#cw forced isolation

[dumbdomb]

at this point, idk where to be... i'm not into many of the popular kinks going around, rough play, and being perceived as literally anything other than whatever i've got going on... it's just not fun or interesting. i hate that some of my more fantasy based kinks are in online spaces that overlap with a lot of stuff i'm REALLY trying to avoid (no shame to anyone else, just some stuff ain't for me personally- and i shouldn't have to erase or lower my boundaries, to have other people's kinks forced upon me). it feels like i'm too niche, and i can't find "my kind of people."

i'm worried that, even if i put kinky interests aside, i'd still have difficulty matching up with people (platonically). like, i'm always too weird and "different" or i don't conform enough... so, i never fit in anywhere or with anyone. and it's all just starting to build up. i mean... is this it? is this all anyone does, performing a restricted version of themselves that has an appropriate script and core beliefs which are the same as everyone else in the group?

why are so many people acting the same way that mainstream society does? this is so frustrating to even process. like, is there not any space anywhere for any person to simply exist?

[aleksatia]

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

[thelotusrabbit]

DpxDc #4

cw: implied sa

Vlad Masters is a man who knows what he wants.

He does have everything that he wants.

Except… Recently, things started to change.

He knew that his interest in Maddie was starting to fade, but his attention shifted to Daniel.

The desire to have him burned inside his chest. His hands hitched with the desire to give him everything, to have him be his, to keep the naive teenager in a glass case so nobody could put their filthy hands on him.

With time, his obsession started to bloom into something sick and violent.

Like a natural disaster, Vlad swept Danny’s family out of the picture (alive or not) to force him to always be next to him.

And Danny…

Danny is ill.

Ill because Vlad separated him from everybody, because he doesn’t make him fulfill his obsession, because he is punished, and because Vlad always seems to want more from him.

He wants so much more that, soon enough, Daniel turns out to be a disappointment.

The standards started to become too high. Etiquette, isolation, training, and the draining of ectoplasm were starting to wear him thin.

But having him it’s not a total waste of resources.

Vlad could always try for a new heir.

Tim forces himself not to snarl in disgust as he sees one of the guests slide his hand around the teenager next to him.

He sees his hand squeeze the kid’s shoulders as the poor boy’s eyes start to space out. 

That slimy smile was something Tim had seen too many times, and he subtly brought it to the attention of the whole family. 

He saw Brude get Masters's attention, making him lose his grip on the young boy, as both Cassandra and Damian got him away.

Now, it was Tim’s turn to do something, as he slipped away from the crowd to do some research on the man.

[reilemon]

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Possession 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

♡︎ synopsis: You move into an abandoned mansion looking for a fresh start. Little did you know you're not the only one living there.

♡︎ pairing: demon!Sylus x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: restraints, corruption (if you squint), breathplay

♡︎ word count: 10k

♡︎ a/n: the fourth story for kinktober 2024.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

The night wraps around you like a vice, pressing down on your skin. Every breath feels heavier than the last as the low, eerie hum seeps into your bones. The melody is fractured, broken, sung by something that doesn’t understand human warmth. It’s wrong, so wrong, and the more you hear it, the harder it is to pretend that everything is normal.

You sit up in bed, the silk of your nightgown sticking to your skin, cold sweat beading along your neck and back. You strain your ears to listen, catching every sound the house makes—the creak of floorboards, the low groan of the wind clawing at the windows. But beneath it, that humming persists, growing clearer.

A footstep.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Something is walking—no, pacing—just beyond your bedroom door, almost as though it knows you're listening.

You tell yourself, ‘this is ridiculous’. You’ve lived here almost two weeks, nothing dangerous has happened.

Two weeks living in this forgotten, decaying mansion. At first, the isolation felt like a cure, a place where you could finally breathe after years of soul-sucking work. The realtor had been so eager to sell it. You remember that first visit—dust motes swirling in the dim afternoon light, the scent of mildew hanging in the air. The long-abandoned estate was priced absurdly low for such a massive property. You had asked about its history, about the family that owned it. “Old money,” the realtor said dismissively. “They never even lived here, not really. They’re eager to get rid of it.”

You pressed her—why would they abandon a mansion like this? She’d shrugged, evasive. “Just one of those things, you know? Big house, lots of upkeep. Not practical anymore.” She'd forced a smile, deflecting. “People want something more modern these days.”

At the time, you didn’t care. You wanted solitude, escape, a place to start over after the chaos of your previous life.

In the first week, you brushed off the oddities. The strange cold spots in the halls, the faint scent of smoke that seemed to come from nowhere, the occasional flickering of the old lights. You reasoned ‘the house is just old, settling’. Maybe it was the stress from the move, or just the overwhelming quiet after years of city life.

But then, things became harder to dismiss.

You remember waking up one night to the sound of soft whispers, like voices just beyond your door. You convinced yourself it was a dream, that you were still half-asleep, that your mind was playing tricks on you. But when you opened the door, the hall was filled with an icy draft, despite every window being locked tight. Your skin prickled with the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

With every night, your paranoia has grown. You’ve stopped sleeping through the night. Every creak, every gust of wind outside feels like a threat. The humming has become a nightly occurrence —soft at first, almost melodic, but it twists, becomes distorted. And tonight, the footsteps. They’re louder. Closer.

You sit there for too long, your mind racing. Each beat of your heart pounds in your throat as you try to summon some logic to ground you. ‘There has to be an explanation’. You’re not some helpless woman in a cliché horror movie. You won’t let fear consume you.

But the footsteps stop, right outside the door. And in that moment, the air feels too thick to breathe.

Fuck.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor shocking against your bare feet, dragging you out of paralysis. The silk robe slides over your shoulders, its fabric a poor defense against the dread crawling up your spine. You move slowly, the wooden floor beneath you creaking with each step toward the door. Your fingers hover over the handle for a moment, hesitation making your hand shake.

‘It’s just a draft’, you tell yourself, though the words feel hollow. ‘Just the old house’.

You open the door. You swallow, flipping the light switch with a trembling hand, lighting the empty hallway. The old bulbs buzz and flicker before casting their weak glow, but the light feels sickly. You take a deep breath, forcing your legs to move, fingers brushing along the wall as though the contact will somehow steady you. With every step, the hum grows fainter, retreating deeper into the house, drawing you further from the safety of your room.

The sitting room’s light flickers as you pass, casting distorted shapes along the walls. The silence between the hums stretches, amplifying the creaks and groans of the house around you.

The dining room is next. You hesitate at the threshold, your breath hitching as the light stutters overhead, threatening to plunge you into darkness again. But it holds, if only just. The hum is still distant, still teasing, but now there's something else—something heavier beneath it. A low, barely audible rasping breath, like the sound of something alive, breathing with you.

Your hand grazes the light switch to the kitchen, fingers trembling. The moment the light flares to life, it dies.

The room plunges into complete darkness. A thick, suffocating blackness that feels like it’s crawling over your skin. Your pulse spikes, cold panic flooding your veins. The hum is gone now—replaced by the unmistakable feeling that something is in there, waiting, watching.

A faint whisper—right next to your ear, soft and malicious—sends a scream clawing up your throat, but you bite it back, too terrified to make a sound.

‘Move. Move, now.’

You stumble backward. The floor seems to shift beneath you as you flee towards the stairs. You crash into the bedroom, your breath ragged, chest heaving. You slam the door shut with a resounding thud, and the thin wood feels too fragile, too weak to keep anything out. You press your back against it, gripping the doorknob with trembling fingers, your raging heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You stand there, frozen, waiting for something else to happen. But nothing does. No footsteps, no whispers, no movement beyond the door. Just stillness.

You exhale, forcing yourself to unclench your hands from the doorknob, willing your body to stop shaking. ‘Get a grip’, you tell yourself, trying to suppress the waves of panic that threaten to consume you. You're not going to lose your mind over this. ‘It's just the stress. That’s all.’ The isolation, the strangeness of living alone in such a vast, decrepit place—it’s been messing with your head. You force your breathing to slow, sucking in deep, calming gulps of air.

Pushing away from the door, you cross the room and sit on the bed, retreating back into the sheets. It’s late—too late to do anything about it now—but in the morning, you’ll change every lock in this mansion. No more creaky doors, no more unlocked windows. You’ll seal every inch of this place if you have to. And you’ll call Tara. She’d laugh at you at first, no doubt. She teased you for choosing to live in such a remote, old house. "You’re gonna end up starring in one of those haunted house stories," she'd said, half-joking. You smile weakly, despite the dread gnawing at your gut. It’s time to take her up on her offer to visit. Tomorrow, you’ll call her.

Lying back on the bed, you try to focus on the plan—changing locks, calling Tara. You’ll handle this like you handle everything. The house creaks softly, as if responding to your newfound resolve. You ignore it, pulling the sheets up over your face, the fabric cool against your skin. ‘Sleep’, you tell yourself. ‘You need sleep’.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next day arrives sluggishly. You barely slept through the night, but daylight always brings a faint sense of hope. You push yourself out of bed, running through the motions, pretending for a moment that everything is normal.

Tara arrives just after lunch. You open the front door for her, her playful smile greeting you. But it quickly fades when her eyes catch the tension in your shoulders, the dullness of your skin. "You look like hell." You want to make a joke or a clever comeback in return, but the weight of the last two weeks presses too heavily on you. So you just let her in. You’ve told her over the phone this morning already, but now you tell her everything in more detail. You tell her about the footsteps, the humming, the cold spots. How the house doesn’t feel right.

"Okay," Tara says after a moment, her brows furrowing. "I’m not saying I believe in all that, but I’ve read enough ghost stories to know we don’t mess around with this kind of thing. I brought something." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bundle of sage. "We’ll burn this. Clears out bad energy, or at least it’s supposed to. Couldn’t hurt, right?"

You stare at the bundle for a moment, feeling both ridiculous and relieved. Maybe it’s silly, but she is right, it can’t hurt to try. "Thanks," you mutter, trying to smile.

"And I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows a good priest," Tara adds, her tone light again, though you can hear the genuine concern beneath it. "Someone could come over and bless the place, right? If nothing else, it’ll give you peace of mind."

You nod, though part of you still feels absurd for even considering it. Together, you and Tara walk through the house, lighting the sage. The oppressive weight that has been weighting you down lifts, just slightly. The creaking stops, the cold spots seem to fade, and for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe.

"See? Not so bad," Tara says, giving you a reassuring smile. "It already feels better in here. Maybe that’s all it needed—some good ol’ sage and positive vibes."

You nod, grateful, feeling a spark of hope. Maybe this is all it took. Maybe that’s the end of it.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

That night, you follow your routine, trying to remain calm. You lock every door, check every window, twice, and make sure nothing is out of place. By the time you slip into bed, you’re exhausted. You lie there in the dark, the cool sheets against your skin, your eyes slowly fluttering closed.

But in the depths of the mansion, something stirs. The energy has changed, shifted. The air hums with a barely-contained agitation, a dark presence swirling in the corners, crawling through the walls. It had been watching you, waiting. And now, with the sage burned and the mention of a priest, it’s no longer content to simply watch.

A sound pulls you back from the edge of sleep. You freeze, straining to listen. At first, it’s faint, like distant laughter. It’s low, dark, amused, seeping through the room as though it’s mocking your very presence here. You sit up abruptly, your pulse spiking. The laugh is gone, but the air feels colder now. The wind outside picks up, slapping against the windows, and then—you hear it. A loud, sharp caw. A crow’s cry, shrill and eerie, slicing through the still night air. You turn your head toward the window, expecting to see its shape perched on the sill, but there’s nothing there, just the empty darkness beyond the glass.

‘It’s just a bird’, you tell yourself. ‘Just a bird’.

But then the footsteps start again.

They’re louder this time. Not like before when you could pretend it was just the old floorboards shifting. No, these are deliberate. Heavy. The distinct sound of boots on wood, moving slowly down the hallway outside your bedroom. Each step echoes through the house, growing louder, closer, until they stop right outside your door. You can feel your pulse in your throat, every instinct screaming at you to stay in bed, to not make a sound. But the silence is oppressive. You can’t just lie here anymore. You push yourself up on shaky legs, feet hitting the cold floor as you move toward the door, your hand hovering over the knob like before. But this time, you don’t need to open it.

The door swings open on its own.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything is still. The dark hallway stretches before you, stretching into nothingness. But then, at the far end, you see it—a faint, flickering glow. A dim, blood-red light. It pulses, stronger with each passing second, growing brighter, sharper. Your chest tightens as the glow intensifies. You swallow hard, a cold sweat forming on the back of your neck as the realization hits you that this—whatever it is—isn’t something you can ignore.

“Who… who are you?” you stammer, your voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

The red glow flickers, focusing on you. You feel it in the air around you. The presence you’ve been denying, the thing that’s been watching, waiting. Now you’ve acknowledged it. It begins to solidify, drawing closer. The figure takes form—broad shoulders, a tall, towering frame. And then, his face. Sharp, defined features, red eyes, and silver hair. His gaze locks onto you, and it feels like he’s peering into the deepest, darkest parts of your soul.

You stumble back, heart racing, unable to comprehend what you’re seeing. This can’t be real. This has to be some nightmare. But he’s there, standing before you, fully formed—real.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, his voice deep.

You stand frozen, every inch of you trembling. This isn’t some ghost story, some figment of your imagination. You take a step back, your legs weak, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. “W-waiting for what?” you manage to choke out, though your voice barely rises above a whisper.

His smirk widens. “For you to understand,” he says softly, his tone almost condescending. He takes a step closer and the floor creaks under the weight of his boots, the sound amplified in the eerie silence of the mansion. “This place… it’s mine. Always has been.”

You stumble backward again, your mind racing, desperate for some way to rationalize this. But you can’t. The thing standing in front of you isn’t human. “I don’t understand,” you whisper, shaking your head. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

He laughs softly at that, a low, dark chuckle. “I am not the intruder here,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “You are.” His eyes narrow, the humor fading, replaced with a cold, hard edge. “This house, this mansion, has been mine for centuries. I’ve seen generations come and go, trying to claim it as their own.”

You’re barely holding on, fear coursing through you. “Who… who are you?” you ask again, though now your voice is almost a plea.

He leans in, his face close enough now that you can smell the faint scent of something burning, something ancient. “I am Sylus. This house… my house… it’s been mine longer than you can imagine. And you—" His gaze sharpens. "You’ve been tampering with things you shouldn’t."

He steps back. "I’ll give you a chance. Pack your things. Leave." His words are like a command, absolute, and it makes your chest tighten.

Something in you snaps.

The fear, the dread that’s been building for days—it all crashes into something else, something raw and angry. You clench your fists. Leave? After everything? You’ve fought too hard to be told to just give up.

"No," you say, your voice trembling, though whether it’s from fear or anger, you’re not sure. His smirk widens, a dark chuckle escaping his lips as if amused by your defiance. "No?" he repeats, the word dripping with condescension, as though your resistance is nothing more than a child’s tantrum to him.

But you’re not done. "It’s not fair," you continue, and you can feel the flood of emotions you’ve been holding back surging forward. "I worked for this. You don’t get to tell me to leave!" Your voice rises, trembling with frustration. You can feel your eyes burning with unshed tears. "I can’t just… pack up and go?! This place was supposed to be my fresh start!"

Sylus’ amusement falters. He was expecting fear. Submission. Not this. Not the raw emotion pouring out of you.

You take a shaky breath, your words tumbling out now unfiltered. "I’ve given up everything! My life was a wreck before I came here. I had no friends, no purpose, nothing.” Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t stop, the anger blending with exhaustion. "This place was supposed to be my dream," you whisper, your voice cracking. "And now you’re telling me to leave? After everything I’ve been through?”

Sylus says nothing for a long moment. He stands there, watching you with an intensity that feels almost suffocating, the mocking air that surrounded him fading as something shifts in his expression. His tail, once flicking in amusement, goes still. He opens his mouth, perhaps to laugh, to mock you again, but no sound comes out. Something about your defiance, your honesty, seems to catch him off guard. He had expected you to cower, to run, to tremble at his mere presence. Instead, you’re standing here, pouring your soul out in front of him.

The room is silent.

 Sylus’ gaze doesn’t leave yours. "You think your struggles give you claim to this place?" His voice is softer now, almost contemplative. "You’re not the first to come here, seeking something better. But none of them stayed for long."

You don’t back down. "I’m not them," You say quietly. "I’m not running."

Sylus watches you for a long moment, his sharp features unreadable. Finally, he speaks, his tone more subdued, more thoughtful. "You have spirit, I’ll give you that." You stand there, still trembling, but something in the air feels different now. Sylus, for all his power, doesn’t seem as dismissive as he did before. He turns around, giving you one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows. "Don’t bring a priest. Don’t burn any more sage. Consider this a warning.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the nights are quiet.

After the tense confrontation with Sylus, after his warning and your emotional outburst, something shifted. You still feel him—his presence lingers in the mansion like a shadow that never quite leaves—but it's no longer oppressive.For several nights now, you’ve slept soundly, undisturbed by the creaks of the floorboards or the strange hum echoing through the halls. And though you sometimes catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows, Sylus doesn’t show himself. It’s as if he’s made a quiet, unspoken truce with you, staying out of your way—for now.

A week passes, and the mansion almost feels… peaceful. Maybe it’s the quiet, maybe it’s the way you’ve started to make the space your own despite his warnings. You’ve begun to settle in, unpacking more boxes, putting things in order, reclaiming the mansion in small ways.

One evening, you decide to tackle the attic. You pull the creaky ladder down and climb, your flashlight casting light across the wooden beams and piles of forgotten items. The air is thick with dust, and the faint smell of mildew hangs in the air. Boxes are piled high, old trunks and forgotten furniture clutter the space, draped in old sheets. You take a deep breath, brushing away cobwebs as you start sorting through the old belongings. It’s mostly junk—old letters, tarnished trinkets, broken ceramic figurines. But then you open a wooden music box and your eyes immediately land on something shiny.

A brooch.

It’s in the shape of a raven, carved from some kind of dark metal, accompanied by a large red gemstone. The moment your fingers brush against it, the air in the attic grows thick. You can feel a chill crawl up your spine as you lift the brooch, turning it over in your hand, examining the beautiful craftsmanship.

That’s when you hear him.

"Put it back."

You whirl around, and there he is—Sylus. His red eye glows brighter than usual, flickering with barely contained agitation. His tall frame looms over you, his tail flicks behind him, tense, snapping in the air like a whip.

You freeze, the brooch still in your hand. "Why?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

"That doesn’t belong to you," Sylus growls. He takes a step closer. "Put it back in the box. Now."

Slowly, carefully, you place the brooch back into the wooden music box. The moment you do, you can feel the tension in the room ease. Sylus watches, his eyes never leaving the brooch until it's safely out of sight. His broad shoulders relax, his tail flicking behind him in a slower, more measured rhythm.

"Why does it matter so much?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze lingering on the closed music box. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more guarded, as though he’s choosing his words carefully. "It was made for someone. No one should be touching it."

There’s a story there, buried deep beneath his cold exterior, but he’s not offering it to you.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. Your mind spins with possibilities, but you keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to pry further into something clearly painful. Instead, you glance at the music box, not daring to touch it again. Its melody feels strangely familiar. You pause, recognizing the tune—the same haunting melody you’ve heard in the dark, late at night.

"Is this… the song you’ve been humming?" you ask carefully, lifting your gaze to meet his.

His eyes narrow, but there’s no anger there. He doesn’t answer immediately, but after a long silence, he gives a short nod. "It is."

A soft breath escapes you, and you can’t help the small smile. "Well," you say, your tone a little lighter "you’re always off-key." The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a moment, you freeze, wondering if you’ve crossed a line—if teasing a demon was, perhaps, not your smartest move.

Sylus blinks, his expression unreadable at first, but then—he chuckles. The sound is rough, almost rusty, as though it’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to find humor in anything. "I didn’t know I had a critic," he mutters with a trace of amusement.

You let out a shaky breath, relieved, but still stunned by the sound of his laughter. You find yourself staring at Sylus, watching the way his red eyes soften, the way the usual predatory edge to him seems to dull, just for a moment. You don’t know what to say, but you don’t need to. Finally, Sylus breaks the silence, his voice quieter, less guarded than before. "Be careful with what you touch in this house," he says, though there’s no threat behind his words, only a quiet warning. "Not everything here belongs to you."

