umi

kento nanami was the man who taught you how to ride a bike. and he's also the same man teaching you how to ride his cock.

"shhh... i know it's alot. breathe baby. ive got you" and he always did. nearly your whole life, it was always nanami who was there for you. you trusted him. he knew you better than you knew yourself.

and that's why you can't bring yourself to feel regret. you love him and you know he loves you too. had you not walked in one night on your bio dad getting sucked off by your mom, maybe you wouldn't have pursued nanami.

he was the one, of course, to console you. your bio dad wouldn't ever show up for you when you needed him, yet he would show up for that? your mom not even caring she was actively cheating on nanami. her reasoning being "he worked and spoiled you too much." :(

nanami was devastated, but just like he was always there for you, you were there for him. that night you both found out, neither of you could stay in the same house as her — quickly checking into a hotel nearby kento's work.

there was only one bed, but it would be fine. you weren't sharing a bed with a stranger or anything; it was just your stepdad.

the only person to truly provide for you, protect you, love you... unconditionally.

you would quickly strip down to just your panties and a tshirt while nanami was in the shower, and slide under the covers with your teddy bears, feigning sleep.

it was only when nanami finally sat down on the bed, brushing the hair out of your face and whispered "you're everything im not supposed to want, yet here i am in bed with you," did you slowly blink your eyes open.

before nanami backed away, scared he was overstepping, did you pull him back towards you.

"you're everything i want too..." you whisper back. "we don't need her — she wasn't there for us anyways."

nanami softly patted your head, nodding. he agreed, but was still hurt by your mom's betrayal :(

you cuddled with him until you both fell asleep. that was, until you tossed and turned, over and over, waking yourself up at two am. you softly gasped when you realized there was something poking against you >.<

"dad?" you whisper, hoping he's still asleep.

he's not.

"s-sorry, princess" he says a little too quickly. "can't sleep?" you shake your head and scoot even closer to him. whatever was poking you before was definitely still there.

nanami tries to scoot away from you, but there wasn't too much space on this hotel bed.

"p-please, i don't think you should be near me right now..."

"why not?" you pout, crawling even closer. "do you not want me either?"

"of course i do, baby... it's just..." he trails off, closing his eyes with a heavy breath.

"you're hard..."

"yes," he admits. "im sorry. i work alot and your mother never wanted to."

your left hand slowly inches toward his chest then idly slides downward. "what if I helped you with that?"

"no, baby," he protests. gently holding your hand so you don't go down any further. "we can't."

"why not!"

"i'm your—"

"stepdad."

"i raised you."

"that just makes me love you more."

"princess, please don't make this harder than it already is."

you snatch your hand away from his, sliding down his chest to grip his length. "I think you're already pretty hard dad," you giggle, but continue to firmly grasp it like patrick star once instructed on your satruday morning cartoons.

"please, kento. dad. i want this and i want you. it's always been you. please"

your plead snuffed out the last of nanami's resistance. if his wife was going to cheat, it was only fair he did the same. right?

nanami tugs down his pj pants and boxers with your help. his hands find their way to your clothed pussy, slowly rubbing you through the fabric.

once your eyes feast upon nanami's full, throbbing cock, your eye's are immediately going wide.

"she didn't want this!? this fucking monster!"

"language, sweetie."

"sorry."

you tentaively grasp it again, going up and down it with your hand awkwardly.

he wraps his hand around yours, guiding you up and down his length. even in this fucked up situation, nanami was still there to teach you, guide you.

"sorry, im not experienced. i've never..."

"never? fuck. imgoingtohell"

"language, daddy!" you echo back to him with a smile. it actually calms his nerves.

"just follow my lead and if you want to stop-"

"i want this," you reassure him.

he continues to guide your much smaller hands up and down his cock. maybe if you only do this it won't be that much of a sin. if only....

without him instructing you, your tongue finds it's way around his tip. delicately licking as if it were a tootsie pop.

nanami doesn't stop you. in fact, he places his hand on the back of your head, helping you take more of him into your mouth.

"you sure you've never done this before?" he's throwing his head back. your taking more and more of him into your mouth. you shake your head but don't let up. "you're doing amazing, baby."

nanami is a man who loves to give praise and in his case he means every word. "look at you," he's brushing back some of your hair. "doing so well for me."

fuck, if it wasn't for the extreme lack of sex with your mother nanami probably could've lasted so much longer. you bob your head up and down a few more times until it's too much — nanami's lifting your head off of him and grabbing a nearby handkerchief. of course he has one on standby.

you almost wish he would've let you taste his seed. you imagine he would taste sweet, like pineapples.

"maybe we should stop" he suggests. there goes that polite conscience again.

"i want it to be you," you declare, straddling his hips before he can change his mind. "please. i want my first time with you."

he relents, flipping you over in a swift move. "if you insist." he kisses down your neck, large hands sliding down your sides. "i should make sure you're ready for me"

"but i—"

"shh," his long fingers shush you. "god, you're soaked."

he takes his fingers, rubbing you through your panties, circling that sensitive nub. he gives it a loving kiss, then another and another. until he's sliding your panties out of the way—marveling at his stepdaughters beautiful pussy for the first time.

nanami, with most things, likes to take his time — savor the moment. but it wasn't easy with your cute little whimpers and your hands on the back of his head, pressing him down til he was nearly suffocating in your fluids (not that he minded).

his warm tongue lapped at your clit, prasing, worshipping it. over and over, he feasted on you until you were a shaking mess. he carefully added a finger, stretching you out slowly. the last thing he wanted was to hurt you when he finally sunk himself inside you.

god. nanami kento could eat pussy for days.

"i want you inside," you begged. "please"

anything for his little girl. but not before he made you come on his face. he licked and sucked and devoured you even faster now — adding a second finger inside you. it wasn't until you completely lost control, squirting on his face did he stop. he lapped up your sweet taste, savoring the flavor of you.

he (begrudingly) left his spot between your legs to flip you back on top of him. "up here, princess."

and you're straddling him again, wet slick dripping down his cock.

"princess, are you absoultely sure?" nanami's eyes are locked onto yours, searching for any sign of doubt. any reason he shouldn't fill his stepdaughter to the brim.

the kiss to his lips gives him his answer. it wasn't like any previous kiss you had before — those were cute, innocent. this kiss was filled with passion, as if you were his lover, everything a dad-daughter kiss shouldn't be; yet you both loved it more than anything else.

he taps your entrance with the head of his angry cock. once, twice, god, it was agony — the teasing. he envelops the tip, covering it with your slick, hoping it'll make it go in easier.

"this might hurt, but, you're in control here" nanami's voice is low, soft, and controlled, as he always is. "take your time." you nod as his large, warm hands hold on to your sides, and he helps lower you down onto him.

it was heaven and hell.

hell because it fucking hurt. your tears were uncontrollable, freely flowing down your cheeks. it truly broke nanami's heart seeing you in pain like that. "breathe, breathe," he whispered. he didn't move an inch, and fuck, did he want to. it took everything within him not to flip you prone and fuck you like an animal in heat.

yet

it was heaven because your way-too-tight walls were clenching down hard on nanami's cock, it was almost painful for him. but the feeling was euphoric. and it wasn't just the fact he was in someone, but the fact that it was you.

the first person to text him happy birthday every year. the sole reason he celebrates father's day, despite not having any bio children. the person who counts on him to always be there for you. the only woman he would ever want to be inside from now on. his stepdaughter — the love of his life.

your sinking, down, down, slowly onto his cock with his guidance. fuck kento for being so damn big. he was borderline monster size. and it didn't help that he had two prominent veins running down his shaft, two veins you could feel inside.

he's wiping your tears with one of his hands. "shhh... i know it's alot. breathe baby. ive got you".

your holding on to him, adjusting to his enmorous size, and then finally, you move. awkwardly at first — it is your first time, but he won't rush you. in fact, he's giving you nothing but praise.

"that's it princess... just like that." fuck, you're so tight. "you're doing so well for me."

you found a good rhythm, bouncing up and down, like it was the best feeling in the world; and to nanami, it was.

"yes, baby girl," his grunts are vocal now. "that's so good. keep going just like that." and you do. up and down, up and down, up and down. you want to cry again, but this time not from pain. all you feel now is undeniable happiness and pleasure.

you don't know how much longer you can keep this up :(

you want to stay like this forever, but your hips, your legs, they're quickly getting sore.

and of course, nanami notices.

"you're okay sweetheart, you're safe. let me take care of everything."

and just like that, kento nanami has you on your back and he's between your legs again — missionary— his favorite position. call him old fashioned, but he never gets tired of hovering above his lover, looking into their eyes while he's pleasuring them. and the fact that it's you, his perfect stepdaughter? he almost came again the moment he slid back into you. he's surprised he hasn't already.

