When you’d first laid eyes on her you’d been scared but kind of turned on. You’d never seen a woman quite like her, 6 foot something, dark soft skin, and beautiful grey eyes. There was no doubt in your mind that she commanded respect in this dangerous place.

It was her well trained muscles that caught your eye first, her larger build making your face heat up, then you clocked her mean scowl as you walked into her cell, clearly you were invading her personal space… this might be not end well you thought as the guard slammed the cell door behind you.

“Uhh, hi I’m your new cell mate…” you chimed up, your shaky voice giving away how nervous you were in her presence. Sevika only let out a grunt of acknowledgment then her name mumbled in response to your introduction. You feared she might never warm up to you or maybe she’d take advantage of your weakness since you were significantly smaller and younger, not to mention inexperienced.

At first Sevika was stand offish, then just closed off. She’d cuss you out for being messy since she had kept the cell neat and tidy before you had arrived, she’d complain when you yapped too much or asked her invasive questions, or if she’d had a bad day she’d just full on ignore you. This chilly behaviour continued until finally one night she caught you crying to yourself in the top bunk of your shared cell. Normally you muffled your nightly cries well but after a particularly awful day of being bullied by the bigger, older women in the prison you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Will you just shut the fuck up” she grunted as she kicked your mattresses from the bottom bunk. You yelped in reaction and quickly squeaked an apology before sniffling and trying harder to hold back your tears. You were unsuccessful though as a loud hiccup slipped through your defences and you heard your cell mate let out a frustrated sigh. You were in for it now.

What reaction came next from the larger woman was totally unexpected though. Sevika climbed out of her bed, stood so she was able to reach into your bunk and pulled you out of your pitiful nest of scratchy blankets.

All you could think that she was about to do was beat you to a pulp for disturbing her sleep and showing weakness. No part of you thought that she’d then lift you up allowing your legs to wrap around her well built frame before sitting back on the bottom bunk. She then turned and plopped you down into her bunk before pulling the blankets over you and settling back into bed.

Still in shock you didn’t react when she pulled you into her chest and let you rest your head on her warm breast.

“Will that fucking stop your wailing now, pathetic girl?” Sevika questioned you as you adjusted to the warmth of another person’s soft touch for the first time since you arrived at Stillwater. Too stunned to speak you nodded into her chest and curled into her body as you allowed yourself to relax slightly.

That was the first night you’d slept well in weeks.

Your relationship progressed fast from that moment on. Being stuck in a small dingy cell with another person for 23 hours a day would do that to you.

Even during your one hour of allocated exercise a day you stuck close to Sevika. Never leaving her eye line as you watched her do her daily sets on the gym equipment.

Where previously she’d ignored you being cornered and intimidated into handing over your belongings or bring forced into completing criminal activity for other girls, she now protected you. All the other women who had been bullying you avoided you now that you were ‘Sevika’s girl’. They knew not to mess with her so the respect and distance she commanded from them extended to you.

The older woman did so much to look after you that you deep down worried what you could do to help her in exchange. Yet you knew even though Sevika would never openly admit it, she loved having a sweet little thing like you need her protection. To her you were weak and cute, often struggling to cope with the jarring change of prison life. It fulfilled something inside of her that needed to nurture, guide, and care for others, your presence allowed her to be soft.

In the dead of night you’d whisper to each other about your dreams of a life on the outside together. Your girlfriend said how she wanted to find an apartment for you both, she’d get a decent job, earn honest money, keep you pretty and looked after at home. Sevika would tell you about how she wanted a cosy king size bed, and how she’d fuck you hard into the soft mattress in your shared home, not a damp cold prison cell.

When you had sex now it was either up against the cold brick wall where she’d watch your goosebumps raise tracing them with one hand as she pinned you down and fucked her thick fingers into your pretty pussy with the other. Or on that broken thin mattress you shared most nights on the bottom bunk, a tangle of limbs and wet kisses exchanged in the dark of the night because if you were caught the two of you risked being separated.

The dreams you built together grew and developed as you counted down the days till your sentence was up. Sevika had more time to serve than you though, but you couldn’t bare to think about that. Being apart wasn’t an option. Instead of dwelling on facts you distracted yourself by getting lost in her at every opportunity.

Once everyone was shut away in their cells for the night and the guards had done their last checks you quietly snuck down from your top bunk and knelt on the floor in front of Sevika’s bed.

It was dark in the room with only the glow of a flood light illuminating the outside compound creeping through the tiny barred window. All you could see was the outline of your beautiful girlfriend as she pushed back her covers and moved to sit up. Sevika swung her thick muscular legs off the bed so she was bracketing you then she reached out one large hand and ran her fingers through your soft hair pulling you in between her legs and pressing your face into her crotch.

You inhaled her musky scent deeply, nudging your nose into her boxer clad pussy and letting out a whine of desperation. Sevika chuckled and pulled you back from her warmth, muttering a heavy “do you want to be my good girl?” causing you to desperately nod your head and her to laugh at your pathetic actions.

“Open” came Sevika’s command which you gladly obeyed. Two of her calloused fingers found their way into your waiting mouth, teasing and toying with your wet tongue before she pushed them further down your throat as she lightly gagged you. Before you could pull away from the offending digits her mech hand reached out and held the back of your head keeping you still for her. Sevika tutted at your attempts to pull away before muttering “thought you wanted to be good, baby?”

Her question had you stilling your movements and trying desperately to control your gag reflex whilst breathing through your nose.

Only once she was satisfied with your response did she pull her now soaking fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting them to your tongue.

“That’s it. You can listen after all” she said with a smug expression. Then you watched with already glazed over eyes as Sevika spat into your mouth, the long trail of spit landing on you awaiting tongue. “Hold…” she tested you, only for a few seconds though before following up her command with “swallow”, which you quickly did, presenting your open mouth for her inspection afterwards.

“That’s my good girl” she praised you as she stroked your hair like you were her favourite little pet. You preened under her affection, your ass wiggling slightly as you melted for her. “Now you’re going to do as mummy says and show your thanks for her protecting you again today, aren’t you?” your girlfriend asked. Because she had, everyday she watched out for you closely. It was dangerous in here and you were her sweet little girl, people could easily take advantage of your naivety.

Your girlfriend pulled down her boxers with her mech hand as her flesh one cradled your face. As her pussy was revealed to you, you held back from burying your face in her wet folds and instead shifted in place as you waited for Sevika’s command.

It didn’t take long though as she muttered “make mummy feel good baby” in a heavy tone, your desperation to taste her turning her on even more.

Letting out an excited noise you moved forward and licked one long stripe up her folds, already tasting her sweet yet heady flavour. But you didn’t dare touch her, you hadn’t been given permission for that yet. So using your nose you nudged at her pussy, her thick bush tickling your face, before you pushed your tongue forward, trying so desperately to part her folds.

Chuckling at your pathetic attempts Sevika lent you a hand and held herself open as she pushed you forward once more. Now you had access to her already large swollen clit and sopping hole you wasted no time in pleasing her. You sucked, licked and gently nibbled with ever increasing pressure as you built her up towards her orgasm. Her pleasure was all you could focus on but unconsciously your body betrayed you as you ground your pussy down onto the heel of your foot, seeking any form of relief that you could.

Noticing your incessant wiggling your girlfriend pulled your face back from where you had it buried in her pussy and using her flesh hand she slapped you right across your face, hard.

You couldn’t help the cry you let out at her rough treatment, despite the throb you felt in your pussy thanks to her harsh slap. “Greedy little girl doesn’t understand her place” Sevika spat at you as she gripped your cheeks tightly, holding your face so you couldn’t hide from her. “I’m in charge of your pleasure not you. You don’t get to feel good unless mummy allows it. Got that?” You nodded and mumbled a quiet “yes mummy” the best you could whilst she still held your face firmly.

Suddenly, without any warning, Sevika threw you back onto the floor, your head narrowly missing the cold concrete as you caught yourself at the last minute. She then left her place on the bed and climbed over you, her thick scarred thighs placed either side of your head. The last thing you heard was her voice saying “since you can’t follow simple instructions mummy is going to have to show you how to please her” before her full weight was pressed onto your face as she sat down and took her pleasure.

Sevika rode your tongue as you desperately tried to keep up, her flesh hand buried in your hair holding you in place. She kept this pace up for several minutes using you like her own personal fuck toy.

Eventually you were only just able to squeeze your tongue into her pulsing hole as she changed to grinding her fat puffy clit into your nose. With very little chance to breathe you held onto her muscular thighs for reassurance, digging your nails into her skin and no doubt leaving small crescent shaped cuts in her flesh. Tears rolled down your cheeks adding to the mess that your girlfriend made of your pretty face. If you didn’t already trust her with your life you’d be scared you were about to die being smothered by her pussy.

Small grunts and moans made it to your ears as Sevika continued to take her pleasure from you, from the intensity of the noises and the hand pulling tightly at your hair you knew she was close to cumming. Sensing this herself, Sevika somehow increased her speed and spurred on by her eagerness, you found you had one more burst of energy as you continued to fuck your tongue into her cunt desperately seeking her juices.