You nod, understanding more than he’s willing to say. "I didn’t mean to…" you trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, the faintest smile on his lips. "I know." And with that, he turns, his figure dissolving into the shadows of the attic, leaving you alone once more.

But this time, the air doesn’t feel so heavy. The mansion doesn’t feel so hostile.

And Sylus doesn’t feel like a demon lurking in the dark anymore.

For the first time, he feels like someone who’s been through more than you could possibly imagine. Someone who’s carrying the weight of loss and pain for centuries. And somehow, despite everything, you’ve seen a glimpse of something human in him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The days that followed felt different. The mansion, though still steeped in its eerie silence, seemed to breathe a little easier. Sylus, who had always been a constant, brooding presence in the shadows, began to make himself known in new ways. You would be working around the house—organizing a room, fixing up old furniture, unpacking boxes—and you’d feel him. A brush of air, the faintest warmth at your back.

He never fully revealed himself during the day, not at first. But there were brief moments, when you’d catch a glimpse of him—standing in the doorway, his red eye glowing faintly before he slipped away, or a flash of silver hair in the corner of your vision. And slowly, he started to help.

At first, it was subtle. You’d be struggling to move a piece of furniture, and when you turned around to grab something for leverage, it had already shifted into place, as if someone had pushed it for you. Tools you needed would be mysteriously laid out before you reached for them. And sometimes, when you lost track of time working on a project, you’d find a fire already lit in the fireplace before the chill of the evening would creep in.

One afternoon, you were standing on a chair in the kitchen, trying to reach a high cabinet when you suddenly lost your balance. Before you could even cry out, you felt strong hands on your waist, steadying you, with a firm grip. You turned to find Sylus standing there, his lips curled into that familiar smirk.

"Careful, kitten," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Kitten. The word caught you off guard, and you blinked at him. Something about the way he said it—so casually, yet with a hint of affection—left you speechless. He had called you ‘kitten’ like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t mind the new nickname. Not at all.

The touches became more frequent, intentional. When you passed each other in narrow hallways, his hand would brush against your arm, or his fingers would trail along your back. Every touch would make your heart flutter, your cheeks heat up.

One evening, your muscles ached after hours of working tirelessly around the mansion. You sat by the fire, sipping tea in an attempt to relax. The room was quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, but then you felt it—his presence. Sylus was watching you from the doorway.

“You’ve been pushing yourself,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet. His eyes focused on your hand as it pressed against your shoulder, kneading the sore muscle.

“Maybe a little,” you replied, leaning back into the chair, letting your eyes close for just a second. “But I can handle it.”

Sylus chuckled softly. “You don’t always have to be so stubborn.” He leaned in closer, standing next to you. “Let me help.” His hand rested lightly on your shoulder, his touch warm.

For a moment, you hesitated, but the ache in your muscles urged you to accept. You gave a small nod and turned your back to him. He moved closer, his hands resting fully on your shoulders now. You could feel the strength in them through the thin fabric of your shirt. His fingers dug in gently, working into the tight muscles with a careful yet firm pressure. You let out a small sigh of relief, the tension starting to ease under his touch.

But then his hands moved more slowly, the pads of his fingers tracing over your skin in a way that felt… intimate. The soft kneading of your muscles became something more, his thumbs pressing into the knots in your back with expert precision. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body instinctively leaning into his touch, craving the release from the pain.

“You like that?” Sylus murmured, his voice low, teasing as his hands moved lower. Your breath hitched as his fingers worked their magic, easing the soreness out of your muscles. It was impossible to ignore the way his hands felt against your body, the way each touch made your skin tingle.

“You’re so tense,” he muttered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in.

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. His hands on your body, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all felt overwhelming. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, and though the massage had started innocently enough, there was no mistaking the shift in energy between you. As his hands moved lower, brushing dangerously close to your hips, you could feel the warmth pooling in your lower belly.

Flustered, you quickly pulled away, standing up from the chair before things could escalate any further. “Th-thank you for the massage,” you stammered. You could feel your face flushing and you didn’t dare look him in the eye.

Sylus leaned back slightly, his lips pulling into that knowing smirk. “Of course,”

You took a small step back. “I think I’ll just… take a hot bath before bed,” Without waiting for his response, you turned and made your way toward the bedroom. The heat in your cheeks only grew worse as you walked away, your legs feeling like they might give out from the mixture of embarrassment and the lingering effects of his touch. You felt his eyes on you, taking in every movement, the subtle sway of your hips as you retreated to the safety of your room.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The phone call left you feeling strange—half-flattered, half-disconnected. A friend of a friend, someone from your old life, asked you out on a date. You politely declined, giving some excuse about being too busy, about focusing on your new home. But that’s not entirely true. The call was a reminder of the life you left behind, and the strange new one you found here.

You sigh, setting the phone down and reaching for the bottle of wine you opened earlier. Pouring yourself a glass, you settle into the sofa and pick up a book. You sip the wine, letting the tension of the day slip away as you open the book. But it’s not quiet for long.

The air shifts, and before you even look up, you feel that familiar presence. Sylus arrives without a sound, as he always does.

With a smile, you lookup from your book. "Care to join me for a drink?" you ask as you raise your glass to him. Although you aren’t sure if demons even can drink.

He chuckles softly, his boots making the faintest sound as he crosses the room to stand beside you. "I haven’t tasted wine in centuries," he admits.

You tilt your head. "So you don’t eat? Or drink?"

Sylus shrugs, "I haven’t needed to," he says simply, but there is something in his tone—an almost wistful note. "I suppose I could try."

You laugh softly, offering him your glass. "Here, then. Let’s see if you still can."

Sylus hesitates for a moment, but then, with a slight shake of his head, he accepts your offer. He takes a small sip, tasting the wine before swallowing.

"Well?" you ask with a smile. "Can you taste it?"

Sylus’s lips curve into an amused smirk. "I can taste it," he says and takes another sip. He makes a face, mockingly disappointed, and returns the glass to you. "I think you should buy yourself something nicer," he teases. "This is a bit cheap."

You snort, playfully rolling your eyes. "Of course you have an expensive taste."

Sylus chuckles. But then, the relaxed expression changes to a serious one. "Who was on the phone earlier?"

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers tightening around your wineglass. "Just someone from my old life." Sylus raises an eyebrow, and you feel compelled to continue. “Asked me out on a date, but I declined.”

You avoid his gaze, but you can feel Sylus watching you. "Why did you decline?" he asks, his voice low. "You’ve been here for months. You don’t get out much. Why not say yes?"

You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts. The truth is too heavy, too tangled, and you aren’t ready to admit it, not even to yourself.

"You’re one to talk," you say raising an eyebrow and mustering a playful tone. "If anyone’s used to solitude, it’s you. You’ve been alone for centuries—I think I can manage a little bit of solitude for a few months."

“Touché.” he chuckles. His gaze turns towards the flickering flames of the fireplace, “But solitude… it wears on you. You might think it’s peace, but after a while, it starts to feel more like a cage.”

The words sink into you, unsettling. But, before you can respond, a question begins to form at the back of your mind, heavy and uncomfortable. Was he truly alone all this time? Were there others before you, drawn into the same dark intensity of his presence? What if this isn’t new for him—this attraction, this electricity between you? What if you’re just another fleeting distraction in the long centuries of his existence?

You can’t stand that thought. You want to believe that you’re different, that something about you has made him change, drawn him out of the shadows in ways no one else ever has. But the growing feeling of jealousy won’t let go. Because if he’s been like this before—if there had been others—then what does that make you?

You take a deep breath, shoving these feelings aside. You feel foolish for letting your mind even go there. The two of you are just co-existing, just roommates in a weird way.

You glance at the clock on the mantel. “Oh,” you say, your voice a little too bright, “look at the time. The movie I wanted to watch is about to start.” You grab the TV remote, as if turning on the television can stop the thoughts from spiraling out of control.

Sylus doesn’t miss your deflection. He never does. “Another distraction?” he asks. He could sense your agitation, your mind wandering somewhere.

You shoot him a look, but the teasing edge in his voice makes your heart flutter. “Do you want to watch it with me?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “It’s about to start. I know how much you love TV,” you add with a playful glance his way. You know how fascinated he is with television, even though he’ll never admit it.

Sylus arches an eyebrow, and for a moment, you think he might decline. But then he stands and settles beside you on the sofa. He’s close—too close.

“I suppose I can indulge you,” he says. “Though, if this movie’s as boring as the last one you picked, I can’t promise I’ll stay.” His arm rests casually along the back of the sofa, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, even though he’s not touching you.

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you flip through the channels until you find the movie. “I’m sure it’ll hold your attention, Sylus,” you shoot back, though your mind is still racing, the earlier doubts lingering in your mind.

The movie begins, and for the first few moments, everything seems normal. It’s a late-night thriller, with captivating plot and ominous music. You let yourself sink into the sofa, grateful for the distraction, but the comfort doesn’t last long. About halfway through, the movie takes an unexpected turn. The tension between the characters on screen snaps, and suddenly, they’re in a dimly lit bedroom, their bodies pressed together. The soft, breathy moans fill the room, while the scene of naked bodies rolls on the screen.

Your breath hitches, and you fumble for the remote, your fingers shaking slightly as you try to find the button to change the channel. “I didn’t know it would… turn into this,” you mutter, clearly flustered.

Sylus snatches the remote from your hands. “Don’t change the channel.” His eyes are on the screen, amusement plastered over his face. Heat floods your cheeks, your heart racing as the sounds from the screen grow more intimate. You can feel Sylus shifting beside you, his arm still resting along the back of the sofa, his fingers just inches from your shoulder.

You try to focus, try to steer your mind away from the images on the screen. And then the uncomfortable question shows its ugly head again.

Had there been someone else?

You’re not sure what you are to him. You’re not sure if you’re just another passing moment in his long, endless existence.

You can’t think about that. You need to clear your head.

Sylus laughs as a relieved sigh leaves your lips when the steamy scene ends, and you can’t help but laugh a little with him.

You make a mental note to call the man from earlier. You’ll call him in the morning, when Sylus is resting, and try to schedule the date after all. Maybe it’ll help clear your head, help you sort through the tangled mess of emotions that has built up since you moved into this mansion, since Sylus slithered his way into your life.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next day, you had avoided Sylus all morning, deliberately keeping yourself busy with small tasks that didn’t require much thought—dusting the bookshelves, scrubbing the kitchen counters, tending to the plants. But no matter what you did, you still felt him. Normally, you’d catch a glimpse of him here or there, a shadow slipping through the hallway or leaning against the doorway, finding any chance to tease you. But today, you avoided those moments, slipping out of rooms just before he appeared.

You tried to escape the gnawing feeling of guilt as well.

The call you’d made earlier in the morning had gone smoothly. The man had been more than happy to hear from her again. You agreed on the time and even though he was willing to pick you up, you insisted to meet at the restaurant. The conversation was light and sweet. But as soon as you hung up, a part of you regretted it. Even though you shouldn’t have.

After lunch, you retreated into the safety of your bedroom. You took your time getting ready —something you hadn’t done in a long time.The hours dragged on, and you continued to stay in your room, pacing, glancing at your reflection in the mirror - the tight dress is flattering, accentuating your curves. You set aside high heels that made your legs long and irresistible. You still had time to kill, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the room. You didn’t want to face Sylus. Not yet. The thoughts of last night still weighed heavily on you—the tension during the movie, the heat of his body next to yours, how you craved his touch.

Then, a knock at the door.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Sylus never knocks. He never enters your bedroom, to give you some semblance of privacy.

"Are you alright?" You can hear genuine concern in his voice from the other side of the door. "You've been in there for a while."

You hesitate, heart racing. Part of you wants to tell him to go away, to keep the distance you’d been trying so hard to create today. But the sound of his voice makes your chest tighten. You swallow, steeling yourself before you answer.

"Come in." Why did you tell him to come in?

The door creaks open slowly, and as Sylus steps into the room, you can see the brief flash of surprise on his face—the way his red eyes widen as he takes you in. For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way fabric of the dress clings to your body.

"Well," he finally says, his voice low. "I thought something was wrong… that you weren’t feeling well. Or that you were avoiding me."

There’s something about the way he says it, the flicker of concern behind his usual teasing, that touches you. You force a smile. "I wasn’t avoiding you," you lie. "I just… took my time to getting ready."

Sylus steps closer, his eyes over you again, savoring every detail. Then, his expression softens. "You look beautiful," he says, the words slipping from his lips with surprising tenderness.

The compliment stuns you. Of all the things you expected from him—teasing, possessiveness, maybe even anger—this was the last. You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you stare back at him, unsure how to react.

He doesn’t let you recover, though. He steps even closer, his gaze holding yours, and he adds, "You always do."

His words are so sincere. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to find your voice, "Thank you," the words are barely audible, your heart still racing from the weight of his gaze.

Then his lips pull into that teasing smirk. "So, you are going on that date after all?"

You feel your stomach twist at his words. “Yes, I’m going on a date.”

Sylus steps closer, his towering form closing in on you with that familiar, quiet intensity. Your heart races as he moves forward, and instinctively, you step back. But he doesn’t stop. With each step he takes, you find yourself moving backward, the space shrinking, guiding you slowly toward the edge of your bed.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” he asks, his voice low and laced with that dangerous amusement.

You swallow, trying to stay composed. “You’re the one who suggested it,” you say, hoping that your words don’t betray the storm of emotions inside.

He smirks, clearly not fooled by your attempt to steer the conversation away. His gaze never leaves yours as he steps even closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver across your skin. “Is that so?” his tone is almost taunting, “If that’s what you want - to go out… to have fun with someone else… then you should.”

His words hang in the air, but the way he says it—the challenge, the possessiveness barely veiled—makes it feel like anything but permission. His fingers trace down from your cheek, slowly grazing your jawline before trailing to your throat, where they rest lightly, just enough to make your pulse race under his touch. But it’s the way his tail moves—sliding up the back of your leg, curling around your thigh—that sends a wave of heat flooding through you. It lingers there, teasing, the smooth, firm pressure making your legs tremble.

 “You can say the word,” he whispers, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes your lips, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. “If you want me to stop, to keep my distance… just say it.”

His tail continues its slow, deliberate trail over your skin. The air feels thick, suffocating, as you stand there, torn between your desire for something normal, and the undeniable pull of the dark, dangerous connection between you and him.

The silence stretches, thick with tension as Sylus waits, his lips so close to yours. His gaze locks onto yours, waiting, daring you to speak. But your throat is dry, your breath caught somewhere between fear and desire, and no words come. You can’t say it. You don’t want him to stop. And Sylus knows it.

"You’re not stopping me," he murmurs. His tail tightens its grip on your thigh, its smooth length curling higher, the teasing pressure sending a wave of arousal through your body.

Your knees buckle, your body trembling under the weight of his presence. You stumble, falling back onto the bed, but before you can even react, Sylus’ hands are there—gripping your waist, guiding you down gently so the landing is soft. The bed creaks as he follows, his hands and knees resting on either side of you, caging you in.

His eyes are dark and hungry as they roam over your body, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, the way your lips part in anticipation. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip, teasing, making you crave more.

"You belong to me," Sylus whispers. With that, he finally closes the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a slow kiss. In that moment, everything else falls away—the date, the outside world, the fear of what’s happening between you. All that matters is Sylus.

The kiss deepens, your body melting into the bed as Sylus’ lips press harder against yours, his tongue slipping past your parted lips, swirling with yours leaving you breathless. His teeth graze your bottom lip, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. Your hands are buried in his silver locks, trembling as his kiss grows hungrier, more urgent. But before you can pull him closer, Sylus breaks the kiss. Slowly, he reaches down, his fingers grazing the straps of your dress and bra before tugging them down your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He slides one hand up, gripping both of your wrists in a firm, yet careful hold. He lifts your hands, pinning them above your head against the soft sheets.

"Do you trust me?" he asks with softness in his voice.

The question catches you off guard. You swallow hard, your throat tight as you whisper, "Yes."

Sylus’ eyes flicker with a flash of satisfaction, and before you can process what’s happening, the space around your wrists tightens. You glance up and see the dark tendrils of magic winding around your wrists, binding them together. The energy pulses softly, not painful, but firm—like his touch. Your pulse quickens as you realize just how vulnerable you are beneath him, your body completely at his mercy. Sylus takes in the sight beneath him, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

Without another word, he leans down, his lips capturing one of your nipples, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak. His mouth is hot, teasing, as he licks and sucks at your breast, his hand squeezing the other, rolling the hardened nipple between his fingers with just enough pressure to make you whimper.

As his mouth works your breast, his tail slides up beneath your dress, the smooth length teasing the inside of your thighs. You shudder at the sensation, your body twitching in anticipation as the tip of his tail finally finds its way to your panties, grazing over the damp fabric.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as he watches you squirm beneath him. "Look at you," he murmurs, his tail pressing just a little harder against your panties, making you gasp. "So wet already…" The smirk on his lips widens as his tail continues to tease you, the sensation maddening as he presses against your swollen clit through the fabric. Without warning, he pulls the bottom of your dress up over your hips, exposing your lace panties to his hungry gaze. His eyes flicker with a brief flash of jealousy at the sight of the lacy fabric, but then a different look takes over—pride. He is the one who gets to take them off, the one who has you like this.

"Pretty," he says with a teasing edge as his fingers brush over the fabric before gripping the waistband. "But I think I prefer you without these." His tail slides aside, giving way to his hands as he hooks his fingers under the lace and slowly peels your panties down, leaving you bare and exposed to his gaze.

The moment Sylus’ fingers slide between your folds and feel how wet you are, his breath hitches. He can feel the throbbing need building inside him, but he keeps himself steady. He will not lose control. Not yet. A wicked smirk plays on his lips as he teases you, his fingers gliding lightly over your entrance, brushing against your clit just enough to send shocks of pleasure through you. You whine, your hips bucking instinctively against his touch.

"Please," you whisper, your voice breaking with desperation, your wrists still bound above your head as you tug uselessly against the restraints. The heat between your legs is unbearable, and every teasing stroke of his fingers makes it worse.

Sylus leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he coos softly. "Tell me what you need," His fingers continuing their torturous, feather-light touches. "I want to hear you say it."

Your body trembles beneath him, and for a moment, you hesitate, the embarrassment battling with the overwhelming need. But the feel of his fingers stroking you, teasing you, is too much, and your voice wavers as you whisper, "I… I need you inside me. Please."

The smirk on his lips widens. "Good girl." He leans back, straightening up, and in one fluid motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His body is incredible—broad, muscular shoulders leading down to a strong, toned chest and perfectly defined abs. You can’t tear your eyes away as Sylus’ hands moved to the waistband of his pants, the motion enhancing the muscles and veins of his arms. His gaze never leaves yours as he slowly pulls down his pants and underwear, just enough to free his cock. Your eyes widen at the sight of it—thick, long, and already leaking with precum. The sheer size of him makes your heart race with a mix of excitement and nervousness, and for a moment, doubt creeps in. ‘How am I going to take that?’ you swallow hard as you look up at him.

Sylus notices the flicker of worry in your eyes, and a smug grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "Don’t worry," his voice is laced with amusement as he wraps his hand around his length, stroking himself slowly. His eyes lock onto yours as he kneels between your legs, his fingers sliding back down between your thighs, teasing your dripping pussy again. "I know you can take it"

Sylus positions himself between your legs, his eyes fixed on you as he lines himself up with your entrance. His cock presses against your slick folds, the thick head nudging inside, eliciting a whimper from your lips. You’re trembling, but the weight of his body and the heat radiating off him keep you anchored.

“Relax, darling,” his voice is soothing as he strokes your thigh. His gaze is soft as he watches your reactions.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes forward, easing himself inside. The stretch makes you gasp. It stings, just a little, but there’s a dizzying pleasure that follows it, a heat that courses through you as he fills you inch by inch. Your breath is shallow, and you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by how full you feel, how intense it is.

“Angel,” Sylus growls softly, his voice thick with desire as he pauses, halfway in, letting your body adjust to the stretch. “Look at me.”