"you're so tight darling. f-fuck" nanami's panting. "too tight for me, aren't you?"

all you can do is nod in between your moans. you feel so fucking full. nanami, —the man who is usually so calm and controlled— was going feral. he was bucking into your hips, as if his life depended on it. he didn't want to hurt you, but he couldn't hold back anymore. not in this perfect, perfect pussy of yours.

he leans down to kiss you again and it's filled with every emotion neither of you can say aloud. your moans are music to his ears. when your bucking your hips up to him to meet his thrusts, his heart melts <3

he won't last much longer. he's fucking you soo deep into the bed. between your moans and nanami's praise and grunts, all he can focus on is how deep he is inside of you. and how fucking badly he wants to cum. your moans are so loud that you're covering your mouth from embarrassment.

"let me hear you, sweetheart." he reassures you. "let it out". and you do. every sound, every moan, all the pleasure you feel is because of nanami and you're gladly letting him know.

"dad, dad, dad" is all you can make out, as your fingers tangle in his hair and his heavy balls slap against your clit.

kento nanami is a responsible man. ideally he should pull out, cum literally anywhere else. but you've brainwashed him. your pussy was fucking magical and he can't bring himself to pul out.

"i know it's wrong, i know...." he wants to curse his conscience. "but you feel too good."

"it's okay, dad..." you're eyes are open, looking into his. "you can do it inside."

if nanami wasn't going to hell, this was surely the icing on the cake. he plunged into you, deeper and deeper, rutting into your perfect cunt — his cock kissing your cervix. you wrap your legs around him, kissing him.

with a grunt of your name, he spills into you. filling your pussy with everything that is him.

"such a needy little thing, huh? locking your legs around me" he's kissing you over and over and over, from your forehead to your chin, all over your face. <3 "you just wanted to be filled, didn't you?"

"uh-huh," is all you can muster out, and you smile — a happy, genuine smile.

he pulls out of you, rolling over for a moment to catch his breath. he's twice your age, but he's still got decent stamina (something he'll happily prove in the future).

as if it were routine, nanami is sliding out of bed, only to return with a hot towel. he's cleaning you up like it's second nature, and for him, it is. only difference is he isn't cleaning mud off of you from you playing outside in the rain when you were little, he's gently cleaning his cum and rubbing you with his utmost care.

it's truly confusing how your mom could ever cheat on him. he provided, he loved, he cared, he cooked, he cleaned, he fucked, he was perfect. if not for her, then absolutely for you.

your fingers slide down between your folds, scooping up some his seed that he missed. you bring it to your lips, humming when the taste reaches your lips. you were right. he does taste like pineapples :)

"you make the filthiest things feel so pure," he chuckles, sliding into bed with you. "what am I going to do with you?"

oops this got really long >.< i lost the plot again. omg im a freak :((

if it's gege, then he must be right! so you let him inspect your body under the guise of a purely innocent examination. caleb was ecstatic, he'd already seen your body from the times he cleaned you up on days you felt lazy, had left lingering touches all over but never had the chance to touch you with such intention, with your doe eyes following his every move, your skin anticipating his every touch.

"pipsqueak, come on. it's time for the examination." caleb gently nudges you, trying to hide his excitement. you were sprawled on your bed, busy reading a book before bedtime. you had completely forgotten about the examination until caleb reminded you.

"oh..." you put down the book reluctantly, your actions a little hesitant. caleb sensed it. sitting beside you, he placed a hand on your exposed thigh. "what's the matter? you know this is important, right?"

you nodded slowly, eyes refusing to meet his. "you feel scared?" caleb asked you, you simply nodded again. sighing, he inched closer to you. "this won't hurt, if that's what you're worried about. you know i will never."

"i know, gege." you replied. you weren't scared of that, you were just shy of being exposed infront of your very attractive big brother. you know you weren't supposed to feel this way but he made your heart flutter too easily sometimes. like now, sitting a bit too close, leaning a bit more closer, his breath teasing the edges of your ear as he pulled you to him, trying to relax your nerves by pulling you into a hug.

"undress for me, pretty girl." caleb whispered into your ear. "let gege see your body."

moving slowly but surely, you stripped the layers off of yourself. caleb drank in every single exposure, pupils almost shaking as he saw the smooth expanse of your skin, the smallness of your body in comparison to his never failing to take his breath away. he might be a sinner, but if you were the temptation, he had no regrets.

reaching out to caress your shoulders, caleb ran his hands along your neck till your arms, feeling for anything unusual. your arms were crossed over your chest, thighs clenched together, trying to cover up. he held your hands up to his face, prying the crossed arms open, exposing your breasts to the room.

he kissed your fingertips. "such pretty hands." you flushed at the compliment, watching him bring your hand to his mouth. caleb bit your palm lightly, causing you to gasp. "pain receptors in the hands are fine." he kissed over the bite, licking the spot lightly while looking you in the eye.

"don't hide yourself from me." caleb maintains eye contact with you. "let me do my job easily, yeah? after this we can do something you like."

"...like watch a movie?" you asked.

"yeah, anything." he kissed the top of your head.

"okay." you replied, a bit more upbeat now. you relaxed your body, letting your limbs loose as he easily picked you up and situated you on his lap, your whole body on display for him.

"hmm." caleb hummed as he ran his hands along your sides, feeling the softness of your skin. you were so pure, unblemished, untouched, every part of you sculpted by the gods. his warm hands made you shiver as they reached your abdomen. you were a little ticklish there, so you jumped with a squeal when he splayed his hand on your tummy.

"tickles?" he looks to you for your reaction. you reply back with another yelp as he poked your waist. caleb almost smirks. "good. normal response here." hands travelling upwards, he enclosed your breasts in his large palms. soft, he sighs to himself. fingers sensing for any atypical growths, he pressed and kneaded the pudge of your bosom, skillfully checking the sides, the under, and closing in on your areola.

your breath gets heavier, skin prickling under his touch. his fingers grazed your nipples lightly and you jerked with the shock sent all over your body, pleasure shooting straight to your core. you grab his wrists, stopping any further movement on his part. "gege... feels weird!" you complain.

"weird?" caleb raised an eyebrow. "good, or bad?"

"i-i can't tell..." you bit your lip.

"that means i have to do it again." he pressed both his thumbs onto the flat of your nipples, rubbing the hardening buds till you're gasping and shaking. "it's important you feel good here. does it feel good?"

"wait— ah!" you can't help but arch your back away from his touch. "ah, ah! gege!"

"use your words. good or bad?" caleb asks again.

how could you, when you couldn't even understand the sensation. it made you want to cry and scream, yet it also made you want to laugh and dance at the same time. it didn't feel bad, no, gege's touch never felt bad.

"g-good!" you cry out.

"good." caleb echoes with a smile as his hands leave your breasts.

your hands reach up to your chest, replacing his touch with your own. you feel your nipples, intrigued by their stiffness. "gege, why are these so hard? is this normal?" you sound panicked. caleb can't believe how oblivious you were, his baby sister, knowing nothing about her own body and looking up to her big brother to teach her everything. big brother will definitely teach you everything!

"yes, pipsqueak. this is very normal." he pats your hair. "your breasts are here to help you make milk. your nipples, they get hard so it's easier for babies to drink milk from them."

"milk? babies? i'm gonna make babies?" your confusion only increases.

"no, not yet, pipsqueak. all in due time." caleb traced stray circles onto your tummy travelling upwards, his gaze fixated on your chest. "we've gotta make sure every function of your body is proper."

"this might feel funny, but it's important i check myself." caleb dips his head to latch onto your hardened nipple. you let out a squeal, the foreign sensation of his wet and soft tongue flicking the bud shot sparks of pleasure down your front. he took his sweet time sucking on the nip, biting and tugging with his teeth, using suction force to pull on them enough to have half your flesh in his mouth. his hands focused on massaging the outer areas, starting at your sides then pressing inwards, almost as if milking you.

"mmpf— so soft..." caleb groaned into your skin, mouth full with your breast. you felt the vibration of his voice on your nipple, now emerging as squeals of your own.

caleb hungrily sucked your tits, alternating between the two. your nips were quite swollen, to the point that they weren't hard anymore, and wouldn't become hard no matter how much he abused them with his teeth and tongue. you were a shaking mess in his embrace.

every little touch, bite, scrape on your tits made you feel headier than before. your tummy felt weird, no, not your tummy, something more... below. your hands braced themselves on his shoulders as you unknowingly grinded on his lap while letting out pathetic noises. you were scared, you couldn't stop your movements, it was as if you were being possessed!

"gege! wait!!" you pushed on his shoulders. caleb stopped, immediately looking at your face for signs of distress. "what happened? did it hurt, pips?" he cupped your cheek lovingly. you shake your head.

"no.. it didn't hurt, but it felt weird!" you grab his free hand and bring it to your lower belly. "it feels all tingly here... why!? gege, i'm scared! is there something wrong with me?" you start to tear up, all kinds of thoughts turning the unknown sensations into fearful monsters in your head.

