pairing. jet black rockstar!luke x rockstar!reader

summary. from wearing one of his shirts as your outfit on stage and the two of you dyeing your hair black together to messy makeouts and not-so-subtle touches when no one was looking, sharing the stage with Luke was harder than you expected.

warnings. +18. mdni. EXPLICIT CONTENT. smut. oral sex (m receiving). fingering. pussy slapping. mouth spitting. denegration. choking. dirty talk. angst. muke allegations. yearning. situationship final boss. lip ring!luke. chirophilia. praise. throat fucking. dom!luke. masturbation. use of explicit words. avoidant attachment style. friends slash bandmates with benefits. obsession. petnames. alcohol and weed use.

wc. 6,1k.

now playing. smut by jutes.

The air hung thick inside the arena, the bass nothing more than a dizzying hum, seeping beneath every pore without permission, untamed, relentless, the vibration settling somewhere deep in your bones. Your fingers were trained in the play of the four metal strings, the chords of “SMUT” a familiar melody in a final encore. Countless days filled with rehearsals, the kind of practice now second nature, sweaty, frantic bodies driven by the way Echo Fever moved under the red stage lights.

The burn of alcohol coursed through your veins along a path that by now felt familiar, settling easy, sinking deep through your system, merging with the usual buzz of being the bassist in an alternative rock band with the same boys who had seen your best and your worst–playing arenas, living on the road; you had been made for this.

The dizziness was indulgent, welcome, your eyelids fluttering shut in slower, heavier blinks, your body so surrendered to the moment that every cell obeyed before the thought could even form; hips restless to the music, swaying back and forth in time with the subtle guidance of your fingertips, the allure almost effortless.

“Make it filthy ’cause i love when you treat me like a slut.” The final words dissolved into obscene murmurs as they slipped past Luke’s lips–parted, far too close to the microphone; blue irises nearly swallowed by black, drowned in your gaze.

The guitar chords were intoxicating, loud in the way they spoke to you. Luke’s fingers moved with a kind of mastery your eyes couldn’t help but follow, lingering in stares you swore were subtle, far too hypnotized to register anything beyond the vulgarity of his digits dancing over the metal strings. It resonated through every fiber of your body, and still, the final point always settled between your legs; that same familiar pressure that built whenever you paid too much attention to the sin that was Luke Hemmings’ existence.

And Luke knew, far more than you wished he did the effect he had on you–how your throat went dry when you swallowed, how your gaze never quite held his, always drifting to his hands or his mouth, how your breath caught sharp in your chest the second his hand rested, even briefly, on your waist as he passed by, how shivers tore down your spine when he murmured into your ear; fleeting, visceral doses of the obsession you fed him so willingly.

The line blurred somewhere along the way, you couldn’t quite remember when your reality began to orbit the way he kissed you, the way his hands wandered your body with a kind of hunger that made you believe you could be something more; he was convincing on his knees, the same lips that went down on you were the ones that kept you full of lies.

It was almost unconscious when you drifted closer to him on stage, an impulse too strong to swallow; a few curls clung to your forehead, your gaze locked on the only star you followed, fingers insatiable against the bass, a smile you couldn’t contain aimed solely at him. Luke smiled back as if he weren’t responsible for the heat thrumming through your entire body, his frame angled just slightly toward you as he shifted to make space at the mic, a silent invitation.

Face to face, it was like nothing else dared to exist. You lifted onto your toes just enough to reach the microphone, the height difference forcing you closer, your voice melting into his in a harmony you both knew people would be talking about long after the show ended.

“Come fuck me like you hate me, eyes rollin’ in your head, blackout…” The lyrics slipped easily from your lips, that deep blue rooted so far inside you it took extra focus not to mess everything up.

The spark that ignited whenever you sang to each other burned hot enough to start a fire, eyes locked, unable to look away from the flames you became on stage. The rumors that followed your names only grew stronger in moments like these, whispers spreading when you showed up wearing one of his shirts as your outfit for the night, when you both appeared with black hair at the same time, when your mouths hovered far too close as you shared a microphone; details that never went unnoticed by the fans. You indulged in those assumptions as if somewhere in them you might find your truth; at least in those words, he belonged to you.

