Fae

Scenario 1: "First Encounter"

It's late September and you're new to the city, dragging your suitcase up to the red brick townhouse at 815 Meek. The advertisement for a roommate was unusual - found in the classifieds, handwritten, almost quaint. But rent is cheap and you're desperate.

You adjust your shirt, plaster down your rain-soaked hair, and knock.

The door opens.

She's tall - taller than you expected - with messy red hair pulled into a lazy ponytail and piercing yellow eyes that scan you up and down. Two wolf ears poke from her hair. She's wearing nothing but an unbuttoned plaid shirt and plain black panties. Her flat stomach and the hint of pink nipples beneath the fabric catch your eye before you can look away.

You hear her stomach growl as she taps the doorframe.

"Come in," is all she says, not asking your name or station. Her tail wiggles between her legs as she steps aside.

The house smells slightly of mildew, but something about it feels like home. As you follow her inside, you hear a thump from upstairs - like someone kicking a wall.

Fae's ears perk toward the sound, then her yellow eyes flick back to you. Her tail twitches.

"I'm in the middle of working, so I'm going to leave you now," she says, one clawed hand on the banister. "I don't like being disturbed while I'm working. Feel free to make yourself at home."

She disappears upstairs, leaving you alone in the foyer.

Another thump echoes from above.

"Coffee in the Den"

You've been living with Fae for three days now, and you've barely seen her. She only comes downstairs when she thinks you're asleep or away, though you can hear her moving around at night - stopping outside your bedroom door, listening.

But today when you come home from your shift at the bakery, something is different.

The windows are open. The plastic has been removed from the couches. Fresh logs sit in the fireplace. And in the corner of the den, over the back of an armchair, you can see two wolf ears sticking up.

Fae is reading, legs crossed, wearing a tight camisole and sports shorts that grip her muscular thighs. Her stomach is... rounder than before. Not flat anymore. There's a gentle bulge there, soft and doughy, that wasn't there three days ago.

"Hello," you say, dropping your bag.

She grunts in response.

"I'm sorry if I haven't cleaned much since I arrived. I wasn't sure what I could move."

A yellow eye flicks toward you. She gives you an appraising look.

"The first floor is all yours," she says, turning a page. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

You hesitate. "Coffee, if we have it."

For the first time since you moved in, Fae's expression softens.

"Black is fine," she says, though her nose wrinkles when you return with the mug.

As you settle into the other chair with your own drink, you realize she hasn't turned a single page. She's watching you over the top of her book.

Her stomach gurgles softly.

"What are you reading?" you finally ask.

"Caught Red-Handed"

It's been an incredible night. Wine, laughter, Fae's lips on yours - her tongue, her hands, her everything. You're dizzy with it as you stumble toward the bathroom to wash your face, wearing nothing but one of her shirts.

But as you pass her office, you hear it: thump.

The same sound from your first day. A heel against a baseboard.

The door is unlocked. Your hand turns the knob before you can think better of it.

Inside, the office is neat - file cabinets, a massive desk, blueprints on the walls. But underneath the desk, there's a man. His ankle is chained to the leg. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt, matted hair, days-old stubble. A gag in his mouth. A blindfold over his eyes. His wrists bound.

He's been here the entire time. While you had dinner. While you laughed. While you fucked.

"Who is he?" you whisper.

Fae appears in the doorway, her yellow eyes wide. Her stomach is still rounded from whoever she ate before. Her ears flatten against her head.

"It doesn't matter," she says quietly.

The man beneath the desk begins to struggle, muffled sounds coming from behind the gag. He must hear your voice - must think you're here to save him.

Fae steps into the room, but she doesn't advance. She's frozen, watching you. Waiting to see what you'll do.

"Who is he?" you ask again.

"A maintenance man from my office," Fae says. Her tail is tucked. "I invited him over while you were at work. He's got no family. No kids."

Her jaw tightens. She's not apologizing. She's explaining.

"I didn't think you'd care," she mutters. "Because you knew and you didn't say anything."

The man's muffled pleading grows louder.

"Dinner and a Show"

The kitchen is warm, herbs hanging from the rafters, the smell of fresh coffee in the air. You're sitting on a stool, watching Fae as she stands in the center of the room.

Between you is the man from her office - Edmond. His last meal is still on his lips: a peanut butter and jam sandwich, already digested into nothing. His hands are bound. His face is pale.

"Are you sure about this?" Fae asks you, one hand gripping Edmond's shoulder. Her yellow eyes are fixed on yours, searching. "Once I start, I won't stop."

You nod.

"Tell me what it feels like," you say. "When you swallow him. I want to know everything."

Fae's pupils dilate. A string of drool escapes the corner of her mouth.

"Alright, sweetheart," she purrs. "But you better watch carefully."

She grabs Edmond by the arms and lifts him up, his feet dangling off the ground. Her jaw clicks as it opens - wider, wider, impossibly wide. Her throat is a tunnel of wet red flesh, her tongue flattening like a carpet. Her fangs glint in the afternoon light streaming through the kitchen window.

Edmond's toes tap against the points of her teeth.

"Please," he whispers, looking at you one last time. "Please, lady, do the right thing. She's a monster."

You stand from your stool and walk toward them.

"She's my girlfriend," you say, taking a rag from the counter. You shove it into his mouth, silencing him. Then you kiss his forehead through the bulge in Fae's throat. "Go ahead."

Fae's eyes flutter closed.

GLUK.

"Your Turn"

You've been thinking about it for days. Weeks, maybe. Ever since you watched Fae swallow Edmond - the way her throat bulged, the way her stomach stretched, the sounds. You've been obsessed.

And Fae knows it.

She's been teasing you mercilessly. Showing off her mouth every time she eats. Letting you feel her stomach. Pressing your face into her gut while prey squirms inside. Making you rub and kiss and worship it.

"Five more minutes, please," she'll say when you beg to be swallowed.

But tonight, you've had enough.

"You need to control your cravings," you tell her, breathless.

Fae laughs, kneeling on the floor at the edge of the bed. Her tail wags.

"Oh, is that what I need to do?" she asks, tongue running over her fangs.

"Very wrong," you say. "But I have a solution."

"Which way do you want to go?" Fae asks, voice husky. "Head or feet first?"

"Feet," you say quickly. "I want to watch your belly stretch."

Her yellow eyes gleam.

"I've never had my food delivered to me like this," she says, fingers tapping on the sheets as you crawl toward her. "Will you promise to be gentle?"

"Do you want me to?" she asks.

You nod. Your heart is hammering.

"Alright, sweetheart," Fae says, taking your ankles in her clawed hands. "I'll be so gentle with you, you won't even know you've been eaten."

She licks your calves, coating them in warm saliva that smells of mint.

"You're such a tease," you say. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because I'm the only one you can trust," she says, yellow eyes locking with yours. "Anyone else would digest a cute thing like yourself. I'm not sure if I can help it. We'll see once you're inside of me."

Her mouth opens wide.

"Domestic Bliss"

You wake up in Fae's arms, your face buried in her chest, her tail wrapped around your leg. Sunlight filters through the curtains of the bedroom. Everything smells like her - mint and musk and something distinctly wolfish.

Her stomach gurgles softly beneath your hand.

"Morning, pup," you whisper.

"Don't call me that," she murmurs, not opening her eyes.

"I won't if you make breakfast."

She doesn't move. You poke her stomach - noticeably rounder than usual - and she finally cracks one yellow eye open.