"calm down, pipsqueak. it's all normal. you trust gege, right?" he waited for your response, satisfied with a simple nod from you. "good girl, everything is fine. buuut, gege will check just to make sure. okay?"

"...okay." you hesitated for a bit. "can you hug me first?"

caleb complied with your request, a large grin replacing the tense in his jaw. he pulled you to his sturdy chest, his warmth enveloping you as you exhaled in the comfort he granted you. looking down at your small frame, he couldn't help but feel giddy. you had no idea how happy you made him. every time he worried that he may hurt you or offend you, you keep proving him wrong. you were so good to him, beyond what he deserved.

your heart pounded loudly against your lungs, so loud you could feel it all over your body. with how closely you were slotted together with caleb, he could feel it too — in his chest that pressed against yours, in his hands that held you close to him. every moment had you redder in the face, realising that caleb could in fact feel you, and was holding in his laugh.

you smack him in the arm. "ow!" caleb faked hurt but he couldn't stop his boyish snicker. you glare at him, lifting your hand to hit him once again. "ah, wait! i'm sorry! were you embarrassed?"

"i couldn't help it, pips. you're just so cute." he ruffles your hair as you pout, a smile breaking through your lips with his praise.

"ready to continue?" he asks you. you nod and he gently lays you on the bed, his huge frame sliding down to settle between your legs. his hands hold either of your ankles, trailing along your legs to rest at the top of your thighs. his palms sink into the plush of your thighs as you gasped, his actions not helping with the tingles.

leaning down till his breath teased the skin on your stomach, he brought his fingers to the waistband of your panties, a light colored simple cotton one with tiny apples all over it — that he had personally picked for you.

"so, tell me. where did you say it felt weird? here?" his touch ghosts over your tummy.

you slowly shake your head. "no? should i go further down?" you nod, maybe a bit too eagerly. caleb's fingers trailed down, a feather touch over the clothed skin, skillfully navigating right onto your clit. you almost jump when he applies pressure, that was exactly the source of your tingles, how did he know?!

"this must be it." caleb patted his thumb over the bundle of nerves, causing you to happily yelp. "yuuup, isn't that right, pipsqueak?"

caleb circled your clit with his thumb, using his fingers to push the fabric of your panties into your folds, watching a wet patch form on them. "baby... you're wet down here."

"w-what..? gege, i swear i didn't pee myself!"

"i'll only know if i check myself. lift your hips."

caleb pulls your panties off your legs, pocketing them before you could notice. he spreads your legs against your weak resistance for whatever modesty you were trying to protect.

caleb's face is dangerously near your clit, mouth slightly agape as he practically salivates over having the little nub between his lips. his thumb rubs up and down your folds, dipping itself in your arousal. "it's so wet, princess. be honest, are you usually leaking?" you squirm as every word hits your clit before your ears.

"n-no! it's because of the tingles you gave me!" you cry out.

"oh? i gave you the tingles? then i must fix it." a finger breaches your hole, wiggling around inside you. caleb groaned at how tight you were, and why would you not be, you had remained untouched under his careful watch, all for his taking.

you let out little high-pitched moans as caleb swirled his finger inside you, feeling and stretching your walls. you feel something oncoming, a wave of pleasure threatening to drown you and you didn't know what to do. you tightly clench your thighs around his hand.

caleb gives you a disapproving look. "pipsqueak. be obedient. don't make gege force you." he warns, his other hand prying open your thighs once more. "tsk, silly girl. this is for your own good. now hold this position as gege checks your precious parts, okay?"

you have no choice but to obey. you didn't want to make caleb mad, he's always been nice to you and this is also a part of it... right?

caleb uses his arms to spread you wider, settling between your legs, his eyes directly on your pretty little cunt, observing how your tender opening fluttered around his girthy finger. you struggling to take even a finger was a sight he wanted to burn in his memories forever.

prodding carefully, he checked for your hymen, making sure it was intact. there would definitely be a day he'd gladly breach through that barrier to claim you completely, but not today, not till he had you prepared, till he had your pretty little mind fully under his control.

entranced by your juicy clit, his mouth watered for a taste. he hadn't planned it but his lips had a mind of their own as they latched onto the little bud, suckling on it, rolling it with his tongue. you twisted in his hold as his finger still worked on your hole, curving upwards to stroke your clit from the inside.

"ah, ah— gege, gege, gege!" you cried for him in midst of your haze, senses overstimulated by his assault on your pussy. he barely hummed a response on your skin, too engrossed in your taste, in the way your tiny body humped against his tongue desperately.

only when you started sobbing his name did he stop to take a look at you. "gege... gege.. please.." your eyes were squinted shut, possibly out of fear. "something's coming.. i-i'm about to pee!" you sobbed with urgency.

caleb's eyes flickered with thrill, his free hand finds itself on your lower tummy, pressing down right on your bladder. "ah!" you scream, hands instantly trying to fight his heavy one. "no! please, i'll pee!" you screamed, worried.

"shhh, it's alright, princess. just let it go, okay?" caleb encourages with a soothing tone, the finger stroking your insides speeding up, the pressure on your tummy becoming unbearable, your urge to release growing with every second.

caleb feels the rush of your release around his finger, your hole tightens and then all of a sudden, you're squirting all over his hand and face. he removed his finger to watch your muscles spasm as you squirt release after release, your hole now struggling with the sudden emptiness, a gaping void left as a reminder of his presence.

"that's it... that's my good girl." he praises you, eyes filled with infinite adoration. you're breathless, chest heaving to fill the lack of oxygen in your brain, feeling lightheaded being brought to your first orgasm with such intensity. you watch your release drip down his face, watch as he wipes himself off with his already wet hand, licking some of it off his palm, savouring your taste.

"gege... was that okay?" you were so innocent, his heart swelled at your words.

"yes, baby. that was perfect." caleb hummed in delight. "let me clean you up and then we're done, okay?" he was finished playing with your body, despite the glaring problem in his own. he could take care of it by himself for now, it was too early to trouble you for this.

his lips return to your quivering pussy, stealing a taste right from the source. his tongue licks you eagerly, lapping up your folds and replacing your arousal with his saliva. he doesn't tease your sensitive parts anymore, your clit was already pretty swollen, all you needed now was rest and lots of cuddles.

finished with his work, he picks you up and heads for the bath. you grab onto his neck as he princess carries you. "so, gege, is everything okay?" you ask concerned, you really didn't want to see the doctors at all. caleb laughs at your furrowed brows, soothing them down with his thumb.

"no need to worry, pipsqueak. you're as healthy as ever!"

“are you sure this oh — okay, uncle gr-grumpy..?” you stammered as joel rubbed the length of himself on your sopping slit.

“sure it is, kid,” joel replied nonchalantly, letting a string of saliva drip down from his mouth onto your puffy clit. “y’ain’t gettin’ cold feet now, are ya?” he asked with a crooked grin.

you wanted this. god, you wanted this more than anything. you’d thought about uncle joel taking your virginity for longer than you would like to admit, but you knew it was wrong — incest was illegal, even. “m’just.. just nervous, i guess.” you replied quietly, hugging your stuffed rabbit tight to your chest — one of the many stuffies joel had bought for you when you were a little girl.

joel’s face seemed to soften at your hesitation. he wanted to take this virgin hole more than anything, but the last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. “oh, angel,” he murmured sympathetically, bringing a thumb up to brush a piece of hair out of your face. “s’just me n’you, sugar. i ain’t gonna hurt ya. just gotta go nice and slow. real gentle for my baby girl.”

you took a deep breath and nodded shakily. if you were going to loose your virginity to anyone, uncle joel was probably the best option, right? he was family, he cared for you — he loved you. tommy — your father — had always taught you to do it with someone you love after all .

joel spread your legs a little wider with both hands, lifting your leg up to press a kiss to your ankle before getting you in position. “you just snuggle with your bunny, sweet girl. ain’t gotta worry bout a thing.” he murmured, pressing his cock at your entrance and easing it in just a tiny bit.

the stretch hurt. like, really fucking hurt.

joel’s cock head was thick and girthy — overwhelming to say the least. you whimpered at the sudden pain, frantically reaching up to scrape at his chest.

“shh, shh, ohhh, i know baby girl.” he hushed, reaching for your hands and putting them back down by your belly. “s’a lot huh? just gotta get this pussy nice n’stretched f’me.” he inched in a little further, hissing when your walls clamp down on his aching length — almost as if they were protesting to accommodate his size.

“joel — god, it—” you gasped, hiccuping over your words and the pain. it burned the way icy water does when you plunge in too quickly — a sharp, stinging shock that took your breath away. “r-really hurts.”

“i know it does, baby. but ya gotta suck it up. said ya wanted m’cock so ya gotta just take it, sweet thing. just gotta breath through the pain.” he said condescendingly. tears welled in your water line when he pushed another two inches in. you felt pried open, like a door on rusty hinges. resisting but finally groaning wider.

you sniffled, reaching down to rub your swollen nub but joel bet you to it, swatting your hand away and swirling his thumb around your clit.

