vanna

Bianca was not real.

He is old, he is dying, everyone is dying, and he just recently accepted very harsh truths. He just induced his whole town because he couldn't face them. After Bianca's funeral, the fog was clear behind his eyes.

He is a single, 35 year old man living in a garage.

And he has a doll kink.

Or, that's what the internet affirms he has, after weeks of being on the edge of madness, again, he is finally facing his own issues.

Because no matter how much he now stares into Bianca’s resting place, who is immobile, silent and unreal; the idea of dressing, taking care and grooming a real girl stains his mind. He envied Karin, because it was her and her friends who did all that hard work; but why did he refuse to do it? Was it God telling him no, or was the idea of his desires so disgusting he was ashamed to even dare to open that door?

He tries to distract himself with work, with Gus and Karin, and his baby nephew; it's calming, he adores them, and he has received the love and the appreciation people might envy.

But there is something wrong with him.

But the idea is there, melting his brain completely, not leaving a breathing second for him to create those heavy pictures in his mind.

You came back to his mind after so many years.

You, dressed in pretty dresses, hair fresh and brushed, with velvet bows adorning your satin hair on the back; pictures that drown his common sense and possessed every waking and unconscious second of his life.

So that guides directly to you.

You, the girl who has always been in love with you, since he was a little boy with falling milk teeth and burning admiration in his eyes.

Both have grown together.

From childhood to high school, until adulthood, made you grow bigger wings, and he has to accept forever to carry the burden of his failure.

You work in the bookshop he always likes to go to when he doesn't find anything interesting in the public library.

But he has always been a fucking coward.

Silently, the fire that could burn the entire forest was slowly getting smaller, as he saw your life from afar.

How you took other boys, and even girls… You moved out. He accepted that; he let the girl of his childhood dreams go; maybe by this moment, he could have the chance to have what Gus had with Karin, maybe having two baby daughters by now, if he wasn't… different.

But suddenly, very pleasantly and conveniently, you returned.

You bought a little house close to the forest, a little far from your parents just to live — they all died, you only had an older brother, who he never grew to like. – You got a job, avoided church and ran every morning.

He knows, because he has been watching ever since.

Everything was falling into place, your return was not just a lucky convenience, it was God’s will to make you his!

He entered your house when you worked one time, he wrote down any clothing measurements, shoe sizes, bra cups, what bathroom products you used, so what is he keeping and what he would replace them with something better.

Because he is willing to bring your hair back to life and cheap shampoo with no conditioner, he doubts it, but that's why he took a full summer break for how to be a hairstylist from Karin’s friend; he can’t depend on her, and even when he has a gentle amount of knowledge in women's fashion, hair is another rocket science, a misstep and all can go fall into the pits of hell.

He is devotedly determined to make you his real doll.

Not a doll; everyone would laugh at him or see him as a mentally ill man.

He learned.

He is not that man anymore.

He wants to be a man, a father a husband, like his brother and his father before them, so bad.

He would be forever grateful to Bianca, because he did not just open himself to want something more than just to be a voyeur in life, he wants to take his dreams and make them true, no matter the cost.

Lars has wasted enough time.

He cannot afford to waste more. 

He doesn't like shopping for clothes for himself. He doesn't like men's wear. It's boring and dull. Women's clothes are beautiful and so fun! He has enjoyed them since he was such a little boy. Watching women's magazines and looking at the malls; Gus never made him shameful for it, his dad tried, but after he watched him using his mother's clothing, he immediately gave up. He has always been so alien to women's lives. No sisters or relatives. He only had his mum's old clothes to picture what she was like, and nothing else.

But he doesn't look in a weird way.

It is pure admiration.

And obviously, he is heavily aroused by the idea of dressing up some girl.

And that girl is going to be YOU!

He bought everything!

Everything is ready and settled.

He is just going to hunt for his doll.

And that's another big fantasy of his.

Chasing someone in the woods.

Fucking her in the woods.

Filling your tight cunt with every drop inside his balls, over the floor of the woods.

Making you his in the woods.