“You guys look fucking hot sharing a mic like that. Speaking my truth right now, i feel like– crazy sexual tension coming off you. You should just fuck already. But like– don’t fucking ruin the band or anything, that’d be awkward as fuck and i’d hate having to meet new people to start over.” Michael’s voice carried through the backstage halls, honesty and alcohol sitting heavy on his tongue. Of course, he didn’t know, no one did except the two of you.

“You didn’t seem worried about ruining the band when you had your mouth around my–“ Luke slung an arm around the redhead’s waist, walking alongside him, pulling him closer.

“We were teenagers! The band wasn’t even a real thing yet! Give me a fucking break, dude!” Michael shot back, more exasperated than he could hide, hands moving wildly as he gestured toward his head. Ashton’s laughter bled into yours as the two of you watched the same banter that somehow always followed them.

“Mmmm, i don’t know about that, but i mean… i’m down if you are. Bet you’re way better at sucking dick now than you were back then, with all that experience and shit…” Luke turned toward him, that same boyish smirk playing at the corners of his mouth that make your head spin. Maroon spread across Michael’s cheeks instantly.

“Come on, Hemmings, leave Mikey alone!” You cut in before even realising, quick steps carrying you into the band’s dressing room.

“Ohhh, Mikey…” he teased, finally relenting; Michael’s muttered insult dying on his lips when Luke pressed a quick kiss to his temple, hands already pushing the lead vocalist away.

Like a dog on a leash, Luke obeyed, hands raised in mock surrender before dropping onto one of the leather couches, head falling back, manspreading like the fucking whore he was.

The post-show adrenaline lingered like the smoke currently slipping from between Ashton’s lips, his fingers busy as he passed the joint to Luke. This was the part where you all caught your breath, gossiped about whatever you’d noticed in the crowd, get high as fuck, and just soaked in the comfort of each other before heading out to some local bar, getting wasted and dancing until you blacked out, already itching to do it all over again the next day; the routine Echo Fever followed religiously on tour.

The euphoric chatter of your friends blurred into white noise in your ears. You remained standing, the high from the performance still alive under your skin, the dampness of your underwear now far too noticeable for you to sit without rubbing pathetically against the cushions; especially with that asshole making no effort to hide the way his gaze dragged down your body, over the black lace, the garter tights hugging your thighs; you could’ve sworn you saw him spread his legs just a little wider in response.

“You gonna stand there like a haunted ghost or are you gonna sit and smoke with us?” Michael asked, sass dripping from his tone.

Suddenly, you were hyper-aware of every pair of eyes on you. “Honestly, i’m feeling kinda sick– i think the alcohol hit harder than i realised and all that moving around on stage doesn’t help, you know how i get,” you said, the excuse not entirely a lie. “I’m gonna head to my dressing room. Need to focus before i actually throw up and you guys can’t shut the fuck up for more than one minute, sooo. Don’t forget me here. I’m out. Peace, bitches.”

Your words hung in the air as you turned, steps quicker than necessary as you made your way to your dressing room–you knew exactly what you were doing when you insisted on having one to yourself.

The padding swallowed your body in a comfortable embrace, you’d barely sat down before your legs parted on their own, the small pair of shorts you wore under Luke’s shirt already discarded, forgotten somewhere on the floor. Your head fell back against the leather, the ceiling spinning as your hand slid over your own throbbing need, a low hiss slipping past your lips at the faintest contact through the fabric. The material only amplified the torture you were putting yourself through.

Oh, look at me, i look like fucking Lucifer, i look good wearing eyeliner, i have a sultry slutty voice, i’m tall, i’m really fucking good at playing guitar and, not shockingly, i’ve got a really huge dick.

Oh, fuck you, Luke Hemmings.

So what if his name was the one falling from your lips in heavy breaths as your touch circled your clit? So what if you imagined his fingers on you moving with the same precision, the same intensity he used on his guitar? He could go fuck himself.