You bite your lip, too lost in the sensation to bring yourself to open your eyes. That’s when you feel his hand slide up to your neck with a firm grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, his voice soft but commanding, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. “I want to watch your face as I slide inside you. I want to see how beautiful you look.”

Your eyes flutter open, and the intensity of his gaze nearly steals your breath. His red eyes burn with a mixture of lust and something deeper, something more tender. His fingers tighten slightly around your neck, just enough to keep you grounded, to keep you focused on him. He’s watching you closely as he pushes in deeper, sinking further inside you.

You’re a whimpering mess by the time Sylus finally bottoms out. The stretch makes your head spin, tears prick at the corners of your eyes, spilling over as you gasp beneath him. Sylus notices the tears almost immediately. His gaze softens and his thumb moves from your neck to gently wipe them away, the pads of his fingers tender against your flushed cheeks.

“Shh, darling,” His thumb swipes over your skin, catching a tear before it falls. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good, taking me so perfectly.”

His words send a shiver through you, and despite the ache and the fullness, there’s something comforting about his touch, the way he speaks to you. His thumb lingers on your cheek for just a second longer, before he shifts his grip to your waist, pulling you tighter against him. His hips draw back slightly, the head of his cock dragging against your inner walls, sending a shock of pleasure through you.

Sylus groans softly, his voice catching as he feels your slick walls gripping him. He holds himself still for a moment, trying to stay in control, but the truth is, he’s so close to losing it. This is the first time he’s done this since becoming a demon—since being cursed with his immortal body—and the sensation of being inside you, of your tight, wet heat surrounding him, is almost too much. He can’t tell you that, can’t admit that you are the one in control.

He starts to move, his thrusts slow at first, almost careful, but the way your pussy clenches around him makes it impossible for him to hold back. His breath comes in ragged gasps as he thrusts into you, each motion sending ripples of pleasure through your body. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice strained as his hips snap forward again, harder this time. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “You feel so good, so fucking good…”

He’s too close, and before he can stop himself, the pleasure overtakes him. After only a few more short, sharp thrusts, he pulls out suddenly, his cock throbbing as hot spurts of cum splash across the skin of your belly.

You’re stunned for a moment. You did not expect him to finish so quickly.

Sylus’ chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes glinting with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. He glances down, where his release glistens on your skin, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something like embarrassment in his eyes. He should’ve expected for you to have such an effect on him.

But even as he catches his breath, his cock is still hard. Without a word, he reaches down, his fingers gripping his length, and he guides himself back to your entrance. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, the lingering warmth of his release still fresh on your skin as he presses the head of his cock against you again. He watches your reaction closely as he slowly pushes back inside you, the wetness of his release mixing with your own arousal as he fills you once more. “I’m not done with you.”

The stretch feels even more intense the second time, your body still sensitive from his earlier thrusts, and a gasp escapes your lips as he slides inside, burying himself deep again. His hips snap against yours, his cock sliding in and out of you with a rhythm that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you closer, deeper with every thrust.

Sylus’ tail snakes around your waist, the smooth, firm length of it tightening as it pulls you flush against him, keeping you pinned beneath his body. His hand moves to your throat again, fingers pressing just enough to make you aware of his control. The pressure sends a thrill through you, intensifying every sensation as he picks up the pace. Each thrust drives him deeper, the head of his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over, making your body tremble with pleasure.

You try to turn your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, but Sylus doesn’t let you hide. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to command your attention, as he growls softly, "Look at me, darling."

His fingers slide between your thighs, finding your swollen clit with a precision that sends a jolt of electricity through your body. You’re overwhelmed by the sensation of his thick cock filling you completely, the wet heat of your bodies moving together in sync, and the relentless pressure on your clit. It’s too much, all of it—too intense, too good, too consuming. You try to close your eyes, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze, but Sylus isn’t having it.

“I said, look at me,” His tail winds tighter around your waist, anchoring you in place. His hips snap against yours, faster, harder, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you, forcing broken moans from your lips. The fingers move faster, rougher on your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Your eyes flutter open, locking onto his. You’re teetering on the brink, every nerve in your body on fire. His thick cock slams into you harder, deeper, his fingers relentless on your clit, and your body surrenders completely.

Sylus watches you—his breath ragged, muscles taut, holding back just enough, waiting for you. His hand stays firm on your throat, keeping you grounded, his fingers pushing you towards your peak. He can feel it in the way your walls flutter around his cock, squeezing tighter, and it drives him wild.

"Come for me," he growls, his voice thick with command.

His words are all it takes. Pleasure slams into you, stealing your breath as your body tightens around him. Every pulse, every clench makes the orgasm crash through you in waves so intense that all you can do is cry out, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Your back arches off the bed, but Sylus is there, his hands and tail keeping you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy. You're helpless, lost in the dizzying sensation, and he holds you tight, letting you ride out every wave.

“That’s it,” he groans, his restraint slipping as he feels you clench around him, your body milking him with every pulse. His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Just like that, angel. Just like that.”

As you come down from your high, your breath still shaky, you feel the tension of Sylus’ magic keeping your wrists bound above your head. You tug weakly against the restraints, wanting to touch him, to feel his skin beneath your hands, your body aching for the closeness.

“Sylus,” you whisper, your voice soft and hoarse from the intensity of it all, “please… I want to touch you.”

Without hesitation, the dark tendrils of magic around your wrists fade, releasing you. Your arms fall limply to your sides, trembling with exhaustion. But it only takes a moment before you reach up, wrapping your arms around Sylus’ neck, pulling him down into a tight, desperate embrace. The second your hands grip him, your lips find his in a messy, breathless kiss. The taste of him is intoxicating, the heat of his body pressing down on yours offering you comfort.

Sylus groans against your mouth, his hips moving in slow, languid motions, drawing out every ounce of pleasure. His cock fills you completely, each gentle thrust making your body shudder beneath him. His grasp on your hip is almost bruising, his fingers digging into your skin as though holding on to you is the only thing keeping him grounded. But his other hand is soft, cradling the back of your neck with tender care, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

His lips barely pull away from yours between frantic kisses. "Where... where can I finish?" His voice is strained, and his hips falter for a moment. You can feel the way his body trembles with the effort of holding back. His thrusts begin to quicken, each thrust hitting deeper, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

"Inside," you whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling as your hands tug him closer. "Do whatever you want... I'm yours."

Something in Sylus snaps at your words. His thrusts grow erratic, his body trembling as he reaches his peak, and with one final, deep thrust, he lets go. His release hits him hard, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills, groaning into your neck as the pleasure crashes over him. His grip on you tightens for a moment before his movements slow, his breath heavy and uneven.

As he rides out his high, his lips find yours again, kissing you softly. His hips slow to a gentle, rolling motion, drawing out the last waves of pleasure, but never pulling away. His hand cradles the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, while his other hand loosens its hold on your hip, stroking your skin as if to apologize for the bruises he left behind.

"Mine," he whispers against your lips. His forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel his breath mingling with yours in the stillness that follows. You realize there’s no need for words. Wrapped in his arms, with his silent affection surrounding you, you know this is where you belong.

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, soap x reader, reader injury (not described), structural accident (vague), saviour complex, implied forced isolation, reliance, pushy soap - Dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Johnny who could never, ever find it in himself to become a product of the bystander effect. At any given moment, he trusts his own judgment and experience above anyone else’s, a survival instinct wedged into his mind like shrapnel.

So when you find yourself victim to an unfortunate structural collapse, you wonder if it’s an angel barking out orders. “You- Grey shirt!” You could faintly hear. The voice was commanding, leaving no room for question or refusal. “Call EMS!”

Johnny who is right beside you when you wake up in an uncomfortable hospital bed, forearms flexed tensely over well-filled out worn denim jeans in the seat usually reserved for spouse or family. Says you got caught up in a freak accident, that he was the one to pull you out of rubble.

You’re later informed that your injuries are there, but none are life threatening. Tacks on that this might not have been the case if you hadn’t been rescued so quickly. When you finally make contact over the phone with a family member, they huff and puff about not being let in to see you. Johnny admits to pulling some strings to block anyone from coming in, assures you he just wanted to make sure you were on good terms with them. “Loads of creeps ou’there, aye?”

Johnny who relentlessly digs his way into your life after your discharge. At first it’s little offers; giving you his number if you need anything, which bleeds into “ye’ cannae drive like tha’, let me take ye’ on yer’ errands,” or “let me drop you off at yer’ follow up.” This becomes “well I was in the neighbourhood and figured I’d drop off some takeaway- tugs at m’heart to think about y’havin’ to make meals in yer’ sorry state.” and then suddenly, Johnny’s warm body is pressed carefully against yours in bed as he’s blathering on into your skin about how proud he is of your progress. Presses a wet kiss to your cheek and wonders where you’d be without him before he hooks a thick bicep under your neck and laughs, tells you that he’s glad you’re his responsibility now. “Would’nae have it any other way.”

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Dear Brother

Kinktober Day 14: Incest Yandere brother x male reader CW: Incest, noncon, memory alteration, mind manipulation, possessive yandere, protective yandere, general yandere behavior, versatile reader, anal sex, drugging, sedatives, aphrodisiacs, collaring, murder, Stockholm syndrome, major character death, reader's own cum as lube, masturbation, discrimination against those without powers, dead dove: DO NOT EAT Word Count: 3.8k (This is dark. Sorry for any errors, I did not have it betaread. I hope there are some who will enjoy this.)

The meteor that crashed to the ground generations ago came with it a particularly invasive pathogen. A virus that infected all of humanity, changing the DNA of everyone on Earth, though a large portion of people remained asymptomatic with recessive changes.

Those with symptoms displayed mutations. They varied wildly from animal traits, elemental powers, enhanced strength, super speed, extra limbs, and many others.

Over many years, the DNA that the virus altered became increasingly prominent as mutations were inherited and compounded. Asymptomatics were rarer and rarer. Currently, they made up only 15 percent of the population.

A small portion of people used their extra human abilities for evil, and others became government sanctioned heroes to fight them.

The people who had mutations become highly sought after and fetishized. More laws came into effect to protect them from villains and criminals who would traffic them.

You were a mutationless nobody living in this society.

A brand new law had established a curfew for all people without strong enough mutations. They couldn't go out unless someone with a strong ability was with them.

Another law was that those with no abilities couldn't live alone.

Because of this, you became wholly dependent on your older brother, Drew.

Your older sibling was entirely fine with this arrangement. He had a love for you that wasn't entirely brotherly, though you didn't suspect anything. It seemed to you that his overprotective behavior was the product of being an older brother to someone without a mutation in a world that conditioned people to think of those like you as defenseless. You thought yourself fairly lucky. You weren't forced into an abusive or restrictive marriage or roommate situation because you had Drew. He was always happy to chaperone and escort you.

When he wasn't too busy with his work as a hero. Drew had moved the two of you to a small town due to a lower crime rate and desire to keep you safe and spend as much time with you as possible. It was also to isolate you from any potential suitors. But... you didn't really need to know about that... You had gotten too chummy with people online through various social media and dating websites who lived a bit too close for comfort in the large city you had lived in previously. It was getting burdensome finding them, intimidating them, burying more than one body when they wouldn't get the hint that you were spoken for. That had been rare, though.

If he really needed to, he could use a power no one knew he possessed. He could remove and replace memories. It was a tedious task, requiring a lot of time and energy, and not all minds were susceptible. Even if they were, it couldn't normally be used multiple times on the same person. Which is why he couldn't just make you forget or hate them. Luckily, most people were easily intimidated by Drew. He was tall and muscular, which was enough in some cases, but he also could move things with his mind and produce a psychic barrier around his skin to make him indestructible.

The quieter smaller town was kinda nice, but you were rather bored. Especially when Drew had to do his patrols. He made sure he worked more in the early morning and afternoon since you always liked to be up at night playing video games and going for walks at night with him. Sometimes, he'd take you out to eat at a 24/7 diner that the town had.

He thought of those outings as dates and considered himself to be courting his defenseless brother.

Your brother always ordered ice cream for you to share. Drew loved to watch you eat it, sometimes biting his lip as you so lewdly licked the cold confection from your spoon. It made his cock twitch in his pants. How he wished you were licking his manhood like that. Eager to get every drop of his cum.

The last time you were at the diner you had caught him staring at you with an odd expression.

"What's with that weird face?"

"Oh, uh... I just had a brain freeze."

You had chuckled at him and went back to eating. How he longed for the day when he could tell you how he really loved you. Hopefully it would be soon, but he just didn't know how to broach the topic.

He had let you walk in on him wanking a few times. But all it achieved was you turning red and scrambling out of the room with an immediate apology followed by you pretending that nothing had occurred. Nothing like the pornos.

The other day, you had been comfortable enough to fall asleep on the couch as the two of you watched a movie. He had been admiring your peacefully sleeping form when you slouched over and leaned on his shoulder. He could hear your breathing and felt your drool as it ran down his arm.

It gave him an instant hard-on that he had to address. You had been a busy bee and cleaned the whole house earlier before cooking dinner. You were totally wiped out. Though even on an easy day, you were known for sleeping deeply. Drew carefully shifted the shorts he had been wearing so his large cock was sticking out through the leg and cautiously jerked himself off while imaging you cuddling and clinging to him after a long day.

He had cum so hard that a bit had landed on your lips. He was worried you would wake up, but you remained out like a light as he gently massaged it into your lip like lip gloss.

After that, he had "accidentally" fallen asleep right beside you. He couldn't very well wake a sleeping angel by moving.

That had been well over a month ago, and his desire for you had only grown. He had taken to stealing your underwear and keeping a pair under his pillows so he could sniff them before bed and dream about you.

He knew one day soon he'd have you in every way.

But there was a setback.

His schedule had shifted temporarily while he was on an assignment to help take down a super villain coalition. For two weeks, he was barely home at all, and a vermin had slipped in.

He came home one day to find you on the porch chatting with some piece of absolute filth who kept brushing his hand against yours.

When he left and you came back inside, Drew was holding back serious rage. You had a look on your face that told him all you needed to know. He didn't even have to question you about who it was. You just kept gushing about him.

"That was Len! He's such a sweetie! He saw me on the porch a few days ago when he was walking by and noticed I was glum."

The way you swooned and gushed made Drew's stomach lurch.

"He's so cool! I'm sure you'll like him. He isn't a hero, but his mutation is awesome. He can spontaneously make fire."

Drew noticed you twiddling your fingers in the way you only did when you were brimming with joy. Would that piece of trash know details like that about you!?

Your brother immediately began planning for Len's demise. This was beyond intimidation, threats, and memory alteration. He lived far too close and touched your perfect weak hands with his disgusting grubby ones. Drew knew exactly how he'd do it. He'd infiltrate Len's home and use his telekinetic abilities to cause him to have a stroke. Then he'd burn the house down. It wasn't unheard of for people's mutations to run out of control.

On the night that Drew planned to end Len, you had been texting Len. Even though it was late, he had invited you over because he was playing a new game that he thought you might enjoy together. If you wanted, he'd leave the door unlocked so you could come in. He knew knocking and waiting made you anxious.

He was such a good listener. He would have come over and walked with you, but it was such a short walk, and you didn't want to wake up Drew. Besides, his house was just a few down from yours. If you ran, you could be there in under a minute. And, honestly, no one took these curfew laws seriously in small towns.

You rushed over as fast as you could and nervously opened the door and stepped inside.

"Dr-Drew? What are you-?"

The question was left unfinished as your gaze lowered to Len laying motionless at your brother's feet. Drew's eyes went wide, and his mouth agape when he noticed you. He obviously had not expected you to walk in on his activities. This was just like when you had just turned 20 and you had caught him killing your parents because they had wanted to convince you to go to an isolated island for the mutationless because they wanted you to feel normal.

He had wiped the events from your brain, made you think they had abandoned you both long ago, and finished by making you think he was the older brother so you'd accept him taking care of you a bit more easily when in reality he was a year younger.

But unlike last time, he couldn't erase Len or what you had witnessed. After doing it once, and so extensively, you were inoculated from it.

Your mind was reeling, struggling to piece together an explanation for what you were seeing. You took a few steps back, planning to just run away and hope you woke up from whatever awful nightmare this night was shaping into. But the door slammed shut before you could finish turning around.

"Y-you have to understand! He was going to steal you away... He didn't deserve you. No one does! Except me."

Drew used his abilities to make you slowly float towards him. The look on his face could only be described as deranged.

"I'm so sorry you had to see this. It was supposed to look like an accident..."

You squirmed in his psychic hold as you began sobbing. Your brain finally registered that your brother killed the man you had started to fall in love with. Nothing made sense.

Once his power brought you to him, he wrapped one arm around you tightly and used his free hand to pull a tiny spray capsule up to your face from his utility belt.

He spritzed you just once, and within a few seconds, you were fast asleep. With you taken care of for the moment, Drew could safely get back to the business at hand.

Your subconscious mind must have still been in denial because you found yourself in a dream pounding Len's muscular ass. He was riding you, and you found yourself bucking into his tight hot hole. In reality, your brother had been watching you sleep and decided to rub your crotch. He figured you needed the stress relief, and if you woke up, maybe the pleasure would prove he was just trying to make you happy.

It made sense in his warped mind.

He was originally just going to jerk you off, but when you got fully hard under his touch... he couldn't resist the urge to ride on it. Drew lubed it up and sank himself down on it. This was perfect, he thought. Your first official act as lovers. It would definitely make you forget about that sack of garbage he just took out.

The look on your face as you drooled in your sleep and let out little lewd gasps went straight to his dick and had him cumming in no time. He briefly lifted off of your cock long enough to smear his semen on it before lowering himself again.

You were fucking his cum into him and it would be mixed with your own once you climaxed. The thought made his stomach flutter as blush crept across his face.

Drew knew you were close, your moans had gotten louder and you had started bucking your hips into him. He was amazed you hadn't woken up yet. Though you had always been a deep sleeper and the stuff he sprayed you with was pretty heavy duty. Your eyes fluttered open as you shot your load inside him and moaned out the name Len.

L e n.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Your brother, who had never raised a hand to you, slapped you hard across the face.

"That loser is DEAD!! Len is a fucking corpse smoldering in the ashes of his house!"

You were shaking as you stared up at him, still confused about what was going on. Your brain was full of fog and struggled to piece together the events that transpired last night and the fact that your brother was on your dick and angrily yelling in your face.

When he realized the fear in your eyes, he got off of you and pulled you close.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it's not your fault. You're so innocent, and he wormed his way into your mind like the greedy parasite he was."

He kissed your cheek gently where he had struck you.

"Just... try not to say his name, okay? You gotta forget about him. It isn't healthy to linger on toxic people like that."

He got up and made his way to the bathroom connected to his room.

"I bet a bath will make us both feel a little more relaxed."

You were pretty sure that you would never be relaxed again for the rest of your life. Your brother was a villain and you had no idea what he was capable of doing to you. The sibling you had depended on killed Len, forced himself on you while you were sleeping, and slapped you.

Since he was busy making a bath, you thought you'd take the chance to leave. You pulled up your pants and crept past the bedroom door and down the stairs. When you reached the bottom, you stared in dismay at the blockade he had put in front of the door. There was no other choice but to turn around. But as you did so you slammed right into the chest of your sibling, who was staring down at you darkly.

"I just came downstairs for a sn-snack."

You were trembling and hoped he bought it. You knew he had when his face softened.

"Oh, well after our bath I'll make us a late night snack."

He grabbed you by the hand and led you back upstairs.

"This will be our first bath together! I'm really excited."

The last thing you wanted to do was to bathe with this monster. But there was no escaping it.

"Haha I guess I'm excited in more than one way!"

You glanced over and saw what he meant. His cock was fully erect.

"I-I'm too shy to bathe together!"

"Don't be silly! We're lovers now and we both really need this."

He picked you up like you weighed nothing and took you into the tub with him. He sat down and positioned you on his lap facing towards him. His erection jabbed at you from below. It made you cringe and curl in on yourself.

Despite the bubbles and warm water, you had never felt so filthy.

"You're still so tense, but big bro will make everything better~"

He groped and massaged your ass before starting to rub your hole. You flinched.

"You have to relax to make this easier."

Eventually, he pressed a finger into you.