And that's what he is planning to do, in the plain daylight, at 6am, in a small town, in a foggy Minnesota morning.

It is cold and dark, but lightly visible.

You always say hi to him politely, even when he barely managed to say hello after years and years of mirror training! You have always been so nice and so dumb fucking pretty.

After you passed him on the road, it was time.

He starts following you from behind.

He races his pace as you and him step deeper into the road of the hardwoods.

His cock starts to tingle inside his pants as he follows you.

“Do you want to walk with me, Lars?” You ask him, to dryly stop, he has never spoken to you directly, but it's time to break that.

And stopping their pacing is not going to change the fact that he is going to hunt you down like a wolf to a hare in the woods.

“I want— I want to hunt you in the woods…” He said it the best he could, he was fucking nervous, talking to the love of his life is hard!

“Excuse me?” Lars wants what? “Y-you want… to hunt me, like, what? Like an animal with a gun?”

You want to freak out, but you are hoping he is joking.

Is it so hard when the one saying that batshit words come from a chubby, stuffed animal giant man you have known since you were like five- seven?

“¡No! Absolutely not, I don't like guns! Uhm…” He shakes his head with big shocked eyes and a flush round cheeks. “I-I want to hunt you down, like—like if I want to catch you and fuck you in the ground… kind of hunt,” he explained, he touched his pants, he nervous to death, but he has no other options.

He doesn't like guns, they are too loud.

You were frozen, a stone figurine in the middle of a pond, what can you respond to that?

'Thanks for wanting to fuck me, I haven't had sex in more than a year! How did you know I'm desperate?' or 'How you, Lars Lindstrom, can say those things out loud, the most I had heard you in almost thirty years say was yes or no, and Hi, nothing else! What do you mean you said that you want me, to chase me through the woods and fuck me??’.

“First of all, what the fuck?” You closed your eyes. “Second, why?”.

He cannot give you a sincere answer because he is about to kidnap you, and he is still not ready to confess his entire life infatuation for you, not yet, at least.

Not in words.

He shrugged his shoulders, the only thing that can be heard is the birds singing and the dead leaves crushing under their feet.

“You are joking?” you asked, still, still! Holding onto any kind of hope, he just says something funny or walks away to forget this moment.

Because, the tragedy of all, is that you always liked Lars, at least a little, he has never known a single day of ugliness in his life, but he is too neurodivergent to even notice it.

Or, well, it's that, or he is just too shy.

He shakes his head with blinking eyes, he is alarmingly nervous, you know him well enough, he is restless and somehow impatient.

“If… you catch me, what would you do?” You asked, you can't believe you haven't run away or called him weirdo or something, you heard about the Bianca thing, you didn't witness it, but you have seen the tombstone to confirm it was true.

You can say Lars has something special.

A charisma or a charm, something that made him so loved, cared for, and very protected by the whole town. You cannot explain the phenomenon that happens around him, but you cannot explain what makes him so special, to be this thoughtful and patient with him.

When he is telling you he wants to hunt you down in the woods and fuck you… The idea somehow doesn't disgust you.

“I told you, I would fuck you right there,” he gives you a tight lip smile with apples in his cheeks, sweet crazy motherfucker.

“Ok… and what would you do after?” A ride home? A pat on the back? He would pay you money or something? You are walking in the middle of a forest park, the idea of feeling like a sex worker is not that far to come true!

“I will take you home with me.”

“For what?”

“Take care of you, of course.”

“Like an aftercare?” This is a small, traditional town, you doubt he would know what aftercare really means.

“Yeah,” he simply answered, OK, awesome, should you start running or are we going to warm up first?

You sigh.

“Cool,” you said, making both of you stare in silence.

“I will give you thirty seconds of advantage,” he said, looking at his watch.

“What happens if you don't catch me? And when do you start counting?” you asked, immensely anxious.

“I will come back tomorrow to try again, and I'm counting by now, you still have twenty seconds.” You cried a worried squeak before you start running, not as fast as you need to be.

But you didn't take it seriously until you heard the hard and heavy stomps from behind.