“M–…Mmpf, L–…Luke…” His name shaped itself on your lips like a prayer, two fingers sinking deeper into your heat, the image of him, whoring himself out on stage like the rockstar he was born to be, burning into your eyelids every time you blinked.

Second night of the tour and you were already here, shaking under your own stroke, calling your bandmate’s name like it might save you from the obscenities your mind kept projecting onto him.

Your body twisted, hips lifting off the couch just as that fucking knock echoed through the dressing room. Always the same pattern, you’d recognize it from vibrations alone if you had to.

No fucking way.

Your body went still for a second, fingers slipping out, legs unsteady as you pushed yourself up. Your movements bordered on impulsive as you made your way to the door, wiping your fingers against the fabric of the same shirt–his shirt–that you kept tugging down over your thighs.

“What?” you snapped, tone impatient, irritation bleeding into your voice as you yanked the door open.

“You wanna know what’s not adding up?” Luke didn’t wait for an invitation before stepping in like he owned the place, forcing you to take a few steps back as he invaded your space like a storm without warning, the door clicking shut behind him. “Every time you feel sick from drinking, you smoke, because following that weird logic of yours, it helps you with the nausea, so… why didn’t you–“

Fingers curling around the black tie beneath his leather jacket, you tugged him toward you before he could keep running his mouth, shutting him up the only way that ever seemed to work.

Luke’s hands wasted no time finding your waist, one sliding up into your hair, fingers digging into the strands at the nape of your neck as his lips fell into the same rushed rhythm yours set.

It felt like you were one kiss away from snapping something with how eagerly you devoured him, your hands crawling along the curve of his waist while his came up to cradle your face, the backs of his thighs hitting the edge of the vanity, you all over him.

“Tell me, when you wear my shirt on stage… is that you trying to make me yours? Your way of staking a claim or do you just like giving them more to talk about?” he murmured, voice rough, lips greedy as they traced along your jaw, open-mouthed bites marking their way down your neck.

“I bet you love reading those comments…about how i can’t take my eyes off you on stage, how obsessed i must be. Is that what you get off on, baby?” his grip tightened in your hair, holding you steady as his teeth dragged against your skin.

A dark little laugh ripped through your lips, your head tilting slightly to the side, an offering–oh, if only he knew.

“Gotta show who holds the leash,” you drawled, fingers curling sharply at his waist. “But it’s not for them, no, not for them,” that same smirk pulled at your lips as your hand slid up into his curls, tugging without restraint until his eyes met yours. “It’s for your fucking groupies. They need to know their place.” Your hand closed around his throat, firm, just enough to make a point.

On his face, you find the same depravity that stares back at you in the mirror. His pupils dilate the second he gets a taste of what he’s always craved, that same hunger to be wanted, feeding off you like some fucking vampire.

“Baby’s first time getting jealous, aw.” He cooed, blue eyes gleaming with the kind of perversion written all over his expression at the feel of your hand wrapped around his throat. Of course the fucker would enjoy it.

A cynical scoff is the only sound that leaves you, that same arrogant smirk mirrored right back at him. “Jealous? How could i be jealous when i know they don’t get wet for you like i do?” The honesty is raw, too real, but you couldn’t give a fuck right now; your grip tight as you hold him in place, your body pressing closer until you’re chest to chest, your chin tilting up just enough for your eyes to lock onto his.

Luke’s breath catches in his throat, blue blown wide and fixed on you, lips stubbornly refusing to give you anything but that same fucking grin that makes you want to paint him red with your mouth, chew him bones and all. You weren’t naive to think this sudden control surprised him, he pulled the strings; you were just another piece in his dollhouse.

The air in your lungs felt thinner by the second, the yearning spreading through every pore of your sweat-slick skin–and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. “That’s what you were up to? Is that why you ran off to lock yourself in here? Got baby all worked up?” Your eyes remained on the way his lips moved, lingering on the lip ring he liked to toy with between his teeth.

