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MANIC DREAM PSYCHO CHAPTER 1: Psycho Killer

Pairing: Yoshikage Kira x Reader x Patrick Bateman

Summary: You work as an intern for Pierce&Pierce. By day you're obsessed with your mentor, a pretty blonde with a hand-fetish. By night you have to deal with a pretentious good-looking rich asshole with sadistic tendencies. You’ve got it all down to a routine—two separate lives, one persona for each. But things start to unravel when they both begin to see through your poorly constructed facades. Well, fuck. Good luck I guess.

Tags (More like warnings): Hand-Fetish things and skin peeling.

Words: 5k+

A/N: Hello there, welcome to a series... I guess? A horror romantic comedy about toxic romance and obsession. Setting up this post on tumblr while half-asleep LMAO.

Reader will be referred to he/him, she/her, they/them- it's like a box of chocolate of genderfluidity depending on where they are and who is interacting with them.

Danger.

That's what you seemed to attract despite your will, despite your better judgement sometimes.

Even when you felt safe, the recess of your mind decided that it would attack you for no better reason but to have stimulation then it began.

Overstimulated.

Understimulated.

It makes you wedge in between a place and time that makes you feel like you're going insane. The type of feeling where, maybe it's time to go to a psychiatrist again. Maybe two? Who knows.

However, today, you were sat at your desk.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Click. Clack.

Typing in the data that was given to you by your mentor, creating a database from scratch. Stocking inventory. Accounting. Numbers. Oh god the fucking numbers.

You tugged at the black fabric that sat on your face, you tend to hide it so you would feel comfortable sitting here at an office.

It was strange, but it was a suggestion made by one of the many therapists you saw. Not that any of the sessions lasts long enough to ease your mind; switching therapists to therapists before you inevitably stopped going overall.

The mask did help though. Maybe the pills that you were prescribed helped too. Sort of. You eventually forgot to continue taking them again.

Perhaps you were the problem, but that notion never seemed to dwell in your mind long enough before shifting to another task at hand.

“Hey.” You snapped your head up, an audible crack popping from a joint in your neck.

You swivel the chair around to see your co-worker looking at you with detached interest with a bunch of quarterly review reports you had printed out previously the day before in his hands. On closer inspection, there were a lot of red marks on it— you wanted to crawl into a hole.

However that embarrassed feeling faded once you noticed who exactly the coworker was.

“Hey. The numbers on this report are wrong… and quite a bit of them.”

“Oh. Sorry Mr. Kira…”

“It's fine. Just fix them please.”

You reached out to grab the reports, immediately from the corner of your eyes you noticed how intensely he was staring at your hands. When it came to this, you felt insecure about them, the free edge peeled too short until there was nothing but the nail bed. Cuticle a little overgrown. Hang nail indented cavities that you couldn't resist peeling back because you liked the burning sensation of it and also that it irritated you whenever it rubbed against something and you feel the—

“... the Peterson broker account needs to be… are you listening? I am not going to explain this twice.”

Your eyes completely were staring at him now, focusing.

Although it seems you could have been focusing on the wrong things again as you now had the sudden realization of how close this man was standing next to you.

Neatly combed back blonde hair.

Long light lashes.

Eyes the color of a periwinkle type blue that you didn't know was possible.

You bet that if you gouged it out and held it towards the sun, it could turn a deeper blue or a lighter purple depending on how you angled it, just like a certain nail polish you recalled seeing in your childhood.

They were so pretty. He was pretty. Your hands that were clutching the reports were now almost slightly wrinkling them from how tight your fingers curled around them.

Yoshikage Kira. 33 years old. He recently moved from a small town in Japan named Morioh to Manhattan. He was a rather mild-mannered man, kept to himself but would also mingle with others if the event calls for it.

He was also who Pierce & Pierce decided to use as a test dummy for a new mentoring system they were trying to put in place.

Kira was your mentor and you felt like you struck gold because he was actually pretty good at it. And you didn't even mind when he shoved all the hard tasks on you while he did all the easy ones since he still helped you when you had any questions.

Your brain decided that you liked him.

An awful lot. Just because he seemed mundane. Was nice to you. NEVER STARED AT YOU LIKE MEAT. And of course pretty.

You observed him. It was one of the only things that was grounding you as of late. You tracked down whether his hair grew a little longer. His habits. His schedule. His address.

His messy kills.

“Sorry. Can you please repeat that again?”

A sigh. You could tell that he was getting frustrated with you. Still however, he kept his politeness, never truly getting angry. You smiled behind the mask.

See, he's still being polite even if he was starting to get a little annoyed.

Then you listened as he explained what mistakes you made again, this time though, you were taking notes. As much as you liked the crinkle between his brows, it's best not to push his buttons too far especially at work.

“Okay. Got it! I understand now, thank you Mr. Kira.” You chirped at him.

“Also clean up your desk… It's unsightly.” You watch as he plopped your pens back into a plastic cup holder.

Guess that was the thing that bothered him the most on your desk.

He gives you a slight nod before taking his leave.

The interaction was short and fleeting, nothing interesting but still it calmed you down for now.

As you turned back to fix your errors, your mind drifted back to your last train of thought.

The killings.

You were just following him from a great enough distance after work like always— you didn't really remember when you started doing that; your body just moved by itself, he didn't seem to notice you.

Large gatherings he attended, or sometimes out on the streets—women he picked out always had nice hands. He'd lure them into dark secluded alleyways, covering their mouths before they could scream as he stabbed into them violently.