He is still wearing those heavy leather boots he got almost fifteen years ago, you made the bad choice of looking back just to see him getting closer and closer.

“Fuck! Shit! Shit! Ah!” you shout obscenities, burning the little air your lungs can barely contain, making you slower and slower as he follows you into the deep side of the woods, you try to avoid the roads of branches and fallen trunks that could put you in disadvantage.

But Lars has years of experience and training, you don't need to ask him to know he does, because he is skipping everything on his way, like a deer on steroids. He is a woods ballerina while you were fighting not to fall and break your fucking ankle or hit your head over a tree like a Looney toon.

You didn't even have the chance to grasp into any chance to see hope from afar, is the fucking deep insides of the woods, Lars stumbles on you from behind as you both crash on the floor and he just smashes you in the wet, cold ground, he is fucking heavy as hell; the weight wasn't that bad, you could never dream to carry him or at least try to raise him up to fuck him off.

Your hands grasp on the damp earth and the dead leaves, crawl away, but his heavy body pinned you completely, you growl in desperation.

As he huffed violently, regaining his breath, but also desperate to hold you still, and also… he was pulling down your exercise sweatpants, you felt a cold slap on your ass cheeks.

“Why didn't you have any better fantasies? Why outside in the fucking cold!” you shout as he was huffing violently, taking his already hard cock out.

“I'm sorry, I'm… I'm so sorry,” he moaned, relieved, you felt a fat stretch that burned you, he is insane but he has a fat cock! He never stopped apologising.

“Fuck…!” you shout, still crawling to escape the fullness. Lars just hit rock bottom on your cervix.

Large and thick, lovely, adorable, and handsome, all in one man, why?

Your legs were starting to fail you, but you were cold as fuck, your whole chest and belly are damp, so you are shivering like crazy, and it doesn't help, Lars slow thrusting… It feels so good, your head falls into the ground, denial, then why do you want to moan?

The cold that's invading your chest, belly and arms is a funny, uncomfortable contrast of what you are feeling on your insides, you feel hot, a warm spread of warmth just rising to your head, how long has it been since the last time you did this?

Well… too long, to be enjoying this too much.

His big hands hold the beginning of your hips and waist, making a delicious, possessive grip under his non-stop grinding. You couldn't see his face, but it was obvious he was enjoying it by the exciting whining sounds that he emitted, it was weird to find a man this noisy in sex.

You enjoy it, big time, actually.

There must be something wrong with you, because how can a big, chunky man who weighs almost as much as a standard car and looks like a bear who had a wish to become human, be provoking you great pleasure just by the noise? Well, it is impossible to ignore: he owns big thighs, and maybe that explains the great force of thrust he provokes.

You want to roll over and let him fuck you face to face, maybe kiss him if he lets you, but he was determined, he clunches your jacket, lifting your back a little more, as you hear him peaking a little more on his tone, his orgasm was falling rapidly with you, because you didn't know in a million years you would be into this.

When the floor got damped with your coming and excessively shivering legs, you knew you were officially fucked up forever. Lars was still rutting inside you, he hasn't let you go for a second, you are deeply wondering how the fuck are you going to walk back at home, so dirty and damped.

The cum dripping outside your hole was a weird sensation in the freezing air, something primal in your mind just got a sparkle of enjoyment from it.

Just when you thought he was finally letting you go, he pulls up your underwear and your sweatpants, and he just casually lifts you off the floor to hang you on his shoulder like if you were a lost sheep.

Somehow, you were grateful he is doing this, because your body ached by the cold and… everything. You didn't give him your home address, and still he knew exactly where you live and he knew the door was open, how?

“You shouldn't leave your house door open all the time, strangers might get in,” he said as a matter of fact, because he already has done that and he didn't like to know you are so careless.

“Who is going to get in, anyway?” Him.

…

Lars leaves you on a chair next to the bathtub while he prepares the shower. The promised aftercare. He washes your hair with products he hid in your bathroom closet.

“I have never bought these,” you point out at the hair products, while Lars keeps scrubbing deliciously on your scalp.

You might start kicking your leg like a dog.

