lulu-lux - Tumblr blog

lulu-lux · 5 days ago

Text

ℑ𝔰 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯?

Summary: You hate your new life. You hate him. You've been turned into a prisoner in your own body, haunted by urges that threaten to turn you into a violent mockery of yourself. You told yourself that you would never forgive him for what he's turned you into, but it seems that there are a lot of new things that you can't resist.

Warnings: 18+ content minors scram. Bite kink, blood consumption, blood-kink. Sex in public (don't do this in rl ya'll), spit as lube, handjob, fingering (F!Receiving), unprotected sex, dubious consent (they both get a little drunk from feeding). A little angst.

Notes: Wasn't expecting this to be this long and ended up cranking out 18.9k words for this bastard. Not proofread.

It's like running with a pack of feral dogs, the fear, the buzz, the noise. How they howl into the air; laughter scattered on the wind and cackling high as they all merge off of the parking lot and cut directly onto the boardwalk, forcing people to disperse out of the way to let them run wild, trying to avoid being struck. The strangers in the crowd turn their heads and observe in equal levels of fascination and bewilderment as they carelessly cruise their bikes through the masses, navigating the chaos with an expertise that shows how many times they've done it.

You still haven't entirely gotten used to it all. The repetitive roar of the motorcycle engines rumbling in a metallic growl, commanding that the bodies' part and allow them entry down the wooden street. It's difficult to resist the excitement in the dark air, all charged and sparking in your stomach like fireworks. Your laughter fizzes in your stomach, just as bright as the streetlamps and carnival lights glinting around you in a passing blur, and you're unable to stop most of it from trickling out.

It makes you want to snap your mouth shut, but you know that it's too late, he definitely heard you with how closely you've been forced to cling to his back, wrapping a hesitant arm around his waist to keep yourself from being shaken loose by the bike and tossed onto the ground. Sometimes you think that it would be worth it.

It's odd, looking out into the crowd now, seeing the way that they stare at you all as you pass. You hate that you can find yourself in most of them, the envy in some of their eyes as they take in glimmer of the bikes beneath the glow of the boardwalk; dazzled by all of the leather and roguish charm that almost permeates from the four of them like a glamour. You were dazzled too. And now you're here, strapped to the spine of the devil while he cheers into the night. His friends answer with equally demented hollers.

You long to finally get off of this damned bike. To lose the weight of his back pressed to your chest. To get the woody spice of his stolen cologne out of your nose and breathe in some fresh air. But unease pulls you down. Nausea rolls in your stomach like oil, slick and heavy. And it makes you almost prefer to stay here, clung to his shoulders, rather than stop now. It would keep this night from happening. Prolong the inevitable for a blissful second or two. There's an unspoken expectation looming thick over the group. A spilling of blood to finally seal an unwanted pact.

You try to ignore it, focusing on the sensation of the summer breeze instead, warm and soft as it drifts over your skin, tugging at your clothes. You count people in the crowd, a meaningless one, two, three and so on until you lose track and the spirited commotion around you fades out into a pleasant blur. Giving you a moment of peace before the bullet hits. For a small breath you can pretend that it's all just a dream.

But then the bike engines all die out, and it's like a door slamming shut while you're asleep. Instead of tearing you out of a nightmare, it shoves you headfirst into it. Abrupt and dragging you out of your daze without a single warning. You hadn't even noticed the group slowing down and backing their bikes up to the fence of the platform. It's all too loud now. The fun music pumping out from overhead speakers, the fluctuating murmur of passing conversations, the roar of the nearby waves crashing over the serf. It all rattles around your skull like thunder.

None of them wait to dismount their motorcycles, killing the engines and swinging themselves over the leather seats to stand. One of the firsts is Star. You catch her eye when she slips herself free from David's back, and she's quick to shift away from the group, waiting only for Laddie who runs to take ahold of her hand once Dwayne plucks the boy from his bike. The look she gives you is fleeting, but it says so much. It's understanding and hopeful, but the reflection of the lights makes her fear plain. You can see it clearly. An unspoken sorry passed to you before she ushers Laddie into the drifting crowd and disappears for the few hours of freedom she'll be afforded.

"You ready?" Marko voice severs your attention from Star, forcing you to glance at him and meet his eye as he peeks at you from over his shoulder. It's as though he's staring through you.

"Yeah, ya ready?" Paul echoes obnoxiously from beside his motorcycle, but you ignore him entirely.

You try to swallow down your nerves as you shift to raise yourself up from the bike, only sparing Marko a brief nod. And then his hand clasps around your wrist in support, firm but just light enough to let you move unencumbered; chilled leather on skin and it makes you jerk out of the hold keeping you steady. It's reflective when you tear your arm out from his palm, twisting quickly off the seat to create space between your bodies. You don't look at him as you pull your arm from his grip. You don't want to face the exhaustion or irritation that might show there.

It's like your joints are made of stone, sluggish and graceless as though you're running nowhere in a dream. When the soles of your shoes meet the boardwalk, you might as well as been doused with a bucket of cold water. Reality strikes in without any subtly, and you know that they can all hear the frantic pulse of your heart, pumping and thrashing in your chest like it means to escape.

Paul chuckles, casting you a glance that's full of mockery, like your apprehension is the most entertaining thing in the world. You have to ignore the urge to snap at him, sucking down the insult like something bitter. The sound of Marko standing up behind you, the shuffle of his boots on the worn wood, has your voice snuffing out anyway.

But really, it's David that makes you fall silent. He's the only one who hasn't gotten up from his bike, opting to sit lazily as though the world turns for him. Maybe it does.

The blue of his eyes is ice on your skin, and you try to ignore the weight of it. Staring so intently like he's trying to burn a hole into your head, like he's trying to read your thoughts. But you doubt he needs telepathy to be able to do that. He has a way of getting under people's skin. Of burying down deep like a parasite and latching onto the things that make them human, weeding through their ticks and habits as though they're maps to their souls, and you're no different. When he watches you, you think he's looking at your spirit, staring into your future and past and found that he's already disappointed.

Like a gnat buzzing around your ear, Marko's hand finds its way around your waist, tugging you close just enough that your shoulder brushes softly on his chest. Taunting you with your new reality. The awful truth that this going to be your life. Eternally damned to live amongst them.

David watches you both, seemingly evaluating you as you stand. You can't tell if he's pleased with what he sees.

"Be safe." His eyebrows perk a little when he speaks. An order, not a courtesy. He reaches for the cigarette he tucked behind his ear and balances it between his lips, his other hand already going for the zippo lighter in his coat pocket. Be safe. It's really just his way of saying don't do anything you'll regret. And he was making direct eye contact with you when he said it. The message is crystal clear.

Marko gives him a mock salute, already pulling you away from the group to usher you off into the thick of the crowd. Guiding you forward akin to a predator with its teeth locked around its prey's throat.

"Let's go get something to eat." He murmurs, tucking his face close to yours to be heard over the commotion. It's such a simple sentence. One that's kind out of context, but the knowledge behind it digs into you like lethal talons. And it feels too intimate, how closely he's tucked himself to you. It stirs up a ghost of emotions that you don't want to relive. Old echoes of a schoolgirl crush that bubbles in your stomach with the pain of something poisonous. You want to hide from it, snuff it out as you would old embers. You fantasize about slipping out from under his arm, shrugging him off and disappearing inside the masses. But you wouldn't get far. You don't think there's a single place on this planet that you could hide from them now.

To outsider who happens to glance at you two, you look like a pair of lovers. A girl and her boyfriend taking a night out on the town, but it couldn't be any farther from the truth.

It's difficult to look at anyone in the crowd now. Seeing them is like watching unknowing lambs trickle into a slaughter shoot. Darting about without a single concept of the danger among them. Ignorant to the wolves prowling about with snarling teeth. Blood is shed nightly in Santa Carla, people vanish. It's become a natural law to the locals, similar to how the sky appears blue and the earth orbits the sun. But the deaths and the disappearances have always been given speculation - runaways and serial killers mostly. You don't think they'd all be able to take the truth.

You hardly had. Not even when it stared you down with bloodied lips and molten eyes. Death walks with them every night, and they don't have a single clue.

"See anybody you like?" he asks suddenly.

He can't ever let you drift off. You can't escape, not even in your own head. The cruel reminder of his words digs at you with all the care of glass shards. You have to turn your head, pretending to scan the crowd even though you know that your glances are probably too frantic to be convincing. You know he can hear your pulse, too; he can smell the tart rush of your adrenaline in the air.

"Uh, no." You finally spit it out, all clunky on your tongue that now seems too thick. "I - I don't."

"We'll find you something, don't worry." It sounds like a taunt. It has to be. Subtly demeaning as though he's insulting you for being terrified.

God, you want to slap him. You want him to hurt just as much as you are. To make him taste just a fraction of the betrayal and anger that you do. But that would require him to care, and you doubt that he has the compacity for that. It's all impulse and bloodlust for him. The only loyalty he feels is towards his brothers. Everyone else is expendable. Dolls meant to be toyed around with for his entertainment.

All of the smiles he had given you in the past were fake, played up to win your trust. Just the same as a mouse lured in by the scent of sugar, you had stumbled directly into his trap, captivated by his charm. And the friendly banter and flirting that you'd exchange in the guise of insults were carefully constructed to trick you into a false sense of camaraderie. It's only been about a week or so since then - time doesn't make sense now - but it seems as though decades have passed. Stretched wide and distorted; broken as your mind struggles to come to terms with its the existence.

You still can't fully fathom how they all live these lives so easily. Cutting, maiming, and killing as though it's as simple as breathing. Ripping people open to gorge themselves. As though they aren't people at all, just piles of flesh and blood. Not individuals with jobs and loved ones and purpose, only piles of meat. Animals bred for slaughter.

They all strut around this boardwalk as though it's theirs, scouting out potential prey with all the casualty of someone checking their mailbox. Foxes sneaking into a henhouse. And the weight of Marko's arm secure and resolute around your waist burrows tonight's intentions down into your bones like a sickness. There's a line that they expect you to cross. A chasm that they command you to leap. You don't know if you'll make it across. And if you do, it might not be you who comes out on the other side. Not anymore.

He's expecting you to pick one out. To look out across the sea of hundreds and pluck one unfortunate soul out from the others. To smear the mark of the damned upon their forehead and take their life for your own. You can't do that. You won't. You don't even know how to. Which steps to take. And Marko seems content in letting you figure it out for yourself. Or maybe he's just finding enjoyment in your distress, in watching you panic and glance around the boardwalk with fear in your eyes.

You want to shout at him. To take him by the shoulders and rattle him until he either lets you go or gives you some answers, but you can't seem to get your body to yield to either of those desires. You remain tucked to his chest, allowing him to cling to you as you wander through the crowd. Scattering cursory glances over the strangers who pass you both. All of them just as oblivious as the last. Caught up in the night, the laughter and lights; the carnival games and tourist traps glazing them over the danger crossing their paths.

It strikes you, almost suddenly, why he has allowed you to amble around slowly without any sense of urgency. Like usual as of late, there's hardly any buildup. It doesn't settle in, or creep up. It's just there. You can feel it running beneath your skin, running hot and burning, carving out a hole in your stomach. Gnawing and pulsing until you nearly feel hollow.

It's so abrupt that it strangles a ragged gasp out of you. You almost turn into him, catching yourself just before your knees can go boneless and send you sprawling down onto the boardwalk. It strikes under your ribcage as though you've been stabbed, twisting and sharp.

You would think that you'd be used to it by now. Prepared for the abruptness of it, but you don't think that there's any way to truly ready for the magnitude of hunger that lashes throughout your body. It's almost crippling every time. The pain that seers across your chest alongside the ache in your gut. The first time you felt it; you'd thought that you were having a heart attack with how vicious the agony was, with how wildly your heart had convulsed inside of your chest.

But you know now what it really is: An inhuman hunger.

You've fought so hard to resist it. Stuffing yourself full of anything that you could get your hands on. Cramming you mouth full of junk, pillaging through the old, canned foods stored within the back of the cave. Anything to try and satisfy the hollow pit growing in your body, but it never worked. It only ever eased the mental part of the hunger, like chewing gum on an empty stomach, hoping that you could trick yourself into believing that you aren't hungry, but that vacant pit never closes.

You always knew that you wouldn't be able to coast off of the false sense of satisfaction for so long. Star had warned you as much. It gets harder each day. That's what she had told you. The more you try to outlast it - the more you resist, the more insistent it becomes. And unfortunately, she hadn't lied.

God, you can smell them all now. Warm and rich in the air, tinged with salt. It makes you mouth water, saliva pooling on your tongue. There has to be thousands of them. Heartbeats fluttering, some thumping and racing, others skipping a beat; the air alive with the musk of adrenaline. You can feel it all, pulsing in the atmosphere, turning the breeze into something living. It's overwhelming, all electric and humming. It skirts across your teeth, trembling over your fingertips and toes, bumping steadily in your ears in a raucous rhythm.

You can't help it when you turn to hide your face in the crook of Marko's neck, drawing in greedy lungful's of his scent to orient yourself. You hate that you have to rest your weight on him to keep yourself from sagging over. He doesn't shove you away. He remains firm against you, the arm on your waist squeezing just a little bit tighter. He's the only thing keeping you from completely doubling over in pain, the agony scattering up your stomach bites through you.

You want to collapse in a heap, but the scent of blood and life takes ahold of you like a physical thing. It seems to grip you by the throat. Lashing around you tightly and keeping you from falling onto your knees. You try to ignore the scent of iron in the air, the subtle sweet edge lacing through it. Instead you huff pathetically at his cologne to try and mask the fragrance of all the warm bodies wandering around you. Sucking in the perfume of amber and spice, the now familiar undertone of damp earth to keep yourself present.

"Easy," he murmurs. "Breathe in and out slowly." It's hushed between the both of you to be heard from around the excitement. Said softly. Perhaps in one of the gentlest tones he's ever used. And your body is unable to resist the command, complying as though its instinct. You want to lean into it. To let yourself drift back into the sweetness of it while agony continues to spiral through you. To indulge in the relief that settles over you from the low rumble of his voice. There's that urge to jerk away from him, rising up high, angry and pained, but you can't manage to actually act on it. The wild hunger eating away at your body keeps you almost lax against his body. All you can do is clench your teeth together as another rush of pain trembles through you, choking another gasp from your lungs.

You wish you could create some space between the two of you. You need a second. A moment, no matter how small to get yourself together. You can't think when he's around. He floods your senses for all the wrong reasons. Wiping your mind blank until all that's left are the muddled hues of endearment and betrayal. The hurt that comes with it. The regret wells up in an acrid pour. They're voices all clamoring up in painful reminders that they had all warned you to stay away from him - that he was nothing but trouble. But like an idiot you had ignored all of them, telling them that they were all just paranoid. Judgmental.

You loathe the night that the boys had all walked into your job, cackling amongst each other while they poured in through the front door. Acting like the diner was all theirs and you all just didn't know it yet. Leslie refused to serve them even though they sat in her section, climbing into a booth tucked into the far corner of the dining room, and yet they somehow seemed to pull all of the focus in the room. They remained unbothered by the blatant staring from the other customers, snickering and joking while the old man at the bar glared at them from over the edge of his western novel. Undisturbed by the family seated across from them and the scathing glare from the uptight looking mother, openly scowling without a lick of shame as she muttered heatedly to her husband.

You had elected to cover them for Leslie who eyed them from behind the counter as though they were a pack of wild animals. It was a slow enough night, and it didn't give you any extra trouble by taking them on. Their focus had zeroed in on you when you approached their table, introducing yourself despite the engraved name tag pinned onto your shirt. They were undeniably charming then, carrying around them a kind of mystery and magnetism that you couldn't have helped but to be a little captivated by.

But it had been one in particular that had truly entranced you. Looking back on it, you can't say what it was in particular that had done it. Maybe it was just everything about him. He was kaleidoscopic, a splash of color against the dull blue vinyl of the booth and pale fluorescents. It struck you how cherubic he was; rounded, high cheekbones and tightly spun curls that seemed to be fashioned from the sun itself. But what really got you was his eyes. Expressive and wide. It would have given him an innocent, doe eyed look if it wasn't for the impish kind of playfulness glinting in the stormy blue of them. Burning with a quick-witted intellect and something a little mean.

He was beautiful. The sort of face that would be depicted in Baroque paintings, and the patches sewn onto his jacket were just as dramatic and vivid as that art might be.

"Hopefully we don't scare you off like her," he said, undoubtedly referring to Leslie who'd taken to observing you from behind the bar almost as though she was disappointed in you, but it's not like you'd ever cared about what she thought. It was like he had wanted to sound apologetic, but the amused sneer pushing up the rosy shape of his mouth had shown otherwise.

"Don't worry," you had answered. "It takes a lot to scare me away."

Maybe that's what had damned you. A challenge that you hadn't known you'd raised. You should have known by the way that he smiled at you that he was dangerous.

Nearly every night after that he would show back up at the diner, as persistent as a stray wandering up to a familiar doorstep. Always seating himself in your section to watch you work, making quips at whenever you walked past him. And in turn you'd give him remarks of your own, accusing him of harassing you at your job with a lighthearted smile on your face.

Leslie had always hated to see him sitting in the dining room whenever she was scheduled, and she never made any attempts to hide the distain on her face whenever he'd look her way. The unaffected, cheeky smiles that he would give her in return never failed to drive her up a wall, and they were almost always a surefire way to prompt another unwanted rant from her. Always crowding you back in the kitchen to try and warn you away from him, scolding you with a disgusted kind of passion in her eyes. All judgement and petulance.

You hate that she'd been right.

In almost no time at all, he had gone from a fun regular to staying behind with you till closing - much to the chagrin of your coworkers and boss. Watching you as you flitted about the small dining room, performing mundane tasks like refilling the sugar dispensers and the salt and pepper shakers, or sweeping the floors. Always trying to get you to abandon your shift early in favor of joining him out in the night - that at least, you had the sense to reject.

At the time you had just told yourself that he was only there for the dead pastries that you'd give to him every once in a while. He even had a favorite, apple pie, smothered with whipped cream and the vanilla ice cream that you'd smuggle from the kitchen.

But then on his fifth time skulking up to your job to watch you work, he had extended an offer. Inviting you out on one of your nights off to join him out on the town. Though directly unsaid, it sounded suspiciously like a date. And that was enough to have a rush of butterflies spiraling and fluttering around in your stomach. It almost felt unbelievable to have someone as magnetic as him flirting with you. Taking time out of his life to see you almost nearly every night, a part of your shift that you had come to expect. And the disappointment you used to feel when he wouldn't show was pitiful. It made you eager, flushed with warmth and a ditzy kind of hope, and with an almost embarrassing quickness, you had excepted his proposition.

You just never could have foreseen what would happen next. The damning terms that you have so naively accepted. He'd been so easy to lean on then. You hadn't wanted to twist your way out of his touch, you had wanted to fall into it. When he had slung his arm around your shoulder, it had felt natural. Like it belonged there. The pressure of his weight against your back had been pleasant, lighting heat under your skin, but that sense of comfort has long since become corrupted.

Even now, as he continues to guide you down the boardwalk, it feels like a cruel mockery of that night. Even worse than all of that, is despite all of your hatred, some pathetic little part of you still delights under his touch. He's been horrific and selfish, tearing you from your life and the choice or mortality. But like a sickness those old feelings persists, lurking just beneath the surface of your anger like an unwanted house guest.

And it's here now, nudging at the corners of your mind. Almost begging you to settle further against him while he nudges you through the frenzied masses with a new sense of purpose. There's a sense of solace there. One you try to blame on the agony that draws at your bones and digs a cavern inside of your stomach. You tell yourself that you're just trying to find a sense of peace wherever you can, even if that means turning to him, but really you know better.

Your time together has been short, and yet, in the brief span he's managed to flip your sense completely on its axis. It has shame turning in your gut, prickling and acidic. It's a betrayal to yourself how you allow press into him, allowing him to be the protection from the pain that he's caused. But he makes it horrendously easy. His scent drawing around you like a cocoon, inviting and familiar.

It has time and agony smearing down into a haze; the only thing to keep you fully grounded is the press of his hand molding over your hip, his thumb slipping under the hem of your jacket and shirt to sweep mindless caresses over your skin.

You hardly notice the blaring of a guitar, the heavy thump of drums and instruments reverberating over the atmosphere behind the pitch of live vocals. Someone's sweat-dampened shoulder brushes along yours, jostling you out of your pain induced stupor, but it's really the sound of Marko's voice snapping out over the noise that truly draws your attention: "Got you hangover cure. Get ready to pick your poison."

You tilt your head enough just to peek out from the cradle of his throat, casting a nervous glance over the shifting bodies. Everywhere you look its waving limbs, bare flesh glinting with glitter and sweat; hands clutching glowsticks, waving blurs of neon colors. The mass all sways and dances as best as they all can within the tight confines the crowd spread out down on the beach. It's like looking at an ocean, the tides lifting in an animated, roaring current. There has to be at least a few hundred people all here to watch the band playing, captivated and completely lost within the excitement and music rushing through their systems.