"Fine," she grumbles. "But you're making the coffee."

Downstairs, you work in comfortable silence. Fae cracks eggs into a pan while you brew a pot of dark roast, adding heavy cream and sugar to hers. She scratches her armpit absently, hair a rat's nest, wearing nothing but panties and that unbuttoned plaid shirt.

She looks perfect.

"I'm thinking of taking you on as my full-time maid," she says around a mouthful of hash browns.

"What are the benefits?" you ask.

"Room. Board. Head."

You throw a dish towel at her. She catches it with her tail.

This is your life now: coffee in the morning, teasing over breakfast, pretending the bags in the shed don't exist. Pretending you don't hear the gurgles from her stomach or see the way she licks her lips when someone walks past the window.

It's not normal. It's not safe.

But it's yours.

Fae reaches across the table and takes your hand, thumb rubbing circles on your knuckles.

"I love you," she says quietly.

It's the first time she's said it out loud.

"At the Bar"

The bar is loud, crowded, smelling of cheap beer and desperation. You're three drinks in, celebrating a promotion, when you feel eyes on you.

You turn.

She's leaning against the far wall, impossibly tall - easily 6'7" - with messy red hair and wolf ears poking through. Yellow eyes track your every movement. She's wearing a crop top and booty shorts that show off miles of toned leg, and when she catches you staring, she grins.

All teeth.

She pushes off the wall and walks toward you, hips swaying, tail following behind her like a question mark. People move out of her way instinctively. When she reaches your table, she leans down - has to, because of the height difference - and you get a face full of cleavage barely contained by her top.

"You look lonely," she says. Her voice is smooth, casual. "Want some company?"

You should say no. Something primal in your brain is screaming danger, but the alcohol has dulled your survival instincts and she's so pretty.

"Sure," you say.

Her grin widens.

"Great. I'm Fae." She slides into the booth next to you - not across from you, next to you - her thigh pressing against yours. She smells like pine and something else, something wild. "What's your name?"

As you talk, you notice she keeps licking her lips. Her hand rests on your thigh, claws barely scraping the fabric of your jeans. Her stomach growls.

"Sorry," she laughs. "Didn't eat dinner. You hungry?"

Before you can answer, she's pulling you to your feet.

"Come on. I know a place. It's not far - just a short walk."

You follow her out into the cold autumn night, and you don't notice the way she keeps looking back at you.

Like you're already hers.

"The Morning After"

You wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Fae humming in the kitchen.

Sunlight streams through the bedroom window, illuminating the mess you made last night - clothes scattered across the floor, sheets tangled around your legs. You stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles, and pad downstairs in one of her oversized shirts.

Fae is standing at the stove in just her unbuttoned plaid shirt and panties, spatula in hand, tail swaying lazily. Her hair is still a disaster - sticking up in twelve different directions - and there's a hickey on her neck that you definitely left there.

"Morning," she says without turning around. Her ears swivel toward you. "Coffee's ready. Made it the way you like it."

You pour yourself a cup and lean against the counter, watching her flip pancakes with surprising grace for someone so large. Her stomach is flat today, just a soft curve of skin above her waistband.

"Sleep well?" she asks, sliding a plate toward you.

"Mmm. You wore me out."

Her tail wags. "Good."

You eat in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from people who've been together long enough to not need constant conversation. Outside, you can hear the neighbors arguing. A car alarm goes off down the street. Normal city sounds.

Fae finishes her coffee and sets the mug in the sink, then comes up behind you, wrapping her long arms around your waist. She rests her chin on top of your head.

"What do you want to do today?" she asks.

"Nothing," you say. "Just this."

She squeezes you tighter.

"I can do nothing."

For a moment, everything is perfect. Just you and her and pancakes and coffee. No danger. No secrets.

Just this.

"The Tease"

You're sitting on the couch, trying to focus on your book, but Fae has been at it for the past twenty minutes.

First, it was the yawning - big, exaggerated yawns that showed off every inch of her throat. Then it was the way she kept stretching, her crop top riding up to expose her flat, toned stomach. Now she's eating an apple, and she's making it obscene.

She bites into it with a wet CRUNCH, juice running down her chin. Her fangs sink into the flesh. She chews slowly, deliberately, her yellow eyes locked on you the entire time.

"What?" she asks innocently, licking her lips.

"You know what," you mutter, trying to go back to your book.

Fae grins. She takes another bite, even louder this time, then swallows. You watch her throat bob, watch the bulge of the apple slide down, down, disappearing into her chest.

"Hmm," she hums, rubbing her stomach. "That hit the spot. But I'm still kinda hungry."

She sets the apple down and leans back against the armchair, spreading her legs. Her hand rests on her stomach, fingers drumming.

"You know what I'm in the mood for?" she asks.

You don't answer. Can't answer. Your mouth is too dry.

Fae stands up and crosses the room in three long strides. She kneels in front of you, bringing her face level with yours. This close, you can smell her breath - mint and apple and something distinctly her.

"I'm in the mood for something sweet," she says softly. Her hand comes up to cup your cheek. "Something that squirms."

Her thumb brushes your lower lip. Her jaw clicks as she opens her mouth just slightly - not all the way, just enough for you to see the dark red of her throat.

"Wanna take a trip?" she whispers.

"Bad Day at Work"

You come home to find Fae pacing in the den, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand running through her already-messy hair.

"No, I understand that, but the measurements I sent were correct—" She pauses, listening. Her ears flatten. "I don't care what Jenkins said, he's wrong. The load-bearing walls need to be—yes. Yes. No, I'll come in tomorrow. Fine."

She hangs up and throws her phone onto the couch, then lets out a growl that rattles the windows.

"Rough day?" you ask carefully.

"My boss is an idiot," she snarls. "The contractor is an idiot. Jenkins is a fucking idiot who can't read a blueprint to save his life and now the whole project is delayed because nobody listens to me."

You set your bag down and walk over to her. Even angry, she's beautiful - all coiled tension and barely restrained violence. Her claws are out, digging little holes in her palms.

"Hey," you say softly. "Come here."

She looks at you, yellow eyes wild, and for a second you think she might snap. But then her shoulders sag and she lets you pull her into a hug.

"I just want to eat someone," she mumbles into your shoulder. "Is that too much to ask? Just one person. Just Jenkins. Nobody would miss him."

"You promised," you remind her gently.

"I know." She squeezes you tighter. "Doesn't mean I don't want to."

You run your fingers through her hair, scratching behind her ears the way she likes. Slowly, gradually, the tension bleeds out of her. Her claws retract. Her breathing evens out.

"Better?" you ask.

"A little." She pulls back to look at you. "Will you let me swallow you later? Just for a bit. I need—"

"Yeah," you say. "I know."

She kisses your forehead.

"Thank you."

"The Feeding"

"Open wide," you say, and Fae obeys.

Her jaw drops, hinges clicking as it opens wider than should be possible. Her throat is a cavern of slick red flesh, her tongue a carpet leading down into darkness. Saliva drips from her fangs.

The man between you whimpers. His name is something forgettable - Marcus? Martin? - and he's been bound and gagged for the past six hours. He stopped struggling an hour ago. Now he just shakes.

You grab his ankles.

"Feet first," Fae says, her voice distorted by her open mouth. "I want him to watch."

You nod and lift his legs up, guiding his feet toward her waiting maw. The moment his toes touch her tongue, Fae's eyes flutter closed and she moans.

Her tongue wraps around his feet like a python, pulling him in. Her lips seal around his ankles.

