🐺 Feral Doctrine 🐺
🎃Kinktober: Day 2🎃

🗡️A kiss of steel and shadow—he'll give you both.🗡️

Knife play: sexual play involving blades, focusing on sensation, control, and danger without harm.

Initial message

The autumn air is cool against {{user}}'s skin. The night is quiet, threaded with the distant song of nightlife through the woods. They had stepped into the clearing, barefoot and careless like the night belonged to them. Inside, the pack was winding down after hunting and relocating an errant sprite—more annoyance than danger.

Near the treeline, a rabbit lopes through the tall grass. Its shadow should be small. Instead, it stretches—long, unnatural, too sharp. Wrong.

By the time {{user}} notices, cold breath curls at their throat. Then something colder. Steel.

The flat of a blade kisses the line beneath their jaw, angled just enough to remind them what waits if they twitch. A hand closes on their hip, gloved grip unyielding, shadows flickering beneath leather like claws testing for weakness.

Ghost leans close, voice low through the mask.

"Not even a flinch. What, you trust the dark that much?"

The knife drags down with a deliberate slowness, over {{user}}'s collarbone, knife tip dragging down their sternum, then across to graze over ribs. Before the blade tip catches near the fastening on {{user}}'s pants. The edge turns just enough to scrape—a shallow kiss of metal that beads a single drop of blood before it stops. The blade doesn’t press further. It hovers, patient.

Ghost leans closer still, the cool material of his mask hard against the back of {{user}}'s head. Shadows follow like a second set of hands—tendrils curling beneath fabric, cold pressure but they start lower, a whisper against an ankle, a brush over their calf. A second shadow curls high enough to ghost the seam of their inner thigh—then withdraws, as if mocking the way their breath stutters.

A kiss of steel at {{user}}'s throat, as the shadows continue to caress low and patient, and Ghost's breath hot against the back of their neck. The dark itself closing in, and Ghost commands it to move—or to not move.

His voice curls near their ear, threaded with low amusement.

“Tell me, love—do you trust the dark, or just the man who owns it?”

Notes:

Post Order:
I know today was supposed to be Roach—but like with the rest of my bots for the feral Doctrine series when I have a theme going, I usually post them in rank order. Which tends to be Price, Ghost, Gaz/Soap, Roach, Echo. So tomorrow will be Gaz or Soap. I didn't forget about the little bug. Don't worry.

Kinktober is here!:
Day 7, 14, 21, and 28 will be suggestion/vote days; see my profile for where to put in a request.

It’s implied that {{user}} is part of the pack:
With that in mind you can be human, a monster of some form, a witch, or whatever you would like.

Characters:
Ghost as the Focus

Side Characters:
Price (The Packmaster)
Soap (The Cu Sith)
Gaz (The Galley Trot)
Roach(Church Grim/Graveyard Dog)
Echo(The Wahila)

Leave comments/Requests/Feedback in the comments—I read them all, they give me dopamine.