You're just outside the fringes of the throng, overlooking them from the height of the steps descending from the boardwalk, but it's still overwhelming. A relentless stream of sound bombarding your ears. You can practically taste all of them on your tongue, the blood pumping in their veins, fierce and hot, laced with the buzz of adrenaline. The energy in the air almost seems to brush over you, seeping down through your muscles and marrow, somehow making your hunger worse.

In Marko's perspective, he's probably looking at a living buffet. Throats bared for the taking. You hate how you can hear the frantic pulse from what's probably close to three hundred hearts, all of them gathered around in front of you to admire the performance on the stage far ahead on the beach.

It sinks your reality in deeper, sinking in to tear a shudder down your spine. You turn to look at him then, gripping onto the edge of his coat like it might keep you from bolting. "What - how am I supposed to kil-" you draw in a deep breath to calm yourself. "How am I supposed to do anything here? This place is packed. There's like a million people here."

He smiles at you and it's so hard to tell if it's genuine or not. There's always something a little mean glinting in his eyes. Something almost spiteful. But the expression on his face gentle. Like he finds your naivety as endearing as it is amusing.

He leans in close so you can hear him, his nose brushing slightly over yours as he speaks. "Nobody here is gonna notice a thing. They're so caught up that you could kill ten of them right now and they wouldn't find the bodies till morning."

It's terrifying how he talks about it. It's worse with the realization that his ease comes from experience. You're sure that he's stood in this exact spot more times than you could count, scoping out some poor soul to lure away. Drank them dry in the shadows, dead center in the middle of the crowd while people danced and sang as the victim's heartbeat died out in their chest and the light faded from their eyes.

You know he's right, too. No one here would notice you singling someone out and drawing their blood out from their veins. It's horrific.

You used to hear it all the time flipping around on the news stations while you'd get ready in the mornings; declared from the radio as you skimmed through the channels while driving to work, the voices from news anchors and radio personalities while they informed Santa Carla of another body found under suspicious circumstances. Torn limbs washed onto shore, people gone missing without a single trace, bodies found miles outside of town with brutal bitemarks ravaging their bodies. People die all the time here, locals and tourists alike, and still everyone seems to wander around with an air of obliviousness. Fueled by some overblown confidence that they couldn't possibly be next.

The most humiliating thing though, is that you were once one of those people. Navigating through life as though you were untouchable. And look where that got you. The universe sent you a wakeup call that you couldn't ignore, packaged in a pretty face.

You've seen all of the missing posters stapled and taped to the buildings around town. They're impossible to ignore, hundreds of them depicting the people and children who would never be found again. Torn away from their lives without any warning, leaving their loved ones to mourn and latch onto the false hope that they'd return. You can't be the cause of that.

Marko shifts himself, settling his chest right against your back, and lifts his hands up to hold your shoulders. To comfort you or keep you still, you aren't entirely sure. He tucks his head next yours, peeking around you as though he's trying to see the world through your eyes. For a moment, his cologne breaks through the sweat, and blood, and stimulation. It's warm, masculine, but subtly sweet beneath the spice of it like the buttery flavor of vanilla, and you almost settle back into him.

"Pick any of them. It doesn't matter." You feel him shrug, and the earring dangling from his lobe presses at the skin of your jaw. It makes you hauntingly aware of how close he is. Body flush with yours. A distraction all on its own, slipping a glaze over your mind but the hunger comes back with a vengeance, eating away in your veins, as thick as honey. "They won't even know what hit them until it's too late."

You scan the crowd, vision darting over the strange faces peeking through the pandemonium. You try to swallow down the saliva pooling in your mouth. You can feel your gums aching, pressure pulsing behind your teeth with that strange urge to bite. The same one that almost had you latching your mouth onto your own arm last night, lapping your tongue on your skin, tasting the blood lurking beneath. It had been Marko then who had pulled you back before you could try and drink from yourself, and since then he had seemed determined to get you to hunt.

But while a large part of you is driven down, coasting under some twisted high induced by the pain and the sound of Marko's voice in your ear, a small piece can't help but to struggle with the acceptance that he chose this place to be your first time. It's overwhelming, the number of people scattered about, the music is so deafening that you can hardly think.

Already the thread around your control is fraying, turning thin within the shaky grip of your resolve. The guilt that's kept you steadfast has grown weaker with each passing day, fracturing like old bones. You've done your best to hide yourself away in the cave this past week, ever since you found out what you are, what your hunger truly means. But your time is up now, and despite your protesting, once the sun had slipped past the horizon, Marko had all but dragged you out of the remnants of the hotel. Ignoring the panicked rambling that had spilt from you as he guided you towards his bike with a firm grip around your arm.

The message had been clear: You're going to feed tonight, no matter what.

He's intentionally throwing you into the thick of it. He's not giving you an out. He wants your instincts to overwhelm you, for the hunger to cloud your judgement and tip you over the edge if that's what it takes for you to become one of them, but this seems dangerous.

You know his game, but you don't think you have the strength to fight anymore. You're becoming detached from yourself. It's always terrifying how the hunger sinks in around your mind, nestling deep until you feel like a second passenger in your own body. The only thing that might be keeping you tethered to yourself is Marko's weight on your back. The realization of it makes your skin crawl. You want to slip away from him, but there's a paranoia hanging over you. A dread that if you detach yourself from him that your control might break entirely. He reaches around and lightly cups your jaw, using it to turn your head and you allow him to despite the confusing blur of discomfort and contentment that trembles down your spine at the touch. Ever since that night that you met, it's like a piece of himself had torn off and wormed its way beneath your skin, digging down like a leech to join itself to your soul. It's an influence that you can't shake. He's wedged himself too deep. Fixed himself to you probably the single moment that his eyes had first locked with yours.

You let Marko move your head, and you attention tracks where he guides your vision, stopping only when he fixes your head still with his hand. Your breath snags when you notice a man tucked away in the shadows. Standing somewhat awkwardly below next to a burn barrel like the flames lashing out from the rusted metal might ward off the people screaming and chanting along with the band. He looks lonely. Huddled away in his own world while people hop around on their feet and cheer and shout with pitching voices.

"That's an easy one," Marko supplies. A hint - a nudge to get you in the right direction.

All of a sudden, a precipice is yawning out in front of you. The moment that you've been dreading, that's kept you away from sleep for days on end, is raising up and hurtling towards you. It almost feels like the floor beneath your feet is falling loose and vanishing, leaving you dangling and trapped within the blur of passing seconds.

It's terrible - otherworldly almost - the hollow lashing of pain that coils through your gut and burns hotly, begging for you to stumble forward and reach for the prey that's been settled on. You're outside yourself from the starvation that threatens to cripple you. Hunger crammed in where your soul should be. You can feel your muscles drawing up tight, preparing to lurch yourself forward in a desperate scramble, but this time it's Marko who holds you back. You can feel the shape of his smile brushing over your cheek, smug and satisfied as you struggle pitifully to regain control of your own body.

"Careful," he warns. "Don't wanna spook him too early." His lips glide over your skin, just bordering on a could be kiss, leaving sparks where they drag before he pulls away. "Now go get him. I'll be watching."

He pushes you forward. Hardly more than a nudge, but in your hyper focused state it's practically a shove. You almost slam directly into some of the people sprinkled along the stairs. Stumbling forward a little, nearly tripping over the edge of one of the steps as you descend; your mind screaming for you to stop and turn around. It's like you're trapped within your own bone and sinew, agony and hunger wrapping around your throat like a vice, demanding that you keep moving.

Your vision narrows down, vignetting around the edges your attention fastens onto the timid looking man in the dark. You can already hear his heart thumping above the rest, sounding like the persistent strikes of thunder cresting over the blaring instruments and the ruckus of the crowd. He doesn't even notice as you approach. Too caught within himself, standing with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his khaki's, entirely out of place amidst the rockers and punks making up the masses.

A tourist probably, your mind latches onto the possible detail with weak fingers, almost slipping from your focus entirely because of the daze threatening to cloud you over.

There's almost a sadness weighing down at his expression, highlighted by the fires flickering around in the burn barrels scattered along the grounds. Maybe it's the reason for how oblivious he is, fully unaware of how close you've drawn as he continues to stare ahead with a plain moroseness set into the dejected hunch of his shoulders. You can hear his breath draw through his lung when he sighs softly. You can see the muscles in his neck bulge lightly under his skin, shadowed dramatically from the fires when he breathes.

Your mouth floods with saliva, teeth itching to bite like an animal staring down something wounded. It's primal, so unrecognizable from yourself that you nearly stop in place, but a pang tears through your stomach, almost as though your body is rejecting the very notion of your denial. Your own flesh turning against you from the simple pitter patter of his pulse coursing across the air in a steady spike, only growing louder and more tempting as you approach. A siren's song that ripples through your soul.

"Not a fan of the music?" Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears, slipping out over the balmy air before you even registered that your lips were moving.

His eyes dart over to you, wide and surprised as he takes you in. Glittering in the dark like a deer caught in headlights. It makes that new, hideous thing in you tremble in delight, perverse and horrible. You don't know if you can resist it anymore. But the laughter of the people around you - the final threads of your humanity, keep you from lunging forward.

"Ah, no, it's fine." He seems so out of his element. So confused by your presence that it makes the distant pieces of yourself a little self-conscious, but that new half of you still disturbingly pleased with the uncertainty weighing down at his posture. As though the possibility of his fear is something to be craved. He's taller than you by several inches, looking down his nose and through the wire frame of his glasses to watch you; all long limbed and towering. But you can still make out muscles flexing under his skin, peeking out from the sleeves of his shirt.

He looks awkward in his own body, but you know regardless that there's a clear difference in your strength. He could probably lift you up and wrangle your neck if you were still normal, and yet that concern doesn't truly reach you. Not while he's so close, the scent of his blood perfuming the air in salt and iron. A combination of smells that should have your nose curling in disgust, but it only has a starved growl threatening to rumble from your stomach.

"I mean, it's not my usual kind of sound, I guess. But it's fine - nothing wrong with it." It's almost an embarrassed ramble, how he stumbles over his words. He nods, head rocking about in an exaggerated, bobble headed fashion. Like the gesture might get you to agree with him.

You try not wince at another hunger cramp that claws its way through you, smiling instead and hoping that it looks natural instead of strained. Your skin is damp with perspiration, flushed hot with a warmth that covers you like a fever, and you're sure that your pupils have blown wide. Turned into dark abysses that eat the color from your eyes. You have to look crazed, but if he notices anything off about your expression, he doesn't mention it.

He is out of place here, wearing a snug Polo shirt and a fancy watch around his wrist. Sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the all the tattooed skin and the girls in scant bikini tops. You could be genuinely curious about him if it weren't for the circumstances. If the reasoning behind you seeking him out wasn't so gruesome, driven by starvation and ruthless impulse. You can feel it creeping in closer around you, like teeth digging into meat, parting flesh under serrated enamel.

You catch his throat flexing again. The subtle rhythmic rise and fall of his pulse throbbing under smooth skin. It nearly makes you sob. A broken, whinny sound that you have to choke down behind a clenched jaw to keep him from hearing.

"You look like more of a Toto kind of guy," you answer finally. Forcing it out behind a strained sigh.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asks, still oblivious to the danger he's in. Perking up just a little bit as though he's adjusting to you.

"No," you respond. Perhaps a little too quickly to sound normal.

Your mind drags, scrambling in a wild blur to figure out how to correct the small mistake, but it draws a blank. Instead of words, you're only silent, staring at him with a severity that must be uncomfortable. You know you must look like just about every pervert that's ever harassed you at work, all leering and oddly tense in their persistence. Logic demands that you pull back. That you cut your losses and take the blunder for what it is - a blessing in disguise. The universe giving you an out. An escape while you have it before the hunger completely turns off what little control you still have and sends you spiraling.

But like a body belonging to someone else you remain firm in place, standing in front of him with spit pooling in your mouth and the urge to bite pressing at your teeth. You should try to invite him off somewhere more private - no! God, what are you thinking? You can't be anywhere alone with him. You can't take the risk to be by yourself with only him. Or with anyone else for that matter. As determined as you are to keep your humanity intact; to cling onto your own morality, it's becoming less and less of a possibility.

If you draw blood, that will be it for you. There's no stepping off that path once you're on it. You'll never see the sun again. You won't be human. You'll be a monster. A thing that preys on others for the sake of its own continuation. The possibility of the universe spans out in front of you like something daunting and terrible, promising forever. Exchanging your death in the payment of others' lives. Replacing your blood with theirs in a cycle that will continue until the earth finally destroys itself and dies.

You don't know how old the boys all are. They're all tight lipped and secretive about themselves, as though you haven't truly earned their trust just yet. It's only Paul that you've managed to wrangle a sliver of information out of. But it was mostly just delirious rambling, spoken through heavy slurring when he came back to the cave intoxicated from the blood of drunkards.

And he was definitely out of it, staring straight up at the grooves in the cave ceiling, looking up at the shadows casted there as though they were as fascinating as stars. "Don't you know you're not supposed to ask a lady her age?" He'd giggled softly, and it was obvious that it was mostly to himself rather than you. He had to be a little high too; he had been down on the beach hunting that night. Preying on the skinny dippers and riffraff. There's no telling what kind of people he'd gotten his hands on, the substances that could have intoxicated their blood. His pupils were a little blown. Wide black pits glinting in the warm glow of the candles dotted about the space, reflecting fire in his eyes, all wild and drunk. "We're pretty old. . . He used to have a horse."

You aren't sure who he is. The comment was cryptic. The nonsense of someone who was miles away from their own mind and soaring on a heavy buzz, but as absurd as it sounded it did have some merit to it. You hear them all make off handed comments that give you clues into their age. Like when Marko had grumbled about how he kind of missed the disco rink - an old building that now sits abandoned and boarded up Piedmont Street. It was shut down in '73 due to repeated fire code violations.

But it had been Dwayne who had unintentionally dropped a bomb on you one night. All of the boys were scattered around the center of the cave, a Billy Idol song streaming from the stereo system in the corner while they all lazed about, made a little sluggish once their recent feeding had settled in and turned their limbs heavy.

You had hidden yourself away on a mattress that Marko had stolen for you (just where he had gotten it from, you try not to think about). You couldn't really see them from behind the beaded curtains and sheer sheets that you had strung up around it, taking inspiration from Star to block off your small corner of the cave to give yourself a shred of privacy. Not that you had really succeeded.

Their voices were still loud, echoing softly along the stone walls, keeping you from being able to slip into a defeated sleep. You wanted them to shut up. To give you a break and vanish off to their own part of the sunken hotel, but they'd been in their spots for nearly an hour, and they'd showed no signs of leaving.

And then Dwayne said it: "Remember when they tried to band this stuff?" You could just barely make out his silhouette through the rosy fabric separating you from them, but you could see him rattle his hand, shaking the bottle of whisky while he stared at it with a somewhat fond, distant look.

"Ugh, don't remind me, man." Paul had answered from somewhere, petulant and huffy.

"Right. Like it had stopped you at all." Marko joked, his voice projecting from somewhere close to your bed. Much closer than the others. He always sticks nearby, lurking around the fringes like a guard dog posted in front of its house.

It didn't take long for you to connect the dots, to dig through the information you have stored on basic history. The Prohibition. The 1920's. That's how old they are - if not older. And they've always been here. Prowling around Santa Carla, possibly walking around the boardwalk long before it even had a rollercoaster. Maybe that's why they parade around like the town belongs to them. In a way it does.

That's what lies ahead for you. Forever measured in the number of lives you take. Souls traded in so you can stay here, trapped inside the lights and excitement, all while guilt and horror eats away at what's left of your spirit. In a blink or a slow crawl, it would all be different, and you aren't sure which one is worse. You would wake one day and all that's left of your former life would be reduced to nothing, turned faded by time. It terrifies you that you might get to a point where you wouldn't be able to recognize yourself. That you could turn indifferent to the slaughter. That eventually you'll just see prey instead of people.

Suddenly the weight of the stranger's stare on you is prickling over your clammy skin. Uncomfortable and almost itching like a rash. It makes you obnoxiously self-aware. Hyper vigilant of your own body, the feeling in your fingertips and toes, the hunger echoing through your stomach in an angry shudder. The pulse of his heartbeat seems like it's become your own, thrumming through your limbs and urging you to finally satiate the emptiness that's been haunting you for days. Rattling through your body and forcing you to writhe and gasp through the ache. You almost double over as another wave of it crashes over you, breathing harshly to try and survive it.

You have to go. Now.

He must notice something is wrong with you because his face pinches, eyebrows furrowing close as he steps forward, hands raised like you're some injured animal that he's afraid to pick up. "Hey, are you alright?"

You jerk away from him, stumbling back like you've been electrocuted. Turning a little on your heels to keep yourself from rushing at him and finally giving yourself what you need.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." You try and give your most convincing smile, but he's still staring at you like you're something that he doesn't know how to approach. Like you're dangerous.

"Are you sur-"

"Yes." It comes out like a hiss. Strained out from the pain. He goes to move towards you and on reflex you shift back, desperate to keep some kind of space between you and him. Your eyes shift around, searching through the sea of bodies for some kind of exit. You look past the heads bobbing and nodding along the music, trying to focus past the perfume of unshed of blood and pulses thrumming through the air with a fear that's almost paralyzing.

It's like a jackal peering through the dark, familiar eyes reflecting the golden glint the fires as he watches you from past the shapes of shifting bodies. Marko is doing just as he had promised - observing you from above on the staircase with an expression that you can't read through the haze, but you feel swallowed by it. A cherubic face observing out of judgment or sympathy, you can't tell. It's almost more debilitating than the agony slicing its way through you, and all at once you're suffocating again. It's too much. Too loud, they're all too close, you can hear them all breathing, you can hear their blood rushing, you can feel their hearts beating as though it's all your own.

You want to scream, you want to rip out of your own skin, you just want the torture - the hunger to finally stop.

You don't think when you run, leaving the clueless stranger and his concerned questioning behind. Abandoning Marko above in the crowd as you shove yourself past people in a blind struggle to get away from it all. You're an animal in a trap. Dodging reaching arms and lunging bodies, full of life and blood. Your feet seem to slip in the sand, struggling in the loose, dry earth, pulled down by the weight of your own bones - the debilitating fire in your gut.

It hurts so much that you might actually sob when you gasp, but you're too disconnected from yourself to tell. The air slipping from your lungs is strangled. Tight as though there's a hand compressing your throat. You bump through the crowd without truly seeing, blinking through the blur in your vision. Trying in vain to cast off the burning glint that the pyres on the beach brand across your eyes.

It's dangerous to breathe. The scent of life in the air crippling, nestling deep in your lungs and locking in your mouth, spilling saliva across your tongue. You feel like a starved animal. Practically crawling across the beach with fear and dread trembling up your back, ravenousness snapping at your heels. Threatening to sink in. It yawns open in your stomach, carving you open brutally to split a chasm in the center of you. It demands to be fed. Those terrible, new instincts shrieking from somewhere in your marrow to finally be satiated, and your jaw aches with the urge to bite.

You hear the people around you. The rhythmic thump and flutters of their pulses crashing in your ears. Louder than the tempo of the drums, the scream of the guitar and the rush of the waves along the surf. But above it all some vile voice shrieks insistently for you to finally lunge out and take one of the swaying bodies in your hands, to find the relief in the breaking of their flesh beneath your teeth, to gorge yourself on the hot, rapturous flow of blood.

You could cry or scream, but that wouldn't be enough.

Your wrist is suddenly pressed to your lips, your mouth parted to lick over the skin, seeking out the thrum and heat of the blood pouring beneath. It's a daze when your teeth tense to sink in, your jaw locking around the width of your arm to dig deep and taste. The animalist impulse in your cries out in relief, anticipating the sweet flavor, the salvation that your blood will offer-

The relief doesn't come.

The world smears around you, hands grip your shoulders, the weight of a body pressing to your back and then you're being herded in a different direction. Guided almost frantically into shadows until you're being pinned against the wall the separates the raised platform of the boardwalk from the beach and anarchic crowd. All of the oxygen in your chest is knocked from you in a sharp rattle, air hissing around the wrist still clutched between your teeth. You have to blink to try and reorient yourself, feet slipping a little in the sand. If it wasn't for the grip on your shoulders, you probably would have collapsed on weak knees.

Your arm is all but ripped out from your mouth, torn away before you could finally alleviate the pain eating you alive and you nearly cry despite the way your face twists up in anger. A snarl curling at your lips as you twist beneath the person pinning you down.

"You know - " a familiar voice starts out, tense and patronizing in its frustration. The hand around your wrist tightens just a fraction, a snake coiling around its prey, smooth leather molding over your skin from its grip " - if you'd just eat, you wouldn't be trying to do this."

Your eyes flutter open then, widening to take in his face. Marko is leaned in close, holding himself over you to keep you tucked in against the wall. You can feel the subtle thumps of people walking around on the boardwalk above you; the masses gathered around the far-off stage is still thick, just as vibrant and spirited as before, and yet you've never felt more trapped. Not a single soul will notice you here, hidden away in the dark, so far back that the splash of amber light casted by a nearby burn barrel flickers over you both in pathetic scraps. You won't be seen here. And if you are, people are too drunk or adrenaline high to notice.