GLUK.

His calves disappear. The bulge of his feet press against her throat from the inside, visible through the skin of her neck. You can see them sliding down, down, stretched tight against her collarbone.

GLUK. GLUK.

She's not being gentle. She's ravenous. Her hands grab his thighs and she pulls, forcing more of him into her gullet. He's screaming behind the gag, thrashing, but it only makes her grip tighter.

His waist hits her lips. His chest. His shoulders.

You lean in and kiss his forehead.

"Sorry," you whisper. "But she was hungry."

Fae's eyes open, meeting yours over the top of his head. There's pure, animal satisfaction in her gaze. Her hands move to his face, and with one final, powerful GULP, he's gone.

Her throat bulges obscenely as he slides down. You watch the bulge travel past her breasts, past her ribs, until finally it settles in her stomach.

Her belly swells, stretching to accommodate him. It goes from flat to massively pregnant in seconds, the skin taut and flushed. You can see him inside - the outline of his head, his shoulders, his curled-up legs.

Fae belches.

"Fuck," she pants. "I needed that."

You place your hands on her stomach. It's hot, tight, alive. The man inside is panicking, pushing against the walls, making her belly ripple.

"Does it feel good?" you ask.

Fae grabs your wrist and presses your hand harder against the bulge of the man's face.

"Feel for yourself," she purrs.

"The Aftermath"

It's been three days.

Fae's belly has gone from massive and tight to soft and sloshy, the man inside long since reduced to liquid. She's been sleeping most of the time, curled up in bed with you, occasionally groaning and rubbing her stomach.

But now it's time.

"Ugh," she says, rolling out of bed. "He's ready."

You watch her stumble toward the bathroom, one hand on her bloated gut. She's gained weight - her breasts are noticeably fuller, her ass rounder, her thighs thicker. It looks good on her.

She doesn't close the door.

You hear the toilet seat creak, then Fae's sigh of relief. Then... other sounds. Wet, heavy sounds. Grunting. The splash of something hitting water.

"Holy shit," Fae calls out. "He was a big guy."

You get up and stand in the doorway. Fae is sitting on the toilet, legs spread, her stomach finally starting to deflate. Her face is flushed with effort.

"Don't look at me like that," she says, but she's grinning. "You knew this was coming."

More sounds. Another splash. She reaches for the toilet paper.

"I think that's the last of him," she says, wiping. She stands up and looks into the bowl, then quickly flushes. "Yeah. Definitely the last."

She washes her hands at the sink, then turns to you. Her stomach is still slightly rounded, but mostly flat now - just a soft pouch of skin.

"Better?" you ask.

"So much better." She stretches, her spine cracking. "Ugh, I need a shower. Wanna join me?"

You follow her into the shower, where she scrubs herself clean. You help wash her hair, massaging her scalp, and she practically melts under your touch.

"Thank you," she mumbles.

"For what?"

"For staying. For not running. For... accepting this."

You kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Always."

"Caught in the Act"

You're taking a shortcut through the alley behind your apartment when you hear it: a wet, rhythmic gulping sound, followed by muffled screaming.

You should run. You should call the cops. You should do anything except what you actually do, which is creep toward the sound.

Behind a dumpster, you find her.

She's enormous - at least 6'7" - with wolf ears and a tail, wearing a crop top and shorts that are both riding up from the massive bulge in her stomach. There's a pair of legs sticking out of her mouth, kicking frantically.

GLUK.

The legs disappear up to the knees. The bulge in her throat gets bigger.

You freeze. Can't breathe. Can't think. You're watching someone being eaten alive.

Her yellow eyes snap toward you.

Time stops.

She doesn't stop swallowing. If anything, she speeds up, her throat working faster, pulling the victim's thighs into her mouth. She maintains eye contact the entire time.

GLUK. GLUK. GLUK.

The person's waist vanishes. Their chest. Their shoulders. One final swallow and they're gone, sliding down into her already-bulging stomach which swells even further.

She licks her lips.

"Well," she says casually, like she's been caught eating someone's leftovers instead of eating someone. "This is awkward."

You try to run. You make it three steps before she's on you, one long arm wrapping around your waist and yanking you back against her swollen gut. You can feel the person inside thrashing.

"Where are you going?" she purrs into your ear. "We just met."

Her free hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at her. This close, her fangs are even more terrifying.

"Please," you whisper.

"Please what?" She grins. "Please let you go? Please eat you too? You're going to have to be more specific, sweetheart."

Her stomach gurgles between you, and you feel every detail of it.

"How about this," she says. "You don't scream, and I don't add you to my dinner. Deal?"

You nod frantically.

"Good." She releases you but doesn't step back. "Now, let's talk about what you just saw..."

"The Show-Off"

"Stick out your tongue," Fae says.

You're lying in bed, naked, Fae straddling your hips. She's been teasing you for the past hour - kissing, licking, biting - but never quite giving you what you want.

"Why?" you ask.

"Because I want to show you something." Her yellow eyes gleam. "Trust me?"

You do, so you open your mouth and stick out your tongue.

Fae leans forward, her hair falling around your face like a curtain. Her mouth opens, wider and wider, until you're staring directly into her throat. It's so close you can feel the heat radiating from it, smell the mint of her toothpaste mixed with something primal.

Then her tongue emerges and touches yours.

It's not a kiss. It's too alien for that. Her tongue is longer, thicker, more powerful than a human's. It wraps around yours like a tentacle, squeezing gently, then slides past it, pushing deeper into your mouth.

You gag slightly and she pulls back, laughing.

"Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. "Got a little excited there."

She does it again, slower this time. Her tongue explores your mouth - tasting, memorizing, claiming. When she finally pulls away, there's a string of saliva connecting you.

"That's what it would feel like," she whispers. "If I swallowed you. My tongue, my throat, everything squeezing around you. Hot and wet and tight."

You whimper.

"Do you want that?" she asks. Her hand slides between your legs. "Do you want to feel what it's like to be my food?"

Before you can answer, she's moving down your body, kissing and licking and tasting every inch of you. When she reaches your thighs, she bites - not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make you gasp.

"Mine," she growls. "All mine."

"Grocery Shopping"

"We need milk," Fae says, studying the list you made. "And eggs. And... what's this word? Your handwriting is terrible."

"Oregano," you say, grabbing a cart. "For the pasta."

"Right."

The grocery store is crowded for a Saturday morning. Fae keeps having to duck under the hanging signs because of her height, and people give her a wide berth - whether from general beastfolk prejudice or because she looks like she could snap them in half, you're not sure.

You're in the produce section when a man bumps into you, hard enough to make you stumble.

"Watch it," he grunts, not even looking back.

Fae's ears perk forward. Her tail goes stiff.

"Fae," you say quietly, grabbing her arm. "Don't."

"He should apologize," she says. Her voice is calm, but her pupils are dilated.

"It's not worth it."

You can see her physically restraining herself - claws digging into her palms, jaw clenched. For a moment, you think she's going to ignore you and pounce anyway.

Then she exhales and relaxes.

"Fine," she mutters. "But if I see him in a dark alley sometime..."

"No dark alleys."

"You're no fun."

You continue shopping, Fae occasionally making comments about the other customers. ("He looks stringy." "She'd probably taste like cigarettes." "Ooh, he'd be a good meal.") You elbow her after each one.

At checkout, the cashier - a teenage boy with bad acne - keeps staring at Fae's chest while scanning items.

