist and just like he said, you screamed out in pain.

“See that’s how i wanted to see you, isn’t this much sweeter?” You’re breathless, in pain and panicked as he cut off your pants too, leaving you in underwear as he spread your legs and the possibility of what would happen scares you just as much as death.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore” You cried out, and he pressed a finger against your lips. “Finally speaking but you use your mouth to say such pointless things. From now on you only speak when i ask you okay? Otherwise the knife is going right there” He pressed the blade against your right breast, just above your heart and you nodded frantically which gained a chuckle from your assaulter. “Now where do you want my finger, here” He said pressing two digits against ur clothed cunt.

“or here” the two same digits resting on the wound he just created and you felt your heart taking a stop. “First- first option” You spoke, tears falling down your face. “Hm? I want you to say it properly now. Where” His voice was teasing, like it was all a game and it made you sick to your stomach but helplessly and ignoring the urge to throw up while muttering it.

“My pussy”

“Ask nicer, don’t be a demanding whore, no man like that” He replied, staring you down with a look you couldn’t read anymore, you couldn’t see his face you had no clue who he was, a stranger, a stalker or the possibility you didn’t want to consider that he was someone you already knew. All you did was do as ask.

“Please, I want you to finger my pussy” And he laughed, a lot. “God that’s so gross, begging someone to finger you like that do you have no self-respect?” As if he didn’t force me to, you wanted to answer but you weren’t stupid enough to provoke him. “Well you did ask nicely so i’ll consider it…after”

He took his knife and plunged it into the same wound he had created before and once again you screamed in pain. “Gotta stretch you out so it’s not too tight right?” He said as if he was holding back laughter again before shoving a finger inside the wound. It was painful, too painful your breathing stopped for a moment and your body finally reacted as you tried to kick him off. Eyes clenched shut and you whined and scream but he didn’t budge, focused on what he was doing. He shoved a second one inside, twisting them around and scissoring it like you would a cunt.

“Stop, stop, please stop” You cried out, desperately trying to get the pain to stop. You felt like you were going to faint at any moment, panic kept you from breathing correctly and he noticed. Pulling out his finger with a deep sigh and pushing both of his finger against your lips. “Got me dirty” You put them in your mouth right away, you wouldn’t risk feeling pain like that again no matter what it was you’d need to do to avoid it. The copper taste of blood filled your mouth but you still didn’t take them out. “You’re so cute just now, you really liked it huh?” He took his hand away while still talking. “I would’ve liked to taste you myself but you know, mask in the way”

You looked at the wound, it was deep if he could put two fingers in, and it was bleeding like crazy your bedsheets a good testament to that. He noticed your gaze and looked there too. “You’re bleeding a lot, do i still have time to fuck you or will you be dead by the time i cum you think?” He asked, you shivered at the thought.

He hummed as you didn’t reply, playing with your folds with his hand but never pushing inside you. Simply saying

“Let’s try and see okay?”

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[hertenskylarks]

More 2 Cents on S3

So, I know there’s already a lot of talk going around. Here’s my 2 cents. 

In light of the recent news, I keep hearing a lot of “Oh, I hope the third season doesn’t get canceled,” and “Oh, I hope it does. Fuck Gaiman,” and “Oh, what about Terry’s vision? What about the fans? What about closure?”

I have absolutely zero control as to whether or not season 3 is made. Many arguments for and against it have already been made. I don't want to beat a dead horse, but I will offer this perspective from my own personal experience. 

I’m a swing dancer, and my rapist was my teacher and one of the first people who ever taught me how to dance. One of the things that made me hesitant to come forward was that he was one of the most likable characters in my scene. He was the funny, goofy guy who wore funky printed shirts, he was sooo nice, he couldn’t possibly be a rapist, right? Right?

Seeing people praise him, hearing people talk about how great he is when I knew what he did to me… It drove me absolutely mad. I just wanted to shake people and say, “No, you don’t understand! You don’t understand who he is!” But I felt like I just couldn't. I felt his reputation was too iron-clad to say anything.

Coming forward was one of the scariest things I ever did because I was so sure people either wouldn't believe me or wouldn't care. And, as predicted, that was the case for some. You can only imagine how I felt when someone I used to call my friend went on to have him officiate her wedding. You can only imagine how I felt when the response from the organizers of the dance scene was to ask me to avoid mentioning Y-Town Swing in social media posts (Oops) to protect their reputation. You can only imagine how I felt when they continued to have him as a teacher, or when they updated their safe space policy to say they are not responsible for anything that happens “outside a Y-Town swing event.” 

Oh, so if he raped me in the bathroom at the event instead it would have made a difference? Right, sorry, didn't realize the location or a rape mattered that much.

Anyway…

This was all in the confines of a small dance scene, in a small city, in a very niche hobby. Now, imagine how it must feel when your rapist and abuser is a fucking best selling author, praised as this ally to women and LGBT people, he’s the quirky guy who has a Tumblr and actually responds to his fans and he’s so cool, he’s one of us, he can’t possibly be a rapist, right? Right?

I can only imagine how fucking mad it drove his victims to know who he really is and see him put on such a high pedestal. 

So, however this all unfolds, I will say this. The people I care about most are the victims. I say this as someone who loved and still loves Good Omens, I say this as someone who was torn up about the final 15, as someone who rejoiced when S3 was originally announced, before all the allegations came to light. I care about the victims. 

But what about the fans? Listen, it’s a fucking TV show. Do you really mean to tell me the ending of a fictional fucking story is more important than the very real people he’s hurt? Not having an ending to your favorite show does not hold a candle to the trauma of being sexually assaulted. There’s no comparison. Not in the same ballpark. Not even in the same galaxy. 

But what about Terry?

Terry is dead and in his grave. I am sorry to say this, but whether his vision comes to life or not, he will never be the wiser. It makes no difference to him. If I could wave my magic wand and have Terry alive and well and Gaiman dead and in his grave, believe me, I definitely would, but that is not the hand we were dealt. 

So please, all I ask is this. Before you go spouting shit like, “I hope we don’t lose S3,” or “I just need to know how it ends,” put yourself in their shoes for just a second.

Imagine you are Claire, or Scarlett, or any of his other victims. Imagine you are sexually assaulted by someone whom the world just puts on a pedestal. You have to sit there and listen to him get praised as being “such a great ally to women and minorities” and “he’s one of us,” and “he’s so brilliant. He’s so cool. He really listens to his fans. Look at this quote of his I got tattooed on my body.” And for years you just sit there and take it, because you’re so fucking afraid that no one will believe you if you come forward, you’re told your story “isn’t enough,” you watch him get richer and richer while you’re stuck with the therapy bill for everyting this “great ally of women” did to you. 

Now imagine that you finally come forward. You finally muster up the will to speak your truth, and tell people what he did to you, and you find that you’re not the only person he’s hurt. The world is finally hearing your story and learning what a manipulative monster he is. 

And now, I want you to think very carefully about what it means if we still get S3. 

S3 means press tours. It means more reviews praising him as a genius. It means certain people being contractually obligated to say nice things about him, or at the very least, not say negative things about him. It means, once again, seeing his fucking horse face or his name everywhere, on Amazon, on billboards, on busses, on posters, in adverts. Only now, it's AFTER the world heard your side of the story.

Just imagine how that would feel. 

So, if it wasn't obvious by now, my stance on S3 is… I don't really want it to happen. Not out of spite or some deep seated hatred for Gaiman (although, ya know, fuck that guy) but out of consideration for the people he's hurt, as someone who knows exactly how it feels to see the person who hurt you get put on a pedestal. 

I understand that production is paused and people think he may be getting removed from the project. I'm not going to comment on that because "paused” can mean a lot of things and there's so much we don't know yet.

There will be other shows. 

There will be shows that DO have satisfying endings. 

Media and shows can be replaced. 

But there is no such thing as being un-raped. 

[diaryofdisgustinggirl]

I want to r4pe him. I want to see how he is crying and asking me to stop. I want to see him panicked and confused. I want to betray his trust.

After that I will piss on him to humiliate him more💕

[z0mbi3girl444]

WILLIAM AFTON X READER NONCON IV

You have a step dad that likes you a little too much.

STORY INCLUDES RAP3/NONCON. NSFW 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT I WILL BLOCK YOU.

You hate when your mother is gone. Every time she leaves town, your step-dad William practically changes personalities. After long days of working at his owned Fredbear’s Family Diner, instead of cooking for you or your step-brother Michael–who reminds you over and over that you are not his sister–William opens the liquor cabinet and just drinks. You mostly stay locked away in your room, trying to put as much distance between you and the man as possible. While Michael is out, surrounded by friends and living an actual life, you’re still adjusting to your new town, you don't have anyone to hang out with.