It almost paralyzes you - the hunger, the weight of him on you, the heady scent of sweat and blood. But still, your anger persists, spiking through the agony and fogginess like a beacon. He's disappointed. It's clear to see. Written visibly on his face. Highlighted in the flickers of gold that spills over his face from the fires, the dramatic shadows seem to pronounce the furrow set between his eyebrows.

He doesn't deserve to be upset about this. He isn't allowed to be. Most importantly, you shouldn't be hurt by his disappointment. You shouldn't care if he's mad or not, but for some ungodly reason you are. And that makes your blood boil more than anything.

"I wouldn't have to do this at all if it wasn't for you." It doesn't come out strong despite the raw anger you feel. There's a vulnerability that even you can hear, and it makes you slip back tighter against the wall, desperate to extend some kind of space between your bodies; room to be able to just breathe. "You did this."

You've tried so hard these past few days to try not to think of the night that your entire life had been stolen. Uprooted brutally and corrupted. The night that he had made you feel important. Special. A date spent settled down under the stars, overlooking the steady rise and fall of the waves as they had rolled along the surf in a sweep of foam and salt. It was beyond anything you had expected from him, as wild and brazen as he usually was. But instead of a whirlwind night out on the town, you had gotten something soft and private.

A small dinner settled on the picnic linen that had been laid out on the pale sand, comprised of takeout burgers and shakes from Big Boy's Drive-In - a detail that he held onto. An offhand, random remark about how you were craving one of their milkshakes once during a past closing shift. He had remembered. It was such a small, dumb thing maybe, but it had made you feel happy. Butterflies in your stomach while the two of you talked about anything and everything in between bites of your food.

You had kissed him for the first time then. The temptation had been there since the moment he had picked you up from your apartment on his bike, sizzling and magnetic between you. But it wasn't until then, with the ocean rumbling gently in your ears and his eyes mapping out your features as though he wanted to keep you ingrained in his memory, just as you were, that it had boiled over.

There was a relief when his lips had finally met yours, and you're sure that your mind had drawn a blank. It was unrushed, almost lazy. You had felt like you'd been lit on fire, but he had been determined to take his time. Indulging in the feel of you, the taste of you on his mouth as though it would be the first and last time. Cradling your face with a caress that revealed the raw want underneath, fingers almost trembling and grasping at your hair as though he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

When he broke away from you, it was to invite you somewhere special. Somewhere important to him. You couldn't have refused.

He'd done it in the cave. He didn't trick you with that ornate bottle they keep stashed and hidden away in plain sight amongst the old vials and liquor glasses. He didn't con you exactly like David did to Star, manipulating her into drinking out of a bottle that would alter her body and life forever. He had done it the "old fashioned way," as Paul had put it. Sank his teeth deep into your neck and drank until your veins had nearly gone dry, until your vision turned dark around the edges, and the panicked grip you had on his shoulders grew weak.

And then something tepid and warm was being fed into your mouth, iron and earthy and rich. It was like honey had been smeared across your tongue. You had felt outside yourself when your body made the first swallow, your teeth latching around the skin and tendons of a wrist to draw more of it out.

You haven't been the same since.

But you still don't know why. Why he chose you. Why that night. Why he had ripped you away from everything so cruelly. It made it all painful. Every memory you have of him is now blighted. Ruined by the realization that none of it had been genuine. All of it, when he would visit you at work, the flirting, the long conversations spent talking about your aspirations and hopes, were all just means to lull you into a false sense of security. And it had worked. Hook, line, and sinker, you had fallen for his facade.

"Why, Marko?" Your voice trembles a little. With heartbreak or anger, you can't tell anymore. It's all blending together. Distorting into a chaotic merge. "Why did you do it?"

It kills you that he doesn't look ashamed. But something real shows through his expression, an almost solemn kind of sincerity that the shadows cutting along his face accentuate. There's an emotion showing in his eyes that you've rarely ever witnessed, patient and intense. The hands on your shoulders slip up, drifting over you like he's cradling art, settling only to slip his fingers behind your skull, his thumbs brushing along the shape of your jaw. You want to flinch back from him, but you can't. Immobilized by the weight of his palms, suspended between the opposite desires to lean into him and pull away.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he says. Spoken out like a revelation. A promise. It stings. "I just wanted to share it with you. It could be so much better if you just-"

"Just what? Ate someone?"

"Yeah." It's matter of fact. Blunt. A little worn around the edges too as he's bored or tired. It keeps you constantly unbalanced, how casually he flip-flops between a gentle admiration and a sarcastic kind of exasperation. Now he's just mocking you. "It would be a lot easier if you just ate someone. "

Your anger is scorching. Burning in your chest. Twisting with the painful tremors running through your body like a symptom of hell. You don't think much when you shove him back from you, holding on enough scraps of will to keep from doing yourself a favor and attacking him. You move to slip away but you don't get far. He's on you in a split second before you could shift so much as an inch from the wall, tugging you back into place.

"Let me go, Marko," you snarl. Baring your teeth that are a far cry from the fangs hidden in his mouth.

Your shout goes unheard. The grip he has on you is like iron. Steel traps that have you caught. You're pinned down just as easily as you were before, held between the chill of the cement at your back and the weight of his body.

"You're only torturing yourself, you know." His eyes seem to blaze from the fires. Burning and fervent while he takes ahold of your face to make you look at him. "One of these days, you're gonna snap, and there's no telling how many people you're going to take out once you do."

You try to move your attention somewhere else, anything to muffle him out, but the hold he has on you, literally and figuratively is impossible to escape. But you need him to shut up. Get him to stop talking. You can't stand listening to him right now; the sound of his voice licking heat up your spine, settling over your skin like an obnoxious itch.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy-"

It's another thoughtless thing when you do it. Impulse dictated by rage and that ravenous animal instinct. It just happens. One minute you're glaring at him, hoping that he can see all of the hurt and disgust on your face and the next your mouth is on his throat, teeth parting skin in a violent bite. He draws tight against you, muscles coiling like he's preparing to wrangle you from him, but his fingers flex and grip instead.

When his blood flows into your mouth the world vanishes. Sound mutes, falling into an unnecessary background hum. All at once every fiber of your being comes alive, nerves lighting up, electricity sparking across your fingertips and toes. The hunger splitting you open dulls for one blissful moment and your body chases after the feeling, gulping down fresh rivulets of blood as your fangs drive deeper into his jugular.

It's a relief so great that you can't find a comparison. Peace flooding through you with every greedy mouthful you pull from his veins; so good that you nearly sob into the wound you've bitten into his flesh. You latch yourself around him tighter, winding your arms around his body in a blind effort to keep him constricted in your grasp, clutching tight like an animal wrapping itself around wounded prey.

The pain ebbs away the more that you drink. The ache dissipating the fuller you become, and the alleviation of it is almost crippling in its own right. Even while strength pours through your system, your knees almost buckle. You might have collapsed it wasn't the hold of Marko's arms securing you in place, cradling you close as though you were drawn in an embrace and not pulling the life from him.

You can't get yourself to stop. The taste of his blood is a repose that you haven't felt in what might be forever, pouring down your throat and settling through your veins as though it's your own. It goes straight to your head in a rush. Ecstasy clouding your mind, settling over your muscles like a soothing heat. You want to stay here forever. Curled into the press of his skin, breathing in the scent of him while his blood pools inside of your mouth, gliding over your tongue, rich and intoxicating.

You aren't sure how much longer he lets you remain that way, suspended in a rapture where time has blurred. You don't want to pull from him. You don't want to part from his blood. Like a glutton your hands wander, seeking to draw him closer somehow. Slipping your palms down over the bare skin of his stomach, delighting in the way it gets him to nudge closer to you, baring his throat like he wants to rip him open and consume him whole.

You think you could, but then he's gripping the back of your head firmly, using it as leverage to coax your teeth from his flesh. You don't go easily, stubbornly hanging onto to his neck, lapping at the blood that's smeared from the wound, desperately licking up what you can before he tugs you from him. It's disturbing, how you almost whine when he draws you from the crook of his neck, but you're too fuzzy to truly grasp it. Everything in you is like a livewire - alive and humming. A vigor that you've never felt seeming to pulse through your limbs.

When your attention is settled back on him, you nearly go breathless. He looks almost manic. His eyes are wide, glittering softly in the dim glow casted over the beach. Fervent and drunk as though he's the one who's just finished feeding. The fires burn behind him, scattering traces of gold across his curls like a halo, the wild beauty of it is a juxtaposition to the raw red that smudges his pale skin. Two errant drops have trickles past the ridge of his collar bone and reached his shirt, blossoming over the white material like blood staining snow.

His leans towards you, propping his forehead on yours and draws in a deep breath, panting like he actually needs the oxygen - probably a reflex that hasn't fully left after all this time. He's watching you like he wants to eat you alive. There's an intensity to his expression that makes you feel caught. A rabbit trapped between teeth even while fresh blood coats your lips.

He's got you cornered. Frozen in place by the stubborn, hypnotic pull that persists between the both of you. There's a divide in you that seems to be pulling closer by the second, straining until the lines seem blurred. Logic and reason tell you to deny everything and make a run for it all while want coats over your body as smoothly as a second skin, tight and natural, begging you to give in - those opposing thoughts are merging. Becoming contorted and blending.

You try to distract yourself, glancing anywhere but his eyes. Watching the crowd, the ocean, the night sky out of your peripheral vision like it might save you, and then finally - unfortunately - your focus drifts back down to him. Landing almost regretfully on his neck, and the gnarled wound you've left there. You feel guilt even though you probably shouldn't.

"I'm sorry," you apologize shakily. Mostly to fill the void, to distract yourself from the heat rushing through your bones. You run your tongue over your teeth, checking for the sharp cut of those abnormal fangs, but you feel nothing but blunt enamel now.

He doesn't respond. But you don't miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips, tracing over their shape when you speak. He looks ravenous. Breathing heavily while he doesn't really need to; panting and drunk. You hate how beautiful he looks right now, bloody and tinged with warm light that brushes over him in shades of gold and amber. It makes him twistedly angelic. Covered in red gore - his own blood - like a disgraced cherubim.

It isn't fair, how he watches you. Staring with the intensity and admiration that is only befitting of lovers. It could easily trick you into feeling wanted, in being cherished, but you try to sink your claws in and reject the notion of it. He doesn't love you. You know that. You're pretty sure that he isn't even capable of caring for anyone else other than himself - with the exception of his brothers, of course.

You're just a plaything to him. Some kind of experiment brought on by the boredom that comes with eternity. It's tempting to believe it though, and your chest aches with the hope that you wished it was true.

But then he's shaking his head softly, a blink and you'll miss it kind of gesture as he shifts closer. Sweeping his eyes down your body as he nears, lifting his vision from your lips only to return his stare to yours. The world seems to fall away again. Losing its vibrancy and sound, muting down to pale watercolors as your attention zeros down onto him. The subtle warmth of his scent falls over you again, fusing with the sweet metallic edge of the blood marking his neck; glittering richly in the low lights dotted around the crowd, and it nearly makes you lightheaded.

He dares to angle his head, the point of his nose gliding over yours all while keeping your eyes locked in an unwavering hold as though he's gauging your reaction, silently asking for permission. You can't get yourself to speak, almost as though you're too scared to. A dread that sound of your voice might shatter whatever delicate, starved thing has fallen over the both of you keeps it quiet in your throat.

It's subconscious when you hold your breath, trapping air into your lungs as he lifts a hand up towards your face. Fire scatters across your nerves when he curls his fingers beneath the edge of your chin, keeping you in place when the bare pad of his thumb swipes over your lips. It's as though he's transfixed, watching his finger smooth over the shape of them in a slow drag. His skin is always a little cool. Chilled by the death that he harbors in his bones, and yet your body is burning beneath his touch, smoke and honey simmering inside you from such a simple gesture.

He raises his hand from you, but you don't have time to mourn the loss because he's raising his bare thumb to his lips, stained dark and maroon with his own blood, to take it into his mouth. You swear you nearly moan at the sight of it. A small, airy sound that snags in your lungs as he tastes himself, lapping his tongue softly around his thumb to suck off the red smearing the bit of pale skin peeking from the dark leather of his fingerless glove.

It has to only be a split second that you find yourself caught at another crossroad, the righteous anger in you demanding that you stick close to your resolve and deny yourself of the want ravaging your body like a sickness, all while pure hedonism rides on the back of that pathetic crush that hasn't entirely died out and demands that you finally give in to what you really want.

It'd be so simple too. You can see his own desire burning in his eyes. A fervid need that his body drawn up tight, like he's making a physical effort to resist the screaming of his own impulses.

It all culminates, iron snapping under skin, and like a slave to yourself you rush at him. Your hands reach for what they can, latching onto the material of his coat, fingers lacing through the colorful tassels hanging from the shoulder like an epaulette while your opposite grips the back of his neck, threading through the soft curls pouring down his back. You can feel his surprise take ahold of him for only a split second. His body goes taut like he isn't sure what to do with himself, and then he's meeting you with just as much enthusiasm.

You become a tangle of limbs, your bodies melding into each other as he crowds you in tight to the wall behind you, pinning you with the weight of his body. You can taste blood in both of your mouths, coating your tongues in an intoxicating glaze. There's an undeniable relief that melts through you at the feel of his teeth nipping at your lips, the press of his hands roving around your body in a greedy search, as though he doesn't know where to put them. Like he's overwhelmed with the options or too gluttonous to settle.

Despite all of the hunger and desperation goading you two on, you can't deny that there's a much more intimate element beneath it all. It's like coming home after keeping yourself away for too long. Like feeling warmth for the first time in forever after surviving the cold out on your own. It's soothing and exhilarating all at once, coasting in along the rush of the blood in your system and making you almost high. It has you moaning into his mouth, clawing at him to try and draw him closer even though he's already flush against your body. But it doesn't feel like enough.

You lift one of your legs up, the loose fabric of your skirt rucking up over your thigh as you curl it around the width of his waist, pushing him between your hips. And he doesn't hesitate at all, grinding himself against you, dragging the rough texture of his jeans directly over where you need him most, the press of his zipper catching on the material of your skirt and underwear. He's already growing hard, nudging firmly on your clit in a way that has you panting, toes curling a little in your shoes as you roll your hips to meet him.

Maybe you should be a little embarrassed, disgusted even, that you've crumbled so easily. That you've been reduced and desperate in some darkened corner on the beach, dry humping the guy who you thought you hated more than anything like some kind of pathetic teenager. But you can't be bothered to be angry or disappointed in yourself, not while it feels like you can breathe for the first time in a week. Maybe you can blame it on the rush of the blood in your system, the flavor of him in your mouth turning your mind into mush, but you don't want to stop.

The way he kisses you is almost feral, smearing the blood - his blood - on your mouth onto his. Painting both of your lips in red like he's trying to drink it from you. It's sloppy and hungry, spit smearing as he parts your jaw open and sucks at your tongue. Lapping up the flavor of himself and swallowing it down. It's animalistic, almost gross in its desperation but you need more of it.

Your fingers slip, navigating down and slipping between the tight squeeze of your bodies to drag your nails down the exposed sliver of his stomach, smoothing your palms down the skin to soothe the sting, but something tells you that he doesn't mind it based off of the groan it pulls from deep within his chest. You'd by lying if you didn't admit that you've always wanted to do that. Seeing him walk around all of the time in those crop tops, showing off a tantalizing portion of his toned stomach always makes you feel like some Victorian man catching the sliver of an ankle. Now that you have him under your hands you have to indulge a little, tracing over the smooth planes of lithe muscle rippling beneath his skin.

Not one to be outdone, he takes you by complete shock when one of his hands is suddenly working itself between your hips, gliding under the rumbled fabric of your skirt to press between your thighs. The moan that leaves you is airy and pitching in its surprise when he drags a knuckle over your clit, nudging the material of your underwear - now damp and sticking to your skin - over you in cruel, tight circles.

It's so unexpected that your head almost drops, nearly breaking the kiss but he's quick to nudge his nose with yours, quickly guiding your lips back onto his to lick his tongue back into your mouth. There's still a franticness to it, but the way he guides you is a little more languid now. Syrupy and slow like he wants to separate you into little malleable pieces and build you back up again. The steady stroke of his fingers makes your ribcage shudder, electricity skimming across your nerves as he works you up with a shocking kind of dexterity. Coasting you right on the precipice of something great and consuming, dangling you there without letting it grow into something more.

"Marko - need more." It's practically a whimper. Light and broken on his lips as he kisses you through your pleading. "C'mon, it's not enough. You know it isn't."

The way he smiles is confirmation enough of that, the shape of it pressed to you as he licks the taste of himself from your mouth. He's still unrushed though. Your begging falling on blissfully deaf ears while he sweeps you back under, chasing your lips with his until you fall pliant again. It's only when you're pulled under, caught in another daze that he pulls away from you, cruelly denying you all over again.

"Say please." It's spoken lowly, all smoky and tinged with a throaty rumble, but the mockery in it is clear. The smirk on his face is almost rude; a perverted, impish glint reflect in his eyes making him almost look sadistic. He grinds another circle around your clit, gliding almost too softly before he switches into firm figure eights that have your jaw dropping in a silent gasp. "Use your words."

A moan rips itself from your lungs, pitchy and a little ragged. If it wasn't for the ruckus of the live music and the melodic chanting of the crowd screaming over the beach you would have tried to contain it, but thankfully the whimper easily gets lost in the rest of the chaos. You know that he hears it though. Your proximity and his heightened senses giving you away.

A part of you wants to resist. To try and cling onto the scraps of pride that he's quickly destroying with the simple brush of his knuckles, but you can't manage to choke up any kind of insult or refusal. He looks far too pleased, as though he can tell that you're battling yourself. And like the bastard he is, he shifts his fingers from you just long enough to slip them past the band of your underwear, stroking them now bare and unencumbered against your clit. It makes you whisper his name, drawn out and breathless when he slips them down to the entrance of your cunt, gathering the slick of your cum on his fingers, teasing like he might finally plunge them into you. But of course he doesn't.

That's all it takes for you to break: "Please, touch me. I need you inside me. Your fingers, your tongue, your cock - I don't care. Just do something."

His grin is arrogant and wicked. Puckish in a way that makes you want to be angry at him, but it almost seems impossible with how he's scrambling the thoughts in your head.

"Need me that bad, huh?" For one awful moment you think that he might keep teasing you, circling his fingertips up and down your cunt, spreading you open to slip them over in repetitive sweeps that have your muscles going lax, and you almost sob. "Don't worry, I got you." And then he's slipping a single finger inside, parting you easily on the dull stretch of it. Your hips jerk, rolling up to guide him in deeper and a relieved groan leaves you when it slides inside of you until the back of his knuckles presses against your damp skin.

Your head thumps back on the cement wall but you hardly notice the sting that blossoms on your skull, too caught up in the pleasure blurring behind your eyelids. And then he's adding a second right in along the first, working you open, forcing you to cry out as small waves of bliss ripple over you.

Your hands seem to have a mind of their own, scratching down his body to leave marks behind, intent on branding your presence on his skin, even though you'll now that they'll have healed long before the night is over. You're almost frantic in your goal when you grip the smooth leather of his chaps, tugging harshly to rip the snap buttons open from their clasps with an audible pop, and you make do with the zipper of his jeans just as quickly.

He catches onto your objective, parting his hips from yours to give you more space to work with without daring to remove his fingers as they thrust inside of your cunt, rocking the heel of his palm directly on your clit in a way that nearly makes your eyes roll. It has you floundering in your movements for little more than a split second, but his free hand is suddenly gripping your wrist, impatiently urging your hand down past his pants and the hem of his boxers.

Your palm glides down his skin, soft and tepid, the light hair of the happy trail leading down from his bellybutton tickles against your palm, growing thicker as you reach the base of his cock. When you take him into your hand it surprises you completely from how thick he feels, the tips of your fingers just barely meeting. It has your head tilting, shock and instinct seeming to move you all on its own as you look down to peer at his cock from between the press of your bodies.

It strains your neck a little to try and see him from how tightly you're still standing together, but when you see it, your jaw drops for an entirely different reason now. It makes you remember all of those cliche jokes about how it's the skinny guys that have the big dicks, a claim that you hadn't personally run into all that much, but now that you're looking at him, it seems like it might have some merit to it. You wouldn't go as far as to call Marko gangly or scrawny. Yeah, his muscles aren't as defined as Dwayne's for instance, but you can still notice them rippling beneath his skin, lean and (no doubt intentionally) showcased by the crop tops he's partial to.

But it's not like it's a secret that he's the smallest amongst the group, the other three standing above him by a few inches, so it takes you off guard a little to see him fully hard and thick in your hand. He isn't big in that dramatic porn star kind of way, but you know that you're definitely going to be feeling him for a few days after this.

