Jane T.K NSFW Hc's

Jane t.K NSFW hc's

Gentle No toys Her mouth and fingers are enough, right? Will leave a trail of roses abs candles to the room Buys you lingerie Won't take off too much of her clothes because she's insecure of her burns You encouraged her and bite she lets you bite her and mark up all her burn scars She refuses to take off the wig, though Did get nails into you when she feels good Very quiet but loves your sounds Aftercare consists of cleaning you and cuddles

Creeps with animals

Feat: Eyeless Jack, 'Ticci' Toby, Jeff t.K, Hoodie/Brian, Masky/Tim, Laughing Jack, BEN Drowned, and Helen Otis/Bloody Painter.

BEN: Prefers lizards and insects but isn't opposed to loving bunnies and cats. Definitely researches different bugs and has a whole little notebook about them. Takes scary care of his pets and will go feral if you mess with them without his permission. Will talk your ear off about it if you let him shamelessly. Specifically likes to stick bugs the most. He collects small bugs he finds around the mansion and keeps them in jars. Names the bugs. Pet rabbit. Has jars of fireflies but lets them go after like two or three nights.

"Ben, what the hell is this?" you asked, grabbing the small buzzing jar. He hummed slightly, turning around, yet his eyes didn't leave his game until he was facing you completely. "Don't touch that!" he cried, snatching the glass from your grasp. "Okay, but what is it?" you repeated, crossing your arms over your chest with a chuckle. "His name is Greggley," he answered, placing the jar back on its high shelf. "I'm sorry, his name is fucking what?"

Eyeless Jack: Cat guy. Need I say more? has like eight fucking cats he found. Is way overprotective of them. Names them shit that will correlate to how he acquired them. Like, if he found them chasing a bird, their name would be some shit like "Birdie" or "Hunter" because it's cute. They claw at him like a scratching post, and you cannot convince me otherwise. He no longer wears shorts because of them. Gives them toys but is fully aware they will not be used. Can fit two in each hand. "You're not allergic to fur, are you?" Jack inquired. You shook your head quietly, a no. "Good,' he muttered. Opening the door, multiple cats rushed to him, rubbing against his legs and letting out loud meows. "Hello, princess!" he cooed, picking up a chubby calico. He rested the cat over his shoulder, beginning to pet its back. "Such a good kitty, aren't you?" he purred (get it? lmao) The kitten meowed in response, leaning into him more. "The cannibal demon man has cats..."

Jeff: He doesn't like small animals. Likes 'cool' animals, as he would say. Falcons, hawks, sharks, etc. Has a secret soft spot for sea otters. Would never admit it, though. Has had many fish in the past. None have survived for too long. His current fish is named "Bubbles" but he will not say its name. Only in his head. Aggressively nice to animals. Not allowed to have animals smaller than a cat. He will lose it. Cuddles with his animals. Feeds a stray dog. Smile dog. "Cute ass fish," he muttered, back cracking loudly as he stood upright from his crouched position. "Did you say something?" you inquired. "No, and even if I did, what's it matter to you?" he snapped. "Sorry," you ruefully replied, rolling your eyes. Sprinkling the food in the bowl, he squinted, as much as he can, at least, and said something else under his breath. Little did you know, he was calling his fish by its name.

Toby: Feeds every stray. Every single one. Cat, dog, rat. Doesn't matter to him. He has several rats and lets them crawl all over him. One is named "Gerard" and the other is named "Frank" because we stan My Chemical Romance <3333 Brings them places in his pocket around the mansion and in town. Never on missions. Kisses them on the head. They are chubby little rats, and he will not take criticism of them. They are his babies. "Toby, what the fuck is in your pocket?" Tim questioned, watching as the area wiggled around oddly. Toby moved his hand up, pulling out a black and white rodent. "Really? You brought the fucking rat to breakfast?" Brian joked. Toby shook his head, a no. "The fuck do you mean 'no'?" Tim angrily asked. Swallowing his food, a shit-eating grin plastered his face. Once again, he moved his hand up, pulling out another rat. "No, I brought them both."