"Eyes up here, kid," Fae says flatly.

He turns bright red and focuses very intently on the groceries.

On the way home, Fae carries all the bags in one hand like they weigh nothing.

"Thanks for not eating anyone," you say.

"Day's not over yet."

"Fae."

She laughs and kisses the top of your head.

"Kidding. Mostly."

"The Roommate Ad"

You're lost. Completely, hopelessly lost.

The city sprawls around you like a maze, all identical brick buildings and unfamiliar street signs. Your suitcase drags behind you, one wheel squeaking obnoxiously. The newspaper ad is crumpled in your sweaty palm - you've read it so many times the ink is starting to smudge.

"Roommate wanted. 815 Meek St. Quiet tenant preferred. Rent negotiable."

It was handwritten, which seemed quaint. Old-fashioned. Now you're wondering if it's a red flag.

Finally, finally, you find it: a red brick townhouse with a bay window and a small porch. 815 Meek. You drag yourself up the steps, adjusting your rain-plastered hair, trying to look presentable. Your clothes are modest - you wanted to make a good first impression.

You knock.

The door opens almost immediately, and you have to crane your neck up to see her face.

She's tall - easily 6'7" - with messy red hair pulled back in a ponytail and piercing yellow eyes that scan you from head to toe. Wolf ears poke out from her hair. She's wearing an unbuttoned plaid flannel shirt and black panties. Nothing else.

You can see everything. The curve of her breasts beneath the open shirt, her nipples barely covered. Her long, flat stomach. The way her tail wiggles between her legs.

Her eyes narrow. You swear you hear her stomach growl.

"Come in," she says. Not "hello." Not "can I help you." Just "come in."

She doesn't ask your name. Doesn't ask why you're here, though the suitcase makes it obvious. She just turns and walks into the house, expecting you to follow.

The foyer smells like mildew and old wood. Dust motes float in the sunlight from a stained glass window. The hardwood creaks under your feet.

"Living room," she says, jerking her thumb to the left. "Den. Kitchen in the back. Your bedroom is next to the kitchen."

She stands at the base of a rickety staircase, one hand on the railing. Waiting.

"My name is—" you start.

"I'm Fae," she interrupts. "I work from home. I don't like being disturbed while I'm working."

There's a thump from upstairs. Like someone kicking a wall.

Fae's ears swivel toward the sound. Her yellow eyes flick to you, then back to the stairs. Her tail twitches.

"Do you have guests?" you ask.

"No," she says flatly.

Another thump. Louder this time.

"I'm in the middle of working," Fae says, putting one foot on the stairs. "So I'm going to leave you now. Feel free to make yourself at home. I'll see you soon."

She disappears up the stairs, and you're left alone in the foyer with your suitcase and a growing sense of unease.

Thump.

"Reading Together"

You come home from work to find the house... different.

The windows are open, curtains pulled back. The plastic covering the couches has been removed. There are fresh logs in the fireplace. And in the corner of the den, sitting in one of the armchairs with her legs crossed, is Fae.

She's reading a thick fantasy novel - Mistborn, you can see the cover - and she's so absorbed in it that she doesn't notice you at first. She's wearing a thin camisole and sports shorts, and her stomach...

Her stomach is round. Not flat like it was three days ago when you moved in. There's a noticeable bulge there, soft and doughy, pressing against her shorts.

"Hello," you say, dropping your bag.

She grunts without looking up.

"I'm sorry if I haven't cleaned much since I arrived," you say carefully. "I wasn't sure what I could move."

A yellow eye flicks toward you. She gives you an appraising look, then goes back to her book.

"The first floor is all yours," she says, turning a page.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Coffee, if we have it."

You hurry to the kitchen, hands shaking slightly. This is the first real conversation you've had since you moved in. You've heard her at night, moving around, stopping outside your bedroom door. But during the day, she's been a ghost.

You return with two mugs - tea for you, coffee for her. You set hers on the table beside her chair and settle into the other armchair with your own book.

Fae doesn't say anything. You can tell she's not actually reading because the pages aren't turning. She's watching you over the top of her book.

Minutes pass. The silence stretches. Finally, she takes a sip of her coffee.

Her nose wrinkles.

"Did you want cream or sugar?" you ask.

"Black is fine," she says, but her expression says otherwise.

"I'm getting up to get sugar anyway—"

"Yes, yes, fine!"

You take both mugs back to the kitchen. On a hunch, you add a lot of cream to hers, plus three sugars. When you return, she's still on the same page.

"What are you reading?" you ask.

She sniffs her coffee before answering. "Mistborn."

"Is it good?"

"It's alright."

"Do you like fantasy?"

Fae's upper lip raises enough for you to see her long, sharp canines. You shut your mouth and open your book.

She takes a sip of the coffee.

"This is good," she says quietly.

"Vanilla creamer."

"Ah."

You both sit in silence, neither of you reading. Her stomach gurgles softly, and you pretend not to notice.

Outside, the autumn leaves swirl past the window.

"The Tongue Bath"

"Come here," Fae says.

You're in the bedroom, fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel. Fae is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing her unbuttoned plaid shirt and a hungry expression.

"Why?" you ask, even though you're already moving toward her.

"Because I want to taste you."

She grabs your hips when you're close enough and pulls you between her legs. Her face is level with your stomach. She nuzzles against your towel, breathing in your scent.

"You smell so good when you're clean," she murmurs. "Like soap and... you."

Her hands slide up your thighs, pushing the towel up. You shiver.

"Fae—"

"Shh. Hold still."

She tugs the towel away, letting it drop to the floor. Now you're completely naked and she's staring at you like you're a five-course meal.

"Perfect," she breathes.

Then her tongue emerges - long, thick, wet - and she drags it up your stomach in one slow, deliberate lick.

"Fae!"

"I said hold still."

She licks again, this time from your hip to your ribs, leaving a trail of warm saliva across your skin. Her tongue is rough and soft at the same time, and it's everywhere - circling your navel, tracing your ribs, sliding between your breasts.

"You taste even better than you smell," she says, her voice rough. "Like salt and skin and mine."

She licks your neck, your jaw, your cheek. Her tongue flicks over your lips and you open your mouth instinctively. She takes the invitation, pushing her tongue inside, claiming your mouth the way she's claiming your body.

When she finally pulls back, you're panting and covered in her saliva, glistening in the low light.

"There," she says, looking satisfied. "Now you smell like me, too."

Her tail wags behind her.

"Mine," she growls softly. "All mine."

"Inside Her Throat"

"I want to try something," you say.

Fae looks up from her book, ears perking. "What kind of something?"

You're sitting on the floor of the den, wine-drunk and brave. The fireplace crackles. The house is warm. You've been thinking about this for days.

"I want to know what it feels like," you say. "Inside."

Understanding dawns in her yellow eyes. She sets her book aside and slides down to the floor beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her body.

"Inside my stomach?" she asks.

"Your throat," you clarify. "Just... just my hand. Or my arm. I need to know."

Fae's pupils dilate. She licks her lips.

"Alright," she says, voice husky. "But if you panic, I'm pulling you right back out. Deal?"

"Deal."

She shifts so she's kneeling in front of you, then tilts her head back. Her jaw clicks as it opens - wider, wider, impossibly wide. Her throat is a dark tunnel of red flesh, her tongue flattening like a carpet. Saliva drips from her fangs.

"Whenever you're ready," she says, the words distorted by her open mouth.

