#sunkendreams masterlist

[rapturously]

Dwayne or David facesitting. Period. Like, vampires don't need to breathe! Hell, let em stay down there for hours. Also, am I too gross or crazy to think about having fun during that time of the month? 🩸

blood moon.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | dwayne (the lost boys) x fem!reader

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | drabble — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 3.7K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT (mdni), dubious consent (mild coercion) cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), reader is on their period, bloodplay (lots of it, he’s a vampire), facesitting, biting, hair-pulling, pet names (mama, girl, sweet girl), dwayne is hungry and he’s nasty, kissing, vampire antics, possessive dwayne, Dwayne is a little selfish in this

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | wow ,,, a fic three days in a row ??? you can tell I’m hyperfixated because I’ll produce a ton of content very rapidly. Also, I love dwayne so much, he’s my daddy. ALSO — please keep sending me horny requests for the lost boys, I’m being fed !!! also, hello to all of my new followers & tlb fellows :)) love y’all and hope you enjoy!

A blood moon — it was a humorous term that your mother used to use for your menstrual cycle, something that you’d grown to despise with every fiber of your being. It was another unfortunate shackle of humanity, a reminder that you were still flesh and blood. Whenever your time of the month came about, you were always tempted to beg David for a sip of that forbidden wine.

The oppressive heat of the cavernous labyrinth that the boys dwelled within had felt somewhat comforting to you as you curled up on Dwayne’s makeshift bed, form contorted into the fetal position. A slow, agonizing pain spread throughout your lower abdomen, making your muscles feel weak and useless.

Sunset was just upon the horizon as you struggled to endure the suffering that you were forced into with each passing month. The mattress felt cool and smooth underneath your cheek, having abandoned the scattered pillows in favor of awaiting your demise. You wanted to sob, biting at the inside of your cheek, teeth scraping against flesh as your fists balled into the blanket.

Everything hurt — what began as a dull ache soon manifested into a pain that gripped your entire body. Your back was sore, head throbbing, and your insides felt as if they were being stirred around by the hand of another. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to move from your spot, anchored to your slice of space.

Once dusk fell, the vampires you’d been living with came to life, no longer hanging from the rafters of some dark, damp alcove. You could heat Marko and Paul’s guffaws and laughter, accompanied by David’s stern, tempered remarks. It all served as idle background noise, prompting you to close your eyes.

The noise dissipated — it was too quick for your liking. Silence settled in, save for the faint rustling of ambience within the cave, combined with something rattling around out in the remnants of the old lobby.

As much as you didn’t want to move, you sluggishly rolled out of bed, discomforted by the sensation of sloshing liquid rushing between your legs. It was the worst part of your cycle — the unpleasant sensations, the feeling of being wholly unclean. You draped a blanket around you, hobbling from Dwayne’s roost.

Strong, veined hands were buried within the grease-laden guts of a motorcycle, dismantling a variety of components. The vehicle was partially dismantled, stripped down to the metal underbelly. Dwayne’s dark tresses were disheveled from slumber, parts of scrap scattered around him. An elongated, metal screw was lodged between his teeth as he concentrated on his work.

He could smell you long before you’d crept into the lobby, but he hadn’t expected to see you in such a downtrodden state. Dwayne was often respectful of your space, especially during your cycle. It wasn’t something he would ever endure, but watching you writhe and suffer wasn’t entirely enjoyable, either.

“Dwayne?” You croaked, awkwardly shuffling across outcroppings of debris and dirt, draped in your shoddy sheet as you spotted your boyfriend. There was something beautiful about him, particularly when he practiced his hobby of playing mechanic. Specks of black oil lined his forearms and fingertips.

Without missing a beat, Dwayne turned to look at you, hazel hues drinking you in with reverence and concern. Dark brows furrowed together as he abandoned his current project, grabbing at the tattered, red cloth that rode around within his back pocket. “Hey,” That familiar baritone held a subtle warmth to it. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

You knew that he knew, but he still asked you nonetheless. As he swiped away at the oil and pungent grease, Dwayne stepped closer toward you, stooping down to press a kiss against the top of your head. You smelled wonderful, natural sweetness intermingled with that of your menses.

“Everything,” You exhaled, shuddering when his large palm splayed out across your back, rubbing soothing circles into your sore flesh. “Where are the others?” Admittedly, it was a bit unusual to see Dwayne alone without the company of the pack.

“Hunting,” Dwayne confirmed, and without hesitation, he hooked a strong, taut arm underneath your legs, hoisting you up as he carried you like a blushing bride. Cradling you against his chiseled chest, he made sure you were back in bed, where you belonged. “I was worried about you.” He confessed, laying you back against the mattress.

His throat was burning — a fire so intense that he wanted to scream, but Dwayne was rather talented at smothering his hunger for the good of another. His thirst would be extinguished soon enough, whenever he could leave the cave to find unsuspecting tourists. He sat down along the edge of the bed, hand massaging into your thigh.

Guilt rippled through you, knowing that Dwayne had abandoned the hunt to tend to you, this fragile human. His brows furrowed together — he must’ve been reading your thoughts. “I’m sorry. You should go feed.” You encouraged him, despite keening into the comforting chill of his hand.

Dwayne’s mind had gone elsewhere — there was a way that he could feed without having to abandon you. Of course, it was purely self-gratifying and your best interests were secondary to his starvation, which crawled across his stomach, burning a hole through him. He kept quiet, gingerly massaging your leg with his hand, which drifted towards the swell of your hips.

He didn’t like seeing you this way, agonized and letting yourself sit in the suffering. “If there was something that I could do to help, would you let me?” Dwayne asked, gazing down at you with an incendiary look. It was distinct, reminding you of the plethora of times he’d seduced you. Your stomach lurched, insides feeling as if they were withering away.

Your expression was somewhat quizzical, lips parting slightly as you reached for his arm. He was so much bigger than you — the strongest of the pack, urging you closer until his fingers could sweep away the hair framing your visage. That thick, coppery swarm of blood invaded his nostrils, singing his throat yet again.

“What do you have in-mind?” You asked, somewhat hesitant as he caged you in between his arms, bending down to press a hungry kiss to your lips. Sex was the furthest thing on your mind, but you relented, moaning into his mouth as you reached for his dark tresses.

Dwayne was a phenomenal kisser — passionate and slow, as if he were savoring every second of it. Though, he had a tendency to let it whirlwind into something ravenous and primal, fitting for the quiet, stoic vampire. He exhaled, kissing you with a thinly-veiled desire, hand moving to cup your jaw.

“Could take the pain away.” He uttered, withdrawing from your lips with an indiscernible expression. Dwayne was always difficult to read — endlessly complex, an enigma that you wanted to unravel. His mystique was always present, but you knew him better than most.

To you, it was an act of generosity — you were gullible, naive to Dwayne’s true intentions of feeding from you whilst making the ache fade away. Your heart fluttered within your chest, causing you to wet your lower lip. Dwayne’s thumb rubbed along your jawline.

“How?” With a soft gulp, you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, feeling his lips graze your jugular. His natural musk was enticing, often intermingled with the twang of stale copper and machinery oil. Dwayne shrugged his jacket off, bulky musculature engulfing you.

His shadow eclipsed any sliver of torchlight as he bathed you in darkness, gaze dusky as he gave you another deliberate kiss. Dwayne was silent, adjusting himself until he knelt at the foot of the bed, partially on top of you. His hand pushed against the inside of your knee, and that’s when you stopped him.

“N—No,” Your protest was weak, embarrassment rippling through your voice. There was something that felt inherently dirty to you, if Dwayne intended to follow through on whatever it was he planned on doing. “Dwayne, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” A shrewdness crept into your tone.

He read your mind — you thought he wanted sex. If you weren’t in so much pain, he would’ve been fucking you within an inch of your life by now. Dwayne’s chest rumbled with a brief chuckle, lips curling into a faint smile, pearlescent teeth glimmering against his caramel skin and stubble-coated visage. “Not like that,” He exhaled. “Something else. Help us both.” He murmured, stroking along your leg.

So that’s what he wanted.

Admittedly, you were a little nervous about the idea. He’d never insisted on feeding from you before, and certainly not in this manner. It sounded so crude and messy in your head. He’d bitten you, but never enough to cause any lasting harm. “I don’t know.” You mumbled, feeling another sharp, dagger-like jolt course through the pit of your stomach.

“It’ll make the pain go away,” Dwayne was gorgeous — like a chiseled god, crouched between your legs as he sought your consent. Of course, it was somewhat swayed through consistent persuasion, but there was something mutually beneficial to be found in this. “Let me.” His voice dropped to a husked octave, dripping with something amorous.

You were still hesitant, heart beating like a fluttering of a hummingbird, swift and constant, pounding just above your breast. Goosebumps coalesced along the length of your spine, crawling across your flesh like a tidal wave as he pressed a series of kisses against the inside of your thigh, face dangerously close to swarming forward.

“Okay, just — Just go slow.” Molten heat sloshed within your belly as Dwayne stalked forward, musculature parting your legs. He was so broad and strong, smooth underneath your fingertips as they brushed against his taut, veined forearms. He bracketed you in, arms like a cage as he kept you close.

Dwayne felt that blistering itch within his throat, the urge to feed, to savor the sanguine heat between your legs. He had no intention of being slow. Once the feeding commenced, it was difficult to stop. “‘Course, girl.” He nodded, dark eyes glued to your features as he flattened down against the mattress.

Sinewy hands curled into the waistband of your panties, slipping beneath the shirt you wore, one that didn’t happen to be covered in age-old blood. You were flustered, beginning to squirm as Dwayne peeled it all aside, menstrual pad included.

He rucked your shirt up, propped up on his elbows as his palms gripped at your hips so hard that it was sure to leave bruises. That smell of blood hit him immediately, scorching his throat and insides until it was all ash and dust. Dwayne was silent, broad tongue parting past until it drew along the length of your cunt.

Blood wept from your core, which felt uncomfortable for you, initially. You huffed, nearly sinking down into the mattress in a heap as Dwayne began to openly lap at your slit, drinking you in as if you were the most delicious thing he’d tasted. Your cunt clenched, nerves set ablaze as his nose bumped against your clit.

You tasted saccharine — coppery and vitriolic, but it was his sort of feast. Dwayne let out a grunt, lapping at the blood that oozed from your cunt, letting it linger upon his lips, invading his senses. Once he heard your sweet moans from above, he tugged you forward, a growl ripping through his chest.

Those aches and pains were sluggishly beginning to ebb away, soothed by the vampire who drank from between your thighs. It wasn’t as much as he wanted, but it was enough, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt as the pleasure unfurled within your stomach.

“Dwayne,” A blissful sigh escaped you, back beginning to arch off of the bed and toward his mouth. Your fingers clamored to hold on, finding their purchase amongst his tousled mane of jet-black hair. He’d eaten you out before, but not like this. There was the added element of blood involved. “D—Dwayne, don’t stop.” You whimpered.

Within the dim light of the alcove, those orange flickers of light from the small array of candles made his skin look like velvet. Those dark eyes never left you, pinning you in-place as he drank freely from your cunt. Your menses stained his mouth with red, tongue occasionally drifting from your entrance to your clit.

A burnished, golden sheen glistened within his eyes, hunger somewhat dissipating. He wasn’t satisfied nor satiated, intending to drink his fill — as for you, he suspected you’d have to endure his constant lapping and sucking until you were nothing more than a sobbing mess.

Your poor legs were quivering, wobbling on either side of his face as he steadied you, hands clamping down to keep you still. He idly massaged into the pliant flesh of your thighs, tongue assaulting your cunt with a viciousness to it. Crimson dribbled down his chin, but your flow was beginning to taper off from your prone state.

A myriad of throaty, wanton mewls escaped you, toes curling in delight as he gingerly suckled at your clit. The sensation was temporary, fleeting as his attention drifted elsewhere, tongue lapping at another slow-trickling rivulet of blood. Dwayne hummed, deep and gravelly, stubble tickling the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.

It was only when he withdrew that you were babbling and stammering, wanting to know why he’d suddenly stopped. “W—Wait,” You whimpered, pitiful as ever, cunt aching something awful as he licked at his lips. Seeing Dwayne’s mouth and chin drenched in a darker shade of scarlet made you feel hot, heat creeping through your belly. “Please.”

His hearty chuckle made you irritated, but it was short-lived. You watched as Dwayne settled himself onto the mattress beside you, hues a vibrant gold, his countenance stained in your menstrual gore. “I’m not finished, pretty girl. Still hungry.” He reassured you, and plucked you up with two strong hands.

You were eternally grateful for Dwayne in that moment, who placed you on his chest. Without missing a beat, he bumped you forward, and you were gazing down at Santa Carla’s most stoic, vicious predator. An endless hunger danced within his eyes, soon to be quelled by the delicious blood that pooled between your legs.

Dwayne could tell that you weren’t expecting this, and it certainly made it all the more enticing for him. You were so smitten, his sweet little human. He’d fantasized about having you sit on his face until you were nearly unconscious, but this was all the more sweeter. Embarrassment flooded through you, but Dwayne seemed entirely unphased.

Initially, you were scared of hurting him, a notion that Dwayne found to be a little too innocuous. He could hear your heartbeat pounding away beneath your collarbone, thrumming like the beat of a drum as he lowered you back onto his mouth.

Your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, dark tresses splayed out like a halo. With this newfound angle, you were staring at Dwayne — or more like, he was gazing at you. His tongue quickly invaded your throbbing cunt, blood catching on his lips. It was messier this time, making you tremble beneath his hold.

A liquid heat coursed throughout your body, pooling heavy within your stomach. Cruor oozed from your throbbing cunt, and now that you weren’t lying on your back, Dwayne was getting another taste. He continued to dutifully lap at your slit, ensuring that he didn’t miss a single drop of blood.

It sat thick and heavy upon his tongue, beginning to bring some semblance of relief to that raging fire that scorched within his throat. His pain was relinquished, and so was yours — a mutual exchange. Even then, he wanted more, digits digging into your haunches as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again.

There was something disgustingly entrancing about the way he greedily lapped at your core, face buried deep within your cunt, hungry for your menses. If he wasn’t a creature of the night, you might’ve been somewhat indifferent to all of this, but he was bringing you such a wave of relief.

You wiggled your hips, accidentally grinding yourself onto his face, and Dwayne indulged you. As he lapped at another stream of crimson ichor, you moaned, chest heaving with heavy pants and wanton mewls, hands perched along the rickety, half-torn headboard.

“S—Shit,” You exhaled, tears stinging your eyes as you began to make that steady climb toward your climax. Dwayne didn’t stop, never relenting or slowing any movement as he lapped at your cunt, broad tongue swiping over every inch of your slit. The pleasure began to outweigh any pain you felt, muscles spasming. “Dwayne!” A whine left you, head rolling forward.

A deep, guttural growl emanated from Dwayne as it rumbled throughout his wide chest. It was mesmerizing to watch him from above, your hands splaying themselves along his bronze shoulders. His mouth drifted toward your inner thigh, and he looked to you, seeking approval before he bit you.

With a messy, lazy nod, your cunt throbbed and pulsated with molten heat, causing your nails to dig into Dwayne’s skin, hard enough to leave behind crescent-shaped imprints. Golden, crimson-ringed irises flashed in your direction as his countenance contorted into something inhuman, monstrously beautiful in your eyes.

Pearlescent fangs and pretty teeth sought out the pliant, soft flesh of your inner thigh, and he bit down — hard. It left behind the angry-red marks of unusual teeth as ringlets of a sanguine color trickled down your leg. Dwayne licked his lips, appraising you with an incendiary stare as he hastily collected every scrap of your lifeblood.

“M’close,” You whimpered, shuddering when he pressed a kiss atop the freshly-formed bite. His face promptly nestled back to the cleft between your legs, drawing another stream of your menses into his mouth before seeking your clit. “Close.” You said again, breathless and drunk with desire.

Dwayne felt his cock twitch within his jeans, able to smell your arousal through the haze of blood. The siren’s song of cruor was far more powerful, but even then, he could savor both with a feeling of sheer delight. His hunger steadily dwindled, fed by your saccharine cycle — if only you were like this all the time.

His lips formed a tight seal as he began to suck, causing you to nearly double over. “Don’t stop, Dwayne,” Perspiration began to break out along your body, coalescing along the length of your spine, dewy beneath the shirt you wore. “Please, please.” You were desperate, wanting to feel that white-hot explosion of a release.

Exhaustion settled in, your energy having been expended by keeping yourself aloft atop his face. Your cunt tasted sweeter than anything he’d had before in his centuries of existence. Dwayne considered you to be his fountain — a very captivating fountain. His touch screamed with amorousness as he rocked you into his tongue.

At last, your body began to quiver, muscles twitching and spasmodic as you climbed toward your orgasm. Dwayne could feel your weight fall a little heavier atop him, and he happily supported you, so long as you were bleeding. He added that edge of teeth, letting them graze over your clit with a feather-light pressure.

It sent you careening over the edge, cumming onto his mouth with enough mewls and moans to last him for days. It echoed throughout the alcove, and you were on the verge of sobbing, having gained some sliver of relief in the end.

Dwayne lapped at your cunt through it all, consumed by the shadow of greed and possessiveness. He could hear the rest of the boys clamoring throughout the cavern, which soured his mood just a little. They had a poor habit of acting up whenever you were enduring your menstrual cycle — understandable, of course, but an annoyance for Dwayne.

With a grunt, he gently nudged you back onto the taut, musculed expanse of his chest. His mesomorphic stature felt so solid underneath your pliant body, and your hands brazenly felt along his sternum. There was no heartbeat, forever frozen by immortality. His countenance was one of sheer satisfaction, lips and chin smattered in your blood as he licked at his mouth.

“Feel better, don’t you?” Dwayne mused, unable to withhold that little twinge of amusement in his voice. His large hand rubbed and massaged along your thigh, drifting up towards your hips, and then back down again on a continuous loop.

You nodded, feeling all warm when his body shook with a brief tremor of laughter. Dwayne sat up just a little bit, palm grasping at the back of your neck as he brought you forward for a very intimate kiss. A startled gasp tore through your throat, but he held you there, letting you taste yourself — ichor and all.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as your entire physique hummed and buzzed with satisfaction. Of course, the ache of your cycle never fully dissipated, but Dwayne had certainly done his part in quelling the pain, for now.

Dwayne gingerly patted the swell of your ass, copping a feel in the process before pressing another string of kisses against your neck. He grabbed at the hem of your shirt, rucking it up a-ways. He was quiet, and you were fine with that, eyes widening as he wiped his mouth off with the remnants of your nightshirt.

Jesus — you knew better than to tempt fate, arousal stinging at your core again. You huffed, taking a moment to compose yourself as you attempted to reach for your panties. He intercepted you, snatching your wrist before your fingertips could even reach the lace trim.

“Not tonight, girl,” Dwayne uttered, placing you right beside him, bulky arm curling around your frame. He made you feel so safe — a glaring juxtaposition to his ravenous hunger and vampiric state.

You felt a pair of fangs tauntingly scrape over your jugular, able to feel the chill of his bare chest nudging into your back. “Might get hungry later.” He rumbled, pressing a chaste kiss against the back of your shoulder.

[sunkenstories]

— 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞.

📌 this account acts as an archive and place to house all of my past & current works. please turn on post notifications to be updated for any new works!

📍 main account.

📍 fic recommendations.

📍 archive of our own.

[nowayhomerry]

bruce wayne rec list (battison)

let go (18+) - @allaboardthereadingrailroad

categories: smut

word count: 7.2k

summary: after unmasking batman's identity, you grow closer

into the abyss - @atlaese

categories: angst, fluff

word count: 4.8k

summary: bruce should've known that nothing in gotham city ever is smooth sailing. but when the one person in his life who means most to him gets kidnapping, he feels the darkness descending on him

quite the revelation | series (18+) - @stranger-nightmare

part 1 part 2

categories: smut

word count: 39.7k (in total)

summary: you and bruce had been friends since childhood. meaning you're the one he usually comes to for help after a rough night of seeking vengeance around gotham city. one night bruce reveals more than he means to; just how sexually inexperienced he is. you, being the good friend that you are, offer to help in that area...

surely, you'd burn the same | series (18+) - @jangofctts

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

categories: smut, smut, smut

word count: 28.8k (in total)

summary: you're stuck with the batman, and he's got a problem

something in the way (18+) - @mypoisonedvine

categories: smut, dark!bruce

word count: 4.5k

summary: you know your bestfriend well enough to know that he's keeping a secret from you, you just can't figure out what - or why. but you're about to learn a lot of new things about him that you never could've imagined

if i could share my nights with you - @mell-bell

categories: fluff

word count: 1.1k

summary: you help bruce put on his eyeliner

copper stained | series (18+) - @clints-lucky-arrow

part 1 part 2

categories: smut, hurt/comfort

word count: 5.9k

summary: there are very few people that are allowed to see bruce at hid most vulnerable

a world alone - @vigilvntes

categories: fluff

word count: 8.1k

summary: bruce makes his first public appearance since the memorial service, with you by his side

walk me home - @vigilvntes

categories: fluff

word count: 3k

summary: you get escorted home by none other than gotham's own protector

nocturnal (18+) - @distortionbobble

categories: smut

word count: 3.4k

summary: bruce wayne is a broken and bruised man. you're the sweet healing that he needs

for tomorrow to come - @wwinterwitch

categories: smutty

word count: 1.5k

summary: out of all your victims, gothem city's vigilante had to be your favorite

always been you | series (18+) - @letaliabane

part 1 part 2 part 3

categories: smut, angst, fluff

word count: 22.2k (in total)

summary: all the batman want is a information but he's a little distracted by you

all the light we cannot see (18+) - @sunkendreams

categories: smut

word count: 7.9k

summary: that hollow shell hew been living inside of, his fortress of carefully-constructed barriers, it all begins to crack. it's rather terrifying, the idea of letting someone in, but he's done for now, isn't he? the way you look at him is invigorating, its electrifying - it makes him feel less like the batman and more like a man

relationship hcs - @vigilvntes

categories: fluff

word count: 2.5k

summary: bruce wayne + romantic relationships

making headlines | series (18+) - @twinklelilstarkey

masterlist

categories: smut, angst, fluff

word count: 53.2k (in total)

summary: after your reputation is ruined over gossip and you have to clean your own name, you find the culprit of it all once more. bruce wayne

convenience | series - @imaginingmarvelandeverything

masterlist

categories: fluff, angst

word count: 37.7k (in total)

summary: after his oldest friend loses everything, bruce suggests a marriage of convenience that will benefit them both

after hours | series (18+) - @goldingwrites

masterlist

categories: smut, angst, fluff

word count: 84.3k (in total)

summary: the nights in gotham are always unforgiving, you, you strip for money, to feed tour son and to forget some of your troubles. it's easy, it's simple until vengeance appears in your night

call out my name (18+) - @honeydulcewrites

categories: smut

word count: 6.5k

summary: a terrifying savoir comes to your aide one night but it isn't the last you see of each other

[succubaby]

Slasher Blog Masterlist

Hey y’all! If you’re on my page you’re probably into slashers so I figured I’d do a list of other blogs in this fandom that I visit frequently. Keep in mind that most of these are 18+ so please respect that! Also this is super fucking long but if you’re on this list I love you and your blog. <3

Writing:

@slasherhaven - one of the ogs and the most writing I’ve seen on any slasher blog so far; I check their page daily lmao

@brandnewhuman - super nice and writes awesome stuff, I’m a big fan

@pass-me-the-knife - writing and memes 10/10

@suicidalslasher - mainly writes scream but has some really good poly! Ghost face smut

@lovelyhalloween - I love their writing style so you should def check them out

@slasherlouvre - has some top tier nsfw for you horny little freaks

@etherealbimbo - their poly!ghost face nsfw makes me blush, another 10/10

@smashin-the-slashers -another awesome slasher x reader blog

@joelsgeetar - their blog is so chaotic and I fucking love it 10/10

@horrorstories123 - they make some really sweet stuff that makes my heart go awooooo

@slasherrrz - another really good blog with some angst that I re-read over and over again

@slasher-lovers-blog - this person writes and draws and they’re so talented

@mehidktbh - this one’s for you bo Sinclair lovers (aka me) v v good

@slashersins - mostly nsfw but it’s all so well written, another 10/10

@mistertiberius - tons of top notch Sinclair stuff, I’ve read every single one of their works and would def recommend

@sunkendreams - THE BEST SMUT ON THIS APP PERIOD; seriously go check them out

@ffanciulla - another stupendous slasher writer, their bo Sinclair stuff has me 🥵🤤

@f1nalboys - also does lost boys for you vampire lovers (and slashers too)

@bloodybrahms - another OG with some classic writings

@slasherwife - unfortunately inactive but their account is still up so please go read the old works, I’ve read them all more than once

@early20sfailingplenty - A+ house of wax blog, which is my favorite slasher film if you can’t tell

@angelisoffline - some real good headcanons here, once again I’ve read them all

@fernweh-writes - I love this blog v much and their headcanons make me so soft <3

@sinfulwrites - 10/10 smut, gimme them dirty slasher bois

@lebenspurpur - they write for a TON of people and I’m here for it

@multifandomwritings - this blog has a ton of content for slasher as well as other fandoms if you’re looking for a multi blog

@stay-outta-my-blood-circle - this blog has a bunch of complete stories rather than just headcanons and one shots. I’d recommend “90 days” personally!

@slasherfucker - you can probably tell by the name but this blog is full of the 18+ goods if you know what I mean ;)

@the-slasher-files - awesome writing and they commissioned the coolest art piece (it’s their icon)

@friendly-alien-fucker - this is a yautja (predator) blog but it’s also very good

@frenziedslashers - I literally discovered them cause of this post and I’m about to read the whole damn Masterlist (esp the bo stuff👀)

Art:

@masks-n-steel - so fucking talented; feeds my jason loving soul

@osirisisv - please check them out their art is so good, 10/10

@irregularsweater - I go to this page when I need to smile because they have the funniest shit on there

@roachcult - one of the best artists on here, no cap, I’ve commissioned them and it was so worth it

@the-thot-clown - another very gifted artist who’s art I adore

@cursed-buffet-29 - this one is a monsterfucker blog but if you like slashers imma assume you’re a monsterfucker too, even if you haven’t admitted it yet lmao

@vertropolis - best yautja art I’ve ever seen fr

[rapturously]

I haven’t seen any billy loomis content on your blog ,,, would love to see some smut of him! nothing specific, I know you’ll write something good!

devil in disguise.

➾ pairing ; billy loomis x fem!reader.

in which billy decides to visit you once your father leaves for his shift — but there’s an additional element.

FORMAT: one-shot — requested.

WORD COUNT: 6.7K.

WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), loss of virginity, rough sex, unprotected sex, p in v sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, sex during a storm, dirty talk, fingering (f!receiving), cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), heavy knifeplay, billy is a little deranged in this, begging, creampie, cumplay, bloodplay, tiddy sucking, mild body worship, biting, hickeys/marking, choking, hair-pulling, finger sucking

AUTHOR’S NOTE: not gonna lie, I was suffering from billy brainrot and this emerged from my brain. I love him so much !!! I do want to write some more mickey & ethan landry content too, but I do need to tell y’all about my new influx of blorbos lately LOL! love you all so much and thanks for your continued support! Means the world to me!

Whenever it rained in California, you considered it to be a once-in-a-lifetime occasion — wisps of black clouds fluttered overhead, accompanied by the haze of an overcast sky. Even for the evening, the skies were unnaturally dark, making it seem like nighttime altogether. The scent of encroaching dewdrops drifted through your bedroom.

“Honey?” Your father gently tapped his knuckles against the white pane of your door, dressed in his police uniform. “Mind if we talk?” He asked, clearing his throat. The badge of the Woodsboro Sheriff’s Department glistened on his ironed shirt.

With the recent killings of Casey Becker and Steven Orth plaguing your school, your father had reason to be concerned. He was the Chief, after all — he was cleaning up mess after mess, investigating these murders without any leads. Stress shimmered upon his features, showing up as heavy bags underneath his eyes.

You swiveled around within your seat, busying yourself with homework for the evening. Books were strewn across your desk, accompanied by a computer that barely ran nowadays anyway.

“Sure,” You cleared your throat, awkwardly shuffling away from your chair to the edge of your bed. “What’s up?” The relationship with your father was somewhat tenuous — being the daughter of a police chief came with unwanted attention and his constant overprotective nature.

“You know about the murders,” He began, looming in the doorway of your bedroom. His countenance glistened with a thinly-veiled anxiousness, but also a bit of fear. You rarely saw your father show anything remotely close to terror, but here he was. “About your classmates.”

“Yeah,” Your brows furrowed together — where was he going with this? “You don’t want me to leave the house anymore, do you?” An exasperated sigh escaped you, but he immediately shook his head.

“No, no. I just think …” He clicked his tongue. “No visitors for a while, not until we clear everyone at the school as a suspect.” A sinking feeling pooled within the pit of your stomach, accompanied by disappointment. It meant that your boyfriend couldn’t come over — indefinitely.

Billy Loomis was a mysterious boy, cunning and charming with a silver tongue — he constantly wrapped you up in it, time and time again. He’d broken up with Sidney Prescott last year, not long after her mother had passed away. He was more than good to you, but your father wasn’t convinced.

His suspicion of Billy wasn’t subtle whatsoever, and it irked you at times. You’d gotten into several arguments about the morality and character of your paramour, and your father had inevitably relented, letting you date him — but there was always protest involved.

“I think you want to say Billy, Dad.” You uttered, lips curling into a sour frown as you stomped back to your chair with an indignant huff. “You’ve always disliked him. This isn’t about anyone else I hang out with — it’s about him.” Your tone became clipped and volatile, prompting you to return to studying.

Chief Burke let out a deep sigh, knowing he’d upset you with this news. “We’ll talk about that later,” He murmured, checking his watch with a thin-lipped expression. “I have to get going to the station.” Your father stepped forward, attempting to press a kiss against the top of your head — but you’d flinched away.

Gritting your teeth together, you attempted to maintain a shred of kindness towards your father. You wanted to explode, but it wasn’t a good time. He was under a lot of stress. “Love you.” You sighed, grabbing your pencil as you returned to writing something down in your notebook.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

From behind the curve of your shoulder, you watched as your father retreated from your bedroom, shutting the door behind him in the process. A twinge of guilt flickered through you, and you couldn’t help but feel like the villain. Your mother was out on work-related business, and your father was drowning away in work.

Oftentimes, you were left to your own devices, absorbed in school, hanging out with your friends, or spending time with Billy — but that was all on an eternal hiatus, it seemed. You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek, stepping toward your door. The house was eerily silent, just you and the encroaching thunderstorm.

A clap of thunder rattled the skies, causing you to nearly jump out of your own skin. Goosebumps formed along the column of your spine as you crept down the stairs, traipsing towards your kitchen. Being home alone had a plethora of perks — the alcohol being one of them. If your father knew about all of the underage drinking, he’d likely have a heart attack.

There were so many things that he didn’t know about.

A brief flash of lightning illuminated your surroundings, casting the kitchen in a quick burst of white. You opened up the refrigerator, carefully removing one of your dad’s Abita’s from the side door. After rattling around in the cupboards, you found the bottle opener, popping open the amber lager as a stream of vapor emerged from the top.

You were swift to retreat back upstairs, latching your bedroom door in the process. You placed the beverage along the edge of your desk, listening to the atmospheric deluge of rain pattering outside, falling against the rooftops. You left your window open, lulled into a sense of comfort from the stormy evening.

A sharp thump reverberated against the side paneling of your house, prompting you to rock forward. Normally, you wouldn’t have given it much thought, but considering that someone was killing your classmates, it filled you with a pang of dread.

Hesitant, you crept toward the window, and through the haze of rain and darkness, you noticed a figure moving against the tall wall of lattice that climbed around the back of your home. You squinted, head canting to one side as you realized who was sneaking around.

Billy’s soaked frame appeared before you within an instant, still scaring you as a strangled gasp escaped your lips. “Billy!” You squeaked, lips parted as you noticed his hair, slick and plastered to his skull. The blue-and-white flannel he wore atop a white t-shirt remained stuck to him like a second skin.

“Hey,” He greeted cooly, flashing you one of those little smiles that made butterflies erupt within your stomach. Those warm, earthen-colored hues shamelessly flickered across your attire, finding some sort of attraction in the long-sleeved nightgown you wore. “Cold?”

“Not really,” You mused, nibbling along your lower lip as he ogled the still-icy beer sitting atop your desk. A bemused chuckle left him as he sauntered forward, head cocked to one side. “You’re soaked. Did you walk all the way here?”

“Thought I’d walk, but I wasn’t expecting the rain,” Billy murmured, taking a hold of your drink. “A little brazen, don’t you think? Aren’t you worried that your father might arrest you for underage drinking?” He teased, mouth curling into a playful grin as he took a swig of lager.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” You chimed, nose wrinkling in amusement as he passed the bottle to you. With a brief exhale, you took a drink of lager, feeling the bitter twang of alcohol swarm your mouth as you swallowed. “Do you need me to throw anything in the dryer?” For someone soaked to the bone, Billy remained unphased.

He shook his head in dismissal, clicking his tongue soon afterwards. “No,” Billy’s brows furrowed together for a moment, and then he peered toward the door. “Your old man not around tonight?” Normally, he was always quiet for your sake — and you were often a ball of nerves, but you seemed so carefree tonight.

“He’s gone until the morning.” It was a declaration and a not-so-subtle hint — you could stay. Your relationship with Billy was still somewhat new and flourishing, but you were hoping that it would only continue to intensify. You hadn’t really done much of anything outside of making out and touching. He was patient with you, too.

Billy hummed, gaze surveying your bedroom with a sheen of curiosity. He often searched for new details or anything he found intriguing. His fingertips grazed across your quilted bedspread, and then toward the open window. “Do you like thunderstorms?” He asked. “Or do you keep the window open for me?”

“Would it make you feel better if I said both?” A bubbly burst of laughter escaped you as you tidied up your desk, putting your studying aside for the time being. You enjoyed the lightheartedness of it all despite the dour weather and less-than-savory conversation you’d had with your father twenty minutes prior.

His footsteps were light across the carpeted floor until he approached you, palm cupping your jaw with a certain level of care. At the very beginning, he asked you for everything — for a touch, for a kiss. You didn’t want him to ask nowadays, careening into the warmth of his hand as he brought you in for a kiss.

This bout of shyness always rippled through you whenever he was near — his presence was so enigmatic and overwhelming in the best of ways. He smelled like a smoky cologne, accompanied by the scent of dewdrops. You shivered when his arm crept to your hips, lightly massaging at your waist over the cotton of your nightgown.

Billy was an incredible kisser — always walking a fine line of soft and voracious. You wondered what it would be like for him to really give in. It was a fantasy that had crossed your mind more than you could count. His head tilted slightly, thumb tracing over your chin before he withdrew, stare bleeding with a thinly-veiled desire.

“You’re beautiful,” He uttered reverently, idly dragging the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Billy’s voice was husky, an alluring drawl that was barely above a whisper. It sent a shudder of delight cascading down your spine, anticipation pooling within the pit of your stomach.

A brief sigh left you, trapped within your throat as you tilted inward, hands pressed against his chest. The material was damp underneath your palms, not that you cared. He had snuck through your bedroom window countless times — but it felt so much heavier this time around, given your father’s stark statement of not wanting you to see him.

You ducked your head, heat crawling across your body as you chewed at your lower lip. Billy knew that you were smitten, and he devoured every scrap that he could, but something felt off, as if you had something to tell him, dancing upon the tip of your tongue. “Hey,” He murmured, titling your chin up to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just …” You couldn’t lie to him. Billy had this radar for bullshit, able to see right through you, pierce your armor with ease. “It’s my dad, that’s all.” Admittedly, you were hesitant to reveal the truth, considering that Billy sometimes had a strong reaction to things.

Billy had a feeling that your father had it out for him — an intelligent man, to be certain. Of course, such suspicions were true, but he wasn’t about to make that known. A huff of laughter escaped him, followed by another debonair grin. “What, does he want to arrest me?” He mused, pressing a string of soft kisses along your jaw.

“Something like that,” You mumbled, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled incredible, like a dusky night, drawing you in with his magnetizing pull. “He doesn’t want me to see you right now because of all of the killings and stuff.” The confession felt like a weight within your chest, but oddly enough, Billy didn’t seem too angered by this.

“Does he think I’m a suspect?” Billy questioned, point-blank. His tone became rather blunt, but still held that little shred of amusement. In the grand scheme of things, he was on the right track — unbeknownst to you, of course. It would stay that way.

“I don’t think so. He’s just skeptical, I guess. It’s his job.” You hesitated, drawing away just enough to get a look at your boyfriend’s handsome visage. “I just don’t want you to feel threatened or feel like you can’t come around. I don’t care what he says — I want to be with you.” You murmured, brows furrowing together.

His jaw tensed, gaze incendiary and oozing with a lasciviousness as he pressed a lingering kiss to your mouth, fingers idly stroking aside some of your hair. Billy had grown very fond of you, but with that, there was always some twisted desire to corrupt — the obsession that blossomed with it all.

“You have me,” Billy exhaled, body pressed against yours, hands pinning you close. “This all feels a little defiant, doesn’t it?” His tone had dropped an octave, akin to a delicate purr as he brushed his mouth against yours. You leaned in this time, pressing your lips against his as you chased after that sensation with a fervor.

“Yeah,” You whispered, feeling a newfound thrill churn within your stomach, coupled with exhilaration. “Can you stay tonight?” You asked, fingers gently weaving themselves into his mousy tresses, tugging at the hair around the nape of his neck.

His head cocked to one side as he arched an eyebrow. “I thought I couldn’t,” Staying implied one thing — sex. You had never propositioned it until now, let alone entertained the thought. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.” He didn’t want to rush anything or pressure you into something that you weren’t prepared for.

The constant feeling of doom hung over you — religion and saving yourself had always been a point of contention in your family. You were worried that Billy would leave you if he had you, but you knew that wouldn’t be the case. You were ready to have your first time and have it be with him.

Your head began to bob in a little nod, heat creeping across your body as it blossomed within your cheeks with a burning sensation. “I want you,” You whispered, breath hitching within your throat. “I — I need you, really. I don’t want you to go, Billy.” You mumbled, nearly gasping when his hand began to caress along the curve of your thigh.

“Are you sure?” Billy asked, brows knitting together in a moment of concern. “We don’t have to do anything intense,” He reassured, pressing another kiss against your jaw, and then to your neck. “I don’t want you to feel rushed.” Admittedly, he wanted nothing more than to touch you, to take your virginity, make you feel good, but it needed to be on your terms.

It felt good — the spark of retaliation and rebellion against your father, seeing Billy again in such a secretive fashion. You knew that if anyone found out, namely your parents, you’d be in a world of trouble. Fortunately, it was just the two of you and an empty house.

“You’ve been really patient with me,” You murmured, a soft sigh drifting from your lips as you sank forward into his embrace. “I want this.” Billy’s constant chase for consent and ensuring your comfort was beyond attractive, and you were thankful for it, but this was long overdue.

A soft laugh burst forth from his chest as Billy stroked at your cheek, calloused fingertips traveling across the delicate plane of your visage. “I would wait for as long as you wanted me to.” He uttered, gaze shifting from affectionate to incendiary, simmering with an unmistakable sensuality.

He was so good to you — your ex-boyfriend paled in comparison to Billy Loomis in more ways than one. “I know,” You sighed, lips twitching into a smitten smile as your digits plucked at the damp fabric of his shirt. You pressed another chaste kiss against his mouth. “Should I shut the window?”

Billy clicked his tongue, mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “No,” He swept strands of hair behind your ear, cradling your cheek within his warm palm. “You’ll have to be quiet. You think you can handle that?” The little evocation of a challenge was prevalent — your insides turned to metaphorical mush as you shivered.

“I can’t promise anything.” Your voice was wrought with excitement, barely above a whisper. The blood was rushing to your head and heart, hot and fervent as Billy gently guided you toward your bed. His smirk morphed into a wolfish grin, unable to tear his eyes away from you.

As he placed you down against the mattress, atop your quilted bedspread, he crawled in between your legs, lips hungrily returning to kiss you. He tasted like a lick of amber lager, intertwined with breath mints and the hint of cigarettes. Your heart began to beat faster as Billy’s hand rubbed along your thigh, digits flicking at the hem of your panties.

The ambiance of the thunderstorm outside provided a rather atmospheric setting, on top of the dim lighting throughout your bedroom. Rain noisily pounded against rooftops and the surrounding neighborhood, as if masking the salaciousness of your actions. Your hands pushed at his flannel, and he took it off, along with his white t-shirt.

“May I?” You whispered, eyes wide and mesmerized as Billy let out a brief chuckle. He was so painfully handsome, especially when he smiled — it only served to make you squirm, goosebumps erupting underneath his wandering touch.

“You’re sweet,” Billy murmured, voice deliciously husky as he pressed a kiss against your mouth, teeth playfully snagging your lower lip. The sheepish, stupefied reaction you had was well worth it, prompting him to grab one of your wrists, steering your hand to wherever you wanted it to go. “I want to see you.”

His composure was beginning to crumble, foundation being chipped away at. You were so infectious, like a fever, and Billy only wanted more. He had to restrain himself from being rough, watching with lustful eyes as you sat up a little bit.