Helen: Like four cats. They are not allowed in his studio. Many scars from them. They hide under his bed and get his legs when he walks by. Has run into many walls trying to avoid this. Does not trust them. Buys them that expensive ass kitty food and tuna. Cat treats. His cats know tricks for sure. They are mean. He jumps onto his bed from a distance away because of the fear of monsters under his bed (the cats) Names them after famous artists/poets. They give him even more mental instability. "Oh my fucking-" he cried, stopping mid-sentence to exhale loudly. The small black cat ravaged his ankles, kicking and thrashing to assert dominance. Bending over, he lifted the kitty from his limb, tossing it on the bed to continue his phone call. "Yeah, sorry. Mr. Sparkle Palooza bit me again," (I'm so sorry for the name)

Hoodie/Brian: He likes big dogs. Like German Shepherds, Golden retrievers, and any type of hound. Dogs go on as many walks as he can provide. Many, many treats. They are spoiled. He gives them scraps excessively. They sleep on his bed, despite having their own. Very well trained. "Sick em'" is his favorite surprise. Vicious ass dogs fr. Clips their nails regularly. Hates when he gets called a 'dog dad' or when his dogs are called 'fur babies' because it weirds him out. "Oh, godamnit. Can you fucking stop, you crazy asshole?" he muttered, attempting to hold the dog in place as the clippers came in contact with the animals' nails. You watched, amused, across the room as he swore to himself. "Need some help?" you joked. "No, (y/n), I do not need help."

Masky: No animals. Unless it's like a single cat, he's not down. However, does enjoy deer and other forest animals. Has been horseback riding. Enjoyed it thoroughly. No animals unless approved by him.

Laughing Jack: Endless animals. Cats, dogs, rats, mice, deer, birds. All of them but snakes. He hates snakes. But is super affectionate toward any other animal. "Jack, look what I found!" you cheered, holding up a small kitten. With wide eyes and a grinning face, he gently took it from your hand, cradling it as if it were as fragile as glass. "It's ours now."

(NOT PROOFREAD; I AM AWARE IT IS BAD)

Hoodie/Brian NSFW hc's

Thighs. Choke him with them. Thigh jobs. 100% Will switch, but likes to be dom He whimpers on bottom Groans on top Very vocal Too good with his mouth Likes to receive or give head Fine with either Will worship you Rough or gentle Pull his hair Cute ass happy trail Limited hair Trims hair often Pull his fucking hair. Can go for four rounds at most Likes being caught He wouldn't prefer it but doesn't mind if it happens He sees it as showing you off Will not share Possessive You are getting dicked down if he's mad You wanna walk to the kitchen? Crutches. Hates wearing his mask in bed. Likes any position he can pull your hair or see your face. Squeeze his head with your thighs when he eats you out Look him in the eyes as he cums ask over your face He can and will be milked Loves having his hands tied to the headboard or somewhere he can't use them Call him names He doesn't care as long as it's with you Aftercare

Apathetic-Misplaced

Rounding the corner, you treaded further into the kitchen, urging not to wake your mother. It was hard enough to get her to sleep, let alone keep her like that. Your toe stubbed slightly against the bottom of the kitchen counter as you reached for the cabinet with the mugs.

Oddly, as you searched for your favorite one, it seemed to be gone. Having been sure you put it up with the load of dishes you'd done yesterday, you checked once again, not doubting yourself to have missed it in the dim light the early winter mornings would provide. 

Looking back down, annoyed, you saw it. Resting a foot away, sat next to the sugar and spoon, was the mug, a teabag already placed inside. This week had been stressful, you chopped the appearance simply to a simply forgotten task. 

You smiled to yourself, taking the cup in your hand and heading to the stovetop. Placing the kettle on the heating burner, you waited patiently on your phone, scrolling, disinterested in what your friends had done over the weekend. 

Your heart clenched at a certain sight; it was a picture of Nina, a girl you thought would live forever. Alas, she's gone now. Not necessarily dead but missing. So, no matter how you look at it, she's gone. 

All you truly craved was closure. 