“just rubbin’ this clit baby,” he explained almost, watching as tears rolled down your face from overstimulation. “distract ya from the pain, yeah? such a brave girl. takin’ uncle grumpy’s cock like this.”

his praise made you sick.

“uncle grumpy”, the name you’d call him as a kid, and now he was using it while deflowering your pretty, virgin cunt. it was so dirty yet so arousing at the same time. your pussy squeezed as it oozed out more slick to coat his cock head and the tiniest bit of his base that was inside of you. joel hissed at the feeling, eyes rolling back temporarily before regaining composure.

“look at that, baby,” he chuckled, coaxing you to watch your pussy being filled, to watch your honey dripping down the part of his cock that wasn’t inside of you. you looked down, keeping a tight grip on your bunny. “she’s givin’ him kisses. tight little cunt’s startin’ t’relax, don’t ya think?”

“i-i think she likes.. you.” you sniffled, a weak smile clawing onto your lips despite the pain. He was right though. You did feel your gummy walls start to relax a little around him at least. joel leaned down with a smile and kissed you on the forehead and then leaned down to do the same for your bunny, making you giggle.

“yeah.. think she does, kiddo,” he murmured while pushing in two more inches, talking to distract you from the stretch. “openin’ up real pretty too.”

“think ya can take the other few inches now?” he asked softly, flicking up your clit hood and rubbing your more intentionally now. “we’ll go real quick — like tearing off a bandaid. l’be done before ya know it.”

the thought of it made you feel a little dizzy, but pleasing uncle joel was what felt more important at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves. “i.. yeah.. okay.”

“okay?” joel checked.

“okay.” you confirmed.

“oh, that’s a good girl. ya don’t know how proud i am o’ya angel — lettin’ me stretch out this tiny hole,” he praised. “s’just so—”

he snapped his hips forward quickly with a grunt, hips flush to yours. he watched your face contort in discomfort. “— special.. —this thing between us.”

“ah! uncle jo-el!” you yelped, scrambling your hands around his shoulders, your nails digging crescent moons into his flesh. “hurts.. it.. it hurts — i can’t—”

“sh, sh, sh, sh,” joel hushed, “yeah, i know, s’a big stretch, huh? just gotta relax that pussy, baby girl. focus on your bunny. ya can do it.” he cooed.

tears welled up in your waterline but nonetheless, you did as he said, focusing on your bunny rabbit. her floppy white ears and her pink little cheeks and the way she — oh my god that felt good.

you gasped at the sudden spark of pleasure, your thighs jerking a little at it. a broken moan left your lips and you cling to Joel’s shoulders, looking up at him with frantic eyes. “ohhh, fuck..”

joel barked out a laugh, shaking his head and tutting. for such a sweet girl, you had the mouth of a sailor at times. “don’t think y’daddy’d like to hear ya talkin’ like that, baby.”

you wanted to say he probably wouldn’t like his brother fucking me either but you decided against it. a funny, tingly feeling grew in the bottom of your tummy and when joel rocked his hips, you rolled your eyes back, finally allowing pleasure to have it’s way with you.

“oh, theeere ya go, hon. y’feeling it now, aren’t ya?” he smiled as he set a steady pace. fucking in and out of your cunt — pulling out halfway before pushing back in. his thumb drew concentrated circles around your clit — every swipe and press of his thumb calculated and easy as if he’d done it millions of times which, he probably has.

“it feels — oh — it feels much better than my stuffies.” you moaned, each rock of his hips making his cock brush off your g-spot perfectly. the mix of stimulation was overwhelming and just when you thought it couldn’t get any more intense, joel leaned his head down and latched his mouth onto one of your already-peaked nipples.

“s’right, kiddo,” he murmured around your nub, running the tip of his tongue over the erogenous skin. “better than humpin’ those lil bears, baby girl.” he continued, rolling his hips more intentionally now that the pain was gone, the odd slap of skin every now and then filling the room. “betcha think bout y’uncle grumpy while rubbin’ on those stuffies.”

“i do,” you gasped, nodding desperately. your eyes were watery, tears of overstimulation starting to drip down your face. “i always pretend that — that my bear is you, joel.”

“yeah?” he rasped, speeding his hips pace up now. his hips now clapped into yours furiously, his finger almost painfully rubbing and pushing on your clit. a bead of sweat formed between his brows, his own pleasure clearly starting to show. “what part of me d’ya pretend it is, honey?”

you yelped as he sped up, that tingly feeling growing bigger and bigger by the second. “i — i..”

“what is it baby? you pretend it’s my hand? or my leg?” he asked impatiently.

“your cock!” you gasped. “I pretend it’s your cock, joel. oh god — fuck! please, please —”

“what, baby? ya gonna cum f’me?” Joel’s brown eyes damn near turned animalistic to the point that you weren’t sure whether to be scared or excited. you let out a sob, panting desperately.

“i— I don’t know! i think s-o.. is.. is that a-a good thing?” you asked naively.

joel’s featured seemed to relax a little at your inquiry. such a sweet thing, she didn’t even know if it was okay to cum.

“oh yes, baby. s’real good thing. s’gonna make ya feel real good.” he explained, spitting down onto your cunt before resuming his thumbing at your button. it wasn’t like you needed it, but you gathered joel liked things to be messy. “tell me what your feelin’ sugar.”

you tried to gather your bearings and focus on answering joel. “I.. s’uh, uhhh! s’all tingly.”

joel patiently listened to you — concentrating on keeping his composure as he knew that your first ever orgasm was impending. “where’s that sugar? show me.” he said gently.

you took his hand and brought it down to your lower belly. joel’s eyes hardened, feeling the bulge in your stomach from him. you were so tiny and fragile that he was almost afraid you’d break. “oh, honey.” he cooed. the damn innocence of you nearly brought him to his knees. “s’cause i’m right here. all the way in your belly.” he explained while continuing his hard thrusts, slowing the speed down but keeping the pressure and depth. “c’mere, feel.” he brought your hand down and pressed it against your belly.

your eyes glazed as you felt the bump there. the fact he was that deep made you feel even closer and before you knew it — “I’m gonna cum!”

joel got right down to business at your confession.

he fucked into you faster, slamming his hips into your skin, the sting making you scream. his finger on your clit kept rubbing, but he doubled his efforts by, this time, going up and down. your hips started to jerk on their own, your thighs trembling until.. there it was. you were cumming on your uncles cock.

“oh there it is, that’s it right there, baby.” you came with a cry, a rhythmic, throbbing in your cunt as it squeezed and pulsed around uncle Joel’s length. your logical thinking completely shut down, your head going blank and unable to concentrate on anything but the way Joel was milking your pussy.

you felt a surge of euphoria trickle up your spine, your face flushed with the blood rush to your skin. it was as if the whole world stopped spinning for them few seconds, but uncle joel?

he just fucked you through it. prolonging your orgasm with every thrust. your eyes were rolled back and you were too fucked out to make a sound when he pulled out and came on your tummy.

"ohh fuck, so pretty, baby." breathing heavily, he quickly starts to spread his precum all across his cock, right before squeezing gently against his shaft. he'd then pump himself up and down, his other hand grappling along the base of his dick. "mhh... got myself a pretty girl to cum on."

"dad..." you whine. he was literally jerking off behind you... he's so fucking shameless...

"ah, yeah, yes..." as his hand was grabbing onto the base of his dick, it hurriedly switches to gripping your breast. after fondling on one, it moves to the other, feeling the squishy and soft feel of your clothed breasts weight under his palm. "oh, so good..."

"that's enough!" his little daughter then whines, trying to push him away.

"but im just gettin' started, honey." he groans, as his hand then slides down to snake up under the hem of your cutesie skirt. nudging against the middle of your clothed little cunny...

as he pushes the middle part to the side, his middle and ring finger then slowly push, into your soft, creamy and warm opening. joel moans and leaks even more pre, his eyes rolling back momentarily, before burying his face to the crook of your neck. inhaling your pure scent.

you whimper and whine, incredibly embarrassed to have him find out how wet you are all along... "mhp... hmp...

"ah... just like that..." he groans.

his other hand then lets go of his dick, just to aid on spreading your pussy lips. gazing at the look of your cunts parts.

his fingers then repeatedly thrust quick little frigs against the spongey spot of your cunt, creating small squelches as your legs violently tremble.

his fingers were especially thick and long... they just felt better... compared to whenever you tried to fuck yourself, at this point, it's embarrassing how you even bothered when your dad's here to fuck you better...

"s'that good?"

"mh! yeah!"

FUCK!

your dad then quickly covers your mouth as he slams his fingers way deep inside your pussy. squirting and creaming all over his fingers as you scream into his thick hand...

"OH! HNMP!" taking advantage of your wide eyed excitement, he'd then plug up your gaping cunt with his cock. as if he were a charger to your low battery phone.