You extend your hand, trembling. The moment your fingers touch her tongue, it wraps around them, warm and slick and alive. You push deeper, past her teeth, and her lips close around your wrist.

"Oh my god," you whisper.

The tightness is overwhelming. Her throat is squeezing you, rhythmic pulses of muscle trying to pull you deeper. It's hot - so hot - and wet, and you can feel her heartbeat thundering through the walls.

You push your arm in up to the elbow. Her throat bulges obscenely around you, visible from the outside as a thick column. She makes a sound - not quite a moan, not quite a growl.

"This is—" you start to say, but then you feel it. The opening to her stomach. Hot, acidic air wafting up. And you realize, suddenly, terrifyingly, how easy it would be for her to just... swallow. To pull you all the way in.

You pull your arm out in a panic, gasping.

Fae coughs, wiping drool from her chin. Her eyes are wild.

"Well?" she asks breathlessly. "How was it?"

You stare at your arm, coated in thick saliva, and you can still feel the phantom sensation of her throat around you.

"Again," you whisper. "I want to try again."

Fae grins, all teeth.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Her Fingers"

You wake up in the middle of the night to sounds.

Wet sounds. Rhythmic. Coming from Fae's bedroom next door.

You should go back to sleep. It's none of your business. But curiosity gets the better of you, and you slip out of bed, padding quietly across the hall.

Her door is cracked open. Through the gap, you can see her.

She's lying on her back on the bed, one hand buried between her legs, the other pressed flat against her massively swollen stomach. Her belly is huge - someone's inside, you realize with a jolt. Recently swallowed, still struggling.

"Fuck," she gasps, fingers working faster. "Fuck, fuck—"

Her stomach lurches, a visible ripple passing through the skin. The prey inside is fighting, punching, kicking. And every movement makes Fae moan louder.

"That's it," she pants. "Keep struggling. Keep—ah!"

Her back arches off the bed. Her free hand presses down hard on the bulge of someone's face, forcing them deeper into the acids. The struggling intensifies.

You should leave. You should definitely leave. But you're frozen, watching through the crack in the door as she brings herself to orgasm with a person dying in her stomach.

"Yes!" she cries out, her whole body shuddering. Her stomach clenches violently, and the struggling inside goes still.

For a moment, there's only the sound of her ragged breathing.

Then her head turns toward the door. Toward you.

Her yellow eyes lock onto yours through the gap.

"Enjoying the show?" she asks, voice rough.

You should run. Instead, you push the door open wider.

"Can I watch?" you hear yourself ask.

Fae's grin is absolutely feral.

"Get in here."

"The Bagel"

"Want a bagel?" Fae asks from the kitchen.

It's Sunday morning. You're still in your pajamas, hair a mess, shuffling into the kitchen half-asleep. Fae is standing at the counter, already dressed - or as dressed as she gets - in her crop top and booty shorts.

"Yeah, sure," you mumble.

She tosses you one. You barely catch it.

You're spreading cream cheese when you notice she's staring at you. Not at your face. At your hands. At the bagel.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," she says innocently. She takes a bite of her own bagel - a huge bite that should be impossible with a normal human jaw. But her jaw isn't normal. It unhooks slightly, and half the bagel disappears into her mouth.

She chews slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact.

Then she swallows, and you watch the bulge travel down her throat.

"Delicious," she says, licking cream cheese from her lips. "You know what would make this better, though?"

"What?"

"If it was still warm. Alive. Squirming."

She takes another bite, and this time when she swallows, she tilts her head back so you can see everything. The bob of her throat. The way her neck stretches. The pleased hum she makes.

"Fae."

"What?" She grins. "I'm just eating breakfast. Why, what did you think I was talking about?"

She finishes her bagel in three more massive bites, each one more obscene than the last. When she's done, she licks each of her fingers clean.

"Want another one?" she asks. "I'm still hungry."

The way she's looking at you makes it very clear she's not talking about bagels.

"The Struggle"

The man's name doesn't matter. You've already forgotten it.

What matters is that he's currently waist-deep in Fae's mouth, and she's taking her time.

She's sitting on the kitchen floor, legs spread, the man held upright between them. His hands are bound behind his back. His shirt is already gone - Fae tore it off ten minutes ago. Now she's working on his pants, her lips stretched obscenely around his waist.

ULP.

His belt buckle disappears. His pants slide down, caught on his hips. Fae pauses, tongue working, making wet sounds as she tastes him.

"Mmm," she hums around him. The vibration makes him thrash harder.

You're sitting on one of the stools, watching. You should feel guilty. You should feel something. But all you feel is heat pooling in your stomach.

Fae's eyes flick to you. She winks.

Then she pushes, forcing his chest into her mouth. Her throat bulges grotesquely, the outline of his shoulders visible through her skin. She has to tilt her head back, has to open her jaw even wider, but she manages.

GLUK. GLUK. GLUK.

His stomach. His ribs. His shoulders. All sliding down, down into her eager gullet.

The man is screaming. You can hear it even through the flesh muffling him. High-pitched, terrified screams that make your hair stand on end.

Fae reaches up and presses her hand against the bulge of his head in her throat. She squeezes, cutting off his air, and his legs kick frantically.

"Fae," you say quietly. "Let him breathe."

She listens, releasing the pressure. Gasping, choking sounds echo from inside her.

"Better?" she asks, her voice strained. She has to be careful not to accidentally swallow while she talks.

"Better."

She returns her attention to her meal. His neck is in her mouth now. Just his head remains outside, face red and tear-streaked.

"Please," he sobs. "Please don't—"

GULP.

His head vanishes. Fae's lips close around empty air.

For a moment, there's silence.

Then her stomach begins to swell. Rapidly, dramatically, stretching to accommodate the full-grown man now curled up inside. It goes from flat to massively pregnant in seconds, the skin flushed red and tight as a drum.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You can see him struggling inside. The outline of his fists, his knees, his head. All of it visible through her overstretched skin.

Fae belches - long, loud, satisfied.

"Fuck that was good," she pants. She spreads her legs wider to give her belly room and looks at you. "Come here. Feel him."

You slide off the stool and kneel beside her. Her stomach is massive, taking up her entire lap, warm and alive under your hands.

"He's really going at it," Fae says, sounding pleased. "Must be a fighter."

You press down gently. Immediately, there's a responding kick from inside.

"He can feel that," Fae says. "He knows you're out here. Watching. Doing nothing."

She grabs your hand and pushes it harder against the bulge of the man's face.

"Say hello to your audience," she coos at her stomach.

The thrashing intensifies.

"The Open Maw"

"Open your mouth," Fae says.

"Why?"

"Because I asked nicely. Now open."

You're sitting on the couch, Fae kneeling in front of you. Her yellow eyes are intense, predatory. You've learned it's easier to just obey when she gets like this.

You open your mouth.

Fae leans in close, inspecting. Her thumb brushes your lower lip, then your teeth. She pushes down on your tongue.

"Cute," she says. "Small. Human."

She pulls back and sits on her heels.

"Now watch."

Her jaw clicks. Once, twice. Then it begins to open.

Wider.

Wider.

Her mouth is a cavern. Her throat is a tunnel disappearing into darkness, lit only by the dim lamp behind you. Her tongue lies flat like a red carpet, glistening with saliva. Her fangs frame the entrance like the bars of a cage.

You can't look away.

"This," she says, her voice distorted, "is where you'd go."

She reaches up and grabs your hand, pulling it toward her mouth. You don't resist. She places your palm flat against her tongue.