“No, I did,” he said softly, rinsing the product with the warm water, being careful of your eyes.

“You get inside my house,” that's why… oh, ok, got it.

You made a mental note to barricade your house tomorrow.

“I will bring the rest of the stuff with me later, but right now I need to clean you up,” he clears, bring what? You asked yourself, as he washed your skin with a washcloth, he was meticulous and careful with the passing.

The feeling was sensational, your body is so loose and relaxed, it is concerning.

Because what if he is a serial killer?

But painfully, you know him all his life, you watched how he sobbed every time when science teachers dissected frogs, he couldn't watch frogs getting brutally murdered, and he always had school troubles in science because of it, he didn't got the best grades, but at least the teacher was human enough to let him go.

You know he has been a softie from the moment he was born, because he was sobbing uncontrollably after watching ‘E.T.’ in class.

That hunt in the woods was actually the most violent thing you have ever seen in his life.

And it wasn't that bad, in your opinion.

Living in big cities has taught you enough.

He helped you dry, brushed your hair, he dried it, he put in more hair products that made your hair feel expensive and smell delicious.

“I can dress myself, thanks…” you said to him, still holding the towel, he didn't say anything, he just stared at you, highly determined you will let him dress you.

He didn't resign.

You gave a faint sigh as you left the towel on the chair and let the pretty underwear be on.

You didn't thought much on the fact that he saw you naked, he already left his sperm inside you and leave him inside your house.

Socks and a mid-thigh white cotton nightdress. you didn't recognise anything he was putting on you, where the hell is he taking all this stuff? God only knows, but apparently, he has been planting stuff in your own fucking house for God only knows for how long.

He made you stand before your bedroom mirror, and you looked like a doll.

You have a trillion questions he wasn't going to answer, he gave you the prettiest baby blue cardigan to cover, it was so soft, and it smells like him and vanilla clothing softener.

“You must be hungry,” in fact, you were.

He didn't pop up anything else from nowhere, he used what you had on your fridge, and the white sauce chicken pasta was absolutely insane.

He ate too, he was dirty too.

“You can shower if you want,” you said after finishing the food, you would lick the plate, but you can highly guess he would be mad if you stained the pretty clothes he just… induced you to wear, how does he do it? Why are you so OK with any of it?

Well, his demands are not violent, ugly, or unpleasant.

“Oh no, I cannot shower in my doll house, I will shower at home, but thank you,” he said, taking the plates to wash.

“What doll house?” you asked him, totally forgetting Lars is the same man who, at least an hour ago, he tackled you in the woods.

He turned around, still washing the dishes, you should be helping, but you feel very little in doing so.

His expression was one of deep surprise, and almost like if you were asking why the sky is blue, or why we keep using capitalism when it doesn't work.

“Your house, dummy, you are my doll,” he said with a tight lip smile, his usual normal smile.

It would be foolish trying to speak with common sense, but you have to start taking different directions towards your questions because, so far, you have been fruitless.

“But in the woods, you said you would only do aftercare,” you point, he hasn't finished with the dishes, that's why he hasn't faced you yet.

“Yeah, but I will give you constant aftercare after that. I will take care of you, because you are my doll,” he overexplained.

“So, you have a thing for dolls, I thought your relationship with Bianca was pure, as what people said, did you fuck her in the woods too?” He catches your stare so quickly he almost drops a dish.

He was so scandalized by the accusation.

“We never did anything, I kissed her the moment she died…” He said hissing a sting of pain stabbing his chest. “I have never had sex before, or with Bianca.”

It was weird, he was so poignant about it, Bianca was a sex doll after all, that was her whole purpose.

Wait, the fuck!

“Lars, what we had in the woods was your… first time?” He nods slowly, hiding his eyes on the floor as he blinks a trillion times, red as the mug he was holding.

“Oh my fucking god…” You sink your hands on your face, you don't know what to do with that information.

Why would he want to have his first time like that?

Why you?

And why was he so good at sex already?

“OK, bedtime!” he announced when the kitchen was pristine.

He let you wash your teeth alone. You are not a dog, and just that analogy would win you the privilege of letting you do it yourself.