"look at the mirror, baby." he breathes heavily, not knowing where to look at first. either your pretty face or your equally as pretty, creamy little pussy. he thrusts up, long and measured.

he was a fucking asshole.

aiming directly at his daughters soft spot. with his hard and thorough, yet gradual thrusting. making sure you feel just how turgid his dick is for you. he feels so fucking thick inside your stretched and squeezed cunt... feeling the way your cunt tries her best to make room for your fat fuck dad.

"mh... im gonna fricking CUM!"

"already, sweetheart? nonono, you ain't cummin' yet, alright?" he mutters, "you young people are always quite sensitive, ain't you? quite easy to fuck.". with how desperate and horny they are, it's only understandable for their growing bodies.

"oh... mh! im... im trying to last, alright?!"

as joel tries his best to simply tease the head of his cock inside you. moreso frothing himself up and down. staring at your pretty face at the mirror as he slaps and hurriedly swipes his fingers from side to side against your clit.

"there, there, just try to hold it in, sweetie. and then, ill cum inside of you too." he'd then slowly sink himself back home...

"ah, fuck... that's it..." throwing his head back, he groans and stutters with his moans. he's already close too...

"cum... cummin'... all inside of you, baby girl." kissing the top of your head, one hand holds around your throat as his other arm hugs your waist. rolling his hips back and forth, grinding into you.

"arch your back further, little girl."

as you whimper and comply with him, tears roll down your warm, flushed cheeks... angling yourself. giving yourself all for him to take...

"there... ah! FUCK! Yes!" sperm bursts all over, directly inside your womb as he violently slams you up and down his cock. making you hop like a horny little bunny desperate for a rugged, smelly, old man's sweaty and musky cock.

"AHN! Fuck yeah! just... just cum in me, i dont fricking care!" you scream as you cream all over your dad's dick. your pussy convulsing across him as you vigorously shake.

* idk how to end this. ,

joel slowly wake up, groaning as he places his hand over his head. his salt and pepper hair, grown a little bit longer over the years. right before looking to his side. you were using your phone, watching some corny teen show about vampires and wolves.

"baby, uh... you alright? you ain't sore anywhere?"

"im sore everywhere." you blandly say.

"ugh." he rubs his face. he didn't mean to fuck you so hard.

"well, 'least you had fun... right?"

"um, i guess." you feel your face warm up.

he adjusts his sweatpants as he notices you getting all shy. he chuckles gently in return, he wont pry you about it. but he's damn well certain that his baby girl likes his cock.

She can't anymore chew the chalky pebbles that are actually rice when the taste clings. Not even the soggy vegetables, adrift in brown water like forgotten things at the bottom of the sea, can wash it away. Just another typical lunch box from the convenience store. She can't ignore anymore that she is rotting away from home. In the same city she built high hopes for. Even the air is crowd thick with smoke, choke her by the greasy bodies of strangers.

She wish to return from where she came from. Wish to be coddle by her mother when she was a child crying more than laughing. Wish to lay beside the warmth of her kind parents so she did. Pack her bags with the same amount of things she came with and left the decay city.

"What happen ?" Her mother's wore eyes furrow at the state of her daughter standing hold the same luggage replace with sag shoulder, unslept eyes marred with dark circles and empty stomach still groaning shamelessly. Behind her, the dark still breathes. It clings to her coat like a jealous lover, unwilling to release her even as she steps across the threshold. But her mother stands bath in light— the golden kind that smells like warm soup and old lullabies. And for the first time in so long, the girl feels the stir of something more than survival. Something almost like hope.

"Love, who is at the door ?" Her father pause just as their eyes meet and he becomes more familiar to (Y/N) than the nameless years she wasted pretending she belonged elsewhere. His face hasn’t changed much— only soften, only aged. Guilt and disgust gnaw at her at how she now desire something she cared not before, standing tail between her legs almost, even stray dogs are more loyal than blood children. She is sorry. Truly is for being blinded by the promise of luxury life and wanting a name made of her own breath, not borrowed from the lungs of her parents.

Her mother usher her inside after not earn a reply from her. (Y/N) has none, well not ones she won't be embarrass to release out of her.

That mom I couldn't handle the pressure of city.

That mom I couldn't handle the stored food.

That mom I missed you terribly.

That mom life outside home is dire.

That mom I am jobless now, resigned.

Shame she should be for wasting her parents money on her education only to still be empty handed.

But those aching emotions melt away like a shameless child she is at the smell of steaming hot food wrafting from the pots and gentle white lights above her and that presence of childhood and home.

She sit down on the chair, her coat taken away by her father to hang on the doorway hanger and soon her mother fill the empty plates and bowl with her food which smell's glide through her nose to straight to her stomach that made the hunger nails scratching shaper, painful and greedier so she pull her hands and gobble down the food like she didn't ate for decades. She might as well not. The rice feels like rice, soft and buttery and the curry has flavors of many spice that warm up and slice the nails of her hunger filling them so much it has no space to want.

She feels alive. Not caring of the improper of not wiping the specks of rice sticking around her mouth and orange gloss left behind by the curry’s oil on her lips and the mustache of warm milk draw after the meal she ate hours earlier.

"We shall talk tomorrow. Good night". Her mother leans in, presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead and on other hand, she holds the empty glass of milk, the faint white residue clinging to the bottom (Y/N) finish. (Y/N) murmurs the same words back— Good night— and her mother turns toward the door. But just before her hand finds the edge to pull it shut, she pauses. Looks over her shoulder. A quiet moment passes.

(Y/N) smiles. Wide. Earnest. The kind of smile that hasn’t found her face in years. And that is enough. Her mother’s shoulders ease, lips curl faintly upward, and she pulls the door close with the softest click

Alone now, (Y/N) exhales. A long, slow breath that seems to shake loose some of the tension she carried all the way home and let her eyes finally roam around her bedroom that is kept as it was. Not one thing touch, the bedsheets still the hue she once swore she’d never tire of and the posters on the walls, curling slightly at the corners, immortalizing old fascinations like sacred relics of a girl she barely remembers being. Same as ever.

When her eyes fall on her pulled curtains window, her heart hitch catching across the road, standing beneath a oak tree of the hush of nightfall, is a silhouette swathe in darkness. No face, no features— only an outline carve from shadow, still and watching. A man, perhaps.

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.

Then instinct overrides curiosity.

Slowly, without sound, she shifts forward on her bed, crawling across the mattress like a child afraid to wake a nightmare. Her fingers find the curtain’s edge and pull until the fabric meets in the middle with a sigh, sealing the scenery she has no interest to explore. She has enough of that, now she needs rest and peace. Maybe it's a creep or who knows her trick of mind.

Either way, she has enough of fear.

Let the night keep its secrets.

She wants none of them.

“So,” her father muses, voice light with morning ease as his fingers work at the beans her mother handed him, “how does it feel ? Sleeping in your old room after seven whole years ?”

The question floats across the dining table, mingling with the scent of lingering breakfast and the soft clatter of dishes being wash in the sink. Her mother hums quietly in the background, sleeves roll, hands slick with soap, as though no time has pass at all.

“Hopefully good,” He adds, glancing up at (Y/N) with a smile that tucks itself beneath the silver edge of his glasses, perch low on the bridge of his nose. “Your mom and I kept it just the way it was.”

"Indeed wonderful". (Y/N) reach out to place it right. Her father chuckle at his wife's habit that seem to divvy to his daughter. "No wonder". And just like that, a smile finds her. One that’s real at how steady her parents have remained, like the house itself, unmove by time or distance. How foolish of her to ever think she could thrive without her parents.

Her gaze drifts again, drawn this time to the window left slightly ajar. The breeze slips through rustling the sheer curtains with delicate fingers, stirring the stillness. Beyond the glass, the view remains familiar as from her bedroom. The same old oak tree stands across the street however no man stands there looking just like a domestic morning that her eyes trace the house beside the tree she completely missed consumed by the stranger.

Now, in daylight, it reveals itself more clearly. Same walls as her own home, same narrow frame and sloping roof as any other. But this one wears its age. The shutters hang slightly crooked, the paint is fade, the windows cloud with dust. A house that looks forgotten. Empty.

“Poor Mrs. Lovelace” The words arrive softly, carry on her mother’s voice as she step closer, the pity in her tone enough to pull (Y/N)’s attention. Both her parents are watching that same house, heads bow just slightly, as if grieving.

(Y/N) turns fully toward them now, curiosity prickling gently at her. “What happened to her ?” She knows Mrs. lovelace, how could she not with such fancy title it always stood out in her childhood that she vaguely remember being obsessed with titles and whines why father didn't inherited one.

Funny, how that memory feels tender now.

"Poor woman abandoned by her children and the grieve of losing her husband you know.." Her mother tail off, her brows furrow at an memory unknown to (Y/N) who in that topic can't help but seal her mouth. It's seem cruel to hear when it isn't herself doing the same thing.