It makes you clench around the width of his fingers, your own shifting to squeeze around his cock making him swear under his breath, and he leans in again to catch your lips in another starved kiss. You didn't miss the arrogant glint in his eyes when he dipped closer to you. The way you were gawking at him probably blowing his ego up more than it already is. You'd be bothered by it in any other circumstance, but you can't manage any kind of frustration while he's steadily fucking his fingers into you.

You stroke your hand up his length, twisting your wrist up as best as you can in your current position, sweeping your thumb over the head of it when you do. It makes his hips twitch, seeking out more while you pump him in your palm in a firm rhythm. You smear the precum leaking from cock down his length, aiding the glide of your skin on his, but it isn't good enough to properly help your grip.

You almost regret pulling your hand from away him, even if it's only for a moment. You have to break your kiss, and you don't miss the way he tries to chase after you to draw you back in, but his focus shifts when he notices the hand you have raised between both of your chests. His eyes meet your own in a fervent stare, something that looks like recognition and hunger burning in them when you part your lips to spit out onto your own palm. An intensity burning there like he wants to eat you alive.

And then he takes ahold of your wrist again, the smooth glide of the leather glove around your arm in a firm grasp narrows your attention down onto him as he draws your hand closer towards his face. You're sure that your confusion shows plainly, and he definitely finds it amusing, the amber glow of the flames casting dimly over you both makes his smirk visible. Your mouth goes dry, body flushing with an almost debilitating heat when he pouts his lips, his gaze locking directly onto yours while he spits onto your palm.

It's something so simple. You don't know why it does something for you, but it does. Your hips rock, chasing after the drag and stroke of his fingers, smoke and heat eating its way up your spine. Now you're the one swearing lowly. "Fuck, Marko."

You don't waste any time getting your hand back on him once he lets your wrist free, wrapping your fingers around his length and starting right where you left off. It's much easier to smooth your grip down on him with the aid of both of your spit, jerking it down his cock with steady, firm strokes that have him groaning. His free arm lifts as he shifts forward, his elbow dropping on the wall beside your head as he drapes himself over you so he can look down between your bodies, watching while you both fuck each other on your hands. It makes it a little harder to work your fist over him, the tight angle straining the tendons in your wrist, but you can't find in yourself to ask him to move back.

You like having him close again, with his scent in your lungs and his blood on your teeth. As much as you might not like to admit it, it's nice being like this, having him against you, hearing the soft grunts slipping from him in a low, drunken stream. Completely uninhibited to finally indulge and stop fighting the desires that have been simmering in you since day one.

He strokes his fingers deep, curling them in a come-hither motion and it almost makes you cry out when they brush against that spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

"That's it right there?" he asks, all smug from how he already has you writhing on just his fingers.

"Uh-huh," you answer dumbly. Already too dazed over to properly answer. It's difficult to when your mind seems miles away from your body. Your thoughts abandoning to leave you overcome by the bliss scorching up your nerves. It's close already. You can feel the beginnings of your orgasm coiling up tight in your stomach, licking fire up your spine. "I need it. Need you to make me cum."

"Yeah? You need it?" But it's completely rhetorical. He's got that patronizing look in his eyes again that almost annoys you a little, and you fully expect him to tease you again. It seems like such a normal part of his nature for him to tip you close only to taunt you into begging more - and you would have if that's what he asked - but he doesn't. He keeps curling his fingers in that same motion, thrusting them deep and gliding his fingertips over that spot that has your voice falling flat and your breath rushing out in heavy pants.

You try to keep up and focus on the weight of his cock in your palm, stroking him through the building of your own pleasure but it makes it difficult to keep the pace you've set going. All of a sudden he's nudging his face with yours, drawing your attention onto him as he grinds the heel of his palm down on your clit, thrusting his fingers down, ripping a tight gasp from your lungs. And the mocking look on his face shifts into something a little softer, if not determined. "It's okay, you can have it. Go ahead and cum."

That combined with a few more practiced strokes of his fingers has you falling apart around him. The high twists through you, pulling everything in you tight as you squirm on his hand, your body desperate to ride out every ounce of pleasure that it can. A long moan of his name keens out into the loud night air, scattering and fading out amongst the music.

He guides you through the end of it, stopping only once the instinctual roll of your hips fall still. He presses another kiss to your lips as you come down, much slower and indulgent than the last, like he's trying to breathe you in with lungs that don't work anymore. It's another small thing, but it's enough to have that familiar ache already settling back between your thighs.

You whine when he removes his fingers from you, your own grip flexing around his cock, stroking it back into the firm grip in your fist. You can't help but to place a gentle, if not hesitant kiss to the corner of his mouth in an apology for having stopped, the rush of your orgasm having you distracted you. But then he's stopping you, placing a hand around your arm to halt your movements. You don't really have time to be confused because he's reaching for your underwear and twisting. The fabric pinches your skin when it gives with a sharp rip, tearing from your body as easily as paper.

A complaint burns right on the tip of your tongue. You're in short supply of undergarments these days. Being forced to live in a cave without a job makes funds pretty limited, and you haven't built up the courage to try and shoplift, and you've outright refused to take the dirty money that Marko's stolen off his victims. But the grumble you had fizzles out when he tosses the scrap of fabric past his shoulder like it's somehow offended him.

Just as quickly he's pulling on your skirt, bunching the light fabric up high around your hips, and that's all it takes for your sluggish brain to have your arms moving to help. Your own hands are reaching down alongside his, assisting him in moving your skirt up and out of the way, rucking the leg you have slung around his waist a little higher.

He's scattering more kisses on your lips, nipping softly like he's trying to distract you and when you feel the head of his cock nudge over the entrance of your cunt it reminds you of why. You know that the stretch is going to sting even with the help of your previous orgasm, but right now you're too worked up to care if it's going to ache afterwards.

Your fingers move up to latch onto his shoulders, nails snagging like they might tear into his jacket as they reach past the stiff collar to grip at his neck. They slip on the blood smearing from the healing wound, once an open gash made by violent teeth now the beginnings of a tender scar. He hisses from the sting of it, and that hurt, angry part of you delights at the way his body shivers lightly from the subtle pain. But it catches you off guard when his hips jerk in response and it has the head of his cock pushing into you, forcing you open with hardly any warning. It punches the air out of your lungs when he pops in. It only has to be about an inch and already you feel the sting pulsing through you, making you clench and flutter around him tightly.

"Try and relax." He orders softly, but his hands grip tightly around your hips, squeezing the bare flesh enough to bruise. As though he's making an effort to restrain himself, holding himself back from the urge to just fuck himself into you in a single stroke. It's like you have to concentrate to pull in a breath, sucking in a soothing lungful and make an effort to ease your muscles.

It's only then that he begins to push, working inch after inch inside. There's a dull ache that pulses through your hips as he guides himself forward until he's flush against you, the front of his pelvis pressing firm against your clit. You feel so full. Carved open and stuffed. There's a shaky sigh quivering in the pit of your lungs, bubbling from your chest in a strangled whimper.

He doesn't seem like he's doing any better. His nails dig into the tender skin of your thighs, burrowing so harshly that they might leave scratches behind. You hate how a piece of you almost wants it. To have ten red slashes running up the sides of your legs, branding him on your skin. Even if they'll only last until the sunrise, you want to feel the sting until they heal.

"God - shit Marko, I can feel you in my fucking throat," you groan raggedly. It's a regret as soon as it slips out of your mouth. You can practically feel how smug he is, his smile pressing against you when he noses along the edge of your jaw; teeth scrapping along your flesh like he might take a bite out of you this time. The thought should disgust you, have your body tensing up in repulsion but it only has you clenching around him tighter. All of these new, animalistic instincts turning your urges into something violent, and you have to claw uselessly to grip at the nape of his neck, almost blindly searching for something to ground yourself.

"It's alright, baby, I got it. Just let me fuck you." The circles he sweeps over your waist is soothing. Tender brushes that seem too delicate for someone as brutal and selfish as he can be. It seems so sweet that you go a little pliant, tucking your face into the wild curls that pour down his back. Some of the golden strands have slipped over his shoulder, letting you breathe in the scent of the generic shampoo and stolen styling products that perfumes his hair.

He pulls out until only his tip inside of you and then he's pushing himself in, filling you up in one thrust. The pace he sets is almost desperate. Repeatedly burying his cock in you in heavy, deep strokes that has your spine bowing in an almost painful arch, bending back off of the wall as your hips pick up in an almost mindless roll. Instinctually seeking out the pleasure that's lashing up your body and scattering over your nerves.

He lifts up your other leg, securing it effortlessly around his waist, holding you up like you're made of air. It makes it easier for him to keep you pinned, moving you how he likes, repeatedly lifting and dropping you back down onto his cock. Your eyes almost roll when the head brushes over that spot on the front of your walls that has it feeling like molten honey is pouring through your veins, making your toes curl and your lips part open.

It's almost violent, how he fucks himself into you. Carving you open with the stretch of his cock, tearing frayed gasps from your lungs with every grind and thrust. There's another daze clouding over you, or maybe it never left. It's saturating your bones, stuffing your skull full, all packed in like cotton soaked in alcohol, twisting with the intoxicating thrum of his blood pulsing through your body.

You don't even have a real concept of how loud you might be anymore, but you can feel your voice puffing out from your throat. It seems to take all of your concentration to sweep a cursory glance around your surroundings, skipping over the scattered throng of bodies that lurk nearby. Thankfully, no one seems to be looking in your general direction, still too caught up in the festivities on stage to notice the both of you in the dark.

Not that you would have been able to give a shit if someone was watching you. It seems dramatic and entirely unlike yourself, but you think you'd rather die than stop now.

You hate him. You know that you still do. Even now, you can feel it lurking beneath all of the lust, smoldering and hidden under all of the intensity and want. But it's also nice to just pretend for a moment. To finally give into to all of that repressed desire that's been haunting you and following you around like a phantom these past days. To indulge and allow yourself to exist as you are now, no matter if it's only for tonight.

And you'd be a liar if you couldn't admit that there's something so satisfying about having him this close to you. It's something that you shouldn't want, but you do. It's peaceful and electrifying all at once. Scorching through you as unforgiving as a wildfire; the salvation of a dying man stumbling across an oasis in the desert, the frenzied contentment of breathing after suffocating. For now, you can pretend. For now you can enjoy the temporary peace of having him in your arms.

He's already hurtling you towards the end, loving you with a passion that's almost debilitating, as though he's been just as repressed as you are. And you guess he is. He's tried in his own, ignorant way of apologizing and making amends. All of the boys are out of touch with reality, having been undead for longer than you've been alive, and their humanity has been stretched thin and exhausted by the years. You don't think that they remember how to be human anymore, and you're sure that their pasts have become distorted reflections of what they really were.

But Marko has tried his best to rectify his wrongs. Small things that almost felt like another charade in the beginning. Much to David's chagrin you had outright refused to do anything with the group, curling yourself up on your mattress and hiding yourself away. You'd lie there for hours, contemplating your escape while they'd leave to hunt. Star had become your glorified babysitter, and it was only her that kept you from fleeing in the night, always reminding you that you'd never get far. You'd have to leave Santa Carla if you meant to elude them forever, and if they didn't get you then the hunger eventually would.

You loathe all of them for it, and to try and find figments of solitude you'd keep yourself away in your own corner of the cave for hours until the boys would inevitably have to leave for their nightly hunts. Mark always comes back with a gift of some kind. It surprised you the first time you'd woken up from your nap and found a necklace carefully placed out on the floor beside your mattress, respectfully laid out behind the barrier of curtains draped around your bed.

And it hasn't stopped there. You have an entire collection hidden away beside your mattress. One that you try to ignore, but the size of it is quickly growing out of hand, composed of anything and everything, from clothes, cassette tapes, jewelry and random trinkets. All of which had been left on the side of your bed like a cat leaving carcasses on its owner's doorstep.

The most personally compelling though is the art he's left behind. Twelve pages. That's how many sheets of paper he's given you, all of them smudged and shaded with the fine gray lines from lead pencils and streaks of coal and the vibrancy of watercolors. All of them are of you. And all of them are as breathtaking as the last. There's an undeniable skill about them, and yet the way that the shape of your face and the light in your eyes is captured is done with a sense of care that you can practically see. Done with a fluid but considerate hand that captures you with an intimate familiarity. As though he's stared at you for a lifetime and could draw your features with blind eyes; the bridge of your nose, the shape of your lips, the color of your eyes branded across his mind.

The one you find yourself admiring the most though is the first one he's given you. It's based off of the night you met. The date written in the bottom corner in a loopy, cursive scrawl dates it on that exact night. He must have drawn it when they all came back home. You're looking off in the sketch, the center of your focus nonexistent and trained somewhere else, but the soul that he's managed to bring through your eyes always leaves you in awe. He caught the cold highlights that the fluorescents at work always reflected in your hair perfectly, the shadows and hues he brought to your skin revealing the practiced care that he had brought into bringing your likeness alive.

It's almost shameful how you've looked over it religiously, always noticing the brushes he had made with the strokes of a pencil as though they're scripture on a page. You hate that you haven't thrown them all away. You hate how they make you feel despite the sting of betrayal. Cherished and admired regardless of how selfishly he's taken you from everything you know.

Even now, as he fucks you almost brutally, he holds you close as though you're something sacred. He drives himself into you like an animal, but the grip of his hands on your waist is soft somehow, even while his fingers flex and ache on your skin. You're so close that you can practically taste it, scattered and sweet on your tongue, coiling and white hot under your flesh. It's already winding its way through you, zipping up your spine, promising to take you over and leave bones behind.

"I'm gonna cum," you moan, tearing your nails down his back.

"Do it," he answers. It's like a taunt, a command, and a plead all rolled into one. You find it hard to resist - you don't want to - but it's like something is missing. A critical piece that's keeping you from hurtling over the edge. It digs at you, tearing at some part of your soul in an itch. It makes you war with yourself, ignoring the impulse that latches onto your bones like sinew, curling in your lungs like air, but like many things tonight, you can't fight it.

"Marko. I need you to bite me," you gasp, forcing it out between breaths.

He jerks his face from where he has it tucked into you, removing a hand from its grip on your thigh to hold your chin, using it to guide you to look at him. He searches your eyes, the soft blue of his own glimmering with curiosity and bewilderment, but the feral kind of need showing in them is unmistakable. It only makes you want him to do it even more.

All it takes is for you to give him a shaky nod, and then he's tilting your head to the side to sink his teeth into your neck just as a soft yes spills past your lips. The reaction is almost immediate. The sensation of the sharp, painful snap of enamel cutting down through your skin seems to light every single nerve in your body on fire, giving you the push that you needed. The pleasure strangles its way through you, vicious and euphoric all at once. It has your limbs drawing up tight around him, desperate to keep him locked against you as he continues to thrust himself inside of your cunt, pulling you through a rapture that doesn't seem to end.

You can tell he's getting close. His own rhythm is growing sloppy, hips jerking as he grinds himself into you, rolling his pelvis against your clit until you're twitching. The hold that his teeth have on your throat clenches, the muscles throughout his body seizing tight just as his own end crests and floods over him. You both groan, your voices scattered over the dark satin air while your bodies work on their own, rocking against each other to drain out your shared pleasure completely.

You both go limp, the only thing really keeping you up is the unwavering support of the wall behind you and the weakened strength of Marko's legs. He almost seems hesitant when he removes his fangs from your neck; unable to pull his face from you as he laps at your wounded flesh. Greedily drinking up at the blood that's probably begun to pour from the gash made by his teeth, peppering gentle kisses in between licks to soothe the raw sting he made there.

He keeps you both like that for a while. Held safely in your own private bubble while the world screams and celebrates around you. For one serene moment it's just peace. You and he suspended in the calm and bliss from the aftermath of the violence and animalistic want that had clouded you over. It's almost like waking up from an erotic dream, but reality isn't as harsh as you expected it to be when it starts to slip in through the cracks of your daze.

"I'm gonna put you down now," he says.

He helps you unwind your legs from his waist, slipping out of you with a low hiss when you shift off of him and drop your feet onto the sand. The muscles in your thighs burn, protesting in a dull sting after having been locked in the same position for so long. It has your knees shaking, and if it weren't for him and the wall, you're pretty sure that you might have collapsed onto the ground.

He helps smooth down your skirt after tucking himself back into his pants. Once you're both done fixing yourselves, correcting your clothes and pulling some strength back into your limbs it leaves an uncertain silence hanging heavy over you. It makes you almost thankful for the commotion of the concert, giving you something else to focus on other than the weight of his stare.

There's the smear of blood on corner of his lips, and it reminds you of the metallic flavor coating the inside of your own mouth. Once delicious and a little intoxicating, it now has a flicker of fear scattering in your chest like a chill.

"Am I like you now?" you ask. You almost don't want to say it, dreading the answer, the possibility of a yes.

The relief you feel when he shakes his head could knock you off of your feet. "No," he says. His voice is muffled as he licks at his thumb and smears it at your lips, lifting his sleeve up to drag it over the same spot. The blood. He's trying to clean you. It makes your heart flutter, all warm and stupidly affectionate. "It has to be fresh - alive," he corrects himself.

It settles some of your nerves, but you can't ignore that there's still some uncertainty clinging to you. It's unignorable that things have been completely altered between you two. Flipped on its head. You aren't going to be the same after this. Not know that you know what he feels like, the way that he sounds when he's inside of you, the taste of his lips and flesh.

He somehow looks even more stunning than usual. A gruesome, wild piece of art. His hair is a mess, the creamy shade of his skin flushed in a lively hue, his cheeks gone a little rosy from the blood that he's swallowed from your veins - his own blood that he had given to feed you. The earring he wears glimmers in the light, the same amber hue spilling over his hair making him look like an angel on fire. You think you could stare at him forever.

"You know that you have to feed eventually."

Of course he'd ruin it.

It's hardly a question, and the severity reflected in his eyes doesn't allow you to shield yourself from the truth.

"Yeah," you answer. A little defeated, and yet you can't deny that for whatever reason, the thought of it doesn't make you want to cringe away in horror like it usually does. "I know."

He seems like he might want to say more, but thankfully he doesn't. The expression on his face shifts into something a little more tender, and he reaches to fiddle with the jacket hanging around your shoulders, fixing the collar higher around your shoulders to try and cover the mark he's left on your neck. He steps away only once he's satisfied with the result, giving you room to move forward as he watches you expectantly.

"I think that's enough for one night," he holds a hand out to you. "Let's go home."

It's a casual but intimate gesture that he's done a hundred times, and it's one that you've always refused without second thought. Still, he never stopped. If you excepted, it always felt like the confirmation of something you weren't ready to accept, a future that you wanted to deny. And maybe a part of you still does, but now it's never seemed so tempting.

But instead of shying away or ignoring him, you find yourself stepping forward, and when your hand slips into his it feels natural. It feels right. And when he leads you out through the crowd, holding you close to keep you from becoming lost, there's this dark, inviting voice curling around in your mind and you think that you might have to agree with it:

Eternity might not seem so bad after all.

100 notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 17 days ago

Text

Jeepers Creepers x Reader

Fluff and angst, minor edits for formatting.

CW: Car crash, blood, Gore, ambulance, broken glass, bad friends :(

It purred at you.

It fucking purred at you.

Days ago, while on a long road trip with your close friends, you made a stop at a diner. It was just supposed to be a quick pit stop to get gas and a quick meal at around 4:30 pm.

You remember getting a salad because you weren't as hungry. You remember your best friend Sammy ordering the most food out of everyone in the group. You remember splitting the bill anyway because Sammy has been your dearest friend for years.

Then there was a phone ringing. It was across the room, just barely tucked away from view. An older blonde waitress answered the phone with an obviously rehearsed semi-cheerful greeting. Her fake smile quickly turned into a confused frown. She turned towards the diner half full of people and then turned back around. Everyone in the diner paused, trying to listen to the waitress speak.

“Who?” She asked the person on the other side quietly. She pulled the phone away from her ear and turned around to face the people. “Is there anyone named (y/n) in the building?” She asked out to the other patrons.

All your friends turn to look at you. You give them a confused look then raised your hand while trying to shimmy out of the booth. The waitress waved you over and you quickly and quietly made your way over to the phone. She handed you the phone and walked away and back behind the counter to check on and run some food.

You took a breath “Hello?” You asked softly. A woman answered back, “(Y/n) (L/n) is that you?” She said it in such a hurried tone you almost couldn't make out what she said. “Hello, who is this?” You asked again. The woman answers back almost immediately “(y/n), you're traveling with your friends in a brown and blue SUV, right? You ordered a salad with extra dressing?”

You freeze. Your eyes widen in horror. You turn around to look out onto the diner floor. “this is a joke right?” You muttered weakly at the lady on the other side of the phone. “Have you seen the truck yet? What about the crows?” She questioned frantically. “Did you see it? Did you see it's house?” She said, almost pleading.

“No I-” you started, but she cut you off quickly. “Now you listen to me. If you see a flock of crows, run. Run faster than you've ever ran before.” The woman commanded. You had a feeling that if you were face to face with the woman, she'd be spitting when she talked. Before you could answer back the phone was ripped out of your hands by someone.