Something always nerved you about William. He might put on a good facade around your mother, but sometimes, when you catch him staring at you, or getting a little too close to you for no reason at all, you almost don't feel safe around William. So whenever your mother leaves town—which is far too often these days ever since her sister got sick—you’re left under William’s watchful eye.

Most of the time you hide out in your room, or pick up extra shifts at the convenience store you just recently started working at, and try to avoid William as much as possible.

William was a busy man, the co-owner of the most popular family-friendly restaurant in town; Fredbear’s Family Diner, so during the day he’s never home. But at night, that’s when things would get a little…intense.

You hear him from downstairs, yelling at Michael in a drunken rage, occasionally hitting him, but you never do anything. You feel bad, but you know if you do try to intervene, you will only get hurt. So you cover your ears, or listen to music on full blast, just to drown out the noise of William’s drunken abuse.

Tonight, your mom is gone and Michael is out, and William comes home later than usual. You’re up in your room, finishing up homework you have been putting off for days, and the moment you hear the door open from downstairs, your body tenses. Michael isn’t home, so you wonder if William will pick on you instead.

After around an hour or so, you start hearing William’s familiar shouts.

“Michael!!” He yells. You stay quiet. “Michael!” You hear again. His voice is louder, closer. He is walking up the stairs, you can hear the sound of his boots. He begins pounding on Michael’s door. “Open up you little shit!” He yells, “You didn’t take the trash cans in like I asked!” You hear the slur in his voice, he is drunk again, of course. It seems worse this time.

He is quiet for a few moments, and then you slowly hear his footsteps trudge towards your room. The only sound in the house are his footsteps approaching. Your eyes widen. He knows you’re up, your lights are still on.

William doesn’t hesitate as he knocks on your door “Open up,” he commands, his voice a blend of softness and authority that leaves no room for argument. You feel a jolt of fear freeze you in place. The thought of him forcibly entering your space is far more terrifying than simply obeying his request. William hasn’t laid a hand on you—yet—and you are determined to keep it that way.

With a resigned sigh, you push away from your desk and open the door. There he stands, dominating the threshold, his heavy eyelids partially obscuring his gaze, an inscrutable expression etching across his face.

“Where is my son?” William inquires, raising an eyebrow in a manner that seems to challenge you.

You shrug, genuinely at a loss. “I’m sorry, Mr. Afton, but I don’t know. Michael and I aren’t really friends,” you reply, trying to maintain a calm demeanor, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your nerves.

William leans against the door frame, his presence almost suffocating as he scrutinizes you. “How long has he been gone?” he presses, his tone unyielding.

“He wasn’t home when I got back from school,” you manage to say. “There’s a soccer game tonight for our school; maybe he’s there?” You aren’t even sure if there was a game, but you grasp at the words, desperate for this conversation to reach its end.

A flicker of amusement dances across William’s lips, as if he is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well then,” he exhales, a chilling undertone lacing his words, “I suppose I’ll just have to wait for him to return so I can teach him a lesson.” A wave of nausea washes over you at the thought, and your heart ached for Michael. "What are you up to?" he asks.

"Homework," you say, your voice shaking slightly as you force yourself to meet his gaze. "I should probably get back to it."

William chuckles, a sound that sends a chill down your spine. "You're a smart girl, aren't you?" he says, his eyes roaming over your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

You shrug, feeling self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. "I try," you mumble, unsure of how to respond.

"Michael never tried much in school," William continues, taking another step closer until his chest is almost brushing against yours. "It's nice to have a kid who does." His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, his fingers digging into your flesh with a possessive grip. "It's nice to have a daughter," he says, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that makes your stomach churn with revulsion. You try to shift away from him, but his hand tightens on your shoulder, holding you in place."Aren't you happy to have a dad?" he questions, his predatory gaze boring into yours, searching for any hint of defiance or resistance.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The air between you feels thick and suffocating, like a physical weight pressing down on your chest. You know you should say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words won't come.

Your voice quivers with a mixture of fear and determination as you finally find the courage to speak up. "You're...not my dad," you say, the words coming out in a rush.

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with defiance and the unspoken knowledge that you're treading on dangerous ground. But you can't bring yourself to play along with his twisted game, to pretend that there's anything remotely fatherly about the way he's looking at you.

William chuckles, a dark and menacing sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He steps fully into your room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that feels like the sealing of your fate. His hand falls from your shoulder, instead coming to rest on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with bruising force.

"I wish we were closer, you know," he says, his voice low and sultry, dripping with a sickening kind of affection. "But you keep yourself so hidden from me. I'm starting to think you're scared of me."

You look down at his hand on your waist, your mind reeling as you try to process what's happening. You don't understand it, can't begin to fathom why this man would want to be this close to you in any way.

You try to pull away, to put some distance between your bodies, but before you can react, he has you trapped against the wall, his hard body pressing against yours with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. His hand slides up your side, coming to rest just below your breast, his thumb brushing against the soft fabric.

"Is that it, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Are you scared of your daddy?"

You let out a nervous laugh, your eyes darting around the room frantically as you search for an escape. "N-No, I really should get back to my homework," you stammer, your voice shaking slightly. "I'm kind of busy right now..."

But William shakes his head, his eyes never leaving yours, holding you captive with his intense gaze. "Come on, kiddo. Take a little break with your dad," he coos, his voice dripping with fake affection. "Let me get to know you a bit better."

You swallow hard, your mouth going dry as you realize there's no easy way out of this situation. You want to remind him again that he's not your father, that he has no right to call himself that, but the fear that churns in your gut holds you back. You're terrified of what he might do if you defy him, and that fear is the only thing keeping you rooted in place.

"I'm just...busy right now," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe we can talk another time?"

But William is having none of it. He smiles, a predatory glint in his eye as he takes a step closer to you. "You can make some time for me," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It's almost midnight, isn't that past your bedtime anyway?"

He teases, his words hitting a nerve. You're acutely aware of the power dynamic here, of how easily he could overpower you if he chose to.

"Mr. Afton..." you begin, “What are you doing?

William's eyes twinkle with mischief as he grins down at you, his voice dripping with mock affection. "Come on, sweetheart," he coos, "We're past formalities now. Just call me Daddy."

You shake your head vehemently, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and revulsion. "No. I-I won't..."

He throws his head back and laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that sends chills down your spine. "You're so cute when you're all flustered like that," he taunts, closing the gap between your bodies until you can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

You gasp as you feel something hard pressing against you, your eyes widening in shock and horror. The realization of what it is sends alarm bells ringing in your ears, your mind screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything to escape this nightmare.

"It's always turned me on," William whispers, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. "Seeing you, talking to you, knowing that I could have you whenever I wanted..."

You stiffen, your body recoiling from his touch as he grinds against you, ensuring you feel every inch of his arousal. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his cruel gaze.

"How does that feel, sweetheart?" he growls, his voice rough and husky, dripping with sickening desire. "Knowing that this..." He punctuates his words with another thrust of his hips, making sure you can't deny the evidence of his lust. "Knowing that this is how you make your daddy feel?"

His words are like a physical blow, violating and degrading. You want to scream, to push him away, but you're paralyzed with fear, trapped in his grasp.

"You're not my dad," you whimper, the words barely above a whisper as tears begin to fall down your cheeks. "You're not my dad."

But even as you say it, you can see the truth in his eyes. He believes it, believes that he has the right to touch you, to use you, to claim you as his own. And in that moment, you realize that nothing you say or do will change his mind.

William's chuckle rumbles through his chest as he traces the delicate line of your jaw with his finger. "Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm the closest thing to a father you'll ever have..."

You try to turn your face away from his, to escape his unsettling gaze, but he holds you firmly in place, trapping you against the wall with his imposing frame. His chuckle takes on a menacing edge as he sizes you up, his eyes roaming over your body like a predator stalking its prey.

"Please, Mr. Afton!" you beg, your voice shaking with fear and desperation. "Please–”

He clamps his hand over your mouth, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and lust. "Shut up," he hisses through gritted teeth. "I'm not your goddamn teacher. I'm your father." His cold lips brush against yours in a mockery of a kiss, sending shivers down your spine. "And you're my little girl..."

Your screams are muffled beneath his palm as he makes quick work of your clothing, roughly yanking the fabric away to expose your vulnerable body. You try to fight, to push him off, but he's too strong. He easily overpowers you, his grip like a vice as he drags you closer.

Desperate, you manage to break free from his hold and scramble backwards, putting some much-needed distance between you. But your escape is short-lived. William grabs the hood of your zip-up, using it to yank you back towards him with brutal force. You land hard on the bed, the air knocked from your lungs.

He looms over you, a sinister grin spreading across his face as he takes in your helpless form. "There's no use fighting, sweetheart. You know you can't win against Daddy," he purrs, his voice dripping with sickening endearment.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you plead with him, your voice breaking with desperation. "No, please! I'll do anything, just don't do this!"