"Please sto-"

You were cut off by involuntarily moaning as he hit a special spot inside you.

"Oh, you liked that, didn't you? Made you sound so needy~"

As he kept attending to that place inside you, working his way up to three fingers, your mind got more clouded and distracted, and your body went limp and relaxed.

"Sto-ahhh AAAHHHH!!"

Your hole clenched tightly as you spilled your load on his chest.

Before you could catch your breath he slowly replaced his fingers with his cock. Careful not to hurt you as he slowly eased you down on his entire length.

You were already hard again despite being so sensitive. His hard cock entered you with a bit of pain despite the previous stretching.

For Drew, it was bliss. Heaven. His cock was wrapped in the warm paradise that was his beloved brother. Finally, he was with you in the way his heart yearned to be. He should have just done this the second the two of you had moved out here.

The slight bit of pain you had initially felt faded at the feeling of him battering your insides. His tip perfectly kissed that spot inside you, your resolve being fucked away with each thrust.

Drew moaned your name as he came in you all too soon.

"My cum is in you. My cum is in you. My cum is in you. Mycumisinyou."

He never lost his hard on and kept right on making love to you, his precious brother, without stopping for a second. As his movements intensified, the lavender scented water splashed against the two of you.

"I-I knew I could make it all better!"

You prattled on incoherently as drool pooled from the corner of your mouth.

"You're right. We should let our actions do the talking"

Drews lips dominated yours as he kissed you deeply, nibbling on your lower lip and licking up your drool as he made out with you. As both of you came once more, he slid his tongue into your mouth and rubbed it against yours.

He pulled away and kissed your forehead. Your brain was foggy, and your body was exhausted after all you had been made to endure.

"I guess I should clean us up before the water goes completely cold. Don't worry, we can do that some more after we've rested up, okay?"

You muttered something, but you didn't know what you were saying or even what you were responding to.

That didn't stop Drew from hearing whatever he wanted to though.

"Yeah, we can still make out in bed before we fall asleep!"

Drew cleaned you off then sat you down on his bed after dressing you. Then he ran downstairs and came back up with some cookies.

"You wanted a snack right?"

You nodded sheepishly and nibbled a few to maintain the lie you told earlier. When you finished you went to brush your teeth before bed.

You couldn't look at yourself in the mirror. You were ashamed you had let your brother violate you in such a manner. You were ashamed you were brushing your teeth like it was a normal night. Maybe you could escape or call for help when he was working. It was already early in the morning. His schedule had returned to normal, and he would be back to work in a few hours. You just had to play along and get into bed with him...

The trembling of your body didn't betray your fear, Drew just assumed you were cold and held you protectively under the blankets. He stroked your side gently. It would have been comforting before you knew he was a murderer. Now, it only made you tense. Though you did manage to grab a few moments of uneasy rest.

Upon waking, you realized you were oddly calm. Tranquil. When you had finally fallen asleep, he had sprayed you with another substance from his utility belt.

This time, it was just something heroes used to calm people down. Villains and sometimes people in shock. It was pretty harmless, so if he had to keep you mildly sedated with it, he could. Though he hoped he could adjust you to your new circumstances with it and then eventually wean you off. It made you a little calmer, happier, and more accepting of your situation.

You also found yourself collared. The inside was a soft fabric and the outside a rough material. It was locked to a long chain that was mounted to the wall. You could reach the restroom and the minifridge he had by his bed. A minifridge stocked with all your favorite snacks and cold meals, a mounted chain, a custom collar in your favorite color... How long had he planned for this possibility?

There was definitely anger and grief, but they felt much more muted than they should have been.

The first year or so as your brother's boyfriend was a bit messy. Despite the calming drug, you still had emotional outbursts and anxiety. But your brother understood. He wasn't going to abandon you just because you were a bit moody or said hurtful things sometimes.

He endured and the two of you got through. It didn't hurt that he had stockpiled illegal aphrodisiacs confiscated from human traffickers. They made a target especially horny for the first person who's DNA they were exposed to. Whenever he used it, you were hard and needy to the point of crying, and only his dick could make it any better.

It was a great breakthrough when your body finally got hard from his touch without the help of any drugs at all.

And then you started kissing him and leaning on your big strong brother whenever you got lonely from your isolation. He was the only person you were allowed to have any contact with, and the craving for touch became too unbearable.

Your broken mind slowly justified it and changed your perspective on how you saw Drew. The only other option was going insane.

He was just looking out for you and keeping you safe from evil people. It was all for your own good. He took care of all of your needs. Cuddled you, kept you safe, provided you with games and food, and he was always happy to give you his cock or hole whenever you needed it, even when he was tired from work. If you had trouble sleeping, he'd even gently slip his dick into you and rock you to sleep with the thrusts.

It had, at long last, gotten to the point where he could take you outside on dates again with no fear at all that you'd try to escape him. In fact, you'd cling to his arm for dear life no matter where you went.

Drew was so happy. Now everyone could see that you two were the perfect couple.

[hattersrabbit]

BITTERSWEET TOUCH

yandere batfam x neglected!rogue! reader | sfw

CW! female reader, overstepping boundaries, ALL PLATONIC, hurt & comfort (in a messed up kind of way), isolation, guilt tripping, miscommunication, Tim being little freak, jealousy (amongst sibs), ambiguous ending, Stockholm Syndrome, tiny bit of victim blaming, bittersweet ending (no happy ending yet >:) and probably never but we'll see)

Summary! They took you home from the alley; held by Jason and he refused to let go. You're father overjoyed, and against wishes hugged you. In a cage you were held, Alfred enables, Bruce gives you the love you wanted, and your siblings are too possessive for you liking. Coming to the conclusion that you'll never be free & albeit horribly, you don't want to leave this sudden affection.

✎ᝰ. didn't expect the last part to get so much love so thank you alot! I'm here with more and even more chaos <3 this is a series now which all parts from past and future can be seen. See my pinned post to find it!

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˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

You were screaming for them to let you go.

They weren't listening to you. You would kill them if they touched you. Why did they care now?

It didn't make any sense to you.

"Shh don't wake the civilians." Dick's voice was chilling. Despite the white lenses his eyes were scary to you. You whimpered when Jason squeezed you; his arm holding you up by the waist.

Like some luggage.

As if you couldn't kill him. As if you couldn't bring him to the grave a second time.

"He's worried sick. Full of guilt." Jason began. A dark tone to his voice. Everyone nodded in agreement.

"We must not let him spiral." Damian concluded. Too close for comfort next to you. Not moving away when he should have. "Father is very paranoid. He's backing off all of the news about you and the scrutiny." He wrinkled his nose when he heard criminals moving around trying to find you.

"Should we?" Tim questioned to Dick.

"No, it'll only worsen things. We need to get her home." He patted your head with his gloved hand. You wondered when those hands holding you would be devoid of gloves.

"I second that!" Stephanie chirped. Linking arms with Cassandra who started staring at you through her creepy mask.

Just a bit of the way you could see Duke's still trembling lips. Guilty no doubt, which you still couldn't understand why.

Why any of them were doing this is beyond you. Was your father truly sick in his heart and worrying for you. He hasn't shown you any affection, and now he was worried.

He never seemed worried before.

You've never seen the batcave before. It was cold and dark. Everything that was outside.

Jason didn't let go of you when they arrived at the cave. Centered at the batcomputer being your father, Bruce. When he turned his head you saw red. Puffy eyes and tear tracks.

Never had you seen a reaction from him like that.

"B." Dick whispered. Gesturing to you. Wide-eyed you looking on in shock at your father. "Jason, set her down." Just as he did so Damian embraced you once again.

"Stop-"

You couldn't deny the cold you felt in this cave being covered by Damian's warmth. It felt nice but no... you could let him. "Let go-"

"[ ]." You're name hung heavy on Bruce's tongue. Just as Duke had: there was guilt in his tone of voice. Pained for what he'd done to you. For the neglect despite believing it to be possibly what you needed.

You're mother died and forced into a new environment. Then Tim's hypothesis. Bruce didn't know what to do other than give you space.

It backfired.

Damian's own body pushed you forward. Suddenly, against your will, both he and Bruce were hugging you. Your bare face on his shoulder.

Close to his exposed face.

"Stop. Stop. I'll kill you..." You could get out of this no matter how hard you tried. The snap of fingers scared you.

"Don't upset him." Jason's voice rang deep. A light smack was heard, and Dick scolding. You couldn't hear them for you were trying so hard to avoid skin to skin touch.

You would kill your father as you did your mother.

"I'm sorry, dear, for my actions. Everyone is after you, but don't fret. You're safe as long as you are here."

He pulled away thankfully. His bare hands on the other hand hovered over your cheeks. Eyes frantic at the semblance of him touching you.

You're father's affection, you craved it, but you couldn't accept this.

"You'll be safe. Here and always. You can't go out otherwise they'll take you. Can you understand their all out for you?" You're father's voice was desperate. You've never heard it in such a way.

His hands settled on your shoulders.

Too close, you thought.

"You're home. This is your home and always will be." You shivered. He settled on grabbing you into another hold. Your voice was caught in your throat as you were subjected to more touch.

Against your better judgment you almost immediately melted when you felt Damian flush against your side. "Never leave me, again." There was a growl to your younger brother's voice.

Seemingly appointed to elsewhere.

You imagined you didn't hear a low growl from Jason's lips.

Adjusting to everything was a treat to experience. None of them would leave you alone, and you hated that you enjoyed it.

Always trying to be in your presence always.

It wasn't hard for you not to notice your siblings possessive behavior over you, and above all, fighting with each other because of it.

You're room felt warm. Dressed in a dress Stephanie insisted for you to wear. Damian and Cass remained in your room, refusing to leave your side, along side Stephanie who wanted to dress you up.

Trying to make up for lost time.

Duke wanted to stay but he had the morning shift.

He waved a goodbye and morning to you. A wobbly smile on his face. Guilt still prevalent in his eyes.

Damian, jealous in his actions, tore you away from Duke's actions. Already arguing with Stephanie so that you could watch cat videos with him.

Stephanie had dressed you in a purple dress, her affinity for the color was great, long sleeves that draped over your arms. It was off the shoulder, but your shoulders and up to your neck were covered in sheer. The dress itself running to your knees.

Admirable, she urged you to put on black tights. Wanting to make you more comfortable.

You weren't.

You shouldn't be here. But these people who were your family kept you captive in this mansion.

Alfred enabled it. Coming in and now with snacks. A expression that matched that of Duke and Bruce. He was guilty as the rest of them.

Rather hid it than Duke and Bruce.

"This strand? How pretty? How'd you get it?" Stephanie mused. She already knew how. The blonde had a teasing smile. Sickendly sweet on her tongue.

You're mouth didn't open. Her hands with lipstick to your lips.

"Are you dumb, Brown? You're making her uncomfortable." Damian threatened. "I'll get my katana if you do not hurry up. I wish to watch A Dogs Purpose with her."

Cassandra spoke quietly, "Ballet."

"It's my turn, Cain!"

Cassandra signed a 'no.'

"Cassss! Stop rushing me!" Stephanie whined. Her hands still trailing a little at the white streak. "Just curiosity." You gave her a look, and she smiled creepily.

Too sweet.

Alarmly, the feeling of a hand grabbing yours. Stephanie held your face with sudden gloved hands. Admiring her work as Cass grabbed your gloved hands. "Please." Her voice quiet and pleading.

"Cain. Brown. Off my sister this instance." Damian's voice felt like an echo.

"Shut it demon!" Stephanie whined. Rolling her eyes as Damian continued to glare. "Looking pretty, sis." Her eyes wavering over you're expression. Uncomfortable.

"Don't worry in due time it'll all be okay."

"Normal." Cassandra whispered. "Ballet." Her arms wrapped around your waist.

"Movie." Almost pout from Damian. The boy's hands in fists as he watched his older sisters. "It's not you're turn, brat!" Stephanie yelled back.

The two began to argue back and forth.

"Let's go." Cassandra's bare hand moved your entire body. Never once being removed from your gloved hand. A dark feeling seeped into your gut. Touch that was hers, and you enjoyed it.

Damian and Stephanie's voices echoed in yells. Calling after you and Cassandra. You couldn't bare to pull away. Not only because you didn't want to, but Cass's grip on your hand was death grip.

A heavy bruise no doubt on your skin.

You two arrived in her room, which was where she pushed you inside. On your bed she made you sit as she got set up. Not without locking the door of course.

Although, Cass knew it wouldn't hold your siblings. You both knew it, but for the time being Cass would believe it would.

As she did so you felt your hand. A throbbing feeling in it. Not only pain and a sense of loss. Cassandra's touch was what you were missing, and that disturbed you.

Stephanie's lingering touch on you. That also stayed and you wished for it more. A thought for actual bare skin to touch you. For affection to finally touch you, bare and naked.

For that was truth that you would never get.

Cassandra was truly beautiful in her ballet. The young woman even going so far as to teach despite your protests. Her blank stare scared you into complying.

A shivering smile that made you do everything she wanted. Cass was pleased with your form. Her hands were bare as they touched your arms and legs. Making sure they were in proper form.

Of course it didn't last long.

The door being busted open by Jason, and Damian and Stephanie following close by. "Give us [ ]!" You're youngest brother demanded.

"We weren't finished playing dress up!" Stephanie argued. Trying to push the brick house that was Jason Todd. "And you! No she isn't gonna go to the library with you, and read your stupid Jane Austen books!"

"Stephanie you better watch your mouth." Jason scowled out. "Hand her over, Cass."

Cassandra's arms remained around your waist. As your older sister, she was older than all of them. Her stare blank and threatening.

"I'm not afraid of you." Jason tried back. His eyes almost seemed to flash green.

"Hey! Our time together wasn't up."

"Dogs purpose, Brown!"

"Jane Austen you brats!"

Honestly you didn't know what to think. You just wanted to be alone. They were always trying to hold your hand, and spend time with you. All suddenly this since you left.

Ever since you jumped out the window. Tim and your Father's voices echoing for you. The alley where Duke and Cassandra begged you to come home.

Dick's voice and menacing smirk. His fingers curling around your face. The fabric of his suit settling sweetly on your skin.

It was a stand off between your siblings and you were the cause of it. Jealousy stemming off the four of them. Glaring at each other wanting to steal your attention.

"Stop..." You mumbled. No one heard you. If wanted Cassandra to stop touching you. You knew you'd melt at some point. You hated how touch starved you were. Affection was something you were wished for.

Stephanie would go back to wiping your face of make up just to do it again. Her hands making sure whatever outfit she put on fit. Fitting and sewing with her graceful hands.

Damian was clingy. No doubt would hug you when you guys watched the movie he planned. Never moving no matter how much you pleaded.

"I'd like to go read with Jason!" You speaked out. Most likely Jason would simply let you both bask in silence. You hoped at least.

"Ha! You heard her! Let [ ] go, Cass."

Begrudgingly she let you go. Her eyes were sad as Jason's large hand grabbed yours. Your gloved one meeting his bare hand. You sent your three siblings a assured look.

"Later, Damian." It was quiet, lower than a whisper. He heard, and Jason did too. His grip on your hand tightened just as bad as Cassandra's.

"Here." He handed you a copy of Pride and Prejudice. "Tim said you liked her."

You shivered at the name of him. Red Robin, Tim Drake who had suspicions of you and what you were. What led to how you were treated, but even so, you felt thankful. But then you wouldn't be here.

You wouldn't be subjected to the touch and affection you've wanted all your life. One that you had to avoid because of what you are.

"Yeah, he's a little creep." Jason was suddenly up in your face. His face calm and collected. "We wouldn't have been able to find you."

He sat back with his own copy. "Quality time. Don't worry I'm not so good with touch. That's why you picked me, didn't you?"

"How...?"

"I'm a detective. We all are, and it's not too hard for us to decipher you, dear sister." His grin was terrifying. "No need to be afraid, because your never going away again. Right baby sis? Don't you know that?"

You remembered that what's your Bruce said. To stay in the house while the rest of the world tried to look for you.

You nodded. "Dad...He said.."

"Smart girl. B said you were home and would stay home." Jason paused. His eyes looking up. You followed to find a camera there looking down. "Look we're sorry. Really. You must understand we want to show you the love we hadnt shown before."

Again his hand grabbed your gloved one.

You tensed. His eyes were intense on you. "Blame it on Tim all you want, or even if you didn't it was on all of us. You lept out that window like that."

"In any case, you partly caused this. You allowed your impulses to follow. Think about that, baby sis."

"Okay?"

"Hm."

Jason let go of your hand and sitting back. "Good girl. He patted your head. "Now let's read." Opening his copy and sitting close to you without a care.

Feeling numb you opened your copy as well. You're eyes occasionally going to the camera on the ceiling. No doubt either both or either Tim or Barbara watching you.

Most of you bet on it only being Tim.

Reading time was nice but soon Dick came and whisked you away. Despite Jason's protests your oldest brother threw you over his shoulder and ran fast.

Down into the Batcave was where Tim and Bruce were waiting.

"Chum and [ ]. You're here." A soft smile on Bruce's normally stern face. Since you came home he'd been visibly softer. Everyone seemed to enjoy it.

"Yes I've achieved the packaged." His arm tightened against your waist. You knew it was futile when pleading them to stop. Dick especially was touching.

Also scary when you would refuse him outright. Manipulative than most, and everyone knew. Some fell for it before it was too late.

Suddenly you would be gone and in your oldest brother's arms.

"Set her on the table." Tim snapped gloves on his hands. "Just a few tests, sis."

The cold metal didn't matter against your clothed skin. Nervous filled your body when you casted glances at the syringes and various sharp things.

"Just to check your body and make sure it's going well. Normally we'd have Leslie do it but you know." You're father's hand patted your back. Never moving away just as Dick did.

He in question never stopping his smile. His eyes feeling dark as they watched Tim come over with a tray.

"You're white streak. It's from when you kissed your boyfriend?" Tim asked. Underneath his voice you detected a lace of protectiveness.

"Tim."

"I know i know."

"You too, Dick."

The oldest son simply smiled. "Nothing Alfred wouldn't approve of. And is he really her boyfriend anymore?" He crossed his arms against his chest. A brow raised.

Bruce's sigh was accepted as an answer.

Tim ignored them. His eyes looking at you for the answer. You simply nodded. Trying to repress all these emotions in you. Just how your body wanted to jolt at the touch of Tim's hand at your hair.

"If you don't mind." Tim simply some of your hair. Then he came with the syringe. "Just for science and all that. You're power is very peculiar. Perhaps even come up with something that'll make it so you can touch normally."

Your heart rumbled deep inside your chest. A desire for that to become true.

"Could you and B really make something like that?" Dick questioned. His hand wrapping around yours just as Bruce's hands grasped your shoulders.

You were shaking as the needle went into your skin. Takind away your blood and into it.

"Possibly." Tim responded.

Bruce following, "With making sure of how it affects [ ] we can maybe make something. Only us. This can't get out you both." You're father's voice felt just as dark.

You shivered as Dick and Bruce removed their hands from you. A wish for them to hold your hands and touch your shoulders was deeply upsetting.

So weak was what you were.

Folding to your families need. A need to show you affection despite your many wishes. The wishes to be let go and for them to stop enforcing touch on you. An affection that you wanted but you needed to refuse.

You would end up killing them one day.

You could see it clear as day, and maybe they knew.

If they knew then they ignored it's possibility.

Tim and Bruce took record of your body. Checking your bones with an x-ray. Luckily the dress not being do much so you didn't need to remove any clothing.

"So how did you feel kissing the guy? I saw the footage." Tim questioned.

You felt stuck in your throat. "Like I couldn't pull away..."

"Yes?" Dick held your hand too tight.

You were sweating beneath your clothes. "Like a rush of energy I've never felt before. Like I felt stronger than before. It took everything in me to pull away."

You shivered remembering how he looked. "He was avoid of color and I was scared that he...he- he." You scrambled to stop yourself from crying.

"Oh baby it's okay." Bruce hugged you. Horribly, you melted into the hug. "You didn't kill him, and the boy, apart from others is still seeing you like the angel you are." His hands rubbing your shoulders. "No need to cry, baby girl."