Plunging the knife deep into their neck, before stabbing randomly, quick, frantic. Still. Somehow he manages to not be covered in blood as if he was avoiding arteries where blood will spray out when hit.

You always hid in the shadows (behind some kind of dump or sometimes a far away building with binoculars), watching, lurking.

You knew it was morally wrong to kill (something you swore you wouldn't do yourself) but you didn't mind, after all, you didn't know who these women were. Why would it affect you? Plus the way his eyes light up, the way he smiled when it looked like he perfected a kill— it was beautiful. Even when he messily dismembers the hand from the body while stuffing the rest in a body bag that he made sure to prepare ahead of time. It's one of the rare occasions where his sleeves were folded up neatly revealing the taut muscles of his forearms flexing, you wish you could get close enough to see his veins— you wondered what color they were. His sweat beading down his forehead being adorably framed by messy strands of blonde as those sweet lips parted, panting ragged by the exertion of murdering someone.

He really needed to work out more often instead doing the bare minimum to be healthy or perhaps it was his age?

Attractive people really get away with anything. Huh?

Your mind recalls even deeper, his face rubbing up against the hand, adoring it, talking to it as if he had just met the prettiest person alive. He would even give it a name.

That just made him even more adorable.

You craved that attention towards you.

Pathetic. Odd. Adorable.

He doesn't kill often anyways. He only does it when he can't control himself anymore. You noticed that it occurs after the hand starts to decay where he can no longer hide the stench of it or when his own fingernails grow at quite a rapid pace.

Ironic how he wanted to live peacefully when one misstep could make him lose everything due to his uncontrollable impulses. His confidence in never getting caught was high but sometimes wavering as he interacts with colleagues. Only you noticed when he fidgets uncomfortably in his valentino suit, spritzing cologne onto a particular area.

You supposed you loved that about him anyways.

The clock at your desk blared 5:30PM.

Shit.

Before you could even finish anything, it was already time to clock out. However, due to your very poor choice in time management, you will have to clock out late to finish the work Kira gave. Which meant less time to follow him after work before he retired for his 11PM bedtime.

Irritation picked at you. Moreso at yourself for doing this again.

There was no other choice but to grab your Sony WM-DD30 walkman which was best in the market in your opinion to listen to music with. It was the only way to keep you from your distracting thoughts.

Psycho Killer from Talking Heads’ album Talking Heads: 77 blared through the headphones as you hummed along, clacking in the data.

It was their debut studio album and this song was particularly catchy. When taken at the face lyrics, one would suspect that the song was written about The Son of Sam since it was released right after his arrest but you believed that it wasn't necessarily about a crazed murderer, no, you instead thought it was just someone who was trapped in their mind and felt alienated by society as they dealt with their violent urges. It was about someone not really knowing who they really are.

Click. Clack.

At this rate you should get done in an hour or two.

The rhythm of your tapping on the keyboard, retyping the report on the IBM computer that sat on your chaos mess of a desk followed along to the beat of the chorus.

Then interruption.

“Do you need any help with that?”

Headphones were immediately pulled down. Why was he still here? He should be outside the office right now, doing any errands he needed to do before arriving home.

Kira looked down at you with a face that wasn't exactly tired, nor thrill— it was just what one might call a neutral expression. You didn't answer, not at first. Silence grew between the both of you and his expression shifted to a miffed one at the lack of your response.

Then you finally replied.

“If you don't mind.”

Now, it's not the first time your stomach twisted like someone took your small intestine and decided to put it in one of those cotton candy machines that rapidly spun sugar around and around and around. Nausea settled in as you felt yourself get too excited.

Was he here just for you? Was he worried about you? Your heart sped through the absolute canal of your throat as you swallowed heavily, trying not to freak out as he pulled up a chair to sit beside you. The sudden adrenaline in your veins made you bite down on your lip hard, making you taste iron. Pain helped you settle.

A tingle went down your arms.

“I- uhm sorry.” You meekly mumbled into your mask.

He didn't question when you apologized, rather, he ignored it.

“I'll finalize the calculations on these sheets, please just enter the data in the database… By the way…”

Kira's eyes lingered on your hands again and you resist the urge to twitch. “I have some anti-scarring cream if you want some, I notice that you have a lot of… cuts on them.”

Without skipping a beat, you replied:

“Oh yeah, I’ve recently adopted a cat. He gets fussy sometimes…”

“I see… Your hands are rather dainty.”

“What?”

You blinked, but almost softly laughed at the weird interjection, however you held it in.

“For a man I mean— actually sorry I don't know why I brought it up.”

“It's okay. I get that often.”

Then there was silence.

“You don't often stay back this late.” You tried your best to make conversation, fingers now resuming their typing.

“Mm. Yeah.”

“...Thank you for helping me.”

He just hummed in response.

A part of you wanted to whisper I like you . But you didn't.

Instead, you thought back to your hands that he mentioned were dainty . You didn't think they were dainty due to the small callouses forming on the side of your fingers, unless he was referring to their size. Eventually your hands stopped moving, you looked at them more, covered in old nicks and marks as well as newer forming scabs from a night prior.

They itch. You wanted to pick at them, to scrape them off like annoyances. But you didn't because Kira was still there next to you.

And you wanted to pretend you took good care of your hands next to him. From the corner of your eyes, you saw a small tube of cream of silicon scar gel, when did he put it there? Were you supposed to put it on now? You glanced at him.

Big mistake.

Because now you just wanted to stare at him forever.

“Is there something on my face?”

You quickly turned your head away.