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. William reaches down, quickly unbuckling his belt and freeing himself from the confines of his pants. Before you can brace yourself, he's upon you, his hard length thrusting deep inside your untouched depths with no warning.

Your breath catches in your throat as William's skilled touch sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. His gentle yet assertive movements catch you off guard, melting away any resistance. A whimper escapes your lips as he finds that spot deep inside you, hitting it with expert precision.

"Mmm, that's it," he purrs, his warm breath tickling your ear. His grip on your wrists tightens, but not painfully, holding you in place as he continues his relentless assault. "Good girl."

You try to fight it, to cling to your hatred for him, but your body betrays you. Your legs part of their own accord, welcoming him deeper as your inner walls clench around his hard length. Each powerful thrust sends you spiraling higher, drowning out all thoughts of anger and resentment.

A guttural groan rips from William's throat as he throws his head back, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. His hands leave your wrists, sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh. He gazes down at you with hooded eyes, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

"You like that, don't you?" he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly deep thrust. "You love the way I fuck you, even if you won't admit it."

You bite your lip to stifle a moan, hating how right he is. Despite your best efforts to remain indifferent, your body is responding to his touches, craving more. You're torn between wanting to push him away and pulling him closer, lost in a haze of lust and confusion.

As if reading your mind, William leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, dominating you. You can taste your own arousal on his lips, a heady mix of shame and desire.

Your body trembles beneath William's, a fine sheen of sweat covering your skin as he continues to pound into you with relentless abandon. The pleasure is overwhelming, all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs with each powerful thrust.

His lips trail down your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he marks you as his own. You can't help but moan, arching into him as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growls, his voice strained with effort. "I knew you'd feel amazing around my cock."

His words, so filthy and degrading, only serve to heighten your arousal. You're drowning in a sea of sensation, lost in the raw, primal pleasure of his touch.

Suddenly, William pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty and unsatisfied. He peers down at you, staring at you with heavy eyelids. "Beg for it," he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Beg me to fuck you."

You're torn between wanting to defy him and wanting to feel him inside you again. Your body aches with need, your inner walls clenching around nothing as you fight the urge to beg for his cock. But as he rubs the head of his length through your folds, teasing you with the promise of pleasure, you know you're lost. You open your mouth, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please…”

William chuckles, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Good girl," he praises.

And then he's inside you again, moving faster this time. You let out a shuddering breath, your body trembling as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. Your fingers dig into William's shoulders, nails raking across his skin as you cling to him desperately.

"Oh god," you whimper, your voice breaking with each word. "I-I can't...it's too much..."

William just chuckles, a dark and seductive sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I know" he purrs, his voice low and husky. "I know it is, kiddo."

His thrusts become harder, more demanding, each one pushing you closer to the edge. Your head falls back against the bed frame, your eyes squeezing shut as you lose yourself in the sensation.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, you shatter. A silent scream tears from your throat as your body convulses, waves of ecstasy crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your inner walls clamp down around William's length, milking him for all he's worth.

With a guttural growl, he follows you over the edge, his hips jerking erratically as he spills himself inside you. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he fills you with his seed, marking you as his own.

For a long moment, neither of you move, your bodies pressed together as you both struggle to catch your breath. William's head rests against your shoulder, his lips brushing against your skin in a tender gesture that seems at odds with the brutal way he just took you.

Finally, he pulls back, his eyes locking with yours. There's a dark satisfaction in his gaze, a possessiveness that makes your stomach churn with a mix of fear and disgust.

"See?" he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "I knew you'd be a good girl for me." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "And now that I've had a taste, I know I'll be back for more. You're mine now. All mine."

ao3: z0mbi3girl444

[spiral-obsessed]

First date idea:

Can you pleeease tie me up and force me to watch a spiral while fucking my brains out?

Please make me so docile so obedient so dumb?

Please train me to know my place is to serve older men on my knees at all times?💞💞💞💞

[thhouseofblack]

I want to say/ask something because I'm genuinely curious as to why, but... why do most people in the fandom draw this narrative of telemachus going to be sa-ed by the suitors when there's no mention of it or even implication of it in the musical (or the odyssey for that matter), and tend to sideline the active threat of it that penelope lived under in the musical?

[islandofthedollz]

❤︎Get well soon ❤︎

⁠❥TW: Rape, Somnophilia, Non-Con |MDNI

Curly’s precious little sister is really sick your caring brother making sure your every need is met. Curly notices that your low on medication but he doesn’t wanna leave you alone so he calls Jimmy and see if he can take care of you while he picks up you’re medication. Jimmy agrees.

Curly tells Jimmy that you have 1 pill left Jimmy nods. Jimmy walks over you your room he sees you snuggled up watching tv. “Hey kid” he sluggishly says leaning on your door frame. “Hi Jimmy” you say as you turn your head to cough. Jimmy wrinkles his nose in disgust he walks out of your room yelling at you that he’s gonna come back with your medication.

Jimmy walks to the kitchen sees the fridge full of pictures of you and curly. He looks at the pictures of you. What a slut he thinks always wearing shorts the hug your ass and low cut shirts and dresses to tease him. He snaps out of his thought and remembered his special pill for you. Jimmy gets water and walks over to your room. He hands you the pill and water. You look at the pill looking different then the ones curly gives you. “Why is it a different color?”

Jimmy sighs he grabs the bridge of his nose “ Curly said these are the extra strength ones their supposed to assist your regular medication. You don’t question it Jimmy has never ever told you a lie plus if your big brother said it why doubt it. You grab the medication from Jimmy’s calloused hands. You take the medication washing it down with water. Jimmy and sets a timer on his phone for 10 minutes.

Time skip to 10 minutes

Jimmy walks into your room and sees you asleep perfect the thinks. He takes off your covers only a long short covering you. Jimmy’s hands roam your legs he lifts your shirt and sees your panties his has touches it rubbing your clit up and down. He looks up and sees you knocked out cold.

He slides your panties off and starts sucking and licking your clit he hears a small moan from you. What a filthy girl it’s like you’re basically telling him to fuck you. What type of man would he be ignoring this kind of request. He quickly takes his belt off lowing his rough jeans and boxers. He pumps his cock a few time Jimmy doesn’t bothering prepping you. He grabs your hips digging his nails into your delicate soft skin and thrust him self roughly. Jimmy tilts his head back enjoying how warm your pussy is from your fever.

You tensed up in your sleep at a foreign invasion inside your cunt, before the medicine he gave you succumbed your body back into the dreamland. After a few thrust Jimmy was in a trance how tight your warm walls squeezed him you want this you need him to fill you up. Jimmy stopped caring about waking you up.

He started at a rough pace, gripping your legs tightly in his hands as he pounded your - no, his - cunt. Yes, you’d be his cumdump from now on. He knew he could be manipulative when he wanted to, he would have you as his perfect little cocksleeve sooner rather than later. He should have done this much much sooner. Jimmy speed up sped up again, ramming into you as fast as he could. He felt your body shudder and jolt.

He leaned down to bite at your lips when his dick twitched. He stopped balls deep inside you, cuming with a loud groan. He pulled out of you white cum dribbling out of your pussy he quickly pulled out his phone taking a picture of your destroyed pussy. Jimmy puts his pants back on and lowers your shirt and walks down stairs turning on the tv. A few minutes later curly walks in with medication.

“Sorry about the long wait Jim I got stuck in traffic I hope she wasn’t too much trouble for you” curly says scratching the back of his head. Jimmy gets up from the couch “the brat wasn’t to much trouble she’s asleep in her bed”. Jimmy gets his keys “see ya” Jimmy slams the door closed before curly can say anything.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* The Wishing Hole (Yandere x GN!Reader)

Warning!! This is not a romance, read at your own risk CW: LONG, Dead Dove, abuse, murder, trauma, manipulation, masturbation, mutilation, unhealthy relationships, obsession

"Have you heard about the hole?"

Part I

"It's right over here!" Miranda theater-whispered to her friends as she led them through the black woods. Their flashlights bobbed in the darkness, the only light visible to the trio of twelve year olds as they trekked through the thicket. (Reader) gripped onto their envelope tightly, fearful of leaving sweat marks on it.

They had been staying the night at Brian's house when Miranda brought up the hole. A local urban legend by that point, the story of a hole that granted wishes. Brian had chastised Miranda for believing a story so stupid, but still followed her and (Reader) when they snuck out to grant their wishes.

"How do you know where it is?" He nervously hissed.

"Abby's sister Rebecca has a friend who found it. Over here." Miranda spoke as though it should have been obvious why she knew where it was.

(Reader) could do nothing but hope. They hoped hard, over and over again, wrinkling the papers in their fist as the yellow light led them to their future. All they could do was beg the universe to grant their wish. For the hole to be real.