"B is right! You have no need to worry now. You get to stay home and protected from them all who want to use and hurt you." It was scary on how much Dick didn't hold back. His contempt for everyone outside of the manor was prevalent. His constraint for your, if your honest, ex boyfriend, it was was still strained.

His possessiveness was as an older brother as it was it protectiveness. The weird obsession with and too keep you safe. The guilt eating away at him as you suspected.

"I see. With a sudden rush of energy going through you." Tim pulled at your hair, the white streak without a care. Not bothering to ask for permission or anything. There was no point as you realized the longer this all went on. "You were connected with him for a long period of time. It caused this to happen."

He looked at you. That creepy expression back on his face. "How fascinating [ ]. You are truly a wonderous being. A curiosity." His fingers grazed your face.

Settling for a second. His bare skin against your his naked palm.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!-"

You pulled yourself away from Tim's touch. Deeper into your father's embrace. A scolding "Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne" followed.

Dick stood tall. "You scared her. I thought we agreed..."

Tears were already flowing down your eyes. Bruce was still holding you tight before you got a chance to run away.

"Don't run away from me baby." He made sure no sense of bare skin touched your bare skin. That being your face only and held you against his clothed chest.

Subtle play with your hair, and anything trinkets that Stephanie put in your hair. "No need to cry. I can't lose you again. You can't run away from me, from us."

You couldn't deny the touch. You simply fell into the body of the beast. Bruce's body feeling like clouds. Fingers dancing on your head like dancers. His soft and fatherly affection being everything you've wished for.

"Say you're sorry." Dick demanded. Hands on his hips like a classic older brother. A scolding expression on his face as he watched Tim walk close to you.

"I'm sorry [ ]." He grabbed your gloved hands. That creepy look in his eyes was gone. Genunine emotions showing in those blue eyes of his. "I wanted to know what it felt like. Forgive me." He bowed his head.

Bruce grunted in approval.

"I'll ask next time? It'll be okay then?" Tim asked. That scary look back loud and clear. Never trying to hide it.

Despite it all you nodded. Forever abiding to the families will and wanted. Not that you wanted to leave.

Not to leave the warm clouds that was your father's affection. Softness that wasn't granted to you. Tim's own eyes, despite the darkness, they held softness for you.

For he loved you, as the rest of them did.

Could you deny the want to be around them all?

Another movie, E.T blaring on the screen. The entire family camping in the living room. Despite all protests that you were tired Damian didn't relent.

None of them did.

Damian uncomfortably close. Your father beside with Cassandra holding your hand that was on Damain's side.

The rest of them close as well. Duke, back from dayshift. The family altering to Gotham's other vigilantes they were having a family day, seen as mourning you.

To the public you had yet to be found.

Duke holding your gloved hand. His face close to your naked face. Surveying over your hair and it's white streak. A soft whisper of his came over you,

"I'm sorry. You know that?"

You could only stare him. Shaken and afraid of him, and the eyes of your other siblings glaring. Duke didn't care, and above all he relished in it. His dark eyes gleaming down at Damian.

Bruce seemed to pay no mind to it. He slept peacefully, and Alfred was pushed to retire for bed.

"Really. You're the same as me. Just as clueless as me, and I ignored you. We all do. I promise you that, [ ]."

A growl from Damian followed.

Duke hugged you. The ghost of Tim's previous actions echoing softly on your skin. Avoiding your face completely. His entire body covered, thank the gods, and his chin on the top of your head.

"Thank you for coming home."

Damian's embrace got tighter. A light noise from him accompanying Duke's soft hitch of breath. As if he was trying not to cry.

"You love us? Please tell me you do? Even after all we've done?" Duke pleaded into your ear.

Sickness followed. The two didn't let you go. The haunting eyes of others, and your father's peaceful snores. You're father being a haunted man, and above all, was tortured by his previous actions.

Once again pushing away one of his children.

You always craved siblings, and you had tons of them. They were reaching out, but it was horrible. They didn't let you leave.

Content with keeping you for themselves. Forever to be in this house and protected until the public forgot about you, and if they didn't you were sure the Bats would make sure they would.

You swallowed and gulped.

In all your years of living you hadn't experienced stress like this. However, Duke was right. You loved them, and that was why you tried so hard to leave.

Even after Tim's actions and everyone following after you still loved them. You could have hurt them.

Tim and Bruce could cure you of this horrible affliction despite the isolation. The world hated you, and your boyfriend was no doubt afraid of you.

You're family loved you despite the danger.

Subtly, "Yes. I do love you guys." The softness of Duke's eyes hurt your heart. A deep setting ache in your stomach as Damian snuggled into your stomach.

A faint sigh of relief from Tim bit of the way. Stephanie and Dick's laughter feeling like whispers of the damned. Taunting you, but they were sick and toxic. Sweet like sugar.

"Glad to hear that." Duke whispered once again. Never letting go of your hand as he pulled away. Attention never really ever going back to the movie.

Worry still in those eyes of his. Duke above all, the most innocent in his behavior. You squeezed back, and he smiled.

The alien, E.T, he was delighted in the experience of Elliot and his siblings. Welcoming him greatly. A great love and friendship was what you grappled for.

It was wrong. This was all wrong but despite it all you couldn't deny this is what you wanted.

Jason was right. In part, if you hadn't ran away like you had them maybe you're family wouldn't be subjected to the burden of hiding you.

However, you got the love you wanted despite it all. Even if the horrid touches were close to your skin. You hated hit but wanted the affection that was once given only by your mother.

For now, perhaps, you'd let it stay like this for now.

˖꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷

For those who asked to be tagged

@krys0210

@lovebug-apple , @invinciblewaffles , @that-daughter-of-nyx ,@hearts4mica ,

[rqnarok]

summary: make up sex with old man!logan.

cws/tags: smut, mdni! oldman!logan. insecure!logan. petnames. logan calls reader ‘kid’. jealous!logan. daddy kink. oral (f receiving). not proofread. 

Logan can’t be ‘mad’ at you for more than a day. He just fucking can’t, alright?

He tried to keep his hands to his own as a protest of yesterday's quarrel. Logan still doesn’t know if it’s meant to be a punishment for you or himself. 

The older man does know that when he’s jealous, he’s doing it in a self-destructive way.

How he isolates himself and avoids you instead - because he knows that he doesn’t deserve you. A fucking hundred-year-old something who’s angry all the time, who’s aloof to the world, and who’s pining over someone as pretty and young as you. 

It fucking wound him too when he pretends nothing ever hurt him, that the way you laugh too loud at the guy’s jokes at the pub did not have any effect on him. That he had to pretend as if he’s not an insecure old man who just wants you all to himself by making things worse. 

“C’mon.” It’s all that Logan could force out as he skims through whatever he’s pretending to read, ignoring the way his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth in ferocity, “What’re you on, huh? Y’ve got no reason to throw a tantrum like this, kid.” 

He sees the moments when your gaze changes, hurt bleeding into the orb, “You’re mean, Logan.” It wounds him - but this kind of confrontation is all he’s ever known. 

Hell, he doesn’t even know why you decided to stay with him. He thought you’d leave in the middle of the night of the first month after figuring out how much of a failure of a man he is. 

So when he goes back from his tiring work and still sees your figure cooking dinner for him in the kitchen, he fucking loses it. His breath gets stuck in his lungs as he watches you stroll around with one of his henley shirts, humming softly the tunes of your favourite song. 

Maybe he’d use a different type of confrontation now—maybe he’d talk about his feelings more often. He’d do everything not to lose this sole sight: His pretty girl being so domestic that he can’t help but get so shamelessly hard.

The way he tried to gain composure and not to lose his coolness but fails miserably at the sight of his your shirt riding up to give him a good view of your perky ass as you reach something from the top cabinet. 

Logan takes you by surprise when he wraps his arms around you, nipping and kissing the soft skin below your ear—his way to say sorry - it’s all my fault.

“Will ya’ forgive your old man, sweet girl?”

He hates how he sounded so unconfident - so different from his younger self.

But when you lean your back onto his chest and shyly nod, his worries are buried. Logan hauls you up with a smile, the bone-cracking sound reminds him of his old age. He rumbles in laughter when you squeal in surprise before spreading your thighs apart on the kitchen counter, pulling your legs around his head so he can eat his dinner. 

His big nose drapes around your clothed pussy before groaning at the smell of you. Cursing himself from avoiding you yesterday when he could have had this. “Y’ve got such a pretty pussy, baby. ‘S mine, huh? My pussy.” He says as he takes off your panties.

The statement itself and the scratchy feel of his ragged beard made you arch your back from the rough surface, “A-ah, ‘s yours, Daddy.”

“Tha’s right.” Logan licks a stripe of your dampening pussy, deeply humming in delight when you let out a high-pitched whine and subconsciously locking your legs tighter to pull him closer. You trail your hands down and tug at his greying hair while he laps you up and fucks you with his tongue. Making you come undone in just a span of a short time.

Logan wipes his mouth and beard as he stands before you in quick breaths, looking at you all apologetically: I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry-

You’re teary-eyed, blinking up at him - whining for him to fuck you hard now - to make up his stupid faults. 

Stupid old man who thinks he’s not worthy of you.

 Logan groans as he tosses away his belt, holding the base of his cock as he teasingly drags the head on your wet folds, “Ssh. Let Daddy make it up t’ya, alright? Daddy’s gon’ give it to you now, baby.” 

[l1tw1ck]

Anaxa's Strange Research Project

Bottom!Omega!FTM Anaxagoras x Top!Alpha!Masc Reader

🧪 Word Count: 1,604 🧪

AFAB Language Used | [Series]

CW: Dubious Consent, Squirting, Womb Fucking, Creampie, Riding, Sexual Overstimulation

When Anaxagoras first met you, he instantly became obsessed. Your scent was far more interesting and pleasant than the scent of any other person he’s ever met. Just holding something that belongs to you makes him tremble and before he knew it, he ended up stealing everything with your scent.

He was extremely interested in figuring out what makes it so addicting. He even went against his better judgment and allowed you access into his laboratory. The moment you asked him about it, he crumbled. How could he say no?

It's somewhat normal for an omega to get like this over an alpha’s scent, but Anaxa’s a beta. Betas can identify the unique scents of others but they don't feel much from it and they definitely don't react like this. To the point where he's acting entirely out of character. So of course he has to investigate.

A rumor started to make its rounds in the grove.

Anaxa has an obsession with making betas smell his strange experiments.

It’s made his reputation worse…to say the least. None of the betas have had the same reaction to your scent, so the lack of progress and the strange premise makes for fun lunch discussions. Then he brought in omegas and alphas. But strangely enough, no one could identify the scent as yours. In fact, they could barely smell it at all. No one knows he’s experimenting with a person’s scent, which makes the rumors all the more bizarre and exaggerated. Sometime after the rumors reached their peak, he gave up on including others in his experiment, solely due to the lack of results.

The isolation gave him the chance to finally achieve real results in his study. Since he’s no longer forced to accommodate others in a public lab, his private laboratory became akin to an omega’s nest. Your scent has dominated his entire being, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it's made him inebriated.

“Anaxa–” You huff, your hands gripping his waist.

Anaxa twitches, your cock pressing against his cervix. He presses his hands against the table. You pull back before gently hitting it again. “‘S not possible-” He moans as your hand strokes his t-dick.

“I can't try?” You manage to grind your tip against it.

Anaxa laughs. “Not even omegas can take it that deep, pervert.”

You growl in frustration. Arousal runs down Anaxa’s spine. He loves the sounds you make. You're like his perverted little puppy. “Humph.” You reach over to his face and stick your fingers in his mouth. Anaxa’s eye widens as you hit his cervix repeatedly. His toes and fingers curl, his lashes flickering erotically. It hurts, but in a good way.

Anaxa moans as his cervix opens up for you. Your cock quickly—

“Huh-” Anaxa jolts awake, drool dribbling down from his chin. He sits up and sighs. The ink on his notebook is bleeding on the paper. His ears turn red as he recalls his dream.

He can't keep dancing around it anymore. He likes you. He craves you.

He stands up and pulls off the shirt he stole from you. He pauses. Then he looks down.

“What is…” He presses his index finger against the mysterious emerald colored tattoo on his pelvis. He moans, his legs giving out. He keeps touching it out of curiosity. He stares at the design. It looks similar to that old myth. “Oh shit.” He swears. The word sounds unnatural coming out of his mouth. It’s not that he's against cursing, he just doesn't see any reason to embellish his words with profanity. He can get his point across just fine without them. But if he's understanding this correctly, this situation is definitely deserving of such language.

There was an old myth about two soulmates, forcibly drawn together by a mystical spirit of love and lust. It was an impatient entity and the couple weren't making any progress at all. They hadn't even realized their feelings for each other yet. So it pushed them together, gave them a reason to finally be together.

It was a strange myth, he didn't care much for it. There are a lot of real but rare occurrences misunderstood as mere myths in Amphoreus, but he never would've guessed this would be one of them.

Anaxa whimpers, his nose stuffed in your boxers and his hands stuffed in his boxers. He's only wearing his collared shirt and underwear. He moans your name and coincidentally, you arrive. His briefs are soaking wet with his slick.

He jumps at the sound of knocking. He can tell it's you by your scent, even though the room is full of it, he can still tell it's you. Besides, no one else is brave enough to step even 5 feet close to his lab. He quickly gets up and rushes to the door. His head feels a little more clear now that he's standing up, although his legs are very wobbly.

“A—” You start to say his name but pause, instantly recognizing your own scent. “Wh-”

Anaxa grabs your shirt and leans into your neck, taking in your fresh scent. You try to push him off you but he doesn't budge. You know it wouldn't be good if anyone walked past and saw this, even if it would be from 10 feet away, so you pick him up and close the door behind you.

“What's going on?” You ask, setting him down on the pile of your clothes, the only place he can sit comfortably. You’ve been wondering where all your things went and while you did feel suspicious hearing the chatter of his old test subjects, you still felt doubt. The only reason you're here now, is to make sure he's okay since nobody's seen him in over a week. He has many moments like this, but your gut was telling you to check up on him.

“You smell so good..” Anaxa stands up and reaches for you, tripping over the messy floor and knocking you to the ground. At least your clothes are here to soften your fall. Your heart races as you watch Anaxa adjust his body, his clothed cunt pressing against your jeans. He leans into your neck. His hand slithers down to undress you. You shudder at the sensation caused by his tongue dragging along your skin.

“Aren't you—” Your breath hitches as he finally reaches the treasure he’s been digging for from underneath the layers of your clothing. Your cock twitches with joy from being touched by another person. His pheromones finally infect your brain, your hesitation washing away with each lick to your skin. “Anaxa–” You groan as he starts to jerk you off.

As your pheromones become stronger, his mental stability weakens. He's still himself, but with far less rationality. He shakily moves himself upright, then removes his shirt. Your eyes widen at the sight of his erotic tattoo.

“You…” Anaxa murmurs, grabbing your wrist and bringing it close to his tattoo. He squirms as your fingers run along the emerald ink. Your hand glides down to the band of his underwear, ripping it apart effortlessly. “You really are an alpha.” He says, as if he ever truly doubted that.

Your head spins just from seeing his pussy. His t-cock pokes out from his untrimmed hairs. He lifts himself up, allowing you to really see it. You don't realize you're drooling as you watch him sink down onto your length. “Fuck~” He moans.

You don't think you've ever heard him swear before.

“My insides–” He forces himself further down your length. “Are stretching for you~”

Seeing the bulge appearing in his stomach triggers your orgasm. He shivers and licks his lips. He doesn't stop though, he keeps going.

“Hah–” He can feel your cock against his cervix but you're not fully inside yet. His tattoo is glowing, like it's telling you to go further. Your hands move faster than your thoughts, reaching for Anaxa’s waist. You lift him up before roughly slamming him down, his cervix opening itself up for you. Anaxa cries out in pleasure as he squirts. “I…I’m really yours..” He mutters.

You shiver. “Mine.”

Anaxa starts riding you. “You're so deep inside me~” He moans your name. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna get addicted to this~”

Your cock twitches from his words. He presses his fingers against his tattoo, his pussy flexing around your length. He lets out a breathy curse. He's overloading his senses and yet he's still moving vigorously. He whines in both pain and pleasure. It's the perfect amount of pain. “You're huge~” He stops for a moment, taking in all the sensory input.

Your heart pounds aggressively as you salivate like a dog. You watch as his chest rises and falls, as your combined fluids trickle down your cock. He slowly grinds on you, his mouth hanging open.

You grab his waist and swiftly change positions. The way he looks right now, the way his hair slightly splays out onto the pile of your clothes…how his nipples are hard and how beautifully his tattoo glows, it's almost like you're doing a photoshoot. You aggressively rut into him.

“You're so desperate for me~” He giggles softly, talking like someone with low alcohol tolerance. You’ve definitely never heard him giggle before. He reaches for you and you lean in, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and take in your scent again.

Your hips stutter before your cock fills him with another load. Anaxa moans softly, his pussy weakly flexing around you.

Things are going to change between the two of you now.

[lottiesgrl]

I hope your the right blog to send this to but can you do your headcanons of having sex with a completely feral shauna in the wilderness? How she fucks hard and rough, and how she likes to bite you like a wolf holding its pray still. ( bonus points if Lottie’s the one who’s shaunas fucking 🤭)

𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹

summary: drabbles about having sex with feral shauna

cw: heeavy nsfw, biting (r!receiving), scratching (both receiving), oral (r!receiving), vague strap on usage (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), primal dynamics, roleplay, general filth and smut

an: i usually don't put comments on my fics but this was right up my alley and WHEEEW. i enjoyed writing this one. wrote this all while listening to romeo's daddy by ethel cain so i linked it below for the best reading experience 😇 happy new year y'all

: ̗̀➛ you had already known that shauna had a tendency to be rough during sex, but you had no idea how intense it would get the longer the two of you spent isolated in the wilderness

: ̗̀➛ the first sign that something was changing was in the way that she held you. when she dug her nails into your skin, her grip was so tight that it was almost painful, crescent indents forming in your skin. you didn't mind the pain - if anything, you found it hot

: ̗̀➛ this is especially true whenever she catches one of the girls even looking at you in a funny way. you've always known her to be mildly possessive, but she would usually just sulk away, simmering in her insecurities until you'd reassure her that she was the only one you wanted, not anyone else. but now?

: ̗̀➛ now, shauna's jealousy is fiery. it's angry and red-hot, and the second she catches someone's eyes lingering on your body for too long, her fingers will curl around your thighs and grab at the flesh so that everyone can see

: ̗̀➛ she especially loves to feel the way your flesh molds around her hands when she's fucking you. when you take it from behind, she's got your hips in a vice grip, grabbing you and pulling you back in time with her thrusts. you're sure that there'll be bruises from where her fingertips pressed into your skin

: ̗̀➛ speaking of bruises, shauna absolutely loves to leave her mark on you any way that she can. whether it be fingerprints on your skin, hickeys all over your neck, or bite marks along your collarbone, she can't get enough

: ̗̀➛ her and biting oh my lord... she is a biter. she loves the way that your skin feels around her teeth, and she'll bite any inch of skin that's exposed

: ̗̀➛ going back to what i said about taking it from behind, she loves having you right where she wants you. when she fucks you from the back, she'll have a hand around your neck, tilting your head back, and her teeth will dig into the place where your neck meets your collarbone

: ̗̀➛ all about messy and nasty sex. she's sooo messy when she goes down on you, spit everywhere - all over your thighs, your stomach, and most importantly, your cunt

: ̗̀➛ she'll switch between kissing and biting your thighs as she makes her way up to your pussy, arms wrapped around them to make sure that there's no way you can escape from the pleasure she's about to bring you

: ̗̀➛ her hands force your thighs apart when they try to close around her fingers or her head, growling at you to "be fucking patient", while she continues to tease you and make you beg

: ̗̀➛ and shauna growling at you? yes. the words are coming from somewhere deep inside her chest, somewhere raw and primal and animalistic, and every time she growls in her ear you can feel a wave of arousal shoot through you. she chuckles low in her throat whenever she's fingering you and she can feel you gush when she growls

: ̗̀➛ SCRATCHING WITH SHAUNA. she's so turned on whenever she's fucking into you and she can feel your fingers raking down her skin leaving angry red lines in their wake

: ̗̀➛ she's a scratcher herself, running her nails up and down your chest hard enough for it to leave a mark. it starts as mindless groping and turns into her leaving scratches all over your chest and your stomach, something to remind you of her even after the two of you are done

: ̗̀➛ if you'd allow her, she'd 100% love the idea of a more primal dynamic or roleplay. it thrills her so much to chase after you, knife in hand, knowing that once she catches you, you'll be hers

: ̗̀➛ you're running from her and panting both from exhaustion and excitement, your pussy absolutely throbbing with every step you take. she's always been ridiculously fast, and it takes no time at all for her to catch up to you and tackle you

: ̗̀➛ you're both panting as she presses her knife to her throat, leaning in to kiss you. it's so messy and you can feel the cold metal of the blade and the wet earth around you and lord, it's so hot

: ̗̀➛ begging her not to hurt you and you can see a shine in her eyes as she quickly fumbles with your clothes to get you undressed and get her fingers in between your thighs

: ̗̀➛ who doesn't love a woman who's batshit insane?