Abandoning her parents.

She rather avoid that conversation itself.

There he is again. Her breath stills, chest pull tight like a thread wound too fast. Her fingers curling around the curtain— gripping so tightly the cloth strain beneath her knuckles.

He is no longer beneath the oak tree.

Now he stands in the middle of the road— still, as if stitch into the pavement. The same faceless silhouette veil under the night. There are no eyes to meet, yet she feels his gaze all the same pressing down on her, heavy as stone.

She moves just an inch fingers twitching to pull the curtains shut but before the fabric can slide into place, the silver flash of a car cuts through the quiet. Its body gleams beneath the moonlight, sleek and too fast, a streak of metal and motion.

It barrels forward.

Straight toward him.

And the car passes through him.

No crash. No recoil.

Just a blur.

For one horrifying second, his form shudders— disbands, distorts like smoke torn apart by wind. Her heart leaps to her throat, then up into her skull, pounding so violently it echoes in her ears like the roar of a caged beast. She can’t think. Can’t breathe. The world contracts to the sound of blood and terror.

But then— he is there again.

Whole.

Unmoved.

As though the car had never touched him at all.

As though he had never unraveled into something not human.

Her lungs seize, drawing air that tastes like iron. Her mouth is dry, tongue thick and useless. Still the pounding in her head continues— louder, harder— like the scream of a bear clawing to escape, thrashing against bone and thought until lights bask her clicking with a noise.

"What happen ?" Her mother’s voice arrives from behind, trembling with concern but it's soon turn into a raw, strangle grasp as her mother rushes forward, delicate arms pulling (Y/N) away from the window as if to shield her from the night itself.

She’s press into a warm chest, wrap in a grip that quivers. Her mother holds her tightly like afraid she might shatter into pieces too small to gather. Behind them, her father reaches for the curtains— yanks them close with such force they shriek across the rod, a high, metallic wail. She doesn't know how but it did.

“It’s alright, sweetie. We’re here. It’s alright,” her mother whispers into her hair, rocking slightly, those calming words bounce over her head.

Two days in a row she saw him. No, it.

"You can stop screaming". Her mother whisper when (Y/N) realize the sound rattling her bones, the one she thought is in her ears, in her skull, in the walls is her own. Her own voice, ripping from her throat like something foreign. Her lungs burn from it. Her ribs ache. She has been screaming without knowing.

“What was that ?” (Y/N)'s voice barely makes it past her lips— hoarse, strain still echoing somewhere inside her chest. The curtains are drawn now but the weight of what stood beyond it still lingers. It presses against the glass.

Even now, she can feel it watching.

Each swallow scrapes against her throat, sharp and burning, as if something splinter inside her.

“We told you not to look out the window at night,” Her mother says quickly, the urgency in her voice slicing through the thick air.

(Y/N)’s eyes snap to her. Her mother’s gaze those same familiar eyes, the very ones she sees in the mirror— meet hers, wide and serious, and suddenly a stranger in their expression.

“What?”

A lie.

It has to be.

She was never told that not once. Not even in a joke. Her brow furrows, disbelief flickering across her face as pain flares in her throat with each breath.

But something shifts in her mother’s face. A ripple of recognition. Of regret.

And then silence.

Her mother turns to look at her father. He is already looking back, still and grim, as if they’ve spoken this conversation before, in a time when she was too young to understand.

(Y/N)’s eyes dart between them, heart rising like a tide in her chest.

“What’s going on ?” she demands, the question thick with fear. “You know that— that…”

But she can’t finish it. The word dies in her throat. To acknowledge it would be to breathe life into something that should not be real. So she didn't.

She didn't have to when her parents know exactly what it is.

“It— I’m sorry,” Her mother murmur, voice thin as thread.

She didn’t meet (Y/N)’s eyes. Instead, she look down at her feet, the floor, anything but her daughter’s face, as if the ground might soften the truth or offer her a place to bury it.

“You must have forgotten,” She continue, her voice caught somewhere between excuse and regret. “I suppose it’s understandable. You were only a child when we first told you. And later, well… you buried yourself so deep in books you hardly even looked out the window, let alone opened the curtains.”

She swallow then—hard, as if bracing herself for the words that would follow. Perhaps even bracing for (Y/N)’s reaction too. A flicker of hesitation cross her face, then something heavier. Fear, perhaps. Or guilt.

“It’s a rule, sweetheart. One we gave you when you were small. Never open your curtains. Not when you hear something. Not when you smell something. And—” her voice falter, lower, “—not even when you feel something.”

That last word drop like a stone in water. Feel— spat out with disgust, as if it taste wrong in her mouth. As if she would rather bite her tongue than let it leave her lips.

(Y/N)’s chest tighten. Her heart no longer beat where it should— it is in her throat now, fluttering against the walls like a moth trap in a glass. Her breath struggle to come and go, caught between the instinct to panic and the need to understand.

She could still see him. That man. That shape. That terrible outline engrave behind her eyes like a burned photograph—flickering, stuttering, replaying itself in jagged loops. Sometimes he is clear, solid, undeniable. Other times, he glitch—like a dream just out of reach, as if her own mind were trying to convince her it has never happened at all.

“Because of...it ?" She ask softly. Her voice isn't angry. It is hollow, as though spoke through a fog.

Her mother’s eyes flicker up, only for a moment. “Yes". she agree. Silence follow. “It's something,” her mother whisper, “something that isn’t supposed to exist. It isn’t supposed to stand there, watching the houses.” A shiver unfurl along (Y/N)’s spine like frost creeping through her bones. Houses ? It isn't just hers ? She doesn't know whether to feel comforted by the idea that others had seen it too or horrified that whatever it is has made the rounds. That it isn't a private curse, but a plague.

“And they say… once you see it, it takes something from you. Something precious.” (Y/N)’s blood run cold.

“Is he… a devil or something ?” (Y/N) ask. “Is that what he is that he takes things from us ?”

Her mother shake her head slowly. “I don’t know. But it does take. Sometimes… the person themselves.”

The words strike like a slap. (Y/N) choke on the thickness gathering in her throat, saliva clinging like it knows it has no place to go. She couldn’t go. She has just return. She has only just come back to this house that still smell faintly of childhood and memory.

Her voice come out in a trembling whisper. “Is this something the whole neighborhood follows ?”

Her mother nod solemnly.

“It was on the road—” (Y/N) start to say.

“Road ?” Her mother echo slicing her sentence, voice sharp with dread. Then her face crumple, her hand flying to her gaping mouth. “B-But…” She couldn't finish. Tears swell up too quickly and she sob.

Her father move to her side, silent, and wrap an arm around her trembling shoulders. “The thing is…” her father begin behalf of her mother, his voice low and brittle, “they say it’s always seen on the other side. Across the street. Beyond the glass. And the only ones who ever see it on the road…”

He pause. “…are the ones already doomed.”

(Y/N) stare at him. The words didn’t quite settle. They hover—too heavy, too vast to sink in.

“Because that means,” he continue, slower now, “it’s getting closer.”

Her voice came out dry, paper-thin. “How do you know that ?”

Her mother turn her face away again, but this time she couldn’t hide the tremor.

“There were others,” He reply. “People who weren’t… taken. Not by it, anyway.” His voice dip to a whisper, one barely fit for the air.

“They took themselves. And in their suicide notes, they described it. The thing. Watching it. Feeling it. Day after day… like a slow, unraveling madness. A descent. And it’s not hard to connect the dots, dear. Not when the pattern is always the same.”

“So I’m next ?" (Y/N) said. It isn't't a question, even though her voice lilt like one. It is simply a truth being spoken aloud. She didn’t cry. Couldn’t. Her body refuse the release. Her eyes remain dry, fix and wide, as if even her tears has decide it is best not to draw attention.

So she sit in silence, watching her mother fall apart and her father teeter on the edge of it.

So this is what coming home looks like, she thought. Not just warmth and comfort but the taste of ash and the echo of something creeping closer.

Her father inhale slowly, the breath rattling in his lungs like old paper. When he finally spoke, his voice is rough—scrape raw—and carry the weight of a man who is trying, and failing, to wear a mask of strength.

“All I can tell you now,” he said, “is to keep the curtains drawn. Always. Day or night. And never, under any circumstance, open the window. Not even if you think you’re alone.”

His hands are fists now, knuckles pale, his skin ghostly beneath the overhead light. But his voice stay firm, brittle like dried wood about to snap.

How could they not be afraid, (Y/N) thought, when they were haunted ? Or at least something that resemble like it.

Ah, she remembers now. Something "(Y/N), never look outside the window at night." Her mother's younger, brighter voice had warned her—commanded her, really—though the dreamy haze of childhood had softened the gravity of it.

“Why ?” her younger self had asked, head tilted in defiance, a budding rebellion curling in her lips.

“Because there stands a Seeker,” her mother had replied, “one who hunts bad, disobedient children. And once they defy their mother’s advice, they become his prey. He always catches them.”