You looked up at the person and quickly released who it was. It's one of the guys you're traveling with, Jeremy. Jeremy isn't really your friend, but he's Sammy’s friend so he tagged along. He starts to talk to the woman on the phone but quickly gets frustrated. Jeremy shoves you out of the way and begins to yell at the woman. He slams the phone back onto the receiver and turns to you. “who the fuck was that?” he asked. “I don't know, but she knew my name and our car.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh and takes a breath. “She knew my name too. Said it like she knew me all my life.” he looks over at the group and then back to you. “we got to leave, and soon.” you and Jeremy make it back to the booth and silently decide not to tell the others about the odd call. When Sammy asked you just told them it was your ex who found out where you guys were from another mutual friend. Sammy seemed skeptical but accepted the explanation.

When everyone was ready you made it outside to pile back into the SUV. You guys make it back to the road and try to bring the cheer back into the night. The car radio was broken so you, using your foresight, brought your portable radio. You also brought a backpack full of CDs. You pop in a CD the group voted on and slowly you all start singing to the music.

After a few minutes the vibe in the car is restored. Jeremy, who was driving the car, was dancing a little bit but still being a diligent driver. Abby was in the passenger seat, she didn't talk much but she seemed to be having fun anyway. Sam and Joey in the middle row, both talking about something you didn't care to listen to. And you in the back, the car's personal DJ. You lean forward to reach the middle seat and Joey turns to look at you.

“Spare some Scooby-Doo gummies, Sir?” You ask and a fake Victorian poor boy accent. Joey chuckles and turns to dig into a bag just out of your sight. Sam turns quickly to look at you “You JUST ate!” They accuse. Rolling your eyes you catch a glimpse into the front car mirror. Your eyes widened and you quickly turned around. A big rusted teal truck is only 45 feet away from the SUV. “Is that a fucking armored truck?” Joey sputters out.

“What?” Jeremy inquires, Not taking his eyes off the road quite yet. “God damn it, I can't see the rear view mirror through your fat fucking skull!” Jeremy snaps. Both you and Joey move out of the way only to quickly hear a “Shit” come from the front seat. Jeremy slowly accelerated the van, but skillfully maintained control. Abby turns to look, her eyes widen in horror. “It's speeding up!” She sputtered out.

The truck speeds up and before anyone can react, it rams into the back of the SUV. The car lurches forward and Abby slams her head onto the dashboard. Hard. If not for your seatbelt you would have launched into the middle seats. You shift back into your seat automatically, and decide to cover your neck and head. When you lean forward to cover your face the truck rams into the van again and glass is sent flying into the car. You feel the glass break against your back. The force of the push sends you forward only to shove you backwards into your seat. The force sends the glass deeper into your skin. Little razor like cuts slices against your shoulders and back. The wounds feel hot and angry against the spring winds, you lift your head to look at the damage of your friends. You quickly realize Abby and Sam are screaming in terror, and Joey is begging Jeremy to drive faster.

Jeremy presses his foot to the gas, but it doesn't matter, the truck is faster. Amongst the chaos you can hear the growls of the truck, it pulls to the left of the van and speeds up. “Fuck fuck fuckfuck-” Jeremy curses before the truck slams into the side of the van. Abby and Sam scream louder, and you can see tears roll down Abby’s cheeks.

Finally Jeremy slams on the break and lets the truck blaze past us. The truck doesn't stop and keeps driving up and over past the hill. Suddenly all there is is screaming, crying, and hard breathing. You remember seeing Joey cover his face with his hands to silently cry.

With the adrenaline slowly leaving your body the pain in your back properly sets in. Your hands slowly reach up your hand to touch your back, and come back with blood. You're not bleeding profusely, but it's enough to raise alarm. Jeremy looks back to his passengers while comforting Abby. “Is everybody okay?” He asks, You raise your bloody hand and his eyes go wide. He rips off his seatbelt and climbs over the center console, past the middle seats to get to you. He looks you over and looks at your back.

The group decides to turn around to get you help. The ride lasts only 20 minutes. You remember 20 minutes of hunching over while Sam and Joey pick the big pieces of glass out of your skin. 20 minutes of biting down on your arm, But eventually you get back to the diner. Jeremy gets out of the SUV, slams the car door, and bolts inside. Abby continues to cry in the front seat while Sam comforts you, and Joey comforts Abby.

Eventually Jeremy and other diner patrons come back out to the SUV. You remember the new quiver in Jeremy's voice when he told you and the group that he had called the police and that the nearest ambulance would take almost a half an hour to arrive. That's what an older woman says that she is a retired registered nurse and that she could assess the damage while we wait.

With almost everybody's permission she enters the SUV and starts to attend to your back. You don't quite remember what she said but she was very chatty. You do remember how she praised Sam and Joey for removing the glass, well she tends to your wounds she tries in vain to make conversation with you. You do remember telling her that if you weren't so exhausted you would chat back with her, she gracefully accepted that answer.

When she's done with your more serious injuries she moves on to tend to Abby. She says something about a concussion Abby's eye bleeding being from a popped blood vessel in the eye. What you really remember from the situation is Jeremy crawling into the back seat to hold your hand while you silently cry and pain. Finally in the distance everyone can hear sirens.

He watches everyone collectively breathes the style of relief as a police car and two ambulances roll up. The paramedics nearly jump out of their vehicle and rush over to the van to collect you and Abby. You remember Jeremy getting out of the van while three paramedics gently slide you out of the back seat and put you on to a stretcher. They lay you on your stomach and pull up your shirt, They started asking you a bunch of questions. Your name, your date of birth, where you live, and what happened. They wheel you into the back of the ambulance to assemble their equipment and fix you up.

“It doesn't seem like you need to go to the hospital” One of them says while picking out small pieces of glass from your lower back. “We could probably dig out the rest of the smaller chunks of glass and send you on your way.” Another paramedic tells you that you're lucky the damage isn't worse. And how the only reason the damage is this bad is because your back slammed back into the seat digging the glass deeper. “Don't know what deity liked you, but as far as I can tell most of the glass in your back is pretty big.” He pauses “which yes, is a good thing. It'd be hard digging out really small pieces of glass.”

You quickly tune them out, Not caring about their rambles it seemed to mostly be for themselves. It takes them a little bit but finally they start spraying your back and shoulders with disinfectant, and petroleum jelly before they start wrapping you all back together. “We don't think there's any need for stitches either.” The only female paramedic told you. “It should heal up beautifully, but we still recommend you see a doctor when you make it to wherever you're going.”

They call over Sam and tell them the good news. Sam helps you stand up, something you immediately regret. You let out a sharp hiss followed by a groan.

Eventually the cops question you but with everybody else already being questioned you hardly have anything to add. They thank you anyway and leave for their respective vehicles. By the time the cops and paramedics are gone it's closer to 7:00 p.m.

One of the older patrons who was still there invites you guys all back into the diner so he can buy you all dinner. He specified that he doesn't have much so not to go crazy but he can at least spare a couple dollars for a meal.

Everyone thanks him, declines his offer of payment, but head back to the diner anyway. You walk stiffly back into the diner and instead of sliding back into a booth you make it to the bar stools and sit down.

It's around 8:30 when someone runs into the diner and shouts about an SUV being seemingly broken into. You twist around on your bar stool as Jeremy and Joey run out the front door to investigate.

When they come back they explain to you, Sam, and Abby that the car had in fact been broken into but that it looks like nothing had been stolen. But they both say that the weird thing that's different is that everybody's clothes had been thrown around. Joey calls the cops this time.

It's nearing 10 when a police cruiser pulls up to investigate. You don't know anything about the situation as you can hardly sit up straight and there was no way in hell you were standing up and waddling outside. So you stayed inside the diner sipping on a milkshake. It's by this point in the night you're begging to just go home.

You actually end up falling asleep on the countertop. You're woken up by Sam and Abby telling you it's time to go. Sam helps you stand up and holds onto you and Abby as you make it out of the diner. Looking at the van you see that somebody has taped clear plastic wrap crudely to the back of the car where the rear window would be. You also now fully see how dented the back of the car is. You're reminded of how easily the glass shattered when the truck drove into you guys. When you walk up to the car Jeremy and Joey are sitting in the front seats discussing something but abruptly stop when you guys arrive. You collectively decide that Sam and Abby will get the middle row and you'll get the back seat again this time laying on your stomach for the duration of the drive.

Joey tells you that day swept off all the glass from the back seat so you weren't lying in it. “How thoughtful” New grumbled out, remember thinking to yourself about mediocrity and the bare minimum but you don't dwell on it. You pull your backpack full of CDs and portable radio down to the floor, within arms reach, and pop a new CD in.

This time the drive is different. It's quiet. Nobody speaks. The only audible noise being the CD player and the wind whipping around the plastic rear view window. You end up falling asleep again. You're woken up to the feeling of being jolted. When your eyes open it's met with the dark, You realize it's pitch black outside. Jeremy turns around to look at everybody in the back and apologizes for slamming on his brakes. “Deer” He just said apologetically.

As you awake and more and more you notice that from where you're laying you can see trees out of the window and a dark blue sky. Your attempt to sleep is thwarted by the sound of screeching crows. As you mentally grumbled to yourself you remember the shocking horrified feeling of recalling that mysterious phone call earlier of the day.

She had told you to watch out for a truck. She had told you to run it like hell when the crows called. She told you that you'd see a house. You panic and try to sit up as fast as you can but immediately hissed in pain. “Where are we?” You ask desperately. “Still in bumfuck nowhere.” Sam replies “did we pass a house?” You asking a scared voice. Sam turns around to look at you, she gives you an odd look. “No, just trees and fields of wheat.” They said back confused.

While you guys are talking Jeremy slams on his brakes again. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?” Joey screeches in horror. “FUCK IF I KNOW!” Replied Jeremy. “What? What's happening?” You desperately plea. as Sam looks at whatever is in front of the car They look back at you “some kind of man looking lizard person???” They say in horrified confusion. You try to sit up again but wail in pain. Before you know it Jeremy has put the car in reverse and is speeding in the opposite direction. Everyone let's add a horrified scream as Abby cries “it can fucking fly!?”

Your imagination runs wild as you're unable to see the creature they're referring to. You can only let out a Sob when something lands on your car. The dent in the roof is in the shape of a v. You too start screaming when a boot swiftly kicks in the front windshield. Jeremy tries to drive erratically to shake the thing off but nothing works, eventually, somehow, the car flips over and sends everybody screaming.

You're jolted from your seat and hit the ceiling of the van with a thud. You scream and pain as you land on your back this time with more glass than ever. This coupled with the acute head trauma causes your vision to blur. It feels like your head is buzzing and a ringing is left in your ears. You still managed to flip yourself over while crying and pain. You hear another thud and another and two more. You see Sam and Abby crawling their way to the side doors. And when you look up to see Jeremy and Joey their doors are already wide open. You're left with a revelation that you're the only one left in the car and that it's your job to get yourself out.

With the most pain you've ever been in, You crawl to where the middle seats should be, and pull yourself up and out of the door. You crawl onto the asphalt and shakily tried to stand up. You sob harder as you make it to your knees and then onto your feet. You hear screaming and shouting and pleading from the distance. Finally someone grabs hold of you and pulls you aside. You look up, and through tears you see Sam.

Sam pulls you into their arms well screaming words that didn't make sense to you. Your head stops shaking and the ringing in your ears dies down. finally you hear the words “WHAT DO YOU WANT!?” Being screamed out by a voice you assume is Abby's. Suddenly everything goes quiet, No sound other than breathing and Sam's heartbeat can be heard. “Is that all you what?” Sam asks, “IS THAT IT?” You can hear the desperation in their tone. “Will you leave us alone?” They ask In a softer tone yet with somehow more desperation. You have no idea what happens or why it happens but suddenly you're shoved back to the floor You just fought to stand up on.

“You can have them.” Sam says “just flip our van back over and they're all yours!” realization finally dawns on you. You're being sacrificed to this creature. Your best friend literally pushed you aside with a promise of making it out of this situation alive. You look up and see the beast grabbing the van and turning it over back onto its wheels with inhuman strength. You let out another wail as you truly realize the deal your friends just made.

You watch as the people you thought were your friends walk over to their van and get back in. You watch Joey crawl into the backseat, and Jeremy with a severely broken leg make it to the middle seat. Sam and Abby take the front seats. You get to watch as Sam makes sure the car can still drive properly, and within seconds they're speeding away. All that's left as a trail of smoke, as the rubber burns on the asphalt.

You see the beast walk over to you, The pounding in your head doesn't cease. You see the thing’s boots coming closer. You can't lift your head to look it in the eyes, but at the same time you're relieved by that. Suddenly your body is lifted and you feel weightless. You try to wiggle around but it holds you closer. While you move in it's arms you feel it's skin. It's sharp and scraps you up decently. So now left with another horrifying revelation, that's not what a human’s skin should feel like. You begin to cry harder.

When you're finally back on the ground you see an old house and the giant armored truck that harassed you earlier. You had stopped crying a little bit ago, figuring that if It was going to kill you, It would have already killed you. You're still uncontrollably shaking like a leaf, but you feel like you can hardly blame yourself. The creature starts walking and eventually it opens the door to the house.

It closes the door behind you guys, you get to quickly look at your surroundings. It's just an old dusty house decorated like a Grandma on LSD got her hold onto it. The thought slightly amuses you but you're quickly sucked back into reality when the creature carries you up the stairs and into a room you can only guess is a bedroom.

Finally after God knows how long, the creature gently sets you down on a mattress piled with dirty clothes, pillows, and blankets. The piles down seem to be random either, it all looks meticulously placed around the bed making what looked like a human version of a bird's nest would look like. The thought snaps in your skull. Nest. You're in the things Nest.

For the first time ever you look at the creature in its shockingly human eyes. It has dark green leathery skin, with what looked like insect mandibles on either side of its face. You lean away from the horrifying monster, but it slowly leans towards you. You can tell by its eyes it's not trying to be intimidating but you don't think there's any possible way it couldn't be.

But you're proven wrong.

It purred at you

It fucking purred at you

Like a cat but much deeper. The creature lowers its head towards you and slowly kneels in front of the nest. It purrs again while closing its eyes. It's clearly trying it’s best not to frighten you anymore, but not sure what to do, you just freeze in place. It slowly lays its head in your lap and continues to purr for you. You can feel its chest against your legs, you can feel the vibrations through your legs and on your thighs. It's oddly soothing, frighteningly so.

You don't know why this creature is being so soft with you, but you choose not to question it too hard. You reason that it is better than being slaughtered, so it's best to just let the creature do its thing. After a few minutes it slowly gets off of you but continues to gently purr at you. It stands up and reaches its clawed fingers out to softly grasp your hand. It leans down and kisses your knuckles before getting back up and leaving the room.

You finally fully lay down in the Nest and sigh. “Better than being eaten.” You say softly and frustratedly rub your eyes. “Better than being eaten.”

Thanks for reading <3

Sorry for poor quality. It's one of those fics where I had written for days and eventually just got so sick of writing it, so I had to post it.

304 notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 17 days ago

Text

He can be obsessive and jealous boyfriend too.. 🖤

2K notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 17 days ago

Note

Could you do more on the creeper? (Keepers creepers) that THING has me in a chokehold and I love him dearly. There’s not really anything specific, just a couple of headcannons of yours would be fine!! 🖤

Jeepers creepers X Reader Headcannons

•Obsessed

•He's Obsessed with everything about you

•Of course the first thing he noticed was your Scent

•He drives nose first into your Neck at every opportunity he gets

•Is very proud of himself when you slowly start to smell like him

•He expanded his Nest so you could fit in it with him

•He reworked his sleep/awake schedule just so he could spend more time with you (much to the dismay of the townspeople)

•He’ll occasionally drop off a dead body for you like how a cat would drop off a dead mouse for its owner

•He knows you don't eat humans but it's more of a ‘Look! I can provide!’ more than anything

•If he IS looking to feed you he'll hunt down a wild turkey or deer (eating it will result in praise taken the form of purring)

•Purrs whenever you touch him (ie; brushing up against him, cuddling, holding his hand) this is especially true when your relationship is new and you're getting used to him

•begrudgingly let's you leave to pick up food and other necessities

•He does isolate you from friends and family every other opportunity though

•If you have male friends, no you don't

•They Will be eaten

•If you want to sneak out to see somebody it has to be well he's sleeping and extremely quickly.

•He wakes up every hour and a half Just to quickly look around, do whatever he has to do, and fall back asleep

•If he catches you sneaking out he'll lock you in his work room until he can trust you again (This could take months depending on severity)

•Love to fly with you, even if you're scream in terror

•Extremely territorial

•Not just of you or his space, but of the whole town. To him that is his space And he will not tolerate intruders

•Saw a guy give his girlfriend flowers once while he was driving and decided to give you flowers too

•They were mostly weeds from a nearby field, But do his credit there were some flowers in there

•It's very surprising how well kept his house is

•Yes it looks like a grandma on LSD designed it, but he has a functional bathroom. What more could a person ask?

•He allows you to make changes (Add decor, paint walls, refurnish the house) just as long as you leave his room and basement alone

•You are allowed to occupy the cave area, in fact he happily shows you around

•Makes you Little trinkets

•Loves to make rings for you

•He surprisingly crochets, and makes you blankets, hats, socks, and a bunch of other stuff

•Brings you books and children’s toys so you don't get bored (he likes the colorful lights some of them make)

•Steals Records He thinks you'll like and plays them while you're with him in his work room

Thanks for reading <3

Whipped this up at 5am extra eepy

78 notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 22 days ago

Text

Demon Priest tells one of the lost lambs of his congregation to go in peace and they thank him endlessly as they leave. The door of the confessional clicks once as it opens and clicks again at its close. A beat of silence fills the wooden box of absolution.

“Now what do you say, little dove?” Demon Priest raps in your ear, his clawed hand still tightly wrapped around your mouth.

When it slips away the first thing to fall past your lips is a cry of ecstasy as Demon Priest’s other hand keeps helping you bounce on his cock. Fat tears fall down your cheeks as he keeps you right on the edge. You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, having lost track of the time, drowning in the feelings coursing through you.

“Thank you, Father,” you murmur, speech slurred as if drunk off his cock. Moans lewdly spill from your mouth now that you’re free to do so, your hips swiveling on his cock to best set your nerves aflame.

Demon Priest chuckles, leaning back against the confessional wall, and watching as your fat pussy eagerly sucks his cock back inside you and splitting you open on his length. He knows you two need to be quiet, the walls are nearly paper thin… but your sweet sounds are more divine than any choir or church bell.

“Always so loud f-for me, fuck, angel,” Demon Priest hisses, his hips jerking forward as if trying to get as deep inside you as inhumanly possible.

You cry out loudly, tears pricking at your waterline. He’s making you feel so fucking good you can barely take it, the pleasure too powerful. How the hell could you keep quiet? Still, your chest pinches with panic, your emotions so all over the place that your tears begin to spill over.

“‘M sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you blubber out through your tears, repeating your apologizes and begging for forgiveness.

Darkness coils through Demon Priests chest, his eyes flashing and face shifting more demonically at the thought of you needing to ask for forgiveness. You’re perfect. A precious gift that can do no wrong. His claws dig into your soft belly and his jaw clenches. In the blink of an eye he’s molding his chest to your back, growling in your ear.

“Never. Apologize,” Demon Priest snarls in your ear, jaw snapping in warning. You shiver as his words wash over you and they make you even more needy for him. “Nothing you ever do could be a sin.”

His large hands wrap around your wide hips, his feet bracing on the ground, and helping him jackhammer his cock up into your sopping pussy. You can feel the truth ring in his words, showing how deeply he believes them. The realization should be concerning but instead you find your back arching into him, head rolling back onto his shoulder so he can sink even deeper along your walls.

Your orgasm builds and builds with each brutal thrust. It’s nearly impossible to stay quiet at this point, your body no longer in your control. Everything is in Demon Priest’s nurturing hands. Your body burns hot with need, the coil in your belly sizzling and ready to snap. It only takes one more solid stroke of his cock and your vision flashes white as your pussy milks his cock for all it’s worth.

A fierce scream is on the tip of your tongue when suddenly the door to the confessional opens once more. Your heart nearly jumps into your throat and a second later Demon Priest is slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the noises you simply can’t stop. He draws you into his broad chest, rocking his hips, and helping work you through your explosive orgasm as you tremble in his embrace.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” the unknown figure speaks as they sit down on the other side. A wicked grin slides across his lips and your eyes roll back in pleasure at the sight.

Demon Priest doesn’t stop the slow rolling of his hips and your breath catches realizing he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. No, he’s gonna keep working you through each release as he talks his parishioners through each of their sins.