Your faces were close enough for his tequila laced breath ghost over your skin. You swallowed hard, unable to stop the way your rapid blinking gave away the composure you were trying so hard to hold onto. Luke didn’t need much effort to pull your hand away from his neck, the control shifting in the bat of an eye.

His palm was broad enough to cover your entire throat, grip tight, but never enough to take the pleasure out of it. His height loomed over you as your steps faltered backwards. “Your pussy gets wet just from me singing while looking at you? Fuck, baby…you’re needier than i thought.” Your lower back collided with the cushioning of the same couch you’d been touching yourself on just minutes ago, thinking about him, calling his name.

The words got lodged in your throat, too caught off guard to manage any kind of eye contact with him. That’s when Luke seemed to notice your shorts, abandoned on top of the carpet, the cocky smirk on his lips only growing now that he had the confirmation he needed without you having to say a word.

You expected it to feed his ego even more, expected his teasing filling the room again, expected that same arrogance sitting in his gaze–but instead, his hand grew heavier around your throat, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that felt almost devoted. No performance, no games; just tongue, teeth, saliva, and the sharp, addictive drag of his lip ring.

Your hands were eager at his waist before slipping down to his ass, palms filling with his flesh as you pulled him closer. Luke’s touch climbed back up to your face, holding you with a gentleness that made you question what your skin was made of, his lips avid as they sealed against the corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw. You squeezed his ass again, ripping a gasp out of him. “Let me take care of you… i can fuck you way better than your fingers ever could, i promise.” He rasped, breath hot as his mouth brushed against yours, body pressed so close to yours that you could feel just how uncomfortable he was in his pants.

Your fingers wrapped around his wrists where they held your face, your eyes locking onto his, pulling him in. Steady breath was no longer a thing between you two. “I want yours… i want you to fuck me with your fingers, please… like you play your guitar.” Your voice came out smaller than you expected, a slight furrow in your brows as your gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes.

Luke leaned back just enough to let his eyes trace every feature of your face. “Yeah? Is that what my girl wants?” His voice was sinful, low and velvety, settling deep between your thighs, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek.

My girl.

The words sank into you, further than they should have, even knowing it was just a moment, even knowing it was lust sitting heavy on his tongue. Eyes slipping shut in a blink, a small nod coming with it, you believed you were his girl.

Luke was quick, steeped in impatience, his mouth devouring yours as if he hadn’t fed in days, tongue dragging against yours, palms roaming down your body to your thighs, the snap of your garter against your skin bleeding into the sounds of your kisses and gasps as his fingers caught in the lace his eyes had been so eager to study before.

His hands were large as they closed around the flesh of your thighs, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing to him. In one frantic, careless motion, your back collided with his chest just as his met the cushioned surface, positioning you in his lap, his bulge perceivable where it pressed against your ass.

Your torso arched forward in thick breaths, anticipation spreading through your nerves just as heat pooled low in your stomach. His digits moved between the gap of your thighs, red blooming along the inside of your skin from the pressure of his grip before his touch reached the dampness of your panties. The sharp tremor of your body over his at the slightest contact was more than enough for something to cut through his teeth in a wolfish grin, chest rising and falling just as heavily as yours.

His lips hovered near your ear, his voice no more than a rough whisper. “This wet for me and keeping it all to yourself, baby? You’re so fucking greedy.” Your eyes fell shut at once, lips parting as if already pleading for whatever Luke was willing to give.

The length of his fingers was long, pressing with precision as they slid over your, still covered, soaked cunt, the tip of one of his digits teasing just enough as it mimicked a slow thrust at your entrance, the drenched fabric dipping with it. One of your hands dropped to his thigh, seeking something to hold onto in the thickness of it.

“You can’t even make it through a show without fantasizing about my fingers touching you like this, can you? You’re so pathetic, so fucking needy for me.” The same hand hooked into the waistband of your panties, the fabric tugged just enough to press against your clit.

Your hips pushed up greedily, chasing more of that friction, restless in their need, your head tipping back slightly to rest against one of his broad shoulders as broken, soft murmurs slipped past your lips.