You were getting inside bed alone, until you heard hard clicks in the bathroom. He came out with a large line of chains on his hand, and he just grabbed your ankle and…

“Lars, why are you chaining me in my house?” You are exhausted, to keep making questions, Lars looks like he is shining inside out.

He accommodates the sheets and the comfy cushions.

“Well, I need to go to work, and I would need to change the door locks and prepare your windows so you don't hurt yourself. Don't worry, I would let you go outside, but right now is a prevention.” You were collar up, covered and suffering in nonestop nonsense.

“Prevention from what?” He sits beside your bed, he looks truly… happy? He could light fireworks with his eyes.

“I would need to prevent you from flying away from me, when you accept to stay with me as a doll, you can go back to work and everything, oh! I'm dying to see you walk around with such pretty clothes!” OK, why are you blushing? You are so exhausted, this day is so fucking weird!!!

“OK, would you come back tomorrow?” You literally depend on it, or else you will die.

He nods, leaving a soft kiss on your lips and calling a good night, you hear him outside, the click of your door keys, the heavy steps, the engine of his car… Wait, he parked in front of your house?

You literally have the survival instincts of a hamster.

This was so fun!

I don't think this can be told in one post, I would make a second post about this, just like the Dark Ken with the Monster High doll.

REMEMBER I'M STILL OPEN TO REQUESTS AND READ YOUR THOUGHTS, LITERALLY ANYTHING, I ADORE ANYTHING YOU SEND ME, REALLY!

STAY FREAKY, POOKIES!

Reader at the end of her day, just so fucking DONE with Lars continuous unstopped bullshit:

oh my god if the pilots are fucking... who's flying mary 😧

Closer by NIN was a big inspo for this one and was on repeat a majority of the time wheheheohohoh🫪🫪🫪

No close ups since it'll get flagged hhehehehe you'll have to click on it to see it better

Henry has been always so curious, to almost the bridge of tears, on why you disappeared for days and reappear out of nowhere, acting so jolly, when days ago he was sure that you were going to fade away. He always questioned why, in college, big events or in parties, you disappeared quickly and reappeared with swollen eyes and a haunting desperation in your soul, faking a smile with your friends. He always wondered why he found you alone in some sections of school, almost hiding from your friends, and in others, you are racing your thoughts into them for hours and switching conversations as quickly as they begin. He questioned if you had a caffeine addiction like him, in why you shake so much, just to find you are a normal caffeine consumer (bummer, he has to be the addicted one in the relationship). He has a trillion questions he is dying to meet them, finally, as you were his.

You didn't know how to take the fact that you were Henry Letham's girlfriend. Firstly, he did stay with you, beside you, all afternoon after he confessed he was your stalker, even when your friends looked at you with 'WTF is going on with this dude? He is standing beside you like a ghost and not saying shit!' eyes, but you ignored them, for some reason you can't grasp in your logical part of your brain, but you kinda liked he stayed with you. Your relationship isn't a 'typical' one, as the way it started is normal of everything media has ever told you to be. He is still the same shy weirdo you knew, but he is getting bolder by time, you like it that he takes his time with you, like adapting to your waters, and you to his presence. 

Henry still keeps an eye on you most of the time, without touching you or saying a word, he doesn't need to. He asked for your phone number, you gave it to him so easily. He is glad you didn't push him away, but even for him, your calmness is odd. "So you are OK if you exchange messages with your stalker?" He is trying to be funny or flirty, but it sounded awful out loud. "You are dreadfully lucky that you are so fucking cute, Henry Letham," you said, holding his heavy gaze, but just a blooming smile appeared. Yeah, you just made his infatuation even worse.

'I liked your red mini skirt, come tomorrow with it' he texted you one night, while you were dissolving into dispair on your apartment. You didnt went to college that day. Somehow that message was a light of reality and hope, maybe tomorrow you will feel well enough to put on that mini skirt. You should be disgusted by this, but you are frightently aroused that there is a dude so beuatiful as Henry luring you in the depts for everything you did, you read the little letters he did discribing you as paintings. And you just accepted that you are falling slowly for him.