As you worked her closer and closer to orgasm your hips were unconsciously winding and bucking in need as you continued to go neglected by your lover as she selfishly focused on her own bliss. Deep down the inattention added to your own burning desire, Janna you were a little perv.

Just as you thought you were finally going to suffocate under her weight you felt her pussy pulse and clench, fluttering as she slowed her movements to a heavy grind allowing her orgasm to roll over her. The flesh hand in your hair left you as it found its place covering Sevika’s own mouth, muffling any noises that she made so as not to draw attention to you both.

After a few moments of her jolting against you and riding out the last of her orgasm you reached up and tried to get her attention, sweaty palms slipping against her sticky skin, wet from her own exertion. You couldn’t breathe at all now as she relaxed, her heavy frame covering your mouth and nose. Darkness started to creep in at the corners of your vision as your head grew light and dizzy. “Oh shit” you heard her mumble as she pulled her weight off of you and allowed you to finally suck in a deep breath.

Still hovering over you she watched as you pulled yourself up, twisting your body so you could lean on your forearms and catch your breath.

“I got carried away there doll I’m sorry” she said softly as she smiled down at you. “but you had to learn your lesson not to disappoint mummy didn’t you?” her tone of voice changed from apologetic to condescending.

You thought briefly she wasn’t sorry at all but you found you didn’t care in the slightest as you relished in her cruelty.

“Let’s get you in bed baby, are you sleepy?” Sevika asked you, still in that condescending tone. You nodded as you reached out for her, seeking comfort from your girlfriend despite her being the one to torture you. She smiled sweetly as she pulled you up into her arms and held you against her chest as she brought you back to her bunk.

“Lay down sweet girl, you can do that for me can’t you baby?” Sevika whispered to you gently. Eager to please, you did as you were told and crawled from her arms and into her bed, inhaling her comforting scent which permeated her prison issue pillow and blanket. Turning around you watched as the older woman joined you in her cramped single bed, her larger frame taking up most of the room. Before getting too comfortable though, Sevika first removed your thin pyjama bottoms, leaving your lower half bare to her before she pulled you closer and cuddled you into her chest. The combination of her warmth and her strong heartbeat calmed you even further, letting out a small yawn as your sleepiness over took you.

“My sweet helpless girl… mummy wants to play with your pretty pussy will you let her?” she asked, her plush lips pressed against your forehead in a kiss. You shook your head no, muttering “‘m sleepy” as you nuzzled further into her breasts. “You don’t want to at least try for mummy?” you whined in response to her question, too tired to even open your eyes. “Shush, shush… just show mummy your cute little pussy and I’ll take care of you” your girlfriend instructed you as her flesh hand brought your thigh to rest on hers, opening you up for her.

As soon as she had you in the right position Sevika brushed her fingers through your folds, toying with your clit then circling your hole, wasting no time in getting what she wanted. Small jolts of pleasure shot up your spine causing you to whine again as she shushed you once more, but you continued to let out little squeaks and moans whilst she slipped one of her thick digits into the entrance of your hole. You just couldn’t help it, her broad fingers always drove you crazy.

Conscious that your noises might attract the attention of the guards she pulled her finger from you and tugged her tank top over her breasts exposing them to you “suck on mummy’s nipple baby, that’ll keep my good girl quiet won’t it?” You immediately obeyed your girlfriend and reached up to suckle on her nipple, letting out a soft hum as your lips and tongue connected with her perky flesh.

You happily sucked away as Sevika returned to toying with your wet pussy, once again slipping a finger inside you. “That’s my good girl, you just needed a distraction didn’t you?” she preened at you as she gently fucked you, maintaining a slow steady pace. It didn’t last long though as despite your sleepiness you still craved more. You started grinding your hips down to meet Sevika’s thrusts causing her to chuckle at you and say “baby wants more does she? Can she handle it?” You nodded against her breast never once ceasing your suckling. “Very well then…” your girlfriend muttered as she pushed in a second finger and picked up her pace. The older woman knew exactly how to have you falling apart for her in no time. She curled her fingers and focused on where you needed her the most, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot.

As pleasure over took you, you wanted nothing more than to pull from Sevika’s nipple and cry out for her but behaved yourself and stayed quiet.

“That’s it baby just let go for me… give in to it… let mummy make you feel good” she whispered against your head.

You could feel your muscles tighten as you squeezed her fingers causing Sevika to grunt heavily with the added exertion needed to maintain her fast pace. She continued to pound into your sweet spot repeatedly until your body began to shake as your orgasm took over.

Small moans and whimpers escaped your mouth against Sevika’s sensitive nipple now swollen thanks to your attention. Your hips bucked and your toes curled as your muscles went stiff, the wave of bliss completely consuming you.

“Shhhhh shhhhh that’s it doll, that’s my good girl. Such a well behaved pussy giving me what I want” Sevika muttered to you yet you didn’t register her words, your brain was mush now, totally overcome with your euphoria.

After a few seconds your body went limp against her as sleep began to darken your mind. Yet your older girlfriend didn’t move, instead she said “since you were so well behaved and took mummy so nicely she’s going to let you sleep with her fingers filling you up. Want to give my princess sweet dreams tonight.”

Nina the killer ➶

Deep down, Nina is very insecure, partly due to Jeff's cruel and humiliating rejection. She thinks you'll make fun of her or, worse, point out her flaws when she approaches you. If, by some twist of fate, you two happen to get along well, she won't make any moves toward romance because she believes it's better to remain friends first. Sometimes you catch her staring at your face or figure while she's embarrassed by her actions. She'll start obsessively dressing up to please you, researching your type to win you over, even if it means breaking herself. She wants acceptance at all costs. You want a blonde? There she is. You want a more feminine girl? She'll start wearing nicer clothes often. You want a strong girl? She'll go to the gym. JUST LOVE HER AND GIVE HER A CHANCE ALREADY!

If you accept her, she'll be happy, but you'll have to deal with her mood swings in public. Did you look at a girl more than usual? It's probably because you like her more than her because she's not as flat as her. Did a man flirt with you? She's planning to become one herself and then ruin the creep who won't stop staring at you. She's uncomfortable with sex and relationships in general; she's insecure about her body. Although she won't hesitate to do anything if you ask, as long as she doesn't take her clothes off. She'll help you with your hair and makeup; if you don't let her, she'll start accusing you of not loving her enough. As a bonus, Nina smells your clothes—not just your underwear, but all your clothes, especially if they're sweaty. She also has dark circles under her eyes from watching you sleep for hours. Premium stalker.

"I'll do anything you want, just let me show you how happy I can make you if you're my girlfriend!"

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Jane the killer ➶

The first thing she feels when she meets you is jealousy of your beauty. It's not that she hates you, she just hates being near you with such an ugly face. Since her last encounter with Jeff, she no longer has the same confidence she had when she didn't need to cover her face all day, even from herself. She can't stand looking in the mirror; it's painful even while brushing her teeth every morning. So when she meets someone like you, who isn't afraid to show their pretty face, it hurts her. In other circumstances, she would be the one to approach you first with a smile. It will take a lot of effort to get Jane to sit with you and talk for more than five minutes. If you're patient, you'll start to see her confidence in you blossom. In fact, she'll probably feel more confident with you than to shower together without covering her face. It means a lot to her, more than you think.

Jane quickly becomes the dominant partner in the relationship, both in and out of bed. She cooks for you, dresses you, and offers to bathe you when you mention that she doesn't let you do anything. She says she's just looking out for you, but she's really trying to control you. She doesn't want you to bathe; she thinks that if you let go for even a moment, you might go off with someone more like you, at least in terms of appearances. She doesn't want to force you to do anything, but there are times when she's selfish. Sometimes you'll notice her roughly pulling you in for a kiss when you mention going out, or how she digs her black nails into your waist when you mention someone else's name. Everything with Jane is rosy if you ignore certain things in your relationship.

"My dear, I'm just saying there's no need to go out when we still have food here, let's go to the room instead, okay?"

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Clockwork (Natalie Ouellete) ➶

At first, she doesn't want to get close to you because she thinks you're just your typical school slut who thinks she's all that because she's pretty. Until she gets to know you a little and sees that you're just as beautiful on the inside, she's not very aware of her attraction to women. She's never had a girlfriend, just casual crushes and sexual encounters, but nothing too serious, simply because she wants to avoid men. She doesn't really know how to flirt or seduce someone, so her behavior around you is sometimes scary. Staring, sometimes she has obsessive behavior similar to Tim's. She's a girl with mental health issues, what did you expect? Sometimes she'll start arguments over anything just because she doesn't know how to handle being in love; she thinks it will make her weak and fragile, like before.

The worst part of this could be that she might have a fit of rage and end up hurting you with a weapon she's carrying, a knife or a razor. Afterward, she'll start pulling her hair and screaming, saying it's not her fault she's like this, that she's very distrustful. She doesn't want you to leave her; she wants a healthy relationship, but she's never witnessed one in her life. Perhaps the healthiest thing about her is that she respects your privacy and consent when it comes to relationships and affection. She's already suffered from that kind of treatment and won't repeat it in any way. Her way of expressing love is through acts of service, such as massages, anything related to hair care (even though she's not very good at it), cooking something for you (though again, it's nothing special; she only cooks instant food and what she hunts). She hopes you'll appreciate it and love her.