[skyedancer-system]

Going into Poppy Playtime Chap. 4 I was not expecting to get halfway decent plural rep but here we are????

Spoilers for the new chapter under the cut, and also cw for all the general Poppy Playtime stuff (child death + experimentation, body horror, if you know the game you get the gist)

SO THIS GUY HUH

Doey the Doughman, the surprise character revealed just days before the chapter dropped and who finally answered the question of the red/orange/yellow hand imagery we’ve been getting teased with for so long

In the chapter himself he’s pretty important to the plot and is an ally to the player, Poppy, and Kissy for (most of) the chapter, and he’s a pretty nice guy just with a bit of a temper, and very overwhelmed by having to keep the Safe Haven together and protected in Poppy’s absence.

But his personal story? How he was created via Playtime Co.’s Bigger Bodies Initiative? Oh god it’s honestly one of the most messed up ones yet other than Yarnaby (and that’s saying something considering this is child experimentation we’re talking about, and Yarnaby lost his entire self and was treated like a straight up animal, isolated so he would love and obey Harley and only Harley)

Where most of the living toys were made from one child, Doey was made from three. Jack, a visitor to the factory that got caught in a freak accident and was taken into Playtime’s care for his medical recovery. Kevin, a problem child in the Playcare known for his anger issues. And Matthew, an extremely kind boy who tried to keep hopes up among all the orphans in the Playcare, and was a sort of leader to them.

And all three of them are still present in some form; at various points in the game you see them switch, speaking and thinking differently, with varying opinions on everything happening. And from the tape of the Jack’s parents seeing what Playtime did to their son, we see that the three have separate memories as well, at least they did when they were first put together.

And this plurality that was forced onto them isn’t played for scary points like you’d expect from a mascot horror game. Yes it is part of Doey’s monstrous design once they get upset, but them being upset is because everything they had worked to protect was destroyed by the Prototype. All of the other kids turned toys that had kept their consciousness and relied on Doey for protection, mercilessly killed. Anybody would be horrifically upset in that situation. And one of the three boys - Kevin - lashes out at the player, the other two trying to calm him down only for all of them to fall into anger and emotion.

You can clearly see the three kids; one angry, two sad, all of their emotions coming together into a grief induced rage, with physical pain only compounding it. And when you eventually have to kill them and put them out of their misery, their last words?

“I’m sorry.”

They were just kids; three kids forced into a horrible situation and having to learn to live with it. And for a long time it seems that they did, working together rather peacefully until their lives were upheaved by the arrival of the player and Poppy’s reappearance.

Kevin’s anger at everyone and the world is completely justified; I mean he and the other two were experimented on and then kept caged like animals, being practically forced to kill! He wanted to protect them; to avenge the countless others that had been killed by the Playtime scientists and the Prototype! And considering things only went to shit after the player and Poppy showed up? Well it’s no wonder that anger got directed at them

It it a super good depiction of plurality? No, not by a long shot. But it’s definitely way better than I would expect from a game like Poppy Playtime.

I was not expecting this post to get this long whoops fbsnbdns; if anyone else has anything they want to add though we’d love to hear it!

[skywalkerslvt]

Truth Serum—Logan Howlett

❥Pairing: Logan Howlett x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns other than 'you' mentioned)

❥Summary: You and Logan, drugged with truth serum, get trapped in separate cells during a mission. Things ensue...

❥CW: 18+, smut, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, minor use of pet names (Logan says 'baby' once or twice), 1.8k words

❥a/n: Need his big mutant cock rearranging my insides right now. Wrote this really fast to satiate the new hyperfixation lmao. Not proofread, might edit later if I have time! hope u enjoy!!

The mission was a mess from the start. What was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance turned into a disaster when you and Logan got ambushed by a group of well-armed mercenaries. Despite your best efforts, you were overpowered, captured, and dragged into a hidden underground facility.

Now, after being relentlessly questioned with truth serum, you found yourself in a cold, dimly lit cell, the metal bars mocking your current predicament. By the time they threw you back into your cells, your head was spinning. The serum had forced out every truth, every hidden thought, and you were left feeling raw and exposed. Worse, the lingering effects made it hard to think straight, amplifying every emotion. The worst part wasn't the isolation or the confinement—it was knowing Logan was just a few feet away, locked up in a cell next to yours. You couldn't see him, but you could hear his frustrated growls and the occasional clang as he tested the strength of his restraints.

"Logan?" you called out, your voice echoing slightly in the narrow space.

"I'm here," he replied, his voice a low, rough rumble. "You okay?"

“I'm cold,” you answered truthfully, the effects of the truth serum lingering in your veins, rendering you incapable of telling even a white lie. “Are you okay?” 

Logan huffed a laugh at your response. “I'm fine,” he replied, voice deep and gravelly sending shivers down your spine. 

"We need to figure out how to get out of here," you said, trying to focus on the mission. "Any ideas?"

"I’m working on it," Logan grunted, and you could hear the strain in his voice as he tested his restraints again. "These bars are tough, but they won't hold me forever."

Silence fell between you, broken only by the sounds of Logan's efforts to free himself. Each grunt, each frustrated growl sent your mind wandering to places it shouldn't, especially given your current situation. You tried to shake off the thoughts, but the truth serum was making it hard to keep control. 

You had always been drawn to Logan—his rugged exterior and intense demeanor had always sparked something deep inside you, but you'd managed to keep those feelings under wraps, focusing instead on the mission. Now, confined and vulnerable under the effects of the truth serum, those suppressed desires came roaring to the forefront. Every grunt, every restrained growl from his cell fueled your imagination, making it impossible to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. The harsh reality of your situation only seemed to intensify the electric charge between you two, turning the once manageable attraction into an uncontrollable blaze. A shuddering sigh passed your lips as you closed your eyes, trying to think of something, anything other than Logan fucking you, those low grunts a hot breath in your ear as he pounds his thick cock into your aching cunt. 

"What's on your mind?" Logan's voice cut through the silence, startling you. Your sigh didn’t pass Logan’s ears, his enhanced hearing picking up every little sound you made. You were lucky the wall between you was blocking the scent of your arousal from him. 

You hesitated, biting your lip, knowing the serum would force out whatever you were thinking. "N-nothing" you grunted, voice straining from the effort it took to tell that small lie, but your voice betrayed you.

"Come on," he pressed, his tone softer now. "Talk to me. What are you thinking right now?"

The words slipped out before you could stop them. "You," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m thinking about you."

Logan went quiet for a moment, and you could almost feel the intensity of his gaze even through the walls between you. "What about me?" he asked, his voice rough with curiosity.

You took a shaky breath, unable to lie. "The sounds you're making... they’re making me think of... things. Things we shouldn't be thinking about right now." You cursed yourself for admitting this so easily, for getting caught in the first place. 

A low growl rumbled from Logan's cell. "Tell me," he urged, his voice darkening with desire. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Your face flushed deeper, the truth serum forcing out your most private thoughts. “I was thinking about how you might sound if we were in the same cell,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “What noises you’d make if you were inside me, taking me on the floor.”

The cell fell into an expectant silence, Logan’s breathing becoming more laboured. After a moment, he let out a low, appreciative growl. “Oh yeah? That’s quite the thought,” he rumbled, voice thick with a mixture of satisfaction and dark amusement. “You’d be surprised how much I can imagine what it’d be like, too. The way you’d moan, how you’d squirm and gasp on my cock. Bet you’d be so fucking responsive.”

You shivered at his words, the combination of the truth serum and his filthy words making your thoughts spin wildly. “You think so?” you asked, voice breathy and eager.

Logan’s response was rough, laden with desire. “Hell yeah. I’d make sure you felt every inch of me. And you’d be begging for more before long, that’s for damn sure. Just imagine it—bet you’d take me so well.”

The vivid imagery of his words sent a shudder down your spine, your mind swirling with the possibilities. Despite the dire situation, the raw honesty between you both was creating a new kind of tension, one that was both thrilling and unnervingly intimate.

You couldn’t help it–your arousal was too much. You slowly trailed your hand up your thigh, fingers circling over your clit through your pants. “I–I’d be…so good for you, Logan,” you panted out between moans. “Need you so bad.”

Logan's breathing hitched at your admission, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Yeah? You’d be good for me, huh? Tell me what you’d want me to do if I was in there with you.”

You could hear the raw need in his voice, and it only spurred your own desire. You let out a shaky breath as you slipped your fingers under your waistband, teasing your already sensitive clit. “I–I’d want you to kiss me, touch me.”

The muffled sound of his zipper being yanked down could be heard through the wall, the thought of him fisting his cock to your voice now spurring you on, quickening your strokes. “Yeah? Touch you where, baby? How do you want me to touch you?” he responded, the smirk evident in his voice. 

The rough edge in Logan's voice sent a jolt through you, mixing with your own mounting arousal. You could hear the slight rustling from his side, the thought of him responding to you in such a primal way adding to the intensity of your desire. You whimpered, fingers working in slow, deliberate circles around your clit as you imagined his touch.

“I’d want you to start with my neck,” you gasped, voice strained. “Kiss and bite me there, tease me until I’m begging for more. Then move down, touch me everywhere. I want to feel your hands on me, everywhere.”

Logan's breath quickened, his voice rougher with need as he now stroked his cock. “Fuck, keep going.”

You could almost feel his touch, the way he’d explore your body with that intense focus. Your breaths grew quicker, each one a mix of gasps and moans as you continued to pleasure yourself. “And then I’d want you to put your cock inside me,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need. “Feel every inch of you inside me, make me come with you buried deep in me.”

Logan's voice was thick with desire, mixed with a hint of smugness. “I love the way you sound when you touch yourself thinking about me. Fuck, it drives me crazy.”

You could feel the heat building inside you, each stroke of your fingers sending waves of pleasure through your body. The images of Logan’s rough hands and his powerful presence were fueling your arousal, driving you closer to the edge.

“Logan…” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with anticipation. “I’m so close. I need you… so bad.”

Logan’s voice came through, rough and filled with raw desire. “I’m right here, baby. Just thinking about you coming while you touch yourself, it’s driving me wild.”

The pressure inside you intensified, each moan and gasp escaping your lips growing more desperate. You quickened your movements, your fingers pressing harder against your clit, teasing and stroking with the intensity you craved. The thought of Logan’s deep voice, his body pressed against yours, only heightened the pleasure.

“Logan, I’m gonna…” you whimpered, your orgasm building like a tidal wave, ready to crash over you.

With a final, shuddering moan, you came. Your body convulsed with the intense release, your fingers still moving in frantic circles as you rode the waves of pleasure. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as the last echoes of your climax slowly faded.

On the other side of the wall, Logan was experiencing his own tormenting pleasure. The sounds of your moans and gasps mixed with his own grunts as he fisted his cock, imagining the way you’d feel around him. The fantasy of your touch and the way you’d sound as you came was too much for him to bear.

“Fuck, yes,” Logan growled, his voice thick with need. “I’m right there with you.”

His hand moved quickly, driven by the intense images and sounds filling his mind. With a deep, guttural groan, he came, his release spilling out with a force that matched the intensity of his arousal. The sensation of climax wracked his body, his grip on his cock tightening as he rode the wave of pleasure. His breaths were heavy and uneven, each one coming in harsh, satisfied gasps.

Both of you lay there, spent and breathless, the aftermath of your climaxes leaving you in a state of both physical and emotional exhaustion. 

As the echoes of your climaxes settled into the heavy silence of the cells, you and Logan were left breathless and spent. The raw, electric tension between you had transformed into a shared, unspoken promise, even amidst your grim circumstances.

Logan’s voice cut through the quiet, rough and filled with a heated intensity that made your pulse quicken all over again. “When we get out of here,” he growled, each word dripping with desire, “I’m gonna show you just how good it can be. I’m gonna make sure you feel every bit of me.”

The thought of his words sent a shiver through you, the anticipation mingling with the lingering effects of the truth serum. Even as you lay there, exhausted and vulnerable, the promise of what was to come fueled a deep, burning desire that only added to the intensity of your situation.

[noctiva]

Toby and reader with a massive breeding kink,,, it doesn’t matter if they actually want a kid or not, every time they fuck its just endless dirty talk about how toby’s gonna put a baby inside them,,, thinking thoughts,,,

- 🔌 anon

okay. the people have spoken and this is definitely the most anticipated ask I’ve received so far LMAO (…you nasties)

also, this is the last request im posting before I post sweet thing pt.2!

here we go!

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Fulfillment

Toby Rogers x F!Reader

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WC: 6.5k

Summary: You and Toby don’t want kids. This was a fact that you had established long ago, at the very beginnings of your relationship. But, well… A girl can dream.

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, breeding/pregnancy kink, unsafe sex, praise kink, hair pulling, spit and drool, wet and messy, sweaty nasty sex lol, possessive behaviour, absolutely filthy dirty talk, creampie (duh!), multiple orgasms, oral sex (female receiving), size kink ig?, Toby’s got a big dick (it’s what he deserves)

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For any german, just highlight then click translate! <3

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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You and Toby don’t want kids.

This was a stipulation that was brought up pretty early into your relationship, and was also something that you had been expecting before he had even said anything.

It just… Didn’t make sense. Not in the universe that you lived in. One where your chosen partner was a dangerous, wanted criminal. Leaving for hours - sometimes days - at a time, only to return covered from head to toe in blood and gore. His mental state, was also spotty. You loved him dearly, but you wouldn’t sugarcoat that fact either. Toby was prone to bouts of mania and depression, having to live his day to day life with an already fractured mind strained more by the influence of the entity he served.

That was simply not an environment for a child to be born into. To grow up in. You think it would be cruel, to force them into a life so isolated. So rocky, and filled with uncertainties. You had chosen that for yourself. You had consented to all of the troubles and constraints that came with sticking by Toby’s side. Your unborn child, would have no say in any of that.

And you could only assume that if they did have the choice, they’d decline. It took a certain kind of person to fall into this way of life so willingly.

So, no kids. That was alright. You weren’t the type of person who had grown up fantasizing about it - being a mother, raising a little version of you - and so it wasn’t all too detrimental when Toby had told you it wasn’t in the cards. Of course it wasn’t. You hadn’t gotten into a relationship with a literal serial killer, expecting to domesticate him. That would be like, trying to train a wolf to be an obedient dog.

You were okay with all of that. The risk and thrill was what had drawn you to Toby in the first place. The excitement, the danger. All things that having a child definitely didn’t fit into.

But… It never hurt to dream.

You thought about it, sometimes. What it would be like. To carry his child, belly growing rounder and rounder by the day - body swelling as the product of your love grew within your womb. Looking in the mirror, knowing that it was him that did that to you. That it was his child in there. Feeling it kick, trying to contain your excitement at that little proof of life within you.

A pipe dream, but you couldn’t help but indulge. Luckily, neither could Toby.

Actually, if anything, he was worse than you. Which was funny, because he was the one that was so adamant about not having children in the first place.

But he just couldn’t help it. Was it hormones? Something primal, deep within him? Maybe, you were his soulmate, and so his body wanted nothing more than to stake a claim on you that no one else could.

He wanted to watch it happen. You, growing with his child every day. You, so round and plush and beautiful - waddling around the cabin, body so sore that you can’t help but depend of him for anything and everything. He wanted to see you change, wanted to feel it as you grew more and more sensitive by the day, your body pushed to its limits simply for the purpose of bringing forth his child into the world.

You would be so, undeniably his. You already were, but the visual… It would really bat it home. Going about his day, catching a glimpse of you, and being slapped in the face with the fact that you were his. His woman. His life.

He was possessive. He would admit that easily, because he knew it was the truth and he wasn’t ashamed of it. You were his. His sweet girl. His darling. If anyone even came close, his fingers itched with the need to shove them a few feet back. He’d love it, if no one even questioned it anymore.

Couldn’t question it. Because how could they, when you were carrying his baby?

But again, that was a dream. Something only possible in some alternate universe where he was a normal member of society, and you lived a life stable enough to care for something so fragile. In this universe, he’d just have to settle for making a bloody mess out of whoever got too friendly.

Which, he was content with, and so were you.

Of course though, the fantasies would slip your tongues from time to time. Especially, when you were beneath him.

It’s a hot summer day. Too hot, for two people that lived in a cabin with no air conditioning. You never thought about that fact in any of the other seasons, because spring was comfortable, and the colder months were easily forgotten about with a genuine log fireplace to warm the air. Right now though, you were cursing every god that might exist as you lounge on the couch - a book in your hands as a positioned fan blows directly in your face.

Your skin is clammy, and it’s difficult to not be restless - especially with clothes on. You had originally been wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, but those pieces of fabric had very quickly turned suffocating, only expediting that rate at which sweat beaded up on your skin. So, you had stripped them, and were now lying on the couch in nothing but a pair of cotton panties and a cropped tank top, hair pulled up into a haphazard bun to get the strands off of your neck.

Toby was out in the backyard doing… Something. You weren’t quite sure what. The sound of metal meeting wood rang through the air, signalling that he was either chopping logs or practicing his axe throw. Either way, you can’t wrap your head around how he was managing to stay alive out there, when the heat was so unbearable.

You felt like you were going through the wringer and you weren’t even moving, you couldn’t imagine actually engaging in physical activity while out in that heat. But, it was Toby, and he did things that baffled you on a day to day basis. So, it really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

With a huff, you push a few sweaty strands of hair out of your face, grumbling in discomfort to yourself. It’s hard to even focus on the words of the page in front of you, despite it being a book you’ve been pretty engrossed in. Your whole body feels lethargic, brain foggy and disgruntled from the effects of the summer heat.

You’re in the middle of rereading the same line for the third time because you just haven’t been able to comprehend it, when you hear the sound of the front door opening - and your attention is very easily directed elsewhere.

Toby, comes shuffling inside, looking - well, how you’d expect him to after spending so much time out in the sauna outside. His hair was damp, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat that made the light bounce off of him. He had been wearing a t-shirt when he left the house, but now the sleeves were cut off - fabric jagged and torn where the sleeves used to be, most likely hacked off by one of the hatchets that was fastened to his belt.

And he’s panting, chest heaving with each breath as he reaches up to wipe sweat from his brow, cheeks flushed pink from the heat consuming his entire body.

You can’t help the way your heart flutters at the sight. How could you? You don’t think anyone could contain themselves, when faced with the man they loved - sweaty, and panting from exertion.

And it only gets better when he looks at you.

Toby’s eyes meet yours for a total of five seconds before they’re roaming the rest of your body. Over the slope of your back, the curve of your ass, the plushness of your thighs. So much bare skin for him the feast on, all flushed from the heat and glistening with a sheen so enticing. Not what he had been expecting to walk into after an hour and a half of practicing his aim, but he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he couldn’t even if he wanted to, because his mouth had gone drier than a desert the moment you graced his line of sight.

“Hey, baby.” He manages to choke out, having seemingly been frozen to the ground in the entryway. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t been able to since he caught sight of you, caught sight of your plush ass covered only by the flimsiest piece of fabric - sprawled out on the couch like a full course meal. “W-What’s- Uh-“ He clears his throat, reaching up to awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “What’s goin’ on here?”