That had been enough to frighten her into obedience—enough to keep her in line without question. Now that she recalls it, even if she had remembered sooner, she would’ve dismissed it as another childhood tale meant to scare kids into caution. A metaphor for predatory strangers, she might’ve thought. Nothing more. Nothing real.

But now, after seeing it—after knowing—she wants to die. Shit. Shit. Shit. She doesn't know what will come for her now, what she has invited in with her gaze.

Sleep had come briefly, maybe for an hour, and with it, a dream of her childhood. That was the last rest she knew. After that, only torment. Only the fear.

She watch— bleary-eyed, with bruise shadows beneath her lids as her parents brought a priest. A man whose entire demeanor wither the moment he step into her room. His face turn ashen. He claim nothing could be done. The pity in his eyes confirm it. "There’s a great malevolent energy here," he said.

She also watch her parents beg. Plead. Desperate for answers. For anything that could drive the thing back— hold it at bay for even a little while.

“What if I move ?” She ask, voice quiet but trembling. “Like took my parents and left this town ?”

The local priest only shake his head, a sorrowful smile curling on his lips. “Many have tried. And it always ends the same. The lucky ones… left bodies behind to bury unlike the disappeared ones".

The night also does not pass quickly. Summer nights instead of being warm, lazy, harmless become a races to the sun in reverse, draping it, smothering it, holding it back as long as it can. It lingers— thick and swollen as though some unseen hand is holding back the dawn, stretching the dark into something almost unending. There is always that weight, that pressure of eyes on her, like a presence leaning close enough to breathe against her skin. It peers, it pries— watching what should belong to her alone.

Sweat prickles along her temples, sliding down her spine. She wakes with a sharp, choking jolt— pull from the paralysis of dreamless black into a darker waking.

She sits up slowly. The room is thick with shadow, air heavy in her lungs. For a moment she can’t understand what she’s seeing— until she does.

There.

Just behind the curtain, unmoving—its outline waiting.

If her terror could pull from the raw clay of imagination, it would shape the face it knows is there: press against the glass, skin warp by the pressure, eyes stretch wide as moons, pupils scouring the dark for her. Searching.

If she is unlucky—truly unlucky—he might be looking back at her right now.

She snaps the thought in half, the way a child might shut a closet door to keep the monster inside. She searches for her parents, calling them without quite meaning to.

They come rushing, the lights flaring into the room.

The shadow is gone.

But it's presence hasn’t lift—if anything, it’s heavier now, as if whatever had been outside has simply step closer, into the marrow of the house.

It feels like those eyes have found another way in—boring through her skull, sinking in like hooks.

She buries her face in her mother’s chest, against the thin softness of aged collarbones. The ache of terror begins to blur at the edges, washed in the familiar scent of her. Her father’s hand moves gently through her hair.

And strangely —she feels comforted.

It’s the kind of comfort that comes after pain: the sting soothed, the wound blown on with tender breaths. Like a scraped knee tended to under a parent’s touch.

The danger, the dread, the reality pressing in from beyond the window—all of it recedes beneath the warmth of their arms. In the steady hum of her mother’s heartbeat and the careful sweep of her father’s hand, she feels safe. Safe enough to believe, for one trembling moment, that nothing could reach her here. Invincible she is.

She felt it before she saw it.

The weight of its presence press into the room like a second atmosphere— silent, but thick. The only sound it made is the faint, sour pull of breath squeezing past whatever serve as its lips—if lips even exist there at all. Each inhale is slow, deliberate; each exhale measured, like the steady rhythm of a sleeper’s lungs.

Like hers should have been.

The ends of its breaths seem to travel, bouncing off the walls, skimming over the clutter on the floor, until they found their way into the hollows of her ears.

Without moving her head, her gaze shift toward the edges of her vision.

It is there.

Standing just behind the door. In the corner.

She could have move—could have ask, demand, scream—yet her lips ignore the tug of her thoughts. Her skin is stone, her body lock in place, and her bones are lead, too heavy for her mind to command. Mercury courses through her veins, mingling with her blood, seeping into the cavity of her chest. It is cold.

The pillow’s fabric press against the back of her head. She tries to sink into it, to bury herself in the false sanctuary of its softness. Sleep. Pretend to sleep.

Never mind that she isn't. Never mind that her mind is wide awake, thrashing for an escape her body would not give.

She told herself to forget the thoughts—forget the reeking of gasoline—flood her ears and drown out the sound of her own breathing, forget the truth standing in the darkest corner of her room.

The truth that is watching her.

And then—her heart froze.

Color enter the darkness.

Two eyes, their glow rising from shadow like coals catching light. Not human—not truly—but white as pearl, gleaming with a cold, headlamp brightness. The glow thin and vanish for a heartbeat as a nictitating membrane slid across them, muting their light, then reveal it again in a wet blink.

They move—up and down the length of her body.

Tracing the rise and fall of her chest beneath the blanket drawn to her chin, as if the thin fabric could hide her.

They watch.

And they did not look away.

The coldness seeps in her spine and then grab at the breath that tried to escape past her nose. The air stops suddenly in the back of her throat at it's eyes fly up to her gaze and twinkle with a brightness so sharp it almost hurt to look at, for a heartbeat, she swore she saw flecks—tiny motes—spiraling away, as though his gaze has shatter shards of dust breaking off from a star, only to fade before they could fall.

“What do you want ?” The words scrap out at last, her voice brittle, dry at the edges, carrying the faint creak of something straining under weight.

The change is immediate. His gaze narrow, as if her speaking has displease him.

And then he move.

She heard it first—the soft, splintering shift of the old wooden floorboards. The sound slide into her ears and the mercury in her vein solidifies into hard, heavy shapes. It blocks the flow of her blood— threaten to tear the lining of her arteries. The night keep him veil in its black mantle, but she feels him approach until he stand at the foot of her bed.

“Your most prized possession,” he said.

“I have none,” she answer without hesitation—too quickly. She aren't fooling anyone.

“You do. All humans cherish something.”

Her lips tremble. “Then… you know what it is ?” He blink slowly, a movement heavy with confirmation. Tears swell and slip from the corners of her eyes. She didn’t need to hear his answer— she already knew.

“This life ?” she ask. Her voice falter on the words. She thought of her parents. Of this house. Of the walls she has grown up within and return to, like waves curling back to the shore where they’d first been born.

“Indeed.” She sniff, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her throat. The thought of being torn from this place, from them, feels no less than a death sentence.

"Can't it be replaced".  she ask, the words tumbling out in a plea. Her tongue press against the roof of her mouth, coating it with saliva so it wouldn’t crack and dry.

"Can it be equivalent to something else ?" The question cut through her. She fall silent. She didn’t know what this thing value—what currency it dealt in. But if it is something like her happiness, her joy, her belonging, then—

"Me ?" The thought leap out from her mouth with a care of consequences.

"You ?"

“Yes,” she said, her voice steadier than the pulse hammering in her throat. “You seem lonely. You’ve been here for years… decades, maybe. Don’t all creatures—human or not—need someone? I can be that someone. You can have my soul, bound to you. Be everything you ask for. All in exchange for you not taking… this life.”

She draw in a trembling breath. “Every night, under the dead of night, I am yours.”

He didn't answer.

Then she feels it, a hand, a finger— a claw, touching her shoulder, hovering just below her skin, her chin. Light enough to caress, sharp enough to draw blood. It nipping at the fabric, and slid it slight to draw a path in her throat and something beneath her skin crawls in tandem with it's motions. It moves slowly, languidly.

Her heart shudders from it's silence and her mind can't think to scream. She wants to run, want to dive under the covers, to bury herself so deeply that the bed and blankets would swallow her whole and return her intact in the morning to her parents. But her body doesn't listen and the weight of it's pericing eyes is strangling her.

Then it pulls back faster than a blink of an eye. "Accepted".

When she wake, her mother’s arms were wrap tight around her and her own skin feels almost too warm—feverishly so. Heat burn through her, the kind that feel both like standing at the edge of a grave and lying in the throes of a raging illness. Her head throb, her limbs are lead, and her body seem to sink deeper into the mattress with every breath.

“Oh, my baby… are you alright? You weren’t waking up". Her mother’s voice crack, the words quivering with tears. (Y/N) tries—weakly—to lift her arms in return, to fold herself back into that safety, but her body is too heavy. All she could manage is to rest her head against her mother’s chest, letting the tears slip quietly down her face, soaking into the fabric there.

“We thought we lost you,” her father said. Through blur vision, she saw him turn his head slightly away, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes in a quick, almost a guard gesture. He didn’t want her to see.

But she could barely hold her thoughts on them—their fear, their relief—because something else was pulling her focus.

In the farthest, darkest corner of the room, where the sunlight couldn’t quite reach even in the middle of the day, she sees him.

He stand there, unmoving.

The curtains are still drawn, but daylight seep in around their edges, and yet he is clearer than shadow—watching her.