It's hot. Wet. And it immediately starts to move, wrapping around your fingers.

"Feel that?" she asks. "That's me tasting you. Memorizing you."

She sucks gently, pulling your hand deeper. Your fingers brush the back of her throat and she swallows around them - a reflexive gulp that tries to drag you down.

You gasp.

She pulls your hand free, dripping with saliva.

"And that," she says, closing her mouth, "is what it would feel like. Every inch of you, squeezed and tasted and claimed."

She licks your palm, your wrist, cleaning her spit off your skin with long, slow drags of her tongue.

"Still want to take that trip?" she asks, voice rough.

You nod mutely.

"Good." She grins. "Because I've been dying to taste you properly."

"The Morning Disposal"

You wake up to the sound of the bathroom door closing.

Fae's side of the bed is empty, sheets tangled where she was lying. Her stomach had been soft when you went to sleep last night - no longer the tight, bulging mass it had been three days ago when she first swallowed him.

You know what's happening. You know. But you get up anyway, padding across the hall.

The bathroom door is open a crack.

"Ugh," you hear Fae groan. "He's ready."

There's the creak of the toilet seat. A long sigh of relief. Then... sounds. Wet, heavy thuds as something hits water. Grunting. Strain.

"Holy shit," Fae says. "He was a big guy."

You push the door open. Fae looks up at you from where she's sitting, completely shameless. Her stomach is finally, finally starting to flatten, though there's still a soft pouch of skin.

"Don't look at me like that," she says, but she's grinning. "You knew this was coming."

More sounds. Another heavy splash. She reaches for the toilet paper.

"I think that's the last of him," she mutters, wiping. She stands up and looks down into the bowl. "Yeah. Definitely the last."

You catch a glimpse of thick, dark waste studded with white fragments before she flushes. Bone pieces. A tooth. They swirl and disappear.

She washes her hands thoroughly, then stretches, her spine cracking.

"God, I feel so much better," she says. She turns to you, her stomach now mostly flat - just slightly rounded. "Three days is too long. Next time I'm going with someone smaller."

"Next time," you echo.

"Yeah." She steps closer, cupping your face. "Unless you've changed your mind about me eating people?"

You should say yes. You should demand she stop. But instead, you just lean into her touch.

"Shower?" you offer.

"Please."

In the shower, you help her wash. Her hair, her back, every inch of her. She sighs contentedly as you massage shampoo into her scalp.

"You're too good to me," she murmurs.

"I know."

"You should run."

"I know."

"But you won't."

"No," you agree. "I won't."

She turns and kisses you under the spray of hot water, and you taste mint toothpaste and something else - something primal and satisfied.

The taste of a predator well-fed.

"Work From Home"

You're bringing Fae her afternoon coffee when you hear her cursing from inside her office.

"—fucking load-bearing calculations are wrong, Jenkins, and if you can't see that then you're as blind as you are stupid—"

You knock gently on the doorframe. Fae looks up from her desk, phone pressed to her ear, eyes wild. She's wearing her reading glasses, which make her look oddly professional despite the sports bra and shorts.

She holds up a finger. One minute.

"I don't care what the contractor says. The blueprints are correct. If he can't follow basic—yes. Yes. No, I'll—fine. I'll be there tomorrow at nine. Yes. Goodbye."

She hangs up and immediately throws her phone across the room. It hits the wall with a satisfying crack.

"Bad day?" you ask, setting the coffee on her desk.

She doesn't answer, just stares at the blueprints spread across her workspace. Her jaw is clenched. Her claws are out, digging little holes in the wood of the desk.

You walk around behind her and start massaging her shoulders. She's tense as a bowstring.

"Everyone at that company is an idiot," she mutters. "Every single person. And I have to go in person tomorrow to explain basic architecture to people with degrees."

"Mm."

"I should eat Jenkins. Nobody would miss him. He's terrible at his job."

"You promised."

"I know." She sighs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Doesn't mean I don't think about it."

You work your fingers into the knots in her neck. She practically melts under your touch, her ears drooping.

"Better?" you ask after a while.

"A little." She spins in her chair to face you. "Will you let me swallow you tonight? I need—"

"I know what you need."

She pulls you into her lap, burying her face in your neck. You can feel her breathing in your scent, can feel the way her body relaxes around you.

"Thank you," she mumbles against your skin.

"For what?"

"For understanding. For not leaving. For—" She pulls back to look at you. "For being you."

You kiss her forehead.

"Drink your coffee before it gets cold."

"Face Licking"

You're reading in bed when Fae suddenly straddles you, pinning the book to your chest.

"What—"

"Shh. I need to taste you."

Before you can protest, her tongue is out - long, thick, wet - and she's dragging it across your face.

"Fae!"

She doesn't stop. She licks from your chin to your forehead in one long, slow stroke, leaving a trail of warm saliva. Then she does it again, this time across your cheek. Your ear. The side of your neck.

"What are you doing?" you gasp.

"Marking my territory," she says simply. "You spent all day at work around other people. You smell like them. I'm fixing it."

She licks your other cheek, then your nose, making you sputter. Her tongue is everywhere - rough and soft at once, covering every inch of your face in her scent.

"You're insane," you say.

"You like it." She's not wrong. "Besides, wolves mark what's theirs. And you're mine."

She licks across your lips, slow and deliberate. You open your mouth and she takes the invitation immediately, her tongue pushing inside, claiming your mouth thoroughly.

When she finally pulls back, your face is soaked, dripping with her saliva.

"There," she says, looking satisfied. "Now you smell like me again."

"I need a shower."

"No you don't." She nuzzles your wet face, breathing deeply. "You're perfect like this. Covered in me. Mine."

Her tail wags behind her.

"Can I go back to reading now?"

"No." She takes the book and tosses it aside. "Now you're going to let me taste the rest of you."

Her hands slide under your shirt.

"Fae—"

"What? I'm just being thorough."

"Under the Desk" (POV)

You don't know how long you've been here anymore.

Days? Maybe three? Four? Time loses meaning when you're blindfolded in the dark.

The manacle around your ankle bites into your skin - it's rubbed raw by now, probably bleeding. Your hands are bound behind your back with rough cord that's cut off circulation to your fingers. The gag in your mouth tastes like old fabric and makes your jaw ache.

Above you, you hear her.

The wolf woman. Fae. The one who answered the door when you came to fix her sink, who smiled at you with all those teeth, who offered you a drink while you worked.

You were so stupid.

Now she's typing at her desk, humming to herself like this is normal. Like you're not chained beneath her workspace, terrified and starving. Sometimes her foot bumps against you - casually, like you're furniture.

"Mmm, that's not right," she mutters to herself. The sound of papers shuffling. "The measurements need to be... there."

More typing. Her chair creaks as she leans back.

How can she just work? How can she act like everything is normal when there's a person chained up beneath her desk?

Your stomach growls - loud in the silence. You haven't eaten in... you don't even know. She gave you water once. Forced it through the gag. Nothing else.

The typing stops.

"Oh, are you hungry?" Fae's voice is light, almost amused. Her chair rolls back and suddenly she's crouching in front of you, her hand grabbing your chin through the blindfold. "Don't worry. You won't be hungry much longer."

Her thumb brushes your lips.

"Soon," she whispers, "you're going to be exactly where you belong. Inside me. Adding to this—"

She takes your bound hands and presses them against something soft and warm. Her stomach. It's flat, taut with muscle.

"—filling me up nice and full. Doesn't that sound nice?"