The trees thinned and opened, revealing a small clearing with a very deep hole dug out of the earth. It was a normal looking hole, but in the dark of a moonless night to a group of children, it was ominous.

Their muddy boots all stopped a good foot away from the edge. The ground didn't look stable.

After taking a shaky breath, Miranda threw her envelope into the hole, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused all her energy on the wish written inside the letter she tossed. Brian thought about arguing, calling out his friends for littering, but instead copied Miranda, throwing his wish in as well. (Reader) felt adrenaline shoot to their finger tips as the anxiety tried to rip through their veins and escape their skin. Their packet was thicker than either of their friends', and fell harder as they chucked it in with all their strength.

The only future (Reader) wanted was nearly impossible. It would take divine intervention to get that happiness. "What did you wish for?" Miranda asked Brian behind (Reader).

"I want to know what I want to do."

"That's it?"

"What'd you wish for?"

"A hot boyfriend, who's gonna love me, and marry me."

"Well, when you're trapped in a marriage with three kids, I'll be doing what I love every day."

Miranda groaned loudly, refusing to get into another argument with her best friend. She instead looked at (Reader) who was still focusing on the hole. "What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

Their eyes seemed to be seeing something the other two couldn't see. Large pupils fixated on nothing, still filled with enough anxiety to cripple an adult.

"Someone who loves me.."

"Ugh, not you too.." Brian's voice melted into the background, almost unintelligible in the dense air. The contents of the wish filled (Reader's) head to the point that nothing else could be heard.

• 15 years later •

Another failed date.

Dark rings permanently decorated the underneath of (Reader's) tired eyes. The perpetually single adult slid down against the wall, too exhausted to continue standing. There was nothing particularly wrong with the guy, but he just wasn't "the one" for (Reader). He was boring and awkward, rambling about his job and future plans, bragging about his hypothetical future fortune. Nothing he did was bad enough for (Reader) to guiltlessly label him a douche, but nothing about him was their type.

They pulled out their phone, looking at the dark haired man on their wallpaper for a second too long before opening up their messages with their date. (Reader) typed up a quick message to thank Rich for the date, but that they didn't see it going any further.

The phone was tossed to the side as (Reader) struggled to stand, grabbing a beer from their fridge as the phone began chiming from the linoleum. Texts rapidly coming in were ignored by (Reader) as they cracked open their first drink for the night.

His unread messages echoed through (Reader's) shoebox apartment.

The weary adult wondered how their therapist would react next week at their appointment. It wasn't realistic for an adult to fixate on a wish they had made as a child, but just like all those years ago, (Reader) knew deep in their bones that there was no happiness for them if they couldn't have that wish come true. Rich was attractive, in an average sort of way, with straight brown hair cut a little too short for the shape of his brow. He had nice lips, (Reader) thought, but couldn't imagine kissing them.

The beer tasted like lightly bitter water. Not a promising sign; it tasted like they would need something stronger. On the way to the living room (Reader) noticed their bedroom door had some dirt on the white paint, like someone had pushed it open with filthy hands.

(Reader) felt an anxious jolt to their system. A familiar pain they hadn't felt in a long time. They pushed open the door, timidly entering their own room like a stranger nervous to be caught. But the room was empty.

"So, how'd your date with Rich go?" Adam asked hopefully. The same trio of friends since primary school sat in their local diner. It was a monthly ritual, gathering for brunch to force themselves to keep in touch. They tried to hold the meeting every week, but with work scheduling it was impossible. Adam sat with his husband, Jon, across from Brian and (Reader). Everyone had changed so much as they got older, but that was to be expected. No one can stay a child forever.

(Reader) sighed before sipping on their milkshake. Adam knew exactly what that meant, and groaned, just as dramatically as when he was a child. His hair may be shorter, but some things stayed consistent.

"What was wrong with this guy?"

"Nothing!" (Reader) replied defensively. "He just... wasn't my type."

Brian pushed up his glasses. "Maybe you should lower your standards."

"Brian!"

"-I mean, it's good to have standards, obviously, but people are real people, not characters in a book. No one is going to match your description of a perfect partner, because people aren't perfect, ya know?"

(Reader) stole a glance at their phone, admiring the black haired man behind the time. "You can say that, because your wish already came true. Both of yours."

Both Brian and Adam looked ashamed and a little uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact and fixating on their meals. Jon almost went cross-eyed trying to understand what (Reader) was implying.

(Reader) stood, tossing a couple bills onto the table. "I have to go, I'll talk to you guys later."

"Okay, have a good day! Text me when you get home." Adam said warmly, hugging his dear friend tightly while trying to shape his face into a happier expression.

"I will. Bye."

Brian gave up a small side hug, grimacing.

Jon waited until (Reader) was out of sight before asking "Were they talking about that wish you guys made as kids?"

The bespectacled young man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

"I know what Adam wished for, but what did you and (Reader) wish for?" When he mentioned Adam's wish, Adam rolled his eyes playfully and they nudged each other lightly. Their whole relationship was practically diabetic for Brian, who still after all these years didn't get the appeal in romance.

Brian adjusted his glasses again, clearing his throat. "I wanted to know what to do with my life." And he had found that calling. The summer before high school he discovered a YouTube channel centered around ornithology and sent him on a strange spiral of bird mania. His friends and family thought it was a temporary fixation that he would lose interest in after a year or so, but his newfound fascination guided him all the way through college, landing him in an animal husbandry profession taking care of cranes at (what Brian considered to be) a humane zoo. "(Reader) wished for someone to love them."

"Well, I believe there's someone for everyone. It takes some people longer to find 'the one' than it does for others, and (Reader) seems like a great person, so I'm sure they'll meet someone that fits their childhood ideal."

Although Jon meant well with his words he could see the discomfort on his husband's and Brian's faces, their eyes either focused on their drink or plate.

They never read (Reader's) wish.

But over the years the two friends had begun to piece together a picture of the kind of man (Reader) wanted.

It was a complete breach of trust, looking into a friend's past, going full internet stalker mode to investigate into the secrets (Reader) wouldn't divulge. And what they found...

Was a lot.

They didn't know how to open the conversation with their third musketeer, since the facts and speculations were all obtained without (Reader's) knowledge or permission, but if Brian and Adam were correct in their understanding of what (Reader's) wish was, they genuinely wanted to help (Reader).

They also knew where (Reader) was going. But even that was impossible to confess.

Because at that moment, (Reader) was in their car for their monthly four hour visit with the greatest man (Reader) had ever known. It was unfortunate scheduling, but (Reader) couldn't compromise the day for either party. Keeping in contact with their friends was important for their mental health (according to their therapist) but this meeting was more important to (Reader) than practically anything else in their life.

Metal fencing and high beige walls appeared through the trees like a fairy tale castle. Instead of an evil dragon guarding the entrance, however, there were armed guards. Still every bit of evil in (Reader's) eyes.

"Welcome back, Mx. (Reader)." The usual security officer greeted grimly. Before he could ask for identification, (Reader) already had it out. Although they had met many times throughout the past decade, it was still a formality required by law. The two filled out the necessary paperwork while only offering tight smiles. He opened the gate for (Reader) to drive in and park in the visitor's lot. (Reader) always felt the cameras on them whenever they entered this "castle".

Officers emptied (Reader's) pockets and scanned their body for metal. There would be no physical connection at all, but they still needed to take precautions.

(Reader) was led through the lifeless grey halls towards visitation. Each step made their heart race and fostered the smile on their lips. Approaching the room with squeaky broken stools and bulletproof glass relaxed their faux grin for a genuine tranquility. There were no other visitors at the time.

The stool creaked under (Reader) as they gently eased into the old thing, staring at the window. Shortly after they sat down, the man from their phone's wallpaper, now with more silver hair than black, shuffled in on the other side, smiling softly as he sat across from (Reader). They both grabbed the phones.

"Hi Dad."

His dark eyes with pupils so large that without direct light made them look black had deeply etched wrinkles decorating them that folded deeper as he smiled. When Donavon McElroy was arrested, the news outlets focused on his eyes like some kind of Kubrick film, fixating on how you could just see the evil in some people. It felt as though the only person in the entire country who could see how loving Donavon's eyes were was (Reader).

"Hey kiddo. I've missed you."

"I missed you too." There were only four hours of visitation allowed per month. "Have you been getting my letters?"

Greasy ringlets of hair tumbled to the side as he cocked his head. "They're still the highlight of each week." Donavon didn't blink often. Even though the lights always hurt his eyes, no matter how dim they were, he seemed like a mannequin, refusing to blink and miss a second of his precious child's face. "How have you been since our last visit? I know you said in your letters that you're still going to therapy, which is good, very good.. how's that going for you?"

(Reader) felt their smile dip a little. "Well, it's going. I don't really like my therapist, but I know it's just because I don't like what she has to say. Even if I change doctors, they'll still say the same things."

