#she absolutely would do wild things to that man

[yeyinde]

surreal/psychological horror + Soap where you agree to house sit for a coworker when they take off for a vacation. but a man shows up and tells you he's supposed to be staying there too.

their son, he shrugs. came home on leave from the military. crashin' here. thought mam might'a said somethin'.

she didn't, but it's fine. and he's harmless. sort of. maybe. you're not sure, really. because he's a little pushy. has a wild temper that ebbs and flows at intervals you can't really keep up with. tempestuous. mercurial. but he makes dinner. he tells you about what he did—not all of it, but some. like why he was sent home as he gestures to the raw scar on his temple.

need some tlc, he quips with a sharp grin. and lucky him because he found the prettiest little doe waitin' fer him.

harmless. a soldier. you can trust that, right?

but he stares at you with a naked hunger, like he wants to eat you alive. but it's gone when you really look. and sometimes, things go missing. your clothes. panties. odd stuff around the house. he hides the newspaper in the trash before you can see it. says the cable is out on the television—Netflix only. no news. he can't—he can't bare to see it. trauma. you wouldn't put him through that, would you, doe? no. you're a good girl. the best.

(at night, asleep. a nightmare; his rough voice in your ear: his good girl. so good for him. so wet—)

and it's just three weeks.

you'll be fine.

(—even though you taste him in the morning. on your lips. your tongue. the back of your throat. salty, bitter. but—there's a pack of salted licorice on the table. fifteen pieces, it reads. maybe you ate them. fuck, got such a pretty mouth, doe. you count each piece. gonna make me cum. fifteen. it's fine. it's fine. there's an ache between your thighs. a tenderness you lie to yourself about as you ignore the stickiness pooling in the gusset of your panties. fuck, doe, ahm gonna—)

absolutely fine.

until your coworker calls after finally getting cell reception. chatting in your ear about her vacation. normal. totally normal. and her son? you tell her. he's been a real help around the house, too (but she should maybe talk to him about sneaking into your bedroom at night because that's so weird, it's so strange; you don't want to wake up to a man staring at you in the dark, or catch the scent of sage on your pillow anymore, the lingering heat—please tell him to stop doing that because when you do, he just gets a weird look on his face like you're the problem, and it's just all so—)

"what son? we don't—we don't have a son—"

the phone line cutting out doesn't really surprise you. and neither does the creak of the floorboards. the solid weight of a chest against your back. the press of metal. a warm, firm palm folding over your throat, anchoring you in place.

a soft, mournful coo:

"ah really didnae want ye tae find out like th', doe. ah thought we had time together." his hand tightens. breath heavy, ragged against the shell of your ear. "but we gotta go, doe. it's time for us tae leave—"

(maybe you should have pushed back harder against letting him hide the paper, or barring you from watching the news. you might have seen a familiar face.)

[misshoneyimhome]

I know I mentioned i was going to create a little video - or even a Will you be my Vale-nylander-tine card - but then you wrote me such a lovely and amazing story of William being smitten - what an absolute dream that would be. The algorithm on my ig feed was non-stop 50 shades of gray-esque today...but there was one reel that I had originally wanted to send you. But then you inspired me to write you a little something for Dream Boyfriend Day and all I can do is hope that you'll like it because yours I will always cherish.

You lay limp in his arms, barely enough strength left to trace a line through the sweat on his abdomen.

William softly kisses your head. "You okay?"

You nod, but the truth is—you’re not okay. You’re beyond any level of okay. You’ve passed the point of no return. Logic no longer rides shotgun in your mind; in its place is an unshakable need, an all-consuming want, and a total adoration for him. Anything before him was nothing—it was all watered-down drivel by comparison.

His voice is low and croaky, the way it was that first time, when he hesitated before asking if he could kiss you. "Don't take this like I’m complaining—because I absolutely am not—but I have never heard you talk that way before… telling me what you wanted in the ways you wanted it."

It’s true. What’s even truer is that you have no idea where this version of you came from—the one who whined and asked for things through gritted teeth. It was all so uncharacteristically bold and unapologetic, coming deep from within. William had unlocked something inside you, something wild that he had drawn out without even trying.

You’re not embarrassed, not really, but you tuck into him anyway, hiding your face just a little.

"I just… I had to say it all. How you were making me feel, what I wanted… I had to get it out so you knew how good it all was."

William smiles, then chuckles softly. "Well, mission accomplished. Probably one of the hottest experiences I’ve ever had."

When you finally find your bearings again, the two of you slide out of bed, meandering into the kitchen. Up until that moment, William had been your only source of sustenance.

As he blends a shake for you both, you scroll through your phone, leaning against the counter, fingers idly flipping through Insta reels—until one grabs your attention.

A simple statement, but one that resonates so deeply - like it had been posted specifically for you to see it in that moment:

"When a woman is the nastiest, sluttiest version of herself in the bedroom, what she’s functionally communicating with her behavior—not with her words, but with her actions—is this: You are the most desirable man I’ve ever met. I’m willing to break the rules I rigidly enforced with all other men… for you."

The words strike a chord because that’s exactly what happened.

William is different. He is kind. He is patient. He is real. And because of that, you’ve found a side of yourself you never even knew existed.

One thing is for certain—William will never have to guess how you feel about him. And the best part?

William is the type who always reciprocates.

Oh babe! This is the perfect mix of hot, sexy, cute, steamy, and romantic all at once 🥰

What a dream to feel that connected to him—thank you so much for this little blurb 🔥😏

And I have to admit—your “Will you be my Vale-nylander-tine?” pick-up line is way better than mine!

Happy Dream Boyfriend Day ❤️‍🔥