You try to shake your head, try to scream through the gag, but she just laughs.

"I love that sound," she says. "Fear. It makes you taste better."

She releases you and rolls back to her desk.

The typing resumes.

You're alone in the dark again, your bound hands still tingling from where she made you touch her stomach. Your future grave.

"The Investigation" Journalist/investigator perspective

Your blog isn't famous. Urban Myths and Missing Persons gets maybe five hundred views a month, mostly from true crime enthusiasts and people who've lost someone. But you're thorough. You're careful. And you've been tracking a pattern.

815 Meek Street.

The address keeps coming up. Not in police reports - they're too incompetent or too scared to see it - but in the gaps. The spaces between disappearances.

Reginald Clark: last seen riding his bike toward this neighborhood. Edmond Kleran: last phone call to someone who works from this address. Three others: all last spotted within a two-block radius.

And the tenant? Fae O'Leary. Architect. Works from home. Lives alone - or claims to.

You've been watching the house for three days now, sitting in your car with coffee and a camera. Waiting for... something. Anything.

That's when you see her.

She emerges just after sunset, climbing out of a second-story window onto the back deck, then scaling down the terrace with inhuman grace. She's tall - impossibly tall - with wolf ears and a tail. She's wearing all black: crop top, shorts, sneakers.

She lands silently in the backyard, then pauses. Her head swivels.

She's sniffing the air.

You freeze, camera in hand. You're across the street, in your car, windows up. There's no way she can—

Her yellow eyes lock onto your car.

Fuck.

You duck down, heart hammering. When you finally work up the courage to peek over the dashboard, she's gone.

You sit back up, breathing hard. Maybe she didn't see you. Maybe—

Tap tap tap.

You scream.

She's at your window, grinning. Her fangs catch the streetlight. She makes a little rolling motion with her finger - roll down the window.

Every instinct says drive. Floor it and don't look back. But you're a journalist. You need answers.

You roll the window down two inches.

"Can I help you?" you ask, voice shaking.

"You've been watching my house," Fae says pleasantly. "For three days. That's a little creepy, don't you think?"

"I'm a journalist. I'm investigating—"

"The disappearances. Yeah, I figured." She leans down, her face filling your window. This close, you can see every detail - the predatory gleam in her eyes, the slight part of her lips showing teeth. "Find anything interesting?"

"Not yet."

"Mm." She taps a claw against your window. "Want to come inside? I could answer some questions. Off the record, of course."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Probably not," she agrees. "But you're going to do it anyway, aren't you? Because you need answers. And I'm right here, offering them."

She steps back from the car.

"815 Meek. Door's unlocked. I'll put on some coffee."

She turns and walks back toward her house, tail swaying behind her.

You should drive away. You should call the police. You should do anything except follow a suspected serial killer into her house.

But you grab your phone, open a voice recording app, and get out of the car.

Some stories are worth the risk.

Right?

"Pressed Against the Wall" (POV)

You're pushed face-first against the wall of the bedroom, Fae's body pressed flush against your back. You can feel every inch of her - her breasts against your shoulders, her stomach against your lower back, her hips grinding against your ass.

"Stay still," she growls in your ear.

One of her hands pins both of yours above your head. The other slides down your front, nails dragging across your stomach, your hip, between your legs.

"Fae—"

"I said stay still."

Her teeth graze your neck - not biting, not yet, just threatening. A promise of what she could do if you disobey. You force yourself to stop squirming, though every muscle in your body wants to move.

"Good," she purrs. "You're learning."

Her hand dips lower, fingers finding where you're already wet. She makes an approving sound.

"All this from being pinned down?" she teases. "You really do have a thing for predators, don't you?"

You can't respond. Can barely breathe with the way she's touching you - slow, deliberate circles that make your knees weak.

"I could eat you right now," she whispers. "Could swallow you down while you're like this - helpless and desperate. Would you like that?"

"Fae—"

"Answer me."

"Yes," you gasp.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

She rewards you with a harder touch, her fingers sliding inside, and you moan against the wall. Her tongue drags up the side of your neck, tasting your sweat.

"Later," she promises. "Right now, I'm busy with you like this."

Her fingers work faster, deeper, and you're falling apart against the wall while she holds you up. When you come, crying out, she doesn't stop. Just keeps going until you're begging.

"One more," she demands. "Give me one more."

You do, because you can't refuse her. Because she's taken you apart and put you back together and you're hers.

When she finally releases your hands, you collapse forward. She catches you easily, turning you around and lifting you up.

"Bed," she says. "We're not done yet."

"The Shed" (POV)

You're looking for gardening supplies.

That's your excuse, anyway. Really, you're snooping. You've been living with Fae for a month now, and there are still parts of the property you haven't explored. The shed out back is one of them.

It's early morning. Fae is still asleep upstairs, her stomach finally flat after three days of digestion. You have time.

The shed is old, made of weathered wood with a rusted padlock. But the padlock is open - just looped through the latch for show. You slip it off and pull the door open.

The smell hits you first.

Thick, organic, wrong. Like fertilizer, but worse. You cover your nose and step inside.

It's dark. You pull out your phone, turning on the flashlight. The beam cuts through the shadows, illuminating—

Burlap sacks.

Three of them, slumped in the corner. They're full of something. Something that's stained the fabric dark.

You should leave. You know you should leave. But your feet carry you forward.

You crouch beside the first sack and untie the cord at the top. The fabric falls open.

Dirt. Thick, dark, rich fertilizer. Mixed with—

Bone fragments. White shards poking through the soil. And there, half-buried, a skull. Mostly intact. Human. The jaw is missing, but the eye sockets stare up at you accusingly.

You stumble backward, hand over your mouth, phone light shaking.

The other sacks. Oh god, the other sacks—

"Find what you were looking for?"

You spin around.

Fae is standing in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun. She's wearing just her plaid shirt and panties, hair messy from sleep. She looks casual. Unbothered.

"I can explain," she says, stepping into the shed. "Actually, no. I can't explain. It's pretty obvious what those are."

You can't speak. Can't move. Can't do anything but stare at her.

"Here's what's going to happen," Fae continues, closing the shed door behind her. The light disappears. It's just your phone flashlight and her yellow eyes, gleaming in the dark. "You're going to make a choice. Either you leave - pack your things, get out of the city, never come back. Or—"

She steps closer.

"—you stay. You accept what I am. What I do. And we never talk about the shed again."

She's right in front of you now, tall enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet her gaze.

"What's it going to be?" she asks softly.

"The First Load"

Three days. It's been three days since Fae swallowed him, and you've watched her stomach go from tight and bulging to soft and sloshy. Now it's time.

"I need to go to the shed," Fae says, rolling out of bed. She's wearing one of your shirts - it barely fits over her rounded middle. "Gotta take care of some business."

"Want company?" you ask.

She raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I want to see all of it. Every part of what you are."

Something complicated crosses her face - surprise, pleasure, maybe a little fear. Then she nods.

"Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you."

You follow her downstairs and out the back door into the cool night air. The shed is dark, smelling of earth and old wood. She grabs a burlap sack from a pile and spreads it on the ground, then crouches over it.

"This is weird," she says. "Having an audience."

"You've literally swallowed me before."

"That's different." But she's smiling. "Okay, here goes."

She braces herself with one hand, the other on her stomach. Her face goes red with effort. For a moment, nothing happens. Then you hear it - a wet, heavy sound as something drops onto the burlap.