“I had a quick question about the stock here…” You lied. You also knew he knew you were lying.

A long exhale and your heart tugged at you hearing it, “When you first started working, you were efficient… Do you want to talk about it?”

Deep down you knew he wanted to avoid having more work placed onto himself in the long run, which is probably why he was staying late despite it going against his schedule. Then again, he could have planned this yesterday to prepare for the deviation today.

“I guess I've just been unable to sleep as of late...”

“I recommend doing stretches before bed and sleeping around the same time.”

“And a glass of warm milk. It always helps me get to bed.” He added.

“I already knew that.”

You wanted to say but what came out of your mouth was, Thank you. I'll try that .

And that was the end of that.

Or at least it should be.

“How would you know that?”

You stood up abruptly from your chair.

“What I said was I needed to go take a piss.” And then you practically almost sprinted to the bathroom.

Why the fuck and when the fuck were you holding the hand cream?

It was only noticed that it was held tight within your mildly cold sweat hand when you entered the bathroom stall trying to calm yourself down.

You pulled down your mask and you rubbed the tube against your face, Kira held this before you did. His hands have touched it personally. It was new. Did he buy this for you?

Stop thinking. Stop thinking. STOP FUCKING THINKING.

You popped open the cap and started applying it to your hands, rubbing the cream hard enough against your hands to the point the scabs you had were bleeding again making whatever leftover residue that wasn't completely rubbed in to look pinkish on your hands.

“Hahaha. Fuck.”

Why were you panicking so much? This was the first time in a while since Kira came up so close to you, why were you fucking it up?

Tears dripped from your eyes involuntarily. You scrubbed at them with the back of your hands forgetting you had the cream on them. It only made you tear up more.

I want to rip out my eyes.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

He didn't stop you even if he was tempted to.

Kira stared at the place you left empty, contemplating. He felt his palms begin to sweat nervously— if he had heard you right the first time then does that mean he somehow mentioned his night routine before and he had somehow forgotten?

That didn't sound right. He would have remembered.

Even though you had been working here for a few months, you both were not close enough for him to mention anything about his personal life. Most of your conversations were strictly professional and about work.

Plus your voice has sounded so sure as if you definitely knew what he did instead of just taking his words for it.

He tapped his fingers impatiently against the table. The recalculation was long done by now and you haven't came back. It wasn't like you to take so long. Actually, he didn't know why he cared so much in the first place. He should have just left on time like he always did.

But Kira knew why he stayed behind to help much to his annoyance, it was because of your work slowing down making him have much more work than needed and also the curiosity of your hands had progressively almost made it difficult for him to get a peaceful rest at night.

Your hands.

They were small. He could bury them perfectly with just one of his own hands. He had noted that fact down when he got to shake it once at the introduction meeting for the mentorship program.

“This is the new kid you'll be guiding. Please treat him well, he's also not from around this city.”

Kira saw that only the top of your head grazed his shoulder so he had to tilt his head down a bit to get a clear look at you. He saw the black mask you wore covered half your face but otherwise you wore what every man wore at the office. Suit and tie. Suspenders and slacks.

Him. The way your hands looked. He had to question if his tastes were changing or did some men just take better care of their appearances here because he was slowly enraptured by the way your hands looked.

The first time when he laid eyes on them, they were almost like a clean canvas. Pristine. As if you had just got done with a freshly nice manicure, he even noted how there was a protective coat on your nails. He would have almost been surprised by how extremely well maintained they were for a man if he didn't recall someone else at the office who also took great care of his hands.

“My sister owns a nail salon and she insisted that I get them nice before my first day at work. I'm so glad she only put on a top coat instead of color.”

That was the answer you gave him when he just had to know. It surprised himself that he couldn't stop himself from asking you where you got it done but he was also relieved that you answered without hesitation as if it was something normal.

The only thing that turned him off as he observed further was the appearance of oddly discolored healing patterns on them.

Over the months, your hands eventually became unkept like your work ethic— littered in new cuts and scars, fingers occasionally inked and stained for some unknown reason he didn't pry in.

He had lost interest in them for its original purpose to put it in his mouth. Caress it. Take it on nice little dates. However, he was beginning to latch on to the idea if he was able to nurture it to its full potential just like how it was in the beginning.

He even dreamt about it.

Which was why he had planned to approach you more today.

But something was terribly off by the way you stared at him. Kira was fairly confident in his own attractiveness and it had definitely helped when he wanted a hand or two with things. He was used to a few passing stares here and there (although some days he would obsessively overcheck himself in the bathroom to make sure nothing was standing out) yet the way you stare at him was akin to a cat eyeing its prey.

As if you knew something.

The more he thought about it. The more it made him nervous. He gnawed at his thumb, effectively clipping it with his teeth, his teeth sharply hitting the hyponychium, puncturing the skin.

“Thank you for… cleaning up my desk for me?” You were finally back and Kira didn't realize that while drowning in his thoughts, he used one hand to organize your desk to his liking.

It irked you a little that he did that but your mind pushed down the slight annoyances due to your other feelings. The world was a wonderful shade of pink when you get to look at him.

“You're welcome. You sure were taking your time in there…”

“Sorry. I guess I lost track of time.” Your eyes were red. You knew that from the excessive rubbing you did on them to clear up your tears. “An eyelash fell onto my eyes and it took forever trying to get it o—.”

His thumb was bleeding.

“Are you okay Mr. Kira?” You approached him closer, more concerned about his finger to even realize how close you were getting to him.