You didn't come to school for days. You had a bad episode. Every day, Henry texted you, every day with a different idea on how you should come to school. 'Maybe you should put on those black stockings you like to use, I would die to see you'. You were getting better by the day, but you hoped you could get better to make him happy, it's exhausting.

He was smiling all day when he finally saw you come back, you were using the red mini skirt he has fantasised multiple times, but you were using the stockings with a tiny twist: those were middle thigh stockings and you wrote his name on the edge of your thigh, where you can lift it when you know he is watching and rejoice on his silent combustion while they were on class (he is going to fucking faint!).

Both were sitting on a bench at the end of your classes, looking at the life walking by, the rush of the time (Henry isn't hiding the fact he is hard as a rock that took Viagra), but you broke the silence, "Henry, I need to tell you something...".

You let him know your diagnosis, you can't explain why you are telling him (a hot looking stranger that stole your shit), something you have barely told to one of your girlfriends, and you trust that hoe with your life! You have seen in a painfully and shamefully amount of times how, when you tell other people of your diagnosis, and they take it horribly as possible. It is unthinkable to someone close, now you are just spilling it just like nothing to your stalker/boyfriend, but...you truly want to know how observant he truly was or prove something else... Maybe telling could shoo him away and leave you alone, and your things be. But he just smiled and said, "I show you my psychiatrist medications and you show me yours." It was awfully hilarious; he was also mentally ill, of course he is!

Eventually, after that, he started showing off to your apartment. He went there every morning to walk you to college, even if he lives so far away from you, he still loves your company, he has been yearning for it, and it shows that he smiles all the time in silence. "Your face doesn't hurt by how much you smile?" you asked him one day while you two were in the bus. "Honestly, woman, I didn't even notice I was smiling," he said, somehow you truly trust him, deeply. He is there with you all the time, like a baby duck following you around. He was right; you would shove him food like if your life depends on it (he has gained a few pounds since you started to be his girlfriend, and even the teacher of History of Art noticed it and said, 'Jesus, Henry, you look healthier lately' and the whole class laughed, you didn't, but it was true, he hasn't felt healthy in ages!).

You have been medicated for years, you lived a normal life even with your mental illness. You learned how to ignore the symptoms, when you forget taking your medication (that's why you had that awful episode) and mask it, just continue making the task and hoping the episode ends soon. Some things can't be ignored, but you have enough time to get just to it, and you have a very strict regimen in your life, so no one in school might know about it. When you can feel the tsunami coming for you, you know yourself too well; and Henry is learning everyday how to read it too. He is memorising every little word and mannerism you do to perfection. He even started learning about your illness, and he asked his psychiatrist about it too (you were doing the same for his diagnosis).

Henry is always outside of your therapy session. Religiously, he began going there by himself, you didn't ask him or tell him you go to therapy in the first place. And you managed to find his psychiatrist, office and appointments (you flirted with the hospital receptionist, don't tell Henry, OK?). "You are not my patient," said Henry's Psychiatrist, looking at you. "She is my girlfriend," said Henry with golden pride, his doctor looked stunned and he waves at you. "You know he stalked you, right?" You huffed. "Sir, he hasn't given me my things back yet." Henry laughed while his doctor looked at both of you with a laugh of rendition.

Henry wants more of your things, but now he is at your disposal. "Give me your panties and I will return a painting," he said one morning on the bus. You stopped caring about those paintings. When you were close to get into campus, you stopped and took off your panties and handed those to him. "You are lucky I'm wearing an easy access skirt," you teased. (Don't worry, he fingered you in the bathroom at the end of the first class). So thats your deal with him, you bargain your underwear and your bras, for all the stolen things back. And the cycle never ends.