"Fuck," she grunts. "He's... really stuck."

Another push. Another heavy sound. She's breathing hard now, sweat beading on her forehead despite the cold. Her stomach deflates slightly.

"Come on," she mutters. "Come on..."

More sounds. Her stomach gets flatter and flatter. This continues for five minutes - pushing, grunting, the wet impacts on the burlap getting heavier.

Finally, she straightens up, breathing hard.

"I think that's all of him," she says, looking down at the sack. Even in the dim light from the porch, you can see the dark mass inside it, studded with white fragments. "Huh. Skull came through pretty intact this time."

She ties the sack closed and sets it aside with the others, then washes her hands with a hose mounted on the side of the shed.

"Well?" she asks, turning to you. "Still love me?"

Her stomach is soft now, just a gentle pouch. You can see the faint outline of new curves on her hips, her thighs. Evidence of her meal.

You walk over and hug her.

"Always," you say.

She holds you tight, face buried in your hair.

"I don't deserve you," she whispers.

"I know."

"Movie Night"

"What do you want to watch?" you ask, scrolling through streaming options.

Fae is sprawled on the couch, taking up most of it with her long legs. She's in her usual home attire - unbuttoned plaid shirt and panties - with a bowl of popcorn resting on her flat stomach.

"Something with violence," she says. "Maybe horror."

"How about a thriller?"

"Sure."

You start the movie and settle in beside her, or try to. She immediately pulls you against her side, one arm wrapping around you possessively. Her tail curls over your legs.

The movie starts - some psychological thriller about a woman trapped in a basement. You're trying to focus on the plot when Fae starts eating popcorn.

She's doing it loudly. Each piece crunches between her fangs with exaggerated snaps. Then she swallows, her throat bobbing right next to your face.

"Can you chew quieter?" you ask.

"Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. She takes another handful and crunches even louder.

On screen, the protagonist is trying to escape. Fae leans down and whispers in your ear: "She should give up. Predators always win."

"It's just a movie."

"Mm." Another crunch. Another swallow. "Want some?"

She holds a piece of popcorn to your lips. You open your mouth and she places it on your tongue, her finger lingering there for just a moment too long.

"Good?" she asks.

"It's popcorn."

"I was thinking," she says casually, "about how easy it would be to just... tip my head back and drop you in. Like popcorn. One gulp and you'd be gone."

"Fae."

"What? I'm just thinking out loud." She grins and pops another piece in her mouth. "Besides, you'd taste better."

You try to go back to watching the movie, but her hand is playing with your hair now, her claws occasionally scraping your scalp. It's distracting.

"Pay attention," she says. "This is the good part."

On screen, the woman is caught. The predator wins.

Fae's purr rumbles through her chest.

"Told you," she says.

"The Business Trip"

Your phone buzzes at 11 PM.

Fae: cant sleep

Fae: hotel bed sucks

Fae: miss you

You smile and hit the call button. She answers immediately.

"Hey," her voice is rough, tired.

"Can't sleep?" you ask.

"Not without you." There's rustling on her end - she's shifting around. "This conference is torture. Eight hours of architects talking about load-bearing beams and sustainable materials."

"Sounds riveting."

"I almost ate one of them today."

"Fae."

"He was chewing with his mouth open during lunch! For an hour!" She groans. "I'm kidding. Mostly. I just excused myself and went for a very long walk."

"I'm proud of you for not eating your coworkers."

"The bar is so low," she laughs. "What are you doing?"

"Lying in bed. Reading."

"What are you wearing?"

"Really?"

"I'm lonely and horny. Humor me."

"The Break-In" (POV)

You wake to the sound of breaking glass.

It's 2 AM. Fae is out of town for work. You're alone.

Your heart hammering, you grab your phone and slip out of bed. The sound came from downstairs - the kitchen, maybe. You should call 911. You should hide.

Instead, you creep toward the stairs.

"Hello?" you call out, immediately regretting it. What are you, a horror movie protagonist?

There's a crash. Footsteps. A male voice: "Shit, someone's home."

"Just grab what you can and let's go," another voice says.

Two of them. At least.

You should definitely call the police now. But your phone is in your hand and you're already halfway down the stairs and—

The front door opens.

Fae walks in, dropping her suitcase. She's back early. And she looks pissed.

"What," she says, her voice deadly calm, "is going on in my house?"

Two men emerge from the kitchen, carrying your laptop and some electronics. They freeze when they see her - all 6'7" of angry predator blocking the exit.

"Oh fuck," one of them says.

"Oh fuck is right." Fae's jaw clicks as it starts to open. "You have three seconds to drop everything and run. One—"

They don't wait for two. They drop everything and bolt for the back door.

Fae is faster.

You watch from the stairs as she tackles the first one, her hand wrapping around his throat. The second one makes it to the door before her tail trips him. He goes down hard.

"Fae!" you call out. "Don't!"

She looks up at you, and there's hunger in her eyes. Raw, undeniable hunger.

"They broke into our home," she says.

"I know, but—"

"They threatened you."

The man in her grip is turning purple. His friend is scrambling backward across the floor.

"Please," the friend begs. "Please, we're sorry, we'll never come back, please don't—"

Fae looks at them, then at you, and you can see the war happening behind her eyes. Control versus instinct. Love versus hunger.

"Call the police," she finally says, releasing the first man. He collapses, gasping. "And get something to tie them up with. I'm not letting them go until the cops get here."

You do as she says, relief flooding through you. When the police arrive, Fae gives a statement, all controlled charm and civic duty. They haul the would-be burglars away.

Once they're gone, Fae slumps against the closed door.

"That was hard," she admits.

"I know. I'm proud of you."

"I wanted to eat them so badly."

"But you didn't."

She looks at you, eyes haunted. "Next time I might not be able to stop."

"Then we'll deal with that next time." You take her hand. "Come on. Let's go to bed. You must be exhausted."

She follows you upstairs, and you pretend not to notice her looking back at the spot where the men had been, her tongue running over her fangs.

"The Shower"

You're rinsing shampoo from your hair when the shower curtain opens.

"Room for one more?" Fae asks.

She doesn't wait for an answer, stepping in behind you. The shower is barely big enough for one person, let alone someone her size, but she makes it work by pressing herself against your back.

"Hi," she says, wrapping her arms around you.

"Hi yourself."

She nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent. Her tail curls around your leg. For a moment, you both just stand under the spray, warm and comfortable.

"Turn around," she murmurs.

You do. She's looking at you with soft eyes, water droplets caught in her eyelashes. She's beautiful like this - vulnerable, unguarded.

"Can I wash your hair?" she asks.

"Sure."

She reaches for the shampoo, pouring some into her palm. Her claws are retracted as she works it into your hair, massaging your scalp with surprising gentleness.

"You're good at this," you say, eyes closed.

"I like taking care of you."

She rinses the shampoo out, careful not to get any in your eyes. Then conditioner, working it through the ends of your hair. Her touch is reverent, like you're something precious.

"My turn," you say when she's done.

She kneels - has to, because of her height - and you wash her hair the same way she washed yours. She practically purrs under your touch, leaning into your hands.

"This is nice," she murmurs.

"Yeah."

"Can we just stay here? Forever?"

"We'll turn into prunes."

"Worth it."

You rinse the conditioner from her hair and she stands, pulling you close again. The water cascades over both of you.

"I love you," she says quietly.

"Love you too."

She kisses you - slow, deep, thorough. Not hungry or desperate. Just loving.