You shivered when his hands slipped underneath your nightgown, curling into the hem as he helped you take off the lengthy, frilled garment. Billy licked at his lower lip, hooded stare eating you alive once you were stripped of that coverage. The pastel brassiere and panties you wore were just in the way.

“Lay down.” Billy husked, presence exuding a domineering edge without even trying. You silently obeyed, breath hitching within your throat as he covered your body with his, all sinewy muscle and tan skin. His mouth clashed with yours, voracious and all-consuming as he kept himself propped up with one arm.

Curious, needy digits found their way to your chest, groping and kneading at your chest over the material of your bra. “Billy.” You sighed, moaning into his mouth when he bit at your lip again. It was sharp and somewhat painful, but admittedly, you found that minuscule prick of discomfort to be exciting.

With a brusque tug, Billy’s palm circled around your bare breast, massaging at the sensitive flesh as he tugged at your nipple. Your hands flew to the nape of his neck, dragging through his hair as his mouth tore away from yours, only to find their purchase against the slender column of your throat.

Your flesh was velveteen underneath him, warm to the touch as he began to suckle against the sensitive flesh of your jugular. Teeth and lips created a series of marks — some were more obvious than others. A clap of thunder caused you to jump, a soft gasp escaping you as your body clashed with Billy’s.

His grin was tangible, like an imprint seared into your collarbone as he peered at you with those shimmering brown hues. “Scared?” He murmured, flashing those pearlescent teeth in a brief grin. Billy felt your skin erupt with goosebumps, creeping like a wildfire across your body.

“No,” You protested, tongue absentmindedly swiping across your lower lip. You gently tugged on his hair, hands wandering about until you were cupping his narrow face within your palms. “You’re so perfect.” A soft, enthralled sigh escaped you as he stared down at you.

That calculating, searing gaze would have burned right through you if it were possible — you could feel the desire that oozed from eyes alone. Billy turned his head, planting a kiss against your palm as he grabbed your wrist, fingers tangling with yours.

“You’re beautiful,” His voice dipped into a low, lascivious purr, a delicious octave that made you shudder. “You’re mine.” Billy uttered, and for a moment, there was something dark and innately possessive within his voice, something that you hadn’t heard before. While some might’ve found it strange and obsessive, you were hooked.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, feeling his lips press against yours again with a vigor and urgency. Silence drifted between the two of you, but the intensity and desire only seemed to amplify. His kisses were ravenous and passionate, accompanied by teeth and tongue.

“Take this off,” Billy murmured in between kisses, tugging on your brassiere for emphasis. His digits deftly felt along your body, ending up between your legs as he began to touch you. You were barely able to unclasp your bra without squirming and wriggling, hips jolting forward. “Hold still for me, baby.”

Inclined to obey, you ceased your movements, breath hitching within the back of your throat as his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your panties. You felt absolutely pathetic, already wet from just the tension and kissing alone. With this discovery, Billy grinned, letting out a soft laugh as his digits ghosted along your cunt.

“You’re wet for me and I haven’t even touched you yet,” Billy crooned, pressing a heated, sloppy kiss against your collarbone. His other hand torturously tugged and caressed at your breast. “So sweet.” He uttered, nipping at the soft flesh of your chest.

You moaned, body set ablaze as he dragged two digits along your cunt, allowing them to sink inward as he briefly touched your clit with his thumb. “Billy,” You whimpered, legs parting for him as he settled between them, reveling in your pleasured expression. “Please, please don’t stop.” You wanted to cry.

A low hum emerged from his chest, mouth pressing gentle, lasting kisses around your breast. “You’re so pretty.” He mumbled, taking your hardened peak into his maw as he sucked at your nipple. Those experienced, quick fingers developed a rhythm as he stroked along your slit, thumb lazily circling your clit.

Billy could only imagine what you’d be like if he were rough with you — if he had a knife in his hand, licking the blood from your swollen mouth. The thought alone made his cock throb within his jeans, but he would save it for another time.

As he bent you to his will, making you submit with his fingers alone, your body viscerally reacted to his ministrations, back beginning to arch. “B—Billy,” You sighed with passion, goosebumps beginning to coalesce along your spine. “God, feels so good.”

Innocent — that’s what you were. Vulnerable and pious, something to covet. Billy wanted to possess you, breathe you in, control you.

Akin to a canary trapped within the talons of a predator, you squirmed with delight, desperate for his embrace. His digits dipped toward your warm entrance, teasing you with gentle prod. “I’ll try to be gentle,” He crooned. “You make it so hard for me. Just relax.” Billy mumbled, teeth grazing your nipple as he licked at your sternum.

You nodded, stomach churning with molten heat as you felt some pressure. Your fingers dug into the nape of his neck, leaving behind crimson crescents as he kissed along your stomach. His digits sunk into you with some resistance, pushing into your tight cunt. A wanton moan escaped you, mouth agape.

It was a foreign sensation, but you savored every second, cunt clenching pathetically around his fingers as he began to find a sluggish rhythm. Billy kissed his way toward the heat between your thighs, tongue raking liquid heat over your aching core.

A spasm ran through you as a choked whine escaped your mouth, countenance rippling with surprise. “O—Oh,” You croaked, awash with delight as his mouth carefully roamed over your slick cunt. He began to lick and lap at your core — slower, at first — more exploratory. “Billy!” You squeaked.

The myriad of sensations you were experiencing were excruciatingly pleasant. It was pure bliss, feeling his lips caress your slit, digits steadily pumping their way in and out of you as he toyed with your clit. Every mewl and moan only spurred him on.

Something dark and alluring danced within his eyes, and when you lazily rolled your head to look down, his stare could’ve burned right through you. A flash of lightning only contributed to his sinister countenance, lips twitching into a smirk as he lapped at your cunt.

Billy ate you out like a man starved, touching you in places that you’d only dreamed of. His tongue was hot, raking hot embers over your slit as he showered you in endless attention. A strangled gasp escaped you as his fingers stilled, nose bumping against your clit.

His palm splayed out along the meat of your thigh, nails digging in, fingers pressing down hard enough to leave behind bruises. You clawed at his hair, hips lurching forward, but he pinned you down without hesitation, shivering at the sound of your sweet, innocuous moans.

Part of you wanted him to be rough, to really show you how much he desired you. Every fiber of your being ached for him in a way that made you itch, heat crawling across your supple flesh. “You can be rough,” You whispered, feeling the subtle hitch in his throat, tongue stilling atop your clit. “Billy.”

Billy’s jaw tensed, gaze dancing with a subtle malevolence, intermingled with obsession. His darker side often festered under the skin, but when you asked him to be rough, he knew he needed to be careful. He didn’t want to hurt you or scare you away with his potential antics.

“You want me to be rough?” His tone emerged as a low purr, murmured into the pliant meat of your inner thigh. Billy’s teeth suddenly nicked flesh before he licked at your cunt again, grazing your clit in an effort to tease you. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” It was more of a warning than anything else.

Maybe he was right — you hadn’t the slightest clue of where this could lead.

Whatever darkness you saw, part of you viewed it as an act, as a facade for the sake of intimacy. Nonetheless, you still wanted him to be a little more forceful with you. As much as you savored his gentle streak, you wanted the intensity and the heat of the moment.

He wanted to let you stew on it for a little while, lips greedily pursing around your clit as he began to suck a the sensitive clutch of nerves. Billy’s fingers pushed themselves inside of you again, evoking a barrage of pleasured whines and moans from you. It very nearly derailed your train of thought.

With quivering digits, you reached for his hair again, raking through his tresses with a fervor. Billy felt you tug and pull, which only served to spur him on as he finger-fucked you into a blissful oblivion. It was intermingled with delicate licks to your clit, causing you to writhe in-place.

“I’m close,” You whined, hoping that he would keep going or be rough. Part of you wondered why he was so hesitant, but you didn’t want to push the matter. “Billy, please don’t stop!” With a shrill cry, his ministrations only intensified, fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt.

Billy gazed at you with eyes that almost appeared black, simmering with an unrestrained desire. “Yeah?” He purred, lips dutifully returning to suck and lap at your clit. The sensations were mind-numbing, nearly overwhelming as your stomach surged with a churning heat.

He curled his digits inside of you, letting you simmer on that sensation alone before he stopped. Billy finger-fucked you, accompanied by the tantalizing movements of his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of you, delighted to lap at your sweet cunt.

You nodded several times over, bucking toward his mouth as he continued to kiss and suck at your clit. Billy led you into the white-hot abyss of your orgasm, digits drenched in your slick as he withdrew, licking at his lower lip.

The pleasure was almost blinding, body hot and borderline feverish as you attempted to regain your composure. Your chest rose and fell with quick pants, mouth dry as Billy crawled up, covering your body with his as he placed two fingers against your lower lip.

“Open,” It wasn’t a question — it was a demand. Billy’s countenance had become shadowed, jaw tense as he watched you sheepishly open your mouth. You felt filthy for doing something like this, visibly flustered as his digits landed upon your tongue. “Only right if you have a taste.”

You shivered, a noise stirring within your throat as you began to suck, able to taste yourself in the process. He seemed delighted, lips twitching into a subtle smirk as he made you continue to his satisfaction.

“You sure you want this?”

His question was sharp and succinct, annunciated with something penetrating. Billy knew that if he went to his roots, to become something close to who he really was, he ran the risk of scaring you away. Brown eyes bored into you, hawkish and calculating as you withdrew his fingers from your mouth.

“Yes,” You replied, wondering what exactly he had in-mind in terms of being rough. “I trust you.”

A big mistake — your naïveté was laid bare, stretched out along your sleeve. Billy was untrustworthy, a sinister force with the means for destruction, but you were none the wiser. He liked your innocuous nature, the sweetness that oozed from every pore.

“Stay here.” Billy murmured, slipping off of your bed as he made for your bedroom door. You very nearly questioned him, wanting to know where he was going, but a rancorous clap of thunder effectively silenced you as you sank down into your mattress.

You counted — Billy was only gone for three minutes.

When he emerged through your bedroom door, it almost didn’t feel like the same person — not your charming, debonair brown-eyed boyfriend. He seemed possessed, as if something else had grabbed ahold of him. The glint of silver sparkled within his right hand, and that’s when you saw the large kitchen knife.

Something heavy swirled within the pit of your stomach — exhilaration intermingled with fear and uncertainty. You knew that he wouldn’t hurt you, but being rough was a different matter entirely. You gulped, throat thick as Billy moved toward the edge of your bed, available hand grabbing your thigh.

He dragged you close, looming over you with a shimmer in his eyes that told you he was still mostly himself. Even then, that pang of terror gripped you as he prodded the tip of the knife into your thigh.

“Billy,” You exhaled, goosebumps forming underneath the knife’s sharp blade. He continued to trace it across your supple flesh, moving it along your hip bone until he let it ghost above your stomach. “Want you t—to fuck me.” You stammered.

“You want me to fuck you?” Billy murmured, leaning inward, knife in-hand. You felt the blade jut into the swell of your breast, causing you to shudder from the icy chill of the steel. “Maybe I’ll gut you with this, instead.” He stated, though his voice held some modicum of playfulness to it, just enough to ease your nerves.

The doe-eyed look you wore made him frenzied — he wanted nothing more than to see you like this all the time. Billy hastily reached down, unbuckling his jeans with a sudden haste as he crawled on top of you, sticking the tip of the knife into your ribcage.

You gasped, and when you attempted to lean away from the knife, he simply pinned you there. The tip of his cock was oozing with precum, erection desperately grinding along your slit. “Billy!” You whimpered, afraid that he would accidentally dig the knife a little too far.

“Gotta stay still, pretty girl. You don’t want my hand to slip.” He warned, pressing a hot, incendiary kiss to your lips. You reciprocated, cunt throbbing from the added thrill of the blade as he began to ease himself inside of you.

The sudden intrusion made you cry out — you hadn’t done this before or gone this far, and Billy knew that. A myriad of breathy moans escaped you as you attempted to adjust, feeling his leg nudge you apart, spreading you open for him.

He pressed a series of kisses against your face in an effort to soothe you, teeth nicking the soft flesh of your jawline. Billy hesitated, waiting for you to have some time to adjust, heart pounding erratically, akin to the beating of a drum. You reached for his neck, hands tangling together at the nape.

“Still want it rough?” Billy murmured into your ear, hot breath fanning out across the side of your cheek. The blade of the knife prodded into your abdomen, as if it were issuing a stark warning — to turn back, or to proceed. You wanted him more than anything else — rough or not.

You couldn’t deny the excitement and sick thrill you gained from this, as if it had suddenly unlocked unfamiliar territory for you. Billy’s gaze danced with a lustful fire, tongue swiping across his lower lip.

After enough deliberation, you nodded, nearly shying away underneath his shadowed stare. “Yeah, I do.” You whispered, throat becoming thick as he thrust his hips forward, cock burying itself deep into your tight cunt. The feeling was intense, but his eyes were worse.

Billy grinned, throat erupting with a sardonic chuckle as he clicked his tongue. “That’s my girl.” He kept the knife against your stomach, threatening to dig into skin as he began to fuck you. The friction was delicious, breathing heavy, chest to chest, silvery blade prodding at your belly.

“Billy,” You moaned, back arching into the brutality of his thrusts, legs rattling like leaves. His hand grabbed at your leg, hitching it around his waist for better leverage, hips rutting forward in a series of sharp thrusts. “A—Ah! Please don’t stop!”

His teeth brazenly snagged across your lower lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood. He kissed you then — vitriolic copper intermingling between mouths, breath hot and labored as he fucked you in some frenzied state. Your poor cunt clenched around him, drawing him right in.

With a brief adjustment, he moved onto his knees, cock still pounding away at you as he used the grip on your leg as a crutch. Billy dragged the knife along your body, digging the tip into your sternum, letting it ghost above your breasts. He wanted to lick the fear in your eyes — drink it right from the source.

“Look so pretty like this,” He purred, using the cold flat of the knife to press into your chest. It caused you to moan, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as he continued to fuck you at a rather brutal pace. “You like this, don’t you?” Billy huffed, noticing the way your flesh prickled with a barrage of goosebumps.

You nodded, somewhat reluctant to admit to enjoying the roughness of it all. You felt the tip of the knife press just underneath your jaw, causing you to shudder, hips pushing forward as he met you halfway.

Every fiber of your being felt feverishly hot, like a live wire, coursing with raw electricity. The fire that burned bright within your belly demanded to be extinguished, cunt clenching around his cock as Billy continued to fuck you. He very nearly pulled out before ramming himself right back into your tight heat.

Billy momentarily abandoned the knife, grabbing at your hips as he turned you over, manhandling you onto your stomach. You gasped, letting out a series of moans and whimpers as his fingers roamed through your hair, tugging fistfuls of it as he rutted into you.

It was hot and quick, as if he didn’t have any time left at all. “Billy!” You cried out, feeling somewhat abashed as his cock slapped into your cunt, body pressed to yours. Once he’d gotten himself going, you felt the intrusive chill of the knife again, scraping back and forth along your spine.

“I—I’m close,” You panted, hands clawing at the quilt beneath you, nails threatening to pluck the strings and fabric away. Billy didn’t stop for anything, fucking you at a very erratic, feral speed, yanking on your hair. The knife added an element of danger, liquid heat coalescing between your thighs. “Don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He purred, gritting his teeth together as his cock throbbed with an urgency. Billy groaned — a deep, unrestrained noise, and you yelped when the blade had cut too deep. He didn’t intend to cut you — it was a shallow, superficial wound, but it only drove him crazy. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

The cut on your back oozed with rivulets of blood, not nearly enough to warrant any concern. You moaned, huffing and writhing atop the quilt as Billy pushed into you once more, cumming inside of you without a second thought.

He pulled out midway through, leaving behind a sticky mess of his seed along your cunt and inner thighs, intermingled with your arousal. Your body twitched and spasmed, awash with a sense of relief.

“Shit,” Billy murmured, clamoring away to find you a towel. He pressed it against your back, hoping to wash away some of the blood, even if it wasn’t very much at all. “I’m sorry, baby. I got carried away — I didn’t even think.” He sighed, watching as you attempted to clean yourself up.

“It’s fine, Billy. I know you didn’t mean to,” A soft exhale escaped you as you attempted to regain your composure, hoping to seize another towel as you sheepishly wiped his cum off of your body. You were sensitive and hot to the touch in the aftermath of it all. “I did enjoy it.”

Billy appeared perplexed, neglecting to comment for now. He wanted to take care of you as any dutiful boyfriend would do, retrieving your panties and nightgown as he helped you get dressed again. Outside, the thunderstorm continued to rage on.

“You did?” You shouldn’t have said anything — Billy’s thoughts went somewhere dark and salacious. Now, he wanted to fuck you with the knife all the time. If he were lucky, you’d bear more than one scar. It was a possessive mark, a reminder that you belonged to him.

“Yeah,” You confessed, laying down on your bed. Billy hastily zipped his jeans up, declining to put his shirt back on, given that it was still soaking-wet from the rain. “That was amazing. I’m glad I got to do it with you.”

As he laid down beside you, his gaze became dark and shadowed once again. His finger idly traced across the newly-formed cut on your back, lips pressing themselves all over your neck. “Maybe we could try something different next time.” He proposed.

“Like what?” You asked, admittedly curious as you snuggled against him. His digits idly roamed throughout your hair, mouth briefly pressing against yours before he withdrew altogether.

There was a sly, indiscernible look within his eyes — you didn’t know if you should’ve been worried or not.

“Maybe a costume next time.” Billy murmured, and despite the bemused grin on your face and his subtle smirk, you were entirely oblivious to the multifaceted meaning of his words.

Fortunately for you, you were safe — for now.

[rapturously]

Can I ask for a Vincent Sinclair smut PLZZZ🛐🛐 (I love him sm)

redamancy.

➾ pairing ; vincent sinclair x fem!reader.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 4.4K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), fingering (f!receiving), dry humping, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, breast-play, biting, hair-pulling, making out, scratching, rough sex, slight breeding kink, vincent is pretty obsessive/possessive, darker vincent, choking

author’s note: I haven’t written for vincent in a hot minute but boy, this was a perfect way to get back into it! I plan on writing another bo/reader/vincent thing at some point and more bo/reader. Trying to ease myself back into all of this! Thank you all so much for your love and support!

Hot pearls of pale wax trickled from the numerous candles littered throughout the basement, basked within an orange glow. It only served to add to the warmth of the underbelly of the House of Wax, temperatures maintained to prevent any form of melting. Vincent had learned to temper it all over time — control the heat, master the atmosphere.

A silver scalpel idly shaped a column of wax, something that would soon join the displays up above. His movements were methodical, purposeful — he was a perfectionist. Every stroke had to mean something, appear flawless and without any imperfections.

He’d been making up for imperfections all his life — even still, Vincent was continuing to work himself ragged, to further his mother’s work. Perhaps, someday, it would make him more worthy in her eyes.

Footsteps reverberated throughout his underground mausoleum of wax, and he knew that it was you. Bo rarely, if ever, came downstairs, and his gait was often far more purposeful and aggressive than yours could ever be. He was hunched over his desk, guiding the flickering flame toward the wax, letting it melt and bend.

Vincent carefully began to mold the wax, shape it to whatever he pleased. It was a statuette, meant to resemble that of a serpent. Using the edge of the scalpel, he quickly carved in intricate designs as the surface began to cool, brushing off any excess with the pad of his thumb.

You quietly crept through the basement, making your way toward Vincent’s coiled frame, perched within his rickety chair. You always enjoyed watching him work — his artistic talent was mesmerizing to behold. With a light shrug, you tugged your robe around you, feet absorbing the warmth from the concrete floor.

It was common for him to wake up sometime in the night, leaving the space beside you to work. Sometimes, it was the only thing that could quell the raging thoughts inside of him, or the one activity that took his mind off of everything. Vincent could think of other activities to distract himself, but you needed to agree to it, too.

The cold dusk of Louisiana couldn’t reach either of you — not here, not in the warmth of the basement. It was akin to a sanctuary for you, this wax cathedral built to destroy and to create anew. There was something so fascinating about this place, something hauntingly beautiful and macabre all rolled into one.

“Hey,” You murmured, lazily rubbing at the back of your neck. His shirt clumsily hung from your frame, the robe haphazardly tossed over the garment. Vincent regarded you with a tender look in his eye, countenance shrouded by that familiar waxy veil. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Vincent shook his head, dark tresses idly brushing across the back of the woolen sweater he wore. You were often amazed at his heat tolerance, wearing thicker garments in a sweltering basement. He turned slightly within his seat, an open invitation for you to come and inspect his work.

There was a point in time where he had little desire for you to see any of his projects, but that sentiment had drastically changed. Vincent valued your admiration above all else. He turned the partially-finished serpent over, noticing your look of recognition and delight.

“That’s a basilisk, isn’t it? It’s beautiful so far.” You gently traced your index finger along some of the scales Vincent had carved into the surface. The initial grogginess of slumber was beginning to wear off as you stood at his side, gaze flickering toward the assortment of art tools, wax, and glowing candles.

“It’s for you.” Vincent’s hands moved sluggishly as he signed, feeling your fingertips grace his shoulder, nails idly raking across his back. He shivered, enjoying the light sensation of your touch, knowing that it was bound to contort and twist into a different sort of feeling.

Your lips curled into a smitten smile, teeth absentmindedly toying with your lower lip. “For me? Are you sure?” It belonged in the House of Wax, amongst all of his other sculptures and pieces of art. However, you weren’t about to stop him from his sentimental gesture. You loved everything he’d made for you.

With a brief nod, Vincent placed the statuette back down onto the debris-laden desk, swiping at a fine layer of wax flecks with his hand. Along the mantle situated above his workbench, you noticed a weathered photograph, partially obscured by a series of half-destroyed wax masks that he’d worn at one point or another.

Admittedly, you hadn’t seen the picture before — and you had memorized every square inch of this place by now. “Hey,” You motioned toward it, pointing at the obstructed photograph with visible intrigue. “What’s that?” You inquired, head cocking to one side.

Vincent’s jaw tightened, posture becoming somewhat stiff and rigid as he deliberately removed the picture from behind the masks. He’d forgotten all about it until you pointed it out — a sliver of him wondered why he’d even kept it at all. He cradled the tattered, dusty photograph within one hand, brows furrowing together.

It was Trudy Sinclair, forever immortalized within one still image, holding a very young Vincent, whose countenance was indistinguishable — marred and torn from his conjoined state with Bo. Her expression was arguably the kindest it had ever been, gazing down upon the near-infant Vincent with a look of fondness.

Even through the faded granules of color, you were able to make out the affection she held for him. Your heart clenched within your chest, primarily out of empathy for Vincent himself. Despite all his talent and efforts to regain some favor in his mother’s eyes, part of her would always see him as some disfigured freak, doomed to be trapped behind that wax mask.

Wordlessly, Vincent offered you the photograph, letting you inspect it for yourself. You treated the object like a priceless relic, gently turning it over within your hands. It pained you to know the fate that had inevitably befallen the Sinclairs — locked within a household filled with vitriol and parents whose passions often overrode any love they might’ve had for their children.

“This is Trudy, isn’t it?” You uttered, watching as Vincent’s head bobbed up and down in a stoic nod. Bo had received the short end of the stick when it came to Trudy’s love, but things were far from perfect with Vincent, too. “I’m sorry, Vincent.” Your voice barely drifted above a whisper, lips curling into a sympathetic frown.

His shoulders sagged in a gentle shrug, taking the photograph from you before placing it behind a cluster of half-burnt candles. “Nothing to be sorry for. You can’t change the past.” Vincent signed, concentration turning to you, instead.

He’d spent most of his life wishing that he could change his tumultuous childhood — he’d stopped long ago. He and his brothers would always be chained to Trudy, and there would always be a certain level of loyalty to her, even in death.

“I understand, Vincent.” With a soft murmur, you gently rubbed at the back of your neck, trailing your fingers across his spine. “Come back to bed with me?” You asked, head canting to one side. Vincent reached for your wrist, gingerly cradling it between his fingers, stroking along your forearm.

He wasn’t tired, but Vincent didn’t want to leave you alone, either. He moved up from his chair, lean musculature towering above you as he kept hold of your wrist, fingers drifting to twine around your hand. The two of you retreated into the alcove that served as his bedroom, if one could call it that.

The mattress was littered in blankets, indents visible from where the two of you slept. He’d fixed it up with doors that folded shut, similar to that of a closet. You settled back down, Vincent right beside you as he tugged you close, letting you lounge against his chest.

You sat up just a little bit, enough to see his masked countenance. “Could I ask you something?” Your voice was nothing more than a tender whisper, and now that you were awake, a string of thoughts began to nag at the back of your head. Pillowtalk with Vincent often became very emotionally-charged.

“Anything.” Vincent nodded as his hands moved, propping himself up enough to look at you, too. He had told you about his life some time ago — the intricate details and his own sentiments on the matter were left out and simply implied. You were a precocious and inquisitive individual, but above all, you were empathetic.

“This,” With a feather-light caress, you traced your finger along the cheekbone of his mask. “Why do you still wear it around me?” Your inquiry was innocuous, spoken out of genuine concern instead of malice or confusion. Vincent had shown you his face once before — and it never bothered you. It wouldn’t bother you.

Vincent’s throat became tight, jaw unusually tense as he attempted to muster up a feasible answer. It was an anchor for him — one way to feel less like a monster and a freak. “Habit,” He signed, but he knew better than to give you a false response. “I don’t want you to feel guilty or pity me.”

Your brows furrowed together, visage contorting with a look of mild confusion. “What do you mean, Vince?” You wondered if you’d done something wrong, stomach swelling with a wave of anxiety, but he seemed to catch this. He pressed a finger against your lips before he began to sign in a flurry of animated hands.

“I don’t want you to pity me for how I look. I’ve spent my entire life being looked at like a freak — like something fragile, something to feel sorry for.” Vincent finished with finality to it, hoping that you would understand why he continued to wear the mask. He knew that you still loved him, regardless of how he appeared.

“No, no,” You uttered, sitting up enough to stare at him, hands gently splayed across his taut chest. “When I saw your face, that night in the kitchen — the only thing that I saw was a survivor.” His eye sparkled whenever you spoke, hanging upon your every word. “You’re resilient and you’re talented, Vincent. You’ve never been a freak.”

It was the first time in his life that someone labeled him as a survivor — he hadn’t thought of it like that.

Most of his life had been about preservation — keeping the Sinclair name alive, to continue his mother’s dream, keeping Bo and Lester safe. Vincent hadn’t considered that his face was also a sign of resilience, of an endurance that even he wasn’t fully aware of.

You felt his hand reach for you, cupping your jaw with calloused, roughened digits, the practiced hands of an artist. His touch was filled with both adoration and a dark yearning, thumb sweeping over your lower lip. “You mean everything to me.” He signed, and you knew that he meant it wholeheartedly.

“You mean everything to me, too.” You murmured, careening into the warmth of his embrace, lips pursing to kiss the pad of his thumb. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” A breathy, passionate sigh left you when he coaxed you closer, slotted against his musculature.

His hawkish eye picked you apart from where you sat, the distance slim between the two of you. You were vaguely aware of his obsession with you, disguised as protectiveness and adoration — Vincent often made it explicitly clear that you belonged to him, drew a line in the sand with Bo over and over again.

As you lavished him in kind, tenderhearted words, Vincent’s innate possessiveness over you seemed to flare to life, malignant and very much alive. You were tethered to him until the end of time — a pretty, iron-wrought cage, inescapable — and admittedly, you didn’t want to be free from it at all. You stopped thinking that way a long time ago.

Vincent exhaled, dragging his hand across the slender expanse of your neck, digits exploring the canvas that was your flesh — all belonging to him. “You’re mine.” He signed, staking his claim for the hundredth time. Even through signing alone, his nature was desirous and rapacious.

Long before he’d entered this relationship with you, he was very indifferent towards you. It stemmed from insecurities, from rage, and from confusion — girls were always Bo’s forte and never his. Having you, something to covet, something to protect and to keep, Vincent was always worried that he’d lose it.

You nodded, breath hitching within your throat when he traced the pad of his thumb across your pulse point. Your heartbeat had climbed to erratic, excitable heights, mouth somewhat dry as he applied pressure underneath either side of your jaw.

“I’m yours.” Parasitic — you leached from him, and it always took your loneliness away. You used to hate him for taking away your friends, but it almost felt like a wandering dream that didn’t feel real. Ambrose was where you were meant to be — meant to be with Vincent. You empathized with him, surrounding him with your affection and comfort.

A rugged huff emerged from the depths of his throat, feeling you climb closer, gaze glazed-over with desire. Wordlessly, Vincent removed his mask, placing the waxy veil aside as his mouth clamored for yours. The kiss was blistering, full of a rather oppressive possession and greed — he felt entitled to you, in some depraved sense.

Reciprocation made him giddy as your lips eagerly pressed against his, responding with a desperation that nearly bordered his own. Vincent squeezed your jaw, other hand relocating to slip underneath the baggy shirt you wore, brazenly groping at your breasts.

Your fingers scraped through his hair, digging into the base of his skull as he coaxed you down against the mattress. Vincent crawled on top of you, mouth briefly disconnecting from yours before he crashed back into you, parting your legs with his knee.

A low, raspy grunt escaped him when your lips continued their relentless assault, mouth parting to allow for a sloppy kiss. He was needy, desperate to feel you as he rucked your shirt up with one hand, fingertips tracing across the plane of your stomach. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine, arousal pooling between your thighs.

Heat blistered between the both of you, an amalgamation of desire, want, and the emotion of your charged conversation moments prior. Vincent savored it all — it still didn’t feel real sometimes, being physical with you. Some time ago, he felt unworthy, too horrid and too scarred, but you changed everything.

You changed the way he touched you — no longer hesitant or wrought with deliberation. He felt like a god, capable of conquering anything — even you. Instead, each touch was charged with lust, and the sensation was beyond mutual as you slipped a hand underneath his sweater.

Vincent was made of taut, sinewy muscle, littered in plenty of scars. His broad shoulders tensed when your hand pressed into the nape of his neck, toying with the collar of his sweater. In one fluid motion, he lifted it up and over his head, discarding it toward the foot of the bed.

He lifted two digits toward his lips, pressing them upon his tongue as he coated them in saliva. Vincent’s eye glistened with a ravenous sheen, fingers drifting toward the warmth between your legs. He brusquely shoved your panties aside, dragging those fingers along your slit, peppering your jaw in kisses.

“Vincent,” You moaned, feeling him cage you against him, arm bracketing you in, keeping you for himself. It was explosive — everything felt hot, as if the both of you were running out of time. “Touch me.” Your voice was high-pitched with a sense of urgency.

Your hips jolted forward, chasing after the friction his digits provided, feeling his mouth press hot kisses against your sternum. He branded you with his embrace, hoping to make it permanent — a mark, something that bound you to him. His lips sought to take one of your pert nipples into his mouth, suckling on the sensitive bud.

At last, he gave into your breathy demands, slotting his thumb against your clit as his middle fingers explored your cunt. An elated sigh escaped you, knees squeezing at his waist, hands splayed across his shoulders. He looked immaculate beneath orange candlelight — a deity of wax, perfection immortalized.

A ripple of bliss consumed you, body keening and arching into Vincent’s touch. His fingers lightly traced your core before dipping inward, forcing his way inside of you, feeling your cunt clench pathetically around his practiced digits. He lavished your breasts in a flurry of attention, throat echoing with a hoarse grunt.

Scars were crisscrossing all over his body, remnants of his victims that left their mark. Bullets, stab wounds, the diagonal, uneven slashes of knives and sharp objects. His skin served as a canvas for chaos, and you traced your fingertips over a livid mark on his chest.

Vincent shuddered, rutting his fingers inside of you before withdrawing halfway, finding a steady rhythm to piston in and out of your aching heat. He kissed his way back to your mouth, lips crashing into one another as he pressed against you. You could feel his erection snug along your thigh, prompting you to squirm.

You needed him terribly, unable to vocalize that want unless it was through a mess of needy moans. With a gentle shove, your lips tangled with his, tugging on his mane of dark tresses. Vincent huffed, digits curling into your cunt, eliciting a simpering cry from you.

He watched you through a lustful stare, glazed-over with rapture, drunk with desire. Vincent kissed at your throat, teeth teasing your flesh, feeling you roll your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Need you inside of me,” Your voice emerged as a hungry groan, clawing at the muscle of his shoulder. “Please, Vincent.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t seen you quite like this before — tangled up within your own need, aching for him in ways you hadn’t felt before. Vincent was delighted to oblige you, feeding off of your desire like a leech.

“How?” Vincent signed, and that singular word seemed to set off some chain reaction. Your stomach sloshed with anticipation as you rolled over onto your abdomen, able to hear the audible hitch in his throat, a raspy grunt tearing past his lips.

Vincent slipped his fingers from your cunt, digits coated in a thin sheen of your arousal. He grabbed at your hips, chest reverberating with a low rumble as he tugged you back against him. The metallic rattling of his belt sent shivers down your spine, able to feel the heat of his cock press against your slit.

“Vincent,” You moaned, and that was enough to get his blood pumping, accompanied by a surge of adrenaline as he let the head of his length slide through your slick a time or two. A soft yelp tore past your lips when he pushed himself inside of you, hunched over you, flesh feverishly warm.

A hand gently held the back of your neck, thumb grazing over the slender muscle of your jugular. His face was buried near your shoulder, tresses sweeping across your exposed back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He filled you in a way that you never thought possible, causing you to whimper.

With a sharp thrust, Vincent began to invade your cunt, somewhere between tender and rough. He was always sporadic and unsure when it came to pace, but you thoroughly enjoyed the unpredictability. His cock lewdly slapped into your cunt, followed by the sound of his ragged breathing.

Wax-laden palms skirted across your body, one hand grappling at your hips while the other gathered at the nape of your neck. You huffed, face partially pressed into the mattress, body contorting and submitting to him as you had many times before.

You were perfect — his paramour, his muse.

A twisted desire began to wash over him like a tidal wave, borderline insidious as he rutted into you. Vincent’s love might’ve been perceived as sweet on the surface, yet it often veered off into a very vitriolic obsession. He wanted you all to himself, as much as humanly possible.

Vincent’s grunts resonated just beside your ear, full of a lustful fervor. Every inch of him was consumed by your cunt, tight around him as he continued to fuck you. It was hot and messy, his pace sometimes scattered and erratic, as if he didn’t know what rhythm to adopt.

He brought you back against him, caging your back to his chest as he rocked onto his knees. Taut, muscled biceps locked around you as he pistoned into you, cock reaching new depths until he couldn’t go any further. Vincent’s mouth clamored to your neck, kissing and biting wherever he pleased as he kept you snug against him.

“V—Vincent, shit,” You stammered, the newfound position taking you by complete surprise. A sensation of sheer want flooded through you, coupled with overwhelming arousal. He filled you completely, flesh dewy with a layer of perspiration, black strands stuck to his temples from exertion. “Please cum in me.”

Another hoarse, throaty grunt ripped through him, hands relocating as one palm groped at your soft, pliant breasts. The other had a mind of its own, snaking to the cleft between your thighs as he toyed with your clit. Euphoria gripped you then and there, causing you to squirm and writhe with pleasure.

Again, Vincent locked you in against his chest, huffing into your ear, biting at your jaw as he filled you up. Part of him wanted to devour you, but the added heat and friction, the swiftness of the moment was enough to make him exert all force.

If he could, he would’ve gladly drowned himself in you, let himself float away within your very presence. Even covered in a veil of sweat, your scent was saccharine, accompanied by his own musk from the cling of his clothing.

Vincent felt you reach for his hand, digits curling around his wrist as he played with your clit, hoping to get you to your peak, right alongside him. His palm wandered from the plump flesh of your chest toward your throat, wrapping around until he applied pressure along your windpipe.

Within the stifling warmth of the basement, the only sounds that reverberated throughout were your moans and his occasional grunt. Vincent’s breathing was heavy, chest heaving against your back. You moved with him as best as you could, nails digging crescents into the taut tendons of his forearm.

Arousal sat heavy within the pit of your stomach, thick and viscous. Vincent was relentless and unyielding, continuing to pound away at your cunt, gently squeezing underneath your jaw. The combined pleasure that assaulted your clit and throat were preparing to send you cascading over the edge.

“M’close,” You huffed, feeling his lips meet the dip between your neck and shoulder, face buried there as he rutted into you. Everything felt incendiary, as if you’d been set ablaze, only to sink further into the fire. He touched you as if you were molded from obsidian, covetous and desperate for you. “Vincent!”

He never slowed, still pounding away at you, cock unable to go any further before he pulled out just a little bit, only to shove himself back in. A sheen of perspiration glistened across his features, forehead pushing into your shoulder, still clutching at your throat.

You belonged to him — you always would. There was no one else for you, only him.

Vincent huffed, teeth sinking into your flesh until he slammed into you one last time, painting your insides with hot, virile ropes of his seed. He continued to rub circles around your clit, dragging you toward your peak. Your cunt clenched around him, eliciting a throaty groan from him as you came.

A myriad of moans and sighs escaped you, shivers rolling down your spine as your thighs twitched, ecstasy flooding throughout your body. Vincent soothed any bites over with kisses, staying in you for a moment longer until he reclined against the mattress, taking you with him.

You were on top of him, layered in sweat and his cum, palms spread across his chest. Vincent stared at you with complete and utter devotion, gently tucking away any strands of hair that were stuck to your temples.

“You’re perfect,” Vincent signed, tucking his thumb and forefinger beneath your chin. The sienna glow of waning candlelight flickered throughout your shared space, basking you in such an atmospheric light. “You look perfect like this.”

There was a darker undertone to his sweet words — and to him, you did look divine this way, covered in his seed, wracked with want for him. Vincent cared very little for moving in that moment, content to stay with you in the oppressive heat of the basement.

With a soft caress, your fingertips swept across the scarred part of his jaw, mouth clamoring for him in another kiss. He didn’t protest, hand slipping toward the base of your skull, coaxing you closer to him.

“I love you,” You murmured, watching the way his pupil dilated with understanding. “M’tired.” You sank down into the mattress, still staggeringly hot with no sign of changing, either.

Visibly, you were spent, exhilaration and your post-orgasm haze beginning to dissipate into exhaustion. You smiled, laying down at his side instead, head curled toward the broad expanse of his shoulder. He locked an arm around you, caging you in, nowhere else to go — it was where you belonged.

There was nowhere you could go where he wouldn’t follow.

[rapturously]

Ok hear me out bc this has been in my mind for a minute. Lester secretly toying and touching reader in the truck while someone is standing outside the truck, be it Bo, some potential victim I just feel like he is the type

heatstroke.

( lester sinclair x fem!reader. )

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lester sinclair x fem!reader.

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓: one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.3K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: SMUT! (mdni), public sex, risky location, vaginal fingering, fingering (f!feceiving), fingerfucking, spit as lube, dirty talk, praise, finger sucking, very mild coercion, lester is a bit of a pervert, bo sinclair cameo, obsessive/slightly creepy behavior from lester

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: listen ,,, you were onto something incredible when you requested this, this was so hot to write you don’t understand !!! lester is criminally underrated aaaaand this was so much hornier than I thought it’d be !! hope y’all enjoy! ❤️

TAGLIST: @freyjasfenrir ; @darklylucid ; @chaotichellscape ; @kiki-dohedo ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @milland ; @the-anxious-youth ; @nastymensimp

Summertime in Louisiana was akin to setting fire in a desert — humidity on top of an acrid, stifling heat. You didn’t have a clue as to why your friends dragged you all the way out here under the false pretense of a camping trip. In all actuality, they wanted to visit this town that wasn’t listed on any map — Ambrose.

The journey itself was treacherous, going through thick, endless woodlands, marshlands, and bogs before coming towards the town. It was just around the bend, a large chunk of the road missing, now consumed by swampwater, jagged rocks, and erosion. Your friend was confident that he could maneuver his truck through it — boy, was he wrong.

“It won’t make it,” Josie chimed, standing beside you as the both of you watched a pair of young men attempt to push the truck through the wash. The truck unceremoniously came to a grinding, screeching halt, tires partially buried within the mud. “Idiots.”

You kept quiet, idly smoothing your palms across the little, floral sundress you wore. You certainly weren’t dressed for camping — you had no interest. Going to Ambrose was supposed to be a ‘day out on the town’, with your desire being to look at small shops and simply enjoy the atmosphere.

“Maybe we should call somebody,” You piped up, nervously wringing your hands together. “There has to be a tow truck around, you think?” Anxiousness blossomed within the pit of your stomach, giving you a feeling of uncertainty. You wished that they would’ve just listened and tried to drive around it.

“Cut the shit, we don’t need a tow truck.” Josie’s boyfriend, Tate, growled in protest. Admittedly, you had no idea why you were out here in the staggering heat with these three. Tate and Josie had been your friends since high school, but Cody, the third boy, was simply here out of devotion to Josie. You were confident that there was something else going on.

Josie shot you an apologetic glance, but you had enough of watching them push at a truck that wasn’t moving anywhere whatsoever. With a begrudging sigh, you started down the dirt path in the direction of Ambrose, carefully stepping across rocks to avoid caking your boots in a layer of viscous mud.

“Where are you going?” Josie called out, and you simply waved your hand at her, dismissive of her concerns. You were sick and tired of being around the trio, anyway. A walk and a bit of fresh air would do you a world of good.