Luke’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth in quiet disapproval. “Nuh-uh. You stay still. You take what i give you.” You could come just from hearing that voice in your ear, you were sure of it. “S-…sorry, i just–“ The words died in your throat, weak, dragged out.

“You just what, baby? Want me to finger you breathless? Want me to play with your pussy the same way i play my guitar?” His hand slipped beneath the fabric, set on skin-to-skin contact. The tip of his digit was light, agonizing in its slow, unsteady glide over your clit before sliding through your slick folds, the pressure dizzying as it edged your entrance.

Your teeth were sunk into your bottom lip in a naive attempt to hold back the urge to grind against his touch, pleas threatening to rip from your throat with the same urgency that needy sounds broke past your lips–nothing coherent, but it was all you could manage to give him.

“Use your words,” he rasped, giving your pussy a light slap. “F–...fuck–“ It ripped out of you without warning, your hips bucking up insatiably. Luke almost choked on his breath. “You like that? You like your pussy getting slapped? God, you’re something else.” A whimper spilled from you, your pelvis twitching upward again. He slapped your core once more, drawing another whimper from you. “Such a filthy little thing. Say what a filthy girl you are, baby.” His teeth caught on your earlobe, tugging just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Y–...yes, f–…fuck, i’m so filthy– only...only for y-..you, Luke, only ever...f-..for..you– i can’t–...i can’t even be too close to you on stage or i–“ Your babbling was cut off by a sharp moan when, without warning, Luke pushed two fingers inside you.

“Keep talking,” he urged, lips parted in shaky gasps against your ear, his gaze fixed on the way your pussy swallowed his fingers, sinking deep into your gummy walls as they tightened around them.

“S–...shit, or i…i get so...f–…fucking wet a–and it’s...it’s so...so embarrassing...” The words were forced out, your voice breaking as the stretch overwhelmed your nerves. The pad of his thumb didn’t hesitate to press against your clit and fuck, Luke knew exactly how to keep a rhythm–not as fast as you wanted, as you needed, but enough to keep your bottom lip nestled right in between the rows of your teeth so your moans wouldn’t carry past the dressing room.

Your head sank further against his shoulder, Luke’s free hand finding its way beneath your shirt, eager as it slipped into your bra to grope one of your breasts. “Is this how you imagined it? F–…fuck, look at it.”

You obeyed, the hand resting on his thigh digging deeper into his flesh as your gaze met the obscenity of his fingers, knuckle-deep, pumping with the same mastery you watched on stage into the slick heat of your cunt. Your mind could have never conjured something like this, and even as the weight of your eyelids begged you to give in, your eyes stayed locked on the way Luke fucked you.

The cadence of his movements grew more urgent, wet sloshes and the sound of your needy moans now muffled against the back of your hand filling the room, the scent of your cunt thick in the air. “Look how fucking hungry your pussy is, keeping my fingers inside, clenching around them like it can’t get enough of being fucked like this.”

The hand beneath your shirt moved between your breasts, your flesh disappearing into the span of his palm, the cold metal of his rings pressing against your skin in a shiver-inducing kiss. With every thrust, every squeeze, every filthy word breathed into your ear, your body answered with more frenzy, the high continuing to carve its way through your nerves, the end so clear low in your stomach. You were so close, you could almost taste it.

“I bet this tight little pussy can take one more, can’t it, baby? You’re doing so good for me, getting fucked like this in my lap, your fucking bandmate–“ His voice pushed at your limits, the friction at your clit stopping the moment Luke slid a third finger into you, a sharp cry tearing from your chest, your body still edgy over his lap–hips jerking upward, pelvis desperate to follow his thrusts, torso arching forward.

“Loud much, aren’t we? Keep this up and the boys are gonna hear you, is that what you want? You want the whole band knowing their bassist likes getting fucked like a filthy little slut?”

By now, Luke’s voice was nothing more than noise you tried to follow under the buzz ringing in your ears, his words only feeding the pressure coiling under your skin. One of your hands covered your mouth, your vision hazy with tears pooling at your lash line.