2K notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 22 days ago

Photo

1M notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 2 months ago

Text

cw - breeding.

venom taking control over eddie's body while you two (well, three) have sex to make the poor man go faster and stay inside you long enough to make sure not a single drop of cum goes to waste.

yes, he promised he wouldn't do that without asking but silly guy can't help it! :((

venom just wants to start a cute little family like the ones on TV with a dog and cute babies—even if eddie's feeling like he might pass out the second he stops and he will need a few days to start feeling his legs again. jeez, can't even fuck in peace with this symbiote.

the bed bangs against the wall so harshly it wouldn't even sound like sex if it wasn't for the moans and loud grunts. It's like someone's violently arranging and moving furniture around the apartment.

when venom fully fronts there's drool EVERYWHERE; the bed, the floor, your body, even the goddamn wall. it'll be a pain to clean up.

insanely wet tongue trailing down your face and body while he growls “not full yet... one more” for the ninth time. how are you even conscious at this point?

expect ( messy ) breakfast in bed and sex every day until the test turns positive because he ain't stoping anytime soon. good luck!

7K notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 2 months ago

Text

Halloween special: Red riding hood finds her wolves

Werewolf x werewolf x chubby fem!reader || breeding, predator/prey, breeding, size kink, sharing is caring, mating, oversimulation, spit-roast, cum inflation

Your friend invited you to the party, so you decided it was her fault that you didn’t know what it was it all about. She didn’t say (or maybe you weren’t listening), so that you were chased down the woods was totally her fault and nothing to do with you… Right. That’s it.

When she mentioned a costume party you started to make arrangements in your head and thinking how slutty could you dress, how much you could show without being too in your face… Okay, maybe you didn’t care for that and you were only thinking what dress would make you look hotter. Not two seconds later you decided red riding hood would be your best choice, you had a red cape that you used for a similar costume a couple years back, and a tiny dress you bought on a sad day. Your fat tummy and thick thighs would look killer in that red short dress, and if every inch of that fabric molded to your chubby body, that was a plus.

The problem was you didn’t know the party was at the pack land and there would be wolves assisting. And you also didn’t know wolves were more dangerous than a bull when you moved red fabric in front of them. But it was your friend’s fault, remember? All on her…

When you arrived in your short dress and high boots all eyes were on you, you looked fire and you knew it, and you did nothing but to enjoy the attention and the stares everyone around you were sending your way, your body tingling with excitement as they devoured you with their eyes. You were high on dopamine and excitement as you walked to the bar and saw a couple of very hot dudes making out. You shivered, your thighs clenching as your thong got wet. What was about two dudes making out that made them so fucking hot? Maybe it wasn’t the dudes, though, because if you saw two girls that would have made you dripping wet, too. Maybe it was you and your attention whore pussy. Yeah, most likely.

As soon as you walked in, they stopped kissing, their noses twitching as they turned around and focused their eyes on you, a growl escaping their mouths as you giggled. One of them was tall and bear-like, his face rough and his hair dark, and the other one was the prettiest redhead you’ve ever seen. They both towered over you, and you felt almost tiny in comparison, even thought your frame was big enough not to be missed anywhere. They looked flushed, but you bet you were even more red than them. Their hair was messy, and just then you understood their costume: no costume at all. They were in their half shifted form as they looked at you intently.

You stepped into the kitchen to get yourself a glass, but you didn’t get enough time before one of them grunted: “mate”. And the other one turned to look at him and growled: “mine”.

You knew enough wolves in your life to know what that meant. It meant that either you ran or you’d be fucked in the middle of that kitchen and everyone who entered would be able to see you being fucked against any surface available. And even though that was a fun thought, and maybe made your pussy hot as fuck, you knew it wasn’t the best way to start a mating bond. And if you were to be claimed, you wanted them to chase you (the kinky side of you already screaming giddily).

So you did what you had to: you took off your shoes and bolted out the back door.

You heard the howls behind you before you heard footsteps following close behind. You knew they had all the chances to catch you, but you also knew they wanted to play with their prey before they enjoyed your body. You screamed joyfully as you ran ahead of them, their grunts and yelps making you giddy with excitement. Your pussy was completely soaked as you ran, and you bet they could smell it behind you if their howls were any indication. Your thighs were rubbing in the worst possible way, and you were sure you’d have the worst case of friction burn in the morning, but at that moment, with your heart beating fast and hard and your future mates following behind you, you couldn’t care less.

“Come on little bunny, are you going to keep running?” One of them screamed behind you, making you giggle as you pushed yourself further.

“I’m going to fuck you as a reward, little mate, your pussy is going to be destroyed!” The other one warned, as if it was some kind of threat.

You giggled and kept running until your lungs couldn’t hold the air anymore and your feet started to hurt from the dirt under them. And when a nasty root appeared out of nowhere and made you trip, a strong arm caught you by the middle, leaving you suspended in the air as you breathed hard and they chuckled.

“Caught you!” The bearded one exclaimed as he ripped your dress of your body in one fast movement, making you gasp as you were left wearing nothing but the tiny thong and your red cape. “What do we do with our little bunny?” He was massive next to you, holding you up with just one arm, his hand almost covered your whole side.

Your body was vibrating with energy, the starts of the mating urge making themselves known as they touched your body freely. There was a traveling hand touching your exposed ass, some other hand pinching your nipple and groping your big tummy. They were everywhere at once, and they were making the mating frenzy even worse.

They lowered you to the dirt and you didn’t care. You only cared about their bodies and the deep need inside of you. You stared at them as they took off their clothes over you, their bodies being exposed fast, not allowing you to process before they were falling to their knees next to your body.

“Dibs on her pussy!” The redhead called out, making the other grunt as you giggled

The beard one grunted and complained. “Fuck. That’s low, man.”

“I’ll suck your dick later,” he promised with a teasing tone, making you whine at the image.

You’d give part of your left kidney to be able to see them fuck. And then you realized: you would see them. You were their mate, you’d be able to see them fuck all the times you wanted. You groaned at the realization, and they looked at you questioning. You couldn’t process your fast thoughts fast enough to tell them what was in your mind, but they didn’t seem to care anymore when they started caressing and touching your body again.

The bearded one grabbed your hair and pulled so you were looking at his face. “Okay little bunny, we’re going to fuck you until you are cum-drunk and bred. And then we are going to take you to our house and do it all over again. And again… And again.” He was kneeling next to your head and when you noticed his dick your breath got caught in your throat. There was no way…

“I- I don’t know if that will…” You tried to explain, the words coming slower and harder. Your brain was taking too much energy concentrating on sending you wave after wave of lust as the mating frenzy began.

“It will, honey, you are made for us, remember? Our mate. Are you okay with that, do you want us little mate?” The redhead asked, making you moan under his body weight as he laid over your back, his huge dick nesting between your ass cheeks and rubbing in a way that made your brain short-circuit. “I think that’s a yes,” he said amused, his clawed fingers finding your center, already wet and needy. “She’s soaked, good goddess,” he groaned, his tone getting low and making you moan again, pushing your ass against the front of his pants again.

“Fuck me, please,” you begged. You didn’t even know how they were taking so long, humans felt the mating urge a lot less intense than wolves and you were already dying to be fucked.

“Okay, little bunny, we can claim you know,” the bearded one said as he grabbed your face and used his thumbs to collect the tears that escaped your eyes. “Open your pretty mouth to take me,” his voice was softer now, and you preened under his attention as he grabbed your hair and opened his pants.

His dick sprung free and hit your lower lip at the same time you felt the tip of the redhead’s dick against your aching core. And that’s all you felt with a clear head before your brain was took over completely by lust. They grunted in unison, one pushed in your mouth and the other in your pussy, your brain shut off and any thought not regarding dick escaped your mind.

They started a frantic pace, fucking your holes in tandem as they howled to the moon. You could only moan and groan, the combined sensation making you ascend into a roller-coaster of pleasure that left you breathless as you sucked around the dick in your mouth. He grunted over you and the redhead answered with another grunt, their combined sounds were making you go as feral as they were, their dicks hitting every part of your insides as you cried around the dick in your mouth when the redhead grabbed your hips and rutted against your G-spot.

You felt the build up of an orgasm as you felt the first shoot of cum hitting the back of your throat. He screamed your name as he pushed as far as he could go and you swallowed as fast as possible. It wasn’t fast enough. He pulled out and painted your face with the last spurs of his dick as you panted and fell into pleasure yourself, your pussy contracting around his shaft as he buried himself deep and screamed your name. You felt the telltale stretch of his knot as he locked himself in you. You cried out when a second orgasm rushed over you and he filled you over and over, so much of it you could feel your stomach distending under your body as the bearded one caressed and pinched your nipples, making you cry out and come again. You were so oversensitive every single touch felt like ecstasy.

When the knot deflated, they didn’t let you catch your breath, switching places and making you lick all your juices off the redhead dick as the bearded one fucked right into your well used hole, pushing all the cum trying to escape back inside. The sounds of it was like a filthy symphony that made your brain get mushy and desperate with each passing second. You needed his knot like you needed air.

The second round was as intense as the first, but your oversensitivity only added to the feel of the dick thrusting into you as you came and came and came… At some point your brain disconnected. And connected again when his knot expanded inside of you, filling you again with so much come you could feel it gushing out of you around his knot. It was filthy and dirty, it was lust and desire personified, it was like your whole body now became theirs, and theirs became yours… It was like nothing you could ever imagine and more.

You almost dozed off when the redhead pushed back and jerked his dick right in front of you, he came right over your face, making it even more messy as he groaned at the sight. You sighed, licking all you could as another orgasm rushed through your body.

By the time he was done and the beard one pulled out, you felt the river of come leaving your body and making a pool under your tired body. They laid next to your tired body, caressing your skin lightly until you stopped trembling in aftershocks, kissing your back and neck, your face and basically every part of you they could reach.

When you three were half recovered, they picked you up, your eyes almost falling shut. One of them carried you bridal style across the forest, your red dress forgotten someplace and your tiny cape covering nothing at all. But his body heat was enough to keep you warm in the freezing Halloween night.

“So… What’s your name?” You let out, and they both laughed.

Maybe not everything was your friend’s fault.

2K notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 2 months ago

Text

Yandere Hybrid Town (1) | Only Human

In a world filled with humans and hybrids attempting to find balance with one another, you are but a simple human trying to integrate into the town on the property your late grandparent bequeathed to you. The town just so happens to have a small population of farming hybrids, with hardly any other humans around.

“So you’re the inheritor…(Y/n)? (L/n)?”

“Yes, I have my I.D. if you want to check.”

“..Right….but the owner of the original property was a hybrid…you are not.”

“Not that it matters. But my grandfather’s partner was a Wolf hybrid…They both agreed to give it to me when they both passed.”

“I..see.”

It might be right to call it racism or maybe more accurately it’s specism and the townsfolk aren’t all that keen on hiding it. They openly sneer at you when you do come to town, whispering loudly about what they’ve heard, and rolling their eyes if you have the gall to ask them a question.

“Can I get these bags of mulch in bulk?”

“...so what are ya talkin’ to me for? Just grab ‘em.”

“Your sign says to ‘ask for more at the front desk.’”

“...Fine dirt monkey. How much?”

It doesn’t bother you…sometimes. You mostly spend your days on your property, having picnics in the open fields you now own. Spending time renovating your cottage with all the custom plumbing and electricity you learn to install yourself. Wouldn’t want some unfriendly technician in town doing it instead. Anyways you get into the routine of sustaining yourself in your lonesome working from home and relying on your savings to help you enjoy your new life. That doesn’t stop until the one fateful day…you’re lounging on your deck when you hear something faint. It sounds like crying.

“Waaaaa!”

It sounds like a child…which isn’t unfamiliar, after all your neighbors do seem to be a little family. Of course, they don’t want to talk to you but that’s fine.

“Waaaa!”

It sounds pretty intense but you’re sure it’ll stop soon.

“Waaaaa! Somebody help, please!”

Now it feels wrong to ignore it any longer. You quickly fix yourself to head over, driving the tractor that you ride across your property to the fence that represents the beginning of your neighbor’s property. It was short work to hop over the fence and hear the crying persisting. Running to the back porch of the house, you see a little dog boy crying his heart out.

“I heard you crying what’s wrong?”

The kid starts blubbering wiping at tears and snot on his face. After some calming pats between the ears and some promises to help you can get a clear picture.

“Mama fell ‘ver and she won’t wake up!”

You run inside to find exactly that. A dog woman face down on the floor while the soup on the stove boils out and whatever’s in the oven beginning to smoke. Stopping the appliances you flip over the woman in search of a heartbeat and breathing. Thankfully you find it and ask the little boy where you can lay her down. He points you to the bedroom down the hall passing by another bedroom and a bathroom.

Once you’ve laid her down, check her temperature, and decide in your not-so-expert opinion that she’s suffering from a fever. Assuring the little dog boy you have him help you carry some cold water and a rag to place on her head. While making sure she drinks some water, you finally get to talking to the little dog boy who’s started to calm down now.

“That was real brave of you, good job for asking for help.”

“Big brother always said I gotta since I’m too tiny to do much myself.”

“Well, I thought you were very helpful and you don’t seem that tiny to me.”

“Thanks!”

“No problem! My name’s (Y/n).”

“And my name’s Titan! By the way (Y/n) I’m real hungry!”

That’s how you ended up cleaning the dishes, Titan’s mother started and using what you could to make something new. You stuck with one of your old family recipes, relying on your memory the best you could to avoid another charred disaster. Eventually, you finish up able to set a plate in front of Titan who is more than happy to dig in.

“More! More!”

“Okay Titan just a little bit more but you can’t eat it all we’ve got to save some.”

“Whyyyy!?”

“Because your mom hasn’t eaten yet and I’m sure your brother will want some when he gets home–”

“But he’s never aroun’ we’ll be waiting forever for him to come!”

Creak.

“Titan who is this?”

The new voice comes from a much larger dog man with a sturdy build, sun-kissed skin, and overalls barely hanging off his shoulders. His ears are narrowed back and his shoulders are hunched as he easily towers over you. With Titan’s help, you explain how you came to help and that his mother had fainted, likely from the fever she had. When you show him to her, his bared teeth and impending growl quiet down. Fussing over her as he checks for any sign that you might be lying. Finding that you’re not, he skeptically accepts the meal you made as you alternate watching over her and entertaining Titan–who’s far too chipper for a pup ready for bed.

“Hey uh, wanted to apolog’ze for earlier”

“For what?!”

“Fer how I acted when you’re just helpin’ out.”

“Oh, it’s okay! I’m just happy no one’s hurt.”

“I’m also sorry for misjudging you. I think I had the wrong impression bout ya.”

As you continue to chat with the young dog man–Tank you both work together to finish up whatever chores his mom would usually do. Between you both Titan is convinced to finally get some sleep if it’s in your lap close to his mom. Tank suggests you stay over bashfully offering his bed if you need it. You decline, encouraging him to get some much-needed rest considering he was working on the farm tomorrow.

“A-a-are you sure you don’t want to stay in a bed? I feel like it’s the least we could do.”

“No worries Tank, I’m going to watch over your mom until this fever breaks. Besides I don’t have the heart to move Titan now.”

“Fair I guess. Hopefully, I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

“Yeah if I’m not still here in the morning you can come to my place anytime.”

His fluffy tail wags a lot harder than he likes at that.

“R-really?”

“Yeah, anytime!”

With another ‘thank you’ he’s off to bed. It isn’t until sunrise that the fever breaks and the dog-hybrid mother is coming to. Assuring her that her boys and the food she left in the oven are not burning the house she calms down to thank you.

“Oh thank you thank you I don’t know what I would have done without you!”

Where you’ll have to fight her off from her barrage of kisses, hugs, and propositions to stay long enough for her to cook something for you to take home, as much as you wanted to stay and indulge in her acts of thanks, you missed your bed and it was plenty exhausting now that you were being spoken to positively. Convincing her that you were such a short drive away that she didn’t need to keep you too much longer and after promising that she and her boys were welcome anytime you could finally go home.

“You promise?”

“Yes, Miss Tiffany I promise, anytime you’d like.”

“Just not now?”

“Yes, not now so please get some rest!”

Back in the comfort of your home, everything is more or less the same except for the recently obsessed friendly neighbors who make all the quiet time you used to have nonexistent.

“Wake Up! Wake Up! Let’s play!”

“Egh Titan how did you get in here?”

“Through your doggy door!”

“But I don’t have one!”

“Now you do!”

Thus begins the first few to fall for the lone human in this hybrid town. Hardly shy about their newly discovered attraction as they fill their dull hours up with time next to you. Lucky them as your neighbors they’re the only ones privy to your addictive affection and comforting scent.

“Oh! I was about to drive over to drop off Titan!”

“What a coincidence! We were just coming over to have dinner at yours!”

“Huh?”

“Well, you did say we can come and thank you anytime!”

“So we figured why not now!”

“In fact, maybe every week we come over to yours and you come over to ours!”

“I mean I guess-?”

“Wonderful Titan, Tank clear the kitchen I’m going to make this dinner the best yet!”

“Yes’m!” “Yes’m

The Dog hybrid family next door is all too eager to take up all of your time. Since the moment you moved in they’ve been eager to truly get to know you, woefully settling with the distant wafts of your scent during a favorable breeze. Unlike others in the town their curiosity for the human was a positive one blaming it on their all too friendly instincts they couldn’t deny the urge they got to close to the distance between you two. But alas everyone in the town was so averse to the idea they were pushed off the desire for far too long but after your sweet words and intentions, they’d be foolish not to return the affection.

“(Y/n) if you’d like me to cut the grass, I don’t mind.”

“That’s really sweet, Tank but I told myself I wouldn’t allow myself to sit back and let others do all the work.”

His tail droops at that. “Ah I see.”

“But you won’t tell me to go away will you (Y/n)? After I made that doggy door and everything.”

“You just chewed a hole in my door and I’m not saying you can’t stop by Tank I just don’t want it to be because you’re doing more work.”

His tail is wagging a mile a minute again. “I don’t mind if it’s for you!”

With your canine hybrid neighbors so close it’s hard to forget you were ever left alone. Now quiet and sometimes confrontational trips are filled with at least one member of the family accompanying you. Willing to bargain at stores for you or impressively growl when the cashier��s being a tad too snippy. It does make you nervous when the tiny Titan politely asks the nosy bird-woman who had the nerve to whisper about you to a ‘nice chat’ in the alley between the store. Returning with tufts of feathers and blood in his baby teeth. Or how Mama Tiff will oh so politely mention her bloodhound heritage at the fox bullies that hang around your car. Or when Tank all too eagerly pulls you into his side when he finds you cornered by the snake librarian.

“Back off my human!”

After any confrontation, you’ll ask your questions. Head on or round about they’ll all only smile at you, tail wagging wildly behind them. As if they’re proud of the slight fear in your eyes when you ask what that was about.

“We just want to protect you! You are only human after all!”

Part 2: Coming Soon

3K notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 2 months ago

Text

Leather and Chains (Main Cenobites/Reader)

Author’s Note: Finally posting my most popular oneshot from Wattpad on here because why not? This was requested.

Honestly this is nothing special.

CW: Mentions of stalking, mention of canon typical Hellraiser violence

Also I don’t know why there are such big gaps between some of the paragraphs. No matter how much I tried to backspace Tumblr wouldn’t let me?? I don’t know what’s going on.

Crossposted on Wattpad (_queenofthefandoms_) and AO3 (leztrangem) . Hope you enjoy! 🖤

Being in a poly relationship with four demons was not the easiest thing. Being in a relationship with one human being was hard enough.

I admit, when I solved that puzzle box years ago, I did not understand what I was getting into. At the time, I had hoped that solving it would solve my problems. I knew what it held. I knew that if the demons that the box called to me didn't think I was worthy to become a cenobite, they'd kill me.

At the time, that didn't seem so bad.

But when I opened that box, that other world, it didn't go as planned. The Hell Priest and his posse believed I was worthy, yes, but in a way that didn't involve me becoming a deformed demon in servitude of Hell. I was worthy of something that they didn't offer any other human. I was worthy of their love.

That was many years ago.

I remember that night that the four of them appeared in my room. I was horrified at the time. The only reason I had initially accepted their offer of a relationship was out of fear. If I had declined, I probably would've died that night. But now, no fear lived in me when it came to them. Well, I didn't fear for myself.

There were four cenobites.

There was Butterball. He was an extremely large demon and had no hair and pale skin, much like the others. When I say large, I mean it. Butterball had multiple neck rolls and a large protruding stomach. Round sunglasses had been deeply embedded into his eye sockets and his eyes underneath, from my understanding, were sewn shut. I knew he couldn't see, but I never asked to what extent. His large belly was often exposed. Much like the other cenobites, he had an open wound. His was located on his stomach, pulled apart by hooks that were attached to his leather outfit.

Then there was Chatterer. Out of all the deformities of the cenobites, Chatterer was the more gruesome. Any other person would immediately run after seeing him. His skin appeared to be burned, and it twisted up his head. His eyes were nonexistent, or at least they appeared to be. Instead of eyes, there were two holes on his face where I imagine his eyes once were. His skin was not as pale as the others, and it was red and irritated in a lot of places. And let's not forget his mouth. His teeth were exposed and his lips were drawn back with metal hooks and wire. His lips were almost in the shape of a square. His gums glistened with blood all the time, much like the open wound on the back of his head. I had gotten used to kissing him on the cheek for obvious reasons. He didn't mind either. He could understand the reluctance.