Resting your phone face down, you hopped up as the kettle began to scream. Pulling it from the burner, you placed it on a different one, waiting a still moment before beginning to pour the boiling water into the mug. 

After you did, you slowly sipped on the scalding liquid, tossing your head back as you mentally psyched yourself up to get through the day. It wouldn't be too bad, working at a little gas station, if you weren't fifteen miles from the musty place. 

You walked slowly to your bedroom, socks scuffling against the kitchen's hardwood floor. You slipped off the flimsy night shirt you'd been wearing changing into a new bra and shirt. Not much of a shirt, really, more like a big sweater. It was (f/c) and knit tightly. Black leggings to match, you supposed.

It was winter. You were behind a counter most of your day. Who cares what you wore? 

Going back into the kitchen, deciding you'd eat before work, meaning you didn't have to come out from behind the counter and be ogled at by creeps without morals. Yeah, it was better to eat at home.

Gliding on your shoes, you tied the laces up neatly. As you headed back into the kitchen, another odd sight struck you. The sugar had been returned to its spot; the spoon was in the sink. Knitting your eyebrows together, you figured, once again, that it was just a subconscious act of yours. 

I do this every morning, so it's routine of me to put it away, you told yourself. But as the morning's occurrences replayed, your mind went, instead, to worst-case scenarios. Once again, rationality got the better of you, and your mind decided you had forgotten; done it without a second thought. 

But you didn't remember the part where you forced yourself to keep quiet for your mother's sake. 

It was early, too early, to be awake for work. I mean, you worked nights. But groceries were a necessity, and starving wasn't on your mind lately. Not yet. Grabbing your wallet and phone, you were on your way out the door. 

Clambering into the cold car, you turned on the heat, but without time to waste, you drove off. You played a few songs on your way, preferring the familiar music to the silence. As you pulled up to the Walmart, you climbed out again. 

Opening the notes app on your phone, you checked the list again, unsure of what you needed. "Milk, eggs, butter, toilet paper, shampoo." you read. Nodding to yourself, you walked inside, grabbing a rattling cart from the hoard. First, you made your way to the dairy, grabbing the milk, eggs, and butter, and placing them in the bottom of the rattly cart.

Next, you walked to the aisles with all the hygiene products. Grabbing your usual brand of shampoo and toilet paper, you made your way to the checkout. At the register, you grabbed a pack of gum. Minute but nice. 

The man in front of you quickly had his minimal number of items scanned, but he didn't tread too far, visibly distracted by something on his yellow hoodie. He was tall, with disheveled light brown hair, and pale. very pale; he looked sickly. As the cashier scanned your items, the dead look on her face not softened, she read your total. "Fifteen-eighty-two," she mumbled. Opening your wallet, you searched in fear for your card.

As your mind began to whirl and sway, a voice spoke up. You only had so much cash on you; not enough to pay the due, however. Your shaky hand brought her the ten dollars you had in cash, but she continued staring at you, waiting. "I'll cover it," the man offered. "Oh, no. You don't have to-" you assured, quickly being cut off as he handed the cashier the exact change. 

"Thank you so much, sir," you thanked. "It's human kindness," he joked. "Still, thank you." you sighed, thankful. "Keep yourself safe," he said, walking away, off into the crowd of people, many shorter than him. He headed in the opposite direction that you were going, much to your disappointment.

It would have been nice to know his name, you thought. Dawdling around the flooded store, you glanced around, bored. You thought about how pale he was. Tired of ogling at items you'll never buy, or afford, you left.

You smiled to yourself at the sweet interaction, not having experienced a true act of human decency in so long. Living away from everyone in the countryside could do that to someone - make you a recluse-, but you didn't really mind. 

Striding back to your car, you placed your bags of groceries, finding yourself questionably searching for the man, even without realizing it. Turning over the ignition in the car, you drove off, pulling onto the foggy road. As the road cleared, leaving you nearly alone, aside from the few cabins and cars, you noticed one thing in particular: a beat-up, blue pickup truck behind you.