He’s so cute. You think to yourself. So easily flustered by the sight of your bare skin, as if he hadn’t seen it a million times before. As if he hadn’t been two knuckles deep inside you, just this morning. It was flattering, really, how his attraction towards you never seemed to wane, even as the years passed. He still acted like some lovesick teenage boy, drooling at your bare ass like he’d never get to see it again.

Absolutely adorable.

“It’s hot.” You laugh softly, before closing your book and dropping it on the floor. You stretch out a little bit, resting your cheek against the armrest of the couch as you gaze at him. “I’m trying not to burst into flames over here.”

“Uh huh.” Toby murmurs back to you, as if he wasn’t convinced. You watch as he unclasps his tool belt before setting it on the bench in the entryway, the metal of his hatchets clanging against the hard surface. “W-Well, one thing’s definitely hot.”

You roll your eyes and snort out a laugh, gaze tracking him as he approaches you. Kicking off his shoes before he makes his way into the living room, his steps slow and steady - like a predator on the hunt. That’s definitely what he was right now, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by - fogging up more and more with each second that passed, glazing with desire as his eyes passed over your nearly bare form for the hundredth time since he first walked in.

“Oh, shut up.” You scoff, raising an eyebrow. “What are you, sixteen? Can’t handle the sight of your girlfriend’s ass?”

“No, I c-can’t.” Toby chuckles, not an ounce of shame in his voice once he finally comes to stand before you. He’s not standing for long though, before he’s sinking down to his knees to get level with you - one hand lifting to rest against the small of your back. “Sorry for loving you.” He pouts softly, lips pursing as his hands slowly starts to drift, just barely grazing the curve of your ass. “I-If you could see what I see, you’d g-get it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You hum back to him, watching him with drooping eyes. The sight of him, so enticing you know exactly where he’s coming from. Sweat slick hair pushed off of his forehead, eyes darkened with desire, the ripped sleeves of his t-shirt leaving his biceps on display for you to rave over. You may not have been as obvious about it, but you were just as - if not more - riled up than he was right now. Just from the view of him stumbling through the door after a workout in the sun. “At least let me have a shower first, you freak.” You crack him a playful smile. “I’m gross right now.”

Completely ignoring your words, Toby’s hand wanders. Down lower. Lower. Until his palm is completely splayed against one of your ass cheeks, before he’s giving it a nice firm squeeze. His gaze following, watching how your flesh yielded to his touch. How the meat of your ass indented as his fingers sunk into it. Slippery with sweat, but maybe that just made it better. Maybe, your words had some truth to them.

But, he’d gladly be a freak when it comes to you.

“You’re n-never gross.” He murmurs back to you, his voice taking on a lower tone as his eyes snap back to your face. His hand, doesn’t stop though. Kneading the flesh beneath it, making you squirm a little bit under his touch. You were already hot, but the heat he was bringing to you was different. This heat wasn’t outwardly suffocating - it came from within. A flame that he stoked so easily, making the fire burn brighter just from the simplest touch. “You-You’ve got no idea how I see you.” He leans forwards a little, pressing the gentlest kiss to your shoulder blade. “Lookin’ like a fuckin’ goddess dropped onto my couch.”

Another kiss meets your skin, sloppy and unrestrained - smearing saliva against your shoulder as his mouth moved against your skin. Up your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, breathing in the pure scent of you earnestly. “You’ve got no- no idea.” He mutters against you again, his hand dipping down even lower - fingers just barely grazing the shape of your cunt through your panties. “All the things I want t-to do to you.” He presses down lightly, just enough for you to really feel it. Enough to elicit a sharp inhale through your teeth. “Things I should never say.”

“Say them.” You gasp out immediately, arching into his touch as you bury your face into the couch cushions. Already trembling, just from the anticipation. “Tell me, Toby.” It was laughable really, how easily he melted you. Barely even in the house for more than a few minutes, and he was turning you to mush. All his words picked out carefully, knowing just what to say to make your brain go foggy. Knowing just how to touch you, to make your panties go damp.

“I wanna…” You feel it as he rises, before joining you on the couch. Positioned right behind you, his hands only leaving you for a second before they’re back on your skin. Calloused palms kneading your ass as he watches with drool pooling in the corners of his lips. It’s only time until it starts seeping out of the cash in his face, but that’s just a part of it. He always got messy. A fact that was so enticing. Always just as much of a mess for you as you were for him. “I wanna worship every i-inch of this skin.”

He dips his head down low, hands sliding up your sides as he presses a kiss right between your shoulder blades. So much bare skin for him to lave at already, and he hasn’t even had to strip you. What a treat. “Wanna t-taste every inch of you. Get you shaking and crying before I even stuff you full.”

His words invoke a downright visceral reaction, the softest of moans slipping from your lips as you bury your face further into the cushions. You can feel your cheeks burning, can feel your cunt throbbing within the confines of your panties - and it’s agonizing. Agonizing in the way he’s barely even done anything, and yet you’re already falling apart. Mind hazy, pussy pulsing - desperate for his touch

He knew your body so well. Using every time with you as a chance to bookmark everything you liked the best, and now it was all being thrown back in your face - leaving you powerless in the wake of your all-consuming desire. “And I’ll get you full. I know that’s what you want.”

His lips trail down your back, leaving a slick trail in its wake. Tracing the line of your spine, moving lower languidly - letting you really feel it as his lips dance against your skin, licking up all the salty sweat that had already accumulated. God, you tasted so lovely. Every inch of you. And, he hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.

He shifts backwards on the couch, letting his lips trail down further - his calloused palms sliding back down your sides before he’s gripping your hips. Giving them a nice squeeze, his grip firm and insistent. “Acting all i-innocent.” He mutters softly, one hand slipping under your body to lift your hips upwards - getting your cunt perfectly in line with his drooling mouth. Exactly where he wants you to be. “As if this pussy isn’t begging for it.”

You feel it when his fingers hook under your panties, peeling the material from your body. Too impatient that he doesn’t even pull them off all the way, just slides them down your thighs. It’s enough to get your glistening pussy on full display for him though, so it’s good enough in his books. “Luh-Look at you. So wet already.”

His hands move to splay against your ass cheeks and spread you apart further, giving him a full frontal view of the feast before him. Your desperate cunt, already dripping with slick. Your clit already visibly swollen, and he can see it when your pussy throbs. Clenching around nothing - literally begging for more. And what kind of man was he, if he were to ignore such pleading? “D-Du kannst es nicht vor mir verbergen, süßes Mädchen.”

He dips his head down low, breathing out a hot puff of breath against your cunt that immediately has you squirming in his hold. The position you were in was downright humiliating, and so you can’t help it when your stomach twists in embarrassment. Face down into the couch cushions, spread open for Toby’s eyes to feast on. To think, just an hour before this you had been innocently lounging on the couch - unaware of the wolf that would soon walk through the door and pounce you. “So feucht. U-Und ich weiß, du schmeckst süß.“

“Toby, please-“ You murmur out, voice partially muffled by the cushions below you. In an act of desperation, you nudge your hips back towards him - seeking anything at this point. His tongue, his fingers, his cock - you didn’t really care. You just needed something, anything to extinguish this fire you were consumed in. So wet you could feel it dripping down your thighs, only adding to the embarrassment that was already churning in your gut, because you knew Toby was getting a front row seat to all of it.

“Du bettelst so schön.” Toby sounds breathless when he speaks, his words husky with every letter absolutely soaked in lust. If you could see him, you could imagine the look on his face. You’ve seen it before, how he gets when he’s like this - skin flushed, pupils so blown out they practically swallow his irises whole. Staring down at you like you were a feast to be consumed.

Maybe, that’s exactly what you were to him. It sure seemed like it, with what he does next.

With no warning, no further words, he closes the gap between his face and your leaking cunt. Making you jolt when his tongue comes into contact with you - licking a long, flat stripe from your clit to your how hole. Gathering up all the slick you had already leaked out. Drinking it up so eagerly, moaning into you like the mere taste of you brought him pleasure.

It did. It definitely did. Toby could feel himself just grow harder in his jeans once the taste of your essence met his tastebuds. So sweet. So, you. It was absolutely intoxicating. It was, every single time he went down on you. Never got old, no matter how many times he was granted with the blessing of having a face full of your cunt.

And having his face between your thighs, truly is a blessing. For both parties. Because the love Toby had for eating you out showed in every action that he made. He savoured it. Tongue dipping into every inch of your folds, licking you clean of all the slick that was seeping out of you. Sucking on your clit as his fingers clawed at your ass cheeks, groaning into you in a tone so deep it only intensified the tingles going down your spine.

“F-Fuck, Toby-“ You can’t help but moan out, your mouth dropping open in pleasure as he laps at your heat. Swiping his tongue against you like it’s his only purpose in life - using his grip on you to pull you against him, getting his face completely buried in that treasure between your legs. “S’Too good-“

And it was. It was too good. So good, you could barely even form a coherent thought. Especially not when you felt his tongue dip inside you - hot, slick muscle sliding against your walls. Licking into you, the vibrations of his moans making your knees go weak.

He doesn’t respond, can’t, with a face full of pussy - but your words only seem to spur him on more. He dives into you with fervour - clawing at your skin as his tongue flicked inside of you - eyes rolling back in his skull from the combination of the feel and taste of you. You just got better every time, he was sure of it. So tight and warm, so slick and sweet. He would live between your thighs if you’d let him. Would worship you for hours, drink up every drop of essence that leaked out of you.

He felt so lucky, every day, that he was the one you chose to bestow that honour to.

“Du b-bist köstlich.” He slurs against you, his breathing coming out as shaky huffs of breath when his tongue slides out of you. Then, he’s giving all the love to your clit. Sucking at it, flicking his tongue against it - revelling in the way your pussy throbs with each swipe of his tongue. So responsive. You always were. And it was so gratifying, knowing that he could bring you the height of pleasure. That he was the only one who knew just how to take you apart. “Pussy’s gettin’ so w-wet for me. You’re gonna cum, aren’t you baby?”

Yeah, you were. It had been building and building, ignited the moment his tongue met your sensitive flesh. You had been trying to hold it off, but that was an impossible feat when faced with Toby. When he got you like this, his one and only goal was to make you crumble apart before him.

And he knew just how to do it.

You feel the tips of his fingers prod at your entrance for just a moment - circling around it, gathering up your slick - before they’re sinking into you. Two fingers. Two, long, calloused fingers, sliding into you so effortlessly. Making your body bend to his will, stretching you open in anticipation to take more.

He pumps them into you as his lips suction to your clit, thrusting them into you at a pace that leaves you breathless. Curling them into you just right, knowing just what spot to press into that would just get you wetter.

The coil in your gut ties tighter. Heat growing hotter. Legs trembling when he scissors his fingers, just spreading you open wider. The stretch is mind numbing. Godly, even. And with how his assault on your clit is as relentless as ever, it hardly takes any more effort from him for you to be tumbling over the edge in a flurry of gasps as moans.

You take in a sharp breath as your orgasm hits you with full forth, pushing back against his face as you soak him with you slick - and he loves it. Slurping up every drop that you give him. Fingers curling into your skin as you tremble and shake, fingernails leaving behind little crescent shaped indents in the supple flesh. “Das ist es. SS-So gut für mich.”

He licks at you until you’re trying to pull away from him, not content until he’s swallowed down every little bit of your release. And he does. Slurping at your heat with the filthiest sounds until you’re licked clean - but he isn’t. His face is absolutely soaked when he pulls away from you. Coated in a sheen of your release and his spit, to the point where it’s dripping down his chin.

So messy, so filthy. And it’s all for you.

Toby leans up and straightens his back, gazing down at you from above with a mind clouded with lust. You look so… Appetizing. Still trembling, back arched with your ass up in the air - slick still dripping down your thighs, fingers curled into the couch cushions. If his cock wasn’t quite literally aching in his boxers, he’s probably just dive right back in and eat you out until you were sobbing from oversensitivity. But, he just can’t take it.

If he was being honest, he’d been hard since he first caught sight of you. Walking through the door and seeing you sprawling out on the couch like that, so much bare smooth skin for him to touch upon, causing all the blood in his brain to rush south at an almost worrying speed.

How could you blame him? You were just too gorgeous. So gorgeous it was absolutely maddening. On a daily basis, when you were fully clothed, he had to restrained himself from pouncing on you when you were doing something as mundane as cooking dinner.

So, walking into you, barely clothed, skin shiny with a layer of sweat - it was simply impossible for him to hold himself back. And especially not now, still shaking from the bliss of your relief. All hazy eyed and pliant, laying below him like some sort of angel. “Hübsches Mädchen. I-Ich weiß, du willst mehr.”

You feel his fingers swipe through your slickness again, before he delivers a light slap to your cunt. Just enough to make you jolt, and let out a little squeak of surprise. “This pretty cunt’s b-begging for my cock. Practically crying for me t-to knock you up.”

If you couldn’t breathe before, those words knocked out whatever air was left in your lungs. Because, fuck. Fuck, he was right. He knew he was right, just as much as you did. You wanted that, so badly it made your bones ache. Needing nothing more than for him to absolutely flood you with his cum, for him to really, really make you his - as if you weren’t already.

“Please, Toby-“ You gasp, arching your back more, wiggling your ass a little just for good measure. As if you needed to entice him more, but the action makes his hands absolutely fly to his belt buckle. “I need it-“

“Y-Yeah?” You hear the jingle of his belt as he pulls it free, hear the rustle of clothes as he kicks his jeans off with an enviable speed. “W-Want me to get you full of it? Mark this cunt as mine?” Please. That’s all you can think. The only word bouncing around your brain as you feel the weight of his cock rest against your ass.

You’ve seen it enough times to know what you’re dealing with, but the size still gets you every time. So thick, so long. Absolute brain numbing. Like he was moulded by god, strictly for the purpose of making you drool from pleasure. “Ich werde dich damit vollpumpen.” His cock grinds against your folds, slipping against your slickness and getting himself all lubed up and slippery with your essence. “Du kannst hier auf keinen Fall weggehen, ohne dass mein Kind in dir ist.“

Your German is spotty, but you don’t need to be fluent to know exactly what he’s saying to you. To know the promise he’s making. A promise that you know you can’t fulfill, but it doesn’t fucking matter, because you want it. Need it. Just as bad as he does.

You feel it as the head of his cock notches on your entrance, almost slipping in aided by the amount of slick gushing out of you. You were so ready for it. So ready for anything he could possibly want to give you. “G-Gonna get this cunt so full-“ Again, he grinds against you, leaving you whimpering and whining for him to please just give it to you. To fill you up, just like he said he would. “S-So lucky to have such a- a Hübsche Schlampe like you.”

And then you feel the head of his cock press against you, at the same time that his hands slide up to grip your hips. Pressing you down, forcing your body into an arch so provocative it makes his cock throb before he even enters you. But when he does? Good lord.

Even after being fingered open, the stretch still leaves you brainless. His cock sliding into you so easily because of how fucking wet you are, absolutely drenching every inch that he sunk in. Literally dripping for him, like you always were. So desperate. So willing. Begging for it, like he had said before.

It was no wonder his hormones were so out of whack around you, with a pussy that was literally crying for it.

His hips rock into you gently at first - slow, gentle thrusts, letting you really feel it as his your pussy stretched around his cock. Two hands on your waist, fingers curling into your flesh - gripping you like he’d die if he ever let you go. “S-So good.” Toby can’t help but groan out, his voice strained and gravelly. “Fuck, you j-just get better every time.” And that was nothing but the truth. No matter how many times he sunk into you, he’d never get sick of it. Never get sick of you. You were just too fucking good. Too good, for him to be the person who got to indulge in it, but there was not an ounce of guilt in his veins as he thrust his cock into your velvety heat.

You were his. Only his. His to defile, and take apart. His, to leave his mark on. “Y-You’d look so pretty, you know?” One of his hand slips down beneath you, cupping your stomach as his cock slid into you. “All s-swollen with my kids.” And you just get wetter, gushing all over him as he pumps his dick into you, enveloping himself in that tight heat of yours over and over and over again. Because, christ, you could imagine it. Had imagined it, many times before. “I-I’d give you as many as you want.”

The hand that’s not pressing against your belly, presses down on your back - forcing you into an even meaner arch, face pressed into the cushions as his hips snap against yours. “I-If I had it my way-“ The head of his cock presses against your gspot and your knees buckle, but he keeps you held up effortlessly. “This pussy would be full of my cum 24/7. You’d n-never not be knocked up.”

The dream. The absolute dream. You could imagine it. Giving birth just to be stuffed full all over again. Throwing your birth control pills in the trash, never needing them again.

God, if only life was just a little bit different.

“Please, Toby-“ You cry, gasping against the couch cushions. Rocking your hips back to meet his every thrust, the sound of skin on skin filling your once quiet living room. It was a good thing your cabin was secluded, because you knew that you were being loud. Absolutely unabashed with the way the filthiest moans and cries were slipping off of your tongue - staining the cushions below you with drool and tears.

You couldn’t help it. Not when the feeling of his cock filling you was so delicious, so perfect. Nudging right up against your cervix every time he sunk in to the hilt, a sure fire way to knock you up if life allowed it. “I-I need it-“

“Yeah, I-I know you do.” Toby murmurs back to softly, breathing growing more and more ragged with each thrust he dealt upon you. “You need it b-bad huh? Want me to mark this cunt as mine?”

“Fuck, yes-“ Your eyes roll back, the position he’s got you in letting him sink in so deep. So deep it made your toes curl and your thighs tremble. “Toby, please-“

“I know baby, I-I know.” His pace only quickens, driven by this primal urge that you were encouraging so wholeheartedly. Endorsing his sickest wishes, so perfect for him in every single way. “Du wärst so eine wundervolle Mutter.”

His hand slides up your back until it’s curling into your hair, tugging you upwards with a force that makes you squeal - unable to do anything but take it as his hips smack against yours. He pulls your body flush to his, your back meeting his chest as your head comes to rest on his shoulder. Drooling, gasping, crying for more with each punishing thrust. You almost felt dizzy, completely consumed by pleasure as his cock stretched you open - sinking into you like you were just made to take it. Maybe you were. “Das willst du d-doch, oder?”

Yes, yes it was. More than anything you’ve ever wanted before. And as you feel your pleasure start to crest, thighs shaking as your cunt pulses around him - your brain is filled with nothing but that need. You need him to pump you full. Need him to absolutely soak your cunt with his cum, get you so full that you’ll be dripping with it for hours to come. And if you had it your way, it would seed. You’d be so, completely his, by the time this was all over.

“I want that-“ You gasp, your whole face scrunched up in pleasure as his cock abused your gspot - one hand on your stomach and pressing down, adding a pressure that only took you higher. “Wanna- Wanna have your babies, Toby- Please-“

Christ, if he couldn’t fall even more in love. Those words do him in. Sending a white hot wave of pleasure straight to his dick. Because you just sound so desperate, tears in your eyes as you literally cry from him to knock you up. Was that not every man’s dream? It was like you had dropped straight out of one of his darkest fantasies. An absolute goddess of a woman, all his to dirty up.

“Fuck-“ He hisses through his teeth, jaw clenched as his hips start to stutter. His sweat mixing with yours, his breath so hot against your neck as he panted out heady huffs of breath against you. “G-Give me one more then.” His voice is a borderline growl, so low and raspy as it reverberates right next to your ear. “Cum on my cock, show me h-how much you need it.”

Easy. Especially when you’re so pent up it’s making you near delirious. His cock is hitting all the right spots, and the sounds of his husky groans right next to your ear only amplifies your needs. He sounds near animalistic, obviously struggling to hold back his release just as much as you were.

And so, you let go. Cumming with a cry that rings through the empty air, so raw and visceral in the way it’s absolutely ripped from your lungs. The pleasure is almost blinding, leaving you near limp in his hold as your eyes roll back - body trembling in his arms as wave after wave of ecstasy wracks you.

Your hands fly up to claw at him, scratching at his shoulders as he fucks you through it, nails sinking in deep enough to break skin. That’s what he liked though, being left with evidence of your desire after all is said and done.

He doesn’t let you grasp at him for long though, because as your cunt milks his cock, he’s shoving you back down again. One hand on the back of your neck, pressing your face deep back into the cushions as his hips start to stutter. Holding you down with a firm grip, leaving you to do nothing but take it when he tumbled over the edge after you.