“Going to town to find somebody.” You replied, and continued walking, crossbody purse slung over your frame as you made the short trek into town. It seemed exceptionally lively — plenty of stores, the chattering ambiance of a quaint neighborhood, and vintage, neon signs that pointed you toward your destination.

You were delighted to discover the gas station and mechanic shop, which already seemed to be inhabited by someone. An old, beat-up pickup truck sat by the gas pumps, back of the bed shoddily cleaned-out, save for a few remnants of roadkill and animal bones. There was an ‘L. S.’ carved into the worn metal above the back wheel, which you curiously traced your fingers over.

The hot sun blistered down upon you, making it stifling due to the now-faded asphalt you stood upon. You quickly ducked underneath the shaded cover of the gas station, almost colliding into someone when you rounded the front of the truck.

“Oh!” You gasped, chest tight with a momentary lapse of fear. “I’m so sorry!” The energy you carried was akin to that of a nervous nelly, clearly unnerved by her surroundings. You felt horrible for running into some innocent bystander — the owner of the truck, you figured.

You were met with the skeptical, hazel-eyed gaze of a man who reminded you of a possum. Rugged, scraggly, and clearly meant for the woodlands. He straightened his hat out, head cocking to one side when he peered down at you — prettiest thing he’d seen in ages. “Nothin’ to be sorry for, sugar! Guess I wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’, neither.”

His voice bore that native Southern dialect, but he didn’t sound hostile whatsoever. When you finally got a good look at him, he seemed scrappy — maybe he lived in Ambrose. A large buck knife was holstered to his hip, neck adorned in a series of chokers and necklaces, decorated in some sort of animal bone.

“Say, what’cha doin’ ‘round here, anyway?” He inquired, leaning against the door of his truck. “Y’look a little lost.” His tone remained friendly, high-spirited, even. He was somewhat grimy, covered in a layer of dewy perspiration, wiping his hands off on a damp cloth.

“My friends and I were coming up here to visit the town, but our truck got stuck in that patch of marsh just around the bend,” You sighed, somewhat agitated with the whole scenario. If they would’ve listened to you, the truck would be just fine and not tire-deep in the mud. “I was just looking for some help.”

There was a sparkling in his eyes, a peculiar glittering that intrigued you to no end. A chuckle escaped him, finding humor in the situation. “They should’a jus’ drove ‘round.” He mused, and you had to laugh, even if it was a bitter sound. You kept your hands tucked together, idly fiddling with the strap of your purse.

Your expression was somewhat amused, lips twitching into a sardonic smile. “That’s what I said,” You sighed, happy to be away from the oppressive glare of the midday sun. “Either way, we’re stuck. Do you know if there’s a tow truck around here, or someone who could help?” You asked.

He grinned — a toothy, wolfish grin. Lester wasn’t blessed with Bo’s natural handsomeness, but he certainly had the personality to offset it all. He liked that you smiled and laughed along with him, didn’t treat him like backwoods trash, either. “M’brother’s got a tow truck! Bet he’d help ya out! Why don’t I give ‘im a call?”

Finally — your savior.

Relief rippled through you as you nodded several times over, rifling through your purse to unveil a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “Here,” You insisted. “For the call and for your help. I can’t thank you enough.” You nodded, but the man simply pushed your hand away.

Being around you was a reward in itself — and once his brothers took care of your friends, you would be his prize in all of this. He couldn’t have been any happier with how all of this was progressing. Lester opened up the driver’s side door, grabbing a rather shoddy-looking flip-phone. He was still trying to figure these things out.

One call to Bo later, and his older brother was coming out with the tow-truck and all of that oozing charm, like a shepherd leading the flock to the slaughter. Lester insisted that he keep you out of it — you were sweet, he could tell.

He liked that.

“He’s on his way,” Lester chimed, swiveling around to face you again. He stuck out his hand in greeting. “M’Lester, by th’way! It’s real nice to meet you, sugar. Say, if you’re bakin’ in the sun, could sit in m’truck with me while the rest do the heavy liftin’.” The offer was absolutely tempting to you.

You reached out, introducing yourself with a charming grin and another burst of bubbly laughter. “It’s nice to meet you, Lester. Thank you so much for all of your help, again. You’re an angel.” He was very kind and upbeat — Jesus, you even found him to be cute. “Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a bother.”

Lester grinned again, completely and utterly enamored with you as he waved a hand towards the truck. “I’m real sure, promise! Don’t want that pretty little face of yours t’melt right off. You can sit with me while Bo works his magic.” He insisted, opening up the door as a sign of invitation.

A pleasant wave of heat flooded throughout your body — and while you thought it was from the weather, it was from Lester’s subtle flirtation. You couldn’t help but giggle, nose wrinkling in amusement as you climbed up into his truck. Lester stood behind you, shamelessly admiring the way your dress fit you, from lovely curves to the faintest glimpse of your thighs.

As you crawled into the cabin, you noticed the morbid array of bone and rope dangling from the top mirror. The inside smelled of stale blood, damp dirt, and the faint scent of cigarettes. You folded one leg over the other, swiping away a thin layer of sweat that built up along the back of your neck.

A tow truck came soaring down the road, rickety and beat-up. The driver wore a mechanic’s uniform and a ball cap — you assumed it was Bo, the man Lester was referring to. “M’gonna drive us back down to the bend. No reason for you t’walk.” He mused, hopping in beside you as he started the engine.

The truck roared to life, and Lester maneuvered the vehicle out of the gas station, whipping it back around to approach the swampy wash where your caravan had gotten stuck at.

“Have you lived here your whole life?” You asked, head canting to one side. You leaned up against the door, palm tucked underneath your chin. Whenever you weren’t looking, you were completely oblivious to Lester’s constant ogling of your body.

He kept one hand perched atop the patchwork, leather-covered steering wheel, the other resting along the edge of the window. “Mostly,” Lester piped up, letting out a low whistle. “Ambrose ain’t on the map. Hard for anybody to come out this way without lookin’ real close.” He replied, truck slugging along at a crawl.

“It’s pretty out here,” You hummed, tracing a finger along the dashboard, collecting a layer of dust in the process. “I wouldn’t want to leave. You’ve got everything you need here in town. It’s peaceful.” When you adjusted your position, your dress hitched just a little higher.

“Yer welcome t’stay, if y’like it so much.” Lester mused, which got you to laugh. As tempting as it sounded, nestled away within the Louisiana wilderness, you knew that your friends would go against it. “They even got a beauty pageant, Miss Ambrose.”

Intrigued, you cocked your head to one side, letting out another giggle as you peered outside towards the forests. “A beauty pageant? I’ve never done one of those before. I’m sure I’d have plenty of competition.” You sighed, idly fiddling with the hem of your sundress. The jean jacket you were wearing over it only made you nearly collapse from heatstroke.

Lester grinned, a playful chuckle escaping him. “Naw, I think you’d win th’whole thing.” He was really laying on the compliments and old-fashioned charm, driving the truck down the path and around the bend. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen ‘round here!” Singing your praises was one way to get you flustered.

This was the last thing you ever expected, being hit on by a rugged stranger you’d just met. Nevertheless, the attention you were receiving was amazing, something you weren’t used to. “You’re really sweet.” You accepted the compliment without retort, idly preening your fingers over the top of your head.

By the time you’d gotten back to the wash, Lester’s brother was sitting in the cab of the tow-truck, attempting to haul the other vehicle out of the mud. You waved at your friend from the window as he put it into park, letting it idle. Josie and Tate happened to use it as something to lean on, but Lester didn’t say anything to protest.

“Ain’t you jus’ gorgeous?” Lester crooned, pinching the hem of your dress between his thumb and forefinger. Your skin felt abnormally hot, like a fever as you shifted in your seat, visibly sheepish to the man’s seemingly harmless flirting. “Real nice dress, too.”

“Thanks,” You mumbled, ducking your head as his knuckles innocently brushed over the top of your thigh. Goosebumps erupted in his wake, causing you to shiver as you averted your gaze. “Maybe I should get out and see if everything’s okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Lester cocked his head to one side, eyes glittering with something indiscernible. The rough, calloused pads of his fingertips traced over your thigh. “Y’sure, sugar? I was thinkin’ you could stay here with me,” He mused, lips spitting into a toothy smirk. “Could make it worth yer while.” His voice was sickly-sweet, like honey.

Something hung heavy in the air — suffocating heat coupled with the flurry of tension crackling within the cab of Lester’s truck. Admittedly, you were more aroused than you should’ve been, given how forward and crass this was, but there was certainly a thrill in it.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stealing another glance outside the window. Your friends were just outside of the truck — if you made too much noise or squirmed, they would notice. “What if somebody sees?” You whimpered, feeling a rush of oozing warmth coalesce between your thighs.

“Looks you’ll have t’be real quiet,” Lester hummed, hand prodding at your dress again. “Why don’t you go on an’ lift that up for me, gorgeous?” You shouldn’t have been this riled up and turned on for a complete stranger, but he was tempting — maybe it was his kind demeanor coupled with lust. You weren’t sure.

A fluttering sensation erupted throughout the pit of your stomach, prompting you to shift your thighs together as you began to shyly tug your dress up. Lester had subtly shifted closer, shorter than an arm’s length distance as you let some of the fabric pool around your hips.

There was some sick thrill you got with this, buried deep down — in hindsight, you shouldn’t have been entertaining this, but Lester seemed more than willing. You glanced toward the window, breath hitching when Josie glanced back at you with a puzzled expression.

To quell her concern, you swiftly gave her a thumbs-up, perspiration creeping along your spine as you subtly shifted a little closer to your new friend. His soft snickering filled the cab, calloused palm gingerly kneading into your thigh.

“Nice n’soft,” Lester mumbled, Southern drawl dropping to a hushed octave. “Y’feel like velvet.” His compliment made you shiver with anticipation, legs parting as you shyly began to ruck the skirt of your dress up. He leaned in, giving your hair a sniff — you smelled sweet, like a fresh bouquet of honeyed flowers.

You swallowed the lump within your throat, angling yourself a little more in his direction, enough to remain inconspicuous. Lester traced his hand along your thigh, drinking in the feeling of your velveteen complexion underneath his fingertips.

Without missing a beat, you sluggishly placed your hand atop his, guiding it toward the heat coalescing between your legs. Lester appeared surprised, cracking another bemused grin as you let his fingers settle along the waistband of your panties. You were desperate, wriggling atop the sticky leather beneath you.

Your fingers curled into the seat, chest tight with a familiar fluttering once his fingers finally crossed the threshold, slipping beneath the thin, cotton material. He nudged your legs further apart, deliberately stroking at your cunt, toying with you just a little bit. “D’aw,” He crooned. “That all fer me?”

Part of you wanted to simply melt into a pile of nothingness, lips parted as a sweet moan escaped you. His touches were tantalizing, feather-light and leaving you aching for more. “Y—Yeah,” You sighed, keeping your voice low as Lester pushed past your folds, two digits beginning to glide against your cunt. “Keep going.” You mewled.

Lester rarely, if ever, did anything like this.

Admittedly, once he saw you, that beautiful beam of sunshine, he had to have you — he wanted to keep you for himself, too. Your willingness to let him touch you made you all the more tempting, something to be coveted, worshiped. Lester would do it all for you if you’d let him.

Quietly, he obeyed your breathy command, ministrations becoming more vigorous. His fingers were erratic and choppy, sloppily sliding across your cunt with a fervor. You didn’t care, lulled into submission by the myriad of sensations, pleasure rippling throughout your stomach.

Your gaze occasionally flickered toward the outside of the truck, but your worry of getting caught was steadily subsiding. Lester’s calloused digits glided along your slit, moving up until they found that clutch of sensitive nerves buried between your thighs. His thumb sluggishly circled your clit, causing your hips to jolt forward.

“S’at feel nice?” His drawl had dropped into a husked purr, voice wrought with desperation. Lester liked having this level of control over you, but he enjoyed seeing your reactions even more. Embarrassment washed through you, knowing how insane this scenario seemed.

A sweet whimper tore past your lips, and you nodded your head, attempting to keep the gesture subtle. You wanted more, shifting your thighs together to relieve some tension until Lester prodded you with his knee. He began to rub at your clit, prompting you to press the back of your hand over your mouth.

Lester snickered, swatting your hand away. “Don’t keep those sounds from me, sugar. You’re jus’ so pretty like this.” He murmured, causing you to bite at your lower lip. Your thighs shook, cunt throbbing and oozing with liquid heat as he continued to touch you.

There was a thump against the front of the truck, nearly making you leap out of your own flesh, hastily covering your lap with your jean jacket. It was just Cody, huffing and puffing as Lester’s brother continued to try and pull the truck out of the mud.

“W—We should probably stop,” You whimpered, voice low and hushed, attempting to grab at his wrist, but Lester stopped you. “Lester, please.” The terror of being caught outweighed pleasure, but he shushed you, tugging you just a little closer, until you were nearly leg-to-leg in the cab.

“Jus’ keep quiet, sweetheart. They ain’t gonna catch us, swear.” He reassured you, coercing you into a more docile state — admittedly, he really wanted to make you cum on his fingers. Lester was hellbent to receive that from you, whether you protested or not.

As much as your mind screamed at you to stop, you wanted to keep going. You nodded, still keeping the jacket tucked within your lap, but Lester nudged it aside, wanting to watch everything. Your dress was all disheveled and ruffled around your hips, panties halfway down your thighs.

You began to squirm, hips jolting and spasming into the sensation of his hand, nails digging into the old, cracked leather of the truck’s frayed cushions. Your mind stopped worrying so much, submitting to basic desire and instinct, letting pleasure hold the reins as he flicked his thumb around your clit.

Honey-sweet arousal pooled between your legs, coating Lester’s digits in a fine sheen. You almost pleaded for him to come back when he withdrew his hand, watching with complete and utter shock as he licked his fingers, saturated in saliva. The noises he made were crass and somewhat lewd. “Taste jus’as good as y’look.” He murmured.

A molten wave of heat dropped right into the pit of your stomach, prompting you to whimper as his fingers hotly returned to your core. He was vigorous this time, using those spittle-slathered digits to invade your cunt, pushing two fingers inside of you as he began to piston them in and out. His rhythm was intense, and you nearly clamped your thighs together.

Your limbs felt heavy, weighed-down by the waves of ecstasy that consume you, as if dragging you down to the bottom of an ocean. You can barely distinguish what’s happening outside of the truck — you don’t care anymore, either.

This stranger fingerfucking you in his cab is all you can concentrate on.

Another soft, throaty moan escaped you, tearing past your parted lips as you rolled your hips sporadically, in-tandem with the motion of his fingers. They pushed inward, nearly knuckle-deep inside of your cunt before dragging out halfway, only to ram right back in. You sighed, pleasure scrawled all over your face.

Lester kept a watchful eye out, knowing that Bo would take his sweet time, damage your friend’s truck in the process. He was happy to have snatched you up when he did, gaze flickering toward you. Your body was contorted with delight, a glistening sheen of perspiration shimmering along your collarbone.

Tension crackled through the air, and you were none the wiser to Lester’s little plot to keep you. His thumb toyed and circled your clit, pouring fuel on the fire as your hips bucked forward again. “M’close,” You whimpered through the dizzying carnality, knuckles tense and tight as you clawed at the seat. “Oh, Lester! S—Shit, please don’t stop!” You squeaked.

He was enthralled, as if trained to obey your every wish. He didn’t slow down, keeping the same pace, fingers scissoring in and out of your weeping cunt. The thick scent of arousal hung heavy in the cab, intermingled with that of fresh earth and a coppery twang from the blood of roadkill, baking away in the back of the truck.

The thin straps of your pretty dress began to sag upon your shoulders, giving way to the faintest glimpse of your breast. If it weren’t for the oblivious audience outside of the truck, Lester would’ve been sucking on your chest. Instead, he settled for a brief peek of your heaving tits, and nothing more.

When the truck rattled, you barely paid it any mind — just your friends sagging against it. Lester snickered, opting to add a third finger, if it were a possibility. “Can y’handle another, sugar? Yer almost there.” He whispered, and when your friend began to step back towards the passenger door for shade, your eyes went as wide as saucers.

Again, Lester silenced your worry with the softest coos and gentle shushes, thumb working away at your clit as he attempted to wriggle a third digit inside of you. You were all wound up, chasing after your orgasm as you turned your face away, skin feverishly hot, as if you’d been scorched by the Louisiana sunshine.

As soon as Lester’s fingers rocked into your cunt for the umpteenth time, curling just slightly, you were gone — wasting away in a white-hot explosion. The tension within your stomach unfurled as you coated his digits in your slick nectar, huffing and puffing as you attempted to compose yourself.

“Lester, Lester,” The breathy, hushed way in which you whimpered his name made him want to devour you. Your cunt clenched pathetically around his fingers as he withdrew them, watching the tension unfurl from your body. You looked embarrassed and downright flustered, having made a mess of his seat. “M’sorry.”

“Sorry?” Lester cajoled, grinning a toothy, bemused smile as he began to lick his fingers clean. “Don’t gotta apologize none for that. Jus’ do it again sometime.” He teased, watching as you hastily covered your lap with your jean jacket when your friend thumped a hand against the window.

“Hey, we’re going up to this guy’s house. He said he has a tire that we can borrow, one on the truck is flat. Are you coming?” Josie asked, ogling Lester with skepticism and a high degree of disgust, too.

You gasped, heart pounding erratically in your chest. As you opened your mouth to answer, Lester interjected on your behalf.

“Yer friend here is goin’ through a bad wave of heatstroke. I’m gonna drive ‘er back t’my place an’ get her some water. It’s a cabin ‘long the path, you can’t miss it.” Lester confirmed, but Josie looked at you for an answer instead.

You nodded several times over, mustering up a smile after having experienced one of the best highs of your life. Pretending that you hadn’t let him touch you just moments ago made you feel strange. “I’ll be alright, Josie. You guys can meet me at his place once the truck is all fixed up.”

Josie nodded and reluctantly moved away from the window, joining Tate and Cody as the three of them followed Bo towards the tow truck. You were impervious and oblivious to the fact that this would be the last time you would ever see your friends alive.

Fortunately for Lester, he had other intentions.

He started the truck again, peering toward you with a twinkle in his eye — it wasn’t the same high-spirited, innocuous man you’d encountered at the gas station. This gleam was different — obsessive, possessive, and absolutely enamored with you.

“Why don’t we see what we can do about this heatstroke of yours, sugar?”

[rapturously]

I'm not really that familiar with 'The lost boys'

But, at the moment i just can help but think about any of them just absolutely going feral for reader in their period;

Just- top tier pussy eating and indulging while helping reader ease the pain.

This can either go really dark or really *really* soft :))

once bitten, twice shy.

( paul x fem!reader x marko. )

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | paul x fem!reader x marko (paul-centric fic with a healthy side of marko)

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 5.2K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT! (mdni), vampire antics, blood drinking, bloodplay (they’re vampires), period sex, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), biting, hair-pulling, dirty talk, scratching, paul loves your tits, marko is kinda selfish, making out, kissing while they’re bloody (hot), threesome, ambiguous ending, panty-stealing

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | so ,,, I would absolutely love to write a part 2 to this with them blowing the reader’s back out, so if that’s something y’all wanna see, please comment and/or send a request! I love writing for the lost boys so much ,,, most inspired I’ve been in a long time! I’m gonna start answering requests, too! I’m so excited to be back in the thick of things. Love you guys so much, thanks for your support!

TAGLIST: @dootys ; @reveluving ; @sat10 ; @milland ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @darklylucid ; @sirstompely ; @chaotichellscape ; @callsigncrash ; @manicpixiimurderdoll ; @sandeepics ; @rainbowcreepie ; @kiki-dohedo

They were descending upon you like a pack of slavering wolves — like sharks in the water, drawn to the scent of your blood. Whenever your menstrual cycle came around, it was as if you were wearing a dinner bell around your neck. Dwayne knew better than to interfere when you were in pain, and David simply told you that it would be over soon, without any real compassion.

Paul, however, had no real concept of boundaries, nor did he really have a desire to adhere to them. As soon as he caught wind of your blood, he was always a little closer — never too far away. If Paul happened to be nearby, it was a possibility that Marko was right behind him.

As you lay in your makeshift nest, nestled atop the rickety mattress, you were partially tangled within well-worn sheets, wishing for your torment to end. An excruciating ache spread throughout your lower belly, sending dull shockwaves of pain towards your limbs. Your head vibrated with an unpleasant humming.

Your alcove was shrouded in thick curtains which served as a door — even then, there wasn’t a purpose for it. Privacy was threadbare around the cavern, especially when it came to you. With a low groan, you rolled over, attempting to find a comfortable position, but everything felt horrible.

It was as if your body was imploding, ripping itself to pieces while still barely functioning. Sometimes, you wished that you could turn — if you were a vampire, menstruation would cease, becoming a thing of the past. You were half-tempted to beg David for a sip of the crimson bottle, but you knew he would decline.

With a shaky exhale, you sluggishly rolled out of your bed, gritting your teeth together as another wave of pain radiated through your lower back. A hot bath and plenty of sleep would do you good, but living with the boys had completely altered your circadian rhythm. There was no use in trying to return to normalcy.

Draped in one of your blankets, you wandered toward the drawn curtains, gasping when your foot nudged into something sitting atop the rocky, uneven floor. It was a small pile of chocolate, accompanied by a partially-destroyed box of tampons. You weren’t sure who left it there, but you had a hunch.

You stooped down, gathering the many offerings as you retreated into your chambers, mood improving by a sliver as you went about eating some of the chocolate. They were Milky Way and Secret bars, something you might’ve grabbed at the convenience store once upon a time. You assumed that one of the boys stole it.

As you sat along the edge of your bed, your mouth flooded with a rush of gooey nougat, sweet as can be and somewhat of a relief. It wasn’t enough to quell your constant aches and cramping, but the gesture was thoughtful. You placed the rest in a box underneath your bed, discarding the wrapper into a bin.

Your mattress was the most inviting thing you’d seen all day, coaxing you back into its plush warmth. Swaddling yourself within one of your blankets, you intended on sleeping — attempting to sleep the day away, if you could. Best to do it now before you were rudely interrupted come nighttime.

It was best to rest whenever the boys did, knowing that they’d become rowdy once the sun descended. They had a rather common practice of waking you up whenever they got up, and this time wouldn’t be any different.

“You’re on the rag,” Paul’s voice sliced through your slumber like a hot knife cutting into butter. “I can smell you from miles away — bet anybody could.” Your eyes fluttered, groggy from sleep as you adjusted to the low, flickering candlelight of your nest. It didn’t surprise you to see your boyfriend perched at the foot of your bed, smirking like a maniac, the bastard.

As much as you adored Paul, he was the last person you wanted to see. The unfortunate part about cohabiting with vampires was their nosiness, their desire to feed, their backward circadian rhythm — your boyfriend was the worst of all. With a soft groan, you twisted away, drawing the blanket over you.

Another sharp jolt of pain cut through your stomach, the sensation equating to that of a gut punch or shallow stab wound. You didn’t want Paul to see you like this, all disheveled and haggard, a mess of gore and exhaustion. “What time is it?” You mumbled, briefly rubbing at the bridge of your nose.

“I don’t know,” He shrugged, slithering forward until he was right next to you, close as could be. “Poor baby,” Paul crooned, peppering kisses against your face. “You’re just dying over here, aren’t you?” Admittedly, he wanted to eat you out — he hadn’t asked before, but being in such close proximity without having fed in awhile, he was ravenous.

His lips felt so cool against your feverish flesh, like ice against fire. You shamelessly careened into those brief pecks and fleeting sensations, lips parting as you let the blanket slip a little bit. “Feels like it.” You sighed, hand reaching toward his chest. His skin was always icy, perfect to quell the searing feeling that coursed all over your aching form.

Paul’s motives were mostly self-satisfying, an attempt to extinguish the ragged burning that blistered through his throat. Of course, he wanted to help you — take some of your pain away, but above all, he wanted to feed. He’d drink from your cunt like a fountain if he needed to, but it was all about execution. He wanted you to agree to it.

Marko would want in on this, Paul contemplated.

Sharing with his brother was an act of generosity, but Marko had some claim over you, too. Paul loved you, you loved him — Marko loved you, too. He felt obligated to alert his fellow blonde to your suffering — he was just as hungry. Though, Paul was delighted to find that he could have his fill first, no waiting in line.

“You feel so nice,” It wasn’t intended to be flirtatious — but for Paul, he’d take any scrap that he could get. In an attempt to feel his cold skin against your cheek, he playfully groped at your chest, causing your brows to furrow in mild annoyance. “Paul, not right now.” You sighed.

“Not right now?” He parroted, tone jocular and mischievous as he pressed another kiss against your cheek. You really were warm. Paul watched with a twinge of empathy as you winced, contorting and writhing around atop the mattress. You were in pain — he hated seeing you like this, wrought with an agony that he couldn’t rip away from you.

A bout of silence passed between the both of you, and you looked to Paul, whose mind was racing with lascivious thoughts. Saliva pooled within his mouth, a desperate hunger intermingling with his desire to no longer see you suffering. You curled up against him, hands pressed flat atop the mesh shirt he wore.

You’d grown accustomed to his smell — a pungent aroma, like carrion in the sun attempting to disguise itself as a bottle of stale cologne. At first, it was extremely off-putting, especially when you were having sex, but now, it was simply apart of his very being. You had been surrounded by vampires long enough to understand their distinct and disgusting scent.

“Baby, you gotta let me help you,” Paul murmured, cerulean hues taking on a predatory sheen. He was partially just a boy wanting to fuck his girlfriend, and the other half was a greedy creature who simply wanted your blood. “Got an idea to make you feel better, yeah? Make your pain stop for a little while.”

His icy hand traced over your cheek, thumb sweeping across your lower lip as he continued to shower you in feather-light kisses. It was akin to cold raindrops peppering your flesh. Paul’s hand then drifted underneath your shirt, an item that coincidentally once belonged to him, now repurposed.

That chilled temperature was a nice feeling — as much as you desired heat, the cavern could become oppressively stuffy and overbearing. When the California summers died down, the interior became a little cooler, more mellow. For now, you endured the heat. “Paul, I don’t think sex is going to help me.”

Paul guffawed, grinning wolfishly as he planted a kiss against your lips. It was open-mouthed and needy, which happened to make your cunt throb with a distant ache. You hated Paul sometimes — he made you so aroused and pent-up that you wanted to scream.

His facade of ‘dumb blonde’ charm initially worked on you — a carefully-crafted disguise that gave way to his underlying intelligence. Paul was wicked smart, but he enjoyed keeping up a charade for the fun of it. Easier to hunt that way, he’d told you, once upon a time. He was so charismatic, like a magnet — drew you right in.

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, sweet thing.” Paul snickered, crawling a little lower as he pressed kisses against your stomach, which made you so unbelievably flustered. “Let me help you out, baby. M’hungry,” He murmured into your skin, idly rucking your shirt up towards your chest. “Wanna taste you so bad.”

Realization washed over you then and there.

He was hungry.

The fresh menses that coalesced between your thighs must’ve been calling his name, and you stiffened as another tendril of blood wept from your core. It was always an uncomfortable sensation, but Paul could smell it — he had the nose of a keen hunter. You swallowed the lump within your throat, feeling more embarrassed than anything else.

“Paul, I — Are you sure?” If it weren’t for his state of vampirism, you would’ve been mildly disgusted, but this was Paul, after all. He was messy, nasty, and rowdy. He didn’t care whatsoever, and it was one of the reasons why you adored him. He was unapologetically unhinged — his constant state of being.

His cajoling laughter caused you to shiver, knowing what his answer would be before he said anything. It was stupid to believe that a vampire wouldn’t want to have free access to blood, no matter how unorthodox it might’ve been. “I’m very sure, baby. You just lay back, let me handle the rest. M’gonna make you feel better.”

If it weren’t for the context of the situation, he sounded like a doting, devoted boyfriend. You couldn’t help but let out a brief huff of laughter, but then again, if Paul intended to relieve some of your period pains in the process, you weren’t about to stop him.

With a nod, you rolled over, lying flat against the mattress as Paul swiftly shrugged off his tuxedo overcoat, letting it drape against the foot of the bed. His eyes glittered with excitement, and once he was perched at your feet, you got embarrassed. He’d eaten you out before on so many occasions, but this made you unbelievably flustered.

Insecurities got the better of you as you pressed your knees together, hand covering your face. “I can’t, Paul. You’re going to think I’m repulsive.” You groaned, feeling his strong, muscled hand gently clasp around your wrist, dragging it away so that you could see him.

“Baby,” Paul hummed with an urgency, his mane of coarse, dusty-blonde hair looking exceptionally wild when he hovered above you. “You really think that I’m gonna find you gross ‘cause of that?” He inquired, watching your pretty little face scrunch up. “I think it’s hot.”

You scoffed, finding some amusement in that. “You think me being on my period is hot?” It shouldn’t have surprised you — this was Paul, after all. “You’re insatiable. I’m just a free meal for you right now.” You sighed, and even if that was true, you would always be more than that to Paul.

Ever the patient predator, Paul perched his chin against the top of your knee, pressing a sweet kiss against your softer flesh. “Nah, baby! You’re more than that,” He protested, hands rubbing along your thighs. “You’re my sweet little mate.” He watched you shiver, and his lips twitched into a smirk.

Unfortunately, Paul knew how to get you hooked — whenever he referred to you as his mate, you became very smitten very quickly. “I know,” You mumbled, listening to his impish laughter as he showered your legs in greedy kisses. “I know I am.” You shuffled your legs apart just a little bit, and Paul was barging right into that newfound space without warning.

Paul grinned — a glittering, vibrant expression that made your stomach do excitable flips. “Yeah you are,” He purred, pushing your shirt up until it pooled around your stomach. That familiar scent of blood invaded his senses, activating that burning hunger. His throat blistered with a dry, festering agony. “Fuck, you’re all mine.” His voice became a touch darker.

You shuddered, skin crawling with an excitable heat as you squirmed atop the mattress. Paul’s ring-adorned digits curled into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down and off of your legs. With only one thin veil to protect you from Paul and his appetite, you felt his arms hook around you, prying your panties away.

His attention turned to the menstrual pad, gaze sparkling with intrigue as he smelled the freeh blood on it and on you. “Might save that for later, as a dessert.” He let out a bark of laughter, gingerly discarding your panties off to the side, treating them with care. “You smell divine — bet you taste just as good.” Paul groaned.

With a brief inhale, he caught a full gust of your saccharine scent, interwoven that the twang of copper and your menses. He licked his lips, flattening himself against the mattress until he was on his belly. Paul rocked forward, and without hesitation, began to greedily lap at your cunt.

It was as if being touched by an open flame, nerves set ablaze by Paul’s eager, greedy licks. The broad flat of his tongue swept across the length of your slit, drinking in each tendril of blood. A lion drawn to that of a lamb, the predator finally catching its prey. You whimpered, aching something awful as he worked to soothe it.

Your hands lazily clamored toward the crown of his head, digits sinking into his product-stiff mane of hair. It felt coarse underneath your fingertips, but you didn’t care, clutching onto him with a fervor. “Paul, ri—Right there,” You sighed, hips jolting forward. “S’good.”

His oral fixation was rather renowned, and his prowess at giving you mindblowing head was really beginning to show. Paul’s tongue languidly split toward your weeping core, imbibing your menses as your blood began to extinguish that festering pain within his throat.

A molten-hot wave of heat rolled over you, dropping right into the pit of your stomach as he flicked his tongue across your clit. That singular gesture made your cunt clench pathetically around nothing at all, thighs beginning to squeeze at his face. Paul snickered, forcefully parting your legs with a mere shove of his rough palm.

He wished that you were always like this — he wouldn’t have a reason to hunt anymore. That was the lazy way out, and Paul loved the chase, but being able to simply feast on you without harming you was quite the payoff. He cleaned you up, tongue prodding at your entrance with a fervor.

Fortunately, Paul caught you on a heavy flow, and his greed was beginning to shine through. His restraint was thinly-veiled and shattering at the very foundation, hands tugging you forward as he lapped at the trickling rivulets of crimson. A groan escaped him as he devoured your cunt like a man starved, and in all actuality, he was.

“I hope you plan on sharing.” Marko’s voice was extremely unexpected, snapping you out of your lust-induced haze, eyes going as wide as saucers. Your relationship with Marko was a complicated one — Paul was your boyfriend, but you liked Marko, too.

Suddenly, you felt embarrassed — ashamed, even. You almost wanted to kick Paul away and wallow in your own frustration. You wanted to squeeze your legs together, but he wasn’t having it, keeping you spread open with one hand. “Paul, wa— Wait,” You protested, voice meek and soft as he lapped at your cunt. “Paul.”

Paul was laughing, tearing himself away from his meal with his chin and mouth turned scarlet, stained with your menses and ichor. He licked his lips, peering toward you with a mischievous expression. “Marko wants in on this,” He mused, caressing your thigh in an attempt to quell your sudden bout of nervousness. “You mind, baby? You can say no.” He assured you.

It all felt like some fever dream, and you were staring at Paul with an incredulous look. They were always prone to sharing, but this seemed like a step further than you intended. “You … You don’t care?” Admittedly, you wanted Marko — burned for him. He was certainly greedier than Paul, twice as insatiable.

“Nah,” Paul chuckled, seemingly nonchalant about this entire ordeal. He was busy licking your taste off of his mouth with all of the excitable gusto of a dog. “You’re still my mate, but I can share a little bit. ‘Sides, Marko’s been looking at you for weeks. He’s jealous that he doesn’t have a hot girlfriend like you, baby.” He sneered, grinning like a wolf as he kissed your leg.

Marko’s countenance became somewhat dour, but he elected to ignore Paul, who was entirely amused. The curly-headed blonde sauntered forward, inching closer toward your bed until he was at your side. He reminded you of a cherub — a cherub cleverly disguised as a devil with a forked tail.

Paul smirked, slithering back to his perch between your thighs, busying himself with eating you out as Marko decided to finally have his moment with you. Besides, you were his thrall — the girl of his eternal dreams, flesh and blood, all belonging to him. He happily lapped at your cunt again, lips occasionally teasing your clit.

You shuddered, shrinking underneath the oppressive force of Marko’s stare, which glistened with an unrestrained desire. He slipped forward, settling beside you on the bed — it was the closest you’d ever been to him. Your heart pounded within your chest, hammering away just underneath your collarbone.

He uttered something in Italian, something that you couldn’t decipher as he hovered above you, fingertips gently trailing across your cheek. You didn’t expect this sort of behavior from him, considering that he had quite the temper and violent streak, but you weren’t about to complain.

Without missing a beat, you slid your hands toward his waist, wanting to touch him. He noted your hesitation, grasping ahold of your wrists as he guided your hands underneath his cropped shirt. “Marko.” You cooed, voice tapering off into a moan. Goosebumps coalesced along the length of your spine — it was hard to focus when Paul was tongue-deep inside of your cunt.

“You’re beautiful,” Marko hummed, dark, green-flecked hues roving over your writhing physique. Your scent was overpowering, awash with that coppery twang of blood, perspiration, and natural musk. He dipped forward, mouth brushing against yours. “Delicate.” His lips split into a gregarious smirk as he nipped at your jaw.

You shivered, beginning to squirm around as Paul lapped at your oozing slit, mouth rapacious as he lapped at stray tendrils of your cruor. He planted a kiss against your thigh, leaving behind the imprint of bloodied lips, fingers clamping down on your hips as he urged you back onto his tongue.

A myriad of whimpers and moans escaped you, swallowed whole by Marko, whose kiss was completely consuming. He was the smallest of the pack, but easily the most voracious alongside Paul. Your palms slid everywhere they could, flat atop Marko’s abdomen as you kissed him.

He felt like smooth marble underneath your fingertips, cold to the touch. Your breath caught within your throat as he gripped at your neck, holding either side as he continued to kiss you. A soft moan escaped you, barely audible between the barrage of kisses exchanged, soon devolving into tongue and teeth.

Paul licked his lips, tasting your body upon his tongue. “Wanna have a taste, Marko?” He snickered, tossing his sandy tresses back with a shake of his head. It was like some unruly, disheveled halo that surrounded him, stiff and layered in product he hadn’t washed out in years.

Marko’s eyes glittered with lust, intermingled with a rapturous hunger. He kissed you hard before recoiling, swiftly switching places with Paul, who was more than happy to come curling up next to you. Marko wanted nothing more than to feed — whether you came or not. It was entirely self-gratifying.

“She smells good enough to eat,” Marko sneered, playfully biting at your inner thigh. He was rougher, somewhat reckless compared to Paul, oddly enough. Paul knew you inside and out — and he wanted to try and be careful with you, if that were possible. “Don’t you, ragazza?” It must’ve been something in Italian.

Your boyfriend let out a bark of laughter. “What are you tryin’ to say? It doesn’t sound as good as you think.” He teased, and Marko gave him a spiteful look. Paul grinned, bloodied mouth on display, like something from a splatter film as he let you recline against his chest. “You gonna pull your shirt up?” He asked you, matter-of-factly.

You blinked, wincing when Marko’s sharp teeth suddenly nicked your supple flesh, drawing out a thin rivulet of blood across your thigh. “You can take it off.” You mumbled, gasping as Paul’s roughened digits pawed and clawed at your shirt, wrangling it up enough until he pushed it over your head.

Paul’s crimson-coated mouth was on your tits before you could fully form a sentence, letting out a soft moan. You immediately gripped at his hair, thighs trembling as Marko dove right in. His tongue split you open, greedily lapping at your fresh wave of menses, hungry as could be. He was far more intense and animated than Paul, which both excited and terrified you.

With a sigh of delight, your hips twitched and jolted forward, held down tight by Marko, who was greedily drinking his fill from you. His tongue swiped against your sensitive cunt in a rather vigorous pattern, hands clasped around your hips. Paul not-so-gently sucked on your nipple, teeth nibbling around the tender bud as he groped at your chest.

Pleasure rippled throughout your body, like tidal waves of ecstasy. That sharp ache that once blistered within the pit of your stomach had been quelled for now, and you couldn’t have been any happier. Your hands roamed through Paul’s tresses, giving them tugs whenever Marko hit a certain spot.

“Fuck, baby — you got the prettiest tits,” Paul groaned, busying himself with kissing and groping your breasts, dexterous hands caressing wherever he could. “Marko being good to you?” He asked, lips twitching into a rather bemused grin. His brother had a tendency to tease — Paul wanted to make sure that you got your release.

Marko smirked; he was devious, mind working to concoct some plan to torment you. He was gleefully tonguing at your cunt as he fed from your menses, chin steeped in gore. He was the picture of mischief, gaze gleaming with an animalistic fervor.

The curly-headed leech hadn’t bothered to touch your clit very much either, but you nodded nonetheless. You wouldn’t be able to find anyone else who gave as good of head as Paul did. There was nothing like him.

“Nothing like him?” Marko’s sardonic lull pulled you from the heat of the moment, goosebumps rising along the length of your spine. Another unfortunate downside of living with vampires — their mind-reading. You gulped, listening to Paul’s heckling howls of laughter as you peered toward Marko.

“D’aw, don’t get jealous, Marko! She knows who she belongs to.” Paul grinned, pressing a sloppy kiss against your jaw, leaving behind trace amounts of blood, which he happily licked away. “That’s why she’s my mate.” His teeth glinted in the low light, eyes blazing with a lustful fire as he squeezed your chin.

Unconvinced, Marko’s lips curled slightly, mouth hotly returning to your still-weeping cunt. You were so close, teetering on the edge of your climax as you moaned, hips jolting forward. It had become a competition, but unfortunately, Paul was still miles ahead.

At last, those angelic lips of his pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Marko was undeniably greedy, adding a slight graze of his teeth as he lapped at your menses. The burn in his throat had diminished, but only by a sliver — he’d go feed on some unsuspecting tourist later.

Your body spasmed, trembling with an explosive bliss as your thighs threatened to smother Marko. Thankfully, the vampire was quick, pinning you apart as he lapped at your clit, swiftly interchanging his ministrations. It was enough to send you careening over the edge.

Paul seemed appeased by this, having to adjust his jeans to relieve some of the friction. Your breath came in excitable huffs, moans tapering off into the cave, reverberating throughout the alcove. Marko didn’t stop, still lapping at your cunt with an eagerness in an attempt to feed just a little more.

Marko growled, drinking in your menses, intermingled with that of your cum as cleaned you up. Paul seemed mildly disappointed that it wasn’t him down there, but there would be plenty of chances.

“Gonna make her explode,” Paul chided, reaching over to shove Marko’s head away from between your legs. Marko’s expression was one of displeasure, but he’d gotten what he wanted, licking at his lips; as satisfied as a cat who’d just caught the canary. “Think she feels better.” He affirmed, pressing kisses all over your face.

You did.

The relief would be temporary, but you were beyond grateful, panting and quivering as you came down from your climax. Perspiration danced along the length of your spine, manifesting as a cold dew. Paul was attentive, hand rubbing into the small of your back as he hopped off of the bed, retrieving a new shirt for you.

It happened to be his, a shredded, dirty Metallica shirt that he’d worn on a handful of occasions. You were still recovering from it all, watching as Marko stood up from between your legs, licking his lips as if he’d eaten something delectable.

“Thank you, Marko.” You mumbled, noticing the blonde’s devilish smirk as he tossed you the box of tampons. “This was you?” That was a surprise — you assumed that it was Paul’s doing. He was much more into giving you gifts like that.