One day, Henry appeared in school with a big, ass carnivore plant for you. "What is that, Henry?" You asked, holding your laugh, biting your lip. "A friend and a smoothie," he did have you a smoothie and the plant. "Keep it alive and I will give you a big surprise," he said with a shining smile; you have not seen him smile like this ever. "What is it?" You asked, almost bursting, of course you need to ask, you can't live with mystery, not like this. "Surprise," he said, planting a kiss on your cheek, you were burning hot (you had to carry a carnivore plant the size of a very fat cat all around campus, and you know what? You don't mind. You had to investigate and ask the gardeners how to take care of the bloody thing. And you find that actually the plant only looks intimidating, but it's actually a delicate softy, like you. Smart ass emo boy).

You two became the kings of emo boyfriends because of how psychotic in love you looked, and the bandages you two are always wearing fill the aesthetic entirely (you two are remembered in the generation as the most 'passionate couple').

He became like your emotional support dog (he is hands down into it, seriously, it's acually fulfilling being so helpful for you as much as you do are for him). Like every time you are having anxiety attacks, you managed to hide them for everyone with a talent he admires, now he was there to hold you when you were shaking too much in class. He holds the inner of your thighs and squeezes them as much as he does too with your hands; and he massages them, circular motions that makes you horny, but now you are not anxious anymore.

Henry still looks for you to be in every class, if he doesn't find you, he will get you. If you don't go to school, he will find you and stay with you. He will call you at least once before going to sleep. "I want to hear you touching yourself," said Henry across the line, as you practically end up the call after an orgasm and a trillion 'I love you'. (He masturbates with you, he whimpers like a kitten, and you can't wait to see him cry when you finally fuck him. Because, as weird as Henry usually is, he likes it this way. He wants to keep torturing himself his way into you).

"Was it you who left that bag of medicines on my doorstep?" You asked. He nodded. "I did," he was placidly proud. "Sometimes I get too nauseous in my anxiety breakdowns... Thank you," you said, it meant the world to you, because that time you couldn't find a way on how to walk towards a pharmacy and come back to your apartment. Henry has become your guardian, taking care of you in so many little details that felt like milestones in your life.

He likes taking walks with you, his psychiatrist recommended him to take them when he has his mind full of racing thoughts, the kind of thoughts that would want him to make things he doesn't truly want to do. He doesn't want to die, he doesn't want to leave you. But taking walks around the city calms him, you don't need to say anything. You just share a bud of his Airpod and listen to all his songs with you. He is having the greatest time of his life, and he doesn't even know where to begin to thank you (It's actually infuriating how fucking effective walking is, and now he has to give his doctor right, hurray...).

One day, you too found out a little hack by pure accident. He likes the super soured patch kids flavour, you were at nothing to break into another panic attack, and suddenly, by pure accident, you took a few of the candies in your mouth (you thought that maybe if you were going to have an awful time, at least have something in your stomach), and boom! Your brain electrocuted by the overstimulation of sensations, it got too distracted to think, it did anything because the sourness of the candies saved you. From that day on, you and Henry carry a bag of sour patch kids (specially Henry, he carries a shit ton of random shit on his backpack, people might believe he is actually insane. Like, why do you need 20 super sour patch kids packages for??? He has like four pairs of your used underwear, barely a sketchbook, his medication and a destroyed pencil. They would think he is a fucking psychopath).

You kiss every scar on his arms, and he just can't resist turning that sweetness into a hook up because how can he resist you? "Please promise me that the day you stop burning yourself, you will marry me," you told him. He was speechless, for saying the least, but he just noticed that he wasn't the only one who thought was depraved. You are just fucked as he is, and he can't wait to spend the rest of his life with you (he ends up never burning himself again, well, just once or twice he slips, but still, you wore that promise ring like a champion).

You and your mom are close, but since she isn't there, it has been hard to maintain yourself in the shower every day. As some days you cannot move from your bed, Henry obviously comes to the rescue. He helps you shower, he is gentle and always tries to make stupid dad jokes he learned from his own father that barely made any sense to you, but you bawled on how grateful he is there while you curled up with him in your bed after the shower.

You actually managed to maintain the carnivore plant alive, and Henry named it 'Gerard'; he is a total fanboy. But, as promised, he surprised you with the nastiest and best mind blown pussy eating you had ever had in your life. You felt almost like he sucked your life from your pussy (you squirted... twice!).