"Hey...sorry about that, uh, do you want some meat and potatoes? You know, to fix things up a bit?"

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Nurse Ann ➶

She feels nostalgic around you; you remind her of her former self, before she was involuntarily transformed into a monstrous creature. She can't speak, so you don't know if she's just staring at you or trying to make you uncomfortable somehow. It's terrifying because she literally looks like a zombie. She doesn't know how to interact with you, so you'll have to approach her first and try not to mind being the only one talking in the room. Sometimes, out of nowhere, she'll trace your skin with her fingers, which are covered in multiple scars and stitches. She's drawn to the difference in your skin. So you can expect quite a bit of physical contact between you.

The relationship can thrive if you don't show fear or disgust towards her from the start. In fact, if you show kindness and even treat her like anyone else, suggesting simple activities like painting your nails, it truly helps her heal internally. Thanks to your effort, she may begin communicating with you through notes so you don't feel alone talking. Regarding toxicity, she dislikes being left alone, especially for someone else, which sometimes leads her to use her superhuman strength or even her chainsaw to verbally threaten you into forgetting to leave. Loneliness is what hurts her the most; it has been her greatest enemy since her metamorphosis, so this topic is quite sensitive for her. Although she seems reluctant and violent, she is intelligent, somewhat brusque, but a good companion overall if you give her the chance.

"...."

Paper: YOU STAY!

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Judge Angels (Dina clark) ➶

Dina is someone who was very isolated by her father figure from childhood, with a touch of religious trauma in the background. Because of this, she's never had genuine connections in her life, nor did she go to school, so she knows nothing about social labels, and she's also had no experience or luck in love. When she meets you, you remind her of the illustrations in the princess stories her mother used to read to her at bedtime. She doesn't quite know how to describe what she feels for you; in fact, she thinks her instinct is telling her you're not trustworthy. She doesn't know much about the concept of beauty, but she notices that people around you give you a lot of compliments, which makes her a little jealous. This is what she longed for as a child: acceptance.

The more her feelings develop, the stranger she becomes. In fact, one day she'll confront you with her sword because of how you make her feel. She's afraid; her father instilled in her that loving someone of the same sex is a sin. But then she runs away because she doesn't want to hurt you. Part of her doesn't want you to see her, because of her exotic eye color. If you accept her and show that you're capable of loving and caring for her, she'll gradually open up to you over time. She shows her love and admiration through poems or acts of service; your relationship has a sweet, vanilla feel. But she's very emotionally manipulative. If you deny her time or go out with someone else, she'll cry and claim you're neglecting her. She's even capable of making someone you love look bad to justify hurting them. Patience will be essential with her at all times.

"I'm not trying to be mean, but I don't think you should hang out with that person. I don't like them. You'd be better off staying with me."

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Zero ➶

Run. She loves to break or find ways to corrupt anything she considers beautiful. She's no stranger to love or relationships; in all the time she's been single, she's been with men for sex or simply to find victims more easily. At first, she wants to use you and discard you, but she finds pleasure and appreciation in you, something she's never felt for any of her other relationships. Don't be fooled; she's truly evil and toxic. She'll coerce you and make you understand that you must obey her every command. This includes the disappearance of your consent; she'll make you believe that your only purpose is to satisfy her. She's a fan of rough sex; she'll slash your skin, choke you, hit you, deny you orgasm, and is even capable of spitting on you while cruelly degrading you.

She practically kidnaps you because she finds you visually captivating, but don't expect special treatment. She'll cheat on you with anyone, but you can't do the same to her because you're her plaything. Even during your period, she won't leave you alone and will force you to perform oral sex on her. If you misbehave, she'll make you perform it on her while a knife is held to your throat. She calls you a bitch or a doll most of the time, depending on her mood. She's not someone to fight; she doesn't feel pain and is resourceful in a fight, especially if she has her hammer nearby. In the worst-case scenario, she'll get bored of fighting you, beat you to a pulp, and humiliate you, leaving you to die alone.

"Open your legs, bitch, or would you prefer I help you?"

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Lulú ➶

Your appearance bothers her; your presence annoys her almost constantly, especially your eyes. The first time you meet, she's incredibly rude and curt, even going so far as to pull your hair and throw you to the ground simply because she feels threatened. If she does become fond of you for some reason, she'll be a spoiled brat most of the time. Don't be fooled by her calm voice and demeanor; she wants to be your sole focus of attention and will tear the eyes out of anyone who shows you even the slightest bit of it. That said, she's an insecure girl, though it's not always obvious. She can have panic attacks at the mere thought that one day you might not come back to her, leaving you stuck in this strange romantic dynamic.

I won't lie to you, some relationships with creepypastas almost inevitably end in tragedy, and this is one of them. Lulu might conclude that the only way she can keep you with her permanently is by preserving you through death (meaning she'll taxidermy you) or she'll simply keep your eyes and locks of hair. She'll also preserve your clothes and wear them to try to feel less guilty. She doesn't want to blame herself for your death, but she can't help shedding tears over the clothes you left behind, especially the ones in her favorite color, purple. Lulu might also try making drawings or dolls (perhaps similar to voodoo dolls) so she won't forget you and will continue to have memories of you in almost everything she sees around her.

"I don't have to apologize for anything, you're the one who should and you don't understand what's happening to me."

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Kate the Chaser ➶

You've literally just adopted a ferocious dog, but you haven't realized it yet. Kate is primarily attracted to your scent; it was probably your perfume or your natural smell that drew her to you in the first place, more than your physical appearance. Secondly, she has a morbid fascination with your skin. She loves to nibble and lick it after blood starts to flow from the wound she inflicted. You probably didn't let her carry you, since there's a high probability she'll stuff you in a bag and carry you like a sack of potatoes, or in the worst-case scenario, drag you with her teeth and claws. Kate is difficult to understand because she always behaves like a wild animal. One minute she's digging a hole to crawl into and attack anyone who comes near, and the next she'll jump into the shower with you uninvited and press herself against you to feel you. This usually ends in oral sex.

Kate's pursuit of you intensifies when you're menstruating. She has an incredibly keen sense of smell, similar to Eyeless Jack's, so blood is the most alluring scent to her. When she discovers it's coming from you, you'll be praying for your period to end quickly. She's violent when she wants you, dragging you to her room and stripping you naked to start eating your pussy like an animal that hasn't eaten in days. Your comfort will also determine the pain you endure during these assaults; the more you struggle, the more you'll be hit. She's rarely affectionate at times, throwing herself on top of you in the middle of the night to feel your warmth. Your appearance doesn't matter to her, but the attention you give her does, so she'll tear the face off anyone who shows you physical affection.

"...I want to eat you..."

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Rouge The proxy ➶

She's similar to Kate in her bluntness and determination to get what she wants. When you first meet her, she's wary, perhaps even mocking her appearance or scars. If you overlook that, she'll start to be attracted to you. If you show attraction, she'll hesitate to take the next step, remembering her late fiancé. So, after a night in her bed fueled by sex and beer, she might leave immediately afterward. It will take a long time for her to become open to anything more romantic and sexual. That's when she starts to take control of your life, manipulating your decisions, even what you wear. She's insecure about you finding someone else and being alone again. So, no low-cut tops, shorts, or miniskirts when you go out.

She's cold most of the time, but she has her playful moments to cheer you up. Her affection is shown more in acts of service, like trying to cook for you, giving you massages when you share a shower, or stealing clothes or makeup for you (don't ask where she got them). She hides her relationship with her fellow proxies, especially Brian and Tim, because she doesn't get along with them and they're capable of taking it out on you in disgusting ways. She also doesn't trust Toby because he's not very good at keeping secrets from Tim or Brian. She's violent or evasive when you ask her about the cause of her scars or the bloodstains on her clothes. There's a low probability that she'll kill you with a gunshot or strangle you with a pillow if the Operator orders her to, but it's possible.

"Don't get so upset over something I said! I really do love you, just give me a chance to show you."

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They’re kneading your thighs open, groping your tits and jacking off onto your face. You ask them for harder, faster or rougher- and you get a “Yes, ma’am.” Every time.

You’re hiccuping face down ass up, Tim driving in to the hilt while Brian’s recording. You beg for deeper, and he grabs your waist, grinding slowly to have you squirt onto the thin sheets.

They’re passing you back and forth, breeding you nonstop till you physically can’t hold anymore cum inside.

Or masseuse AND bimbo! Reader.

One of them comes in because he got a dumb coupon from a victim’s wallet. A free massage, there’s no harm in relaxing, and it costs nothing, right?

But the second he steps foot into the parlour, his plans change. You’re a newbie, fresh faced and lost. You got the job on luck alone.

It’s clear from the start that you have no idea what you’re doing, so he gives you “tips.” Acting like he’s a regular and just wants to help.

He’s telling you to reach lower, use your hands on him over the towel. Feel him up because it’s been “bothering him.” So you do because he’s handsome and you’re a good worker.

Then he’s telling you to stroke him under it, the wet plaps of you pumping his cock bouncing off the walls. After that, he says that it’d be better if you used your thighs.