Donavon nodded understandingly. It was like that at first for him as well, receiving psychiatric treatment while in prison. "I didn't like being told that my line of thinking was.. wrong. I knew that logically my thinking was, of course, obviously wrong, but it didn't feel wrong, so having a.. professional tell me that was upsetting."

"But it's important that you continue with it. And I'm very proud of you for continuing with it."

(Reader) laughed. It was a sharp scoff of a laugh, but not spiteful. It filled their chest with hot lava to hear someone praise them for doing what they've been doing since they were ten years old. Because it was difficult. Even if (Reader) continuously told themselves that this was the bare minimum. It was still difficult.

"She has me out in the dating world." (Reader) slumped a little, only slightly enough that no one but Donavon could tell the change in their posture. "Which is.. not fun."

"It can be fun. Does that carnival still come? There used to be a traveling carnival, a pop up fair, that would set up in a parking lot of a small store in our home town, really cheap. That could be a fun first date. Tiny ferris wheel and gravitron. Elephant ears." The two adults smiled widely thinking about it, but neither of them were picturing it as a date. His smile melted when he realized this. "I wish I could have taken you there."

(Reader) imagined a different life, one where they were in his care instead of their mother's, eating pastries the size of their head and getting sick on possibly dangerous attractions in a small parking lot. Their mother never took them, but they knew which pop up fair he was talking about, riding past it on the bus many times in their life. "That sounds like it would have been fun.."

".. but like I said, dating can be fun. As long as your being safe." (Reader's) dad's smile bounced back. "What have you done so far that hasn't been fun?"

"Well, I went out for dinner. Guy named Rich. He was, uh, decent. Talked a lot. Mostly about his job, and goals."

"Sounds career focused, that's good."

"Eh.." They shrugged, eyes drifting.

"What was wrong with him?"

(Reader) sighed. "Nothing. He was.. competent. Seemed like a regular guy. He just.. wasn't my type."

Guilt began to crawl through the folds of Donavon's brain like bugs infesting his conscious. He knew it was all his fault. Everything. But if he said that out loud, (Reader) would deny it, argue and fight it. "Well, there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"There's also plenty of trash."

Donavon pointed a finger at his kid warningly. "There's also sunken treasure. Don't give up hope."

"I don't need someone to be happy.."

"That's true.. but something tells me that when you weren't actively dating around, you weren't being content with the single life, and that's why your therapist is having you go out there. That.. maybe you were still waiting around for something that you shouldn't have, instead of living life to the fullest while alone."

The two became uncomfortably silent. This happened nearly every month. "I just want someone who loves me."

Donavon swore he could cry at that moment. "I'm sorry for-"

"Don't apologize." (Reader) cut him off. "Don't apologize for being a great dad."

"I wasn't. I wasn't a great dad. I'm-"

"-don't-"

"-a monster, (Reader). Kiddo, please, just listen to me. I'm sorry for the things I've done. The way I went about.. I wasn't in my right mind.. what I put you through was not okay. It was not, and will never be okay." He leaned forward, wishing to break through the glass dividing them and hug his kid. "I'm so sorry."

(Reader) softly responded "You're the only person who ever loved me."

"And you deserve better than that."

'No', (Reader) thought, 'there is no better than that.'

"Let's change the subject, please." (Reader) closed their eyes, forcing away the tears. "We never have enough time, and I don't want to spend the entire day focusing on sad shit."

Donavon took a shaky breath. "Okay, kiddo.." he mulled over for a second what to talk about before cracking a smile, one wide enough to show off his missing canine. "Remember Eddy?"

"Your old bunk mate?"

"Yep."

"What about him?"

"He got stabbed."

The sentence was so short and sudden that it shocked (Reader) into snorting, bringing back their genuine smile. "What? When? What happened?"

From the door an older guard smiled sadly, away from view. Donavon was liked by nearly everyone, both by the guards and the other prisoners. It was always a shame, getting to know someone who was supposed to be an evil bastard, and learning that they were just a great man who needed help. Plenty of the older guards understood that (Reader) would forever look at them with disgust and mildly veiled hatred. Because Donavon was (Reader's) hero, and the guards were just wardens unjustly holding him captive.

Their conversation continued without pause, filling the empty room with sounds of parental love and warmth. The guard at the door loved being there whenever it was time for (Reader's) visit with their dad, because it really was an incredibly beautiful and emotional scene every time he was present, but he also hated being the one on duty whenever (Reader) came, because he had to be the villain to say "Time's up" when their four hours were over.

"Mx. (Reader). Donavon."

(Reader's) eyes drooped, darkening under the shadow of their eyelashes. "Already?"

"Unfortunately."

The guard had been there so long, he remembered when (Reader) was a child, and would cry and scream whenever it was time to leave, begging him to let their daddy out.

Donavon smiled comfortingly. "Thank you for visiting me, kiddo."

"Of course."

"Maybe in another decade they'll let me have physical contact visitation." Donavon chuckled, only half serious with his hopeful statement. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too. Don't forget to write."

"I never do."

They both stood up, hanging up their phones painfully. It was the worst time of the day. His chains shook around his wrists as he waved goodbye. He never hurt a single guard in his time incarcerated, but it was a formality, a requirement, due to the nature of his crime. It didn't seem to matter how good his behavior was. Even though the guards trusted him, according to the law Donovan was still to be treated as a monster.

After being guided back out of the room, through the halls, and out to the parking lot, (Reader) finally felt like they could breathe. The air that was stolen when the guard ended their visit with their dad was greedily sucked up outside the stifling building. They finally looked at their silent phone, seeing a dozen messages from Rich. Or, who's number (Reader) assumed was Rich, since they had deleted his contact as soon as they woke up that morning.

Most of the texts were pleas for a second date, or an explanation for what he did wrong. Some of them were insults.

(Reader) sighed, deleting the conversation and blocking his number before getting into their car, allowing tears to silently fall down their warm cheeks. All that they wished for was for someone to love them, and no one would ever love them like their dad did.

The drive back was just as miserable as it was every month.

And just like every month, the tears didn't stop until (Reader) pulled up to their apartment. It was a long day, where the good moments weren't long enough, and (Reader) was ready for another beer. It wasn't Sunday, but it was their Sunday, which meant that they couldn't stay up drinking all night.

But it felt as though they had just popped open their can when someone started pounding on their door, angrily and frantically. (Reader) cursed not being able to afford to live in an apartment that had a controlled door to the building, living in a cheap one that had the stairs on the outside of the building. Which meant that there were no security measures to prevent just anyone from coming straight to (Reader's) unit.

They set the alcohol to the side and made their way to the door. The banging only stopped when the person on the other side heard (Reader) unlocking the deadbolt. A slightly sweaty man with brown hair too short to be messy stood impatiently.

"Rich?"

The slightly younger man shrugged sharply, jutting his head to the side with an attitude as if to say 'No shit, who else?'

"Are you going to let me in?" He asked impatiently.

"Uh, no?" (Reader) furrowed their brow. "How'd you find where I live?" They were too confused to even be mad or scared.

"It wasn't difficult; literally everything is online." Rich responded as though (Reader) was a fucking idiot for even asking. The disrespect was shocking, a severe shift from how he acted during their date. He shifted abruptly as though he was going to charge (Reader), so they tightened their muscles, holding the door closer to their side, which earned an aggravated huff.

"What are you doing here, Rich?"

"Well, you owe me an explanation after you ghosted me after our date the other day." His tone made it sound so obvious.

(Reader) scoffed, almost amused. "No I fucking don't."

"I was the perfect gentleman on our date considering the circumstances, you and I had a good time, but then you ghosted me? And I just want to know why." The emphasis on the 'considering the circumstances' included a wave, motioning to (Reader's) body. (Reader) didn't know if he was insinuating that their body was a problem, or if it was their gender expression, or if he just had high fashion expectations that (Reader) didn't live up to, but the little hand movement finally ticked them off.

"Okay, you're done." (Reader) tried to close the door, but Rich was stronger than he looked, and effortlessly pushed them back into their apartment and entered. (Reader) didn't fall, only stumbled, wobbling to regain balance as Rich casually closed the door behind him, pacing his hands on his hips.

"So, what did I do wrong?"

"You mean before you broke into my home?"

"I did- don't be fucking dramatic, I did not break in. I just want to know, I just want to know what I did wrong."

(Reader) slowly backed up, mentally picturing the apartment behind them to figure out where their closest form of defense was. "Nothing. It just didn't work out-"

"BULL SHIT."

"-you weren't my type."

Rich stuck out his jaw, clicking his tongue. "That isn't a reason."

"Yes, it is-"

"That isn't a reason to be a fucking dick."

'How far behind me is my knife block?'

Before (Reader) could make a move their front door violently flew open again, slamming loudly into the wall. Both Rich and (Reader) whipped around at the jarring noise.