Marko shrugged, but Paul was cackling, grinning at his brother with a sense of understanding. “He’s got a crush on you.” He guffawed, watching as you got dressed — if a shirt and panties counted as such. “I don’t blame him.” Paul purred, giving you another affectionate kiss against your cheek as he slapped your backside.

You noticed that your previous pair of panties were mysteriously missing — but you didn’t say anything, utilizing the tampons gifted to you before clearing your throat. “Can we go to yours, Paul?” You asked softly, wanting to go to his nest, instead. It was much more lived-in and vibrant than yours.

“Sure thing,” He hummed, head cocking to one side. “Don’t you wanna say goodnight to Marko?” Paul mused, planting his hands against your shoulders. You seemed a little flustered but nodded nonetheless, feeling his lips meld against yours in a reassuring kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.” His teeth nipped at your jaw before he disappeared through the thick curtains.

Tension hung heavy in the air, thick like an inescapable haze as you stared at Marko. You didn’t know what to say, but he beat you to it.

“Will you let me take you out sometime?” He asked, head cocked to one side. Paul must’ve known about this already — otherwise, there would’ve been some sort of rift or protest. Marko’s chin was still stained in your blood, which made your stomach do excitable flips.

“Yeah,” You nodded, stepping forward to wipe off his chin with your discarded shirt. “Thanks for … That.” Heat crawled across your flesh as Marko grabbed your wrists, dragging you in for an invasive kiss. His tongue greedily meshed with yours, enough to make your head spin, feeling dizzy with desire.

The kiss made your heart race — it was different from Paul’s kisses. Marko was always dancing along that fine line of danger, but Paul was, oddly enough, a little more docile. Both were just as satisfying as the other. Either way, you were whimpering, hapless as you moved your mouth against his.

Marko withdrew, angelic countenance reminding you of a fiendish imp instead of a cherub. He swept his hand across your jaw. “Don’t mention it,” He seemed more subdued than he’d been before. “You know who to ask if you need help.” His chuckle was mesmerizing.

You pushed your fingers through his mop of golden curls, chewing at your lower lip. You gave Marko another sweet kiss before the both of you left, Marko going one way, and you wandering toward Paul’s nest.

When you slipped past the mangled web of tapestries and curtains, Paul was laying on his bed, legs kicked up against the rocky wall as he smirked at you. “He asked you?” He inquired, propping himself up on one arm. You were surprised, but admittedly, you shouldn’t have been.

“Yeah,” You murmured, shuffling forward until you sat down next to Paul. The blonde immediately grabbed you, hauling you on top of him as he snuggled his face into your clothed breasts, which made you giggle. “Paul, you know that I’m yours, right? I don’t want us to stop.” You gushed, worried that he’d leave you because of this.

“I know,” Paul mused, grinning up at you with that wonderfully stupid expression of his. “You can be his side meal,” He snorted at his own ridiculous joke, palms caressing and massaging into your hips. It was a nice feeling. “S’long as you’re still my mate.”

“Of course.” You nodded, grabbing his face with your hands, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss. Paul exhaled, sitting up fully to hold you, letting you straddle his lap as he began to kiss you back. It was a rather foul concoction of your blood and his own saliva. “ … Did you steal my panties, by the way?” You mumbled.

Paul snickered, playfully quirking an eyebrow as he jerked his chin toward the entrance of his nest.

“You’ll have to ask Marko.”

[rapturously]

You’ve got me absolutely melting for David!!

How about him and something with edging, because he’s an asshole who would def love your needy frustration🥴

flesh for fantasy.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | david (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 8.3K (not sorry!)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT! (mdni), vampire antics, gore/violence (people die), very mild seduction/hypnosis, edging, rough sex (david is not gentle at all), missionary and from behind, biting, bloodplay (he’s a vampire), choking, hair-pulling, david is mean, blowjob, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names (kitten, sweetheart), clothes ripping, fingering, teasing, david is extremely possessive, begging, crying, etc. this fic is nasty & david is an asshole

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | w h e w — here we are AGAIN. I promise that there will be a marko fic guys !!! I have so many lost boys projects going rn that the content is endless at this point! thank you so much for your support, requests, love, etc. I literally adore y’all so much you don’t understand :)) hope you guys enjoy!

David had become a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — your pale-headed, blue-eyed infatuation. Even in your moments spent alone, his voice rang within your head, echoing like the lull of a siren. His sly laughter, his smirk — they were embedded into your brain. It was almost like some fog had come over you, and he was the only thing on your mind, the only thing that you were permitted to think about.

After that night spent within the darkness of the boardwalk’s endless carnival, he wanted you to meet him at the beach, shrouded by the cover of dusk. It had become easier to fib to your mother about where you were going at night — it was always a rotation of excuses. Friends, a beach concert, or another group hangout.

Frilly, pastel-yellow fabric clung to your frame, a sundress that billowed in the cool, night breeze of Santa Carla. It was covered in a ditsy floral pattern, something sweet and a little innocuous. The boardwalk was always congested, crowded with waves of people that swarmed you wherever you went.

You hadn’t pinpointed exactly where you were supposed to meet David, so you joined the massive herd of people that were partying around the current concert. The noisy thrum of rock music floated through the air, and you blended in seamlessly with the rest of the crowd. He would find you eventually — he always did.

Even through the midst of music, you could still hear David, always buried somewhere within the recesses of your mind. You had no idea how you’d become so enamored with him and so quickly, but you didn’t want to go against the grain and fight your feelings. He was naturally charming and enticing — you assumed that you were just smitten and awestruck.

Someone bumped into you, prompting you to shift elsewhere, toward a wooden ledge that seemed less populated. You watched the concert with idle interest, flesh erupting with goosebumps as a gloved hand grabbed at your waist. You shivered, whirling around to find David’s smirking countenance.

He was close, wedged behind you with a devious grin, pressing a brief kiss against your neck. “Found you.” He chuckled, circling you like a predator would prey as he searched for your hand. “Were you hiding from me?” David inquired, wanting to tease you a little bit. You were always so flustered and smitten — it was difficult not to find enjoyment in it.

Your lips parted, skin crawling with heat as it licked across the column of your spine. As David took your hand, he began to lead you from the crowd and into the unoccupied, sandy shores. There was a spacious staircase that led back up from the boardwalk and a terrace above.

“Never,” You protested, and that was enough to earn you a laugh from David. It was ominous and enticing, like the encroaching darkness — your curiosity was insatiable. You followed him as if you were in a trance, spotting the pack of ragtag motorcycles and the boys you’d encountered before. “Where are we going?”

David stopped midway atop the steps, guiding you forward until you were pressed against him. Your scent invaded his senses, thick and saccharine as that familiar pang of thirst scratched within his throat. He towered over you, brushing his thumb along the curve of your jawline. “Somewhere special.”

A brief laugh escaped you — he was going to keep you in the dark until you arrived. “Okay,” You hummed, gaze glued to his features as he playfully squeezed at your hip. His touch was incendiary, and you wanted to feel him anywhere and everywhere. “No hints?” You asked, listening to his sly chuckling.

“Not this time, sweetheart.” David mused, briefly nipping at your lower lip before coaxing you up the stairs again. You followed, rounding the grated bannister as he released your hand. The pack of boys were all waiting on their bikes, and the one you’d spoken to before, Paul, winked and waved at you.

You hesitated, poised along the edge of the walkway as David sauntered toward his bike, a dust-laden Triumph, taking a seat atop the vehicle as he revved the engine to life. He then peered toward you, expectant and unusually patient. Those crystalline, pale eyes shamelessly roamed across your body, drinking in the look of you in that sundress.

“Are you coming?” David asked, gesturing toward the empty space behind him. Even from the few feet of distance between you both, he listened to the excited, erratic beating of your heart. His lips twitched into a smirk, knowing that you’d go with him anyway.

“Not yet, she’s not.” Paul guffawed, releasing a series of wolfish whistles and howls. The other curly-headed blonde laughed along with him as the two smacked at one another.

David’s gaze narrowed slightly, but this sort of crass behavior was to be expected. He’d keep you safe. Finally, he extended his hand towards you, head cocked to one side. He was silent, enticing you through eyes and expression alone. Part of him wanted to utilize persuasion, but he thoroughly enjoyed whenever you chose him of your own free will.

The desire to leave the boardwalk behind for a night to spend it with David was much too tantalizing to ignore. Your feet shuffled forward, and you finally reached him, taking a hold of his hand. “I’ve never ridden one of these before.” You were a little concerned — motorcycles weren’t exactly the safest option.

Wordlessly, David coaxed you onto the seat behind him, craning to look over his shoulder at you. “Just hold on tight, kitten. I won’t let you fall.” He sneered, and to add fuel to the fire, he tilted backward, mouth sloppily landing against your plush, sweet lips. That devilish grin appeared again, prompting you to wrap your arms around his midsection.

As the bikes roared to life, David made sure that you were clinging on before spinning around within the patch of sand, making it fly across the boardwalk. He revved the engine, signaling for the rest to follow as they flew down a set of stairs, making you gasp and rock forward. David sped out onto the stretch of open beach, laughing and howling.

You hadn’t seen him like this — wild and carefree, screaming into the dead of night. David was often calculating and methodical, but you enjoyed seeing this other side of him, this primal, unrestrained edge he now possessed. The more he drove, the more comfortable you became, leaning up to get a better look of your surroundings.

As he drove toward the pier, you gasped, fingers twisting into his coat as he went straight through the wooden rafters underneath. Dangerous and daunting — but that pang of fear inevitably dissipated into excitement and sheer exhilaration. You glanced over your shoulder, watching the other boys close in behind you.

Santa Carla’s shoreline inevitably stretched into cliffsides and a wilderness of cypress trees and dirt, which is where David veered off into. Paul playfully wove his bike a little closer to you, letting out a series of whistles before David inevitably got bored of his antics, applying a barrage of pressure on the gas.

The night sky was uninhibited by clouds — it was endlessly clear, marked by a smattering of millions of stars and the silvery glow of a full moon. Forest dwindled the closer you got toward Hudson’s Bluff, waves crashing against the rock. Along the small patch of shoreline near the old lighthouse, there was a group of people partying around a small bonfire.

“Hold on.” David cautioned, swinging his bike around as he drove down a steeper incline. The bluff had an old, rocky dirt path that climbed down to the mouth of a cavern at the very bottom. It was surrounded by a mess of ‘DO NOT ENTER’ signs, barricades, and old paneling, now rotted from the ocean’s encroaching tides.

You rocked forward, colliding with his back as he made it towards the very bottom. It was a relatively wide patch of dirt and rock, where the rest of the pack promptly parked their motorcycles, draping tarps over them. The group surrounding the bonfire didn’t seem to pay any of you much attention at all.

David helped you off of the bike, grasping ahold of your hand as he motioned toward the dark entrance of the cave. The rest of the boys began to whoop and laugh as they barreled down the path inside of the cavern, torchlight diminishing as it left you and David alone outside of the cave.

He was bathed in moonlight — flesh unnaturally pale, eyes vibrant, hair turned to tresses of silver. His musculature pressed into your side, gloved palm calmly cupping your cheek. “Come with me,” He murmured, lips ghosting above the shell of your ear. “Be with me.” David’s voice had become sultry, and it almost held some sway and power over you.

A shudder rattled the length of your spine, goosebumps following suit as they coalesced across your body. David gingerly turned your face, forcing you to look up at him as he stroked his thumb against your chin. “Of course, David.” You were intrigued by what awaited you within that cave — you assumed that it was their hangout, a place to simply exist.

With a sly chuckle, he led you into the shadowed maw of the cavern, and you were launched into a place unlike any other. Dim torchlight illuminated your path as David coaxed you into their lair, where moonlight pooled onto a massive, stone fountain in the very center. It looked old — the architecture was dilapidated and crumbling, but it was all decorated with whatever they enjoyed.

Paul made himself at home, perched atop the edge of the fountain as Dwayne climbed up toward a nook carved into the rock, retrieving a case of what appeared to be alcohol. Marko came up to David, murmuring something in secrecy. Both pairs of eyes momentarily darted toward you, until David’s lips twitched into a smirk.

Marko gestured towards Paul, and the pair exited the cave, laughing and howling their way back out into the cool, oceanic dusk. You wondered what that was all about, but decided not to question it as David motioned to your newfound surroundings.

“This was the hottest resort in Santa Carla about eighty-five years ago,” David released your hand, idly sauntering around the central fountain as he prodded at the dangling fixtures of shells and bone. “They built it right along the faultline, and once the ground opened up?” He trailed off, rounding the stone until he made his way back to you. “Swallowed it whole. Now, it’s ours.”

You were intimately familiar with Santa Carla, but not enough to fully comprehend the immense amount of history lying around. You leaned over, sweeping your fingertips against the massive chandelier, rotting away within the basin of cave water. A wad of cobwebs stuck to your hand.

“It’s pretty. There’s so much to see here, too.” You chimed, peering toward the cavernous roof of the cave, where slats of moonlight pooled through, right into the center. “Where did the others go?” It was odd that they’d left so soon after just arriving.

David chuckled, knowing the gravity of the situation that you would soon find yourself caught within. If you weren’t exposed to them now, it would become increasingly difficult for him to suppress what he really was. “They went to get dinner.” He stated, which, in some twisted sense, was the truth.

With a brief laugh, you decided to pass off David’s statement as humorous, studying the intricate details of their home-away-from-home. You noticed the dangling sculptures made of animal bone, seashells, and various pieces of sea-glass. A massive banner of Jim Morrison hung on one of the rocky walls, another of Motley Crüe.

Vulnerability seeped from every pore, and David knew that he would have you — soon enough. He followed closely behind you, letting you explore as you pleased, wandering about the cave. You felt his hand press against the small of your back, gloved digits idly massaging into your curves, easy to feel beneath your sundress.

As you stepped toward a collection of chairs, you noticed one with a very high back, made of mahogany and velveteen cushions, layered in a fine sheen of dust. David moved around you, sitting down with a huff in that seat, head cocked to one side. “Don’t be shy.” He uttered, patting his thigh with a gloved palm.

Heat swept through you, crawling across your flesh as you hesitantly wandered toward David. You were a little nervous, considering that the boys were around, but he seemed entirely unbothered by this. He was smirking at you, patiently waiting until you lowered yourself into his lap, feeling him anchor an arm around your hips.

Your scent was intoxicating — heavy and warm, like the innocence of springtime. David absentmindedly licked his lower lip as he played a dangerous game, leaning in to press a kiss against your bare shoulder. Teeth momentarily grazed flesh, causing you to shudder as you made yourself comfortable.

Sounds of rancor and laughter reverberated throughout the cavern, prompting you to glance up at the rocky incline. Marko and Paul returned with two strangers — a younger couple who seemed intrigued by their surroundings.

Confusion flickered across your features, but you let it subside, assuming that they wanted to make it a party of-sorts. David held you close, practically pinning you against him as he idly caressed along your supple curves. He knew what was about to happen — your terror would come to a head.

“Wow! Look at this place, Con!” The girl echoed, hanging onto the arm of her boyfriend. They were your age, if not a little older, oblivious as to what was about to happen. Dwayne hopped down from the nook above, gaze bristling with a thinly-veiled hunger.

“Good choice.” David mused, grin becoming devilish and wrathful as he leaned forward within his chair. “I don’t think our guest will be very hungry. They’re all ours.” He assured, giving your hip a playful pat. He had no intention of turning you — not yet, anyway.

Paul and Marko began to snicker, with Marko cocking his head to one side before he gestured to you. “Off limits?” He’d ask, evoking a rather visceral response from David, whose eyes were akin to frozen pits full of ire and protectiveness.

“Yes.” David quipped, able to taste the bewilderment and confusion that dripped from you. It oozed from your pores — he could smell that surge of nervousness looming about you. It produced a peculiar pheromone that he could detect, something akin to uncertainty. You were something that he had no desire to share.

You belonged to him, now.

With a brief bout of laughter, your brows furrowed together. “Hungry?” You’d ask, unsure of why David was referring to food when there wasn’t a lick of it in-sight. The atmosphere began to shift — instinct and foresight told you to flee, but there you sat, glued to David’s lap like a good little human. He knew you’d stay.

Dwayne let out a thunderous growl, grabbing the man by the collar as he thrust him toward his knees as if he weighed nothing at all. His girlfriend yelped and squeaked, wriggling around as Paul and Marko sprang forward, keeping her restrained.

This felt wrong.

“David, wh — what’s going on?” With a strained tone of voice, it hopped up an octave, laced with fear. Anxiousness swirled within the pit of your stomach, and you shuffled within David’s lap, prompting him to press his digits into the swell of your hip.

You became uneasy, looking to David for something — protest, a command, anything. Instead, he was grinning like a cheshire cat, the apex predator, visage taking on some leer of amusement as he peered toward you. “I told you, sweetheart,” He began, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “Dinner.”

It was as if everything happened all at once, your world beginning to spin so fast that you very nearly fainted, but David was keen on keeping you safe. Dwayne’s hands would rend and tear into the man, razor-sharp incisors suddenly sinking into his jugular.

You watched with shock and horror as Paul and Marko bit into the throat and shoulder of the woman, callously tearing at her flesh, crimson spurting into the open air as it pooled around her clothing. They were laughing, akin to a pack of slavering hyenas as the girl went down into the sand-laden dirt.

Their faces transformed, no longer the boyish visages from before — they were glistening with a sweat-like sheen and wolfish, with eyes like the sun, a liquid-gold adorned in a red ring, like a halo. Fangs protruded from their canines, and the air began to smell pungent, thick with the coppery haze of blood.

You yelped, immediately attempting to scramble off of David’s lap, but he kept you pinned, now fueled with inhuman strength in the presence of prey. That dark, sly laughter of his rang within your mind and throughout the cave, and again, you tried to throw yourself onto the ground. You feared that you would be next.

“Easy, easy,” David purred, grabbing your hips as he crushed your back against his chest. “I’ll keep you safe.” He uttered, and as convincing as it sounded, a sliver of you didn’t want to believe him anymore. Then again, it was solemn — it lacked that coy, cajoling tone from before.

A pair of fangs scraped across your neck, threatening to break the skin, and you realized that it was David. Your throat felt too thick, even if you wanted nothing more than to scream. Finally, he released you, watching as you immediately fled in the opposite direction, sundress snagging on a rock.

David chuckled, gracefully pushing himself out of the chair as he sauntered toward the now-mangled body of the woman. He knew that you wouldn’t be going anywhere — he had very little to worry about. Marko and Dwayne were having their fill of the man, whose body was as limp as a ragdoll, flesh an ashen pallor.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight of David sinking his fangs into the collarbone of the woman, drinking straight from the source as he and Paul drained her life away. You felt lightheaded, on the verge of collapsing as you tried to climb away, only to fall right back down into the dirt.

“David?” You croaked, attempting to push yourself up from the dirt, knees wobbling. The world felt as if it’d been turned upside-down, and you were simply along for the ride, dizzy and delirious. The four were in the midst of feeding, stained with red, glowering at you through the dim light of the cave.

As you stood upright, you began to sway, but before you could collapse and hit the ground, David caught you, mouth drenched in crimson. His tongue lashed across his fangs as he ogled you, letting out another chuckle. With a bow of his head, he kissed you, and you gasped when you tasted that swarming sting of blood.

With a swift and eager tongue, he lapped at the traces of scarlet left behind from his feeding, greedily hauling you in for another lewd, passionate kiss. He was surprised to find that you weren’t recoiling, hapless within his embrace as you let out a shrewd, agonzied whine. Even if what they’d done was terrifying, you still couldn’t keep yourself away from David.

You poor thing — scared to death, trembling within his arms. Without pause, he picked you up, cradling your warm body as he carried you toward his wing of the cave. He could sense that you were on the verge of passing out, and as soon as he’d placed you onto his bed, you fainted.

Be with me.

A strangled gasp tore past your lips as your eyes shot open, swiftly surveying your surroundings. Your heart began to beat erratically, threatening to rip free from your collarbone. David’s voice was still reverberating within your mind — the screams had drowned out from the cave, leaving you with the distant lull of Billy Idol and the cavern’s ambiance.

You were swaddled in a thin shawl, made of white silk and embroidered with silver stitching. The mattress you were strewn across smelled like spiced cigarettes, cologne, and that familiar twang of copper. You traced your fingers across the ages-old, ruffled blanket. Clearly, this bed was barely used.

“You’re awake,” David murmured, perched by the foot of the bed within the blink of an eye. His vampiric features had dwindled, leaving the man you’d become infatuated with standing there, icy hues and all. “I wondered if it would be too much for you.” For a moment, he worried that they’d scared you into a comatose state. “Now you know what we are.”

Admittedly, part of you was enticed and intrigued by what he was. It was hard not to be. “You’re not going to do that to me, are you?” You pondered aloud, shuddering when his countenance contorted into a look of agitation and disdain.

“No,” His voice was sharp, like the edge of a blade. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you, sweetheart. Though,” David’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “I do enjoy your taste.” He’d tasted your blood on multiple occasions — it was sweeter than anything he’d savored before.

You were his forbidden fruit.

Heat crept through you, and you knew that you shouldn’t have been so calm about this, but it was still David — nothing changed about him. Your feelings certainly hadn’t diminished, either. You felt his gloved palm cup the curve of your jaw, thumb tracing over your cheek. “What — What are you?” You asked.

Your question lacked malice or anything accusatory. In fact, it was nearly a whisper, soft as could be as he pulled you up and against his chest. David chuckled when you shivered in his grasp, especially when he flicked a single digit over the strap of your sundress.

“A creature of the night,” He could smell the sudden pang of arousal that struck between your thighs, savoring that scintillating aroma. It made him want to tear you apart — make you scream for him. “Something that you should be terrified of.” David huffed, holding your chin in-place.

When he touched you, it only made that yearning grow tenfold, opening the way for desire to fester through you like a raging fire. You careened into his embrace, unable to pry yourself away from him. David was dangerous, but he wasn’t terrifying — he was still the same. “It won’t change how I feel.” You mumbled.

David’s eyes became bright, ignited with a sudden fire and glittering desire. “Is that so?” He purred, lips curling into a wolfish grin. “How do you feel, kitten?” His voice was a borderline snarl as he grabbed at your hips, hard enough to leave behind bruise-like imprints.

A soft, stuttering exhale escaped you as you leaned up upon your toes, pressing your lips to his. The gesture was unusually soft, but it swiftly turned into something salacious. David held you tightly, gloved digits beginning to curl into the fabric of your sundress. It was all tongue, teeth, and sheer want as he nipped at your lower lip.

He dragged you with him, using the rocky wall of the cave as his perch, mouth still fixed to yours. He tasted like the bitter bite of copper, something that you would inevitably grow accustomed to. His grip became unnaturally ironclad, clinging to you with a firm grip as he tugged at your dress. A noise skin to stitches being ripped filled the air.

“You don’t mind, do you?” David chuckled, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. With a forceful tug, he rucked your dress into a state of dishevel, ripping one of the thin, cloth straps in the process. A growl emanated from deep within his chest as he stepped back, sinking down into an old, velvet chair.

Goosebumps gathered along the nape of your neck, sending an excitable chill across your flesh as you stood in front of him, between his legs. “I want you,” You whined, desperate for him even after everything you’d witnessed. Did it make you depraved for still desiring him? Sick, perhaps? You weren’t sure. “David, please.”

Precocious, furtive laughter escaped David — he knew exactly what he wanted from you. “I’ve got something you can have, sweetheart.” He uttered, icy hues flickering over your body, shamelessly admiring your curves. That sundress flattered your frame — a shame that he was about to tear it to shreds.

Wordlessly, David coaxed you onto your knees, completely at his mercy as you swallowed the growing lump within your throat. He trailed a hand across your jaw, squeezing on either side as he splayed his legs apart, lounging in the chair with some domineering edge. His lips curled into a devious grin.

You knew what he wanted — it wasn’t hard to tell. With a shiver of anticipation, your hands moved toward his waist, slipping underneath the coat and hem of his sweater. “Aren’t you going to take anything off?” You’d ask, voice innocuous and sweet as you fumbled with his belt, attempting to quell your nerves.

“No,” David mused, watching you with hungry eyes. “You’ll have to use your imagination.” With a liquid-smooth, alluring tone, he let you go at your own pace — which was undeniably sluggish. Your mind was racing, a tangled web of lascivious thoughts that made him sneer.

A soft huff escaped you, but you continued, loosening up those leather pants of his with nimble digits. Nervousness swelled within the pit of your stomach, afraid of disappointing David with your inexperience. A hiccup rippled through your throat as his erection fell against his clothed thigh.

In an attempt to soothe your nerves, David trailed his gloved fingers throughout your tresses, caressing your scalp. “So pretty,” He purred, smirking when he could smell that pang of arousal pooling between your legs. “Go on, kitten.” He encouraged, thumb sweeping over your lower lip.

His hand cradled the base of your skull, strong enough to crush you in one fell swoop if he chose. Instead, those digits idly massaged into your hair, tensing into the formation of a grip as your palm closed around his cock. You stroked him off with a few slower pumps, absentmindedly wetting your lower lip.

David began to read your mind, raking through every thought that manifested. A low growl reverberated from the back of his throat as you opened your mouth, cock flat atop your tongue as you began to suck him off. You were sweet about it — with those doe-like eyes and uncertain hands.

As you bobbed your head back and forth, creating a little rhythm for yourself, David guided you with one hand, the other clutching at the mahogany arm of the chair. It was steadily splintering underneath his ironclad grasp. “Good girl.” He purred, a husky sound escaping him as he pushed his hips forward.

Watching you suck his cock was mesmerizing — in a rather crass way. He exuded control over you, crystalline eyes drinking you in as you hollowed your cheeks with certain strokes, tongue lapping at the swollen head. Pearls of precum oozed from his length and into your maw, and you tried your best to maintain your composure.

Heat burned right through you, consuming your body like the crash of a tidal wave as you pressed your thighs together. No amount of smothering the warmth would mask your smell. You brought your head back, sliding back and forth along his cock, tongue flicking along the underside of his length.

A grunt escaped him as you pressed forward, hands hesitantly perching atop his thighs, to which David tilted forward once again. Your lips felt incredible, but more importantly, you were enjoying yourself, too. That initial sting of anxiousness melted away, feeling David’s hand twist into your tresses.

You took more of his length into your mouth, becoming a little bolder as you sucked and licked wherever possible. David wasn’t loud — his volume was all restrained, manifesting in the forms of rumbling grunts or brief, husky sighs of pleasure. Your nails dug into his leather-clad legs, shuddering when he let out a snarl.

With another jolt of his hips, you nearly recoiled when the first rope of hot seed landed upon your tongue. You hastily swallowed, but David had different intentions, ripping you off of his cock as he painted your poor chest and clothes with his seed. It was deliberate, and you could see the pearlescent gleam of his wolfish grin as he came.

“Sorry for the mess,” His apology was sardonic, spoken through his sultry lull as he wiped away a tendril of drool from the corner of your mouth. “You look pretty like that.” David sighed, icy-blue hues flashing with a momentary spark of gold. You were sweet enough to buckle him back up, too.

With a chuckle, he watched with amusement as you sheepishly cleaned yourself up, flesh crawling with warmth as his hands locked around your hips again. “David,” You sighed with passion, feeling his face press into your stomach. He could smell you — it was overwhelming. “Need you.”

Another low, sharp growl escaped him as he clawed at your dress, causing the fabric to tear, stitches coming apart at the seams. “My turn.” He uttered, and in one swift movement, he had you pinned on the bed, crawling down until his scruffy visage was nestled between your legs. He sighed, fighting off the urge to tear into you.

A strangled gasp tore past your lips, stomach erupting with butterflies as your vampiric paramour knelt between your legs, pressing a string of greedy kisses along your thighs. The burn of his beard was beyond pleasant, keeping you grounded as his hand snatched at your sundress.

“You were made for me,” David hissed, tone raging with possessiveness and a borderline obsession. There was a fire within his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, and you were now a witness to his strength as he tore your dress asunder. The fabric was ripped away entirely, leaving you in your frilly brassiere and panties. “Mine.”

Again, he continued on his warpath, letting out a delightful chuckle as he ripped your panties off, too. Your eyes flew open, watching as he tossed the now-destroyed remnants aside. David removed his gloves for this, allowing his icy flesh to melt against your warmth.

“David, I—“ You shivered when his teeth grazed along your inner thigh, able to spot those fangs of his. They were as sharp as razors, teasing your soft, fragile flesh. You wondered if he was going to turn you — if he truly wanted to, he would’ve done it at the boardwalk. “Are you going to …”

“Not yet,” David intercepted you, making it clear that your thoughts were no longer safe. He invaded your mind, and it was so very enjoyable. Your fantasies laid bare, stripped to the bone, all belonging to him. He leaned in, cold palm resting just above your breast, able to feel the erratic beating of your human heart. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He uttered, pressing a kiss along your knee. “To be mine — forever?”

There was something enthralling about the way he spoke to you — perhaps it was his voice or the piercing, calculating stare he gave you. You wanted nothing more than to become his, to feast in this supposed immortality, but you wanted to enjoy humanity for a little while longer. “Yes,” You whispered, reaching for his hand. “I’m yours.” It was an unspoken promise.

His fangs disappeared, but his grin did not, still present as he began to kiss along your leg once more. David kept quiet, gaze burning with lust as he nipped at your thigh, and then bit down. No fangs — just teeth. A little yelp escaped you, and he began to lap at the newly-formed bite mark, which would certainly leave a bruise.

He stooped lower, body nearly flat against the rickety mattress as he inhaled your scent. It only served to spur him on as another growl rippled through him. “Aren’t you going to use your manners?” David mused, tormenting you again with his teasing, but you weren’t above begging. He pinned your writhing hips down with one hand.

“Please,” You babbled, a strangled whine escaping you as David’s tongue briefly flicked across your slit. “Please David, please!” It was the worst form of torture, but you hoped he would continue, hands clamoring as you clutched onto the sheet in fistfuls.

“That’s better.” With another sharp nip against your soft flesh, he immediately went to work, dragging his tongue along your wet cunt. He was vigorous, passionate — you almost expected him to tease you, but you were pleasantly surprised. He gripped your thigh, keeping an arm hooked underneath for leverage.

Warmth pooled between your thighs, manifesting in the form of arousal. David was more than pleased to lap it all up, throat vibrating with an occasional grunt or growl as he flicked his tongue across your clit. One hand would snake down to assist, fingers working in-tandem to stroke at your cunt, intending on working you open.

Your back arched slightly, a myriad of moans leaving your parted lips as David touched you. His mouth was mesmerizing, dutifully lapping along the length of your cunt, taking a particular interest in your clit. When his lips pursed around that bundle of nerves, you nearly cried out, legs wobbling.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, causing you to tremble and quiver, hips attempting to jolt forward again. You could practically feel David’s smirk as he buried his face between your thighs, beard scratching something ragged against your silky flesh.

Another moan left you when he began to suck on your clit, adding that little graze of his teeth. Your flesh felt so sensitive, crawling with goosebumps as David began to curl his fingers just slightly, making you whimper and twitch, legs accidentally pushing against his head.

David found enjoyment in making your writhe and squirm, your saccharine scent swimming around him like a thick fog. He could tell that you hadn’t done this before, judging from your constant whimpering and canting your hips forward. Nails buried themselves into your thigh, leaving behind angry impressions as he sunk two digits into your cunt, listening to you gasp.

A thin layer of dewy perspiration broke out along your flesh, provided by the continuous wave of heat drifting between the both of you. David was cold, like the bitter sting of winter as he soothed your feverish heat. “David!” You whined, cunt clenching around his digits as he pistoned them in and out of you.

All tact had dissipated as he began to submit to feral urges, another snarl rippling within his throat. His body shook from the noise, poised and leaning into you as he raked his tongue over your cunt. David’s hands kept you locked into place as he suckled on your clit again, causing you to cling to the sheets.

“David, m’close,” You huffed, eyes fluttering shut as you reclined on the mattress, allowing yourself to sink inward, hips occasionally attempting to twitch and jolt forward. As your head lolled to one side, your half-lidded stare drifted toward David, whose eyes were unnaturally vibrant — two liquid pools of gold. “David.”

His mouth worked with an unrestrained ardor, interlaced with a sinful hunger. Of course, he longed for your body just as much as he desired those sanguine rivers that pumped through your veins. With another purse of his lips and flick of his tongue, you were trapped within the throes of bliss.

Pleasure unfurled from the pit of your stomach, bristling through your body as it devoured you whole. You swore that you saw stars as a white-hot wave struck you again and again. David’s muffled laughter reverberated from between your thighs, prompting him to trace his tongue over your cunt again.

“David!” You moaned, feeling as if you were set ablaze, hips bucking off the bed just a little bit. Your orgasm ripped through you, sending shivers down your spine as you recovered. You tasted divine, able to hear his cacophony of soft grunts as he lifted his head, tongue lashing across his lower lip.

At last, he withdrew, dragging those sharp fangs across the inside of your thigh. A singular pearl of blood blossomed across your flesh, prompting David to swipe at it with an inhuman haste. His hands languidly groped and caressed along your haunches, yanking you toward the edge of the bed.

David stood between your legs, dark and towering like a pale-headed shadow, eclipsing all light from your view. The sight of you, blissed-out with a wet mess between your legs and a heaving chest was enchanting. Even he felt that rush of arousal as it all came crashing in again. Silently, he gestured toward his belt, waiting for you to come down from your climax.

With a soft huff, you sat up on your elbows, hands fumbling with his belt and leather pants again. You nearly jumped out of your own flesh when he grabbed your neck, dragging you in for a heated, messy kiss. David had little desire to be rough with you — this time, at least. He allowed his tongue to momentarily clash with yours, freeing his cock as he pressed closer.

“You ready, sweetheart?” David uttered, sluggishly pushing the head of his cock against your slick cunt, beginning to test the waters. His lips twitched into a devious smirk, filled with a twinge of desperation as he grabbed at either of your thighs.

You nodded, chewing at the inside of your cheek. A sloshing warmth filled the pit of your stomach as he pushed his cock inside of you, deliberately feeding you every inch of his length until he was buried at the base. You were tight, lips parting as a strangled moan escaped you.

A low growl ripped through David’s throat, feeling your sweet cunt clench pathetically around him. Sharp nails briefly dug into the pliant flesh of your hips as he thrust forward, causing you to gasp. He wasn’t exactly gentle, but his restraint was borderline, ready to crack and splinter at any moment.

His longing, whilst initially subdued, was now on full display. David’s eyes glistened like a feral animal, countenance contorted into an expression of need and desire, hips snapping forward as he began to bury his cock inside of you. You whimpered, legs threatening to slip around his waist.

“David,” You huffed, nearly squeaking when he stooped over, much closer to you. Any tact and sensuality dissipated as David began to rut into you, cock pistoning in and out of your tight cunt. His rhythm was swift and all-consuming as he held your hip with an iron grip, fingers leaving behind bruises. “Feels so good.” Your voice escaped you in a garbled slur.

Your hands fluttered from the sheets to him, gliding against his chest as they slipped upward, grabbing fistfuls of those platinum-blonde tresses. A grunt left him as heat blistered between the both of you, more from you than from him. Fire would meet ice as he pressed close, nipping at your lower lip as you urged him in for a kiss.

There was something primal and hungry about his kiss, as if he’d been completely starved of all contact. It was teeth and tongue colliding as he roughly gained entry into your mouth, teeth scraping across your lower lip, growling into your mouth. His pace seemed to match that sensation, brutal and unrelenting as he hammered away at your poor cunt with no sign of slowing down.

The contact was short-lived as David brusquely jerked backward, pulling his cock out of you. That emptiness made you whimper, desperate for him to continue — and he intended to, but in a different way. He turned you over, manhandling you onto your stomach as he grabbed your hips, shoving his cock back into you.

His cajoling laughter reverberated throughout the alcove, making your mind go fuzzy as he fucked you within an inch of your life. You felt David’s hand tangle into your hair, pulling at the roots with a firm grip. Another hapless whine left you, cunt clenching pathetically around his cock as he filled you to the brim, thrusts becoming a little more animalistic.

“David!” You cried, no longer able to see your vampiric paramour, but you could feel him. Even with your eyes closed, his voice reverberated throughout your mind, burnished-gold hues emblazoned into your brain like a hot brand. He fucked you senseless, chest bursting with a cacophony of growls and snarls.

It was almost overwhelming — your poor cunt was being pounded away at by David, who was eager to release for a second time. Your climax would be secondary, if he was feeling generous. You clawed at the sheets, grabbing it in fistfuls, hips pushing backwards into him. His fingers were so forceful, leaving behind angry imprints on your flesh.

You were desperate, body convulsing with pleasant spasms, legs struggling to keep yourself propped up. It all felt as if you were turning to mush, crawling with heat as David bit at your shoulder. He didn’t want to keep holding himself back, using your hair to roughly tug you backward. The firm musculature of his chest pressed into your back.

“You belong to me,” David snarled, sharp teeth mere centimeters away from the shell of your ear. They danced along your neck, hovering above your pulse point. It would’ve only taken one bite — he didn’t want to lose you so quickly. A turbulent wildfire of possessiveness surged inside of him, violent as ever as one of his palms clasped at your neck. “Say it!” He sneered.

A shiver passed through your body, lips parting as a myriad of needy, noisy moans escaped you. David forcefully parted your legs with one knee, grunting into your ear. The sounds were delicious — terrifying when you realized what he was. You could barely form the words, clutching onto his forearm.

David’s abrasive behavior might’ve been off-putting to many — but not to you. Deep down, it aroused you to no end, producing another wave of molten liquid within the pit of your belly, oozing between your thighs. “Going silent on me, kitten?” He chuckled, nipping at the sensitive flesh just beside your jugular. “Where’s that pretty voice of yours?”

Another whine tore past your parted lips as you sucked in a sharp breath, nearly crying out when his cock slapped away at your cunt. Any semblance of compassion had been exchanged for roughness and pure lust, as if you were a plaything for David. “I—I belong to you,” You slurred, attempting to move your hips in-tandem. “David, please!”

There would be no divide between you and David, no more distance. He’d keep you here in the cave, his precious mate, and when he felt like you were deserving of it, he’d make you like him — immortal, eternally trapped within a state of youth. You surrendered yourself completely, feeling him drive his cock into you again until he could go no further.

You were chasing after every sensation, set ablaze in the fire of David’s insatiable desire, gasping when his hand squeezed around your throat. The pressure caused you to shudder, cunt clenching around his length as you sought your release. When you sneakily attempted to shove your hand between your legs, he stopped entirely.

“What do we have here?” David admonished you, clicking his tongue with a mocking hint of disdain. “Trying to speed things up?” You felt cold, almost a little delirious as he simply dropped you onto the mattress, pulling himself from you. “If you’re so desperate, you can finish yourself, kitten.” He sneered, eyes a burnished amber, nearly a golden-red.

“Wh—Wait!” Being denied so close to your climax made you feel clammy, as if every wisp of air had been ripped from your throat. “D—David, I’m sorry! Please keep going!” You didn’t think he was serious, watching him stand at the foot of the bed, towering over you with a rather sardonic expression, full of rebuke.

“If you want to cum, you’ll have to beg.” David clicked his tongue, grabbing at your legs as he pulled you close again. “Why should I let you after that little stunt? Not good enough for you?” His voice surged with agitation, and you couldn’t discern if it was genuine or fabricated to fit his lust and appetite.

You nearly sobbed when he brushed his thumb over your clit, so feather-light that you wouldn’t have felt it if it weren’t for your constant squirming. “David, I — Please fuck me, please keep fucking me,” You babbled, tears stinging your eyes. The denial blistered through you, coupled with your own desperation to continue. He’d fucked you so good — it’d ruin you to stop now. “P—Please!”

David smirked, gazing down at you with a look of faux pity and want. Of course, he had no desire to simply abandon you here and now — but it was fun to play with you, poke and prod for a reaction. “You’re lucky, sweetheart.” He crooned, digits deliberately sliding across your clit again, causing you to let out a noisy whine.

“Please fuck me, please,” Your stammered, stumbling over your words as a coo of delight left you. “David, I need you.” With a trembling exhale, you continued to murmur something about wanting him. His laughter floated above your head, sinking into your very bones.

“Good girl.” David’s praise was spoken upon a silver tongue and dark eyes as he hastily shoved his cock back into your tight cunt, resuming the brutal pace he’d set before. You were on your back again, hapless beneath him as he railed you into a blissful oblivion.

He exuded dominance — he exuded a calculating control that you bent to, so very easily. David’s brow furrowed, countenance drawn into a look of rapture. He would never admit it, but he was thoroughly enamored with you, be it your sweet demeanor, your body, or your blood. Each thrust hit you hard, making you see stars.

One hand clutched the meat of your thigh, the other wrapped snugly underneath your throat, wedged against your jaw. He fucked you at a near-inhuman pace, rough and needy, causing you to part your legs just a little further for him. You huffed, a mess of moans and whimpers; his snarl was a familiar one.

David grunted, letting out a bestial hiss as he reached his peak, allowing himself to cum inside of you for a second or two, but that was painfully short-lived. His cock fell onto your stomach, painting your abdomen and breasts in ropes of hot, sticky seed. You shouldn’t have been so surprised — he got off on it.