His breath hitched when your hand was on his wrist, pulling his hand closer to your face to inspect what he had ruined nervously. He yanked his hand away abruptly only to feel regret when he realized he should have enjoyed the warmth of it longer. It was something he was going to replay in his head at some point.

He shouldn't be feeling this way.

“I'm fine.” His voice was strained, cracking a little.

You didn't know why but the nervous transition from his usually stoic nature towards you triggered something that made you want to tease him.

Kira did get nervous with peers or people above him (the whole fitting in thing)— but never with you. You were beneath him in the workplace hierarchy and you often left him alone in peace.

“Hmmm. You sure?” You could tell that you probably had a large shit eating grin underneath your mask. The corners of your mouth twitching. Your heart was still palpitating like crazy but it was for a different reason now. You dug your hands in your pocket, digging around before pulling out a bandaid and the anti-scarring gel you used earlier.

On any other given day, perhaps you would have just simply handed it to him and been done. Your fingers were trembling a little as you held out your free hand towards him as if asking a cat for its paw.

Kira was now just rubbing his wrist awkwardly, glowering down at you and at the offered hand.

He noticed a mocking mischievous glint in your eyes. If you both weren't in the office right now with some people still there, he might have just tried to choke you right there and then. You only stared back up at him, silently and expectantly before lighting up as he hesitantly placed his injured hand on yours.

Good boy.

You could literally feel how sweaty his hands were getting as you popped off the cap of the gel, gliding the pad of your own thumb to where his own was punctured with translucent silicone.

The way his trousers tightened just from this was all your fault. How could just finger rubbing be obscene? It actually had to do with the light scratches you were doing on the back of his hand. Kira had to control his breathing which mostly meant just holding it in until you finally reluctantly let go, painfully slow.

After wrapping the plaster on his finger, it was then when you noticed the odd wrinkles in his slacks. You pretend to ignore it despite a few minutes of a lingering gaze; although you did feel a twinge of smugness for causing his current state.

Meanwhile Kira was doing his best to not show that anything was off, even if he had moved his legs around a bit to hide it.

“There! All good.” You pulled back, giving an appropriate distance between the two of you. It took a few moments of trying to straighten himself but he finally said:

“Thanks..”

“No problem! Thanks for always helping me with work things.”

“... I can apply it myself next time.”

“I know but it helps having someone wrap a bandaid around your thumb, sometimes that part gets tricky.”

Internally, there was a wave of relief that washed over you due to the fact that the both of you were having a conversation that was at last, flowing somewhat. You sat back down, your head in your hand propped up by your elbow as you looked at him again.

Both of you were once again in a silent staring competition, except you were the one staring at his face while he was the one who shifted to look back down at your hands again.

Oh, well. That was sort of fun while it lasted.

“I'll finish up the report, you should probably get home now. I'll feel bad keeping you here any longer.” You tell him, repositioning yourself in a more comfortable position to type.

“... I can wait until you're done. We can perhaps get dinner?”

Were you dreaming or did Kira just ask you out after work? You chewed on your bottom lip, wanting so badly to say yes but unfortunately by the time you would be done with this report, it'll be too late to go get dinner and then attend your other appointment afterwards.

And that fucker was annoying whenever you ran late.

“I would love to, but actually I have something to do later… OH but, maybe another time?” You hope that he would offer it again.

“That's understandable. It was a sudden invite after all… Yes, perhaps next time.” Kira's tone was filled with not exactly disappointment but more of doubt because if you really had somewhere to be, you should be rushing instead of taking your sweet time staring talking to him.

“Don't clock out too late.” He said politely.

“Yes, thank you, have a good night Mr. Kira.” You replied back in the same polite manner.

He gave you and your hands one last glance before walking away to gather his things and leave.

�� Once he was away, you slapped your face into your hand; and then proceeded to run it over your hair, tousling it in a mess. Internally screaming as you silently kicked your legs underneath the office desk.

It all caught up to you, you touched his hand. HIS HAND. AND HE INVITED YOU OUT.

It was such a shame you had to reject it. It almost brought tears to your eyes, but you tried not to let it get to you, shaking your leg restlessly against the floor.

The appointment. It was a secondary job you've recently taken on for some nights (timed perfectly after Kira has gone to bed) although it has become very frequent as of late— as if the requester was becoming addicted to seeing you. Technically, you could have canceled but a small part of you was falling into routine with this activity.

Even if the person of your obsession had asked you out, your mind wouldn't let you fully stray from something you already planned for.

At least he said maybe next time.

Your work was done by the time the clock read 8PM in bright neon red numbers.

—

“Well. I guess I'm not too late…” You mumbled to yourself, standing in front of your appointment's door. You had rushed home after work to change out of your day clothes because you were not letting the possible chance for this man to recognize you at work.

One of the Vice Presidents for Pierce&Pierce.

Patrick Bateman.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock .

Five knocks. Between two and five you decided that was the ‘normal’ amount of knocks that a person should make at the door.

The door swung open revealing a young man with an expensive taste for clothing leaning against the door frame casually as if he has been waiting there the entire time for you. However on closer inspection, you noticed a little bit of heavy breathing, some sweat beads, and his usual combed back was slightly framing his forehead. You didn't say anything about it.

“You're late.”

“Well, hello to you too Mr. Peanut Butter.”

“I told you not to call me that, you stupid bitch.” He mumbled the last three words but you caught it so clearly.

“Well until you stop calling me a stupid bitch, I'm gonna keep calling you that.”