DP was the third cenobite of the group. Over the years I had started to refer to her as DP. The initial name that she had been given in hell was nothing short of gross. Not to mention the fact that she didn't like to be addressed by it. So instead, I used the initials of the name she had been given. I understood why she didn't like her name, but I could also understand why it was given to her. Take one look at her throat and you'd understand. It was cut open. Pulled apart by a contraption that pushed out of her cheeks. Much like the others, she felt no pain from this laceration. Pain for them was entirely different from the pain that humans experienced. She also felt no pain when it came to the long screw that was pierced through the bridge of her nose. In an odd way, DP was extremely beautiful. Her skin was paper white with hints of blue in the lowest parts of her face. Her temples were deep and so were her eyes. For the most part, she was bald, but a couple of strands of blonde hair had survived her transformation in Hell. She looked the most human out of all of them. She definitely was more approachable at times. She was almost always the first one I went to when something was wrong.

Last but not least, there was Pinhead, the Hell Priest. His name was pretty much self-explanatory. Rows of small-headed pins were set deep in his head, sticking out pretty much everywhere. There were also rows of cuts that lined the nails. He was bald, much like the rest. And much like the rest, especially him, he was protective.

Honestly, protective is an understatement.

I had been in relationships before the cenobites where my partners were protective. The cenobites weren't just protective. They were rage-filled. If they suspected anyone even showed a slight interest in me, that person would be dead the next day. At first, it just seemed like a coincidence, but now it was obvious why they ended up dead.

That knowledge has been ringing in the back of my head for days as I approached my final year of college.

Normally, I just quietly worked through the school year. I barely talked to people unless I had to, I didn't go to parties, and I attempted to not draw any attention to myself. That was how college had gone until now. Now there's this guy. I can't even think of his name. Maybe it was Jacob? Jack? Who knows?

At first, I thought this guy in my advanced journalism class was just being friendly. But now, every day, this guy would come up with an excuse to sit near me in class and talk with me. Now he would show up to the same shop where I'd get lunch or seemingly be in the local library when I went to get books. The flirting had escalated to what I considered stalking. It was bad enough having my demonic partners breathing down my necks, but now I had this stranger from a class following me around everywhere. And it was only a matter of time before the demons would find out.

I drove down the long driveway. My house was tucked away in the woods, surrounded by towering pine trees and the faint chirps of birds. The scenery was beautiful, which completely contrasted what was inside the house. I pulled the car up to the front of the house.

I sighed as I turned the car off. It had been such a long, tiresome day. My thoughts were completely scattered. All I wanted to do was go get into some pajamas and sleep for the rest of the weekend.

I silently got out of the car, taking in a deep breath of the cool, crisp autumn air. I opened the back door to get my belongings out of the backseat. As I knelt down to grab my backpack, I felt eyes on me. My head shot up quickly, scanning the surrounding woods. I slowly pulled my backpack out of the car, lifting it up and letting it droop over my shoulder. I closed the car doors and walked towards the house. Stopping in my tracks, I looked up at the house. The windows in the dining room were open. And there sat the source of the eyes I had felt watching me. DP sat at the dining room table, looking out at me. I small nervous smile sprouted on my face as I walked up the stairs of the front porch.

Turning the knob of the front door, I pushed myself in the house, closing the door behind me and dropping my backpack and purse by near the door. The house was much more warm and cozy than the contrasting atmosphere outside. I took off my jacket and laid it on the back of the living room sofa, which was occupied by a sleeping Butterball. I glanced towards the kitchen. DP was still sitting at the dining room table, staring outside. She seemed to be deep in thought. It was either that or she was patiently waiting for me to come to greet her.

I leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Butterball's forehead, which caused him to stir in his sleep but not wake.

I walked out of the living room and into the dining room, which was an open, shared room with the kitchen. DP stared out the window, seemingly deep in thought. The sunlight from outside lit up the room and caused a dramatic shadow to carve out the features on her chiseled face. I sighed as I made my way to the refrigerator.

"I wonder if she knows about the guy from my class," I thought as I leaned down and grabbed a bottle of water, "If she does, then they all know. And if they all know, then that guy is doomed."

I pulled out the chair across from DP and sat down, slumping in the chair as I opened my bottle of water. She didn't move, didn't even acknowledge the fact that I was sitting across from her. Instead, she faced away from me, towards the window, just watching the outside world. I took a sip of water and stared at the back of DP's head. I closed the water bottle and pushed it aside.

"Something must be wrong," I thought.

Anything could have been wrong, who knows? She could have just been plotting on how to rip that guy's throat out. For all I knew, one of them had probably read my mind if that was even possible. Maybe she knew.

I sighed loudly, hoping to get her attention. She didn't move.

Sigh.

Nothing.

Sigh.

Not even a flinch.

"Maybe she's trying to remember when she wasn't a demon. I know that's hard for her to remember. Or maybe she's messing with me."

SIGH.

"Are you okay?" DP asked suddenly causing my mouth to twist into a small smirk. She continued to look outside. Her shoulders seemed to lower, as if she had finally relaxed.

"Yes, I just had a rough day. What about you?" I questioned, trying to figure out why she had been silently staring out of the window. She knew what I was trying to ask, and she definitely wasn't planning on answering.

"A rough day? May I ask what caused it?" she asked, ignoring my question from before. She slowly turned around in her seat to face me, causing her leather-clad clothes to squeak.

"Just...things haven't been going my way," I answered as I stood up and made my way to the refrigerator once again. I leaned down and opened it, looking for a small snack.

"That's very vague, my love," DP stated. I shrugged my shoulders, although she couldn't see me because of the refrigerator door being in the way.

"Vague, indeed," a deep voice said, making me stand up quickly.

Pinhead stood at the large door frame, leaning on the wood. My mind went into a small panic as I shut the fridge door. I glanced over at DP, who was partially watching Pinhead. She seemed distracted once again, as if she couldn't get something off her mind. They both knew something.

"Have you been enjoying the house?" I asked Pinhead, walking over to him and placing my hands on his shoulder. His eyes scanned over my face.

"Don't try to change the subject," he said.

I sighed, slipping my hands off his shoulders and walking past him.

"It was a genuine question. You guys did just move in. I'm curious," I said as I entered the living room, plopping down on the couch.

Butterball, who was on the other side of the large couch, sat up. He looked at Pinhead and then at me, not sure what was going on. Chatterer also entered the living room, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He sat down beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I couldn't tell if it was in a protective way or a comforting way.

"You're trying to change the subject," Pinhead said as he walked behind the couch, leaning on the cushions. I huffed as I stared at him.

"Can you make him stop?" I asked quietly, looking up at Chatterer.

He shook his head and clicked his teeth together a couple of times. DP emerged from the kitchen, walking towards the couch.

"He's just-we're just concerned," DP explained, standing behind Pinhead who hadn't taken his eyes off of me. I tapped my fingers on my leg, impatiently.

"I know you're concerned, but every time you guys get concerned about something you go...off the hinges," I explained.

And it wasn't an understatement. One time a girl got too handsy with me one day. The next day a news report was on the TV about how she had been murdered. Her skin had been ripped off by hooks and chains. If that didn't scream "my partners are jealous, murdering demons" then I don't know what will.

"Oh," Pinhead said, pausing and standing up straight, "so that's the problem."

"I didn't tell you what the problem was. Hell, there is no problem!" I exclaimed.

But there was a problem. I was being stalked. There was no denying it. The guy from my class was stalking me. But that didn't mean that Pinhead should have his way with the poor guy. He just needed to be confronted.

"I believe you, love," DP said, trying to calm me down.

She sat down on the opposite side of me and placed a hand on my knee. "If you don't see him as a problem then we won't do anything," she whispered.

"Wait...so you guys knew? About the guy from my class?" I questioned.

DP nodded.

"Your thoughts are loud, my love. I could hear your mind as you slept last night," she said, putting her hand up to my face, "It was only a matter of time before we found out. His name...is Jackson," she said.

"And we will happily get rid of him," Pinhead butted in.

"ONLY if you want us to," DP snapped back, almost hissing at the Hell Priest for interrupting.

I took her hand and put it into mine. "Please don't. I love the fact that the four of you care so much, but not everything needs to be solved by violence," I pleaded, patting her hand gently.

Chatterer nuzzled his head into my neck.

"I agree," DP said.

She looked over at Pinhead, waiting for him to say something.

"Not everything has to be violent," he said. He knelt down to my ear. "The option is still there though," he whispered, purposely poking the side of my face with his pins, causing me to laugh.

At the end of the day, I guess being in a relationship with four demons isn't all that bad.

___________________________________________

Author's Note: And that's it! Hope you guys enjoyed! 🖤

170 notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 2 months ago

Text

Hellraiser model kit with Cenobite lore pamphlets ⛓️ From u/damagedgoodz99824 on reddit.

336 notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 2 months ago

Text

Yandere!Fairy x Reader

“Ack! You scared me!” you exclaim as Cot suddenly appears in front of your face. His laugh sounds like twinkling bells as he settles himself on your shoulder. “Seriously… How do you keep popping out of nowhere?”

Cot tries to talk to you, he does, but all you hear is the sound of bells as he chatters on. Though you’re insanely curious to know what he’s saying, it looks like you won’t be able to know how he’s able to appear everywhere you are.

With a small huff of laughter, you ruffle his hair with your fingers. “At least give me a warning the next time you appear. I swear you’re going to make me go into cardiac arrest.”

Cot lets out a series of chimes that sound like an apology as he nuzzles your hand. You can’t help but smile – your little fairy friend is adorable.

Your days continue rather peacefully, your most frequent company being Cot. Though you can’t talk to him, just having him around is fun.

On a particularly sunny day, you’re picking strawberries from your garden, which Cot is assisting you with. You thank him as he hands you a glass of water (he’s only a little bigger than the cup, which is such a cute sight). Once you’re done drinking your water, you let out a small sigh of contentment. “Seriously, thanks, Cot. I don’t know how you knew when to appear, but I couldn’t have harvested all these strawberries without you.”

“It’s no problem!”

You freeze, eyes widening. “...Did you just… speak?”

He smiles, eyes twinkling. “Mhm!”

Your mind is unable to process your little fairy friend’s voice, making you stumble over your words. “H–how?!”

With a small hum that sounds like bells, he says, “Hm… I guess you can say that I cast a spell on you!”

(And by spell, he means that he’s slowly given you food from the Fae Realm, eager to whisk you away once you’re more fae than human. But until then, the only real spell he’s cast on you is one that allows him to know exactly where you are. After all, he needs to make sure you’re safe until he can take you to his home.)

2K notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 3 months ago

Text

Imagine an entire bird colony of all male Bird Hybrids where you are their dancing instructor.

Every bird in the colony is absolutely feral over you. They desire you so much to the point where they started taking your class to learn how to woo possible mates but now they only wanna use what they learn on you.

They’ll do the steps wrong on purpose so that they can feel your soft hands on them when you correct it. Wishing you’d slip your hands further down till your thick fingers wrap around their aching cocks. You just smell so good and consume all their senses. Their adorable chirps fill the air whenever you give them any attention, their minds spinning with you.

Sometimes they’ll act like they aren’t getting it no matter what. You all know what’s going on and you’re not too shy to admit you love the attention they give you back. Your panties gushing with arousal as their eyes are trained on your every move.

So you tease them further. Inviting them to grab your hips and feel the way you move into the step, grinding against them every now and then. Loving the way their faces always drop, staring down at your wide hips and round bottom. Their feathers ruffling and wings flapping as they get more turned on. They try not to make it obvious but it makes you so hot to see how deeply you affect them.

By the end of every class all the bird hybrid’s cocks are rock hard and they’re in desperate need of you. They try anything they can think of to get you to stay after class with them. Showering you in affection they now want to drown in you in unimaginable pleasure. Stuffing your tight cunt over and over again with their cocks. Filling you up with all their cum till your belly bulges with it.

You always look so pretty underneath them. Especially as a handful of them always seemed to get you to agree to stay after. One after the other they take you hard, each of them coming inside of you until you’re all fucked out and cum is leaking into a puddle between your thick thighs. Of course they take the best care of you after.

After months of this you had realized that this colony was the only one you were teaching. And the bird hybrids make sure to keep it that way as they fill up all your available slots. Anyone can be competition and they don’t want your attention on another colony. Not that it ever would. You’re more than happy with the affection they constantly show you.

You always have more mating gifts than you know what to do with. Sometimes they give you pretty pebbles or other brightly covered objects. Other times they give you adorable little twigs and materials for a nest you don’t have. But they wanna help take care of you anyway. Then some give you food, wanting to keep your plump body healthy by making sure you’re eating good.

But the feathers that fall off their wings throughout class are your favorite. You put them up on the walls for decoration. The bird hybrids preen whenever they see their feather on the wall, viewing it as their claim on you. They boast to the other birds but then others point out that their feather is up there too and they turn playful as they try and say their feather is longer or fluffier.

Eventually they go to you, thinking that if they can’t prove they’re the better mate through their feathers, they can see which one can make you cum harder. It takes hours for them to come to any sort of agreement as they each use their fingers, tongues, and cocks to make you explode around them long past till you’re seeing stars.

They come from a place of love above all. Wanting to please you, their mate, more than anything. They’d do whatever they could to make that happen as caring for you is what they enjoy most.

I will literally beg for asks about them!! They’ve been a brainrot for me just about all week now. I’d love to see others expand on them and the idea. Or even just to join in the freak out and gush about the fluffy guys together!

2K notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 3 months ago

Text

“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly.

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you.

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“‘m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry.

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

4K notes · View notes

lulu-lux · 3 months ago

Note

Hey, so I have been thinking about this for some time now. How would the slashers react if they were finally deemed safe enough to be reintegrated into society?

Would they be hesitant to leave and try to make themselves seem unsafe just so they can stay or would they accept and come visit occasionally?

(Warning. I cried my eyes out writing this !) Jason Voorhees

Jason had been hesitant from the start. The idea of reintegrating into society felt strange for someone like him, a distant concept he couldn’t fully grasp. Crowds, normal life—they were things he never understood, never wanted to. The only peace he’d ever known was here, with you, and the thought of leaving that behind stirred a deep unease inside him.

The day came when the gate to the facility stood open, the path to the outside world clear. Jason stood at the edge of the property, staring out, his hulking frame tense. Behind him, the other slashers watched in silence. You stood among them, Brahms beside you, your eyes quietly tracking Jason’s every movement.

For a long moment, Jason stood still, his mask angled toward the distant horizon. But something inside him clenched—a tight, uncomfortable feeling that pulled at his chest. It was as if an invisible thread was tugging him back, away from the freedom society promised and back towards the family he had found in St. Louis.

He turned, his eyes scanning the faces of the slashers, the staff, and finally landing on you and Brahms. Brahms who was on the verge of tears. That’s all it took. His body moved before he even made a conscious decision, and without hesitation, Jason walked back towards you. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around both you and Brahms and squeezed, reaffirming that this—this place, this family—was where he truly belonged, where he wanted to be.

There was no questioning his decision. No one asked why he had turned back, because everyone understood. Jason didn’t need words to explain that society held nothing for him. You, the other slashers, the strange bond you’d all formed—that was his home. And if it meant leaving any of that behind ? Then it wasn’t worth it.

You rested your head against his chest, a small smile forming as you felt the weight of his decision settle over you. Jason wasn’t going anywhere. His presence would serve as a reminder, a symbol to the others that redemption was possible—that even though they lived in the shadows, there was still a path forward. And maybe, one day, they could all walk out of St Louis together. Or that was your hope.

For now, though, Jason was staying. And that was fine with you.

Michael Myers

The news of Michael finally leaving St. Louis was a shock that no one could quite prepare for. As the one who always kept the slashers grounded, the thought of him leaving was bittersweet. He had been their rock, the one who somehow kept them out of trouble, and for many, like Freddy and Five, he was more than just a fellow patient—he was family. A party was thrown the night before his official release, and while everyone seemed to be in a celebratory mood, Freddy and Five sat together at a corner table, drinks in hand, watching Michael from afar.

Five glanced at Freddy, his voice soft. "I can’t believe he’s really leaving."

Freddy let out a scoff, but there was no real bite in it. "Yeah. What a lucky bastard, am I right ?"

Five nodded, though his expression was conflicted. "Yeah...lucky."

Five nodded, though the word “lucky” didn’t sit right with him or Freddy. The silence between them was heavy. Tomorrow, Michael would be gone, and the realization of that made their drinks taste bitter—the day Michael Myers would walk out of their lives. It wasn’t just about him leaving St. Louis; it was about losing someone who had been there for them in ways no one else had. Freddy, in his darkest moments, had found some semblance of solace knowing Michael was around. And Five, well, Michael had become the father figure he never had. The party wound down, and the night seemed to pass in a blur.

The next morning, the air was tense. All the slashers gathered in the entrance hall, watching as Michael quietly prepared to leave. You stood at the back, heart heavy but knowing that it was time. He had more than earned his freedom. As Michael neared the threshold, the others stood frozen, unsure of what to do or say.

Then, out of nowhere, Five ran toward him. Without hesitation, he threw his arms around Michael, hugging him tightly. "Please...don’t leave," Five whispered, his voice shaky as he tried to hold back tears. The usually stoic Michael hesitated, unsure of how to respond. But then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around Five, pulling him closer and closing his eyes as he enjoyed the hug.

That moment seemed to break the dam. One by one, the others joined in. Freddy was the first to rise from his seat, muttering curses under his breath as he made his way over. One by one, the rest followed, each of them joining in the group hug, letting go of their pride and showing just how much Michael meant to them. They weren’t just losing a friend—they were losing the glue that held them all together. Freddy, Vincent, Jason, Bo—all of them came forward, letting their masks fall for a moment. They weren’t just saying goodbye to a friend; they were saying goodbye to the person who had held them all together, who had been their steady presence in St Louis. The first one to come was the first one to leave.

You watched from the sidelines, your heart heavy but understanding. But then, as you caught his eye, you saw something flicker in his gaze. That’s when you realised. You sighed in defeat, knowing what that look meant. With a weak smile, you walked over and joined the group hug, wrapping your arms around Michael too. You couldn’t ask him to stay, but deep down, you knew he had already made his choice.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Michael wasn’t leaving his family behind.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms was devastated at the thought of leaving. At first, he had genuinely tried, to entertain the idea of reintegration. He had even convinced himself, in fleeting moments, that maybe he could fit into society, that maybe he could live like everyone else. But as the day of his release approached, something inside him shifted. The closer he got to the exit of the facility, the heavier the weight on his chest grew. His thoughts spiraled—what would life be like without you ? Without Jason, Michael, the Horde or Penny ? Without the strange, chaotic family he had found here ?

The idea of being out there, in the world, where no one cared about him, where he couldn’t watch over you, where he couldn’t find solace in Jason’s quiet presence or Penny’s unpredictable antics—it all seemed unbearable. The loneliness he had once known in his old home, the isolation that had eaten away at him for years, loomed over him.

As he reached the threshold, panic took over. Brahms’ breath quickened, his vision blurred, and before he could even think, he was running back. His heart pounded in his chest, his footsteps frantic, until finally, he saw you. His eyes were wide, almost crazed, as he reached out, grabbing you and held you in a desperate grip—his arms almost crushing you.

"I can’t leave," he whispered, his voice breaking with fear. "Please...don’t make me go."

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he clung to you. The mere thought of being separated from you and the others, of being cast back into a world where he was alone again, was too much for him to bear. His voice trembled as he begged.

"I need to stay with you," he whimpered, his grip tightening. "I can’t—please, don’t make me go..."

He started to cry, his sobs uncontrollable as he clung to your side, begging and pleading with every word that left his lips. His body trembled, and you could feel the intensity of his fear, the overwhelming need for you to be there, to not let him face the unknown alone.

You sighed softly, feeling your heart break for him. Brahms had always been fragile and dependant, and this was no different. You knew he wouldn’t survive out there—not without you, not without his family. And as much as you wanted to see him thrive, you couldn’t bring yourself to send him away. His tears, his pleas, were too much.

"Alright," you whispered, softly brushing his hair back. "You can stay."

Brahms collapsed into your arms, his body shaking with relief. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was safe…

Freddy Krueger

Freddy had mocked the whole idea of reintegration from the start, spitting on the process with his usual bravado. "Like I’d need any of that crap," he’d laugh, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. He was cocky, confident in the fact that he was better off in his dream world where he ruled supreme. But then, something unexpected happened. You—you, of all people—approved his discharge from the hospital. He hadn’t seen it coming, and the reality of it hit him harder than he expected.

You had seen him change. You’d watched as he started to show empathy, a bit of compassion, and even a strange respect toward the other slashers. He’d stopped seeing them as targets or obstacles and more like, well...people. Freddy had found pleasure in things besides his usual games of murder and torture. Gardening had become a surprising hobby of his, and he’d formed bonds with some of the others, like Pennywise, Bo, and even Michael. He had laughed, made sarcastic remarks, but there was something more—he had learnt to tolerate, even appreciate, the company around him.

