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studiopeached · 7 months

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THREE, TWO, RUN. ft. Peter Dunbar

♡ SUMMARY: After fleeing from your boyfriend, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it.

♡ CONTENT WARNINGS: pwp, afab, fem!reader, ex-boyfriend!peter x reader, peter being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick peter—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, bondage

♡ WORD COUNT: 2.4k plot, 1.9k smut. 4.3k total

♡ STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER. this is a spin off from my @peachedtvs blog called 'Til Death Dont We Part'

♡ MASTERLIST. cumming soon! Main blog @peachedtv

Peter felt you were quite silly, even from when his eyes first laid upon you through the windows of your diner.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Peter wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the music he’d hum to silently as he got rid of your recent obstacles. A heavy saw in his hand slashing back and forth, splitting bone into two before stuffing remains of human flesh into a black tarpe—or when he'd bring the nuisances back alive. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth melody muffled through his earbuds.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Peter wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Peter always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Every silly thing had something inside of him twist. A strange twist, a bubbling feeling that had his gut wrench around itself—curling around and laying discomfort deep into his heart, where it stood mockingly. Unable to be buried beneath other thoughts, placed behind distractions, or replaced with another. And this bothered him.

Peter was always in control.

Control of his job, control of his victims, the police, his therapy, the growing police patrols in your city. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over 3 years ago.

The first day you two had met, Peter was not in a good mental space. His family was in ruins, the relationship between he and his mother deteriorating until he had finally decided to storm out of the house and leave for good. Leave his home for good.

With nowhere to go, and a rumbling stomach, Peter decided the best course of action was to first fuel his appetite. Damn Diner was loud, painstakingly so. There was a mess of voices, the clash of plates, cutlery, dragging of chairs against tilted floors, chaos that hummed against a muffled out melody of tunes through the ceiling speakers. Everything was so loud. There was a child in the booth next to his. A mess of ketchup and mustard spraying everywhere, a glob falling onto his cheek as his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. There was a couple in the booth across, arguing over the cries of their child whining for a crumb of their attention. There was yelling from the kitchen, scolding as a worker had done something wrong and sent an order to the incorrect table.

And then, there was you.

Timidly, you rushed over to his table. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, apologizing profusely as you explained the mess around the diner. And there, all the loudness stopped. Your voice muffled, muffled until it became strikingly clear and the diner around him seem to slow. Peter's eyes traced your face, how you were out of breath, how kindly you looked to him, how you asked if he was okay. And in this world of distain, you were pure.

And there was the first twist.

Peter spent nights going crazy.

Absolutely insane.

When he had first broken into your apartment, his heavy steps drowned out by the moans of your roommate through the paper thin walls, he thought he would melt into the floor when he first inhaled the scent of you room.

It was a soft aroma, something that had his eyes rolling into the back of his skull when he saw you laying peacefully on the bed. Your head was smushed between a folded pillow, covering your ears as your face was scrunched in discomfort.

"Lucy's being so loud tonight, isn't she, Darling?" Peter spoke softly, the back of his hand gracing your cheek as he sat on the edge of your bed. Careful to dip your mattress slowly so as to not wake you. Carefully, his other hand trailed up the curve of your torso, hip to waist, before entangling with your fingers.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. And there, he knew even fate was in his hands the moment he had yours in his.

When Peter had mustered up the courage to approach you in the park, he felt his heart beating out his chest, his mind going hazy from everything he wanted to do to you—from hearing your voice up close again. It had been nearly a year since you two had first met at the diner, and it seemed as though you had forgotten him completely. Luckily, Peter knew enough about you through his year of...supervision, and was soon able to swipe you off your feet. There, he became yours.

Your boyfriend.

And you, his girlfriend.

Often the two of you shared late nights after your dates. The hum of cicadas drumming into the background as you'd lay into the grass of the park the two of you 'first' met in. Your hands would intertwine together as the other would hold the grass below. In this park, the two of you would often talk about your dreams, aspirations, or talk shit about whatever seemed to bother you in your life at the moment. And Peter always listened.

In other moments, the two of you enjoyed each other's company. A silence paired with the ambience of howling wind, crickets, and a glint in your eye from the reflection of the moonlight and stars twinkling above. And through this silence, your heart spilled.