You stayed still in your position from the door, a polite smile on your face but your words were anything but. You watched as the taller man moved aside with an irritated expression on his face as you walked in, brushing past him, rolling your eyes. Once in, you took off your shoes and placed them neatly at the entrance. You swore every time you walked into this place, it was cold and unwelcoming especially from the monochromatic furnishing and expensive decor. It reminded you of a ‘ home’ you once lived in and it made your mouth fill up with a bitter taste every time you thought about it.

Brand new newspaper articles sprawled across the floor, his couches covered in protective cloth as you plopped down onto one with a small bounce, wrinkling the sheets a bit so you smoothed it back.

“So, Mr. PB&J what will it be today?” You hummed, “Ice pick, the scalpel, kitchen knives, the nail gun?” You listed these off as they were just nothing but a grocery list.

“Oh, but the nail gun, you have rather poor aim, I rather not lose a fucking eye— luckily I managed to dodge that nail last time and it just gave me a new piercing.” It ripped the small tip of your ear off.

You watched as Patrick held something rectangular in his hand, it had a handle and there was definitely a glinting shine of metal. But from where you were sitting, you couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was.

“Today, I was thinking about listening to some Genesis.” He began, with a smile on his face, “It was featured in the 1986 movie called the Mona Lisa—”

You already knew what it was and you interrupted him much to his chagrin to explain the song, “It's In Too Deep isn't it? That so and so uplifting song about monogamy and commitment or something but to me it just feels like there's underlying context if you take the scene it was played for in the film,” He popped the CD in his Pioneer PD-4300 player.

“Manipulation and deception. Selfishness. Falling in love with someone new. A shiny new toy you want in your hand, neglecting the old one. If he really wanted to be all about fucking commitment with the new one, he should have just straight up told the old toy that he didn't want them anymore before going after it. Instead of keeping both. Did he actually truly love her or is it to soften the blow for breaking her heart?” You only could focus on the potential negative connotations to the song, you bite back a laugh mockingly, looking at the way his face scrunched up into annoyance once again, “Something you could relate to huh?”

The way you enjoyed pushing his buttons.

He couldn't say anything at first, instead he moved closer towards you, letting the music blare from the speakers.

“Has anyone ever told you it's rude to interrupt someone when they're talking?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, “You've already told me what you thought about this song before, in case you've forgotten.” Patrick was hovering over you now, bearing his teeth in a grin that never reached his eyes, his shadow swallowing your figure and you just let out a sigh before finally taking a clear look at the object in his hand.

“You're such a stuck-up bitch, did you know that?”

“It's like you're looking in the mirror.”

He had a cheese grater.

A fucking cheese grater.

He roughly grabbed your wrist that was resting nicely on your lap, dragging your entire body up due to the strength of it, before pushing up your sleeve to reveal scarred skin.

You didn't say anything else. Didn't let out a peep when the cold metal touched your forearm, the sharp edges slowly digging into skin.

You knew you were going to be in for a long night because one, you were late and two, you interrupted his favorite little explaining time with an analysis of your own while also insulting him at the same time.

The small blades started at your epidermis, peeling back the top layer in white skin strands like a cheese stick, flaking off old and new scabs.

I guess this is how a block of cheese feels like.

You wondered if he was gonna peel enough skin to sprinkle it over pasta. You decided not to dwell on it.

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tak0truc · 2 days ago

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Jersey Yikes

Preview— Patreon Exclusive

Orc x fem!reader— many many orgasms, breeding, semi-public sex, marking, scenting, bondage (w/jersey), oral (receiving), gentle choking, gagging (w/jersey), overstimulation, dumbification, light degradation and praise, knotting, creampie

Orc Hockey Player rustles through the mess on his desk, cursing under his breath, the minutes ticking down faster and faster till he’s officially late for practice. Hes never late. And as captain that wouldn’t be the best look if he started now.

He briefly notes the soft click of the bathroom door behind him and the way the hair on the back of his neck stands up, prickling in awareness. You’ve just walked in and yet his body already calls for you again— which is the whole reason he’s about to be late to begin with.

“Hey, baby, have you seen my jersey—“ he asks as he whirls around to face you in a panic.

Only to stop short once he sees you standing there in nothing but said jersey. The long fabric falling just above your knees and hugging your plump curves so beautifully. Saliva pools in his mouth and his cock twitches with a renewed interest that’s hard to ignore.

Alarm bells ring in ear, reminding him again that he’s about to be late. How could he deny you looking like this though? Which is more than likely exactly what you intended with this little stunt of yours. His brow quirks as he sends you a hard look and you mirror it in a silent challenge.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, naughty girl,” he growls, slowly stalking toward you.

You lift your chin with an air of indifference but you’re stepping back till he slams his hand against the wall next to your head, caging you in with no chance of escape.

The sharp sound makes you jump but then his body is right there, pressing tight against yours. You feel him everywhere and the desire to have him back inside you claws at you, making the tension so much hotter.

“And fuck me for being unable to resist you anyway,” he snaps as he finally breaks down.

With that he swoops down and steals your lips in a claiming kiss. You shiver against him, moaning wantonly, clenching around nothing and pushing more of his last load out of your spent cunt as if making room for another. His hands immediately go to your body, groping and squeezing at your breasts, marking every inch of you.

When you think he’s about to take you into his arms he wraps his jersey around his fist as fast as lightning and jerks the fabric back, making your large curves all the more prominent before using his hold to throw you back on the bed. You squeal as you bounce against the soft surface; then you blink and suddenly he’s back on top of you.