He has all your medication scheduled, sometimes you are too distracted by everything, you even forget the time, so he has alarms for both times medications. He doesn't carry your pills, he trusts you are incredibly responsible, you take care of him when he is deeply uninspired or he struggles with his imposter syndrome. But he even calls when he isn't there with you to take your pills.

"What if we live together?" you asked him, you two hadn't had sex yet, and still he absolutely loved the idea. He moved that afternoon, he doesn't have much. You discovered the grotesque amount of pictures he has about you (you asked him for taking a few, it literally took him a lot of effort to say yes).

You had your first time, but he actually video recorded and burned it into a CD, so every time you two had celebration or a special kind of sex, he would record it and add it to his collection. Henry is still the same stalking creep, what can he say?

Before you discovered the Sour Patch Kids hack, he learned another tip from his psychiatrist: when you had a breakdown, immediately he ran off for taking ice cubes and placed them on the palms of your hands. "Breathe with me, sweetheart," he said, looking at you directly in the eyes, while you follow his steps, breathe 1...2...3...4...5... Rest five and take air again, 1...2...3...4...5. You could barely see with your blurred eyesight. You felt numb after those, but it always worked fast.

After your relationship with Henry, you can count with your hands the amount of times you have felt anxious, had breakdowns, felt disoriented; you had to talk with your doctor about your depression issues, and she just fixed the medication. Since then, you both lived a life you couldn't believe could be this delightful. All thanks to your little stalker.

I still cant belive it took me TEN DAYS to respond to this request, JESUS H CHRIST, whats wrong with me!

I mean i seriously i hope with my entire life this makes sense or satisfy anyone, i had talked to my therapist about this and she said it was fine i do this.

Shoutout to the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics for the banners!

Henry who follows you home from a lecture after watching you intently instead of paying attention to the professor’s presentation. He's been noticing you for a while but the pull is getting stronger. He loves the way your eyes glitter at the things that take your interest, the way your hair falls as you concentrate on your note taking, the way you smile. You were the most interesting thing in the room today without a doubt.

He finds the perfect spot outside your place to be able to watch you through the window without being seen. Frequents it. He always knows when you'll be home, and when you are, he'll be there, waiting to watch. Even if it’s raining and he’s dripping wet — the weather doesn’t bother him. He’ll stand there to catch all your best moments.

Really, he just wants to be close to you, no matter what that takes. It becomes a habit, finding you somewhere on campus and following you unnoticed. He’s really good at it. He gets to know your every routine, every habit, who you're friends with, and even a lot of your likes and dislikes. It's surprising what you can learn about someone even from a distance.

Alone with his thoughts he replays the moments he captures through the glass that separates you when you're in your bedroom. He thinks about borrowing a camera from the photography department to be able to keep some of them. And then can’t help but imagine sitting beside you in your next lecture, his coat laid over the both of you as you slowly jerk him off. Mmh. You’d be so good at it, he just knows. Your hands are made to fit around him. You were made for him.

He can’t help but slide a hand into his pants as he watches you through the window changing your clothes, getting ready for bed or preparing for a shower… you’re never nude until the shades are closed. Of course you're not. You’re classy. And it’s okay, anyway because Henry can fill in the blanks.

He begins to draw you that way, laid out all perfect for him, and considers posting some of the drawings through your letter box. Anonymously of course; you deserve to know you have admirers and he isn’t doing it to be flashy or get noticed. He just wants to appreciate every part of you and let you know how special you are.

Then it ramps up from his thoughtful appreciations and harmless sexual fantasies to finding subtle ways to sabotage any other guy you speak to. Henry will cleverly swipe their phone to text you ‘Sorry, I have a girlfriend we can’t talk any more,’ before deleting your number and the message from the phone before returning it. He made sure to take note of your number first though, he’s not an idiot.

Maybe one day he'll message you. When it's the right time. When he's watching you, maybe, so he can see your reaction to him lighting up your phone. He's sure it'll be positive, after such a romantic gesture. All these guys you're friendly with and you don't even know the one for you is staring you right in the face, quite literally.