“I want to be with you forever, Peter." You spoke softly, you eyes still stuck on the starlight above.

A twist, something twisted once more.

For the first time, Peter eyes looked away from you—a blush traveling to his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features.

“Forever, then, Darling."

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and you both had your own jobs—despite Peter's insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Peter's dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Peter.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, Darling.” Peter greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Peter looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Peter did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarray, having strangely lost employee after employee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your employer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Peter.

Although, something felt off.

With Peter home, it was always lively. The ambiance of bustling trees against the wind outside, a hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen, a low vibrato of your home's ventilation system, and the comfort of your boyfriend's presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt the presence of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creaking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Peter, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

A sturdy lock it was. Heavy metal weighing it flush against the wood, holding the door firmly shut to keep everything in out. There was a strange smell, too. A scent that leaked from beneath the dark oak doorway, filling the air with a musk of cooper and spoiled eggs. Your hand reached for the lock, flinching when built up static pricked your skin. A warning. But you held firm. Giving a cautious, downward tug as the lock went slack. It was open. You pushed the door back slowly, a low creak humming your presence, a flood of a strange meat stinging the view in your eyes.

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your boyfriend.

You were terrified.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even more so with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and employer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Peter served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly three years later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of the fourth apartment complex you were going to apply to. Advertised as a gated community of safety, an exorbitant lot you were willing to hack up the money for to get away from him.

Although, just as three years ago, just as you were able to arrive to the complex, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice low, strange, and terrifyingly familiar. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in the home you shared with him. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your boyfriend's hand.

“I missed you, my Darling.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Peter's hand off your shoulder when a burning wet rag was drowned upon your lower face. You kicked, muffled screams and sobs as you dug into the palm that pinched the bridge of your nose, your body growing increasingly more limp. You didn't know what was happening, but by the next moment, it seemed as though you were melting into the floor—the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a rough, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Peter’s deep eyes had an errie glint. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Peter still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into maddness. Sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes that contrasted against sharp blues. He looked terrifying. His forearms were scattered with scars and wounds, peeled back scabs across his skin—likely from the amount of struggling you had done while in his arms. Your name was etched into his skin. Over and over and over, hearts and sharp lines littered as keloids formed in the place of his artwork. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Pe—“

"You remember the time when you'd say it back, don't you, Darling?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A mix of insanity and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Peter felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did three years ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Peter brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Peter licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Peter marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Peter held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Peter got from the sight of you.

His hand slid from your mouth, gripping your neck tightly to restrict precious air from flooding your throat. He wanted you ditzy anyway. Nothing but a lifeless shell of who you were once he was done.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

Your hands held his wrist desparately, nails scratching into his skin as he only smiled wider in response, stitches appearing on the corners of his mouth to prevent his face from ripping in two from his pure display of euphoria.

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Peter that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Peter was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Peter pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"P-Peter—!" He only smiled in response.

"You've always been so sensitive, huh? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Peter, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Peter stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Peter kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Peter, he pulled a length of manila rope from his back pocket—grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Peter to slow down, to be more gentle.

A third finger was nudged deep inside of you, pairing with the speed of his thumb on your clit increasing. His fingers pounded into you feverishly, sounds of your arousal soaking your inner thighs and his forearm—dirtying the sleeve of his pinstriped coat. You couldn't concentrate, no longer resisting against the firm hold his shadows had upon your wrists. No longer holding back your sweet moans.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Peter, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"P-Peter, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You were always so easy to please.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, bruising your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Peter smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Peter continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitching and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Darling?" Peter was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clenched around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Peter having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Peter, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Peter suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

Meanwhile, your eyes blew wide as you whimpered out desperately, struggling against the binds on your wrists as your cunt stretched around him. He was big, painfully so. And you were thankful he decided to slide the remaining of his length in slowly, inch by inch. And yet, even when he was just halfway, you felt as though he was already plush against your cervix.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess I can be a little rough, you were always into that, anyways." Before you could understand what Peter meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Peter pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Peter pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Peter only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

Your chest heaved as his thumb came down to your clit once more, roughly pressing onto you before swirling it harshly. You arched your back, clawing at the wrist on your throat as you moaned, crying around his cock when the underside of it would press into your g-spot, when the head of it would slam so deep against your cervix you felt he might fuck himself into your womb. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a hand gripping the torn sheets below you as you cried out when your pussy clentched around him.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Peter where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-boyfriend's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Baby."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Peter swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him baby once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Peter laughed.