“If I’m missing practice for this then I better make sure to get my workout in.”

This is a Patreon exclusive fic so you'll only be able to read it there! Check it out if you're interested in reading the entire fic and many more. I have a ton of other exclusive and early access fics that you can read there too!!

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tak0truc · 2 days ago

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Pussy Portal Pt. 1

I'm certain I'm not the only one whose seen that Pussy Portal post and been absolutely gobsmacked by the idea. So here's a little something inspired by it. (There will definitely be more, whether anyone wants it or not, because I cannot get this idea out of my head).

Post here if you haven't seen it.

Smut below the cut.

You were flat-out broke. That was the only reason you considered the app in the first place. It had come to you in a desperate internet search for quick ways to make money on the side. Student loan payments were piling up and were at risk of going to collections, your car had finally bit the dust last week and would take far more to repair than it was worth, and you for sure couldn't afford a new one. The final cherry on top was your job cutting your hours. No announcement, no email, nothing. Just a gradual decline of your name on the schedule and some sleuthy coworkers putting two and two together. Everyone's hours were getting cut. At least you still qualified for health insurance. For now.

Most of the money-making schemes you found during your searches just weren't worth the trouble. You'd spent an hour filling out the most inane surveys for $10 and another three hours transcribing jail phone calls for lawyers just to earn less than a penny per word. You had begun to feel hopeless. And then it had popped up, like a boon from hell; Pussy Portal. Selling your body hadn't been out of the question. You had considered selling your feet pics online, and even found a website where you could send people your used panties for money. But the more you looked into it, the more you realized it would essentially be a full-time job if you wanted it to be lucrative, and one of the ways to make more money was to have a presence, put your face out there, let people see what they were buying. You weren't nearly confident enough for that. Pussy Portal on the other hand, sort of alleviated both of those concerns. The pay was pretty good, and no one was actually going to be looking at or interacting with you, you just had to give any creature of any nature, unfettered access to your pussy. Putting it bluntly, Pussy Portal was prostitution, but you wouldn't be meeting any of the clients and no one had to know who you were. You just couldn't think about it too hard.

So, here you were. App downloaded, background check and medical screenings passed, some sort of strange magi-tech contraption attached to your hip, now you just had to wait. You were promised by the Pussy Portal rep you'd been communicating with that your first time on the app would essentially be a quality check. One of their "testers" would get first dibs on you, give you a rating, and that was that; you were open for business.

The email they sent gave you a very large time frame, pretty much the entire day. You were glad you had off work, firstly, because you wouldn't have wanted to do this in the office (you most certainly would have been fired), and secondly, you were far too nervous to do anything else. You just settled onto your couch, turned the app on, and waited.

After about thirty minutes of staring at the ceiling while your stomach churned, you realized that you needed to distract yourself somehow or you'd go crazy with anticipation. So, you turned on your comfort show and doom scrolled for a while. You weren't sure if you needed to be in any sort of position for it to work; there weren't really any instructions on that, so you just lay back and tried not to focus on it. After a few hours, you started to wonder if anything was going to happen. You kept opening your email to double-check you had the date right, and pulling the band of your sweats down to check that the magi-tech device was still glowing green. You were almost tempted to email support. Maybe they'd mistyped the date. Then, when you were least expecting it, you felt it. A gentle prodding at your entrance. You sucked in a breath, the nerves gathering themselves in your stomach again. The being on the other end of the portal pushed into you slowly, your mouth fell open at the stretch. The app said it catered to all kinds of beings, and you weren't sure what creature might be currently pushing you open, but it was certainly larger and a bit more textured than a human. You were just grateful they hadn't decided to start with something huge like a minotaur. You weren't really sure what you should do now. Did you need to take your clothes off, or get into any certain position? You kept thinking about your thighs getting in the way, but it clearly wasn't an issue as you felt the cock begin moving slowly in and out of you. It felt odd not to do anything at all, so you adjusted yourself on the couch and spread your legs.

You were getting wetter by the second as the cock continued it's slow drag in and out of you, some of it's ridges catching on your insides and pushing on your sensitive spots. A moan fell from your lips, and you couldn't help but slip a hand inside the loose sweats you were wearing. Finding your clit, your fingers moved slow circles over it eased on by the juices now dripping out of you. It was strange to feel so full, to feel the push and pull of a cock in your tight cunt but not be able to see the dick itself. Your fingers travelled lower to your entrance where you felt your pussy being stretched by the invisible suitor.

The cock picked up it's pace and you groaned, fingers moving back up to your clit. The being on the other side of the portal seemed to be nearing his end, his thrusts more frantic than before. You were nearing your climax too, and your fingers picked up speed in time with the thrusts in and out of you. You were so close when you felt the cock snap forward and bury itself deep, deeper than anyone had ever reached, a rush of semen filling you in warm spurts. That was what pushed you over the edge and you spasmed hard around the cock, your walls clenching down. Before you were ready, the being pulled out.

You stared up at the ceiling, hand still down the front of your pants, breathing heavy, contemplating what you had just done. You'd just let a stranger, a non-human creature, fuck you, and other than the nerves at the beginning, you enjoyed it. You threw your free arm over your eyes and laughed at the ridiculous state you found yourself in. You only decided to get up from your couch when a trickle of cum slipped from inside you and dribbled down your ass.