A man stood in the doorway.

His skin was so caked in dirt and muck that his yellowish skin was almost completely painted over. Long, black hair curled due to the oil, hanging down and sticking to his gaunt face. Between the shaggy locks black eyes glared unblinkingly.

"Who the fuck is that?!" Rich nearly hollered, retreating closer to (Reader) out of fear, unable to tear his eyes away from the modified weapon in the intruder's hand.

Warmth spread throughout (Reader's) entire body; the god of love releasing a cage of butterflies into their body.

"He's here to kill me."

Part 0

Eight year old (Reader) tugged on their oversized long sleeve shirt. It was rubbing against the bruises uncomfortably. Everything about their body felt uncomfortable lately.

Their mother was late again.

Mr. Haley sighed loudly for the umpteenth time, looking at his watch as though it was (Reader's) fault their mother hadn't picked them up yet. It was warm and humid, and the sleeves of (Reader's) shirt were sticking to their arms. Despite the heat, Mr. Haley wouldn't allow (Reader) to wait inside, instead standing at the entrance of the school under a tree. (Reader) was the last child at pickup, aside from the children outside on the field for after school sports.

"Is your mom working late again?"

(Reader) didn't answer, instead watching the man walking into the nearly empty parking lot who seemed to be staring at (Reader) and their teacher. They couldn't tell exactly from how far away he was, but he didn't get any closer, keeping to the entrance, partially hidden behind a sign.

"Do you have anyone else I can call? Grandparents?" His kind voice was strained, exhaustion melting his patience.

The man suddenly ducked away from view, and shortly after (Reader's) frazzled mother sped walked into the lot, storming closer to the building. (Reader) left to meet her half way in an attempt to calm her down, but their teacher followed.

"Good afternoon, Ms. (Name)-"

"(Reader), c'mon." As soon as (Reader's) mother was close enough she immediately spun on her heel to leave again, ignoring the teacher.

"Ms. (Name), this is the third time-"

"I know!" The woman snapped, stopping abruptly, causing (Reader) to bump into her side. "I'm sorry."

"-the third time this month."

"I said I know!" She whined, throwing up her hands. "I couldn't get out of work, it wasn't that long!"

"After school activities are almost over. It's been almost an hour-"

"Don't be a dick, okay, I'm twenty minutes late."

"School ended forty minutes ago."

She crossed her arms. "So not an hour."

"Almost an hour-"

"So not an hour."

Mr. Haley sighed in defeat. He tried again, however, he was interrupted by the woman grabbing (Reader) by the arm and dragging them out of the parking lot. Her nails dug into the scabs on (Reader's) arm.

She spat out curses towards the teacher as she dragged her kid down the road towards the bus stop.

"Fucking asshole- and I told you that I was working late!" She turned her frustrations on (Reader), squeezing their arm painfully before releasing them, making (Reader) lose their balance.

"I'm sorry, Mom.." (Reader) quietly apologized, already shrinking in on themselves, head hunching into their tiny shoulders.

"Jesus, stop flinching like that. You look like I beat you or something.."

It was true, she never hit (Reader).

She just grabbed them.

Grabbed them by the back of the shirt, the front of their collar, the arms, wrists, and all parents smack their kids on the back of their heads, that's not hitting. It wasn't her fault that (Reader) bruised so easily. She didn't even hit them.

The city bus pulled up to the stop.

"Kevin's coming over for date night, so when we get home, make sure to do all your homework in your room. I'll bring you dinner and some snacks, but the adults need some alone time, okay?"

"Okay?"

"Okay!" (Reader) loudly responded, wringing their shirt in frustration.

(Reader) liked their mom when they had popcorn nights, when they made a bowl of popcorn and sat down to watch a rented movie together. But most of the time? (Reader) hated their mother.

They hated the way she dismissed them. (Reader) never seemed to be a priority in the woman's life. It didn't even feel like she hated (Reader). (Reader) was just nothing. They didn't receive hugs when they were scared, didn't get kisses when they were sick. And it wasn't one of those cases where you can't remember a single good memory because you're mad; (Reader) couldn't recall a single time their mother ever said the words 'I love you' to them.

She said it to Kevin though.

When they arrived home, (Reader) immediately went to their room, closing the door and flopping onto their mattress on the floor. They didn't feel like doing their homework, and decided instead on a quick nap. It wasn't like their mother was going to check in on them and see how they were doing anyway.

Maybe their dreams would bring a nice family for them.

CRASH!

A loud smash of glass and something heavy falling onto the thin apartment floor woke (Reader) up. They didn't know how long they were out for, but the sun was still up. (Reader) nervously bolted off the mattress and onto their feet, teetering in the middle of the room.

There was a quiet choking sound that liquefied into a gurgle before silencing.

(Reader's) handle slowly turned and their door was softly opened. A terrified looking man drenched in blood stood in front of (Reader), gazing down at them with inhuman eyes. His eyes were wide, panicked, but glassy, red, and with pupils so enlarged that he reminded (Reader) of the ghost woman from a scary movie their mother had been watching. He tried to brush his black hair out of his eyes, never looking away from (Reader's). It was the most intense staring contest (Reader) had ever been in.

He was timid in his approach, crouching down to his knees as he got closer to (Reader).

"..Hi." His voice was shaky and breathy. The man seemed to be overcome with an emotion that (Reader) didn't recognize. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, yet he still didn't blink. He swallowed hard before continuing. "My name is Donavon."

(Reader) was in an odd trance, halfway between petrified and numb. "My name is (Reader)." They didn't know why they answered.

"I know." For the first time since entering, Donavon glanced away from (Reader), searching the room for something. There were no toys in (Reader's) room. "Are you a-" His face broke trying to find the words he needed for his question. "Are you a b-?" A- a-.."

"I'm a kid." (Reader) tugged on their uncomfortable long sleeve shirt.

Donavon smiled so wide that his face looked like it completely split in half. Tears ran down his face shamelessly. The pure joy startled (Reader). "You're a kid." He sniffed back his snot and wiped away some tears, still smiling so hard that his face was turning red and he looked like he was going to laugh. "You're my kid."

He pulled (Reader) into a hug.

It wasn't like the quick hug the school nurse gave them, or the hugs their friends at school gave them; it was desperate.

He squeezed them almost too tightly, his fingers digging painfully into their ribs as he breathed in their hair. But (Reader) didn't cry out or ask him to stop. Tears had begun to fall from their eyes as well.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I should have been here. I should have been here." He started rocking (Reader) as he apologized into their scalp. "I didn't know about you, but I do now, and I'm here now."

(Reader) felt him kiss the side of their head quickly before he went back to whispering.

"I didn't know. But I do now. I'm so sorry."

It was too much, and it made (Reader) cry. They sobbed loudly, wailing into his chest as they returned the hug.

"I love you, (Reader). I love you so much. I don't know you yet, but I still love you. I should have been here for you, but I am now. And I am never letting you go. Okay? No one is ever taking you away from me."

Police sirens approached, screaming outside the building. (Reader) felt Donavon quickly reach into his back pocket, but he never let go from their right embrace.

"I never knew your mom. When I saw you with her last year, I - I tried to get into contact, but, but.. No one would listen to me, I had no proof.. I.. got a DNA test.. I -I'm your dad! I'm a father!" He started rambling, trying to explain things to (Reader), but they couldn't understand anything he was saying. And it didn't matter to them. He said he loved them.

(Reader) heard heavy boot steps and an officer loudly announce his presence.

"No one is ever taking you away from me again."

He was still only hugging (Reader) with one arm.

Someone entered the room, and a really loud sound hurt (Reader's) ears.

An officer shot Donovan in the shoulder, causing the knife he was holding to clatter onto the floor. He fell, releasing (Reader). They saw the knife and quickly put two and two together. But something happened in (Reader's) underdeveloped brain. It didn't matter that they had just met him. That man the police just shot was their dad. And he loved them.

"No!" (Reader) tried to launch themselves at Donovan to protect him, but their tiny body was caught by an officer.

"Don't worry, I've got ya!" The man tried to console (Reader), easily subduing their thrashing limbs, but his soothing voice didn't ease the pain in their heart, nor did it dampen the volume of their shrieks.

"DADDY!!"

The cop carried (Reader) out past the bodies of their mother and Kevin. Both were mutilated, lying naked near the couch in a pool of blood and spilt vodka.

Donavon was sentenced to life without parole.

He testified in court that the only thing he regretted was almost hurting his child. (Reader's) mother had taken advantage of him at a party years ago. Donavon had passed out drunk in the master's bedroom and woken up with his pants and underwear around his ankles. He told the court he didn't remember anything that happened, so although he suspected that someone had assaulted him, he had no proof and records showed that the police refused to help him when he went to report it.