"You truly know me so well, Darling." Peter's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Peter pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Peter's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Peter's fingers swirling your clit viciously.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Peter let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Peter continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"B-baby, Peter—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since three years ago, and for the first time together—Peter kissed you.

His kiss was soft, gentle, loving. His hips never stilled, continuing to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your poor little pussy. Although, his mouth was soft against yours, eyes closed and hand holding your neck lightly as the tips of his fingers graced your bruised skin. Bruised with the marks of his love, his obsession.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Peter's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Peter's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Peter allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, Darling."

Peter spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't you leave me ever again."

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ekuudarlin · 6 months

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♥︎ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲/𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

♥︎ 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: reaction

♥︎ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦

♥︎ 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫: 𝐈’𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲—𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥

You uttering those words from your pretty lips give him pause. “A-Angel?” he stammers, pulling away from your neck where he had been pressing open mouth kisses prior. He’s staring at you in disbelief, eyes wide like a dear caught in headlights. An all too familiar heat crawls up his chest and setting on cheeks.

Did he hear that right? God, let him have heard you right. Let it not be another daydream playing tricks on him. The words flow too sweetly to only be his imagination. Would he be so cruel to himself to imagine you saying those very words? Yes, he would. He already went so far as to imagine a whole life with you, not much difference in that.

“C-Can you repeat that?” He’s seeking confirmation. His arctic eyes hold a growing intensity that rivals the heat of the blush splashed over his fair cheeks. When you repeat yourself, it’s not at all as confident as the first time—the embarrassment was settling in.

Ren didn’t really feel the same. He was swooning inside despite it not showing on shocked expression yet. His heart felt like it was going to combust in his chest with how over the moon he felt. One blink, his facial expression changes to one you haven’t really seen on him. He’s squinting down at you, a impish twinkle in his eyes and a grin slowly etches onto his face.

You really are an angel—you had to have heard his prayers. You’re giving him what he always wanted—with no restraints. Ren’s trembling as he’s still attempting to hold himself back; it’s too soon for him to drop all his future plans on you right now. So many plans—

“You make me so happy, baby,” he coos, lowering himself to your face. Being this close, you swear you can see hearts in his eyes, “But don’t you worry! I’ll make you feel so much, promise!”

For a fleeting moment—your words fail to capture his attention. Lost in the enchanting image of you, partially naked beneath him, he only snaps back to the conversation when your demeanor shifts to shyness, making him realize he missed a part of what was said.

"Are you okay, rosebud?" he murmurs sweetly, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, placing your well-being above his own needs for the moment. In response, you repeat yourself hastily, your voice resembling a squeak, akin to a mouse caught in a trap.

Truly, there wasn’t a more accurate description. You’re trapped in Damon’s arms, and he gazes at you as if you’re the most exquisite meal he’s ever encountered. Your words shatter the composure he usually maintains for your safety—a concern he takes seriously.

Dealing with this unhealthy, secret obsession for you is difficult on its own—something he constantly has to control, particularly in moments like these to not scare you away. Now, you're indicating that he doesn't need to hold back, but you're unaware of just how misguided that suggestion is for him.

It would be a lie if he claimed not to have dreamed of you uttering similar words, and on those occasions, he seizes the opportunity. In dreams, you're less fragile and more aware of who he truly is. Oh, his poor rosebud.

A desire-filled growl rumbles deep in his chest, and he accompanies it with one of his signature toothy grins. "Careful with your words, love... you're sparking all sorts of ideas in me."

John felt as though he wasn't truly present with you; instead, he felt himself drifting above, observing the interaction unfold like a scene from a romcom he had grown fond of watching. It was during those moments that you were at your most physical.

Though this time isn't much different, your words struck a chord as they flowed from your lips like sweet nectar. He couldn't recall a time when you had ever spoken so provocatively, and he remembers every detail about you...