When you returned from the bathroom after having cleaned yourself up, you noticed a notification had popped up on your phone. Your trial run was successful and you were officially approved to start making money on Pussy Portal. The Pussy Portal tester that had fucked you had even left a note on your profile for other potential clients to see. "Tight, human pussy. Larger beings may need the assistance of lubrication." The review made you feel a little weird; it was so dry and clinical for something that had felt so strange and intimate for you, but when the $500 signing bonus hit your bank account, that feeling dissipated. You could totally make this work.

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tak0truc · 3 days ago

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4 am doodles in a random public magma I was in

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tak0truc · 3 days ago

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My first ever Tenna fan art

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tak0truc · 5 days ago

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Thinking about getting into an accident - nothing too bad, just a little fender bender. But you've had a long day, and you give the guy a lot more attitude than you should.

Snapping that this wouldn't have happened if he didn't brake check you. Asking if he can even afford insurance or if you're supposed to pay for this shit out of pocket. Snarling that your daddy is going to sue the living daylights out of him.

Thinking about the yandere mechanic just off his shift who's too fucking tired to deal with your bullshit. Prissy fucking thing, ain'tcha? Thinking you're so much better than him. Sneering at his truck and his clothes like honest work is the filthiest thing you've ever seen.

Yandere mechanic who's been on the end of his rope for a while now. Pay is shit, boss is shit, can't hold onto a girl for the life of him. All he wants is to go home and have a cold beer. But no. Some little bitch is yelling at him.

Yandere mechanic who's spent his entire life on the the wrong side of the tracks. Kind of guy who's had more than a few run ins with the cops. Who's probably served a year or two in corrections, and who's barely holding onto his parole.

Yandere mechanic who finds himself reaching for the tire iron peeking out of his toolbox without even realising it. God, girls like you are the fucking worst. Prancing around in your short skirts and high heels and turning your nose up at anything that bothers you. Daddy's money bitch that needs to be taught a lesson. Needs to brought down a few pegs. Needs to be fucking humbled.

Yandere mechanic who swings the tire iron right at your temple, and never mind that his mama told him to never hit a woman.

You fold like a fucking marionette, passed out as his feet in less than five seconds. Still breathing, not convulsing. Good. Didn't hit you too hard.

Yandere mechanic who shoves his tools off the backseat and tosses you into his truck. Not so fucking mouthy now, are you? Who rips a pack of zip ties open with his teeth and ties you up with the same casual efficiency he uses to change a tire.

Your skirt rides up a little when he hauls you onto his backseat, and he runs his palm down your thigh before he slams the door. God, you've got such nice skin. Bet you taste like sugar and vanilla.

Yandere mechanic who takes you home and then comes back to dump your Audi way out in the sticks. Anything coulda happened to you. And if he's smart about it, no one will ever catch on that he was involved in your sudden and tragic disappearance.

I'm especially thinking about what it must be like to wake up after he knocks you out.

Your head pounding, your eyes aching. Confused. Disoriented. Not sure where you are or why you can't move your hands.

Thinking about noticing him for the first time, sitting in an armchair a little ways from the bed, legs spread and a beer dripping condensation at his feet. The room dark, the only light coming from the moon and his cigarette.

A real blue collar bastard, still in his wife beater and work pants, stained black with grease.

Just watching you.

The tip of his cigarette glowing with each pull and giving you a second or two to see his face - the mean smirk, the too jaded eyes.

"Not so fucking mouthy now, are you?"

You scream.

No use. It's muffled by the gag. Some random scrap of cloth that tastes of motor oil and digs into your cheeks. You try and sit up, but he's got you trussed up good and proper.

He watches you try and get loose, watches you thrash and scream and cry. Until your hair is all over your face and clinging to the tears on your cheeks.

Thinking about the way he grinds out his cigarette. Thinking about that last bit of light going out and the way it's like a kick to the face.

Thinking of the way he finally stands, and you realise just how big he is compared to you. Not pretty boy gym rat muscles either. But the hard shit you build hauling machinery and parts all day.

Thinking of the way he walks towards you, boots so damn heavy on the floorboards. Already reaching for his belt buckle.

"Gonna take real good care of sweetheart. Just gotta fuck all that attitude out first."

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tak0truc · 5 days ago

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Yandere Bisexual Best Friend

Male Yandere x Fem Reader He just wants what's best for you. If he has to tell a few white lies now and again, then so be it.

When you first saw him, he had his tongue down your boyfriend's throat.

It sure as hell would not have been the start of a friendship, except...

He was the one who ran after you when you stormed out of the club, mascara and eyeshadow running in silvery streaks down your cheeks.

He was the one who hugged you and apologised and said your boyfriend was a piece of shit for doing that to you.

He was the one who got you home safe, cleaned off your makeup and left aspirin on your bedside table.

In your half haze of alcohol and tears, you clung to him and nuzzled into his neck and told him you were so grateful, that he was such a nice guy.

It wouldn't have been the start to a friendship and maybe it shouldn't have been. But you called him the next morning.

You apologised for being such a mess, stuttering just a little at the deep gruffness of his morning voice. He laughed and told you not to worry about, that you should've seen what a fool he made of himself when his boyfriend cheated.

You weren't sure how, but a phone call turned into lunch together. Both of you just a little tipsy from bottomless mimosas, his arm tossed across the back of your chair as he sketched out the horror of his last situationship.

"So you're gay?"

You should have noticed it then - the way he narrowed his eyes just a little, the way he let his fingers graze your bare shoulder, the way he seemed to take just a second too long to answer.

"Yeah. I'm into guys."

That was the first lie he told you. Not entirely untrue. He was into guys.

He was just into girls too. And he was especially into you.