Those eyes—pale, almost colorless—lock on hers. They didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. Didn’t need to.

Her throat tighten, and the tears come harder.

She is scared. More than scared. And alone in a way that even her parents’ arms couldn’t touch.

What had she done ? How could she have struck a bargain with something that wasn’t even alive ?

She must have been mad. Completely mad.

This time, when he came, it was beneath a sky swallowed whole by darkness—no moonlight to follow, no stars to watch. He arrived silently, slyly, as she sat upright in her bed, her dream already stolen away. Her eyes remained closed, laced with fear and revulsion, not just at his presence but at the terrible thought that he might rob her of her side of the bargain.

What tongue does a beast speak ? What if it lied— what if it broke the deal and took her away regardless ?

She couldn't allow that. She has to remain here, in this house built brick by brick by her grandparents, lovingly remodeled by her parents for her future. She couldn’t let him—some watcher in the dark—claim it, claim her away.

When the weight of something cold settle on her shoulders, she froze. Only when her gaze flick to the edge of her vision did she catch the glint of crooked teeth parting, as if breathing her in. A hand—or what resemble one—slide from her shoulder to her arm down, drawing a path before he pull her tight in an immediately embrace. Her breath halt and She could feel his breath—rag and unnatural—against the heat of her back. So cold, it remind her of the frostbite she had once suffered after ignoring her parents' warnings. It was unpleasant. Just like him. Just like this moment.

She feels his claw for fingers touch her forehead— her strands of hair really and pull them behind exposing her bare neck where something utterly cold touch, Icy. Painful, if only faintly. She didn’t know what it is—barely more than a featherlight graze—but it made her flinch, and at once, he went still.

As if he knows.

Then it dip again.

This time, she is certain—lips, if he even has any. She flinch again. His grip tighten like shackles around her arms, and he press himself closer to her back.

Suddenly a grasp left her lips at something sharp, pointy bite her skin like it's a flesh to consume but it didn't sink deeper, breaking her skin because if it did she might cry out and beg to let go.

Betray her side of the deal. Run to her mother's arms for the comfort she always got and complain to father of how aweful being a woman feels. Only to be desired, not cared for. She feels him nipping at the place where shoulder meets neck, as if weighing the tenderness of flesh before tearing it from bone. She is nothing to him but a bargain sealed like the ease of flicking a coin into the dirt before a beggar with hope in her eyes.

And before she know it she’s falling onto the mattress—not to sleep, not to rest, but for something far more excruciating. Her chest and her stomach press against the fabric, and he is behind her, gripping her, holding it still like if she are to fall somewhere he will still clutch onto her like a leech not ready to let go it's host until all blood is drain from her. Gosh, gosh, gosh, if only it is that easy.

She sob borrowing her soft comforter's fabric to bury her face to not turn him away, got him thinking her troublesome. Does she have to do this every night ? Or every time he comes ? When all she suggested was someone to fill the void of loneliness like a friend would, not a whore.

How naive, idiot (Y/N).

He traces the edge of her sleeve with idle fingers, toying gently— almost thoughtfully— before gripping tight and tearing with a sudden, brutal force it squeal in the silence. Her eyes slam tight at that, her chest heave heavy and she could feel his presence on her, her back full of him yet he weight nothing like he is wind itself. Only feels no touch.

It's hands sneak up under her night gown and he rubs her thighs and leans in real slow so he can press his lips to her back of nape while the other hand pulls at the fabric from above, dragging it down inch by inch, like peeling the skin from fruit, until she’s left in just her bra, exposed to the air and the quiet hunger of the room. He feels and squeezes and holds as best he can on her bare waist, her navel— fingertips sinking in like he wants to carve out a place for himself in her body—and she sobs, breath catching as the wind slips through and strokes her bare torso with its cool fingers too. Her vision blurs, soft around the edges, and she blinks hard, chasing away tears she doesn’t want to claim.

As he invades her more, he shoves her gown aside completely, casting it off like a discarded veil, she begin to dream, being to imagine sitting on the porch near her father's chair. That’d be the nicest, prettiest spot, where the wind brushes her face, and she can curl herself up real tight and rest your cheek atop your knees. She can keep to herself listening to the nature's heartbeat, her parents giggling sweet nothing to one another as she busk at her own business but that didn't last long as she feels a sudden sharp jolt snaps her back— a stretch, a sting, something pushing inside that feels too familiar, something her past few ex boyfriends taught her.

But it is nothing like the previous, no pretence of romance under the course and too big, too tight up inside her.  He holds her thigh, squeezes her like he don’t wanna let go, like she is the only thing keeping him tied down, and then she feel him sinking roughly. And when he thrusts again, it’s not tentative—it’s claiming. Not a new thing to be tried on and worn for the night, but something to be inhabited. Sweat beads cold on her brow, and her mouth is dry and heart’s already scrambling for your throat.

He pushes so deep she can feel the tip of him brushing against your liver. He makes her fit around him, works himself in all good and enough, but he’s got her nearly to the point of tearing, and a sudden sneeze might rip something in her— might fill her stomach up with blood and leave her coughing up the taste of crimson and agony. But she bend as well as she can, and somehow, she don’t snap. She whimper, gasps, grunts, enduring it all with her body half-fold and her mind elsewhere. Only when he jerks her hips higher— angles her as if to reach more deep of her untouch—does she cry out, voice raw and shapeless in the dark.

It’s the strangest feeling— being full and hollow at once, like she’s bursting and yet completely empty, a sensation she’s never known before. He leans down until he has her all cover and he gathers her up in his arms and starts kissing and tasting her again with an eagerness what’s almost feverish. He moves his hips, grunts some while he’s doing it, and she struggles to breathe— something thick and unrelenting pressing high into her, shoving up against the base of her lungs.

He’s got big hands, and one of them snakes between them and starts touching and rounding her breast— bare. She hadn’t even notice— when has the fabric disappear ? Wasn’t it there just a second ago ? It isn’t fair, how everything slips away so quickly.

It isn't fair how tight he winds her up. It isn't also fair how red it turns her insides, how he can twist her up like it wants but it isn't love, only a newfound desire, and it don’t fill her mouth with nothing but salt. Like somebody’s dunk her head down into the river, and the current washes over her and into her and makes her fingers claw the sheets, clinging to the last familiar thing: the soft scent of laundry on her sheets her mother done with care. She grips them tight, anything to stay grounded, to keep from being sweep away. She gotta squeeze her eyes shut tight, and something wet and salty slips from mouth, saliva it is drooling across her mouth, but then she gasps— air, finally— but it’s cold and metallic, and the weight on top of her groans like a beast, something just barely still a man. Two steps remove from a stranger. Maybe less.

A shudder runs up the length of her spine, and he shoves himself down deep into her one final time. Something must have snap just then, might’ve torn like a piece of paper, and a bit of pain cuts up into her belly and spills across her hips and she scream, bitterly as a crow's squawk. The pig’s gonna be butcher now, and the meat’ll get smoke and then glaze with honey.

He hugs her tight to him, so tight she almost can’t breathe, and then the moment’s gone and his grip slackens, but he waits a minute. Hesitates, almost, and his head’s bow, she can’t see his face anyway, but his chest is press flush against her back, and he breathes all deep and low and for a moment, he doesn't move. Then he slowly begins to peel himself away, jerking back like someone unfamiliar with the act of letting go— like it pains him to detach then he pauses and peers down for a moment at himself and the choice he’s made.

An ache is blooming deep in her hips, dull and distant, as if her body is beginning to weep before her mind can catch up. The tears on her face haven't even soak when finally he turn her to face him. She sees nothing. Nothing but sickly pale eyes set in the silhouette of something that might be a man who is like a thief but he isn't no thief. He has dress what he is taking as a willing deal. As willing as a soul can be when death seems kinder than living.

She lies beneath him— cold, bare, emptied.

Watching.

Waiting for him to be gone.

But he lingers. He has already taken, devoured, drained. And yet when he leans down— mouth brushing hers, lips tangling into a kiss like a knot—she knows: he’s still hungry.

Greedy, greedy bastard.

“You are pretty,” he mutters, his voice—like something spoke from beneath the ocean, warp and distoried. “And pleasant. I like you.”

The words don’t pass his lips. No, they move only to taste her— to press, to suck and yet the sentence resounds inside her skull, echoing like a thought not her own. It hums there, low and awful, and if not for the voice—if not for its texture like broken glass— she might have believe it is hers.

And with that, the bargain seals. Iron-bound. Irrevocable.

And every night at the hour where eyes of others asleep does he comes to her. And she becomes his. Merge into something that is not entirely herself, not entirely him, but shape in the dark space where names are useless.

By daylight, she lounges and laughs and eats beside her parents like in the good old days. They smile, blissfully unaware that for each hour she spends in their warmth, she must pay at—

The hour without eyes.

FIN

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 ◜⌜ 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ⌟◞