His movements grew sloppier with every second, a mess of how your slick slipped down your body, dragging between your cheeks, staining the couch with your juice. “I’m gonna–please, Luke, i’m gonna cum–“ Your voice came muffled against your palm, your head sinking into his shoulder just as your thighs, your whole body, began to tremble.

“That’s it. Soak my fingers like the good girl i know you are.”

And you did.

Calling his name against your hand, your thirsty walls pulsing around his fingers, your thighs shaking, tears slipping down your cheeks as your eyes squeezed shut so tightly stars burst behind your eyelids, every fiber of your body twisting in a pleasure only he could pull from you–it didn’t matter how many groupies you took to bed, didn’t matter how many times you told yourself you didn’t care about him or what he did to you; no one made you come like Luke.

You knew it. He knew it.

Nothing was as obscene as the sheen on his fingers as they slipped out of your cunt, your walls clenching the empty at the loss of him, the ruined fabric of your underwear settling back into place. “You okay, baby? Can you open your mouth for me?” Luke’s voice was softer now, sweetness lining its edges.

Your mouth parted without question, too deep in exhaustion and bliss to even consider holding onto any pride. “Ah, that’s it. That’s my girl. Taste yourself, baby. Taste how good i made you feel.” Your lips closed around his fingers–long, deep; filthy, marked. Your taste spread across your tongue without restraint, a moan slipping out of you around them.

“F–...fuck, come here.” Luke manhandled you until you were now facing him, straddling his lap, your legs settling on either side of his hips.

Sensitive and overstimulated, but not hesitant as you dragged your covered cunt over his bulge, the silky from your underwear responsible for the stain forming against the fabric. Luke’s gaze dropped to where you moved, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, the curve of his lips curling into a satisfied smirk–you could see his dimples so clearly now.

One of his hands slid through your curls, carefully brushing away the strands stuck to your sweat-kissed forehead. “Still with me?” he rasped, voice laced in something intimate.

“Mm-mhm.” The sound was soft, doe eyes locked on the embodiment of Lucifer in front of you, the air still scarce in your lungs, but easier to draw in now.

“Good.” His thumb dragged gently over your lower lip before he captured it with his own, slower this time, savoring the taste of you.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, your chests moving in sync, your hand turning slippery as it moved down to where he throbbed, your hips lifting slightly against him. He groaned against your mouth, his knuckles tightening in your hair, you let out a quiet giggle.

“I want you in my mouth. Please, Lu, can i?”” The murmurs came out charmingly against his lips, your hand stroking him in a slow, steady glide.

“You wanna put that pretty mouth to use, baby? You sure?” The words slipped between heavy breaths, dazzling blue fixed on you, searching for any trace of hesitation.

Your certainty showed when your knees hit the floor in one fluid motion, glassy eyes lifted to him as his legs spread wider, his hips jerking up instinctively. Your hands were hurried–both of you knew it was only a matter of time before Ashton or Michael knocked on the door, the arena growing emptier by the second, fewer instruments left to pack away–adrenaline ran through your veins just as easily as your palm wrapped around Luke’s cock; thick and heavy, his pretty flushed tip leaking pre-cum over your fingers.

“Fuck, Lu.” It slipped out before you even realized it, your thumb working to spread the sticky wetness over the swollen head. Luke shuddered at your touch, hypersensitive, his gaze dropping to where you knelt between his legs, tension running through him as his body leaned toward you.

“See how hard you make me, baby? Yeah, this is all for you. You’re gonna take the whole thing, aren’t you, sweetheart? Gonna make me cum so fucking good you’ll feel me on your tongue for days.” One of his hands slid into your curls, gripping just enough to keep you grounded, controlled.

Your head moved in a quiet nod, blinking up at him through your lashes, too far gone to put together a sentence, completely brainless when it came to that cock. You started with your tongue, licking a slow stripe from base to tip, a string of spit connecting your lips to his head, letting him feel the drag of your heat, the suction, the quiet greed lurking beneath it as you savoured the faint salt from his skin. The sound that tore from Luke was rough, drawn out, his eyes falling shut for a long blink, teeth catching on his lip ring.