Once, twice, his hips meet yours, and then he’s crumpling. Letting out a deep, low groan as he buries himself in deep, nestled right up against your womb when he spills inside of you. Rocking his hips into you lazily to make sure it’s all stuffed in deep.

He’s shaking too by the time he completely empties himself into you, curling his body over yours as he gasps and grunts against your shoulder blades. Absolutely reeling from the ecstasy you had given him, barely able to bring himself back to earth, even as his cock started to soften inside of you.

When he finally did pull out, he left nothing to waste. Watching with hazy eyes as his cum started to drip out of you, before he’s scooping it up with his fingers and pushing it right back into you. Right where it should be. “So dreckig.” He murmurs softly, his voice strained from the lingering effects of his release. “M-Mein schmutziges Mädchen.”

You let out a soft little whine, face scrunching up at the feeling his fingers prodding against your incredibly sensitive walls. Pumping his cum right back into you, not satisfied until he’s sure your body’s swallowed up every last drop.

When he is satisfied though, he gently flips you over - strong arms flipping you onto your back so that he can finally get a good look at you. At those watery eyes of yours, and all the tears streaking your flushed cheeks. So pretty. So fucking pretty. “Hey, beautiful.” He murmurs to you, his eyes so warm and full of adoration that it makes your stomach flip. His sweat drenched hair falls over his eyes, lips stretched into a satisfied smile. “Missed th-that pretty face of yours.”

“Oh, shush.” You giggle softly, before reaching your hands up to grab at him. He concedes easily, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush to his chest - revelling in the warmth of your body against his, even if the air was so hot around the two of you. “Now I really need a shower, asshole.”

Toby lets out a snort of laughter and rolls his eyes, before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, act mad about it.” He chuckles. “Want me to r-repeat some of the things you just said?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Want me to repeat some of the shit you just said?” You counter, and he must know it’s a good argument, because he’s rolling over so incredibly easily.

“Touché.” He laughs, rubbing his nose against yours. “I’ll start the sh-shower.”

—————————————————————————☆

ok you nasties. i know you’ve been waiting for this

EVERYONE wants toby to knock them up. he’s boutta be a deadbeat father

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere self-aware Bruce Wayne—all the money in the world couldn't buy your love

cw(s): stalking combined with heavy obsessive ideation

Yandere Bruce Wayne, who was monitoring the CCTV cameras one day, became aware of a presence watching him. His paranoia and hypervilgilence sparked as he combed every corner of the cave and the manor, scowering for someone or something hiding in the shadows. Nothing; he could not find a single speck of dust out of place.

He eventually succumbed to slumber, and when he awoke, he felt eyes on him again. The feeling of being watched would come and go. He simply couldn't understand it.

However, he did become addicted to the feeling of being admired by someone. Even if that someone could be a danger to him.

Yandere Bruce Wayne did research when he didn't feel the inquiring gaze on him.

'Self-awareness'

"It is a possibility..." He muttered to himself. "In another timeline I am but a story. My hardships, my family and, my most vulnerable moments are simply a form of entertainment." He rolls his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

It only made him crave more knowledge about you and about this other world that he was not a part of.

Yandere Bruce Wayne learned how to see you. He had to go to some crackpot scientist who lived in a rundown apartment that definitely did not meet any code. Through a set of electric shocks, which made him question his sanity, he was finally able to see you clearly for the first time. It was as if he had been blessed somehow. He was never one to believe in any god, but he did pray and say thank you to whatever gave him self-awareness. 

Yandere Bruce Wayne hacked into your phone through a magic line Constantine set up. It was definitely worth having to help him set up a demon trap. A trap that he had to be the bait for. Still, he gains access to all the information about you that one could need. He spends countless hours combing over all your history, including your internet history.

You—like him? What is a... yandere? Oh.

He's watching you read this right now and smiling like a madman. A smile that could rival even the most unhinged of Joker's.

Yandere Bruce Wayne knows that he can't be too obvious. He could easily scare you off, and even if he could simply follow you through other forms of media, it still wouldn't be the same. Your attention is like a drug that some villian force fed him. It's a gaze that brings him comfort. He needs to keep it only on himself.

Yandere Bruce Wayne gets impatient. He only has your gaze. He isn't able to touch you. He isn't able to smell you. He isn't able to see you in all your glory. It causes him to grow agitated. He's more prone to snapping. He isolates himself even more now. Alfred does his best to get through Bruce's shell, but it seems much stronger now. He wants one thing: you.

He has always done his duty.

He has always saved the citizens of Gotham.

Doesn't he deserve something?

Doesn't he deserve just this one thing?

Yandere Bruce Wayne knows it can't be, but it doesn't stop him from dreaming. He fantasizes about what it would be like to be in your world, or you in his. He can't do it anymore. He needs you. How?

He looks at you, but he doesn't know if you notice it.

Damn dimensional time shit.

He'll get out of here eventually, and the first time he feels you will be the last time you leave his side.

[nerdygirlramblings]

someone's in a rut 🤭 and we meet Ren's family (part 1)

a/n: part of this chapter inspired by Broken Beyond Bearing by @lostintransist and by comments from @pyxrin

cw: poorly executed accents, omegaverse biology, heat/rut cycles

previous

Days begin to blur together. A run followed by infiltration and exfil trainings on the moon (what the others called the rubble-strewn field). Or weight training and asset retrieval in the brick, the windowless building in the hangar, before sparring. Grift work, your own term for information retrieval, before the shooting range. Never the same thing two days in a row. On rare occasions, either Soap or Gaz had you along while training recruits. It was the closest thing to working with your old squad.

And each time, just as you find your footing with the advanced field training, Price introduces new elements: time restraints, 'enemy' combatants. You have never felt as lost before, so unsure of your place. The only thing that keeps it from being completely disheartening isn't Gaz's reassurances or Price's praise or Soap's compliments. It's Adam. It's stopping in to requisition a windcheater in your size and hearing how you made it out of the brick faster than Ghost or how Soap struggled for a long time with grift work. It's confirmation from an outside, and thus unbiased, source that your progress is fine. That they won't regret asking for you.

Until Price calls you into his office. All you can think about is how you didn't know about the standardized step size and the trouble it caused on the moon. Or how you went three rounds without finding the needed intel before Price called time. That Soap teasingly pointed out, "Yer thinkin' tae hard," like saying it will make you get out of your own head even though it's all you know how to do. Crowded pubs and loud, dark clubs flash in your memory, each one a failed attempt to manipulate a mark.

You're sure he's going to put you back into the rank and file. Who needs a woman, and an omega at that, who can't master the basic things the task force needs to do. You're terrified and heartbroken before you even get into his office.

The desk seems more imposing than ever, and Price's face, for the first time, is unreadable. Even his scent is locked down, no dying ember smell wafting around. He's smiling, but you've been taking pseudo acting classes from him for more than a fortnight. The smile could easily hide his intentions.

He clears his throat, and you pull your gaze from where you'd been staring at your hands. For the first time since you met the man, Price seems nervous. He reaches up, scratching his beard and running his hand over his scent gland. "Er, we 'ave some leave coming, me an' the others, and I wan'ed ta see if ya'd like to stay here or go home?"

A long moment passes before you respond. "I'm not sure I understand, sir. You take leave tagether, but I'd go home?" The furrow between your brows deepens. Before he can clarify, you ask what's been eating at you. "Is this yer way 'a transferrin' me off the team?" Even you can hear the plea in your voice. Please don't let me go.

"Oh, Ren, no! No. Tha's not what this is," he rushes to say. The blush that creeps up his neck is a surprise. Is he embarrassed?

"'S just, well, we try not to use suppressants unless we're on a mission. Fucks too much wi' the body's natural rhythm, yeah? Throws off anyone on 'em too long." You nod in understanding. If you didn't have such a bad reaction to them - foggy thoughts and slow movements - you'd prefer to be on suppressants all the time. Instead, when your heat hits, you take yourself to medical for a heat-induced isolation. They're horrendous on the system, but it's a short-term problem while you're in the service, though your omega purrs that a pack would remedy that problem.

"So, er, we made the decision years ago to take our leave together when, er, one of the alphas has a rut." He's fully blushing now, and you get it. He's just told you either he or Ghost - he didn't specify, and betas like Gaz and Soap don't have ruts- is going to lose themselves to their base instincts soon.

You're quiet through all these revelations, and he plows ahead, only the faintest hint of ozone in the air to alert you to his distress. "Simon's rut is in another week or so, so we'll take leave from this Wednesday ta the following Friday ta give everyone a cushion on either end for prep and recovery." The room feels warmer, and you know it's because your own internal temperature is spiking, your omega excited about the idea of Simon's knot.

"So, er, ye'll all be gone, sir?" you clarify, forcing your omega to think of other things.

He nods, a hint of smoke in the air. You can smell his distress dissipating, replaced slowly by ease and contentment. "Yes. We 'ave a place on the edge 'a the Lakes. We'll head there and be back after the rut. Adam said yer dad's due with a litter soon?"

The idea that Adam shared that bit of your family with Price puts you on edge until he adds, "Adam suggested ya take leave when we do but go an' see yer family." He rushes to add, "If ya want."

Now it's your turn to be embarrassed. Once again, it's Adam to the rescue. It warms you down to your center that Adam made such a thoughtful recommendation to Price and that Price took it. If you hadn't heard it yourself, you'd think he was takin' the piss.

"Yes, sir," you stammer, lost at what else you could say to this plan. "That would be lovely. I know my family pack will be happy ta have me home."

next

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[yandere-daze]

I promised I would do it and now that I've finished reading Death Note, here are some of my thought on Yandere Light ^^

While writing this, it moreso turned into a scenario told in bulletpoints rather than headcanons. I hope you have fun reading! I'm more than happy to talk about it or answer any questions you might have after reading!

gn reader

2.6k words

cw yandere, manipulation, isolation, stalking but not exactly by Light himself?, kidnapping (mentioned)

Yandere! Light Yagami Headcanons / Scenario

I believe Light would be a very fascinating case of a yandere as he would both be very intense and controlling while still keeping that side of himself very well hidden from you and the general public. You wouldn't notice anything off about him until it is already too late (if you would ever notice it at all)

When Light first fell in love with you it came as a complete surprise to him. Never in his life has he ever loved anyone before so these strange warm feelings he got whenever he looked at you caught him off-guard and made him feel a bit uneasy.

He was obviously intelligent enough to quickly figure out just what exactly these feelings meant and at first, he wasn't very pleased with these new circumstances. To him, romance was simply a distraction from his greater goals for the world, an unnecessary nuisance, and something that was quite frankly beneath him.

He convinced himself that he had no time or real desire for a relationship so for the next few days and even weeks, he tried his best to suppress these pesky feelings he has developed for you. He tried to keep his distance from you and if you were somehow forced to interact he would do the bare minimum of keeping up appearances. Polite smiles and meaningless small talk were all you were getting from him. Everything was perfectly normal.

At first, Light had thought that staying away from you like this was a smart idea. Feelings were supposed to fade away into nothingness if you never interacted with your object of affection and he was counting on that. If he only let go of this silly delusion of a loving relationship with you, everything would go back to normal soon enough.

But quickly Light found that his approach was starting to backfire pretty spectacularly. The more he forced himself to stay away from you, the more he found himself lying awake at night, his thoughts drifting off to images of you smiling at him or laying down right beside him as he wrapped his arms around you. Instead of regaining focus, he was getting even more easily distracted than before, his mind constantly wandering.

Staying away, watching you talk to and laugh with other people was slowly starting to drive him insane and so he decided that he would need to change tactics. If his love for you wasn't dwindling then he must do everything in his power to grow closer to you and finally satisfy his longing for you.

After his initial denial phase, Light would slowly worm his way into your daily life without you even noticing. Every time you saw each other somewhere, he would greet you with a charming smile and start a short conversation with you, hoping to build some rapport between the two of you. He would offer to carry your bags for you, insisting it wasn't a big deal, or invite you for a tutoring session if you were both still students. Light was at the top of his class, the brightest boy in the entire school. What reason could you possibly have to refuse?

At first, you would meet at a public place like a library or a cafe to meet up. Spending one-on-one time with you like this, even if you were only studying was strangely exhilarating for Light. Sitting across from you and watching your face scrunch up in confusion whenever you got stuck on a subject or the way your expression would brighten up with understanding after he explained a particularly difficult problem to you... These were moments he would find himself looking forward to every single time.

Slowly over time, the frequency of these study sessions would increase under the guise of needing to properly prepare for upcoming tests or exams. The location, too, would change once Light suggests studying at his home where you wouldn't be disturbed by anyone else.

Sometimes he would even pick you up at home and smirk internally whenever he heard your parents comment about what a nice, handsome young man he was. He didn't miss the way they would nudge you toward him while shooting you a knowing look and waving you off.

Of course, to grow even closer to you, he would integrate himself into your friend group. Though he didn't care for any of your friends in the slightest, it was very easy for him to connect with them due to his popularity and good looks. He was good at pretending to care for these fools if it meant he could spend even more time with you.

Naturally, he would also use his connections with your friends to learn more things about you that he could then purposefully include in a conversation during your study sessions. Light made sure to study up on any of your interests whether it was a certain band, movie, book, or anything else, just to be able to impress you with his knowledge on the matter. It was truly remarkable how many things you had in common, wasn't it?

Slowly but surely, Light became a constant presence in your life when you had been mere acquaintances a few months ago. Light picks you up in the morning, he's a permanent member of your friend group, he sits beside you in class, he invites you over to his house three times a week now to study ( though your study sessions have evolved into regular hangouts now instead of really getting any coursework done) and he's a constant conversation topic at home. ("And you two really aren't dating? What a shame, Light is such a sweet boy. I'm sure he would treat you right.")

In such a short amount of time, Light has clawed his way into your life and yet he's still not satisfied. He won't be content until he finally has you all for himself, until you're finally in his arms. And once he has you, he won't ever let go.

After growing closer to you as a friend, Light would quickly work on isolating you and becoming the sole person you rely on. These so-called friends of yours are all imbeciles, people unworthy of being in your presence.

At this point, I might as well mention that I think Yandere Light would rever and idolize you to a point but he would still want to be the one in control ultimately. You are pure of heart, someone who should be protected, and are so far above the ignorant masses. They don't deserve you. Only a god like him is worthy of owning you and he really wishes you would realize this soon. He knows what is best for you.

I actually think he wouldn't use the Death Note to isolate you and get rid of any obstacles in his path to claiming you as his, at least not yet. Early on in the story of Death Note, while the world is still largely against Kira and he is actively being investigated by the police and L, Light can't risk getting his hands dirty for something trivial like this, no matter how much he would love an efficient way to rid himself of these friends of yours, let alone the people he deems an active threat to your future relationship.

No matter how much he might yearn for you, he can't risk his greater mission of ridding the world of all criminals.

So, Light will take the subtle manipulation route. Manipulation is something he is very good at and he will not hesitate to guide your thoughts and feelings in a direction that benefits him.

He acts as a concerned friend when he tells you about the things he heard about fellow classmates. Did you know that one of your friends used to be a member of a gang? He heard that they were slipping into old habits and getting in trouble again and so he couldn't help but feel worried about you. He doesn't like you associating with someone so dangerous. He's just looking out for you, okay?

He's even worse when it comes to people he deems a romantic rival. He never runs out of negative things to say about people you show an interest in. It angers him greatly whenever he has to listen to you swoon over someone else but he knows you're just too blind to see that he's the one for you at the moment.

But no matter, Light will make sure you don't do anything stupid like going on a date with someone else. Oh, he heard that one was a total player, they would only break your heart. Your date didn't show up at all? Oh, he's so sorry to hear that. Look why don't you make the most of this evening and spend it together instead then? They were a fool to stand you up and he's going to make sure you'll forget all about them soon enough.

Never mind the fact that he had sent your date an anonymous letter threatening them to not show up or the dark secret he had found out about them would soon be exposed to everyone.

You're none the wiser about Light's secret manipulations, simply grateful for what a nice and supportive friend you have.

But being friends with you isn't enough for Light anymore. He needs to be more than that. He's already managed to isolate you from all your other friends but you just aren't falling for him fast enough. So he hatches a plan to force you to seek him out, to make you come running into his arms.

Having waited for such a long time, Light is nearing his wit's end at the fact that you aren't his yet. So just this once, he is willing to use the Death Note to get you to fully rely on him.

Quickly, he finds the name of a petty criminal who has already been released from prison and writes an entry in his notebook.

Suddenly, you start receiving strange letters at home. Twisted declarations of love sent by an unknown sender. They claimed to have been watching you for a while, waiting for you to truly notice them and fall for them as well. They describe your daily routine in great detail, indicating that they must have been following you. They promise that you won't have to wait long, that you will soon finally be together without any obstacles in the way.

The contents of the letter make a chill go down your spine and soon enough, you don't feel safe in your own home anymore. You feel watched, as if someone was just around the corner, staring at you. It was highly unnerving and soon, you would tell your best (and at this point only) friend Light about the creepy letters you've been receiving and that you had the sinking feeling that you were being watched.

Light of course showed great concern and offered to stay at your side for the entire day. He would make sure no creep would get to you as long as he was around. And sure enough, with Light around you felt safer, as if nothing could harm you anymore. You could spend the rest of your day at ease, knowing that your friend would protect you if anything were to happen.

But as soon as Light would bid you farewell after escorting you back to your home, you would feel an unsettling chill going down your spine once more as the feeling of being watched returned. You were scared again, fearing that your stalker might climb through your window and kidnap you at any moment. You barely got any sleep in the night, practically jumping out of your skin anytime you heard a loud noise outside.

Morning couldn't come soon enough, when you would see Light again and this nightmare would stop, at least until you would once more return home.

Soon enough, your mind would start associating Light's presence with the feeling of being safe and his absence with intense fear and discomfort. Parting from him would grow more difficult every single day and he was counting on that.

The same routine would continue for a few days until one day, you couldn't take it anymore. As Light moves to say goodbye to you once more in front of your house you yell in protest and hold on to his arm, making him stop in his tracks.

You explain to him that you just don't feel safe anymore at home and that his presence is the only thing that can put you at ease. You tell him that only he makes you feel safe anymore and by the end of it, you're practically pleading with him to not go, to not leave you alone. You can't handle another night being alone, without him. You needed him by his side.

It was everything Light could have hoped for and the knowledge that this was his doing fills him with smug satisfaction that he masks with a genuine smile. He's quick to agree to your request and offers you to spend the night at his home instead. You could stay in his room even and maybe you would feel more at ease, knowing that he is there with you.

Of course, you agree and true enough, sleeping in his room was the most peaceful night you had in a while. With him next to you, you could feel like you could finally relax.

"I'm here for you. Don't worry, nothing will happen to you as long as I'm here."

From then on, your life became even more impossibly intertwined with Light's. Instead of just spending the entire day with him, you would now wake up next to him, eat breakfast in his home, walk to and from school alongside him, and fall asleep curled up next to him. And you felt happy like this.

The next time your parents would ask you about your relationship with Light, you would answer that he made you feel like no one else ever has and they would congratulate you, all while saying that they always knew you two would start dating one day.

And Light? He couldn't be happier that his plan worked out. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder but forced proximity under the stress of possible death works just as fine in his opinion.

A few days later, a petty criminal would be found dead outside your old home, in their hand another twisted love letter addressed to you, clear evidence of their crime.

" My love, the wait is finally over. Finally, I get to hold you in my arms as I have always longed to. Finally, you're all mine, forever and always."

It was quickly deduced that this person must have been the one stalking you for the past few days. You were relieved that it was finally all over, that you no longer had to fear for your life. But at the same time, you were glad that it had happened for otherwise, you might have never come to realize just how much you loved Light, the person who had been your best friend for the longest time and always stood by your side when things got difficult. When others would leave you, you knew that Light would always stay.

Being led away from the crime scene by your boyfriend, walking hand-in-hand, you can't help but wonder if maybe someone else had been watching over you all this time as well. You take a last glance at the motionless body lying in front of your door, then turn back around to whisper a silent thank you towards the heavens.

Your stalker's cause of death? Why, a heart attack of course.