Its paint chipped, revealing the rusty color beneath the facade of color. The headlights were still on, which was fair, considering the fact it was dark, still. That's winter, you thought. Heart in your throat, you sped up, only to notice how their speed was in sync with yours; they sped as you did, and slowed as you did.

As you pulled into your driveway, breaths of relief flooded out of your lungs, watching as the truck drove on, the driver you didn't see. Silently entering the home, you brought in the bags, smiling still at the man's kindness. 

After you unpacked the groceries, you went to check on your mother once again. She was fine. Now, sleep was in your mind. Falling, exhausted, into your bed, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, falling asleep. 

As your eyes flickered open, the smell of coffee greeted you. Smiling to yourself, you made your quiet way to the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Hi, Mom," you greeted. "Hey, hon," she replied, not meeting your eyes as she washed the dishes from this morning. "Hey, (y/n)?" she said again. You hummed lowly.

"Try not to use so many dishes when you make your tea, okay?" she muttered. "I only used one this morning." you denied. "Well, there are two cups in the sink, and it doesn't make sense." she replied. "Maybe you just forgot; I know you're stressed lately," she whispered. "I guess," you agreed.

"Well, it's almost time for you to get ready, and I made some coffee for you," she said. "I know," you sighed.

Sluggishly walking back to your room, you slipped on a white shirt, staying in the same undergarments as this morning, feeling it dumb to change. With a black zip-up hoodie over leggings, simple shoes, and your (h/c) (h/l) brushed. 

No makeup needed. 

You grabbed the thermos that'd been set on the counter and poured your coffee into it, adding the milk and sugar. This time, you put the sugar and spoon away. Fiddling with the lid, you finally fit it tight to the bottle, sighing deeply as you left. But not before telling your mother you loved her.

Phone, keys, thermos, wallet. That's all you needed. As you arrived, you pulled up, checking your wallet for a hair tie. Oddly, and to your horror, your card was in its usual spot. Heart in your throat, you took a hair tie out, assuming your coworker would ask for one before she went on her delivery trips. 

You were right. 

"Hey, do you have a hair tie?" she asked, pulling her ginger hair into a hold with her hand. Wordlessly, you handed it to her, walking behind the counter after tying your apron on. You leaned against the counter, waiting, as a man walked in. His hair was a deep, rich brown, falling above his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, they glanced at you, brown and tired. Bags were under them, falling into a sullen frown as you looked his face over. 

He smiled quickly, turning away as he walked the aisles of the gas station, silent, almost. He made no sound when he walked, and you wondered how such a tall, built man could be so utterly stealthy. He opened a freezer in the back, pulling out a drink. You couldn't quite see what it was until he stepped into another aisle; the aisle with chips. 

A bag rustled and he walked back to you. Placing the items on the counter, you realized that it was alcohol and some plain potato chips. "ID?" you requested. He handed you a small, plastic card. Taking it in your hand, you examined it. "What's your birthday?" you asked.

Looking closer at the ID, you realized that his name was Timothy, but his last name you didn't see, not before he answered, making you gaze back at him. He answered, holding his hand out expectantly. You handed him his ID and scanned his items. "Have a nice day, sir," you said, smiling as he walked off wordlessly. 

The bell rang as he left. 

Another hour or so passed by, and only a handful of interactions, left you alone with your thoughts, the buzzing of the lights, and the low, humming music from the store. You walked to the back of the store, grabbing a drink, water. 

Putting the money in the register, you began to drink slowly, nearly gagging and spitting up the water as a figure towered over you. "Hi, I'm sorry. You scared the life out of me!" you joked, coughing. "Oh, I'm s-sorry," they apologized. Noticeably, they had a stutter. 

"It's fine; you're just really quiet," you laughed again, trying to keep the mood light, despite his depressing, sorry tone. You coughed again, finally looking up at him. He had soft brown hair, covering his eyes slightly. Eyes a soft, shimmery green, though still with a sharpness. Alert.