His pearlescent grin glinted within the flickering candlelight as you came soon after, thanks to that generous caressing of his thumb pressing into your clit. You were spent, body spasming and quivering as you reached your peak, orgasm just as insanity-inducing as the last.

Warmth cascaded through you, goosebumps coalescing down the length of your spine when David caressed your jaw. He was stroking your silky flesh, head slightly cocked to one side as he watched you ride out your orgasm. You had gotten a little embarrassed, but he thought very little of it, peering towards the tattered remnants of your clothes.

“You’ll need something to wear.” David hummed, briefly correcting his attire as he found one of the many articles of clothing he’d collected in his immortal lifetime. It was a mahogany-hued sweater, something he lacked any attachment to, but you’d have his scent. He tossed it toward you, letting it land next to your head.

His callous behavior afterward was certainly something you’d have to get used to, but you decided to play one of the cards you had up your sleeve. “David,” You murmured, reaching for the ruined scraps of your dress to clean his cum off of you. “Come here?”

David paused, wondering if you were expecting a little tender, loving care afterwards. If that was what you wanted, it was best if you asked Paul or Dwayne. He decided to indulge you, stepping closer until he was back at your side again.

Wordlessly, you stood up, now shrouded in his sweater, which seemed entirely too big for you. He thoroughly reveled in that — your scent intermingled with his. It was a way to keep you close, now that you belonged to him. You rocked up onto your toes to kiss him, something that he reciprocated.

He felt your lips quirk into the ghost of a smile before you crawled back onto his mattress, both physically and mentally exhausted. David’s tongue swept across his teeth as he watched you lay down, and instead of leaving entirely, he turned, taking up residence in the rickety, velvet-cushioned chair he’d been in earlier.

As he struck his lighter, David placed the cigarette between his lips, ogling you across the way. It was difficult not to be a little soft on you — though, if you were to become an immortal, you had so much more to go. Initiation was far from over, but for now, he let you rest. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He exhaled, tone saturated with an edge of mockery.

As sleep claimed you, your dreams were only filled with him — and that distant scent of blood.

[rapturously]

Grinding, biting, and a corruption kink with a sweet reader~ some nasty smut for one of the lost boys, your choice of who!

eyes on fire.

pairing. | david x fem!reader.

format. | one-shot — requested.

word count. | 4.5K.

warnings. | smut, biting, bloodplay (he’s a vampire), semi-public, risk of getting caught, little bit of corruption kink, fingering (f!receiving), handjob, breast play, making out, dirty talk, pet names (kitten, sweetheart), possessive/obsessive behavior from david, david reading your mind (reader doesn’t know), david is an asshole but he’s really sexy so it’s okay

author’s note. | remember how I said dwayne was my favorite ??? I lied, it’s actually David & I’m obsessed with him on god ,,, I have a ton of David smut sitting around in the docs that’ll get posted, but for now, have this! I’m in my Lost Boys era so I would love more requests for them (especially horny ones)

“Where are we going?”

Your voice emerged like a soft caress, barely making it to David as he coaxed you through the swarm of people. He was insistent on whisking you away to somewhere else — somewhere with less eyes. It was a labyrinth of rancor and thrill, the boardwalk strung-up with flyers for concerts amongst the many ‘missing persons’ leaflets. He was behind you, in front of you, all around — an inescapable haze.

David hadn’t intended to like you, let alone go as far as to express interest. Though, with the prospect of immortality on the line, it had become too tantalizing for him to simply abandon his fantasies. He hovered beside you, one hand firmly pressing into the small of your back as he carefully guided you throughout the pinstriped booths.

Even with the mass of fairgoers, your smell was the one that rose above it all — floral perfume intermingled with clean linens, perhaps a splash of rose-water. David continued to guide you into this maze, and at the very center, it would only be the two of you. As he came to a cluster of carnival booths lined up along a wall, he saw the gap of darkness behind one of them.

“You’ll see.” David murmured, lips ghosting around the shell of your ear. There was something unusually dark to his voice — something tantalizing and dangerous as his tone dropped to an alluring purr. The more that the both of you made your way into this unseen gap, the less noisy it became, but there were still people on the other side of the canvas.

“David?” Your voice hopped up an octave as your surroundings became darker, only to be illuminated by a few slivers of orange light that drifted through the cracks. It was almost as if he’d disappeared, causing goosebumps to coalesce along the column of your spine. It was eerily quiet, save for some distant music and the constant buzz of patrons close by.

His laughter emerged from the shadows, akin to a predator toying with their prey. He could see you, but you couldn’t see him. That little fluctuation of fear settled into your features, coupled with exhilaration as you fumbled around in an attempt to find him. You looked so perfect, wearing a softer-blue dress that made you appear angelic, compared to his black attire.

Your heart began to sing for him, beating erratically within your chest as you clasped your hands together, having another look around. He was hiding from you, but his laughter sounded so near. “David, come on.” Nervousness crept into your shrewd tone — subtle, but most certainly prevalent. “Where’d you go?”

A thump made you jump, nearly crawling from your own skin. You’d gotten used to his constant teasing, but the suspense of not seeing him became a little overwhelming. He couldn’t have been very far away considering the limited amount of space, but you relented, shifting towards the wall.

At last, hands suddenly grabbed at your hips from behind, tugging you against his musculature as you let out a loud yelp. “David!” You gasped, watching as he rounded you, appearing before you with that wolfish grin. Your back was against the wall as he caged you in, hovering above you. His hand came down to grab your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“There she is.” He uttered, able to make out that doe-like look you often had. Your pupils were dilated, chest heaving with heavy heartbeats as you calmed down from your healthy dose of fear. David had been toying with you for several days — fortunately for you, he was prepared to end your torment.

“Don’t do that again,” You mumbled, listening to his beguiling laughter as he pressed his stubbled mouth against your shoulder. It was always everywhere but your lips, which had become somewhat infuriating. You’d been itching to kiss him. “Please.”

David enjoyed reading your mind — especially those that involved him. You were particularly upset about the lack of kissing, sexually frustrated, often fantasizing about all of the things he could do to you. He intended on honoring that — he wanted to indulge himself, too.

“Anger doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.” David sneered, and in reality, he felt the opposite. He just enjoyed seeing you get all defensive and haughty in an attempt to make yourself more intimidating. You could never be intimidating to him. You were his pet. Pets were meant to be cute and docile — loyal, above all else.

As footsteps passed by, you became nervous, having a glance around. “David, what if someone catches us back here? Maybe we should go somewhere else.” You protested, but he only pushed you back against the wall with a guttural snarl. That sound terrified you in the best way possible, causing a soft gasp to escape you.

“Are you scared?” He murmured, subtly invoking a challenge. David was testing the waters, seeing if you’d shy away from his intentions. He caressed your lower lip with his thumb, as he’d done so many times before. The way your heart raced was music to his ears.

You shook your head, gaze flickering toward his lips. His mouth was perfect — you wanted to taste him. He was snug against you, body to body, heart to heart, feeling your warmth bleed into him as it rolled from you in waves. David smelled like an amalgamation of cigarettes, cologne, and that familiar coppery twang.

David pressed closer, lips mere breaths away, and you wanted to beg him for a kiss — for anything. His chuckle was sly and deliciously seductive, gaze becoming half-lidded as those crystalline irises drank you in, over and over. “You should be.” He uttered, dragging you in as he pressed his mouth against yours.

Through the dark haze of your surroundings, those little flickers of light pierced through, providing slim illumination. You could still see David, but not nearly as well as you hoped. As one hand squeezed your chin, the other fell to cup the curve of your waist, thumb digging into the fragile flesh there.

Your hands clamored to find their purchase, grasping at the dark, textured sweater underneath his trenchcoat. David suddenly stepped forward with you in-tow, pinning you against the rickety wooden wall. A gasp escaped you in between heated kisses, feeling his teeth nick the supple skin of your lower lip.

He could smell you — that familiar, feminine aroma of arousal as it began to coagulate between your plush thighs. David licked his lips, and for a moment, he reminded himself that you weren’t a vampire. You were still fragile and breakable — if he wasn’t somewhat careful with you, he’d hurt you.

A strangled whimper tore past your parted lips as his gloved palm brazenly groped your breast, gauging your smitten reaction. “Poor, poor girl,” David purred, pressing a string of hot, greedy kisses along your jaw. “No one’s taken care of you, have they?” He murmured, nipping at your jugular.

A squeak of surprise left you as David became a little rougher, but you didn’t know what you should’ve expected. Getting involved with him meant stepping into that gritty, domineering aspect of sex, and you weren’t about to refuse him. You keened into his touch, fingers curling into his sweater.

Leather-clad fingers audaciously jerked at the fabric around your pliant chest, producing a slight tearing sound. A resonant growl rumbled throughout David’s chest as he slipped his palm around your bare breast, teasing and tugging at your nipple until you were mewling — it was fitting, given the nickname he had for you.

David trailed his mouth upward, from neck to your lips, hungrily attaching themselves to yours once more. His kiss was ravenous, passionate — it was as if he were caught in some frenzied state. A soft moan left you as he continued to knead your breast, one hand skirting to rest around your throat.

He squeezed, gloved digits tensing on either side of your slender neck as he applied pressure. There was a sudden flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, a sense of intrigue — you’d never felt something quite like this before. A sharp and sudden sensation rippled throughout your lower lip as teeth sliced flesh.

“Sorry,” David smirked, gaze glistening with sheer lust and desire. “You’ve got such pretty lips.” He uttered, and could smell the singular droplet of blood that bubbled atop the soft flesh of your lower lip. His jaw tensed, and without hesitation, he careened in for another kiss, open-mouthed as he lapped at the blood.

Arousal hit you like a heavy haze, stomach churning with anticipation as a liquid heat pooled between your thighs. Whatever David was doing, no matter how brazen and primal it was, it made you want to melt within his grasp. A moan escaped you, lost between another barrage of heated kisses.

His tongue traced across your lower lip before he not so-gently sought entry into your mouth, letting out a low, rumbling chuckle when you gasped. David could tell that you weren’t used to any of this, but that made it all the more sweeter. He relished in that starstruck look you had, eyes wide and akin to a startled doe.

With a pitiful whine, your throat bobbed beneath his palm, pulse racing at the speed of light. Your fingers began to roam and wander, wanting to feel even a mere inch of his skin. David knew how desperate you were, and normally, he’d want you to work for it — but this was your first, and he was feeling particularly merciful.

Your smell was becoming unbearable — in a good way. David could sense the way your body bent for him, turned malleable within his hands. The pad of his gloved thumb pressed just above your pulse point, listening to that erratic beating of your heart.

“David,” You gasped, letting out a soft moan when he pried his mouth away from yours, peppering a string of greedy, voracious kisses along your collarbone. Your soft, warm fingertips slid underneath his sweater, feeling along the taut plane of his musculature. He was cold, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “David, please.”

Heat coursed throughout your body, a consuming fire, burning bright within the pit of your stomach. Whatever flame of arousal David sparked within you, it demanded to be extinguished. Your cunt clenched pathetically around nothing at all as you felt one of his hands grab at your haunch.

“Please what, kitten?” David murmured, voice dark and salacious, like the lull of a siren. He could smell your desire as it pooled between your thighs. You whimpered when his teeth scraped across your collarbone, snagging a portion of your flesh. Saliva coalesced within his maw as he prepared to bite.

The hand that held your throat flew to your breast again, kneading and groping as he bit down, leaving behind a rather angry bite mark. If you were to look closely enough, the incisors seemed abnormally long — thankfully, you were masked by darkness. Rivulets of crimson trickled toward your heaving chest.

David snarled, hastily licking and kissing his way around your breasts, lapping at whatever blood trickled onto his tongue. You tasted divine — akin to the forbidden fruit. The yelp and moan that escaped you rolled into one pleasurable sound. It stung for a moment, but David was swift to kiss the pain away.

“O—Oh,” Shock fluttered across your face when you noticed David brazenly lapping at the inklings of blood. It was strange, initially — but when he lifted his head, lips stained with a light crimson, his cerulean irises were now a vibrant, burnished gold. “Your eyes.” You thought you were going crazy.

Another delicious laugh escaped him, and he quickly licked his lips as if he’d had the most delectable meal. “Just the light, sweetheart.” He murmured, and angled himself in a different direction, conveniently into the sliver of orange that trickled through the canvas. They were blue again — icy and penetrating.

Maybe you were going crazy.

“Lift your dress up.”

David’s voice was an alluring command — he wasn’t asking. His countenance was wrought with lust, gaze burning a hole right through you as he hastily scanned your thoughts. They were tantalizing and rather amusing — just a jumbled maze, thinking about him, predominantly. That familiar smirk had diminished, making the moment more intense.

You swallowed the lump within your throat, breath hitching as your hands fumbled toward the hem of your ruffled dress. Your pace was completely and utterly sluggish, as if you were moving at the speed of a snail, which amused David. He was staring at you again — you were a feast for the eyes.

“Don’t make me wait.” David uttered, nudging his knee in between your legs, forcing them to part as he rucked up your dress for you. Goosebumps erupted across your flesh, crawling over the column of your spine as he tilted inward, pressing his lips against yours. “Hm.”

A breathy whine escaped you as he dragged his hand along your stomach, lifting one hand towards his mouth. Pearlescent teeth sank into the leather as he removed one glove, flesh ice-cold as he teased the waistband of your panties. “David,” You shuddered, both excited and scared of getting caught. “Please.” You panted.

David chuckled next to your ear, forcing you to look at him with his other hand. Leather-clad digits swept across your chin. “Is this what you wanted?” He purred, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “Use your words, kitten.” He murmured, reveling in your mesmerized expression.

“Yes, I—I want you to touch me,” Your voice was desperate, high-pitched with a needy whine as you stared at David, whose lips curled into a salacious grin. “Please, David. I want you.” A soft whine left you as he dipped his fingers underneath the thin cotton fabric.

Desire rippled through you just as it did through him, hot and heavy as it burned between you both. “I like your manners.” He whispered into your ear, playfully biting at the sensitive shell. With that, his hand deftly traveled to that aching warmth between your legs, icy digits tracing across your slit.

Your body reacted violently, hips jolting into the sensation of his hand. You fumbled to hold onto him, fingers clamoring to grasp his chest and bicep. Those dexterous digits slipped against your cunt, savoring the heat that oozed from it. You were soaked — it was almost embarrassing how aroused you were.

David chuckled, withdrawing his fingers, much to your dismay. They glistened with your slick, and you nearly collapsed into a pile of nothingness as he placed them into his mouth, lewdly savoring your taste. “Hm,” He sneered, eyes alight with an intensity. “Is that all for me?”

“Y—Yes,” You nodded several times over, licking your lower lip. A coppery twang was still present, fainter than before. “Yes.” You said it again, watching the way he grinned like a sharp-toothed predator. You waited with bated breath as his hand went right back into your panties, thumb grinding against your clit.

He stopped toying with you so much, fingers finding a rather voracious rhythm as they slid along your cunt, thumb drawing circles around your clit. You were so sensitive, like a live wire — virgins always were. David kissed you again, tongue dragging across your lower lip as he let you lean against him.

“You’re mine,” David uttered, digits drifting toward your slick entrance. The unfamiliar sensation left you gasping, sputtering for more as he began to sink two fingers inside of you, sluggishly working you open. He chuckled when you moaned, kissing along your jugular with a frenzy. “Say it.” He growled.

A shiver of delight rolled through your spine, coupled with that continuous oozing of warmth that pooled between your legs. David began to pump two fingers in and out of your needy cunt, thumb continuing to work wonders against your clit. The sounds you made were incredible — especially those little whimpers of yours.

“M’yours,” You slurred, idly rolling your hips with those rhythmic strokes of his hand. The shrill screaming of fairgoers still echoed around you, and a ruffling of the canvas backing of a tent nearly made you squeak. David squeezed your chin, demanding that you look at him as he finger-fucked you into submission. “Yours, David.” You groaned, wanting to pull his platinum-blonde locks.

David chuckled at how quickly you said it — your body responded to his touch as if you were made for him. Your heavy scent invaded his senses, making his maw pool with saliva. He nearly considered taking another bite from you in the midst of all this, but he knew better than to get greedy. He didn’t want to kill you so soon. “Good girl.” He uttered, watching as you keened into his hand.

His fingers were divine — David had a way of subduing you through it, drawing out the most intimate parts of you. Those pale cerulean hues remained fixated upon you, lips curled into a slight sneer as he attempted to squeeze a third digit inside of you. You were tight — cunt snug around his fingers as he pistoned in and out, glistening with a sheen of your juices.

That knot of liquid heat inside of your stomach began to unravel, bringing with it a white-hot pleasure that made your knees shake. David let you lean against him, wanting to keep you aloft as he licked at your lower lip again, gathering a singular pearl of crimson that beaded from your tender flesh. “David!” You whined, chasing after that sensation.

Your cunt throbbed with excitable pangs, and you nearly cried out again when David’s thumb flicked over your clit, drawing vigorous circles around the bundle of nerves. He could tell that you were getting close — the scent was enough to drive him into a frenzy.

Heat crawled across your flesh, which felt borderline feverish as David let you ride his hand, dress rucked up around your hips. The pace in which he fucked you with his fingers was rhythmic and passionate — he wasn’t about to leave you with nothing at all. He laughed again when your hips bucked forward, clawing at his chest as you clung to him.

“Getting a little greedy, aren’t we?” David purred, noticing that glazed, lustful look in your eyes as you reached your pinnacle. Your orgasm was akin to being bathed in a pleasurable fire, everything felt good. A buzz formed within your stomach as you came, chest rising and falling with quick pants. “Hm.” One whiff of you, and David had to restrain himself.

He withdrew his fingers from you, and again, treated you to a most sinful sight as he sucked on his middle digits, face screwed into one of amusement. You looked blissed-out, lips parting as he careened forward. “That was …” You couldn’t properly describe the way he made you feel.

“Thank me for it,” David mused, trapping your chin within his gloved hand. “I’ve got something else for you, kitten.” His voice became deliciously husky as he offered you one of his fingers. You swallowed the lump within your throat, heart beating erratically as you slowly opened your mouth. “Good.” He crooned.

Embarrassment rippled through you as you gently sucked on his index finger, able to taste yourself — though, you assumed that was what David wanted. Judging from the burning stare he was giving you, he was enjoying himself. A soft whimper left you when he pressed on your tongue, and you listened to that familiar, wolfish chuckle of his.

When he made you stop with a simple squeeze of your jaw, you whimpered, flesh feeling so incredibly warm. “Thank you.” Admittedly, David had done more than you thought he would, all things considered. Though, you felt as if you needed to return the favor. “Would you want me to touch you, too?” You asked, keeping your voice hushed.

David grinned, sliding the leather glove back over his hand as he flexed it once or twice. “Would I want you to?” He asked incredulously, prepared to tease you. Instead, he found himself enticed by your innocence and demure demeanor. “What do you think, sweetheart?” His voice dropped into another low growl.

“Yes?” You asked, and David simply gestured toward his belt with a flicker of those cerulean hues, wanting to see what you’d do. You hadn’t done something like this before, but you wanted to please David more than anything else. With hesitant hands, you gently grappled the studded, black belt he wore, quietly unfastening it. You wondered if he’d instruct you further.

“Do I need to talk you through it?” David sneered, head cocked to one side as he playfully grazed his sharp teeth across your jaw. You shuddered, digits stuttering as you moved to unbutton the front of those black, ragged leather pants. You were afraid of disappointing him and making a fool of yourself.

You very nearly said yes, stomach churning with anticipation as he began to plant hungry kisses along your neck. Teeth nicked your flesh, and you could feel his predatory grin against your jugular. You were visibly flustered as you handled him as if he would break, which David found amusement in.

Freeing his cock from the confines of snug, tattered leather, you stopped, gaze fluttering toward his pale features as he let out another harsh bark of sly laughter. “Don’t be shy.” David purred, encouraging you in his own way. He had no intention of ridiculing you for your inexperience — in fact, it enticed him more than anything else.

With a soft exhale, you began to drag your soft palm across the base of his cock, stroking up toward the head in a series of sluggish, experimental motions. You watched David’s face, noticed the way his smugness was curbed just a little bit. You kept quiet, continuing to pump your hand along his length.

A series of grunts escaped him, and he became unusually devoid of words. The noises he made were tantalizing, causing you to shiver as you continued to touch him, caressing your thumb across the head of his cock. He trapped your lower lip between his teeth, giving you another hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Your ministrations became invigorated, sharp and swift as you found a heavier rhythm. David growled, grinding against your bare thigh, with your dress still pooled around your hips. With one hand, you reached for his platinum tresses, tracing your fingers through as you grabbed a fistful.

David’s wicked chuckle made you bristle, lips melding with yours in a greedy, consuming kiss. You relinquished control to your pale-headed paramour, continuing to stroke his cock with eager thrusts of your hand. He knew that he wouldn’t get off to just your hand — it was too early to put you on your knees, but the thought had crossed his mind.

His stubbled, scruffy visage scratched against your face, and the sensation was unusually pleasant. Your hand never slowed, hoping that you were pleasing him in a valiant attempt to reciprocate. You felt his cock twitch within your hand as a pearl of precum beaded from the tip, prompting you to swipe at it with your thumb.

“Good girl,” David uttered, knowing that if you continued, he’d likely lose all of his self-restraint. You enjoyed touching him, reluctantly removing your hand from his cock. You stopped, but he was staring at you expectantly. “The work isn’t completely finished.” He mused, noticing the lick of heat that saturated your skin.

With a soft ‘oh’, you made sure to fix him up, straightening his clothes and buckling his belt again. He was still painfully hard as he grinded into your thigh, pressing a sultry kiss against your jaw. David flicked the strap of your dress back over your shoulder, and happened to scan your mind.

For such an innocent creature, your thoughts were everything but — the idea of corrupting you was delicious. It was filth and sin all intertwined together, and you wanted so much more. David was prepared to provide, but he wanted to let it simmer again. It was best if he hunted and regained his own composure before attempting to corrupt you and suck the sweetness right out of your marrow.

As he squeezed your chin, David leaned off of you, steering you away from the darkness and toward the gap of light up ahead. “I have somewhere very special to show you next time.” He fully intended on taking you to the cave — he’d claim you, then.

“Where is it?” Your voice was indicative of excitement as he lingered around the fringes of the gap you’d gone in to begin with. You didn’t want to put any label on this — you weren’t certain if this was a date. At any rate, you thoroughly enjoyed whatever this was — the heat, the tension that flew between you.

“You’ll see,” David purred, pausing within the gap that led back out to the boardwalk. “It’ll be a pleasant surprise.” He assured you, stopping to trail his fingers across your cheek. Those pale, icy hues studied you for a moment, drinking in the sight of your humanity, your fragility — beating heart and saccharine blood pumping within your veins, the warmth radiating from you.

Immortality would suit you, but he’d certainly miss your many mortal qualities. Perhaps, he’d keep you like this for a while, his sweet little human. David often shared with his brothers, but you were something he coveted, longed to keep just for himself. Like so many times before, he traced his gloved thumb across your lower lip.

You wanted to kiss him again, just one more time before you’d have to leave and go home. “Thank you for tonight, David.” You whispered, hands gently curling into the woolen plane of his sweater. David’s smirk made you shiver as he cupped your jaw, eyes flickering toward your now-healing lip.

Enraptured, David decided to let you come to him, watching as you stretched up to reach his mouth. Your lips melded with his, and he took it a step further, shamelessly deepening the kiss as he held you close. A low growl reverberated throughout his chest, causing you to shiver as he pinched your chin.

“I’ll see you soon, kitten.” He smirked, sly laughter rippling through him as he stepped away, strolling into the crowd that hadn’t an inkling of what the two of you were doing in the darkness.

As you watched David walk away, your head swam with him — his voice, the sound of his devilish laughter, those piercing eyes — but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Even after he disappeared completely, assimilating into the masses, all you could think about was a pair of golden eyes.

[rapturously]

SIDELINES.

you haven’t seen jesse pinkman since high school — and he’s the last person you ever expected to connect with. however, times have changed — and so have you.

part 1. | part 2. | part 3. | part 4. | part 5.

༄ PAIRING. | jesse pinkman x [female] reader.

༄ FORMAT. | one-shot, multi-part — not requested.

༄ WORD COUNT. | 9.6K.

༄ WARNINGS. | drug use, references to substance use/addiction, past jane/jesse, emotional trauma/hurt, jesse’s internalized hatred/guilt, acquaintances to lovers, smoking, smut, smut with plot, making out, dirty talk, breast play, cunnilingus, hair pulling, bottom!jesse, riding, morning sex, aftercare.

༄ AUTHOR’S NOTE. | I don’t know where I’m getting these ideas, but I have a lot of projects in the works right now. Some are horror-related and some aren’t. Honestly, I’m just happy to be writing again no matter what the content is. Thank you guys for your continued support & love. I couldn’t do it without you all! Peace! ☺️

The scent of marijuana, pungent smoke, and a toxic amalgamation of sweat and AXE body spray wafted throughout the house, music jacked up so loud that it made your ears ring. You remained at your perch, stuffed along the wall of a stranger’s house while your friends got stoned in another room.

You were dragged to this party out of sheer loyalty to your friends and a boredom that outweighed anything else. Regret rippled through you, nose stinging from the foul smells that hung like a noxious haze in the living room. The drink you clutched within one hand was watered-down, tiny slivers of ice swirling around within the cup.

Some mediocre hip-hop song blasted throughout the house, bass loud enough to shake the very foundation — you were thoroughly surprised that the police hadn’t been called in for a noise complaint.

Grey wisps of smoke drifted in your direction, and you swatted at it with a wrinkled nose. It wasn’t your typical scene — the sort of party, at least. Partying was something you were accustomed to — harmless college parties with drinks and weed, but this was something else.

There were people snorting lines of cocaine off of a glass coffee table, and you swore that one person had passed out entirely in the kitchen. A strange sensation crawled across your flesh — a feeling that you weren’t exactly meant to be here. Your friends had driven you down here, but you were prepared to take your chances with walking home.

“Wanna hit?” A man asked you, gsze half-lidded, lips curled into a less than attractive smile. He propositioned you with a jerk of his head, motioning toward the thin line of fine, white powder sitting along the coffee table.

“No thanks.” You waved one hand in dismiss, weaving through the crowds to retrieve another drink. The kitchen was destroyed, ravaged by strangers with little respect for the home. Debris, trash, and the remnants of marijuana were everywhere. You nearly stepped on broken glass.

It felt like an out-of-body experience — as if you were simply a spectator, an observer who watched the chaos around you. You didn’t thrive or revel within it — you were indifferent. The vices of your friends differed greatly from your own, to quite an extreme degree.

As you watched the swarm of people, all huddled together within the living room, the air became stifling and stuffy, as if it threatened to suffocate you altogether. They reminded you of zombies — barely moving in one place, all drugged-out from whatever concoction of pills and illicit substances were available at this party.

You silently slipped outside, abandoning your drink somewhere on the windowsill as you stepped out into the cool night breeze. You inhaled, greedily drinking in the crisp freshness of dusk, hands roaming over your thin cardigan as you began to shuffle to the edge of the porch.

Moonlight pooled through the wispy clouds as they fluttered through the night — everything was so much quieter outside. The thumping of the bass had diminished, and the skunk-like scent had dissipated altogether.

The door opened behind you, a figure slinking out onto the porch a few feet away from you. “Hey.”

It was somewhat unfamiliar until you’d actually glanced over your shoulder, gaze landing upon a most familiar face — Jesse Pinkman. The two of you made eye contact; Jesse’s face blossomed with a subtle realization.

“Holy shit,” You let out a bark of a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Jesse Pinkman, right? You went to J.P Wynne.” You hadn’t seen Jesse Pinkman since high school graduation — you distinctly remembered his social circle.

Jesse recognized you sometime during the midst of the party — a true wallflower, despite your popularity in junior high. It surprised him to see a girl like you at one of his drug-laden festivities, but then again, life was full of surprises. He looked tired, skin pale and eyes baggy as he leaned against one of the columns.

“Yeah,” Perusing his pockets, he fished out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. “You were one of the Honor Society members, right?” Jesse recalled your stellar academics and social standing — his polar opposite.

You made a face, keeping your arms folded across your abdomen. “Yeah.” Admittedly, Jesse wasn’t exactly someone you were friends with in high school. Cordial was a good word for it — your parents never would have allowed you to hang out with someone like him, anyway. “We were in Mr. White’s chemistry classes together.”

Upon mentioning Walter White, Jesse stiffened slightly, feigning innocence as he cracked a thin-lipped smile. “Jesus,” He exhaled, reaching for his lighter. “It’s been awhile.”

There was a prevalent exhaustion that hung within his eyes, a loneliness that almost felt tangible within that moment. He avoided eye contact with you at-times, hands fidgeting when you stepped closer.

“It has.” You paused, rubbing your palms across your arms. Despite the acrid heat that New Mexico produced during the day, the temperatures dropped drastically at night. You shivered, a delicate smile creeping across your features. “Did the party get a little boring for you, too?”

He’d forgotten about you a little bit — forgotten about just how beautiful you were. You’d only gotten prettier, too. Jesse felt the sting of sheepishness and inferiority that came with being around someone like you — a good person, someone with responsibilities and respectable morals. You weren’t a criminal — you hadn’t killed somebody.

Jesse almost felt as if he shouldn’t be speaking to you, but he pressed on. “I guess. Needed some air, you know?” He noticed your constant shivering, prompting him to remove the baggy, black jacket he wore. “You cold?” He asked, gesturing toward the garment he carried.

“Oh,” Warmth crept along your flesh, brows knitting together as you shook your head. “You don’t have to do that, Jesse.” It was a thoughtful gesture, something you didn’t expect, but you were freezing and the dress wasn’t doing you any favors.

“Nah, go ahead. Might smell like cigarettes, though.” Jesse forewarned, tucking one hand underneath his arm. The long-sleeved Henley he wore was more than enough for him.

You thanked him, slipping into his hooded zip-up. He wasn’t exactly incorrect — it did smell of cigarette smoke intermingled with the cologne he wore. You didn’t mind, though.

Silence drifted between the two of you, awkward enough to make you uncomfortable as you fished around for your cellphone. Minutes ticked by without a word. Jesse appeared to be a little nervous, and you wondered if it had anything to do with you.

There was a string of texts from your friends inquiring about your whereabouts. It was a little after ten o’clock, and you fully intended on walking home. “It was nice seeing you, Jesse. I hope you’re doing well.” You cleared your throat. “I’m going to head home.”

Jesse opened his mouth to speak, lips fumbling around the unlit cigarette. Surely, you didn’t want to talk to him — Christ, he was practically a stranger. It felt cruel of him not to offer to give you a ride home, or something like that.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse cleared his throat, clamoring after you. “I can give you a ride home. Could be stalkers or crazy people around.” His reasoning was weak, but it seemed to resonate with you, oddly enough. He felt strange — he barely knew you outside of what he perceived in high school.

You knew that Jesse had gotten in trouble with the law in school — everyone knew. Gossip was prevalent at J.P Wynne. Part of you screamed to refuse, to politely decline and endure the lengthy trek home, but a sliver of you wanted to accept, to indulge in your curiosity.

Jesse had always been kind to you in the very rare, occasional interaction you’d had with him. He hadn’t given you any reason not to trust him. It was a nice change of company — refreshing, almost. There was a clean slate between the two of you.

Your shoulders slouched and sluggishly lifted in a weak shrug as you rubbed your hands together. “You don’t mind? It’s on Nauman Drive, past downtown.” A decent drive, for sure — a half an hour or more. You expected him to reject you given the distance.

“Nauman?” It was a nice area, he knew that much. “Yeah, I don’t mind. You care if I smoke?” Jesse inquired, gesturing around toward the garage. He didn’t care about the house — it almost seemed to fade away into the background. He needed a break, time to think.

“Go ahead.” You trailed after Jesse, following him toward the paved stretch of driveway. A 1984 Toyota Tercel sat, red paint beginning to fade and show signs of weathering. It was beat-up, but certainly held a bit of rugged appeal.

Jesse awkwardly shuffled to open the passenger door, and you thanked him, sinking down into the felt seats. The car smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap air fresheners, but it was tidy and clean inside. You placed your purse down onto the floorboard in front of you.

Blowing a pillar of smoke into the air, Jesse hastily finished his cigarette, fingers beginning to quiver as he opened the driver’s side. He hadn’t really spent time with a girl since Jane — but you didn’t remind him of her whatsoever. There were many qualities you possessed that certainly contrasted from her, not that it was a bad thing.

“Do you live here?” You asked, head canting to one side. There were other cars scattered around the block and parked on the street, but his happened to be the only vehicle in the driveway.

“Uh,” Jesse glanced at you, absentmindedly wetting his lower lip. “Yeah, I do.” He turned the key forward, car rumbling and puffing to life. “Bought the house months ago — used to be my Aunt’s.” He clarified, wondering if you would ask about the obscene amount of drugs.

“You don’t think it’ll burn down while you’re gone?” You questioned, lips twitching into a thin smile as you rolled down the passenger window, letting your elbow rest up against the ledge.

Jesse let out a huff of laughter, and shrugged his shoulders. He began to back up, rolling out onto the empty roads. “It’s been through worse shit.” His wry statement only made your smile flicker again, but he vehemently focused on driving instead.

You felt the barrier melt a bit at that — it was comforting to know that the two of you didn’t have to behave like complete strangers. Silence simmered again, settling between the both of you as he concentrated on finding something on the radio. It served as suitable background noise.

“What are you doing nowadays?” You avoided the topic of the party — it wasn’t worth mentioning. A cool breeze whipped through the car as he began to drive, causing goosebumps to prickle along your shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Jesse confessed, cerulean hues flickering in your direction. “Drifting, I guess.” It was the first time where he’d revealed a sliver of his true feelings. The parties were a worthwhile distraction — soulless events where he could find solace in all of the chaos surrounding him. “Shit, it’s a long story.” His laughter was shaky.

“You don’t have to do a full confession, Jesse.” You reassured, playfully prodding at your cardigan. “I’m not wearing a wire.” With a gentle exhale, your tone softened as he pulled out onto the highway. It was almost soothing — driving back home with somebody you never expected to see again.

Jesse laughed at that, running a hand across his disheveled hair, and then planting it against the back of his neck. The support groups he’d been attending didn’t work — there was no comfort he’d been able to find.

Everything felt like some massive distraction from the root of the problem — the residual pain he was dealing with from Jane, from Gale. His heart hammered within his chest, and he looked at you again. Oddly enough, your nonchalant behavior and lack of judgment would’ve been enough for him to spill in a different setting.

“Hey, what about you? What are you doing these days?” Jesse immediately shifted the focus away from him. He was far more interested in what you had to say than his own life. Besides, it would pull him out of his own head for a little while.

The inquiry was unexpected but not unwelcome, causing you to adjust yourself within the passenger seat. “Oh,” You cleared your throat. “I’m in college at the University of New Mexico. I’m still trying to figure out what I’d like to study — getting basics out of the way. I work at a cafe.”

Normal, uneventful, peaceful — Jesse envied you.

You were achieving something mundane yet safe, something that he wished he would’ve done long ago. Maybe things wouldn’t have happened in the way that they did. His countenance became a touch forlorn, but it wasn’t the time to become mournful over the past. He couldn’t go back, not anymore.

“Yeah, that’s …” He nodded, attempting to conjure the right words to say. “That’s good, really good. You know you could do anything you wanted. You were always really smart and shit.” Jesse replied, gaze hyperfocused upon the road as headlights raced past.

You could detect that Jesse was holding something back — that minuscule flicker of pain had crossed over his visage before being forced to dissipate. Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you reached over, gently prodding at his shoulder.

“Hey,” You began, tone laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Jesse felt his heart constrict within his chest, wisps of air stolen from his lungs. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked that — and genuinely meant it. It wasn’t out of obligation, that was easy to tell. He felt his throat grow thick, but he staved off any tears.

“Yeah.” It was a blatant lie, spoken through a clenched jaw. He nearly winced when you touched his shoulder, feeling as if he were souring the mood entirely. “Just, uh … You know, going to therapy and rehab right now. It’s been tough.” A very threadbare half-truth, but it was enough to placate you.

“Oh.” A warmth crept into your voice as you withdrew, countenance softening as you sank back into the passenger seat. “That’s understandable, Jesse. I’m sorry.” You replied, tucking strands of hair behind your ear as you looked out the window again.

Albuquerque was a sprawling city, and as the two of you neared the nicer end, Jesse knew that Nauman was only ten minutes away. He didn’t want to go back to the party anymore — but it might’ve been the best option. If he stayed with you, he knew the pain it would cause. He feared losing people — it was present all the time, a nagging dread that never stopped.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jesse interjected, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “Did that shit to myself, you know?” Addiction was behind him. He rarely participated anymore — he was just a silent observer, fueling everyone else’s vices while he withered away. What kind of a life was that?

You canted your head to one side, lips parting slightly as you spoke. “Jesse, that’s not entirely your fault. You can’t blame yourself for your environment or circumstances out of your control.” You were right — but he made the choice to shoot Gale, and he made the choice to shoot up with Jane before she died.

He was silent, feeling the sensation of tears swimming within his gaze. Jesse didn’t want to even remotely consider crying in front of you — he barely knew you. Instead, he focused on the road, taking the exit towards Albuquerque Studios. Nauman wasn’t very far away.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d had a conversation with someone else that was this raw and vulnerable. Jesse’s discomfort was palpable and very real to you, and you felt horrible. Your countenance glistened with concern, brows furrowing together.

After the exit, Jesse drove onto Nauman Drive. There were rows of beautiful, lavish houses and apartment complexes, ones that he probably could’ve bought with the dealing money. He was blowing it all away right now on drugs for the parties — he was beginning to ask himself ‘why?’

“My apartment is at the end of the drive.” Your voice had softened, hands planted within your lap as he followed your directions. It was a smaller apartment complex but much nicer, your driveway occupied by your vehicle.

Jesse pulled up along the curb — it was eerily silent, aside from the cacophony of crickets that provided a steady ambience, and the occasional bark of a dog. He put the car in park, still gripping the steering wheel. “You got a nice place.” He murmured, a halfhearted attempt to shift the conversation to something else.

“Hey,” After unbuckling your seatbelt, you leaned over the center console, palm resting over his hand, the one that was strangling the wheel of the car. “Why don’t you come inside? I can make you coffee or something and you can just space out for a little while. We don’t even have to talk.”

The offer was generous — admittedly, Jesse wondered if it would benefit him in any way. If he could just lay on your couch, decompress, let the emotion off of his chest. He didn’t care about the state of the house — he didn’t care about anybody at that party. What he did care about, however, was you, and how you made him feel.

It was as if the invisibility he’d been safely floating in for so long was shattered, but there was someone who could actually see him — see the veil he’d been maintaining for this whole time. His gaze finally flickered toward you, who appeared genuinely concerned for him.

You were good — truly good.

There wasn’t an ounce of maliciousness or an underlying agenda. You didn’t smoke, you hadn’t touched drugs, you were in college with a steady, normal job that never got you involved with the wrong people. Jesse knew what he’d be putting you through if he let this drag out for too long. If he fucked up, people could hurt you.

“Listen,” Jesse swallowed, palm planted against the back of his neck. “You’re really sweet, okay? You’re nice,” He wanted to word it in a way that wouldn’t hurt your feelings. “I just — I can’t. I’m not in a good spot right now. I don’t wanna drag you down with me.” That sounded fair, didn’t it?

You could accept that.

If it had something to do with the drugs, which you assumed that it was, then you understood that he was trying to protect you. You wanted to encourage him to try, but the last thing you wanted to do was pressure someone in a fragile state.

“Okay, Jesse.” You hesitated, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “I just want you to know that you're not alone. If you need someone, I’m here for you. I know that there was a wedge in high school, but I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t reconnect.” You shrugged, popping open the passenger side door.

As you stepped outside, you made sure to remove his jacket, draping it over the center console as you shut the door. Jesse didn’t say anything as you rounded the car — he was biting his finger, eyes squeezing shut as you made the short trek toward your front door. It felt like an eternity until you’d actually gotten inside.

Jesse exhaled, hands trembling as he hastily wiped away straggling tears that he’d been withholding during the span of the whole drive. Part of him knew that he could use a positive influence like you in his life, but the danger that lurked around him, the cloud of loss, he was afraid that you’d become lost in all of that, too.

The deliberation between going back to his house and biting the bullet to stay with you was a tedious process. He sat out in the car for a long time — he was surprised that you hadn’t come back outside asking why he was sitting there with his head pressed against the steering wheel.

When he finally made the choice to go up to your door, the walk felt like a lengthy, eternal drag. Jesse rocked forward, pressing his hands against his face as he composed himself. Back in high school, he was suave — much more of a charmer. Nowadays, he felt incompetent, but it was largely due to an amalgamation of nerves and drug use.

He knocked a few times, skin crawling with a nervous sensation, but there was something exciting about it, too. You were familiar yet new, a breath of fresh air that he desperately needed. Jesse watched as the door opened, and there you were.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse stuck his hands into his pockets, rocking back upon his heels. “Is the offer still on the table?” He’d ask, and your lips split into a gentle yet bemused smile.

“Of course.” You’d changed into your pajamas — a baggy, oversized graphic t-shirt and cotton shorts that were dwarfed by your top. “Did you want to watch a movie? I was about to start Watchmen.”