He says the pressure is for muscle tension. That it’ll be great for the cramp in his leg. You go along with it because he obviously knows better than you, and definitely not because you’re soaked after listening to his grunts.

You sit on his lap, your legs hung over the side of the makeshift bed with his length snug between your thighs. From there, you rock your hips, his base grinding against your clit enough to make your eyes roll.

Then he says the coupon covers a happy ending. You nod despite knowing you haven’t looked at it once, and when he tells you to straddle him, you do.

You’re bouncing yourself on him, letting him slip in and out of your sopping pussy. The stretch has you drooling, mewling high pitched as you continue to follow the script they’d given you for customers.

“Harder or- hah- ah- softer, s-sir?” When you’re humping him like you’re in heat. “Nngh- are you satisfied with our- oh- service?” As you spasm around him, cumming so hard you sob.

He’s swapping your positions a second later. Pressing your legs to your chest before snapping his hips forward. Shoving his tongue down your throat and saying this will help with the weird pain in his shoulder.

Your uniform is ruined, and your panties are hanging on by a thread. You get so loud that he has to hold one of the hand towels over your mouth. It’s not your fault, his cock just feels too good buried in your cunt.

Lids heavy, pupils crossing when you clamp around him. Your arousal is thickened from friction, off-white and mixed with his spend. The squelching’s so lewd it makes him hard all over again, and you end up being bent over nearly every surface in the room.

You check him out with shaky legs. Scanning the coupon with his cum practically still dripping down your thighs. People tend to ask you how you stay so chipper at work, but your answer is always the same—

“My favourite regular is stopping by.”

✑ 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓃

starting off the wonderful man himself—well if he could be called a man? slender man! or slendy! now thinking about like no one HARDLY writes him nowdays. does no one wants this sexy tall creepy thing?

no? just me...? uh anyway! slender man's kinks are rooted in worship. he has existed for centuries as a warden, a silent force of nature, forcing his proxies to do all types of work. but with you, he is something else entirely, like something that kneels and craves. something that would tear the world apart just to keep you warm.

worship kink. he worships you. not in a performative way, more in a fundamental way. you are the center of his existence. the reason he manifests. the only thing that makes him feel something other than cold calculation.

on his knees before you, 9 feet of this... eldritch horror! folded down to your level, blank face tilted up toward you

his hands—those long, bony, terrifying white ass hands—cupping your face like you're made of glass

lips that don't exist pressing against your skin in approximations of kisses, his whole body trembling with the effort of restraint

"you are my purpose," he projects into your mind. "my reason for remaining."

the way he watches you sleep, utterly still, utterly devoted, like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen

tendril play. his tendrils are fully prehensile, hypersensitive, capable of the gentlest touch or the firmest grip. they're extensions of him—every one of them can feel, taste, sense. fun fact! his tendrils are slimy enough to work as natural lub!

tendrils sliding up your thighs, under your clothes, curling around your waist, your ribs, your throat

multiple points of contact at once, so your wrists bound, your ankles held, your hips pinned, all by him, all at once

the texture of them against your skin, meaing smooth, cool, slick with that natural lubricant

him using them to explore you, learn you, memorize every inch of you

"you are so soft," he projects. "so warm. i could feel you forever."

orgasm control. he can read your body perfectly, such as your heart rate, breathing, the tension in your muscles. he knows exactly when you're close. and he decides when you're allowed to fall.

his tendrils wrapped around you, stilling your hips, holding you right on the edge

"not yet," he projects. "you will wait for me."

the way he freezes you in place with his psychic hold, your body trembling, desperate, completely at his mercy

"now," he says. and you shatter.

after, he holds you through it, whispering in your mind—"so beautiful. so perfect when you let go."

high yield praise kink. now why is it high yield? because he deadass talks so damn proper and his praise is rare, which makes it precious. when he speaks, you listen. when he praises, you feel it.

"you are exquisite," he projects. "i have existed for centuries. i have never encountered anything like you."

his thumb brushing your cheek, tilting your face up to his blank void—"you are mine. and i am yours."

the way his voice (in your mind) drops lower, rougher, when you please him—"so good for me. so perfect."

you doing something small, so maybe cleaning, reading, existing and him watching you with that unreadable stillness that somehow feels like adoration

"you are the only warmth i have ever known," he whispers. "you are my sun."

hypersensitivity + overstimulation. he can feel through every inch of his tendrils. every point of contact is sensory input. he can surround you, fill you, overwhelm you, and feel everything.

his tendrils all over you—your thighs, stomach, chest, neck—every point of contact sending sensation through you

him adding more, one by one, until you're surrounded, overwhelmed, completely his

"i can feel you from everywhere," he projects. "every flutter. every pulse. every time you clench around me."

the way he keeps going, keeps adding, keeps pushing you past your limit—"one more. you can give me one more."

after, when you're shaking and breathless, his tendrils still wrapped around you like a cocoon

sensory deprivation. he can surround you with silence, darkness, stillness. can strip away your senses one by one until all that's left is touch. his touch.

a blindfold of black silk, his hands guiding you, his tendrils holding you in place

the world gone silent, so no sound, light, just him against your skin

you unable to see, unable to hear, unable to move and him everywhere, all at once

"focus," he projects. "feel only me."

the way he rebuilds you after, sensation by sensation, until you're gasping and desperate

possession/ownership. you are his. this is not negotiable. he does not share. he does not compete. he simply... claims.

his tendrils wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him—"mine."

the way he marks you—not with bruises, but with presence. his scent on your skin, his name in your mind, his devotion in your bones

you saying "i'm yours," and the way his stillness deepens, like he's finally complete

"say it again," he projects. "tell me you are mine."

the way he eliminates anyone who threatens you, anyone who touches you, anyone who looks at you wrong—without hesitation, without guilt. because you are his. and no one touches what is his.

breathplay / choking. he is always, always aware of your pulse. your breath. the rise and fall of your chest. and sometimes—when you ask, when you need—he holds you right at the edge.

his long, pale fingers wrapping around your throat, cold against your skin, feeling your pulse flutter under his thumb

his tendrils curling around your neck, smooth and cool, tightening just enough to make your vision swim

you gasping, trying to breathe, and him loosening just as you start to panic—"not yet. i would never. but you look so beautiful like this."

the way he watches your face, reading every micro-expression, adjusting pressure to keep you right on that perfect edge

you coming undone, breathless and desperate, and him whispering in your mind—"so perfect. so trusting. i will always catch you."

his thumb pressing gently against your windpipe, not to harm—to feel. to remind you who controls your pleasure. who protects you. who owns you.

double penetration (cock + tendrils). he can fill you in ways no human ever could. his tendrils are extensions of him, every one of them capable of sensation, movement, pleasure. and he wants you full. completely. utterly.

one tendril inside you, then another, stretching you carefully, and another and him feeling every gasp and flutter

his cock pressing against your entrance while his tendrils hold you open, ready, waiting

you on your hands and knees, one tendril in your cunt, one in your ass, his cock sliding between them. you full, so damn full, verych much completely his

"i can fill every part of you," he projects. "every hole. every thought. every breath."

the way his tendrils move independently—one thrusting, one curling, one pressing against your clit

you coming undone, clenching around him, and him still going—"i am not finished with you. you can give me more."

after, when you're trembling and breathless, his tendrils still inside you, still holding you, still filling you—like he never wants to let go

belly/throat bulge. he is MASSIVE. impossibly so. his form is elongated, otherworldly, and that extends to every part of him. when he fills you, you feel it.

you looking down and seeing the bulge of him through your stomach, the outline of his cock pressing against your belly

his tendrils curling inside you, the visible movement under your skin, like he's claiming you from the inside out

him pressing his hand against your lower stomach, feeling himself move inside you—"you can feel me, can't you? i am everywhere."

you choking, gagging, trying to take him down your throat and the bulge of him sliding against your neck, visible, his

the way he watches your face when you feel him, see him, know how deep he is—"you are so small. so perfect. taking all of me."

him pressing gently on the bulge, making you gasp, making you feel yourself full of him—"i will always fit. i will always fill you. i will always be inside you."

orgasm control. he can read your body perfectly, such as your heart rate, breathing, etc. the tension in your muscles. he knows exactly when you're close. and he decides when you're allowed to fall.

his tendrils wrapped around you, stilling your hips, holding you right on the edge

"not yet," he projects. "you will wait for me."

the way he freezes you in place with his psychic hold, your body trembling, desperate, completely at his mercy

"now," he says. and you shatter.

after, he holds you through it, whispering in your mind—"so beautiful. so perfect when you let go."

aftercare. such a non-negotiable. he holds you after. wraps you in his tendrils like a cocoon. checks your temperature. soothes you with silence and presence.

his tendrils wrapped around you, holding you close, his blank face pressed to your hair

"you are safe," he projects. "you are warm. you are with me."

the way he monitors your heart rate, your breathing, your temperature—making sure you're okay

you curled against him, his fingers stroking your hair, his presence surrounding you

"rest," he whispers. "i will watch over you. i will always watch over you."

hard no: disobeying the rules. he is order. structure. expectation. when he sets a rule, like "stay here," "don't speak," and "wait for me", meaning he means it. defiance isn't playful to him; it's chaos. it's the static he's spent centuries trying to control.

if you break his rules, he doesn't get angry. he gets cold. distant. you'll feel the temperature drop, the silence deepen, and you'll know—you've disappointed him.

and disappointment from something that has existed for centuries, that has killed thousands, that has never cared about anyone but you? that's worse than anger. that's losing his fucking approval, his attention, presence, like don't do it. (lmfao, it's giving daddy issues, idk why)

"you are exquisite. i have never encountered anything like you."