He could have been honest with you, he could have told the truth. But you were still reeling from your boyfriend's betrayal, too guarded and hurt to let another man into you life.

And he so desperately wanted to be a part of your life.

The next time you asked him to hang out, you were so at ease. You hugged him when you saw him, your tits squished against his chest. You held his hand and dragged him along behind you. You fell asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He smoothed your hair away from your face and any idea of telling the truth crumbled.

He told himself he just wanted to be your friend. Lord knows you needed one after such a nasty break up. But anyone who looked at you together could tell friendship was the last thing on his mind.

He took you to watch his favourite band performing live and hoisted you up on his shoulder for the encore, his hands inching further and further up your thighs.

He took you to his favourite club and bought you drink after drink until you danced with him, your arms thrown back around his neck and your ass grinding into his crotch. It was only the pulsing neon lights that kept you from seeing his hard on.

He invited you over for a movie night and pretended to lose the AC remote, just so he could share a blanket with you and keep his arm around your waist.

And the longer it went on, the worse it got. You were cute and clever and funny. You could yap together for hours about fashion and music and video games. You brought him little presents every time you came over - small packets of his favourite sweets, a new flavour of ice cream, his go-to Starbucks order.

Could you blame him for wanting you?

He started calling you his wifey, even in front of his friends. Would crack jokes about getting married if either of you couldn't find a guy by next year. And you went along with it. Ran your hands up his chest and fluttered your eyelashes at him and called him your strong, handsome fiancé - oblivious to the way it made his heart race.

When he walked in on you changing, he kept his face deadpan and told you red was definitely not your colour, even as you scrambled to cover up and spluttered at him to get out.

"Why? You aren't exactly my type babe."

Another lie. Not even remotely true this time.

And soon you got used to him walking in on you. Started asking him for fashion advice while you were in just your underwear and heels. Started asking him to tie your bikini tops and unzip your dresses. You didn't notice him always slipping away afterwards, one hand shoved deep in his pocket. You didn't notice the way his hair was always slightly messed up when he got back, his cheeks just a little flushed.

And if there were ever any warning bells - any subconscious instincts that told you he touched you too much, hugged you for too long - they were drowned out by his parade of boyfriends and flings. Why would he be into you when he could be dating a ripped surfer or hooking up with his personal trainer?

You never realised you were the reason his relationships were always so short lived. He couldn't fall for any of them the way he fell for you. They were all just quick fucks to get the frustration out of his system.

He could have continued just like that - fucking a new guy every weekend and getting brunch with you right after.

But then you went and met someone.

He froze when you told him, his smile a rictus, hand clenched so tight around his wine glass that he was lucky it didn't shatter.

He gritted his teeth and managed to choke out a congratulations. You beamed at him, flushed pretty with young love. You squeezed his hand and said it was only a matter of time before he found his love too.

He had to excuse himself after that. Had to splash cold water on his face and fight down the urge to scream. God, why was he so fucking stupid? He should have made a move on you ages ago, back when you first met. If you rejected him then, at least it wouldn't hurt as bad as it did now.

He somehow managed to make his way back to the table and smile at you like you hadn't just clawed his insides to shreds.

"So when can I meet the lucky guy?"

When you got up to wash your hands he slipped your phone out of your bag. He scrolled through your gallery, over analysing every pic of your new boyfriend. Cute, but you could do so much better. And he wasn't even that much taller than you. God, are you really gonna date this loser?

You kissed him on his cheek when he left and he spent the entire walk home rubbing the spot and thinking up ways to get rid of this new... disruption.

Later that afternoon you called him up and asked if he'd like to come to a bar with you and meet your new man. And just like that, the wild ideas in his head clicked into place.

"Sure wifey, I'd love to come."

He showed up late and spilled a drink down your dress before you even finished saying hello. And while you rushed off to try and get red wine out of satin, he scanned the bar for your new boyfriend.

And when he finally found the bastard, he turned on all his pretty boy charm. Bought him a drink and slung an arm across the back of his chair and pretended not to hear when he said he had a girlfriend. Managed to get the guy flushed and stuttering even after he claimed to not be into men.

When he pulled your boyfriend into a kiss, the fucker had the nerve to actually kiss him back.

He was careful with his timing - going in for a second kiss as soon as he saw the flash of your dress through the crowd.

He pulled away just as you reached the table and looked up at you with oblivious innocence.

"What's wrong baby? Why do you look so shocked?"

Your boyfriend shoved him off and stood up to grab you, to claim he didn't kiss someone else, the guy just came onto him swear to God. But the damage was already done.

Who would you believe was at fault? Your best friend who didn't even know what your new boyfriend looked like? Or the asshole kissing someone else while you were gone?

You threw your drink in your boyfriend's face and called him a filthy liar. When you grabbed your best friend's arm and dragged him away, he struggled to hide his smile.

He took you back to his apartment and popped open a bottle. Poured you a drink and kissed your forehead and let his hand settle on your lower back.

"Men ain't shit baby. We're all just manipulative assholes deep down."

He let you drown your sorrows in the bottle and then pulled you onto his lap when you were too drunk to object.

"I'm the only man you need in your life, yeah?"

You sniffled, too drunk and hurt and dizzy to notice his hands moving to your bare thighs.

"Yeah."

"C'mon, say it. Say I'm the only man you need."

"You're the only man I need."

His fingers slipped under the hem of your dress and he pressed his lips against your skin, teeth oh so close to your jugular.

"And I'll take care of you. So just sit still and I'll make it all better."

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