Jesse watched as you stepped aside to invite him in, closing the door behind him and latching the lock. You had a weird itch for security, especially at night. “Yeah, that sounds cool.” He replied, having a look around.

Your apartment was tidy and very cozy, with a rather comforting aesthetic and atmosphere. Jesse felt a little more relaxed, wandering around in the small living room. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the plush sofa, scattered with throw blankets and pillows.

As you prepared coffee, you wondered what changed his mind. It was a question that would likely nag at you until you asked. You understood being lonely — aside from the occasional hangout with your friends, you lived alone.

“Make yourself at home,” You chimed, weaving around the coffee table to place your steaming mugs down, settling into the couch. Jesse sat a comfortable distance away, arm slung over the back of the sofa. “What changed your mind?”

Your question caught him off-guard, but he wanted to be transparent with you. He owed you that much, especially after talking to him — after this, after everything. “I knew that I’d be miserable if I went back,” He shrugged. “I don’t wanna keep being miserable.” Loneliness also played a factor in this, but he didn’t really want to own up to it just yet.

“I understand,” You began, tucking one knee toward your chest as you played the movie. Admittedly, it served as better background noise than anything else. “I’m glad you came over.” Your lips split into a soft smile.

Jesse hesitated, glancing over at you as he stayed silent. He was most definitely drinking you in, gaze subtly raking you over as you took a sip of your coffee. For a moment, he envisioned this — getting close to you, hanging out with you, just getting to be himself, or as close as he could get again.

“I’m glad, too.” Jesse confessed, rubbing at the back of his head. He nearly shriveled at the eye contact you made with him, but he maintained it instead, lips twitching into a faint smile.

You nudged your drink back onto the wooden table, wordlessly slinking closer to Jesse until you were curled up beside him. The silence simmered with something else, perhaps a crackle of affection. Your gaze glistened with a peculiar softness, flickering between the movie and him.

Admittedly, this was the last thing Jesse expected — but that didn’t stop him from wanting it to happen. Once you initiated, he decided to meet you halfway, draping his arm around you, cheek pressed against the top of your head.

He’d been craving something like this for a while now. Jane left a void — a massive, gaping wound that he feared wouldn’t heal, but now? Maybe there was an end in sight — maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Jesse relaxed, sinking into you as you cuddled up with him.

Your hands intertwined, fingers brushing together until they joined. Just like Jesse, you were chasing after the sensation of touch, chasing after that feeling of fulfillment — no more loneliness. You’d been dealing with it for a long while, trying to manage the sea of emotions, and this was a nice break from that.

“I understand feeling miserable,” You murmured, head resting comfortably against his collarbone. “Sometimes it feels like you’re alone out on a raft, in the middle of the ocean.”

Jesse’s jaw tightened, but there was a mutual sense of empathy and understanding within your words. That was how he felt oftentimes — just himself, attempting to stay afloat. He didn’t say anything, but he did caress your knuckles with his thumb as a form of acknowledgment.

As the movie progressed, the two of you occasionally made small talk, but you were a little engrossed by the film, and so was he. It was comforting to just be near him — let him hold you, keep it light with gentle touches and whatnot.

It wasn’t until halfway through the movie that Jesse cleared his throat, glancing down at you with exhausted eyes. “Thanks for this,” He murmured, absentmindedly wetting his lower lip. “Would you wanna do it again? Like, uh … Hanging out, or something?” He was intent on cleaning up his place, now.

“Yeah,” You replied, twisting within his hold enough to peer up at him. “I would.” There was something special about this — perhaps a feeling of renewal, of starting something with someone you never expected. You had a feeling that Jesse needed a little bit of support, and you didn’t mind providing that.

“Shit,” Jesse breathed through a soft laugh, visibly bewildered yet pleased by your answer. “Okay.” He didn’t expect that from you — he didn’t expect anything, really.

The both of you were smiling, now. Watchmen dissipated into the background once more, simply serving as ambience as the two of you nestled together. “Okay.” You parroted, lips curling into a lopsided smile as Jesse gathered his bearings.

You had little time to fully comprehend his next actions — he moved inward, cerulean hues dropping from your face to your mouth. Everything about this screamed sudden and intense, but you didn’t care. He tasted like cigarette smoke and spearmint gum — he had a very sweet kiss.

Jesse inhaled, relaxing into you, careening right into the warmth of your body. Every fiber of his being felt electrified, and he became so incredibly nervous — he hadn’t done this since Jane. He didn’t want her death to tarnish the moment, but it was inevitable.

He pulled away, opening his mouth to speak, yet nothing emerged. Words turned to ash upon his tongue, dying then and there as he hung his head, fingers toying with yours.

It wasn’t difficult to tell that he was struggling with this — you didn’t want to pry, but you didn’t want him to feel obligated, either. “Hey,” You murmured, dragging one hand toward his face, fingertips grazing over his stubbled jaw. “What’s wrong?” It was written all over his countenance, this underlying sense of pain.

“Nothing, just …” Jesse shivered when your palm cupped his jaw, shamelessly leaning into the sensation you left behind from your hand. “I just don’t wanna leave.” It sounded so pathetic — he didn’t want to go back home to a drug-laden pit.

Your lips twitched into a faint smile. “Is that it?” You left it open-ended, attempting to stay on the side of not being invasive or pushy. You wanted him to be comfortable.

Jesse huffed, idly tracing the pad of his thumb across the delicate plane of your knuckles. “Nah,” He admitted, cerulean hues flickering toward your face. “Haven’t really done this in awhile.” Telling you the visceral, painful truth would’ve been too much for him, so he settled on something else, something superficial.

“What, kissing?” You teased, keeping it mellow and lighthearted before he shook his head. “If it’s any reassurance, I haven’t done anything, either. Don’t feel like it’s just you.” With a soft sigh, you watched as Jesse leaned back just an inch or two, head craned to rest against your couch.

There was something forlorn about him, a light aura of melancholy that swirled around his being. You didn’t want to ask, but you couldn’t help but wonder what happened. You were able to look past that — he was attractive. You’d always thought that he was handsome.

“You, uh … You mind if we do it again?” Jesse asked, head cocked to one side. He was some amalgamation of sheepishness and a suave charm, smile somewhat feeble as he held your hand.

“I don’t mind.” You replied, but before he could lean in again, you had something on your mind. “Jesse?”

Jesse stooped closer, forehead nearly pressed against yours. “Yeah?”

“Would it help if you stayed tonight?” Whatever was plaguing him, being alone around drugs was the last thing he needed. You didn’t mind him staying the night — you didn’t mind whatever came with that, too.

He remained silent for a few moments, and immediately felt as if he should say no — and against his own inner turmoil, he wanted to be with you. He didn’t care if the house was a mess or if it had been reduced to nothing — he’d rather stay here with you.

“I don’t wanna disturb the peace,” Jesse began, nose wrinkling slightly when you rolled your eyes. “I can crash on the couch.” Admittedly, that sliver of him that was desperate for affection also wanted to sleep with you, but it was only polite to keep his distance until you said otherwise.

“You’re not disturbing anything. Promise.” You reassured, fingers creeping toward the nape of his neck as you tilted forward. “I want you to stay.” You uttered, your own desire for fulfillment and company mirrored his own want to not be alone.

Part of him really wished you hadn’t said that — but once the gate was open, Jesse couldn’t stop himself, and neither could you. His gaze fell to your lips, thumb briefly caressing your jaw until the two of you were colliding into one another.

Jesse kissed you again, compassionate and borderline needy, hand dropping to grasp at the curve of your hip. His free hand still remained tangled with yours, eyes fluttering shut as you shuffled forward, partially planted within his lap. It was enough to make him forget about the downward spiral he was on, and it was as if the plummeting had ceased — for now.

You didn’t know where this would lead, but that was the exhilarating part about it. The uncertainty and the newfound territory that was Jesse Pinkman elated you. Maybe this was what you needed; he was what you needed — you needed a fresh start.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse whispered against your mouth, fingers teasing the hem of your baggy shirt, grazing over your thigh. “Where we going with this?” It was spoken with compassion and concern, out of total thoughtfulness for you. Maybe you didn’t want to sleep with a junkie — he couldn’t blame you.

“I think I know where I’d like to go,” You confessed, head canting to one side. “Where do you want to go?” You asked, idly trailing your digits through his hair. You noticed the subtle bobbing of his Adam’s apple, accompanied by a peculiar sheen within his eyes.

If it was something serious that you were after, Jesse was unsure if he even had that capability. After Jane, it almost seemed to shatter — fall apart. Maybe it didn’t have to be that way forever. Perhaps, there was a light at the end of the tunnel for the two of you.

Instead of recoiling, Jesse held you closer, wordlessly ushering you into his lap, palm splayed out underneath your shirt, resting soundly at the curve of your hip. “I just,” He hesitated, completely enamored by you — you were beautiful. “I don’t know if I can be what you need right now.” He admitted.

You respected him all the more for his candor, hands coming to rest at the nape of his neck. You decided to kiss him, slow and steady, tilting to one side for something deeper. When you withdrew, your lips twitched into a smile. “I’m patient.” With that conclusion alone, Jesse relaxed.

He felt a bit of pressure relinquish itself from him, like a weight being removed from his chest. Jesse was worried that you’d want something serious, something strict off the bat. He didn’t intend on sleeping around, but he was afraid of disappointing you more than anything.

Given the implication of your interactions, Jesse had something on his mind — he figured that the feeling was mutual.

Jesse remained quiet for a moment, pressing a sweet kiss against your jaw, and then another to your neck. “Where’s your room?” He murmured, nearly shuddering in delight when you absentmindedly tugged on his hair.

“Come on.” Reluctantly, you removed yourself from his lap, taking ahold of his hand as you led him down the short corridor towards your bedroom. It was, as Jesse expected, lavishly-decorated and aesthetically pleasing. It far outweighed the dump he was living in.

“Cute.” Jesse couldn’t help but comment, lips twitching into a smile as he observed your choice of style and the many pillows piled up on top of your mattress. Admittedly, it all felt so cozy and welcoming — it even smelled good.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you watched as Jesse nudged the door closed. The both of you were swallowed by the lower, dim lighting of your bedroom, slivers of orange encompassing your scantily-clad frame.

He pressed closer, hands roaming across your body, one palm gently slipping underneath the hem of your shirt to brazenly grab at your ass. Locked in another heated kiss, your hands moved to push his jacket away, draping across his shoulders.

The sensation of your fingers roaming through his hair was enough to make his knees weak, a low groan resonating within his throat. You tasted sweet, like the twang of strawberry chapstick and the citrus seltzer you’d been drinking at the party. Jesse kissed you again, greedily this time, one hand cupping the curve of your hip.

As the two of you fell onto your bed in a feverish heap of limbs and mouths, you withdrew for a moment, getting yourself adjusted. You prepared to remove your shirt until you saw Jesse laying there, eyes half-lidded. Exhaustion was scrawled into his face, as if it were a permanent feature.

“Are you tired?” You asked, more concerned about his state of wellbeing. You were getting hot and bothered, but your own desire could be put on hold for a little while.

Jesse appeared embarrassed, but with the bags underneath his eyes and the perpetual state of tiredness that hung around him, he couldn’t lie to you. “Yeah,” He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Shit, this feels pathetic. I’m practically blue-balling myself.” He mused, and it made you giggle.

“It’s not pathetic, Jesse.” You reassured, opting to climb into bed and make yourself comfortable. Jesse kicked off his shoes, following suit until he was resting at your side, arms tangled around you. “You look like you’re seconds away from crashing. I think we can put sex aside for now.”

Begrudgingly, he felt you cuddle against him, head near his collarbone as he made himself comfortable with you. His erection happened to push into your rump throughout, but before you could make a playful comment about it, his breathing had steadied.

“Jesse?” You whispered, receiving no response. He was most definitely asleep, and you confirmed this by simply rolling over. His expression was cast into one of bliss, still clutching onto you even through slumber. You sank back down with a smile, and decided to sleep, too.

—

Slivers of dawn’s first light trickled through the gossamer curtains — faint enough not to draw any attention, but enough to signal to Jesse that it was early in the morning. He’d stayed the night, and even then, it didn’t seem real.

You were asleep at his side, still nestled against him, but beginning to stir. Jesse couldn’t tell if it was because you were really waking up, or because his hard-on was protruding into you. He remembered last night — kissing you before he’d fallen asleep.

It wasn’t one of his smoothest moments — not by a long shot.

“Hey,” As the haze of grogginess began to lift, you were elated to find Jesse — still in your bed, and still next to you. Even being disheveled from sleep, Jesse found you to be astoundingly gorgeous. There was perfection to you that he wanted to drown himself inside of. “You’re here.” You smiled.

“Did you think I ditched or something?” He asked, arm draped around you as you shook off the feeling of slumber. Admittedly, part of you thought he’d wake up and leave, but he proved you wrong.

“A little bit,” You confessed, feeling his hand trace idle patterns into the dip of your waist. You wriggled closer, pressing a soft kiss against his stubbled jaw. “But I’m glad you didn’t.” It was complete and utter bliss, waking up with him — it was the last thing you expected, but you could get used to it.

Jesse huffed, hand dragging from your waist to your face, palm cupping your cheek as he caressed your jaw with his thumb. “Nah,” He smiled this time, cerulean eyes boring into you, becoming lost in the mere presence of you. “Didn’t even cross my mind, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled, eyelashes fluttering in rapid succession before you planted a sloppy, slower kiss against his lips. “What crossed your mind instead?” You asked, careening into the sensation of his palm cradling your face.

Jesse felt much better, no longer plagued by the desire for sleep. Instead, there was something else he wanted — he wanted to pick up from last night. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours, hand skimming toward your thigh.

“Lots of stuff,” He began, coaxing you against him as he answered your question in between a series of heated, needy kisses. “All about you.” Jesse confessed, peering at you through his lashes before his hand gently grabbed at your ass.

“Yeah? Do you wanna show me?” You asked, becoming a bit breathless whenever he kissed you. It was accompanied by plenty of groping, ensuring that you were flush against him as the tension rose to a boiling point between the two of you.

You weren’t about to recoil, reciprocating his kiss with a passionate one of your own, stomach churning with anticipation. Your hand moved toward the nape of his neck, fingers lightly grabbing at his hair. Each kiss was sweet yet sloppy, and you could feel Jesse’s hand underneath your shirt.

“Yeah, I do. Do you wanna do this?” Jesse murmured, ensuring that he wasn’t jumping the gun. You could’ve changed your mind from last night — that was certainly a possibility, and he’d be just fine with it. He was partially on top of you, but he leaned back enough to gauge your answer.

“Absolutely.” You smiled, sitting up enough to get your shirt off, which Jesse kindly assisted with. The both of you sank into a rather peaceful moment, blissfully quiet as he wriggled out of his shirt.

Jesse leaned forward again, capturing your mouth in a passionate, heated kiss, his hands finding the smooth curve of your hips. “You’re so pretty.” He exhaled, feeling that little pang of nervousness. He hadn’t touched a girl since Jane, but he wasn’t about to let himself be thrust into the past, not now.

Heat saturated your skin, crawling all over you like a fever. In the wake of Jesse’s compliment, you felt sheer elation, feeling his lips roam from your mouth to your jaw. His hands were everywhere, inevitably finding their purchase against your thighs. He peppered a string of kisses from your jaw to your neck, though his kisses soon turned to suckling.

“Jesse.” You moaned, haplessly grasping onto his shoulders as he left a series of hickeys on your neck. You felt his digits curl around the waistband of your panties, but he made no motion to remove them just yet.

Your moan was enough to make him shiver in delight, gaze following the path of your hand as you hastily unclasped your bra. You had such a beautiful body — Jesse felt some semblance of awe, snug against you as you got comfortable atop the comforter.

Continuing his previous route, Jesse’s mouth kissed down your neck and collarbone, stopping above your breasts. Even your smell was intoxicating — everything about you reeled him in. “Jesus,” He mumbled against your sternum. “You’re beautiful.” It was an endless string of softspoken praises that escaped him.

He was scrawny, with a lanky musculature — you found it attractive in the best of ways. Your gaze occasionally fell across his many tattoos, committing every detail to memory. Your fingers continued to tug and pull at his hair, body jolting into him when his mouth wrapped around your nipple.

A low groan resonated from his throat, rippling across his chest when you continued to toy with his hair. His hand traced down the plane of your stomach, slipping underneath the elastic trim of your panties. You nearly buckled, writhing underneath him when his digits slipped against your cunt.

You felt his mouth suck and kiss at your breast, in-tandem with the teasing ministrations of his fingers. It was feather-light, enough to drive you to the brink of frustration. “You wet already, angel?” It was almost an incredulous statement instead of a question.

Fuck — the nickname was enough to send shockwaves pulsating through your body. Your skin became awash with warmth, lips falling apart as you peered down, enough to catch a glimpse of those half-lidded, cerulean eyes and the adoring tilt of his lips. Goosebumps snaked across your spine, back arching off of the bed.

Jesse wasn’t dumb — he knew that your reaction was from the nickname. He pressed his tongue against his cheek, pressing a string of kisses from your breast to stomach, tattooed hand curling into your panties as he inched them past your thighs.

“Say it again,” It was a command that fell from your mouth, and not a plea. Your fingers happened to tense within his hair, enough to make his jeans become uncomfortably tight. “Please.” With a breathy exhale, you felt Jesse’s lips trace across the curve of your hip.

He felt his heart hammer with erratic excitement, tongue absentmindedly flicking out to trace across his lower lip. Christ, you looked so perfect like this — Jesse watched you, breathing intensifying as you spread your legs just a little bit. He often walked the line between nervousness and confidence, feeling a sense of boldness swell within him.

His breath fanned across the inside of your thigh, lips ghosting over the soft skin there. Jesse’s gaze remained fixated upon you, glistening with a sheen of lust as he finally began to kiss his way to the throbbing between your legs. “Where do you want me, angel?” Jesse murmured, assuming that he knew the answer.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt this way — floating, so unbelievably slick and warm that you felt feverish. Jesse brought out a new level of neediness and desperation that you never thought possible. “Jesse,” You moaned, squirming haplessly as you urged him closer. “Please, please.”

Jesse swallowed, wordlessly following the motion of your hand as he lapped at your cunt, tongue dragging along the length of your slit. You were whimpering, one hand grappling at his freckled shoulder. He was so turned on from the noises you made, enough for him to grind his hips into the mattress.

You sputtered a very pitiful apology when your hips bucked forward, but you were met with a barrage of needy licks and a faint moan. Slivers of morning light pooled through the curtains, falling across Jesse as he buried his face between your thighs. His weeks-old stubble rubbed against the sensitive flesh of your legs.

Nimble digits skimmed forward, one palm splayed against your pelvis as the other gripped down on your thigh. You wanted to sob from how good it felt — he was talented with his mouth, that much was for sure. His tongue flicked over your clit, gestures rhythmic and steady.

A knot formed within your stomach, a coil that continued to tighten, threatening to burst if Jesse kept it up. It all felt like some foreign fever dream, but you much preferred the current reality — Jesse Pinkman, eating you out until you cried. You felt his hand brush against yours, a gesture that was startlingly tender.

One hand untangled itself from his hair, deciding to give him a break, going to hold his hand instead, fingers lacing together. You felt his lips begin to purse around your clit, simultaneously eliciting another noisy, elated moan from your lips.

Your chest heaved with a myriad of throaty, high-pitched whimpers as he sucked on your clit, stars rippling past your vision. No one had ever gone down on you with such reverence and passion before, but now that you’d gotten a taste, you wanted more.

Jesse hadn’t realized it, but somewhere in the thick of hooking up with you, he was feeling like himself again. It almost felt as if he’d been transported back to a time before he’d met Walter White, to a time where he was slinging crystal and simply enjoying life. Each moan, every little mewl and keen that escaped you was akin to music.

“Jesse,” You panted, breathing somewhat ragged as he lapped at your clit. That coil began to unfurl, blistering heat coursing through you, a white-hot rush of sheer ecstasy that caused you to moan and cry out. “Jesse!” You felt him squeeze your hand, a silent reassurance to let go.

Unbothered by the mess, Jesse groaned, feeding off of your orgasm as he lapped at your cunt, ministrations lacking the vigor from before. Your stomach felt like mush, but you wanted him to fuck you senseless — you almost felt embarrassed for how wound-up you’d become.

He was quiet, kissing your thighs as he began to sit back up, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Jesse ogled you, head cocking to one side before he spoke. “You are so beautiful.” It wasn’t something spoken lightly during sex — you felt it seep right into your bones, genuine as ever.

“So are you.” You replied, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Jesse crawled up, and in a flurry of unrestrained passion, he kissed your mouth. You could taste yourself, taste him — it was enough to make your cunt throb again, still dealing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Could you, uh …” Jesse mumbled, erection pulsing and rubbing right into the pliant flesh of your thigh. “I want you on top.” He was used to climbing on top of girls and going to town until he ran out of stamina, but he had different reasons this time. “I wanna see you.”

Your heart fluttered within your chest, and you nodded, watching as he rolled over, making himself comfortable atop the mound of pillows lining your bed. There was something eerily intimate in the way that he spoke — maybe it was just you. It was soft and sweet, enough to make you shudder as you straddled his hips.

Reaching for his belt, you unfastened it, moving enough for him to kick his pants off. His hands moved toward your thighs, fingers caressing across your flesh as the both of you worked to remove the final article of clothing. He was quiet this time, staring up at you with a searing, intense look — it was almost adoring.

He was unbearably hard, hips writhing slightly, desperate to be inside of you. Jesse nearly melted at the sensation of your hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a few, sluggish strokes, thumb swiping across the head before you lifted yourself up just enough.

Jesse groaned in tandem with you as you sank down onto his length, digits tensing into your thighs as you adjusted yourself, lips falling apart. You reached for his hands, fingers twining together. Goosebumps erupted across his body, chest fluttering with an unshakable warmth.

“Jesus.” Jesse breathed, watching as you stooped down to press your mouth against his, open-mouthed and sloppy. His tongue traced across your lower lip, and you responded by rolling your hips forward. He exhaled, reciprocating with another heated, messy kiss.

He released one of your hands, enough to grip onto your hip, guiding you into a steady rhythm. Your pace was somewhat sporadic and erratic at first, slipping into a natural flow once he held onto you. Jesse groans, unable to keep from staring at you as if you were perfection incarnate.

You whimper, using your knees to rock yourself up and back down, sinking onto his cock until he’s bottomed out. The intermingling of your moans fill your bedroom, accompanied by the faint squeak and creak of your bed frame. “Jesse.” You mewl, feeling his lips smack against your collarbone.

What started as something slow and sluggish had gained traction, your pace increasing slightly. A crackling, familiar heat raced across your body, making your stomach churn with anticipation, simultaneously pooling with warmth.

A soft moan tore past his lips, skin flushing with a rosy shade as you careened forward, one palm splaying out across his chest. “Shit,” Jesse’s voice emerged again as an excitable pant, squeezing your hand as you continued to piston yourself up and down. “You feel so good, baby.” Any little nickname was enough to make you preen.

Heat rippled through you, continuing to consume your body in waves. He sat up, enough to be within reach of you as he pressed a messy, sultry kiss against your collarbone, clamoring for your mouth as you tilted your head downward.

Your hand snaked from his chest to the nape of his neck, gripping his hair once. Your motions became somewhat uneven and less rhythmic as you rocked yourself on his cock, mewling and whimpering, noises intertwining with his strenuous groans. His palm grabbed at the curve between your thigh and ass, gripping you tight as you rode him.

“M’close,” You huffed, prying your lips away from his, only for you to press a trail of haphazard kisses against his stubbled jaw. “Jesse.” Another whine escaped you, followed by a cacophony of lewd noises. Your thighs felt a strain and burn from pistoning yourself onto his cock so many times, heat pooling between your legs.

Jesse was right there with you, though he wasn’t entirely sure where you wanted him to unload, to put it mildly. “Where do you want me?” He asked again, mirroring his inquiry from earlier. You slowed somewhat at that question, but he shook his head. “Keep going.” Despite the sting of borderline overstimulation, he didn’t want you to stop.

Both of his hands redirected themselves to your hips, guiding you along, letting you grind yourself forward, rolling your hips up and back onto his length. He groaned again, forehead pressed against yours, skin feeling as if it were set ablaze. The hold you had on him already was rather ironclad.

He kissed you again, unusually intimate and full of desire, digits groping and kneading into your curves. Your skin felt velvety underneath his fingertips, and your scent invaded his senses, overwhelming him in the best way possible. His cock was throbbing, swallowed by your tight cunt as you whimpered his name.

“Not inside.” You cautioned, breathlessly clashing with him again — all tongue, teeth and want as Jesse nudged you back. With your newfound position, legs locked around his lanky musculature as he rutted into you, you felt like you were seeing stars. “Holy shit, Jesse!” You moaned.

Jesse wasn’t grotesquely well-endowed, but he knew exactly how to utilize what he had. He felt like he’d broken the barrier right then and there, bottomed out inside of you before he pulled out, cumming onto your stomach. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen as thin ropes of slick seed fell across your abdomen.

His chest heaved with recuperative breaths, perspiration glistening along his brow as he hovered over you. The two of you sighed in-tandem, both coming down from a blissful high. Those pretty, cerulean eyes of his consumed you over and over again, fluttering in rapid succession before he lowered himself to kiss you.

It was slow — too slow, almost, but Jesse savored you, instead. Your nails ghosted across his forearm, tracing around the intricate pattern of his tattoo before skimming toward his shoulders. You reciprocated the kiss with a familiar sweetness, unhooking one leg from his waist.

“Sorry,” Jesse mumbled, gesturing toward the sticky mess that was splattered all over your stomach. “You look so pretty like that.” His tone lowered, taking on some delicious pitch that itched a certain part of you, sending goosebumps trailing across your spine.

Before you could respond, Jesse slipped off of you, tugging on his boxers as he wandered toward your bathroom to grab a towel. It was the first one he could get his hands on, returning to you with a rather adoring look in his eyes.

As you cleaned yourself up, making sure to discard the towel into your laundry basket, Jesse reappeared with a glass of water. It was quite endearing, watching the way he took care of you afterwards without being asked to. He sat next to you, watching as you pulled your panties back on and your t-shirt.

“That was really nice.” Admittedly, you needed it — but it felt better than before, all due to Jesse. You curled up next to him, head resting against his collarbone as his palm moved to cradle your face.

“Yeah, it was.” Jesse murmured, wishing that he could stay with you. He needed to get back home — the house was likely ruined. He’d also briefly glanced at his phone and noticed four missed calls from Mr. White’s number. “I wanna do it again.”

You giggled, nose wrinkling in amusement. “Hanging out together or having sex?” You asked, and he scoffed, lips twitching in a brief flash of a smile. “You can be honest, Jesse. I can handle it.”

“Both,” He confessed, savoring the feeling of your hand delicately tracing over the tattoo on his collarbone. “What if I took you out somewhere, yeah? Like on a date.” Jesse couldn’t believe that he’d asked you, but it was out in the open, now — no going back.

“Okay.” You mused, gaze flickering toward his lips. You would never get tired of kissing him — the taste of spearmint and cigarettes had become borderline addictive. “You can take me out.” With that, you leaned forward, pressing your mouth against his.

Jesse exhaled, reciprocating your kiss with one of his own. He squeezed his eyes shut, pad of his thumb caressing over your jawline. “Shit,” He sighed, a forlorn look within his eyes. “I gotta get going. I don’t want to.” He didn’t want to leave, but he had a feeling he’d be seeing you again soon. His phone vibrated again.

You yearned for the contact when he’d rolled out of your bed, getting himself dressed again. Once he found his jacket and keys, you decided to walk him to the door, standing with him in the cool morning breeze. Sunlight glittered down, bathing the both of you in picturesque lighting.

“Jesse,” You murmured, hand poised along the doorframe. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” You asked, watching him linger around on the front step as he glanced toward his car. After everything that happened, from last night to now, you were a little worried. He wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind — that much you knew.

Jesse hesitated — he didn’t have a viable answer to that. His house was a drug-laden pit, he was beginning to spiral, but you’d kicked him back onto a different path. It was an unpredictable road ahead. Even he had no idea how he’d feel by the end of the day, but one thing was for certain — he’d be okay for you.

He swallowed, and then nodded twice. “Yeah, I think so.” His chest tightened with a flurry of emotions, ones he hadn’t felt since Jane was around. Jesse was absolutely enthralled by you — and he wondered if that would lead to your doom.

With that, you nodded, beginning to turn around. Before you could, you felt a hand curling around your wrist, as if guiding you elsewhere.

“Hey,” Jesse muttered, reeling you back in for a gentle kiss. “I’ll see you later.” It was a promise to himself, more than it was to you. He was reluctant to pull away, but the buzzing in his pocket became rather urgent.

The kiss caught you off-guard, stealing every wisp of air right out of your lungs, warmth creeping across your skin until it burned something hot within your cheeks. You opened your mouth, unable to keep from smiling.

“See you later, Jesse.”

You really hoped that you would.

[rapturously]

Hi! Love your stuff and I've been binging it a lottt!! Saw that requests were open so I wanted to send one.

I've been having a brainrot over Eddie Gluskin meeting a virgin!reader that has always wanted to be a wife (and a mother 😳).

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — one-shot.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — eddie gluskin x afab!reader.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — SMUT/18+! abduction, dubious consent, virgin!reader, eddie is his own warning lmao, descriptions of gore, breeding kink, choking, dirty talk, slight degradation, vaginal sex/rough sex, biting. not a nice character.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 5,020.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — thank you so much for your request & I apologize that I took awhile! I actually went back and played some of whistleblower for this lmao ,, I remember when I was obsessed with this character (you have reinvigorated the outlast spark, anon !!! ❣️) if you aren’t familiar with outlast (taglist) that’s totally fine! I hope y’all enjoy! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @loraxlola ; @the-wordis-bird ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @dootys ; @mehidktbh ; @darklylucid ; @lttlegore ; @the-anxious-youth ; @callmemeelah ; @comicalrage ; @horrorstories123 ; @krakersy ; @bloodwithpeachmilk ; @suguruswife

“Did I frighten you? I’m awfully sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to.”

Pinned between a table and the splintered, dilapidated hardwood, you were biting into your palm to keep from making any noise. Perspiration built up upon your back, sending cold shivers up your spine as echoed footfalls began to stalk closer and closer, weaving their way through the numerous shelves and sewing units. You could hear your heart, hear your blood pumping, ringing within your ears.

Mount Massive Asylum had become your personal hell — your own dimension bent on tormenting you. You were only there for what seemed like less than an hour, desperately hoping to visit your brother, a patient at the facility, but the carnage began with you inside of the building.

You’d been beaten and thrown, chased and maimed, but you were far more resilient than you’d ever let on. Your brother was the only remaining family you had left, and you had a sick feeling that he might not have lived through whatever disturbed carnival this place had turned into. There was gore everywhere you turned, countless corpses, maniacs running everywhere.

If your brother was alive, you prayed that he wasn’t like them, that he hadn’t succumbed to whatever nightmares these people dreamed. You weren’t going to be allowed to see him whatsoever until you threatened to slam them with a lawsuit, but of course, something terrible always intercepted something good.

There was a stranger prowling around within this room, you were locked in with a murderer. One of the patients that had chased you down here called him Mr. Gluskin. To your complete bewilderment, he spoke with a clarity that many others in the facility lacked, a suave, debonair charm that almost coaxed you out from underneath the table, at first.

And then you saw the bloody knife and the corpses — the absolute strength of the man, dressed as if he’d come straight from a vintage bridal magazine, a groom complete with a bow tie and a patchwork vest. He was moving about the tables, humming to himself as if this were commonplace for him.

His appearance happened to remind you of your own engagement, called off a few weeks ago. You were keen on being a wife and finding your happy ending, so to speak, but after you found out about the vast amount of lies fed to you by your fiancé, you backed out. Even then, you were young — early twenties with plenty of time to try again.

It all hinged upon whether or not you would survive, of course. There was the mounting possibility that you would die here, and this would be your final resting place, some hellscape of an asylum crawling with horrors beyond your wildest imagination. Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the onslaught of anguished tears.

As the bulky man crouched down to inspect the table across the room from you, you could barely make out your disheveled, terrified expression within the reflection of his knife. Your breath hitched, and you fought hard to stay quiet, pushing any and all thoughts aside, shoving lamenting to the recesses of your brain.

“Hm, quite a recluse, aren’t we?” He sighed, exaggerated and exasperated, growing tired with your state of hiding. He knew that you were close, that you were here in the room with him. One of the shelving units happened to obscure you from sight, but not for much longer.

The man clicked his tongue, tapping the blade of his knife against the top of the table. His movements were akin to a seasoned predator, searching for his prey, eerie-blue eyes fluttering over his surroundings. You couldn’t stay hidden forever, and as much as he thought about waiting you out, he was growing impatient.

He stalked forward, standing only a few inches away from the shelving unit and table you were huddled underneath, and it allowed you a closer look at him, even if it was dark. Moonlight pooled inside of the room, pale slivers dancing across his pale skin, one side of his face marred and riddled with scars.

You almost let out a squeak of terror, shoving yourself as far back into the table as you could go, your legs beginning to shake. He was so close, and if you were to reach out, you might’ve been able to touch him with enough straining. Your teeth were sinking into the flesh of your palm to keep from making noise, no matter how much it might’ve hurt.

“Where could you be, darling?” He hummed, gaze flickering toward the shelves and tables on his left. There was something terrifying about his glower, laced with sinister intent, intermingled with a misplaced adoration. Placing the knife back into his belt for now, he walked forward, giving you the illusion that he was searching elsewhere.

With an indomitable amount of strength, he wrenched backwards, gripping the table you were hiding underneath, and practically tossed it to one side, watching it fly across the splintered floorboards. He heard you scream, paralyzed and trembling where you sat, clad in the jumpsuit of a patient.

“There you are, my love.” He purred, standing tall above you, clasping his hands together. There was nowhere for you to go — you were trapped, pinned within the jaws of this man. “Not such a recluse now, I see.” The man grabbed you by the back of the jumpsuit, hauling you forward.

“P—Please don’t kill me!” You wailed, whimpering when he jerked you forward with an inhuman amount of strength. He dragged you from the darkness and into the vast stretch of moonlight upon the floor, and it hurt to feel some of the splinters catching upon your skin. “Please!” You begged.

The man was quick to crouch down on top of you, so much bigger and much, much stronger. In such close proximity, he was more human than the rest of them in appearance, save for that tangled web of livid scars on the right side of his face. His eyes were bloodshot, a sea of red around cerulean irises. A snarl left him when you wriggled underneath him, hands tangled into the front of your jumpsuit.

You were no patient — not at all, he realized.

You were clever enough to disguise yourself as one, for whatever purpose, but he wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t stupid. There were no female patients at Mount Massive Asylum — at least, none that he hadn’t created himself. Wherever you were from, whatever you were doing in this place, he took it as a sign that you were placed here just for him.

Why else would you be here?

Grasping your chin within his hand, he inspected you, your pretty face and doe-like stare, the small cut you’d endured along your jaw — nothing that he couldn’t fix for you before the wedding. You became quiet, letting out the occasional whimper, and you didn’t struggle nearly as much as he thought you would. The pad of his thumb stroked across your skin, brows furrowing together.

“So beautiful,” He uttered, lips curling into a lovesick grin. “It seems that I won’t have to do any sort of alterations this time.” You were perfect — at last, had he found his true love? Confusion permeated your gaze, accompanied by a furrowed brow yourself as you were completely still underneath him. No use in fighting to make it worse, you figured. “Marvelous.”

Alterations? You were baffled — this man was caught within his own nightmarish fantasy, just like the rest of the patients. You shivered when he caressed your cheek, your chest rising and falling with your quick, labored breathing. He terrified you, but not nearly as much as some of the patients you’d encountered here.

“So very quiet, aren’t we?” His thumb trailed across your lower lip, head cocked to one side. “You do speak, don’t you darling? It would be a shame if I couldn’t hear you,” His sigh was exaggerated, dramatic. He clicked his tongue, reveling in your softness. You were the silkiest thing he’d touched in ages. “Especially on our wedding night.”

Trapped underneath him, you didn’t even know what to say — words coagulated within the back of your throat, unable to force themselves out. Your breathing was sporadic and panicked; you were a canary caught within the jaws of a cat. He held your face with a strong grip, one that was demanding and not entirely gentle, commanding your attention.

“Wh—What are you going to do to me?” You gushed, swallowing hard as the man released your face, gloved hand falling to your sternum. The way he towered over you and enveloped you was wholly intimidating, and you wouldn’t dare try and fight this man, no matter how he presented himself. You ogled the knife on his belt, instead.

“What you were made for,” He uttered, palm finally coming to rest across your belly. “To be my beloved bride,” He leaned in toward your face, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “To bear my children.” You couldn’t tell if he was serious, but his tone indicated that this was what he planned to do to you.

It sounded insane, but it was ultimately better than dying. Your head told you to run, to scream and flee, but you were fighting against all rationale. If you could subdue him, maybe it would be easier to get away. You couldn’t tell if he was toying with you, but it didn’t seem that way. You remembered the hand-stitched wedding dresses you saw when you’d first escaped downstairs.

You said nothing — maybe it was shock, the words coagulating within the back of your throat, or maybe you were unwilling to speak. Your chest rose and fell at a panicked pace, heart hammering so hard that it rang out within your ears. This man was glowering down upon you with a twisted smile, trapped within fantasy and not reality.

“Use your words, darling. I would hate to pry that mouth of yours open,” His words took on some frightening edge, dark and dangerous as he squeezed your chin so hard that you whimpered, and you opened your mouth right then. “Such beauty.” He sighed, petting your side with his other hand.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you reluctantly spoke, your tone kept sickeningly sweet in an attempt to subdue him. “Marriage?” You breathed, swallowing hard as you put on some sort of facade. “Ar—Aren’t you going to propose?” You inquired, and that seemed to delight your future “husband”.

He hummed, hastily removing something from one of the breast pockets of his crudely-made vest. “Of course,” He purred, and sure enough, he presented you with a tarnished, silver ring, topped in tiny diamonds and crusted crimson. You wondered whose finger he cut off to obtain the trinket. “There we are.”

Snatching ahold of your hand, he practically jammed it onto your left ring finger, no matter how ill-fitted it happened to be. You gulped, hand trembling throughout the whole ordeal as he managed to get it onto your hand. The ring would’ve been pretty if it weren’t for the environment, the dingy blood, or the man forcing it onto your hand.

“Now it’s official.” You squeaked, your finger throbbing with pain as you let your palm settle next to you. There was a tremulous tremor within the bottom of your throat, making your voice quiver whenever you spoke. It was some conscious response to fear, to the amount of stress you were feeling in that very moment.

Sweeping you off of your feet, your newfound groom held you like a blushing bride, squeezing you against his wide chest. His countenance was contorted into a lovesick grin, glittering eyes glowering down at you, but there was some unhinged malevolence behind it, lingering beneath the surface.

He carried you through his labyrinth of sewing machines and wreckage, humming to himself as he made his way toward the torture table. You almost gasped when you saw one of the patients bound and wailing on the wooden surface, completely stripped bare. His skin was mottled and strange, like the rest of the patients here.

You looked away, breath hitching within your throat, and your new companion seemed to notice your immediate discomfort. “If his screams bother you, darling, I will get rid of the little whore.” He murmured, and you shook your head. You weren’t about to have anymore blood on your hands.

You had no idea where he was hauling you off to — you could barely remember the way out, if there was any getting out at all. This man seemed far more cunning and more intelligent than most of the patients here, just as brutal and crazed as the rest of them. You intended on playing the long game, making him as docile as possible first.

“Oh, my love,” He sighed, pressing his lips against the top of your head, “I am so fortunate to have found you. I certainly hope that none of those filthy creatures have laid their hands upon you.” It was all said with such sincerity that you knew, for him, it was completely real — but delusional, all the same. “I will take such good care of you, I swear it.”

This was insanity — you should’ve run when you had the chance, try to find your way out of this hellish labyrinth, but it was too late now, wasn’t it? Tears pricked at your eyes, but you worked swiftly to blink them away, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. You didn’t know what to say or how to respond to whatever left this man’s mouth.

Even if it all sounded outlandish and strange, you needed to keep up the facade, you needed to subdue him, get him to trust you. Playing along was the only way that you knew how. “Thank you,” Your voice seemed much steadier than you thought it would. “For taking care of me, Mr. Gluskin.” Despite the anxiousness wrought within your tone, he paid it no mind.

This was a maze — a horrible, bloody maze. The more this man winded through corridors, marked by crimson stains and the stench of decay, the more your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. You were involuntarily clutching onto him out of fear, attempting to suppress your shudder as he passed by a set of doors — you swore you saw hanging bodies.

“How formal,” He uttered, lifting an eyebrow before shaking his head. “It’s Eddie, darling.” Eddie Gluskin — the man downstairs. You nodded several times over, terrified of upsetting the man. As Gluskin took you deeper into the depraved clutches of his own personal hell, you subtly searched for exits, for windows, any shred of potential escape.

At last, he arrived at a room at the very end of a corridor — a dead-end, of course. Wherever you were, it looked like a wing for a handful of patients. Moonlight pooled within the confines of Gluskin’s quarters, windows barred by wrought-iron bars, the pounding of rain reverberating against bulletproof glass. He locked the door behind him, unceremoniously depositing you onto his unkempt bed.