✑ 𝓉𝒾𝓂 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉

yes, dada himself! so tim's kinks are rooted in trust. he's spent so long not being in control of his own body, his own mind, his own actions—that with you, he needs to feel chosen. like you want him, not what he can do, not what he is. just him. tired, broken, trying.

praise kink. huge. massive. he won't admit it, but when you tell him he's good, he melts. he's been told he's a monster, a weapon, a liability. you telling him he's doing well? that he's making you feel good? that he's yours? he'll do anything to hear it again.

you on your knees, looking up at him, and whispering, "you're so good to me." his whole body shudders.

"that's it, baby. you're doing so well." his hips stutter. he's close. your voice pushes him over.

after, when he's shaky and vulnerable, you card your fingers through his hair and murmur, "i'm so proud of you." he hides his face in your neck so you can't see him cry.

"whose are you?" you ask. "yours," he breathes. "always yours."

every time you praise him, he gets harder. needier. desperate to hear it again.

smoking play. there's something about the way he looks with a cigarette between his lips. the slow drag, the way his eyes half-close. the smoke curling around his face like a veil. he'll hold it to your lips, let you taste the smoke on his tongue. he likes watching you choke on it just a little. likes the control of it.

him taking a long drag, then leaning in to exhale the smoke into your mouth, it's giving slow, intimate, filthy

the cigarette between his lips while his hands are busy elsewhere, the red glow bobbing as he works you open with his fingers

you on your knees, his hand in your hair, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he watches you take him

him putting it out on his own palm just to see you flinch, just to prove he can take pain too

the taste of him when he kisses you, smoke and mint and him, and you can't get enough

daddy dom (dilf). it's not about age play here people, like it's about the energy. he's tired, worn, but so capable. he takes care of you. makes sure you eat, sleep, feel safe. in bed, that translates to a gentle authority. "let me handle it. i've got you." the way he says it makes you want to obey.

him guiding you onto his lap, hands firm on your hips, voice low—"you know what i want. show me how good you can be."

you calling him "daddy" by accident, and the way his eyes go dark, the way his grip tightens. "say it again."

him taking control when you're too overwhelmed to think—"shh, i've got you. just feel. i'll take care of everything."

the way he checks in, constant and soft—"you okay? still with me? tell me what you need."

after, holding you close, his voice a low rumble against your hair—"you did so good. i'm so proud of you, baby."

outdoor sex. something about the risk of it makes tim feel alive. the cold air on your skin, the rough ground beneath you, the way he has to keep you quiet. somewhere the operator's static can't reach.

you pressed against a tree, his hand over your mouth, hips driving into you, so the bark rough against your back, his breath hot in your ear

the back of his truck, windows fogged, the bed cold beneath you, his body the only source of heat

you on your knees in the grass, looking up at him, his hand in your hair, like nothing but sky and him

the way the cold makes you feel everything more, meaning every touch, bite, and whisper

after, wrapped in his jacket, shivering, him murmuring "told you i'd keep you warm" against your hair

spit kink. he doesn't do it to degrade you—he does it to claim you. spitting in your mouth, on your skin, between your thighs. it's primal. possessive. "look at you. taking everything i give you." it's intimate in the dirtiest way.

his hand on your jaw, tilting your face up, spitting into your open mouth and you swallow

him spitting on his fingers before sliding them inside you, watching you gasp at the wet heat

you on your back, his spit landing on your stomach, then his mouth following, licking it off like he's tasting you

"open." you do. he spits. you take it. his eyes go dark. "good job."

the way he gets rougher when you take it without hesitation—like it proves you're really his

overstimulation / over-orgasms. he wants to see you break. wants to push you past your limit, watch you shake, hear you sob his name. he'll keep going until you can't remember your own name until you're nothing but sensation. then he holds you through it.

his mouth on you long after you've come, tongue relentless, your hips trying to escape and him holding you down

"one more," he murmurs against your skin. "you can give me one more."

your fingers in his hair, pulling, begging, sobbing and he doesn't stop until you're destroyed

the way you clench around nothing, overstimulated and empty, and he fills you again, just pushing you right back over

after, you shaking against him, and he just holds you, whispers, "i've got you. you're okay. you're so beautiful like this."

squirting. tim discovered this by accident and now he's obsessed. the way you lose control, the sounds you make, the mess you leave. he'll work you with his fingers, his tongue, his cock, pretty muchanything to get that reaction. he drinks it down like a man dying of thirst.

his fingers curling inside you, that specific spot, watching your face as you realize what's about to happen

the first time, the shock on your face, the way you try to apologize and he just groans and goes back down for more

"do it again," he demands, voice rough. "i want to see you do it again."

him on his knees between your thighs, mouth open, waiting, so like it's a sacrament

the wet sound of it, the way you soak him, the way he revels in it like he's been given something sacred

soft impact. he's not into causing pain, more like he's into the sound. the slap against skin. the way you gasp. the red flush that follows. he'll spank you just to hear it, just to watch the color bloom. he's always gentler after.

you over his knee, his hand coming down on your ass—the sound sharp, your gasp sharper

watching his handprint bloom pink on your skin, then red, then purple the next morning

"count," he says. you do. each number broken by a gasp, a whimper, a plea.

the way he soothes you after, just kissing each mark, rubbing the sting away, whispering apologies even though you asked for it

"too much?" he asks, voice soft. "tell me if it's too much."

aftercare. non-negotiable. tim wraps you up after, holds you, mumbles apologies for being too rough even when he wasn't. he needs to reassure himself he didn't hurt you. he needs to feel you warm and safe in his arms.

him pulling you against his chest, his face buried in your hair, breathing you in like you're oxygen

"i'm sorry," he murmurs, over and over. "i didn't hurt you, did i? tell me i didn't hurt you."

you telling him you're okay. that you liked it. that he was good. his whole body slumps with relief.

him carrying you to the bathroom, washing you gently, kissing every mark he left

curled together after, his hand stroking your back, his voice a low rumble—"you're so good to me. i don't deserve you. but i'm not letting you go."

hard no: hard degradation. tim has spent his whole life being told he's a monster, a weapon, and just broken thing. he's been dehumanized by the operator (slender man), by his own mind, by the things he's done. when he's with you, he NEEDS to feel like a person. calling him worthless, mocking him, treating him like he's nothing? 

that's not play. that's deadass reopening wounds that never fully healed. he can't handle it. won't handle it. he'll shut down, masky will surface, and you'll lose him for hours. don't.

"i love you. i know i don't say it enough. but i love you."

✑ 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓈

ah yes, him. let's see.. brian's kinks are rooted in play. he's been serious his whole life—the mask, the job, the weight of everything, yet with you, he gets to be light. he gets to chase, tease, push buttons just to watch you push back. he likes earning it. likes the fight. likes the moment you stop fighting and just... take it.

brat taming. brian LOVES when you talk back. when you sass him. when you make him work for it. the chase, the back-and-forth, the moment he finally pins you down and you stop fighting. baby, that's the good stuff. he likes earning it.

you mouthing off just to see his eyes darken

his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding—"what was that? say it again. i dare you."

you trying to escape and him dragging you back by your ankles, laughing

"you're such a brat," he murmurs, and there's so much affection in it

the way he grins when you finally submit like he's won the best prize

fun fact! the first time you talk back, he goes still. then he laughs, low tone. "oh, you're gonna be fun."

impact play. spanking, light slapping, whatever lands. he likes the sound. the way your skin flushes. the way you gasp. he'll check in constantly though—"too much? tell me if it's too much." he's careful, even when he's not.

you over his knee, his hand coming down again and again, watching the red bloom

the way he soothes the sting after, palm flat against your heated skin

"count," he says. "you're gonna count every one."

the flush on your skin after? he'll trace it with his fingers, almost reverent

"look at that," he murmurs. "so pretty when you're marked up."

face slapping. keep it light and controlled (unless he asked you to go harder). just enough to make your head turn, to make your eyes go wide. he watches your face after, checking, making sure you're still with him.

his palm connecting with your cheek, gentle but firm

the shock in your eyes, the way your breath catches

"you okay? yeah?" his thumb tracing the spot, soft and careful. "good. now open your mouth."

you whimpering, opening for him, and the way he groans like that's the best thing you could've done

"such a good slut for me," he whispers, and it sounds like worship

edge play. he'll get you close, then stop. over and over and over, like you catching what i'm saying? just watching you squirm, beg, fall apart. he loves the desperation in your voice. the way you say his name like a prayer.

his mouth on you, tongue working you toward the edgethen pulling away

"not yet. you can wait."

you sobbing, "please, brian, please—"

him grinning, sharp and satisfied. "you're so pretty when you're begging."

the way he finally lets you cum, like it's a gift, like you earned it

mirror sex. he wants you to see yourself. wants you to watch what he does to you. wants you to see how beautiful you look when you come undone.

him behind you, holding your chin, forcing your gaze to the mirror

"look at you. look at what you do to me. look at what i do to you."

you watching his hand slide down your stomach, between your thighs

the way you look when you come, face flushed, mouth open, eyes glassy

"that's it. watch yourself fall apart for me."

biting. shoulders, neck, thighs, the inside of your wrist. prettyb much anywhere he can reach. he leaves marks like signatures. you wear them like souvenirs.

teeth sinking into the curve of your neck, hard enough to bruise

you gasping, arching into him

him soothing the bite with his tongue, slow and deliberate

"wear it. i want everyone to know."

the way he groans when you ask him to leave more

praise + teasing. "you're so cute when you're needy." "look at you, taking it so well." "my good little—" he'll never finish the sentence. he wants you to wonder. he wants you desperate for the end of it.

you on your knees, looking up at him, and he just smiles

"you're doing so good. so good for me."