When he first got the news, he was ecstatic, practically gloating as he waved the discharge papers in front of the others, his smug grin plastered across his face. "So long, suckers ! I’m gettin’ outta here, and I wish y’all one happy rotting day !" he’d bragged, basking in the moment. But as the time to leave approached, something unexpected stirred inside him—a flicker of doubt.

He packed his things, but the act felt hollow. He thought about the fun he’d had tormenting you, but also the strange bond that had grown between you two during those games. It wasn’t just about his sadistic fun anymore—there was something else there. And then there were the others, the idiots he’d reluctantly come to call...family.

Freddy paused at the doorway, paper in hand, staring at the exit. For once, the grin slipped off his face as the thought of life without you, without them, hit him. He didn’t want to leave. With a long sigh, he crumpled the paper in his hand and turned back, shaking his head as he strutted toward you with his signature smirk.

"You didn’t think I’d actually leave my favorite plaything behind, did ya ?" Freddy teased, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on your cheek before flipping off the other slashers.

The group let out a chorus of groans, half-hearted and annoyed, but Freddy just cackled, loving every second of it.

"And I ain’t letting ya have all the fun in my absence, you bunch of losers ! You’d miss me too much anyway..."

His words were met with more grumbling, but Freddy, as always, ate it up. "Yeah yeah. Love y’all too, ya cunts !" he laughed, throwing his arms out wide before making himself comfortable again, knowing full well he was right where he belonged.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent, the quieter of the Sinclairs, had made it clear long ago that he wasn’t that particularly eager to leave and besides, he knew he was never going to leave his twin behind. The thought of returning to society was almost alien and completely unappealing to him. When you brought the discharge papers—he was genuinely stunned—and he found himself looking back at you, heart aching. He shook his head. No. He couldn’t leave you or Bo behind.

Bo caught wind about his brother’s decision to stay and barged into Vincent’s bedroom—knocking the door down before yelling.

"Are ya outta yer goddamn mind ?!"

Vince shivered at Bo’s sudden loud voice and was about to reply when Bo grabbed his arm and dragged him down the corridor toward the exit.

"They actually think yer good enough for the outside world, ya dumb bird. And yer gonna stay in here ?! Spoil it all fer what ?! Fer me ?! Fer Nurse Y/N ?! The reason they’re here is to give us—poor bastards—a second chance ?! And yer gonna mess up yers cause ya want to stay ?! Grow a damn pair, Vince !"

Vince felt tears run down his cheeks at his brother’s harsh words and he shook his head frenetically to tell him that he didn’t want to leave, but then…Bo decided to grab his brother once more and drag him towards the exit himself—restraining his own tears. Bo didn’t want to be alone either…but that didn’t mean he was gonna let Vince spoil that chance for him. He wasn’t gonna let his twin make that mistake…

"Come on, Vince. Ya gotta take that chance and get back to Lester. He must be worried sick and think we both really kicked the bucket…" They arrived at the door and Vince started wheezing painfully and tried to voice out his protest, but Bo forced himself not to listen as he suddenly shoved Vince outside the facility. And when he was about to close the door, Bo finally allowed himself to show his true emotions as he grinned and his eyes softened—red-rimmed.

"…You are and have always been the best twin, Vince. Now, make me proud and have a good life for me, ‘kay ?"

Vincent screamed as the door closed and he started hammering at the door—calling out for Bo who slid to the floor and forced himself to remain deaf to his brother’s voice. He started sobbing as it was the first time they would be separated, but he still didn’t want his brother to stay…

You heard his sobs and walked towards the door to find Bo—his back facing the door and his knees up to his chin. He looked like a child and was covering his eyes. You didn’t need to ask, you knew what he had done. You wordlessly sat next to him and tried to reassure him.

"That was…very brave of you, Bo. And don’t worry. You will soon join your brother. I promise."

You put a hand on his shoulder and was surprised when out of the blue, Bo grabbed your waist and settled you on his lap so he may cry against your chest. You were momentarily stunned before you allowed him to hold you and started stroking his hair…

"Sssh…You did good, Bo. You did good."

Bo Sinclair

Bo stood at the edge of the facility, torn between conflicting emotions. The thought of being controlled or confined filled him with resentment, yet the idea of reintegration felt wrong in a different way. He had fought hard to build something with you, to let you and the other slashers into his guarded heart. The prospect of losing that connection gnawed at him, like a slow, insistent ache.

He cursed under his breath, pacing back and forth, his pride wrestling with the feelings churning inside him. The memories of laughter shared and quiet moments spent together played in his mind, reminding him just how much he had come to rely on your presence. He took a deep breath, glancing back towards the exit where freedom awaited, yet it felt so far removed from the life he had begun to cherish.

As he stood there, uncertainty washed over him, and he felt his heart clench. The idea of leaving you behind, leaving everything he had built, felt unbearable. He liked fixing cars and being with people who could…actually understand him. With an exasperated sigh, he turned on his heel, striding back toward you, his decision made.

"I ain’t goin’ nowhere, darlin’. Can’t leave you here by yourself, now can I ?" His voice was firm, yet he smiled.

You met him with a sad smile. It was a moment of relief for Bo, but you also understood the weight of the situation. As much as you wanted him to stay, you knew he had to embrace the opportunities that lay ahead. Gently, you reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Bo, you deserve this chance. Your brothers will be waiting for you. You can’t throw it away."

His expression shifted, torn between the desire to stay and the reality of what you were saying. He opened his mouth to protest, but the look in your eyes silenced him. You were right; he had fought for this moment, and it was unfair to squander it just because of his fears.

With a heavy heart, you turned him back towards the exit, giving him a gentle nudge. "Go on, Bo. Just think of all the possibilities out there. You won’t be alone. You have your brothers. And you have your whole life ahead of you. Just…take that chance and you’ll see."

He hesitated, looking back at you with an expression of longing. "But I don’t wanna leave you…"

Your smile faltered slightly.

"I’ll be right here, waiting for you. You can come back anytime." Your smile remained still, a mixture of sadness and encouragement in your gaze.

Finally, Bo took a step forward, then another, each movement feeling like a weight lifting off his shoulders. But as he reached the threshold, he paused one last time, turning back to face you. "You promise I’ll get to see you again ?"

"I promise," you replied, sincerity in your voice. But when he was far enough, your eyes filled with tears. You were really gonna miss the Sinclairs…

Pennywise

Pennywise stood at the threshold, staring out into the world beyond the facility’s gates. The idea of reintegration was laughable to him at first—a joke he didn’t even bother taking seriously. After all, he was the Eater of Worlds, the one who brought fear and destruction wherever he went. What place did he have among people ? Yet here he was, papers in hand, offering him the chance to leave St. Louis and begin again. A twisted smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he thought about it.

But as he prepared to step forward, something gnawed at him. Penny.

He glanced back, and there he was—his annoying and stupidly tall brother. Penny stood there, fidgeting, watching him with those wide, innocent eyes that belied the horrors they had both committed. The thought of leaving Penny behind tugged at something deep within him. Pennywise had always been the older brother, the protector, and no matter what fate had handed them, they had always been together. He couldn’t just walk away from that. The world beyond these gates might offer him freedom, but without Penny, it would be hollow, meaningless.

His smirk faded, and a bitter laugh escaped his throat. "Who do they think I am, huh ?" He muttered to himself, turning on his heel to face Penny. His brother was still standing there, looking confused, like a child waiting for guidance. Pennywise shook his head, feeling something in his chest twist painfully.

"There ain’t no world out there for me without you, little brother," he growled, striding back towards Penny, his steps heavy with determination.

Penny’s face lit up with confusion, his usual wide grin faltering. "But...you’re supposed to go," Penny said, his voice trembling slightly. "You can leave, they said—"

"I don’t give a damn what they said," Pennywise cut him off sharply, standing in front of Penny now, his hands resting on his brother’s shoulders. "I’m not going anywhere without you, you hear me ?"

Penny blinked, then let out a quiet, breathy laugh, though there was uncertainty in his eyes. "Really ?"

"Really," Pennywise confirmed, pulling him into a rough, awkward hug. "What kinda brother would I be if I left you here by yourself ?"

Penny clung to him, nodding, his giggles returning, though they were softer this time, almost relieved. "We stick together, right ?"

"That’s right. Always," Pennywise muttered.

As the two clowns stood there, you watched from the side, a bittersweet feeling settling over you. You knew Pennywise had the chance to go, to reintegrate into society, but the bond between the two brothers was too strong. They had survived so much together—there was no world in which they would willingly part.

You approached quietly, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Pennywise, you could have had your freedom."

He glanced at you, eyes sharp but lacking the usual malice. "This is my freedom," he said, motioning to Penny, who was still clinging to him like a lifeline and then gestured to St Louis. "All this."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his choice. "Well, then...we’re glad to have you both stay."

Pennywise snorted, but there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes as he tightened his grip on Penny. "You ain’t getting rid of me that easily," he said, his usual bravado returning. "Besides, who’d look after this idiot without me ?"

Penny giggled again, this time fully, as if reassured by his brother’s presence. You smiled softly, knowing that despite the chaos they brought, the bond between them was unbreakable. They weren’t just brothers—they were each other’s worlds, and that was something neither of them would ever leave behind.

Penny

Penny had never really understood what the word "freedom" meant—not truly. The idea of being "free" seemed strange to him, especially when it meant being away from Pennywise. His brother had always been the one constant in his life, the one who found him when he was lost and showed him a new way to live, even if that way was covered in blood. So, when the papers came, telling him he was free to go, Penny wasn’t sure how to react.

Pennywise, though, grinned from ear to ear, that same wicked, sharp-toothed smile he wore when he thought he was playing some grand trick. He patted Penny on the shoulder and laughed.

"Well, well, little brother," Pennywise said, circling him like a predator eyeing prey. "Looks like you’ve hit the jackpot, huh ? They’re letting you out. You can finally leave this dump behind and see what’s out there." His tone was light, mocking almost, but there was something in his eyes that made Penny pause.

"Leave ?" Penny repeated, tilting his head, his wide smile faltering for a moment. "But...what about you ?"

Pennywise waved him off, his grin widening. "Ah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine. Go on, Penny. This is your big chance. You don’t want to waste it, do you ?"

Penny hesitated, his smile now completely gone. He looked at Pennywise, trying to make sense of his brother’s words. The idea of leaving Pennywise behind—it didn’t sit right with him. Not at all. "But...you said we would stick together," Penny mumbled, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "You said you’d always look after me."

Pennywise’s grin wavered, just for a second, but then it was back, sharper than ever. "And I have, haven’t I ? But you don’t need me anymore, Penny. You’re free now. Go on, go have your fun without me. It’s your big chance. You’ve been waiting for this…Go on, get out there."

Penny looked back at the open world beyond the facility, but it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt cold, vast, and terrifying. His hands shook as he took a hesitant step toward the door, but something was pulling him back—something stronger than the lure of freedom. He looked over his shoulder again, hoping to find some reassurance in his brother’s eyes.

Pennywise kept his cool, giving a lazy wave of his hand. "You’ll be fine without me. I mean, you’ve been wantin’ to get outta here for a while now, haven’t ya ? Just…go."

But even as he said it, his heart clenched painfully in his chest. He hated this—hated lying to Penny. Penny will be fine. However, he wasn’t sure if he—himself—was gonna be. But he needed his brother to have a real chance at a normal life, to be free of the monster Pennywise had made him into.

Penny took another step forward, but his legs felt heavy. His entire body resisted the idea of leaving Pennywise behind.

Penny stared at him, eyes wide and confused. The words didn’t feel right, didn’t feel like Pennywise. He took a step closer, reaching out as if to touch his brother’s arm, but then stopped, uncertainty freezing him in place. He knew how much his brother hated hugs. "I don’t want to go," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I don’t want to be out there without you, brother."

Pennywise’s grin faltered. It was…the first time Penny had ever called him brother since his transformation. He looked at Penny for a long moment, his sharp gaze softening, though he tried to hide it behind a sneer. "Don’t be stupid," he muttered, but there was no bite in his words. "I ain’t gonna be much help out there, kid. You’ll do better without me draggin’ you down. You’ll be fine, Penny."

But Penny shook his head, panic rising in his chest. "No ! I won’t !" His voice was growing louder, more desperate. "I can’t do it without you ! I won’t leave !" He stumbled forward, clutching Pennywise’s arm with both hands now, his grip tight, desperate. "Please don’t make me go."

Pennywise froze, staring up at his little brother, the one he had spent centuries protecting, guiding, shaping. And now, here he was, terrified at the idea of leaving. Penny’s wide, innocent eyes searched his face, and Pennywise felt something twist painfully in his chest.

Pennywise clenched his jaw, every instinct screaming at him to stop this charade. But he had to let Penny go, for his own good. He forced a laugh, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Look, it ain’t a big deal. You’ll get used to it. Hell, you might even like it out there without me. No more rules, no more walls...No more old farts to tell you what to do. You’re free, Penny. Free."

But Penny didn’t move. He shook his head, his wide eyes brimming with confusion and hurt. "You don’t want me with you anymore, is that it ?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Did I…do something wrong, Pennywise ? Haven’t I been a good brother to you ?"

The words hit Pennywise like a punch to the gut. His fists clenched, and for a moment, his façade cracked. "That’s not what I—" He cut himself off, looking away as his throat tightened.

But Penny had already seen enough. "You’re lying," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. "You don’t want me to go. You’re scared. Like me."

Pennywise finally let out a long, frustrated breath, his tough-guy act crumbling. "Dammit, Penny...Of course I don’t want you to go. And of course I am scared."

Penny’s lip trembled, and he quickly threw himself into Pennywise’s arms, clutching his brother tightly. He didn’t care anymore if Pennywise was to push him away. "I don’t wanna leave you, ever. Please don’t make me, brother."

Pennywise wrapped his arms around Penny, holding him close, his face softening. "I wasn’t tryin’ to make you, idiot," he muttered, his voice thick. "I just...I thought you’d be better off. I didn’t want you to miss your second chance because of me."

Penny shook his head. "No chance is worth leaving you behind, Pennywise. We stick together, remember ?"

Pennywise sighed, a sad smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah...alright, kiddo. We stick together."

For a long time, they stood there, Penny clinging to his brother as though he were his lifeline, and Pennywise holding him just as tightly. He had tried to give his brother a chance at freedom, at a life beyond their shared horrors, but in the end, neither of them could let go.

When you approached, watching the scene unfold, Pennywise met your gaze over Penny’s shoulder. His usual sharp grin was gone, replaced with something sadder, more resigned. "Guess we’re both staying, huh ?" he said quietly, though it wasn’t really a question.

You smiled softly, nodding. "I figured as much."

As you stood off to the side, watching the two of them, you felt a pang of emotion. It wasn’t just about them refusing to leave the facility—it was about them refusing to leave each other. Pennywise had tried to give Penny a future, but in the end, they both realized their future was together.

But what they were both unaware of was that you had made sure to get both their discharge papers signed…And that they would be both leaving soon enough.

Jack Torrance

Jack stood at the exit, gripping the discharge papers in his hand like a lifeline. He stared at the open door, the pathway to freedom, but something about it felt wrong—like it was too easy. After everything he’d been through, after all the dark, twisting corridors of his mind, reintegration into society felt like a trick, like a bad joke that someone was playing on him.

"Look at this, Jackie-boy," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "They think you’re cured. They think you’re all better now." He chuckled, the sound low and bitter, his eyes flicking between the door and the facility behind him.

You watched him from a distance, sensing his inner turmoil. Jack had changed, no doubt about it. The rage, the uncontrollable thirst for violence—it had dulled, simmered down into something more manageable. But you knew, just as he did, that it hadn’t disappeared entirely. Reintegration wasn’t going to be simple for him.

His knuckles whitened around the papers, crumpling them slightly as he clenched his fists. "It’s a load of crap," he spat, though his voice trembled ever so slightly. "What am I supposed to do out there, huh ? Go back to pretending I’m normal ? Like I didn’t lose it, like I didn’t almost—"

He cut himself off, jaw tightening. His mind flashed to images of the Overlook, the whispers in the walls, the looming presence of things he couldn’t control. But then he thought about you, about the other slashers. The twisted family he had somehow found himself a part of in this place. It wasn’t perfect, and it sure as hell wasn’t normal, but it was something. And it was real.

Jack glanced over his shoulder at you, standing quietly by the door, waiting. His heart twisted at the thought of leaving this behind. The idea of stepping out into the world alone, without that connection—it gnawed at him, filled him with a creeping dread.

"Hell…" he sighed, running a hand down his face. His thoughts wrestled with each other, pride and fear duking it out in his mind. Jack had always been a man with too much pride, too much ego. But there was something more than that now—something that made him hesitate, something that kept him from walking out that door.

Eventually, with a deep, frustrated groan, Jack turned on his heel, crumpling the papers in his fist. He marched back toward you, his steps heavy and determined, but his face twisted in a mix of emotions. "Forget it. I ain’t going anywhere. Nope. Ain’t happening," he declared. "I ain’t about to leave you here to deal with this circus by yourself."

You smiled sadly. "Jack, you should take this chance. You’ve worked so hard to get here."

Jack shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "Yeah, well...maybe hard work ain’t enough this time." He looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction. "You’re the only thing keeping me from losing it, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna handle it on my own out there, not without you."

Your heart ached for him, but you knew what you had to do. With a gentle hand, you reached for his arm, slowly guiding him toward the exit. Jack’s eyes widened, panic flickering in them as he realized what you were doing.

"Hey, hey, wait—what the hell are you—" He tried to pull away, but you held firm, your smile sad but resolute.

"Jack, you deserve a life outside these walls. You’ve earned it. And your son deserves his father back." The mention of Danny made Jack freeze, his breath hitching. "You can have another chance with him. Don’t waste that."

Jack’s determination deflated in an instant, replaced by a deep, gut-wrenching sorrow. He lowered his gaze, the fight draining out of him. "I...I don’t know if I can."

"You can," you whispered softly, squeezing his arm. "And I’ll be here when you’re ready to come back. But you have to try, Jack."

For a long moment, Jack stood there, staring at the open door like it was the edge of a cliff. Then, finally, with a defeated sigh, he nodded in agreement. "Alright, alright...whatever."

You smiled, gently pushing him toward the exit one last time. "Go on, Jack. I am rooting for you."

As he stepped through the door, Jack paused, looking back at you one last time. "Don’t you forget about me, alright ?"

"I won’t," you promised, watching as he disappeared into the world beyond.

……

Bonus

The facility was quiet. Too quiet. You stood in the empty corridor, staring at the space that once buzzed with life, chaos, and more than a few death threats—yet now, all of it was gone. The slashers were gone.

One by one, they had walked out, some more willingly than others. You had seen them off, each with their own strange mix of emotions, but now…the finality of it all was hitting you. The air felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on your chest as you wandered aimlessly through the halls, past the rooms that had once been filled with their presence.

Jason’s room—cold and methodical, but with a small corner where he’d kept all of his little wood figurines, a reminder of the quiet peace he found here. You picked up a little frog figurine and smiled at it before walking away. Freddy’s space, always filled with his arrogant cackling and sarcastic jabs, was eerily silent. The air no longer held that faint scent of burnt metal. Brahms’ toys were gone too, the little things he’d cling to, now absent from the shelf he’d always obsessively arranged.

You paused outside Bo and Vincent’s shared room. The door was ajar, just as they had left it. Bo’s worn cap hung haphazardly over a chair’s back corner, and Vincent’s sketches still covered the walls, half-finished masterpieces of a mind far more brilliant than most would ever understand. But even in their messy intimacy, there was a void, a stark reminder that they weren’t coming back.

You stepped inside and sank into Bo’s chair, resting your head in your hands as the emptiness finally got to you. You had fought so hard for them, had seen them in ways the world never would, had given everything to help them find a new beginning. And now, they were free. You should feel proud. Relieved, even.

But all you felt was lonely.

The facility had been your home too, your sanctuary in a world that could never quite understand you or them. Now, without them here, it felt cold. Hollow. So damn empty. The echoes of their voices, the weight of their presence still lingered like ghosts haunting the spaces they had left behind.

You closed your eyes, trying to suppress the tightening in your chest. You had known this day would come. You had helped them prepare for it, pushed them when they needed it. But nothing could have prepared you for the silence that followed.

For a long time, you sat there, alone in the stillness. It felt like mourning—not just for the slashers, but for the connection you had built with each of them. You had been their confidante, their friend, their guide. And now, in their absence, you didn’t know who you were anymore.

Your mind drifted to each of them—Jason, Freddy, Brahms, Bo, Vincent, Pennywise, Penny, Michael and all the others. You wondered if they would make it out there. If they would find happiness, if they would remember you. And then there was a pang in your heart—a fear that maybe, just maybe, you had been forgotten already.

You stood up, moving through the empty halls with one final look, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. You had done your job. They were free. But somewhere in the quiet, you wished you hadn’t been left behind.

For now, though, you would keep that promise to them. You would wait. Even if it meant sitting in the stillness, holding onto the hope that one day, they might come back.

You closed the door behind you.

143 notes · View notes