Scrambling to gather yourself, your gaze tore away from the macabre scenery of his room and toward the crazed man himself, eyes glistening like pinpoints of bright light. Gluskin only stood a few feet away from you, but the distance seemed so thin, as if he were pressed against you, weighing you down with his indomitable presence.

The sinful, hungry sheen within his stare only solidified why he’d brought you here — your stomach sloshed with a turbulent worry, goosebumps collecting themselves at the base of your spine. An equivocal tension built between the both of you, marked with your mounting awareness and Eddie’s violent lust. The gleam of the knife caught upon silvery rays — you knew you needed to tread carefully.

“Irresistible you,” Eddie crooned, his voice emerging as that familiar husky lull he’d used with you upon your first encounter. “I must admit to my vulgarities, darling.” He hesitated, breathing uneven and tight with excitement as he stalked closer, akin to that of a fearsome predator. “I don’t think that I can wait until our wedding night.”

Swallowing hard, you felt the knot within your gut, words coagulating within the bottom of your throat, unable to emerge to the surface. Your digits wrenched themselves into the sheets beneath you, heart hammering so hard that it threatened to burst from your chest. You were afraid, you were nervous — but you knew better.

Rejecting Gluskin would only spell your doom, and so you played along, played right into his hand, into his maddening delusions of lust and of eternal matrimony. Your lips parted, and only a stuttering breath emerged, your eyes fluttering between his grinning visage and the bloodstained knife hanging from his hip.

“You know how a man gets when he wants a woman.”

Eddie’s voice was nothing more than some seductive purr, and admittedly, you found it alluring, deep down. It was vile to come to the conclusion that you were getting some sliver of enjoyment out of this, and you wanted to vomit, but you steeled yourself instead. The closer he stepped, the more you crumbled underneath the lascivious ogling he gave you.

You’ve never done this before — you’ve never been in this situation. It certainly wasn’t playing out how you expected it to be within your mind, but that's besides the point. “I’ve — I’ve never …” You left your sentence vague, but your implications ignited something dark and deadly within Gluskin.

“Oh?”

At last, there was nowhere left to go, the Groom looming directly in front of you, a malignant shadow that refused to depart. You caught the pearlescent sheen of his teeth through the caliginous room, feeling unnerved at the sight of his countenance. His grin was wolfish, chilling — it sank right into your bones, making you shiver.

“Saving yourself for me,” Eddie hummed, gaze raking across your form before he motioned toward your threadbare, bloodied garments. “Remove your clothes.” He stepped back enough to allow you proper room, but he wanted to watch for his own enjoyment, watch you unwrap before his very eyes.

Your hands trembled as you sheepishly unfastened the buttons at the top of the patient’s jumpsuit, attempting to suppress your nervousness. Your obedience was enthralling to Gluskin, whose hands tightened into fists in order to restrain himself, knuckles white underneath his gloves. He watched you like a predator would watch prey — obsessed, ravenous.

Sucking in a sharp breath, tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought against them, quivering as you peeled off the top of your jumpsuit, letting the tarnished fabric collect around your hips. Sheepishly, you adjusted yourself enough to wriggle the jumpsuit past your thighs, discarding it in a pile onto the splintered floorboards.

Instinct told you to shield yourself from this man’s grotesque stare, but you didn’t, sitting in your undergarments with skin so hot that you felt completely feverish. Laid bare before your newfound ‘husband’, his breath hitched, surveying your flesh, the canvas of perfection set before him.

“You must lack proper hearing, darling,” Eddie rasped, taking one step forward, “I didn’t say to stop, did I? It would be unwise to keep your beloved waiting.” He reveled in your doe-eyed stare, throat tensing, jaw tightening as you nodded, fingers clamoring toward the metal hooks at the center of your back.

Shrinking underneath his stare, you hastily removed your brassiere, terrified of the consequences if you went any slower. However, your mind bristled with an idea — your mouth began to move before you could make a rational decision. “Maybe you could remove the last piece?” You asked, bewildered by the sultriness that permeated your tone.

Christ, you were so fucked — you’ve never been looked at in the way that Gluskin stared at you, as if you were the incarnation of perfection, living and breathing, placed before him. You despised yourself, hated that you reveled in the way he worshipped you through eyes alone.

Foaming at the mouth, Eddie swarmed forward, brazenly stepping in between your legs, absentmindedly licking at his lower lip. “You’ve found your voice,” He purred, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “Such a little whore, aren’t you? I find myself unsurprised,” Those strong hands curled into the waistband of your panties. “Always the quiet ones.”

You nearly choked, hands flying toward his biceps, thick and taut underneath the dirtied fabric of his dress shirt. You hoped that you weren’t thinking straight, prepared to excuse this all away by means of fear and intimidation, but you couldn’t — desire crept into your mind, poisoning all sense of coherency.

He kissed you then and there, devouring your mouth with a sloppy passion, if one could call it that. It was domineering, hellbent on making you fully succumb, but to your chagrin, you were reciprocating his kiss, clutching onto him for dear life. You were cursing yourself tenfold for this — maybe it didn’t matter now.

A sonorous groan fell upon your lips, and Gluskin didn’t remain static for very long. Wandering hands wrenched your panties aside, just enough for his fingers to deftly stroke at your slit. You gasped, hips involuntarily jolting into the sensation of his hand. It ignited a fire within the pit of your belly, a fire that now demanded to be extinguished.

“Darling,” Eddie hummed, brazenly licking at the corner of your mouth, “So soft, so …” He kissed you again, famished and in desperate need of your embrace, rutting his fingers into your clit. A grunt ripped past his throat when you ground yourself into his hand again. “So very needy, aren’t we? I’d like to remedy that.”

You wanted to beg so bad — you couldn’t. It would leave you stranded with nothing but regret if you did, but he touched you with such want that it sent you spiraling. You were going to surrender your virtue to this man — this monster, this deranged killer.

So be it, then. You were tossing caution to the wind.

After he stroked at your soaked cunt, he brought his fingers to his mouth, greedily sucking on glistening digits before he let out some strangled noise. “You taste divine,” He panted, clicking his tongue. “If you behave, perhaps your husband will reward you.” Gluskin growled, pressing a palm into your chest as he pushed you down.

Squirming and writhing atop the mattress, you listened to the unbuckling of his belt, watching him wrench his vest open, buttons ripping from their sockets. He was deliciously toned, some bulky mass of musculature, some of the scarring having made its way down his collarbone. You wanted to hate him, and you couldn’t.

You couldn’t.

“You are going to make an excellent mother,” Gluskin husked, hunching over you, animalistic and tangled up within his own fervor and fantasies. He spread your legs apart, teeth gnashing together as he freed his cock, unbearably hard and slathered with precum. “Swollen with my seed,” He groaned, guiding himself to your cunt. “A gift to be savored.”

He was going to break you in half — you had no idea of what to expect, but your lovesick paramour was very well-endowed. Gluskin was cunning enough to pick up upon the momentary terror that settled within your gaze, and he grunted, callously pushing his cock inside of you without much warning at all.

You whimpered, crying out in both shock and uncertainty, but after pain, came pleasure. It was all rushed — it lacked tact, it lacked any shred of romanticism, all falsified within the twisted mind of Gluskin. He set an uneven, sporadic pace from the very beginning, pent-up and needing you.

“Let me,” Each word was enunciated with the brutal thrust of his hips, cock driving into your tight cunt with no amount of gentleness. “Let me fill you up.” Eddie snarled, growing somewhat impatient as he attempted to find some sort of rhythm. One hand settled against the swell of your hips, thumb caressing along the side of your stomach.

A wanton moan tore past your lips as you held onto him for dear life, eyes squeezed shut, your stomach flooding with a rush of relief. Warmth pooled between your thighs, and the more your arousal grew, the easier it became for Gluskin to fuck you without much hindrance. It wasn’t perfect — it was a little uncomfortable, his pace, but you didn’t care.

Grunts and snarls emerged from the man above you, voice strained with exertion as he let his other hand tangle around your throat. His grasp wasn’t exactly suffocating, but it was far from tender, thumb pressing just above your pulse point. Wisps of air were stolen from your lungs, but not enough to draw concern.

Gluskin rutted into you like a man possessed, groaning all the while, wanting to cum inside of you so very terribly. He fantasized about what you might look like, doting and full with his child, providing him with the family he’d always craved. Lacking the proper upbringing, he would replace such neglect with you — with a new life, with his aspirations.

His mind turned salacious very quickly, beginning to focus on now — on stuffing you with his seed, fucking you until every shred of energy was expended. Your cunt clenched around his cock, and you sang to him with your symphony of needy whimpers and mewls, panting his name as if it were the only word you knew.

“You like this, don’t you?” Eddie rumbled, pervious to your arousal — your subdued demeanor had only given way to the festering desire inside of you as he destroyed your walls. “Oh, you whorish madonna,” An amorous chuckle escaped him, followed by a breathy growl. He didn’t pause, no stopping him as his cock battered your poor, abused cunt. “I want to hear you say it.” He snapped.

Gluskin had flipped a switch inside of you — you wanted this so badly. The life you desired had been stolen from you when your engagement broke into a thousand pieces, and now, he was giving you everything. Albeit, he went about it in such horrible ways, but you couldn’t keep lying. You loved this.

“I—I want you so bad,” You whimpered, unable to stop yourself, now. “Please,” Doing the one thing you wouldn’t do — beg. “Eddie, please, please,” He was filling you up, cock pumping inside of you over and over again, pulsating with heat, fucking you ragged. “Cum inside of me.” The rational side of you cried out in dismay, in disappointment — you elected to ignore it entirely.

The noise that Gluskin made sent shockwaves right into the pit of your stomach, soaked slit giving way to the brutality of his thrusts. He stooped down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, biting at the thin flesh, tasting a swarm of copper during the exchange. Eddie was frenzied, face burying itself into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin, marking what now belonged to him.

With a strangled moan, you rolled your hips into his, feeling his cock pound into you until it could go no further, stretching your cunt with his size. Stinging bruises and bloodied marks were littered across both neck and collarbone, accompanying your myriad of injuries received from the rest of the Asylum. His hand held your throat, pressing underneath your jaw.

“Darling,” Eddie nearly moaned, using whatever wave of strength he had left to obliterate you, fucking you so hard that you swore you saw stars. His cock lewdly slapped into your womb, aiming to fill you up, carrying out his goal of breeding you. “Such a sin, you filthy,” He panted, sticking two fingers into your mouth, “Filthy little slut.” He rasped.

Sputtering and choking around his fingers, you felt them press toward the back of your throat, and you wanted to fly off the edge. Gluskin’s cock didn’t stop, not for a second, fucking you into oblivion, pulsating with heat, making sure each thrust reached for your insides. The tension was climbing, the coil threatening to burst for the both of you.

The sight of you gagging and sucking on his fingers was what really did it — Gluskin saw right through you like a thin, threadbare veil. You were just as desperate as he was, and his lips curled into some devilish grin, throwing you off-guard. “You’ll be perfect,” He grunted, purring next to the shell of your ear, “I am going to make you perfect.” Eddie snarled, and that’s when you came undone.

You felt weightless, floating — you made a mess all over his cock, tendrils of drool leaking from the corners of your mouth as he kept his fingers lodged into your mouth. Tears stung at your eyes, and instead of fighting them off as you had for so long, you let yourself sob from the pleasure.

Eddie’s hips finally lost their unyielding brutality, stuttering as he came inside of you, buried so deep that you thought he’d snap you into two. Rope after rope of hot, virile seed pumped inside of you, coating your insides, leaving you unbelievably full. He rasped and grunted, hunched in above you as he bred you.

He was staring at you again, slowly drawing his fingers out of your mouth before wrenching his hand around your chin. The suddenness of his gesture took you by surprise, but this hold wasn’t nearly as painful as the one he’d executed earlier.

Gluskin kept himself inside of you, ensuring that his attempt at a legacy be sealed, thumb tracing across your bloodied lower lip. His countenance contorted into one of pure delusions, an unrestrained obsession, the swell of possessiveness that threatened to swallow you whole. He wrapped an arm underneath you, pressing you close to his chest, lips lingering next to the shell of your ear.

“In sickness and in health.”

[rapturously]

Ok hear me our jealous Thomas Hewit with under the skin S/o where Luda miraculously allowed the reader to go visit Thomas at the meat packing plant taking him some lunch or something and his coworkers suddenly start teasing Thomas about how his s/o belongs with anyone else besides Tommy which leads to passionate smut with heavy emphasis on breeding kink and heavy creampie 😍

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙤𝙣𝙚-𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙬���𝙩𝙩 ( 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚 ) 𝙭 𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙗!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏/18+! 𝙥𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙘 𝙨𝙚𝙭 (𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮), 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚!𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨, 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙮!𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨, 𝙨𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙨𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠, 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠 (𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨), 𝙫𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙚.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝟱,𝟱𝟭𝟮.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙟𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙮 ,,, 🥴 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜! 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙪𝙣 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚. 𝙃𝙚’𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙣, 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙖𝙬 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙. 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮’𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @loraxlola ; @the-wordis-bird ; @suguruswife ; @lttlegore ; @darklylucid ; @mehidktbh ;

The acrid heat of a Texas summer clung to midday as tightly as it could, sweltering as waves rolled off of the bright, blistering sun. You kept your window open, as wide as it would go, letting any shred of a breeze come fluttering through. The rest of the Hewitt homestead had done the same, all windows open to allow a coolness to flow through the house.

Fuller was going through a dry spell — no rainfall for weeks, the air dry and hot. The only upside happened to be the occasional gust of a cool wind, but even that was a rarity. Monty kept talking about a thunderstorm on the way, but you’ve yet to see it happen. You’d lived in Texas your whole life, but out here in the middle of nowhere? The heat seemed worse.

You’d been helping Luda Mae with chores all morning — laundry, especially. She wasn’t the most talkative woman, not to you, a cigarette hanging from her lips. After all the time you’d spent with the Hewitts, they were difficult people to crack. You never pushed your luck, though.

You were a step or two away from being a Hewitt completely. The assimilation into the family was only made stronger by your bond with Thomas, something not easily broken. Your freedoms were plenty, and you did as much as you could to help, to earn your place amongst them. They were taking care of you, after all.

Monty was down in Fuller, and Charles was out in the fields, Thomas at work at the meat packing plant. This was commonplace, with you left to help Luda Mae around the house, not that you minded. It gave you something to do, at the very least, and the more you did it, the better you got.

“Need you to do something for me.” Luda Mae lifted her head, looking you right in the eye. There was a stern look about her, but her voice was a touch gentler than usual. After you and Thomas had gotten together, for lack of a better word, she definitely softened up around you.

“Of course, anything.” You didn’t stop scrubbing at the shirt on the washboard, offering the older woman a faint smile. You weren’t happy-go-lucky around her like you were with Thomas, mostly out of respect for her tougher, ‘hard-as-nails’ demeanor.

There was a slight skepticism in Luda Mae’s stare, but she found you trustworthy enough. It was a sudden request to make of you, but you were the only one around — she didn’t trust you to be here alone, or she would’ve gone in your place. Puffing upon her cigarette, she removed it from her mouth, exhaling pillars of smoke.

“Need you to take Thomas his lunch. Boy forgot it this mornin’, always in a rush. I’ll let you take my truck,” She hesitated, jaw tightening just slightly. “You come right back, you know the rules.” There was an insinuation of foul consequences, but you were always one to listen.

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” The last thing you wanted was to cause any animosity between you and the family, not after you’d worked tirelessly to gain their trust in the first place. You had no idea where the meat packing plant was to begin with — you assumed you’d find it easily. Fuller wasn’t difficult to navigate.

As you cleaned up the rest of your laundry, you dried your hands off onto the front of your overalls, heading for the back door, where most of the keys were hanging. Thomas’s lunch was sitting on the wooden shelf to your right, which you plucked off of the splintered surface before opening the screen door.

“You be careful with my truck.” Luda Mae warned, prompting you to nod several times over. “Go easy on the accelerator.” She murmured, returning to washing the heap of laundry still left over. Granted, the older woman was much faster at getting the job done than you were — you wondered if that was why she sent you to see Thomas, instead.

“Yes ma’am.” Cordial and respectful, you made sure to nod, indicating that you understood. Luda Mae waved you off, and you went, moving past the screen door and to the back of the house. The barn was all the way to your left, a clutch of trees ahead. Sitting inside of some dilapidated, crumbling shack was Luda Mae’s truck, a 1967 Chevrolet, the bright blue paint having been tarnished and faded out.

The cab was pretty big on its own, spots of rust embedded into certain parts of the truck, all over the doors and bed of the vehicle. You hadn’t driven a truck in ages, but you remembered how it all worked. Hopping into the driver’s side, you stuck the keys into the ignition, giving it a twist as the truck started up. For not getting used very often, it was in decent shape. Shifting gears was the hard part, but you managed, pulling out of the shed.

You made sure to roll your window down, driving down the stretch of a dirt pathway, leading out onto the main road. The afternoon sun was blazing, smoldering as you went easy on the accelerator, just as Luda Mae instructed. Driving was a little foreign, like learning to ride a bike all over again, but once instinct kicked in, you were cruising down the empty highway.

Fields of golden wheatgrass rustled all around you, farmland stretching as far as the eye could see, a few pockets of trees here and there, some abandoned farms. The Hewitts were the only family for miles. You wondered how Thomas managed walking to the meat packing plant all this time, especially in this weather, but it did yield some explanation to his impressive stamina. A warm breeze drifted throughout the truck, rustling your hair in the process.

It was a relatively easy drive, a straight path from the Hewitt homestead to the meat packing plant, which sat on a massive acreage of land, strewn with plenty of animals. There were sections, one for the hogs and cows, another building meant for chickens. Even the sight of the place made your stomach turn — there was nothing friendly-looking about it, and nothing clean.

There were a few other vehicles scattered in the gravelly lot, if one could even call it that. Like everything else in Fuller, it was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a massive expanse of field and untouched land, right in the heart of Texas.

As you parked the truck, you stuck the keys into the front pocket of your overalls, grabbing Thomas’s lunch from the passenger seat. You had no idea what to expect from this place, but you considered it a privilege, getting to see Thomas while he was at work. To you, it was special.

If it weren’t for the man smoking outside and the herd of cows, you would’ve thought this place was abandoned. Granted, this was Fuller — everything looked older, more dilapidated than supposed to. You stuck beside the truck for a moment longer, a little nervous due to the unfamiliarity of the environment, but Thomas was just inside, or so you hoped.

The smoking man ogled you as you wandered toward the front doors, you were a new face, and there weren’t many of those in Fuller whatsoever. It was an immediate curiosity as you skipped up into the entrance of the plant, pushing past the creaky door. There were ‘help wanted’ signs posted all over the dusty glass, but you paid it no mind, standing in a dimly-lit lobby, if one could even call it that.

You could hear sounds from the packing room itself, but as for the front entrance, it was a ghost town. No front desk worker, not a single soul. There was one door on the right of the corridor that led straight ahead, along with a set of double doors that led down into the plant. You figured that’s where Thomas would be, but you didn’t want to go waltzing in without asking somebody first.

“Hello?” You called out, cautiously moving down the corridor toward the door on the right. There were large window panes closed off by blinds, prompting you to knock on the door. You were a stranger in strange territory, more or less, but you hoped whoever was supervising this place would be kind enough to let you see Thomas for a few minutes.

There was light commotion from inside of the office, but the door swung open moments later. The supervisor looked skeptical, if not a little bewildered by your intrusion. He adjusted his glasses, puffing upon a cigarette as he glanced from your face to the bag in your hands. “No solicitors.” He grumbled, brows furrowing together.

“I’m not,” You cleared your throat. “Is Thomas Hewitt around?” This was the right place, wasn’t it? Part of you got a little nervous, thinking you’d rolled up to the wrong establishment, but the man seemed surprised that you asked.

“... Hewitt?” He asked incredulously. Admittedly, a young, pretty woman like you showing up and inquiring about that ugly, beast of a man was shocking to him, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Thomas was terrifying to him, but he was a very hard worker — it was difficult to come across men like Thomas willing to put in the effort.

You blinked, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Yes, Thomas Hewitt. He forgot this,” You held up the bag, lips twitching into a friendly smile. “I wanted to give it to him, that's all. If he’s busy, I can wait.” Your tone was cordial, somewhat cheerful and content, which struck him as beyond strange. He hadn’t seen you before, but he’d seen the rest of the Hewitts.

“Right,” He hesitated, still in disbelief that you were here for Thomas, of all people. Nonetheless, he went about his duties, motioning toward the sets of doors. “Hewitt’s through there. Let me take you.” He escorted you toward the entryway of the packing room, and as soon as the door swung open, a handful of workers stopped to see what it was all about.

There were only seven, including Thomas — one of them was an older woman, the rest were men of varying ages. It was almost comedical how massive Thomas was compared to the lot he was working with, heart swelling tenfold when he spotted you on the pavilion. He’d forgotten about his lunch, and it was simultaneously pushed back to the recesses of his mind. He was delighted to see you. He didn’t think they’d ever let you off the property, truthfully.

“Hewitt, you’ve got a visitor. Make it quick.” The supervisor was less than enthusiastic, his demeanor somewhat stern. As he continued to smoke, leaning against the banister, he motioned for you to go down the small set of steps to his left.

Thomas was moving before you could even reach the last step, letting out a soft grunt, nearly bumping into you. He wasn’t too touchy, especially not at work and with the state of his messy hands, but he did stoop down, pressing his masked mouth to the top of your pretty head. The rest of the workers were gawking — none of them really expected Thomas to have a girlfriend.

“Fuckin’ hell, Terry. Hewitt’s actually got a woman?” One of the men whispered, not exactly the most discreet, but he was dumbfounded. Most of them were, including their supervisor, who had strolled back behind the set of doors to finish his cigarette.

“Brought you this,” You smiled, placing the sack into Thomas’s big hand. “At your mother’s request.” Your nose wrinkled into amusement, and there was a tender look in Thomas’s eyes, one that made you melt. He seemed appreciative, whether one could detect that through body language or not. “I can’t stay too long, I don’t want to disrupt work.”

There wasn’t much to disrupt, really.

“Guy’s uglier than a pig. She’s gotta be leadin’ him on or something. No way Hewitt’s got a girl like that, no way.” Terry uttered, shaking his head back and forth. “Hey, Hewitt!” He called out, his friend discouraging him from prodding the bear. None of this was going to end well.

Both you and Thomas happened to look in the man’s direction at the same time, but Thomas’s posture screamed protective, hunched in beside you, brows furrowing together. This wasn’t the first time his coworker had something foul to say about him.

“That your bitch?” Terry called, sneering at Thomas. You had a horrible feeling in your stomach, brushing off the heckler’s insults, but you knew that Thomas wasn’t going to let it go. “How ‘bout you send her my way when you’re finished with her, show ‘er a real man.” It didn’t really affect you in the slightest. Before you could attempt to dissuade Thomas from going over there, he was already moving.

It was the same gait he’d had before, like a bull who’d burst from the pen, angry and terrifying. With his bulk and stature, he was like a mountain hurtling in their direction. You’d even called his name, but Thomas didn’t hear anything, not in the slightest. He was picking Terry up by the collar of his shirt, thrusting him into the concrete floor. The sound of fist connecting to flesh made you cringe, and you could hear bones breaking.

“Fuck! Fuck, Hewitt, stop it! You’re gonna break his face!” The other man tried grappling onto Thomas’s shoulder, but he swatted him away as if he were a measly fly. Thomas kept punching Terry with the force of a battering ram, shattering his nose, bloodying his knuckles, sending a few teeth careening in all directions.

Thomas only stopped when the shout of his supervisor ended the fight prematurely. He was hellbent on continuing until Terry was nothing more than a bloody pulp, but he ceased, dropping the sputtering man onto the ground. He was coughing up blood, letting out a low, agonizing groan.

“Jesus, Hewitt!” The supervisor came clamoring down the steps, watching Thomas stand up with a husky grunt, the fury still prevalent within his gaze. His attention snapped to you, standing there at the base of the steps, wide-eyed and bewildered. “You get him out of here before I call the police.” He snapped, shaking his head back and forth.

It was calamitous, it was a wreck. Thomas appeared completely unbothered, save for his aggressive, frustrated body language as he lumbered towards you. Of course, you did exactly as instructed, taking the crook of Thomas’s elbow, hauling him up the steps and through the corridor. There were murmurs behind the both of you, but you didn’t care.

Outside, you watched Thomas wash his hands underneath a spout on the side of the building, brushing past you as he climbed into the bed of the truck. He slammed the door so hard that the glass of the window shuddered, and so did you. It’d been a long time since you’d seen him so angry, so rageful. You couldn’t help but feel bad all around. If you hadn’t shown up, none of this would’ve happened.

As you settled into the driver’s side, Thomas took up most of the space, the top of his head brushing the top of the cab, his hands folded within his lap. He didn’t acknowledge you whatsoever, which might’ve been the most concerning part of all. His eyes were bristling with fury, glowering straight ahead as you started up the truck, quickly whipping out of the lot.

The drive was quiet — too quiet.

The only sound was the rustling of wheatgrass, the breeze that whistled through the open window, and Thomas’s unnaturally heavy breathing. He still hadn’t looked at you whatsoever, hooded gaze trained upon the endless stretch of highway ahead. You hadn’t seen a single soul driving on the road — maybe Fuller really was that desolate. Your hands trembled on the steering wheel, and you couldn’t handle the silence.

“Thomas,” You murmured, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. As much as you disliked whatever that man was saying, you didn’t want Thomas to lose his job or get into trouble. It was easy for you to empathize with him, take his side. His self-imposed silence rattled you to your core, and you tried again. “Could you look at me?” You whispered, voice tender and as gentle as possible.

The lack of acknowledgement was killing you. Part of you wondered if this was purposeful, or if he was too ashamed and frustrated to look you in the eye.

“I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you think.” No matter how genuine you were or how much you pleaded, he wouldn’t look at you. Your heart sank, and you wondered if you were the one he was furious with. It would make sense — you showed up unannounced, your presence instigated it. “I just don’t want you to get into trouble, I …” You trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t fathom why you were apologizing.

Thomas had to hold himself back from killing Terry, and that rage, that white-hot adrenaline was still at a boiling point. He wanted to crush his skull onto the concrete for saying anything to you, but it was his inferiority that had kicked itself into his mind. The mere thought of not being enough for you, too boorish or too ugly, it destroyed him. He wasn’t mad at you whatsoever, and in fact, he was more melancholy now than vengeful.

It was jealousy that made him this way, brought him right to his knees. There was nothing attractive about it in his eyes, but he was envious — he wished he didn’t have that horrible face, a face only a mother could love. Admittedly, Thomas was jealous of his coworkers for their sense of normalcy, but not for anything else. He dragged his palm across his face, exasperated and attempting to quell that vehement concoction of emotions.

He barely lurched forward when you whipped the truck into a stretch of dirt that led toward one of the many abandoned farms scattered across Fuller’s countryside. You turned the truck off, unbuckling yourself from the seat as you swiveled around to face him, even if there wasn’t plenty of space to do so. Your hand reached for his thick, marred forearm, caressing across the scars etched into his flesh.

You didn’t say anything this time, willing to sit in silence if that would help him. He felt warm underneath your fingertips, calloused and rough, ripped at all edges, but he would never be anything less than perfect in your eyes. Thomas’s head lagged forward slightly, his heap of dark curls framing his face. He was slowly beginning to crack, moving his arm until he held your dainty hand within his, squeezing you as if you were an anchor, a tether back to reality.

The serenity of the moment was unmatched, with the abandoned, empty highway behind you, a clutch of trees providing some shade for the truck, sitting several feet in front of some dilapidated, old mill. The sun’s bright rays hit the sea of wheatgrass just right, turning it into some ocean of golden strands, billowing with the slight breeze. It was an atmosphere that you could sink right into, quiet enough to where you could hear with an extreme clarity.

Thomas finally turned to look at you, smushing his forehead against yours, massive hand coming to cup your hip. He was hulking, swallowing whatever space he was in, snug within the cab of the truck. You didn’t mind it — the shade and the gentle breeze made everything a little cooler, and heat was no longer an issue.

“You know I love you, right? Nothing will change that.” You mumbled, listening to that thunderous, pleasant rumble that resonated within his chest. He released your hand, letting it grip the unattended side of your hip, hauling you right into his lap. You had to hunch a little bit to avoid hitting your head on the ceiling, and the space was slim to none, but you cherished every second of it.

His lap was large, and you always had some difficulty straddling him, but you were getting used to it. Thomas kissed you with a bruising passion, grunting into your mouth as he petted your sides, feeling along your curves, digging into the jean-clad swell of your rump. Your hands splayed themselves out against his chest, fingers curling into his shirt and apron, reciprocating his kiss with one of your own.

A sliver of you wondered if he had intentions of fucking you here and now, of all places — right in Luda Mae’s truck. It felt wrong, considering you told her you’d be back as quickly as possible, and as you recoiled for air, Thomas looked a little disgruntled. His head cocked to one side, and he squeezed you again, pressing a kiss into the curve of your jaw, his breath hot and sonorous, like a wave of heat across your skin.

“Told Luda Mae I’d be back really soon,” You whispered, involuntarily rolling your head to one side as Thomas’s mouth ravaged your neck with needy kisses. It was loaded with passion, charged with something wistful and amorous. He was thoroughly unabashed about wanting to do it here in the truck — to him, space wasn’t an issue whatsoever. “We should …” You trailed off, moaning when he began to kiss with a little more force. “Should go home.”

Thomas grunted, a gentler sign of protest, and he tugged at your overalls. It was code for, ‘now’. If his Momma got upset with your lack of punctuality, he’d cover for you somehow. He wanted you so terribly, practically itching for you as one of his hands flew to the straps on your overalls, wanting them off with a husky, heavy groan of desire.

Granted, the idea of letting Thomas obliterate you on the side of the road was too tantalizing, and after the constant beratement of his peers, you wanted him to blow off some steam — and so did you, admittedly. You abandoned all inhibitions and thoughts of being back soon, your hands fumbling toward the straps of your overalls, unbuckling them from bronzed buttons. The lack of space in the cab made it awkward to remove clothing, but thankfully, Thomas was good about helping you.

Kicking off your boots, the overalls came flying next, landing in a heap on the driver’s side. Thomas didn’t care much for the snug white blouse you wore — there was always a time and a place to see you naked entirely. With a pleasant growl, he kneaded those big hands into your bare legs, squeezing into the pliant flesh of your haunches, fingers pressing into your rump. He wasn’t very shy, wanting what was his.

You coaxed him in for another kiss, letting your digits grapple into his hair, tugging on those wavy curls as he let out another satisfied rumble. His cock was hard, straining against his pants, prodding into your core, but only slightly. Part of you was nervous about someone driving by, but in Fuller, it seemed highly unlikely.

To him, your kiss was like fire, blazing and incendiary, searing right through him. You were Thomas’s first for many things, and it got him all riled up as he groped at your ass, feeling your hips grind into his growing erection. He reciprocated with a flurry of passion, the leather of his mask biting into your mouth, but it didn’t phase you in the slightest.

There was a sensual allure in the way you kissed him, using tongue and teeth, feeling him grunt into your lips as his cock dug into your clothed cunt. You playfully rolled your hips into his pelvis, shamelessly dry humping him to get him all hot and bothered, and you were more than successful. The noises he made sent shivers up your spine, precum slathering his groin. He was holding you so tightly, lazily bucking back into you.

With Thomas’s size, the truck rattled and jolted a little bit underneath him, and you had to bite back laughter. You shouldn’t have been surprised, but feeling the vehicle shift was somewhat amusing, almost as if it were ripped from an obscene film. One of his big hands slithered underneath your blouse, grabbing at your breast as you continued to grind against him, hands tangled into his hair, lips meshing together.

It filled your stomach with butterflies, only furthering your delirious sense of lust. Thomas made your head spin in circles, so big and so strong, but oh so passionate. The pit of your stomach pooled with a familiar wash of heat, making its way between your legs. You were rutting into his clothed cock, whimpering into his mouth each time his erection brushed up against your core. Your thighs attempted to squeeze together, but with his massive frame in between, it was pointless.

As he dutifully groped at your supple breasts, his hand left your hip, moving like a heat-seeking missile between your legs, brazenly slipping across your soaked cunt. It made you moan, the volume out of your control, and you were careening into him, crashing into his hand instead of his lap. Thomas let out a softer rumble, feeling how wet and tight you were around his digits, enough to make him very, very aroused.

“I want you to cum in me,” You were treading on thin ice, knowing just how feral he got whenever you said that, especially now, in your breathy whimper as you rocked into his hand. “I want you inside of me so bad.” Your whines were definitely resonating with Thomas, because he was tearing his hand away and yanking your panties aside so fast that it was almost blinding. The sound that ripped from his throat was terrifying, permeated with salacious intent.

The thought of knocking you up was always somewhere within his mind, but whenever the both of you were intimate, it went right to the forefront. Thomas hastily clamored with his belt, ripping his apron off as he jerked it over his head, shoving it toward the driver’s side as he maneuvered with a frantic need. You were straining around his lap, clutching onto his lap, shirt hiked up around your midsection.

Thomas wrangled with the slim amount of space available, fishing his cock out, impossibly thick and glistening with a sheen of precum. He was practically hauling you to wherever he pleased, plopping you down onto his girth, watching you gasp and sputter. You didn’t have to do much of the work — Thomas was powerful enough to ease you up and down atop his lap, pushing himself inside of you, letting your cunt clench around him.

He was breathing so very heavily, husky and lascivious, bringing you forward as your head buried itself into his broad shoulder. Thomas set a quick, brutal pace right off the bat, fucking into you with the force of an angry bull, cock hammering away into your cunt, making you writhe and wail as you lazily ground your hips forward, meeting his thrusts as he bounced you within his lap. It was passionate, and it was perfect.

The truck was suffering a cruel fate, creaking and shuddering underneath the weight of Thomas fucking you there in the cab, your back pressed into the dashboard. You felt horrible about the potential ruin Luda Mae’s vehicle might face, but Thomas was making you forget all about it, coaxing you in for a needy, consuming kiss. As your lips meshed together, you held onto him for dear life, being fucked along to the hasty motions of his hips.

His mindset was all abhorrently sinful — breed you, fill you up, make you sob his name. It was primarily the first thought, and he wasn’t shrewd about fulfilling both of your needs, rutting into you like a man possessed. He was so big, and it always felt like the first time all over again whenever he fucked you, cock brutally battering your insides, pumping pulses of heat right into your core.

“Tommy,” You moaned against his mouth, one hand tugging and pulling at his hair, only serving to further his lust, chest tightening as he used his grip on you to bring you down onto his cock. You felt like mush, legs shaking and trembling around his hips, finding some sliver of relief whenever he lifted you up, cock nearly pulling out before he slammed you back down again with a lewd clash. “Thomas.” You mewled, feeling his mouth nestle against your neck.

You were so wet, your cunt being brutally assaulted by Thomas’s cock. He was absolutely relentless, pounding into you with a reckless haste, groaning and growling whenever you rocked your hips forward with each time he tugged you downward. He was barely fitting completely as it stood, thick and throbbing inside of you, unhinged and animalistic as seconds ticked by. You were convinced that you wouldn’t be able to walk later.

Thomas’s mouth was all over your neck, sucking and biting, marking you in an untold number of hickeys and potential bruises. Whether or not they would be visible remained to be seen, but it drove you crazy. You kept one hand tangled into his tresses, the other spreading out across the top of his massive, leathery hand. His dark, salacious glower bored into you, fluttering up and meeting your own stare.

It was an instantaneous wave of heat that consumed you, sending shockwaves right into your gut, cunt clenching pathetically around his cock as he railed into you, fucking your tight slit until he couldn’t go any further. He dragged himself back out, only to pound right back in, making you squeal and squirm within his lap. Your inner thighs felt sticky, and so did his groin, the two of you practically colliding each time he brought you down.

His mouth graced the shell of your ear, snarling and grunting, sending prickling goosebumps all along your spine. The noises were beyond salacious, a den of vulgarities as he pushed you back into the dashboard, using a good portion of his strength to obliterate your cunt, cock pulsating inside of you, inklings of cum already painting your insides. Thomas’s desperation for you was getting ahead, and he was barely holding himself together.

“Cum in me,” You whimpered, biting down upon your lower lip. Thomas’s leathery mask was biting into your neck, his eyes filled with a blazing desire. As his cock continued to batter away at you, hammer into your cunt with an unyielding ferocity, he only stuttered and slowed when you came, tight around his girth, moaning into his ear. “Christ, Thomas, please!” You were almost wailing, clutching onto him like a drowning woman. “Please cum in me.” You begged.

Thomas had to restrain himself from thrusting you down onto the seat and fucking you until you cried, but there was a curfew — you still needed to bring the truck back in a (relatively) unscathed state. His deep, thunderous sounds always made you jump, shivering in delight as he unleashed a horrifying noise, some long-dormant snarl that sent you panting and mewling. He fucked you hard until he couldn’t anymore.

It was sticky, and it was filthy — Thomas really had let himself go. He was cumming into you with what would be considered an obscene amount, leaving you full and stuffed with his seed. It was the desire he had to breed you that really made him this way, but for you, it was entirely worthwhile. He kept you on his cock for a few moments, but even that wasn’t enough to keep it all at bay.

Your thighs were hot and sticky with cum, even after he pulled out, which made things worse. Between your thighs and his groin were equally as messy as the other, but you didn’t care. Your skin was slick with perspiration, and so was his, but it was a blissful aftermath as he gently placed you back into the driver’s side.

Fortunately, you had overalls and he had an apron, enough to hide the raunchy stains and the general mess the both of you had made. He was kissing your face, pressing his forehead into your hair even as you shrugged your overalls back on to start up the truck for the ride home.

“I’m going to get into trouble for this,” You mused, keeping the mood sweet and lighthearted. “I think you owe me, Thomas.” You teased, but Thomas took it seriously. He planted a passionate kiss on the corner of your mouth, and then your lips when you turned your head.

Thomas squeezed your thigh, and he had that look in his eyes — your repayment would be worth it.

[rapturously]

Can you write for an obsessive RZ!Myers with a Nurse love interest? I just like the idea of bonding with him over time as his caretaker. Fuck it I'm gonna encourage the man to make his masks if he likes it so much, they look cool anyway

(Ps. I love your writing ... the way you write for Vincent is so sweet❤

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 + 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡 𝙢𝙮𝙚𝙧𝙨 ( 𝙧𝙯 ) 𝙭 𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙗!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 & 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙥𝙧��𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 & 𝙄’𝙢 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠! 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙨/𝙤 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙧𝙯!𝙢𝙮𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙜𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙖 𝙗𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 !! :) 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮’𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @the-wordis-bird ; @suguruswife ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @lttlegore ; @darklylucid ; @mehidktbh ; @the-anxious-youth ; @bloodwithpeachmilk ; @callmemeelah ; @dootys

*ೃ༄ ⠀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒. (𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐙𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐄.)

Smith’s Grove isn’t the easiest job — it’s mentally weighing and taxing, and when you’re initially hired on, you struggle to become acclimated to your peers. Some are despicable individuals, and some aren’t, but the atmosphere is dour, overall. Not every nurse and doctor at the facility really aimed to treat patients and offer the proper rehabilitation they needed. Sometimes, it felt more similar to a prison than it did a sanatorium. For you, you find happiness in helping other people, but the longer you stay, the more Michael becomes the only one tethering you there.

You’re one of Michael’s caretakers, between Dr. Loomis and another older woman who’s much more fearful and spiteful of Michael than she is kind and courteous. You have a feeling that she won’t last very long, or at the very least, retire soon from Smith’s Grove. Being the youngest out of the trio, much closer to Michael’s age, Dr. Loomis is keen on having you interact with Michael as much as possible, as if that might spark something. You’re apprehensive of the doctor’s weird experiments and suggestions, but you try to go along with it.

Michael is somewhat mistrustful of you at the beginning. You’re an unfamiliar face in the ever-evolving cast of doctors and nurses who attend to him, and he expects you to be shuffled out of the rotation soon enough. He never expects longevity with any of his caretakers — he knows that they won’t be staying after they’re around him enough. The longer they stay at Smith’s Grove, the more they deteriorate, the more disinterested they become. He expects it of you, Michael assumes you’ll be just another face to fade away into the recesses of his memory.

Of course, you do stick around — you don’t let Smith’s Grove pull you down into its bleak, melancholy environment. You’re a hard worker, determined and extremely driven to make sure everyone gets proper care and whatever it is that they need. Michael gets used to you, he gets used to seeing you everyday, and you become familiar to him, a commonality. Dr. Loomis is quick to observe Michael’s growing attachment to you, and the more you stick around, the more comfortable you become with him. You make valiant efforts to try and understand Michael, form your own opinions instead of relying on others.

You are convinced that Michael isn’t as evil and soulless as Loomis claims. There’s a spark of humanity to him, a sliver of emotion that’s been buried upon years and years of turmoil and a self-imposed silence. It’s been dormant for ages, which is the conclusion you happen to come to. Many of your peers at Smith’s Grove aren’t convinced by your ‘crazy’ theories, but it doesn’t exactly bother you. You’re content to continue your bond with Michael, but you aren’t pushy — you never prod or dig for answers like so many others have before, nurses, doctors, other employees alike.