"my good little—" he stops. grins. "guess you'll have to wonder."

you whimpering, needing the word, needing the praise

him laughing, soft and warm. "so needy. i love it."

roleplay. not full scenes, more like just dynamics. stranger at a bar. rival proxies. anything where you push back and he has to win you. it's not about control, deadass it's about the thrill of being chosen again.

you pretending you don't know him, and him playing along

"you're not supposed to want this. but you do. don't you?"

the chase through the house, him catching you, pinning you

you fighting back, and him loving it

"say you're mine." "make me." and he does.

filming sex tapes. he wants to watch it later. wants to see you from every angle. wants to hear the sounds you make when you forget he's watching.

him setting up the camera, making sure the angle is perfect

"say my name. i want to hear it on the playback."

you forgetting the camera is there, getting lost in him

him watching it later, touching himself to the sound of your moans

"look at you. so beautiful. so mine."

cnc (consensual non-consent). he needs you to fight back. needs the struggle, the resistance, the moment you submit. but he'll check in constantly—color, safe word, eyes locked on yours.

you pushing him away, and him catching your wrists

"tell me if it's too real. tell me and i stop. you know i will."

you fighting, and him overpowering you but always, always checking

the moment you stop fighting, the moment you choose to submit

"color?" he asks, breathless. "green," you gasp. he keeps going.

gun + knife play. the cold metal against your skin. the thrill of it. he's careful, always careful, but the danger is part of the rush. don't you think?

the flat of the blade against your throat, cool and sharp

"don't move. just feel it. feel how close i am."

you trembling, breathing shallow, and him whispering, "that's it. so good for me."

the barrel of his gun pressing against your hip, your thigh, your stomach

"you trust me?" he asks. you do. you shouldn't. but you do.

boot grinding. he'll press his boot between your thighs, watch you squirm against the leather. the pressure, the friction, the texture. he likes watching you chase it.

his boot pressing up against your core, rough leather against sensitive skin

"you want it? show me. use my boot like you mean it."

you grinding against him, desperate and shameless

him watching, eyes dark, hand in your hair

"that's it. take what you need."

degradation. not cruel, uhh more like just... knowing.

"you're so desperate for it. look at you, falling apart over nothing."

"you'd let me do anything, wouldn't you? anything at all."

he says it like a compliment. like you're beautiful for wanting it.

"such a good slut," he murmurs, and there's so much affection in his voice

you whimpering, needing more, and him giving it—always giving it.

hard no: emotional withdrawal. so brian can handle a lot, you know the whole impact, edge play, bratty backtalk but what he can't handle is you going cold. shutting down. pulling away emotionally in the middle of it. he needs to know you're still with him, still present, still wanting this. if you disconnect, if your eyes go distant, if you stop responding, he panics. starts questioning everything.

"did i go too far? did i hurt you? do you even want this?" he needs your warmth, engagement, and presence.

"you want more? you have to ask nicely babe."

✑ 𝓉𝑜𝒷𝓎 𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃 𝓇𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 

lmafooo, part me wanted to write him like a bitch, excuse my langage but growing up, NEVER took toby seriously. regardless, he's given grace for now.

so! toby's kinks are rooted in grounding. his body is constant chaos of tics, adrenaline, the endless hum of static in his skull. and then there's his CIPA condition (deadass an anon remined me he has this so i'm fixing my mistake NOW).

since the congenital insensitivity to pain that means he can't feel what he should feel. can't register burns, cuts, bruises like everyone else. his body is numb in ways it shouldn't be. so with you, he needs intensity that cuts through the static. something sharp enough to make him feel real.

pain play. since toby can't feel pain the way you do. but he knows what it looks like, sounds like. he's watched enough people break to understand the line between pleasure and suffering. and with you, he's careful. so careful. "tell me if it's too much. i mean it."

he'd rather stop than hurt you for real. he knows what real pain looks like. he's seen it too many times. he'll never cross that line with you.

nails dragging down your back, leaving red trails that bloom into welts, just something he watches the marks appear, fascinated by the way your skin reacts

teeth sinking into the soft meat of your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, not hard enough to break skin. he knows the difference. he's learned.

his palm connecting with your ass, over and over, watching the skin flush, listening to you gasp

you on your knees, his hand in your hair, tugging just enough to make your eyes water

"color?" he asks, voice rough. you say green. he goes harder. he needs to hear it. needs to know you're still okay.

overstimulation. he wants to see you break. wants to push you past your limit and catch you when you fall. he'll keep going until you're sobbing, shaking, completely wrecked—then hold you through it.

his mouth on you long after you've come, tongue working you through the oversensitivity until you're crying and pushing at his head and begging him to stop

his fingers inside you, relentless, curling against that spot, watching you fall apart again and again

"one more," he murmurs against your skin. "you can give me one more. i know you can."

you're shaking, sobbing, trying to escape, and he just holds you there—gentle but firm—and takes you apart piece by piece

when you finally break, he catches you. wraps around you. whispers, "i got you. i got you. you did so good."

breeding kink. possessive. primal. "want to see you full of me" energy. it's not actually about pregnancy (you'll never CATCH me writing about that shit, no disrespect)—it's about claiming. marking. the intimacy of it. making you his in the most basic way.

him behind you, one hand on your hip, the other pressed flat against your lower stomach—feeling himself move inside you

"take it," he grits out, voice breaking. "take all of it. want you full of me."

pulling out just to watch it drip down your thighs—then pushing it back in with his fingers

the way he groans when you clench around him, pulling him deeper, keeping him there

afterwards, holding you close, hand still pressed to your stomach, whispering "mine" against your skin

pet play. he wants to be yours. completely. wants to shed the weight of being a proxy, a killer, a broken thing, and just be something simple. something that belongs.

him on his knees, head in your lap, waiting for your hand in his hair

"good boy," you say, and he melts—eyes fluttering closed, body going slack against you

you putting a collar on him, just for play, just for the weight of it around his throat

him nuzzling into your neck, making soft needy sounds, wanting to be pet and praised and kept

"whose are you?" you ask. he answers without hesitation. "yours."

mommy kink. ahh, he deadass gives soft, needy, and vulnerable in bed. we all know he  has a mom and misses her deeply. so with you, he craves that warmth. that softness. someone who takes care of him, who calls him good, who holds him when he's too much.

him resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, while you stroke his hair

"you're so good for me," you murmur. he whimpers. presses closer.

you guiding him, gentle hands, soft voice—"that's it, baby. you're doing so well."

him calling you "mommy" when he's too far gone to think, too broken to filter himself

afterwards, you holding him, whispering, "i've got you. you're safe. you're mine."

soft top + service top. he would like a soft top. someone who takes control without being harsh. someone who leads with gentleness. and he's a service top in return—he wants to make you feel good. needs to. it's how he proves he's worth keeping.

you on top, guiding him, setting the pace—slow, deep, intimate

him asking, "is this good? tell me what you need."

you tying his wrists to the headboard, just enough to keep him still, and watching him squirm

him going down on you for hours, not stopping until you're shaking, because your pleasure is his purpose

"please," he begs, when you're in control. "please, i need—" and you give it to him, because you know exactly what he needs.

impact + praise. "you're doing so good. taking it so good. just a little more, yeah? you can do it." he needs to hear you're okay almost as much as you need to hear it.

you on your stomach, his hand coming down on your ass, each smack followed by, "you're doing so well"

him gripping your hips too tight, leaving bruises, and whispering, "look so pretty like this. all marked up. all mine."

you crying out, and him soothing you immediately—"shh, shh, you're okay. you're taking it so good."

after, you telling him he did good, and watching his whole body relax—like your words are the only thing that can quiet the static

pegging. (LMFAOOOO!) he loves it, craves it. begs for it almost every night. for toby, being pegged is about more than pleasure. it's about surrender. giving up control to someone he trusts completely. letting you see him broken and raw and needy.

the postions can be on his stomach, or you on top of him with his face in the mattress, just your weight pressing him down. or his ass in the air, his face buried in the pillow, you behind him. orrrr in your lap? you know, him straddling you, riding you, his head thrown back.