A mask covered most of his face, obscuring your view. He was thin, you could tell, despite the large beige, brown, white, and blue hoodie he wore. "Is there anything I can do for you?" perking up, he looked at you. Without words, he walked to the back of the store. Grabbing a chocolate milk, he placed it on the counter, hands clad in what you assumed to be leather. "That all?" you checked.

He nodded wordlessly, mask shifting, as if he were chewing on his cheek. Ringing him up, "A dollar and eighty-nine cents, please," you requested.

He fished out some money and planted it on the counter, and you gave him the milk. "Thank you, have a nice day!" You chirped.

He walked out with a "you, too" and nothing else; not even a thumbs up.

--

Hours passed with nothing more than interactions and nearly slamming your head into the counter as you accidentally drifted off.

Now, it was time to go home. You waited for your coworker, and left when she got there. "Bye," she shouted. Waving, you left.

-- Once you arrived home, the rooms silent, you walked to the kitchen. There was a steaming mug of coffee, a sticky note placed on its side. "Just how you like it!" With a smiling face at the end. You smirked at the gesture, taking a small sip. And, indeed, it was just how you liked it.

Honestly, you hadn't even figured that your mother paid attention while you were around her. Heading back to your room, you found that your laundry was already folded on the bed.

"That's sweet, " you thought. Hanging your clothes and putting them into the drawers, you noticed another note. "This week will be full of surprises!" It read, the same handwriting as the note on the mug.

You put the clothes away correctly, lying disc on the clear bed. Before you feel asleep, you decided a shower was needed. As you entered the bathroom, you peeled off your clothes, strong into the scalding water.

It felt good against your cold skin, though. As you reached for your soap, you realized it was small and used up. Soon, you'd have to buy more. After washing your hair and body, you clambered out, wrapping a towel around yourself.

Falling back into your bed, you didn't bother to change. It's not like you had anywhere to be; not for a while, anyway. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you fell asleep.

--

A knock at your door awoke you, making your eyes spring open and your body jolt up. "Mom?" You questioned. No answer. "Mom?" You repeated, louder than before.

Opening the door, still in your towel, your heart dropped, but your grip on the cloth didn't. Thankfully. There stood a tall man, at least six foot, dressed in a mustard colored hoodie, denim pants, and steel-toe boots.

But the worst part, you were sure, was what state down. Where his face should be, instead, a black mask with two circles. Eyes. And one upside down U. A frown.

Your words caught in your throat as you tried to choke something, anything, out. His breath was muffled against the mask, and would have been falling on top of your head if not for the cloth.

After a moment of silence, you spoke up, still so scared. "What do you want?" You choked out. Without speaking, he shoved past you, walking to the corner of your room.

He simply snatched your little collection of sticky notes, holding them up to you. Pointing at the second one you'd received, the one about the surprising week, and tapped it lightly, mask shifting slightly.

You assumed he was smiling.

Bloody Painter/Helen Otis NSFW hc's

Groaning and loud ass breathing Any position Sensual Will take his time Loves stuffing you full with cum Isn't into giving oral Isn't into recieving, either He likes things slow and calm If you do give him head, then it's foreplay And only foreplay But he does like the look you give him while he's face fucking you, though Can be rough Prefers to be gentle Finds sex to be an art Art takes time He will try and has tried everything with you Not much of a sex drive without you Doesn't like to solo masterbate Somnophilia Might beg Has big puppy eyes when he wants to try something Owns handcuffs They are black and soft Says things like "Your body is so beautiful, " or "Let me fucking fill you up," bc he just slays like that Orgasm. Control Whether it's overstim or edging, he has control Unless you're domming Will cry is you edge him too much Almost no hair Does have a serial killer fucking happy trail It's his hair color

'Ticci' Toby NSFW hc's

Switch On bottom, he whimpers On top, he whimpers He's so loud Says shit like "oh, fuck, I feel so fucking good-" and will cry if you overstimulate him Milk him Lives simply to be called "Good Boy" Will grab every inch of you unapologetically Will bend you over anywhere Drools Screams Claws at you Loves to be scratched Will bite Bite him Hickeys All over Aftercare consists of making sure you're okay and cleaning you up