It was a one in a million chance that Donavon saw (Reader) and their mother grocery shopping over a year ago, and nearly had a heart attack seeing a little kid who had his father's ears. Ears are just as unique as fingerprints, and to see a little kid with badly cut hair looking like a mixture of his father's baby photos and the woman walking beside them gave Donavon a sense of confidence that was borderline disturbing. He told the jury that he approached the woman with the intent of making polite conversation about how much alike her kiddo looked like his late father, but knew immediately that (Reader) was his, because when their mother looked Donavon in the eyes she recognized him.

"Before I could even say 'Hi', she grabbed (Reader's) arm and said 'Stay away from my child, Donavon.' I didn't even remember her face."

On the witness stand, Donavon admitted to breaking into their home so he could get access to (Reader's) DNA, stealing their hair brush. He also admitted to stalking the family, watching them as (Reader) openly showed signs of abuse. He called CPS multiple times, but nothing ever came of it.

Donavon repeated how time and time again law enforcement failed to help him get custody of his 'alleged' child, and that he had "snapped".

"I told (Reader) that no one would take them away from me again. Please, please I know I was wrong." Donavon pleaded the jury, looking past the lawyers and staring with his horrifying, never ending gaze. "Please don't put me away forever. I can get better, with help! I needed help! But my baby, my kiddo, they deserve better, please don't separate us again!"

Despite going to a decent foster family and receiving regular therapy sessions with child services, (Reader) had learned what true love was. The smiles their foster family gave them felt fake. No one could hug (Reader) tight enough to press their way into (Reader's) heart. Love was tears streaming down from the black coal eyes of a desperate father who just killed his kiddo's abusers. That was heroic. That was good. Just.

(Reader's) foster parents smiled at each other all the time, and said I love you multiple times a day. Then they divorced. Love was (Reader's) daddy, ready to kill (Reader) so they never had to be apart again.

The therapist with child services watched with a broken heart as (Reader) refused her homemade cookies. "Have you made any friends at school?"

(Reader) shrugged. They didn't see much of a point in friends. "There are these two kids I eat lunch with." Two kids who wouldn't leave them alone, no matter how much (Reader) ignored them.

"That's good! What are their names?"

"Miranda and Brian."

"Are they good kids?"

"They're weird. Brian wears glasses that make his eyes look super big, and Miranda wears a fedora."

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret. The weird kids are usually more fun to hang out with than the normal kids!" She winked while smiling, but it didn't phase (Reader).

"When can I see my dad?"

The therapist leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to control her inner turmoil before shutting her eyes. "I'm working on that, but it's very difficult. Mr. McElroy is in a lot of trouble for what he did."

(Reader) looked down at the drawing they had been making of them playing outside with Donavon. "I wish he killed me."

Part II

Warren had run away from home, again.

His left eye was swollen shut, and blood speckled the front of his t-shirt. The ten year old hadn't even done anything yet, but his father had had a bad day at work, and been drinking for a couple of hours by the time Warren was dropped off by the Saturday babysitter.

He ran into the woods, blinded by his tears and the swelling.

Because of the crying and injury to his eye, Warren couldn't see very well, and kept running even when he emerged from the trees into a clearing; running into a very deep hole.

There was a pain as his ankle popped, crashing at the bottom into the mud. Everything hurt, so he allowed himself to scream and cry as loudly as he needed. No one was going to come for him anyway.

And so he stayed in the hole and watched as the sun went down and the world went black. Even though he knew his father wouldn't come looking for him, he still wished he would. He wished someone needed him as badly as he needed them.

There was no moon that night, leaving Warren completely blind after the purple sunset left the sky. With his unusually dilated pupils Warren typically preferred the dark over the sun, but without the moon there wasn't enough light for him to see.

'Maybe, I should just spend the night in here.' The sad thought made him sniffle, threatening to release the floodgates again.

"It's right over here!" A loud whisper followed by feet tripping over branches echoed through the trees. Warren held his breath, suddenly afraid of being discovered. It wasn't logical to be frightened, but he was. There were strangers in the woods, and he was in pain and blind and alone. His heart beat in his chest like a war drum as people drew near.

"How do you know where it is?"

The voices belonged to children, probably around Warren's age, but he didn't recognize any of them. Most of what they said was too quiet to hear, until they arrived at the clearing.

"Over here."

The strangers stopped near the hole, but too far away to see Warren covered in mud at the bottom. Lights were illuminating the air, and Warren figured that they must have had flashlights with them. His eyes finally had enough light to adjust to the pitch black, and he watched a letter flutter into the hole, followed shortly by another letter, gracefully drifting in.

Then a thick envelope was chucked in, hitting Warren in the head, who had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from accidentally making a startled sound.

"What did you wish for?" Someone asked.

With that question, Warren realized where he was.

He grabbed the letter that had hit him, quietly opening it up as two of the strangers above him bickered. In the faint light he saw a lot of words, too many to read before they left, so he quickly scanned the page out of curiosity. His breath hitched when he saw a drawing of himself.

Black eyes and shaggy black hair.

Warren put the papers back in the envelope and stuck it in his pants. Someone approached the edge, and Warren caught a glimpse of hair and eyes. They didn't see him, but he certainly saw them.

"What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

"Someone who loves me.."

And at that moment, Warren believed in the hole that grants wishes.

He had no proof that the child looking down at him was the same child who threw the wish practically into his lap, but he knew that it was. Like fate, or magic.

After the trio left, Warren pulled his sore little body out of the muck, repeating (Reader's) name to himself over and over again as to not forget it. He didn't know how, but he knew that (Reader) was the one who's wish he had stolen. Warren limped home, easily sneaking in past his father passed out on the couch and up the stairs to the bathroom, where he locked the door.

He quickly pulled out the letter, opening it up in the light to read the wish in full.

"I wish someone would love me." Warren read quietly out loud, sounding out each word as his finger followed the sentence.

"He has to be just like my dad. Be - cause my dad is the only person who loves me."

"He has to have black hair and black eyes.."

Warren looked at his dirty face in the mirror, ignoring the purple around his left eye and focusing on his natural features. A proud smile crept onto his lips.

He went back to reading. "And his eyes should be deep.." Warren's own eyes were also deep set, making it look like he had bags under his eyes even after a full night's sleep. His ears started to turn pink. The picture was of the kid he saw at the hole with a tall man with black hair and eyes and a little guy who looked the same. He pointed at each person. "That's (Reader).. that's (Reader's) daddy... And that's.." he looked at himself in the mirror, tearing up with how hard he was smiling.

Someone needed him.

He turned the page over and his smile instantly fell, his blood freezing.

Pictures of bloody bodies covered the pages.

Page after page of dead people with the most intense things Warren had ever read followed the seemingly innocent wish. He hadn't been exposed to video games yet, his father didn't let him watch TV, and Warren ignored the other kids at his school, so he had never known violence outside of the terrible things his father did to him. And the words he read in that envelope were violent.

"True love is keeping me."

"If he loves me, he'll kill me."

"Don't let them take me away again."

"Together forever."

(Reader) was worried about the limitations of the wishing hole, so they felt they had to be very specific about their ideal boy. Which meant that they had to explain what love was. And to explain what love was, meant that they had to explain to the hole what their dad had done to their mother and Kevin.

It scared Warren.

But only for a moment.

He thought about the joy (Reader) would feel when they saw him for the first time, how their eyes would light up with love and adoration. In his mind, they would recognize him instantly, like their drawing come to life. Warren was their wish come true. And, in a way, (Reader) was his.

He slowly went back to his bedroom and hid the letter in his underwear drawer. The wish was like his most prized possession. Knowing that there was someone out there who needed Warren made him, for the first time in a very long time, feel hopeful for the future.

The next few years of Warren's life, however, were not pleasant in the slightest.

An anatomy book flew at Warren's face, connecting with his thin nose. He was now in highschool, and the abuse had only worsened.

"What the fuck is this?!" His father threw another medical book, terrified. In the past he used to throw and break things even though Warren's only crime was existing, but now even Warren could understand his father's disgust.

A rat laid on Warren's table, split open.

"I'm practicing.." Warren smiled, blood dripping from his nostrils.

"I should kick you out of the goddamn house!" The drunk man kicked a wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

"If you do that, I'll go to the police."

His father's eyes widened. "The fuck you just say, you little psychopath?!"

The man was very nimble for someone so swollen from years of alcohol consumption, closing the distance between himself and his son before Warren had a chance to put up his hands in defense. Large, yellowed fingers grabbed a fistful of Warren's greasy hair and lifted his dangerously underweight body off the ground; high enough where Warren couldn't touch the floor with his toes.

"Think about it. You have no proof for the cops that I killed this rat, but I have all the proof that you hit me." To emphasize his point, Warren didn't wipe away the blood that was now dripping onto the rat carcass.

Black eyes that held no light stared wide and unblinking at the disgusting excuse of a man before Warren. His father looked about the room, which was now covered in articles about some murderer from years ago and medical texts printed off at the local library.