AND against the wall too! his back to the wall, your hands on his hips, pushing into him. (sorry got carried away here—having too much fun)

him on his hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow, back arched—waiting for you

you behind him, the harness strapped around your hips, the weight of the strap-on pressing against his entrance

"please," he whispers. "please, i need—"

you pushing into him slowly, watching his back arch, listening to the broken sound he makes

the way he clenches around you, the way his whole body shakes

you setting a rhythm—slow at first, then faster, then harder—and him sobbing into the pillow

"you're doing so good," you murmur. "taking me so well."

his hand reaching back, gripping your hip, trying to pull you deeper

you holding his hips, thrusting into him, watching him fall apart

the way he comes untouched, just from you inside him

oral (giving or receiving) i'll say he's obsessed. both giving and receiving. the intimacy of it, the vulnerability, the way it makes him feel wanted. plus the little shit loves blowjobs, he's definitely a fucking head pusher, always wanting more lol.

giving (going down on you) he'll spend hours between your thighs if you let him. hours. he loses track of time.

the way you taste, the sounds you make, the way your fingers tangle in his hair—again this alone is all he needs to feel grounded

he's messy. sloppy. desperate. he doesn't care about damn technique he cares about you. about making you feel good in his own weird ass way.

"please," he murmurs against you. "please let me. i need to. i need to taste you."

when you come, he doesn't stop. keeps going, keeps lapping, keeps drinking you down until you're shaking and pushing him away

he looks up at you with those desperate eyes, chin wet, and whispers—"again? please? one more?"

receiving (you going down on him) the first time you take him in your mouth, he almost cries. not from the sensation from the intimacy of it.

he can't feel pain, but he can feel pressure. warmth. the way your tongue moves. the way you look up at him with those eyes.

he's so sensitive. so responsive. every sound you make, every movement, sends him closer to the edge

his hand finds your hair, not pulling more lick fucking pushing your head down so he at least feel his cock at the back of your damn thought needing something to anchor him.

"you're so—fuck—you're so good at that. how are you so good at that?" "t-toby!" to this day you have to remind him about the head pushing.

when he comes, he sobs. actually sobs. it's too much and not enough and he can't handle it and he doesn't want you to stop

he pulls you up after, kisses you messily, tastes himself on your lips—"i love you. i love you. i love you so much."

and to throw in there for shits and giggles, he adores sixty-nine method.

his favorite. your weight on him, his mouth on you, your mouth on him—everything all at once

the way he moans into you when you take him deeper

you both chasing it, both desperate, and completely undone. horny fucks

clingy aftercare. very much non-negotiable. he's so fucking NEEDY after. wraps around you, buries his face in your neck, whispers "you're okay, i got you, you're okay" until he believes it.

him refusing to let go, even when you need water, even when you need to clean up

his face pressed into your neck, breathing you in, grounding himself in your smell

"don't leave," he mumbles, half-asleep. "just—stay. please."

you running your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, watching him melt

him apologizing for being too much, for being needy, for being him—and you kissing him quiet

hard no: being ignored (or dismissed). toby's entire existence is just stright noise. dealing with the tics, pain, adrenaline, the endless hum in his skull. when he's with you, he needs to feel seen. he needs your focus, your responses, your presence. if you look away, if you go quiet, if you treat him like he's too much or too broken, the static gets louder.

he starts to spiral. he's already convinced he's a burden—don't prove him right. he needs your voice, your hands, your attention. without it, he falls apart.

"you're so—fuck—you're so perfect. all of you."

✑ 𝓀𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓈-𝓂𝒶𝓎𝑒𝓈

holy shit, had to do ton of re-reseach on kate again. totally forgot her personality, (sorry baby girl)

lastly, we have kate's kinks, which again little hard to figure out yet can see her rooted in control. not in a cruel way more like in a "i know exactly what you need and i'm going to give it to you" way. she's spent so long chasing, surviving, adapting—with you, she gets to set the pace. gets to decide when, how, how much. and you trust her enough to let her.

orgasm control. kate loves telling you when you can come. loves watching you hold back, the strain in your face, the way you tremble. the way your whole body tenses like a wire about to snap. "not yet. wait. wait." she means it.

her fingers inside you, slow and deep, and you're so close—but she stops. just stops. watches you whimper.

"look at me," she says. you do. she holds your gaze while she starts moving again. "don't come until i say."

you begging, actually begging, and she just smiles. "not yet. you can wait a little longer, can't you?"

when she finally says "now," you shatter. and she watches every second of it like it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

after, she strokes your hair and murmurs, "so good for me. you waited so well."

wax play. she loves the heat. the way it pools on your skin, the sharp sting that fades to warmth. the way you flinch and then relax.

a candle in her hand, tilted just so, watching the wax drip onto your stomach, your thighs, your chest

you gasping at the heat, and her cool fingers spreading it across your skin

"stay still," she says. you do. the wax lands exactly where she wants it.

her lips following the trails, kissing the heat away

peeling the hardened wax off your skin, slow and deliberate, watching you shiver

mild restraint. wrists pinned above your head, ankles held down. not full bondage—just her hands, her weight, her control. she likes having you completely at her mercy.

her on top of you, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head, the other doing whatever she wants

you trying to move, and her weight pressing down—"where do you think you're going?"

her fingers inside you, slow and torturous, while you're completely trapped beneath her

"you're not going anywhere," she murmurs. "i'm not done with you yet."

the way she holds you there, keeps you there, until you forget how to think

teasing. she'll take her time. so much time. whispering in your ear, trailing her fingers over your skin, watching you squirm. "what's wrong? you seem... distracted."

her mouth on your neck, your collarbone, your chest—avoiding where you want her most

her fingers ghosting over your thighs, so close, never quite where you need them

"you want something? tell me what you want." and you do, and she smiles, and doesn't give it to you

her breath hot against your ear, whispering all the things she's going to do to you—later. when she's ready.

the way she watches you fall apart from just words, just promises, just the anticipation

sensory play. blindfolds, headphones, textured fabrics. (don't ask how, go with it) she wants to isolate one sense so the others go haywire. she wants to watch you fall apart with just touch and sound.

a silk blindfold over your eyes, the world gone dark, and her voice the only thing you can hold onto

headphones playing soft static, drowning out everything except her hands on your skin

silk ties around your wrists, soft and smooth, you could escape if you wanted to—but you don't

you trying to anticipate her next touch, and her laughing softly—"you have no idea what i'm going to do next, do you?"

the way she watches you try to guess, try to predict, and fail every time

praise + soft degradation. "you're so good for me. so pretty when you beg." not mean just knowing. she knows exactly what she does to you. she wants you to know it too.

"look at you. so desperate. so pretty like this."

you begging, and her smiling—"that's it. i love it when you beg."

"you're taking it so well. such a good—" and she leaves the word hanging, letting you fill it in

her thumb pressing your lower lip down—"open. let me see how much you want it."

when you whimper, she coos—"aw, was that too much? you can handle a little more, can't you?"

hair pulling. just a little. gripping the back of your head while you're between her thighs. gentle, guiding, hers.

her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you look up at her

you on your knees, her hand on your head, setting the pace—faster, slower, exactly what she wants

"good," she breathes, and tugs a little harder. you moan. she smiles.

the way she holds you there, keeps you there, until she's satisfied

after, she strokes your hair like an apology, like a reward

nipple play. she's obsessed. she'll spend hours on your chest if you let her.

her mouth on you, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, until you're arching into her

her fingers rolling, pinching, tugging—watching your face twist with pleasure

"so sensitive," she murmurs. "i love how responsive you are."

ice, then heat, then her mouth again—keeping you guessing

you fully naked, her fully dressed, and she's just playing with your chest like it's the most interesting thing in the world

biting. shoulders, neck, thighs, anywhere she can reach. she leaves marks like signatures. you wear them like souvenirs.

her teeth sinking into your shoulder as she comes, the sharp sting of it

leaving bruises on your thighs so you can press on them later and remember

"wear my marks," she says against your skin. "i want everyone to know you're taken."

the way she soothes each bite after, tongue flicking over the indents like an apology she doesn't mean

you finding new marks in the morning, and smiling, because they're hers

rough housing. so you know pushing, shoving, wrestling. the feeling of her weight on you, your body pinned down, your breath trapped under her. it's not real anger—it's play. it's trust.

you trying to push her off, and her holding you down easier than you expected

the struggle, the breathlessness, the way she grins when she wins

her hands holding your wrists, your thighs, anywhere she can grip

"try harder," she teases. "is that all you've got?"

after, both of you breathless and laughing, and she kisses you soft because she knows

scissoring. now kate, WILL always give lesbian. this is not negotiable (as the writer). and scissoring? this is her religion. she loves the intimacy of it. the way your bodies press together, the way she can feel every tremor, every gasp, every time you clench against her. she loves watching you fall apart beneath her—and she loves knowing she's the one doing it to you.

you on your back, her thigh between yours, grinding against you slow and deliberate—watching your face twist with pleasure

her on top, legs tangled with yours, her cunt pressed against yours, the friction building and building

"look at me," she says. you do. she holds your gaze while she moves, while she takes you apart.

the way she adjusts—faster, slower, harder, softer—reading your body like a map

you coming undone, crying out, and she doesn't stop—keeps going, keeps grinding, keeps you falling

after, when you're both breathless and shaking, she kisses you soft and whispers—"so good for me. so pretty when you come."

pet names. "baby," "sweetheart," "good girl/boy/job baby." she says them like a promise. like you're hers and she's never letting go.