Things you couldn't bring yourself to confess even to God, that often weighed heavily on your conscience, shrouded in shame. Yet, your web history left a trail of breadcrumbs that John consumed with an unhealthy fervor, imitating them solely for your sake. He was willing to do anything for you.

He's come a long way, enduring every bad end repeatedly so that you could ultimately end up like this, nestled comfortably in his arms, exchanging sweet nothings that meant the world to him and more.

Weakness overcomes him as his focus returns, his eyes filled with adoration fixed on you. There's nothing he can do but express it. "Me too!" he exclaims, his smile resembling a chester's cat, strands of hair cascading across his face. "You can be rough, I'm yours!"

John leans in, planting kisses on your face repeatedly, murmuring, "Forever and ever and ever," before trailing to your neck.

Alan is in the process of burying his face into your clothed stomach when you speak those magic words. A shiver, filled with anticipation and excitement, dances down his spine—naughty and sinful. He pauses, stuck in a trance as he replays the words in his head.

Do you have any idea what you do to him—truly? As if his heightened senses of smell, touch, and even taste weren't sufficient, you further bless him with your teasing words. He silently thanks whoever is out there that he's currently spooning you, or else he would collapse from weakened knees.

He remains silent for a moment longer than expected, leading you to believe he didn't hear you. But he did—he's simply grappling with the shock and contemplating how to translate those words into action. He's thought about it before, of course he has.

Perhaps not to cause physical harm, but to assert his control, guiding you into every imaginable position within minutes, leaving you placid and breathless, entirely for his pleasure.

Alan looks up at you, a feral intensity gleaming in his eyes. You can almost envision him casting heart eyes your way, his gaze a perfect blend of adoration and want. “Mine to do what I want.” He says it more as a promise—a statement more than anything else.

Any ordinary person might raise an eyebrow at your preference for pain, but Jack smiles, perhaps even blushes. He feels honored, particularly by your declaration of love. He belongs to you as well—he's uncertain how many times he needs to affirm it, but he will, without hesitation.

Under no circumstances will he physically harm you—he doesn’t even enjoy choking you, despite your preference for it. The most he'll do is leave painful and long-lasting hickeys on your body or handle you into position a bit roughly. Anything beyond that is off the table. He's a big guy, and hurting you is the furthest thing from his mind.

He’s too preoccupied with making you happy. His little ray of sunshine, the reason he doesn’t linger on the past is because the present with you is so fulfilling. Waking up beside you gives him a sense of happiness and purpose.

Even if that purpose is to consume you whole—sinfully.

He chuckles softly, his eyelids drooping to a dangerously seductive degree, sending a jolt through your core. "I could never harm you," he murmurs, practically purring as he draws you in closer. "You're my sunshine," he says, as though it’s the most obvious truth. And indeed, to him, it is.

"But I'm more than willing to make you cry out in pleasure."

It was difficult for you to even utter the words with his tongue shoved down your throat. You could say he really ate it up—both literally and figuratively. When he finally pulled away to allow you to catch your breath, he was grinning so wide, your cheeks ached just from looking at him.

Peter is thrilled. He knows deep down he's a bit of a freak—the only person unaware of this between the two of you is you. Maybe later after he folds you like a pretzel you'll realize mentioning something like this wasn't the best idea, but for now, he's thrilled. Your confession, or rather demand, came much sooner than he anticipated though. Shocked him just a little.

Originally, he planned to discuss introducing new elements into the bedroom, but this turn of events suits him perfectly. However, he knows he needs to take things slow, even though his mind is already racing ahead, imagining how he wants you to end up—preferably begging. But he's a very patient man.

“You’re so fucking cute… You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for those words.” He murmurs low, slowly trailing kisses down your body with a steady grip on both your thighs.

#yandere #yandere x reader #john doe x reader #sunny day jack x reader #your boyfriend peter x reader #14 days with you x reader #my dear hatchet man x reader #broken colors x reader #br<3ken colors #⊹ 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐫𝐞𝐧[𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝]#𖥔 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 / 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 #⊹ 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 / 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐞 #𖥔 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧 / 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 #⊹ 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 & 𝐝𝐨𝐞-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 / 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #𖥔 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 & 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 / 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧[𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫]#14dwy ren #my dear hatchet man #something wrong with sunny day jack #yb peter #john doe

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