Warren was dropped onto his ass. "Fucking freak." His father mumbled before stumbling out of the room.

It wasn't until Warren heard the drunkard smash though the hall towards the staircase that he finally grabbed some tissue to shove up his nose. It had taken him years and years of hard thinking, but Warren had finally found a way to be (Reader's) perfect husband. It was difficult, but the solution was finally discovered, a way to make (Reader's) wish come true without killing them.

He thought he would probably drop out of school, but that didn't really matter to Warren. The young man already had a part time job, and his future career as a manager for a small corner store was practically set.

Candid shots of (Reader) laid under the box of tissues. While (Reader) had continued growing into an attractive young adult, Warren was stunted. A lack of nutrition gave his unnaturally pale skin a yellow tint, and he was so thin that some of his teeth were becoming loose. But it felt as though he couldn't waste even a second thought on anything that wasn't (Reader).

"I'm sorry, Mr. Whiskers.." Warren apologized quietly to the dead rat. "I didn't mean to kill you. I'll do better next time."

Every time Warren saw (Reader) out and about, he wanted to drag them behind a dumpster and fuck them till they bled. It took incredible restraint to stick to his plan and keep to the shadows.

Their wish, laminated, hung above his bed like a prayer, one that he read and worshipped every night before bed.

Warren's father didn't notice when he stopped going to his classes.

He also didn't notice the muffled screaming from the basement, when Warren evolved his experiments from rats to people.

It wasn't until the smell became unbearable that he finally sobered up enough to go down and investigate.

As he searched the house for the cause of the smell, the aging, dying man briefly wondered when the last time he had been down in basement was. Or, when he last saw his good for nothing son.

The stairs to the lowest level creaked under his shoes, and an anxiety he had never before known trickled up through his bones.

At the bottom of the stairs, a door held back the stench like a leaking flood gate. Opening the squealing door wafted a wave of nausea inducing gas right into the man's face.

"Hey, ew what the- hey freak! You down here?! What's that smell..?" His eyes didn't have time to adjust to the dusty basement light before Warren swung a wooden baseball bat with spikes towards his father's face. One spike went through his skull near his nose and another popped open one of his eyes. But his death was due to the blunt force, cracking his head open as easily as smashing a watermelon. The junkie strapped and gagged to the table silently screamed as their one hope for salvation died in front of them.

"I'm sorry about the interruption." Warren smiled, his eyes still and unwavering. The man who had destroyed his childhood and stolen his happiness laid bleeding out on the floor, and Warren didn't feel a single thing. It was strange, part of him thought that he would feel satisfaction watching his abuser die, but he felt nothing at all. Warren only killed his father because he had interrupted his experiment with the homeless person who looked amazingly like (Reader). The young man held up a belt. "Let's continue."

Warren didn't consider himself to be a murderer. What he was doing to the people he abducted was for love. There was no evil or hatred, and if he looked at it in a certain light, he wasn't really trying to kill them at all.

Moving to the night shift gave Warren more time to stalk (Reader) during the day. Just as he had predicted, Warren became a higher member of management, and even 'owned his own home' now that his father had tragically passed. Everything was progressing perfectly, because his entire existence was a wish come true.

It hurt, hiding in the booth behind (Reader) and their friends, hearing about how they had started dating at the suggestion of their bitch therapist, but Warren decided that it was good for their relationship. It proved to him that even after all this time, (Reader) still loved him and needed him. Every time a date failed to live up to (Reader's) expectations it further fueled Warren's fantasy of how (Reader) would react when he finally revealed himself to them.

The dates also provided Warren ample opportunity to look around their apartment. Like when they went on a date with some whiny loser his age. He wasn't even (Reader's) type. Their home was small and quaint, and taking pictures of it in extreme detail helped Warren learn how to decorate the room (Reader) would be staying in once they finally started dating.

Dating.

The idea of merely "dating" caused a painful strain in Warren's chest, but he knew that it was only logical to date before he proposed. At least for a month or so. Maybe a week.

Well, whenever he did propose, Warren knew (Reader) would accept, because Warren was their wish come true. There was nothing he could do wrong, because his entire existence was due to (Reader's) will.

He didn't even bother cleaning off the dirt when he scuffed up the bedroom door. There was no point, because (Reader) wouldn't ever fear or hate anything he did, even if they didn't know he was the one responsible. Because that was fate.

(Reader's) undergarments rested on top of the dirty clothes basket.

Even that was fate.

Because why would they leave their worn underwear in plain view, if not for him? His hands with dirt crusted nails stroked the garment, imaging that he could still feel the heat of (Reader's) body on them. Warren imagined how happy (Reader) would be to learn what he did with their underwear, in their bed. He imagined their eyes glowing like an angel's as their smile graced his filthy presence.

Because this was (Reader's) wish.

And soon, Warren would finally give them their happily ever after.

Warren had put in for a week of vacation at his work; their shared bedroom was decorated; and his supplies were hidden in a backpack in the dirt behind (Reader's) complex. It was like a fairytale, when the knight came to save the dragon from the prince.

Rich approached (Reader's) front door as Warren dug up his hidden tools. Mud covered his face and gloves, but he didn't mind. In fact, it was like a mask, where only his true love would recognize him. Warren knew that his dream would come true that day, but it was even better than he had hoped for. Prince Rich was there to harass his dragon.

He had hoped it would be this easy, and the universe provided. Fate was always on Warren's side when it came to making (Reader's) wish come true. All those lives lost to Warren's experiments were not wasted.

The annoying voice of Rich was audible from outside the building, but it was difficult to feel anything negative towards to poor bastard. In Warren's mind, it wasn't Rich's fault that he was born to be such a loser; it was fate's design for the man to be sacrificed.

Warren threw open the front door, scaring the shit out of the stronger looking man. "Who the fuck is that?!"

Then, the sands of time were fused into glass by the electricity between Warren and (Reader). Their expression looked relieved, just as Warren had always hoped it would. A smile stretched across the beautiful lips Warren often fantasized about kissing. Their cheeks pulled up in the most honest grin Warren had ever seen.

Tears of joy decorated their bottom lashes like glitter.

"He's here to kill me."

Rich put up his arm as though to protect (Reader) from Warren. Again, Warren felt no anger towards the man and his silly reaction.

The bat used to kill Warren's father restarted time as it aimed for Rich's skull.

(Reader) looked up endearingly at Warren, now sitting on their knees in a pool of Rich's blood. The man before them was everything they had ever dreamt of. His black eyes never left (Reader's), even as he bludgeoned their date to death.

It took all of (Reader's) will power to not shake in their seat. Excitement flowed through their veins so quickly that it sent involuntary quivers through their muscles. Everything that they had ever wanted was finally coming true.

"I've been waiting for you." (Reader) felt their chest tighten as Warren approached.

But then he dropped his bat.

Their smile twitched a little, but (Reader) tried to not let anxiety ruin their happiest moment. The dirty man slid a backpack off and started rifling through it.

"I've been waiting for you too.." A voice that sounded oddly chipper finally responded, echoing from a wide grin that showed off yellowing teeth with a few missing on the bottom row.

(Reader) smiled harder. "You're going to kill me?" It was phrased like a question, but it was more of a plea.

"No."

"What?"

(Reader's) smile cracked in half. The adrenaline in their system turned deadly.

Warren's smile didn't fade.

"But, you have to." (Reader) began to panic. This had to be the man they wished to life. He had to be there to kill them. It was fate. He had to! "Aren't you here for me?"

"Of course I am."

"Then you have to kill me! If you love me, you have to-!"

Warren dropped his bag, revealing a hacksaw. He held it relaxed in one hand, and held a belt in the other. "Do you know how selfish you are, (Reader)?"

(Reader's) mind went numb with confusion.

"I've loved you for so long, and now that I finally have you, you think I'm going to kill you?"

"I'm not going to let anyone have you."

"Not even death."

The End

The two story house was full of trash bags. Every room in the building was full of clutter and filth, except the master bedroom.

Warren came home from a long shift, excited to have his precious spouse in his arms.

None of the guards at the prison would listen to Donavon when he tried to convince them all that something was wrong. A child suddenly not visiting their murderer of a parent in prison was not reason to go to the police and open a missing person's case. Even the officers that liked Donavon couldn't do anything.

The bedroom decorated to (Reader's) taste was unlocked by Warren as he finally climbed through all the shit. He entered their shared home with a warm expression of pure love on his face.

"(Reader), I'm home!"

In the middle of the room watching television was a wheelchair bound (Reader). Their arms and legs amputated, sitting helplessly in a soiled diaper. A drugged up, lopsided smiled sleepily tugged the corners of their mouth up.

"Welcome home, baby.."

A/N: Sorry it took so long, happy to start writing again ❤️