"there you go, baby. just like that."

"you're so good for me, sweetheart. so perfect."

"good girl," she murmurs, stroking your hair. "you did so well."

the way the names sound different when she says them—like they're yours alone

after, when you're half-asleep, her voice soft and warm—"i've got you, baby. rest now."

aftercare queen. she's SO soft after. blankets, water, food, lazy kisses. "you did so good. i'm so proud of you. rest now."

her wrapping you in a blanket, tucking it around your shoulders like you're precious

water, pressed to your lips, her hand on your cheek—"drink. you need it."

her carrying you to the bathroom, washing you gently, kissing each mark

you curled against her, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin, not rushing anywhere

"i'm so proud of you," she murmurs. "so proud. you were so good for me."

hard no: losing control. kate has spent her new life just adapting, surviving, chasing. control is how she stays sane—how she keeps herself and everyone else alive. in bed, she needs to be the one setting the pace. the one deciding when, how, how much.

if you try to take over, if you push her out of the driver's seat, she shuts down. not angry, just... gone. left somewhere you can't reach her. girl as trust issues, like she doesn't trust anyone else to handle the wheel, and she's not about to start with you.

"you're not going anywhere. i'm not done with you."

♤ — 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓅𝓈 / 𝒽𝓂 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ

✑ 𝒶/𝓃: let’s play pretend that i have been writing creepypasta stuff lol it’s been such a long time, so let’s see if i still go it or i completely lost it. so we starting small, plus i’m testing a semi-new layout as well! and don't worry there will be secoud one with already preselected list

An angel sent from heaven, that's what you resembled to Sevika when she pulled up at the truck stop. Crying with your makeup smeared down your cheeks and chin, messed up from how much you've been wiping away the tears.

The thud from Sevika's weight dropping onto the gravel from her truck caught your attention, lifting your head just enough to make eye contact with the stranger.

She was... gross. Her white wife pleaser was stained beyond saving with sweat, oil and grease stains. And something else you couldn't name. The toothpick between her teeth was chewed to death you're surprised she's not got spliters. Her nail beds were nasty too, large calloused hands covered in grime and fuel, cuticles a black color, matching underneath her nails.

Overall she was a mess... just like you, in some way. Only you were showered and more dishevelled than actually dirty. When was the last time she had a shower? The stench was terrible... yeah. Definitely not somewhat pleasing. Her musk was not making you feel oddly aroused. No way.

"Didn't your mama tell ya starin' is rude, doll?" Clutching your singular duffle bag closer to your chest you meet her eyes again. She's chewing on that pick with a smirk that is absolutely devastating, because it's so fucking sexy and you just broke up with your ex and you weren't about to rebound with some dirty trucker.

"Sorry... bad night." Had Sevika not been staring at your lips she wouldn't of known what you said- but lip reading came with the job, making out whatever stupid insults other drivers were shouting in their cars.

"Ain't got nowhere to land, do ya doll?" For a minute you want to protest, tell her you're waiting for somebodyto come and get you and that you'll be fine without her help.

However that would be a lie.

"...no." it was so quiet other than the rumbling of other trucks and the two old truckers with beer bellies laughing just outside the store.

"Get in the truck doll, I've got ya." Before you could think about refusing she'd tossed the truck keys into your lap and started to walk away towards the fuel pump. This was a terrible idea. Horrible. You're probably going to end up being the star of your very own murder documentary... but you really had no other choice.

It was this or nothing.

⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•₊˚⊹

"If you wanna settle down for the night, sleepers in the back." It had been an hour since you accepted the ride from the woman- who you'd learned was named Sevika. Peering past the curtain that separated the cab from the sleeper your nose wrinkles.

Why you expected her sleeping conditions to be any cleaner than her was beyond you. Of course it was filthy. The mattress had no sheet and there was some... concerning stains. The duvet she did have was as rumpled up into a ball in the corner. And she had one singular fucking pillow.

What. The. Fuck.

"You... you actually sleep back there? Like that?" Sevika's smirk grew as she took a quick peek back into the sleeper, assessing then deciding it was fine.

"Nothin' wrong with that doll, us truckers ain't picky. You take what you can get." Sitting back and refocusing on the road ahead, your eyes keep drifting to her hands. They're disgusting yet you keep imagining them on you for some fucked up reason.

"That's gross. You could at least get a mattress cover or something. Like what are those stains?" A shiver ran through you at your own question. Why did you ask? You don't want to know. The answer is only going to gross you out further.

"Struggle to sleep. Get alotta 'lone time with my fist." She smirks. Your lips purse in disgust.

"Ugh. You're such a perv."

"Like you ain't ever touched your own pussy, bet it's real sweet."

"Something you'll never find out."

"We'll see about that."

Her stench was filling up the cab, a musky, horrid sweaty scent that was doing nothing to help this god awful attraction towards her that you're actively ignoring. The jacket over your lap hides the way your thighs press together- or so you think.

Sevika is observant, has to be when driving a big rig like this. Of course she catches it.

"Got get some shut eye, doll. You're practically fallin' asleep over there." You really shouldn’t. You don't want too, being asleep means being vulnerable... though it had been a long day, and an even longer, emotionally draining evening.

A hour. At most.

⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•₊˚⊹

Sevika was trying so hard, so fucking hard. The urge to pull over and climb back there to have her way with you was overwhelming. It had been a good few years since she'd had something so pretty in her grasp- though no amount of time lessened her senses to women who were turned on.

The way you tried to hide it was adorable. She knew you didn't want to be attracted to her, Sevika knows she's a little roughed up, but everyone deserves a little love, right?

Pulling into a nearby, empty pit stop she slows and stops the truck gently as to not wake you. Initially you'd argued, were adamant that you weren't sleeping in her filth, though eventually you gave in. Climbing into the back is a struggle with Sevika being over six foot the sleeper was too small for her alone.

With you in it? She'd make it work.

You'd fallen asleep facing away from the cab, giving Sevika the perfect opportunity to stop down and spoon you from behind. Immediately she feels you tense then relax as she envelops you from behind, her musky scent flooding your senses in the best way possible.

"Sevikaaa... no..." the protest was weak, sleepy and absolutely not at all a real protest. Sevika ignored it and let her hands roam, slipping into your waistband and under your panties. With exploring hands she finds exactly what she thought she would.

Soft. Warm. Wet... and fucking tight. The tips of her two fingers already felt like they were stretching you open and she only had the tips of her digits in there. "Jesus fucking christ doll..."

Her hips roll against you pressing her chubbed up cock between your cheeks. Thank god you wore a skirt... maybe it's not so good for you though she has easy access and that's all she cares about.

By now you were half asleep, half awake your inhibitions weakened. Without restraint Sevika wraps one dirty, calloused hand around one thighs, lifting and spreading you open as she replaces her fingers with her length. A low, feral groan escapes Seviks, her breath hot against your neck as she start to rock the rig rocking along with your bodies as she stuffs you full.

You smelled so fucking sweet it was intoxicating.

Sevika smelled so fucking musky which was also intoxicating in an embarrassing way, because despite denying you wanted this, your body was reacting completely differently. Your hands come to rest on her forearm which was wrapped loosely around your neck to keep you in her hold as she humps into you like your nothing but a warm, wet hole for her pleasure.

"Shit baby... so fuckin' tight." Her hands spread you open wider as her thrusts pick up speed and intensity. The loud 'plap plap plap' of her hips pounding against your fleshy backside filled the small space, bouncing off the sleeper walls accompanied by the embarrassingly loud squelching of your cunt.

Small whines and moans are forced from your sleepy mouth as Sevika has her way with you, giving no option but to take it. Rhythmically your pussy pulses and clenches around her invading length, betraying your disgust with a primal need to be taken.

The position was slightly awkward and Sevika wasn't a young hound anymore but she'll be dammed if she stops or slows down just because her knees hurt. "Look at you... takin' my cock like a filthy fucking street whore hm? Gonna start working the corner to pay me back for all the miles I've driven you hm?"

Sevika's words were cruel, so godamn cruel yet all you could do was let out a pathetic, mindless whimper as your cunt betrayed you once more, gushing around her cock. With each pummel of her hips you could feel her swelling inside you, twitching with need. "That's right baby, lie here and take it. My very own personal cocksleeve... we'll loosen you up, don't worry doll."

Her last few stokes were lazy, her hips rolling and grinding to bury herself as deep as she could get before she let go. Groaning and biting at your sweaty neck she kept still, thighs tensing as she stuffed you full of her seed, the creamy white leaking out around her cock and smearing over your ass cheeks.

She wasn't sure if you came and she couldn't care less if you had. That was the best fuck she's had in... years. She's keeping you. Maybe in the morning she'll find a nice spot to take you for breakfast, knowing you'll be walking around with her dried cum between your legs.

It was unknown to you right now that you were hers, as you fell asleep in her arms again exhausted and completely fucked out. You'd learn soon enough.