Oddly enough, he starts to form some obsession with you that emerges into the creation of his masks, crafted with softer colors in mind, things of beauty, things of kindness. He likes showing you whatever he’s made, and you’re always more than enthusiastic to take a look and applaud the work he’s done. Michael’s behavior begins to resemble the antics of someone who’s infatuated, but he keeps it hidden, especially around Dr. Loomis. If there is anything that Michael is talented at, it’s suppressing things, hiding secrets.

Michael gets extremely protective and possessive over you, to the point where you’re the only one who can administer any medication to him or give him food. The guards start circulating rumors that you subdued Michael through sexual means, which isn’t true (yet ,,,), but the guard who started that rumor ended up with a plastic spork lodged into his left eye. Any tools were promptly taken away from Michael, and he could only be given meals that were all edible by hand — no utensils required.

Night shifts are usually the best for you — it’s silent during the night, and Michael is nocturnal, so you typically go in and check on him once every hour. Sometimes, the both of you will stand or sit in silence, and other times, you start rambling on about your day or something that you enjoy. Either way, Michael is content. Overnights are where you seem to bond the most, even if Michael doesn’t say a single word, you know that he’s listening. He shows more attentiveness toward you than he does anyone else, aside from Dr. Loomis, but he doesn’t care about the old man in the way that he cares for you. He wants you to be protected and safe.

You enjoy taking care of Michael — it brings you a sense of comfort and purpose, being able to help him physically and emotionally. Michael’s obsessive, possessive attachment to you is what drives him to find you after his escape, his drive to be with you, always. Each and every time, you are there to mend his wounds and clean him up, provide him with the best care and support that you can. Deep down, Michael likes it — he likes having someone to protect and love, and he likes having you to mend him and love him. Of course, his own twisted version of love, but love and an unhealthy infatuation nonetheless.

You feel drained and devoid of energy, your conditions worsening the more time you spend at Smith’s Grove. It’s inevitable, many warned you of such feelings when you were first hired on, but you wade through all of the negativity and hostile atmosphere with as much dignity as you can muster.

Night shifts come easy, though — most patients are asleep or sedated, perhaps both, and the folks on your rotation are relatively easy to get along with. Your daytime shifts are a monster themselves, with so many patients and an environment so hectic and chaotic that you feel like you might burst sometimes.

It’s almost peaceful at night, and your unit is as silent as the grave, save for one patient who's about as close to nocturnal as one can get. You’ve taken care of Michael Myers ever since you were hired on, one of the nurses under Dr. Loomis and perhaps the only one who showed no fear of Michael himself.

Groggy and drowsy, you decide to go for a walk, going toward the one cell that many are terrified to go near. Not you, though — Michael Myers is hopelessly infatuated with you, unbeknownst to you but known to Dr. Loomis, who’s often curious about Michael's antics. He’s attempted to dig into his feelings, why he might’ve latched onto you in particular, but he never offers up information. He never speaks.

The walk to Michael’s cell is relatively short, and you yawn as you creep across sterile, sparkling floors. The air is stale and smells like sanitizing products, a wet floor sign positioned somewhere within the corridor. A guard sits in a small substation, headphones lodged into his ears, his attention somewhere else entirely, and you can’t blame him.

Michael’s cell often fills other workers with a sense of dread, but not you. Sometimes, his presence is the only thing that keeps you sane at this facility, which sounds horribly ironic. You step in front of massive, wrought iron doors, incredibly thick with a singular window of bulletproof glass.

Your keys jingle within your pocket as you open up the door, and it’s as thick as your forearm, almost. You look a touch disheveled, dark circles underneath your eyes, uniform wrinkled, but Michael thinks nothing of it. To the behemoth, you’re beautiful — he will never see you as anything less.

He’s hunched at his desk, his breathing heavy and husky as he shreds at pieces of paper, adding the finishing touches onto a mask that he’s made you. The colors are all vibrant and cheerful, everything cut and crafted to try and capture your proportions. It’s more than flawed, but that’s what makes it perfect.

With his back angled toward you, the mountain of a man stuffed atop a tiny chair, Michael’s head perks slightly when his cell door comes creaking open. You linger at the fringes of the doorway, shutting it behind you as you wander around his quarters. Masks line every inch of cold brick, some far more terrifying than others.

“Michael,” Your voice is akin to the crooning of a dove, soft and tender. It commands his attention, and he shifts within his seat, prepared to present you with yet another mask he’s fashioned for you. You’ve taken some of them home, a handful adorn your desk at work. “You need anything?” You yawn.

His grunt is akin to the roll of thunder, but he does abruptly move from his chair. Any normal person might’ve flinched away, but you stand still, having to crane your neck just slightly in order to look up at him. Michael wanders in your direction, and to your shock, he looks astoundingly clean.

They must’ve made him take a shower, you think.

Those big, calloused hands fumble with the mask, glued and pressed together with bright shades of purples, pinks, and oranges. Michael reluctantly offers you another mask to add to your growing collection, and your lips curl into an exuberant smile.

“I like this one,” You muse, cocking your head to one side. You enjoy the patchwork pattern of the mask, the series of irregular chunks of paper that make up the whole. “Very pretty.” Your encouragement is always enough to make Michael feel content.

Michael lingers next to you, face concealed by the papery, orange veil, flaxen-blonde tresses hanging all around his head like a curtain. You keep the mask close, your smile still present, the keys jingling against your hips. There’s a stirring of foreign emotions within his chest whenever he glimpses your reaction at his masks.

“I think I’ll put this one up at home.” You chime, and even if Michael never answers you, it doesn’t phase you whatsoever. He’s listening — that much is clear. Michael often hangs upon every word that leaves your mouth as it is.

You remember the candy bar sitting in the pocket of your uniform, and you promptly unveil it. Everybody knows about you sneaking candy to Michael, and it’s happened so often that no one seems to tell you differently anymore.

“I brought you something, too.” It’s a giant slab of crunchy chocolate all wrapped in colored plastic, but you know Michael’s adoration of anything sweet. You’ve seen him eat much of the treats that Smith’s Grove offers — whenever they offer, at least. “Just our secret.” You muse, offering the candy to Michael.

He favors your company more than any other member of staff here — you wonder if they only keep you around for that very purpose, aware that you can subdue the man if needed. Michael’s grunt is relatively pleasant, and he sheds the wrapper immediately, sticking the candy bar through the gap in his mask.

Clutching the mask within your left hand, your brows furrow together when your name is called over the announcement system. It’s difficult for you to mask your disappointment, your gaze drifting toward Michael.

He’s used to you scrambling around, needed anywhere and everywhere. Michael grunts, wandering back toward his chair, sinking down atop the smooth surface as he continues to fly through his candy bar. He doesn’t want you to leave, but he’s powerless — for now, at the very least.

“I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.” You nod, and your countenance is both exasperated and exhausted, but you try your hardest to seem happy. You leave through the cell door, pushing it closed and locking it behind you.

Michael watches you leave each and every time, but whatever strange melancholy he feels is off-putting to him. It happens after you go, but he knows that it’ll dissipate as soon as you come back for your hourly rounds.

[rapturously]

Could i request a drabble or one-shot with slow and romantic smut with michael please? ❤️

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 ( 𝐫𝐨𝐛 𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞 ) 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓/𝟏𝟖+! 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧!𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥, 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤/𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞/𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝟒,𝟏𝟗𝟖.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭! 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥, 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐑𝐙, 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦 & 𝐏𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐰 𝐌𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐛𝐡! 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 & 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐙!𝐌𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐠𝐥 ,, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥, 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 💀 ……. 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲’𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! ❤️

Each night, Michael would visit the residence of his youth, roam around within the dilapidated house, sometimes reliving the happier memories, if there were any. It was a hollow husk of a building, a tribute to the misery and havoc he brought that Halloween night, and it still stood the testament of time — it always would, more than likely.

At dusk, teenagers snuck inside sometimes, rolling around together on dilapidated floorboards, tangled up in fits of passion. Michael watched — they were always very easy targets, easy to subdue and easy to kill. He never let it last very long, often becoming bored before killing the young couple in some horrific way.

Michael didn’t find anybody in the house that night, only bloodstains and police markings, yellow tape from where bodies were recovered. He often thought of you whenever he looked out from the window of his home, thinking of what it might be like to be with you.

He wasn’t entirely oblivious — he knew what sex was, but the emotion put into it was something he desperately craved. The closer that you and Michael became, the more he felt those lascivious urges, a conventional attraction to you, wanting you to touch him in the way those couples touched.

There was an uncertainty, however — would you want to be with him in that regard? You’d kissed him before, saccharine and tender, but never anything more. You always asked him to stay with you, and he did, but there wasn’t anything else. Michael was unhealthily obsessed with you, but he wanted more. He wanted you.

He blended in with Haddonfield despite his stature, despite being some force of nature, a force of bloodlust. Michael made the long, winding trek to your home, spotting you through the window of your bedroom, wrapped in just a towel as you shuffled through clothing found within your drawers.

You were beautiful — perfect, even. Michael watched you hawkishly, hovering right next to the window, hulking form nearly pressed to the glass. His lovesick gaze trailed after you, watching as you bounced from drawer to vanity, collecting your pajamas as you wandered toward the bathroom. You were always awake at this hour, waiting for him to come home.

Entering through the side door, Michael stepped into your kitchen, rays of moonlight illuminating his path, falling across the dark coveralls and orange mask he wore, reflecting against those flaxen-blonde tresses. His steps were hushed, feather-light for a man of his stature as Michael moved about like a creeping shadow, pushing past your bedroom door.

The bathroom door was left ajar as you got dressed, clad in plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt that happened to be several sizes too large. You almost choked on air when you found Michael standing in your room, which you weren’t expecting in the slightest. With a strangled gasp, you jumped, watching as his head turned in your direction.

“Michael,” You crooned, settling from your bout of terror. He was spotless, oddly enough — no blood tonight. You dropped your towels at the foot of your bed, immediately skittering closer to wrap your arms around him. He was so much bigger than you, the margin almost comedical, but you didn’t care. “Missed you.” With a soft exhale, you pressed your cheek into his sternum.

Michael was painfully soft for you, a side that many believed to be nonexistent. His arms locked around you, keeping you close as he sat down along the edge of your bed, cradling you within his lap. You seemed excited about it, curling up against him, hand resting just above his heart, digits roving over the rough fabric of his coveralls.

You got comfortable, perking your head up just enough to see his masked visage, cerulean eyes peering right back at you. Michael always felt beloved underneath your adoring stare and kind eyes, like he wasn’t some horrifying monster. You reached up for his mask, fingers tensing along the edge, awaiting his consent to take it off.

“Can I?” You whispered. After he’d revealed himself to you the first time, you were firm on asking him each time you wanted to see his face. It was a ritual more or less, a display of trust, and Michael merely moved his head in a tiny nod, letting out some sonorous grunt as you moved the mask upward.

Handsome was an understatement — Michael was pretty and very masculine, simultaneously. There was a growing stubble that covered his face, his hair a light, flaxen-blonde, and it almost looked white with the moonlight. Those eyes of his were a darker blue, like the ocean, and they didn’t display any hostility whatsoever. He wasn’t aware of his own attractiveness, but you figured he didn’t care.

“So perfect,” Your hands cupped his face, watching him careen into your embrace, having to really hunch in over you just to be close. Michael was capable of such destructiveness, capable of complete obliteration, but here he was, leaning into your palms and holding you to his chest as if you were some fragile doll. “You’re so handsome.” You murmured, thumbs tracing over his cheekbones.

Michael was melting within your grasp, sinking into you, drowning within your presence. He was never handled that way before, handled as if he mattered, as if someone truly cared about him. It only served to further his desire for you, further the obsession, the possessiveness. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, thick fingers petting at your own tresses.

For a man who’d been pinned as the devil incarnate, he didn’t seem that way, not with you. It was the happiest you’d been for a long time, and you were protected, safe. He could break you like a twig, and he didn’t — he wouldn’t. Michael had someone to watch over, he had someone for himself.

Tilting upward and inward, you coaxed him down for a kiss, sweetly melding your lips against his. Typically, all it took was for you to initiate, and Michael happened to take over, his kiss a little unsure and sloppy, but enough to make your stomach erupt with butterflies.

You hadn’t done anything more than just kissing and a little bit of touching, and you weren’t in any rush. You thought about it often yourself, but you figured Michael would give some indication that he wanted such a relationship with you.

As if on queue, you could feel something prodding into your thigh.

A creeping warmth swarmed your skin, making you heat up as you accidentally squirmed on top of him. Michael let out some breathy grunt, feeling you involuntarily grind into his growing erection. He was so starved for contact that something as simple as kissing had gotten him aroused, and he didn’t know what to do with these lascivious feelings.

His grip upon you happened to tighten, keeping you pinned against him as you deepened the kiss, inhaling through your nose. One of your hands relocated, slipping from cupping his cheek to tangling within his hair, threading throughout those pale tresses as he kissed you with a bruising force. It became heated, but not the quick, messy sort of heated — it was slower, exploratory on Michael’s end.

A soft grunt escaped him, hand kneading into your hips, beginning to glide underneath your shirt to touch your bare skin. His massive palm was roughened, calloused against your silkiness, but it didn’t phase you whatsoever. Your lips parted for a moment, your breath emerging as trembling wisps, fingers caressing along his jaw as he moved you from his lap onto your bed.

After watching enough couples, Michael mimicked something he’d wanted to do forever, hulking physique crawling on top of you, settling right between your legs. You had to be a little flexible to properly accommodate his size, stomach turning to mush, your thighs beginning to shake from excitement. It was purely exhilarating to have him on top of you like this — perhaps dangerous, but you didn’t care.

Michael didn’t show very much hesitation, pressing his mouth back to yours, a little sloppy and sporadic but just as passionate as before. His groin was nestled right against your core, cock straining and prodding into your inner thigh. Your hands moved to tangle within his hair again, careening into his embrace with feverish kisses, feeling his chest vibrate with a rumble.

Every kiss left you aching, left you with some void that only he could fill. Michael didn’t really have a solid idea of what to do, but he relied on basic instinct instead, the mere concept of what he believed he should do. That rough hand skirted up underneath your shirt, across your bare chest, tugging it up with him as you wriggled to get out of it, letting it fall toward the empty side of your bed.

Goosebumps formed all along your skin, prickling and tingling as he peered at your chest, curious as ever. Michael didn’t need much encouragement, placing his hand against your breast, kneading into it with some sonorous grunt. He liked the feeling, brows pushed together in concentration, watching you wriggle underneath him, a moan escaping you.

Michael wanted to hear that sound again and again, rolling his fingers into the pliant flesh of your breast, groping and squeezing with an exploratory touch. You felt that pang of arousal strike between your legs, sending shivers up your spine as you gripped his shoulder, pressing your lips against his again. The reciprocation was eerily tender, with Michael more than eager to kiss you as much as you wanted.

“Are you …” You breathed, which immediately commanded his attention, his hand slowing. Michael listened to you with an aura of attentiveness, waiting for you to tell him whatever you wanted. “Do you want to try to have sex?” You asked, wondering if that was what he was after. It would make sense, but he was inexperienced, not that you minded.

With another baritone rumble, Michael nodded, his expression of approval. Your mind went racing in a hundred different directions, but you remained focused, swallowing hard as you got settled underneath him. His blue-eyed stare pierced you, burned right through you with a profound intensity, striking at your gut. He didn’t seem like he wanted anything rough, oddly enough.

“Okay,” Your voice was hushed, barely above a whisper as you bit at your lower lip. You weren’t sure if he’d settle for being beneath you, but it was worth trying, for his sake. Maybe the next time, he could be more in control — next time. You were already getting ahead of yourself. “Let me help.” Your lips twitched into a gentle smile, hands pushing at his shoulders.

To your complete and utter surprise, Michael submitted, relinquishing some control to you as you pushed him off, coaxing him onto his back. He was partially slumped against the headboard, which still made him taller than you, but it was enough as you settled into his lap. His hand found its way to your hips, the other being guided toward your chest.

Michael seemed rather enthralled, cock twitching and throbbing as it pressed into your core, sending shockwaves into your gut. He was big, which shouldn’t have been shocking to you whatsoever, but it sounded so enticing. Your hand slipped toward the zipper on his coveralls, pinching the metal piece between your fingers. He didn’t seem to object, but you knew you needed to ask anyway.

“Can I pull this off a little bit?” You whispered, shivering when the hand that pawed at your breast slipped against your inner thigh, nestled right against your clothed cunt. It made you jolt a little, involuntarily rocking into the pressure his hand provided. The grunt he let out made the hair stand up upon the back of your neck, but it was a pleasant sound, somewhat jarring and sharp.

He thoroughly enjoyed whatever it was you just did, disregarding your inquiry as he nudged his fingers into your slit again, still obstructed by your flannel pants. Michael watched you like a hawk, stoic and impassively silent, but he was aching on the inside, absolutely wrought with a festering lust that threatened to consume him whole. You gasped, lips parting as you sank into his hand, loosening up your snug pajama pants as you tugged on the string at the front.

With a brutish display of strength, Michael hunched forward, practically tearing your pants off, ripping them at the seams. The sound of fabric being shredded and destroyed was like music to your ears, filling your stomach with a flood of heat. You watched the remains of your pajama pants go flying elsewhere, leaving you in just your panties. He molded those strong hands into your thighs, dragging his thumb across your silky skin.

Your lips were against his again, slow and compassionate, lacking any inkling of roughness. Michael preferred it this way, really — even if he could be uncouth and handle you callously, he wouldn’t. Through the midst of your softer entanglement, his hand went sliding back to between your legs, shoving past the frilly material that covered you this time.

Michael’s sluggishness didn’t bother you whatsoever. In fact, you thought it was endearing, the way he cautiously went about touching you, thick digits pushing past your folds as he stroked at your soaked cunt. You whimpered into his mouth, hands poised against his broad chest for support, feeling his chest vibrate underneath your palms.

There was something eerily romantic about all of this, foreign to Michael and foreign to you, but you were savoring every second, every touch sent pleasurable waves throughout your body. His fingers lacked rhythm and tact, but he felt oh so incredible, circling your cunt in a very curious manner, feeling you keen and jolt into each sensation.

Again, you tried with the zipper on his coveralls, lips parting as you asked again. “May I?” Your gaze was half-lidded, a desire-laden stare that Michael thrived under, letting out some quiet grunt as he gave you a single nod. You were itching to see more of him, and so you maneuvered the zipper down, further down, and stopped at his waist.

He was all taut bulk and herculean muscle underneath — not exactly ‘shredded’, but it was definitely prevalent. Michael appeared very natural to you in terms of musculature, and he let out some strange, half-purr when your hand slid underneath the snug, white t-shirt he wore underneath. He loved it when you touched him, especially in places he never thought possible.

Michael’s fingers were snug against your cunt, gathering some traction as he slowly traced them around the length of your slit. The noises you made were abhorrently sinful, but Michael loved to listen to you, adjusting his pace or the location of his fingers. As they slid against your clit, circling around that sensitive clutch of nerves, you moaned.

“Righ—Right there,” Your voice emerged in some heady gust, followed by a desperate mewl as you ground your hips into his fingers, steadied by the hand that remained splayed out against your hip. “Michael,” You moaned his name, which drew out another sonorous growl from him, a noise that made your cunt clench pathetically around nothing.

For some, his slowness might’ve been infuriating, but for you, it was heavenly. Michael wasn’t trying to roughhouse or manhandle you, much to your surprise, but it was far more intimate that way, and you were very much into it. Michael was eating up every moment, engrossed with your excitable reactions.

He was unbearably hard, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable below the waist, cock straining and begging to be inside of you. Michael could be patient, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to really focus on anything else. Your soft fingers were roving all over his abdomen and chest, making him all the more eager to push his digits into your throbbing clit.

Titling forward, your forehead pressed against his, one hand snapping from chest to his shoulder, tensing just underneath the collar of his shirt. Even while you were grinding into his hand, your lips collided again, amatory and sensual, a flurry of friction as Michael released another grunt into your mouth. He was growing more confident with his ministrations by the second, vigorously rubbing at your cunt, feeling heat pool between your thighs.

Michael was massive, enveloping you and consuming you, his hulking physique encompassing you. It didn’t frighten you whatsoever, not like it used to when you first encountered him. He sent butterflies erupting within the pit of your stomach, panties soaked and his fingers scissoring away at your aching clit. You were beginning to inch that zipper down even more, and he wasn’t about to protest.

He was so obsessed with you, coiled so tightly around your finger, unhealthily unhinged whenever it came to you. Michael was purely overzealous, but he was also wrought with the very first inklings of love, something that Dr. Loomis had said he was devoid of. Love was strange, and it was foreign, but it felt good — it felt right with you, and no one else.

As you eased the zipper down, you weren’t exactly surprised to find out that Michael went commando underneath those coveralls. It was mildly amusing, but not enough to break the lustful intensity of the moment. You gulped, attempting to swallow the growing lump within your throat — he was definitely going to split you in half if you weren’t careful.

You didn’t bother removing your panties, feeling his throbbing cock press right up against your cunt, only the thin sheen of clothing there to separate the two of you. Michael let out a thunderous rumble, possessive and very much needy, letting his fingers ghost across your clit before he pulled them out altogether, comfortably slumped back against the headboard.

Michael was rocking you into his cock, massive hands groping and kneading into the swell of your hips, grunting all the while. His own desperation was all bottled up on the inside, practically screaming to be released as you pried your panties aside, breath hitching within your throat as he planted a kiss against your collarbone.

His mouth began to sloppily glide against each inch of your flesh, savoring your saccharine skin as he kissed against your chest, hair falling in the way of his visage. As soon as the swollen head of his cock pushed past your folds, his grip involuntarily tightened, ironclad and hard enough to leave behind accidental bruises. Michael’s groan was husky and deep, but it left you quaking, quivering as you lowered yourself onto his cock.

His size was much, much more than you really expected, burrowing its way into your cunt as you sluggishly eased your way downward. Michael didn’t move much or try to force you down immediately, savoring the way your cunt clenched around him, filled him with some predatory, animalistic urge to make you his, stake his claim on you.

Your hands positioned themselves against his chest again, sliding that snug, white shirt up enough for contact. Michael nearly shuddered when you caressed your palms into his grizzled muscle, laced with scars and old wounds, livid underneath your fingertips. You touched him with such adoration that it made him foam at the mouth, want you more than he already did.

“Michael,” You moaned, listening to his deliciously heavy breathing as it resonated near your ear, making your heart pound within your chest. Again, you rocked your hips downward, just barely able to fit all of him inside of you. Michael finally began to recline, keeping his hands against your hips, his flaxen-blonde tresses all splayed out around his head like some halo.

Those passive, glittering eyes of his bored into you, burning right through you as you began to ride his cock, taking it slow. Michael didn’t mind the pace whatsoever, and the sensuality of it was deeply arousing. His shirt had ridden up his broad chest, coveralls still clinging to his strong, thick arms.

Michael never tore his eyes off of you, not once, transfixed upon your pleasured countenance and the sluggish rolling of your hips. The sensations were absolutely incredible, making you moan and sputter, using your knees to rock yourself up a little bit before you deliberately sank back down. You found your rhythm, keeping it unusually romantic and sluggish, but Michael looked enthralled.

It was a little physically taxing for you, having to exert the muscles in your legs, but it felt perfect, the best feeling you’d ever experienced. Michael finally began to understand why those couples snuck up to do this so often, and now that he’d had a taste of you, he knew he’d only want so much more. Your cunt was tight around him, snug as his cock was eased in and out of your soaked slit.

A myriad of pleasured grunts and guttural groans escaped Michael as he put his strength to work, grabbing at your hips as he assisted in rocking you onto his cock. You let out a strangled whine, hands roving and tracing across his chest, nails lightly digging into his abdomen as he began to move you up and down, accompanying your slower rhythm.

There was some relief, no longer having to use most of your legs, pushing your hips down, grinding onto his cock with a string of moans, your lead lagging forward. Michael’s rumbling sounded like that of a satisfied predator, enough to send vibrations into your fingers as they clamored to hold onto him. The pace was perfect — it was nearly romantic, steady and without an ounce of callousness or roughness.

“Feels so good,” You gasped, feeling his swollen cock twitch and throb inside of you, slathered in precum and sending pulsations into your cunt. Michael’s mouth fell against your collarbone again, placing a string of vigorous kisses all around, steadily humping you into his cock. It couldn’t have been any better, the intimate sweetness of it all making you dizzy.

The both of you were lazily rolling and grinding against the other, his cock buried as far as it could go, your cunt snug and wet around him. He was bringing you up and down in tandem with your own movements, keeping it slow and steady, never straying off toward something rough. Your moans were plentiful, high-pitched and veering off into whines.

Locked in a stare, Michael could practically feel the adoration and attraction rolling off of you in heady waves, and he craved you so horribly. If his obsession wasn’t bad enough already, you were making it so much worse, panting and mewling as you kept sinking yourself onto his cock. You were touching everywhere that you could, scratching at his chest as you neared your orgasm.

Trails of red that were left behind from your nails made him all the more riled up — your mark embellished upon his flesh. Michael growled, grunting over and over again, fingers pressed into the pliant, supple flesh of your hips like a vice. He looked so perfect like this, disheveled and hair tousled all around his face, muscles taut and abdomen bare, shirt riding up toward his sternum.

“I love you.” It slipped — you didn’t even think, but you meant it wholeheartedly, shuddering and gasping as his pupils became blown out, black saucers that eclipsed the iris of blue. Michael’s breathing became heavier almost instantaneously, grunting as he continued to let you ride his cock, amorous and passionate as ever.

Michael’s chest tightened with a flurry of foreign feelings, his stare becoming glassy, a flicker of emotion dancing within his eyes as you rode him vigorously, languidly letting your hips crash into his. His cock felt incredible, stuffing you full until you couldn’t bear it any longer, swayed into your orgasm with a strenuous mewl.

You hunched, letting one of your hands rest just above his collarbone, digits gently stroking at his neck as he continued to push you down onto his cock. Michael was cumming inside of you without any forewarning, not that it mattered too terribly, grunting and heaving with husky groans, watching you shudder around him. He leaned up until the two of you were chest to chest, tangled into one another.

The aftermath was nothing short of blissful as Michael pulled out of you, letting you collapse on top of him. You did zip his coveralls back up above his hips, but with enough prodding and pleading, he was willing to leave it unzipped enough for you to keep touching him. His massive hand slipped against your face, urging you to look at him, and you were creeping forward, eager to kiss him again.

His thumb traced across your lower lip the moment you pulled away, and Michael’s stare happened to be profoundly soft, caressing you as he draped his other arm across your back. With a possessive squeeze, you were pinned on top of him, dazed and enamored.

With furrowed brows, Michael grunted, lips parting as one singular word escaped him, a word you’d become all too familiar with, akin to the baritone rolling of thunder, “Mine.”

[rapturously]

bestie im here to beg for some daddy myers smut with breeding kink. peepaw needs to fuckin own reader PLEASE. idc anymore im down bad 😩

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙤𝙣𝙚-𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡 𝙢𝙮𝙚𝙧𝙨 ( 𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙬 ) 𝙭 𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙗!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏/18+! 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠, 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙚, 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙫𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙠𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮, 𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙭 (𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜), 𝙢𝙚𝙜𝙖 𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙮 𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙬 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 3,003.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 !!! 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙄 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙗𝙤𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙩 ,,, 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣’𝙩 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧 ��𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙬 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙂𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙏! 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮’𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @loraxlola ; @the-wordis-bird ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @suguruswife ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @dootys ; @mehidktbh ; @lttlegore ; @darklylucid ; @krakersy ; @comicalrage ; @horrorstories123 ; @the-anxious-youth ; @callmemeelah ; @bloodwithpeachmilk ; @joelsgeetar

There’s a full moon above Haddonfield, casting the dreary town in a blast of pale light, silver pitted against the cloudless, black horizon. A warm breeze permeated the air, prompting you to keep your window cracked. Your neighbors have guests over tonight, must’ve been family — you could hear the rancorous laughter, spot several bodies drifting in and out of the house.

You’re distracted, people-watching through the windows, framed by heavy curtains. Your elbows perch against the wooden sill, body hunched and slouched as you rock back upon your heels. It’s another peaceful night for you — sluggish, but it’s quiet.

A faint thud resonates throughout the house as you hear the back door shut, your immediate response being some pang of excitement that hits right into the pit of your stomach. You leave your bedroom door open, same as every other evening, watching Michael’s statuesque reflection come into view.

The weathered, white rubber mask haunts your steps, claws at every waking moment, but you love it — you’ve become so enamored, so entangled that you and Michael are bound, now. Black pits bore directly into you, catching your doe-eyed stare as you watch his reflection creep closer.

It’s as if your heart is being squeezed, beginning to hammer with anticipation, and then you see the glinting of the knife. It’s been cleaned, only specks of blood remaining, but the rest of him is in some disheveled state, stained with crimson splotches all over the dark fabric of his coveralls.

Michael had gotten very comfortable with you, slipping into some state of complacency where he’s become trustful of you, no longer stewing in suspicion and uncertainty. It’s something he never expected, something foreign — you’ve handled his vitriolic obsession very well, and he admires you for that.

Adrenaline hangs heavy within his veins, still bristling and burning with the aftermath of his hunt. Michael’s hawkish glower rakes over you, drinking you in as you slowly turn to face him, sliding the window shut in the process. You’re enticing — you look perfect, clad in threadbare garments, poised against the windowsill.

You know what he wants — Michael isn’t good at subtlety.

His breathing rings out from within the mask, ragged and hoarse, chest faintly rising and falling as he begins to step toward you, his knuckles white as they tighten around the handle of the knife. Your immediate obedience, succumbing so easily to mere presence alone is something that entices Michael to no end. You shut the curtains, bedroom illuminated only by the nightlight on your vanity.

Shadows dance across the mask, the faintest sliver of light reflecting within his milky ocular. Michael corners you against your mattress, calloused hand wrapping around your throat. He wants you so bad — it’s worse this time for reasons that he can’t quite comprehend, aching with a blistering want.

There is a domineering pressure laced into his grasp, coaxing you down onto your knees. Michael rarely demands this, but he’s craving your attention now more than ever. It’s a slow, deliberate descent to the hardwood floor, your knees supported only by the shag rug underneath. Those abyssal pits are angled down at your face, bloodied palm cupping your cheek.

Rough digits trace over your jaw, marking you in some inklings of crimson, perusing toward your cheekbone. You’re beautiful — perfect even, trapped underneath him like prey within the jaws of a predator. Michael wants to own you, he wants to make it known exactly who you belong to, each and every time.

That’s when you feel the sharp tip of the knife jutting into your clothed shoulder, feeling it drag along until the flat of the blade rests against your neck. Michael’s other hand does nothing except to caress your face, tensing up when your fingers clamor for the lower zipper of his coveralls. Maybe you’re a little too eager this time around, but he revels in it.

The knife adds some element of danger and thrill to an already provocative scenario, goosebumps prickling all over your flesh as you feel the blade dip toward your jugular. It’s only the flat of the blade, the part with less lethality, and it’s ice-cold, making you shiver as you meticulously work at freeing his cock.

Michael is hard already, watching you submit like this, giving yourself to him. A low, sonorous grunt rips through the back of his throat as soon as you pry the zipper aside, shifting some of the buttons aside. There is a divide down the center of his coveralls, chest clad in a black, long-sleeved shirt.

Scars reside in many places across his body, grizzled physique laced with wounds from both past and present. Michael goes commando, which doesn’t surprise you whatsoever. His ironclad grip drifts from your throat to your hair, digits sinking into your scalp, grabbing ahold of your tresses. It hurts just a little bit, but you feel the knife turn slightly, faintly prodding into your neck, and you get to work.

It’s difficult to concentrate fully with his intimidating stare trained directly at you, head cocked to one side, but you remain vigilant, fingers wrapping around the length of his erection. A softer grunt emerges from within his chest, fingers tensing within your hair as you steadily work your hand along his cock.

You try to avoid teasing him this time around, able to detect the palpable, heavy air of tension that hangs between the both of you. Michael tends to grow impatient if you make him wait, and you can feel the intensity of his stare swell like a burning flame. It sends shockwaves right into the pit of your stomach as the dull edge of the knife presses into your windpipe.

Whatever stretch of his cock that isn’t covered by your mouth is remedied by the warm sensation of your palm, gently clamped around his length. Michael lets out a guttural grunt, watching as your lips part to take him into your maw. Your jaw stretches slightly, accommodating his size, throat beginning to tighten.

The soft bobbing of your head is enough to drive him crazy, burning with the incendiary desire to fuck you right into the mattress as soon as you’re finished. Michael doesn’t want to hurt you, but his hand feels like a tight vice within your tresses, rooted right at the back of your skull, easing your mouth forward.

His hips stutter as you begin to suck him off, another growl ripping through his chest, sharp and enunciated, enough to make you shiver. Easing your head back and forth, you barely have to do any of the work at all. Michael becomes invigorated very quickly, enthralled and enamored as he begins to jump into a rougher pace.

You gag just a little bit, regaining your composure as you breathe in and out through your nose, staring up at the intimidating shadow of The Shape. Michael treats you more compassionately than he would anybody else, attempting to restrain himself from throat-fucking you. There’s an edge of callousness to his actions, but not enough to draw concern.

Cold steel tenses against your windpipe as Michael rakes the dull edge of the blade over your flesh. He begins to let it drift, jutting the tip into the base of your throat, watching you moan around his cock. The noise is muffled of course, but it’s intoxicating to watch you shiver, your hand finding its purchase against his leg.

Shrouded by darkness, the orange glow of your nightlight saturates Michael’s hulking form, and from below, he looks far more terrifying. You keep your tongue active, letting it lay flat against the underside of his cock, throaty noises escaping you as he continuously brings your head forward.

It feels just as perfect for you as it does for him, igniting a fire within your belly that demands to be extinguished — and you know Michael will put it out for you. Your bedroom is swiftly filled with lewd noises and an amorous tension that could be sliced clean by a knife.

The familiar roving of the blade finally rests against your jaw, taut and pulled open by Michael’s cock. You almost wince when he playfully teases your silky flesh with the sharper edge, but it’s like the caress of a feather. Michael would never hurt you, not in such a careless manner.

You want to touch yourself so bad — the fiery ache between your thighs refuses to cease, feeling slick and warm as you let Michael use your mouth as he pleases. Your eyes flutter upward, drifting from his rugged, grizzled torso to those familiar pits, only you can see the glinting of cerulean behind those void-like gaps in the mask.

Clamping your thighs together, you groan when his cock nearly hits the back of your throat, prompting you to sharply inhale. You whimper despite all sound coagulating within your chest, nails sinking into his leg as Michael’s hips jut forward. The urge to break you comes into full swing, but he’s saving it, waiting to be inside of you instead.

The pressure begins to mount as thin ropes of precum shoot into the back of your mouth, which you swallow to the best of your ability. His cock is thick and unbearably warm, bleeding heat as you continue to suck him off, using your tongue and remainder of your hand as much as you’re able to.

You swear you can hear Michael moan, but it’s so deep and so guttural that it could’ve been passed off for another grunt of his. Those roughened, strong digits grip themselves into your hair, forcing you down the rest of his length until you choke, sputtering and gagging on his cock until you can regain control of your breathing.

Michael cums then and there, never flinching as you dig your nails into his leg so hard that it could’ve drawn blood. Hot ropes of seed procure themselves into the tight cavern of your throat, and you swallow every bit of it. He only relinquishes the hold upon your hair until he’s had enough, moving you off of his mouth with some lascivious sound.

There isn’t any time to process it — he’s discarding the knife onto your nightstand and picking you up off of the floor, practically tossing you down onto the bed. You’re on your back, feeling his colossal form wedge itself right in between your legs, palms kneading into your thighs. Michael tugs your shorts and panties off immediately, throwing them backwards.

Delighted to find that you’re soaking wet, Michael growls, unbearably hard and wholly prepared to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Both of those bloodstained hands clap right into the swell of your hips, dragging you forward until you’re nearly flush with his groin.

The mask stays on this time, and you don’t mind, not in the slightest. It’s extremely arousing to you now, when he’s pushed to the edge and utilizing every ounce of his strength to fuck you, and other times, not so much. Your breath hitches as he easily guides himself back to your cunt, swollen head of his cock parting past your folds.

“Want you to cum in me,” You mewl, hands desperately clamoring to hold on, and so you grab his forearms, feeling taut, corded muscle underneath. “Please, Michael.” Your desperate pleas are met with great enthusiasm, effectively activating his breeding kink, often dormant until your sultry words set him off.

Michael is gripping your hips so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises come morning, and as soon as he rocks forward with the first thrust, unyieldingly brutal, you know that you’re in for it. You’ve provoked him, and he’s akin to a bull out of the pen, rutting into you so hard that you jolt backwards.

“Christ!” You cry out, listening to a snarl emerge from within the mask, making you tremble underneath him as he immediately sets out to fuck you. The smack of flesh against flesh shamelessly fills the room, making your skin crawl with an incendiary warmth.

His brutish stamina makes you forget his age — Michael doesn’t fuck like a sixty-one year old, he fucks like he’s young and in the prime of his life. He’s brazen and he’s needy, so hellbent on breeding you despite his infertility. Maybe that’s what makes it so enticing, the idea of filling you up, making you his, knowing that there won’t be any consequences.

The Shape consumes you time and time again — he owns you, you’re his. Such sentiments are laced into every thrust, every fiber of his being cries out for you. Michael has never felt such desperation before, but it seems to mirror your own, if not rival it altogether. His grunts are thunderous as he fucks you down into the mattress.

The bed creaks and groans somewhat in protest, but neither of you pay it any mind. You’re loud, lavishing Michael with your symphony of moans and whimpers as he rails you without pause. He brings your hips down to meet the crashing of his hips, the impact so hard that it sends you careening in all directions.

“Mich—Michael,” You moan, head lagging back into your downy comforter, legs spread far apart to accommodate his mass. One hand finally breaks away from your hips, but he’s still more than powerful enough to wrangle you with ease, bend you to him. “Fuck me.” You whimper.

At last, that leathery, roughened hand finds itself tangled around your throat, practically pinning you down into the bed as he batters your cunt with the force of a tank. Michael doesn’t suffocate you, he’s always cautious about the amount of pressure he applies, but his digits do tense around your windpipe.

It’s a combination of sensations and feelings that leave you wanting so much more, lulled into submission by the lewd clap of flesh against flesh. Michael buries his cock inside of your tight slit with each thrust, pounding into you until he can’t go any further. He’s not slowing down, surviving off of adrenaline and fumes, wanting to stuff you full with his cum.

This is likely the most invigorated he’s ever been — you have no idea what’s gotten into him, why he’s behaving as if this is the last time he’ll ever fuck you, but you don’t care. To you, it’s beyond perfect, enough to make tendrils of drool leak from the corners of your mouth as he sends you into a blissful oblivion.

Michael can hear you whimpering and sputtering about cumming inside of you, making his cock throb and ache with want, and he hasn’t the slightest clue of what makes him snap. He roughly turns you over, picking you up with one arm, hand still tangled around your throat as he presses his chest to your back.

Your legs are rattling, shaking so bad as you weakly kneel on the mattress as best as possible. Michael’s got one hand on your hips, the other squeezing at your jugular, occasionally stealing slivers of air from your lungs as he fucks you senseless. Everything is melting into some euphoric haze, and you clamor to hold on.

The pale rubber of his mask scrapes into the side of your face, and Michael’s heavy, husky breathing is sounding off right into your ear. Goosebumps break out all along your spine as he continues to rut into you, keeping you locked in against him. There’s nowhere to go, no room to squirm and writhe as you cry out.

Your inner thighs are sticky with both precum and your own arousal as he fucks into you, nearing a second orgasm, wanting to fill you up so bad. Michael is at your mercy, whether you realize it or not, just as much as you are at his. Your cunt clenched around his cock as you let out another strangled moan.

“Cum inside of me,” You beg again, even if you know he’ll do exactly as you say. “Need you so bad.” You huff, stomach akin to mush, your legs numb and sore. Bruises and angry red marks are left behind on your hips, scalp pulsating with dull throbbing from where he wrangled your hair.

Michael’s only thoughts consist of vulgarities, breeding you, stuffing you full until you’re more than satiated. His hunger for you is never sated, never quelled, but the fire has begun to simmer within the both of you. As he fucks your cunt with another series of rough, bruising thrusts, he finally cums, ropes of hot seed painting your insides.

You whimper, cumming on his cock at the same time he was stuffing you to the brim. It sounds like you've just run a marathon, and Michael’s hand finally slacks against your throat, letting you breathe again without hindrance. He’s too possessive and too caught-up within the moment to pull out of you,

Settling onto the mattress with you in his lap, Michael’s surge of roughness ebbs away, replaced with a strange twinge of softness as he pries his mask aside. Pale rubber is soon replaced with the soothing scratch of his grizzled countenance, nestling right into your cheek, lips pressing themselves against your neck.

With his arms locked around you, you try to move off of his cock to clean yourself up, clean the mess up, but you’re met with an immediate protest. Michael forcefully yanks you back down, keeping you situated atop his cock. He’s not ready to leave the sensation of you just yet, chin perched atop your shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” You murmur, smiling all the while before you lean back into him. If you’re going to stay like this, you might as well get comfortable. There is a long stretch of silence, Michael’s lips drifting everywhere that they can reach, peppering across your jaw and your cheek. “But you’re helping me clean up.”

The only answer that you receive is a grunt, and a hand groping at your ass.