You were intent, eager to take him into your mouth when he stopped you with a sharp pull to your hair, the thumb of his free hand brushing carefully over your bottom lip.

“Open.” The command was clear, direct, his sins stripped bare in the way his blue dripped over you.

Once again, you obeyed without hesitation. The same hunger that had once hone its teeth into your bones curled back into something pleased as Luke spat into your mouth, blunt, profane, his saliva pooling on your tongue.

“Swallow.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. You made a point to swallow before the command even fully settled, eyes locked onto his the entire time.

The smile that spread across Luke’s face was satisfied, proud. His back sank against the couch again, his hand still firm in your hair, his hips lifting in a silent instruction you already knew by heart how to follow.

The moment your lips stretched around his head–willing muscles working to take him inch by inch, pushing until your throat threatened to close around him, your palm covering what wouldn’t fit–Luke gasped like he’d just stepped off stage; his eyelids heavy, already fucked-out, lips parting like he was on the verge of confession.

Your pace wasn’t slow–no, not now. Your head moved in a steady up-and-down, guided by his grip, now tighter in your curls, teary eyes fixed on the only man you could ever worship. It was messy, obscene, saliva gathering at the corners of your mouth, enough to spill down your chin, dripping onto his balls as tears glossed over your flushed cheeks. You could barely breathe, almost gagging around him every time Luke’s hips thrusted upward, chasing a control he’d already lost.

“F–...fuck– look at you, baby, taking me so deep– so fucking good for me. Not much different from my groupies now, h-..huh?” His words broke apart between drawn-out whines spilling from his lips as he fucked into your throat, your eyes now rolling back. “but, s–...shit, i swear, that fucking throat’s gonna r-..ruin me for anyone else– it’s like it was made for my cock.” A wolfish grin tore across his teeth, his Adam’s apple exposed, bobbing as he let his head fall back against the couch.

Your grip was firm on Luke’s thick thighs, your nails digging into his skin, the sting only feeding to his pleasure. You pulled back for a second, lips swollen and slick with saliva and pre-cum like it was your new gloss, your hand pumping fast, the wet sound filling the dressing room, blending with Luke’s sweet, broken sounds. Fuck, your pussy was already dripping again, just from having him like this, just for you, your name was all he could manage in cracked gasps.

When your mouth took him again, Luke tried to behave for a few minutes that felt like torture to him, but it was pointless–he liked the profaneness of it, the sounds you made when he fucked into you with just enough precision to make you choke, his tip dragging deep along your throat, the muffled moan that came from deep within you when he used you like this, the wrecked, devoted look in your eyes that he knew you only gave to him.

“Fuck– f–...fuck– you’re so fucking pretty like this, baby, oh fuck– so g–...good– that mouth ‘s so fucking good f–...for me– i–…i can’t—” The praise spilled out involuntarily, nothing but broken babbles, his eyes locked on your kneeling figure like you were something sacred as he came hard down your throat, fucking into your mouth in small, desperate thrusts before pulling your head back with a loud pop, his cock twitching against your lips as the last drops smeared across your tongue.

Your blinks were quick, fluttering as you swallowed everything down, proudly. Your eyes were red, eyeliner smudged and blurred, lashes dark and damp from tears now drying on your cheeks, your chin still messy with saliva and cum before Luke–panting, half-lidded eyes–ran his thumb over it, wiping you clean with tender care before slipping his finger into his own mouth, cleaning it off.

Your throat burned, your knees felt numb, your jaw would ache for days, but God, it felt worth it when you noticed the way his eyes fell on you, like he was trying to carve that image of you into the walls of his mind forever. The earlier hunger in his gaze softened, something quieter replacing it, that boyish smirk curling back onto his lips.

“You okay? Did i take it too far?” There was no trace of that cockiness in his voice now, his hands careful as he helped you back up before your legs could give out and you ended up dropping beside him on the couch.

Your hand dragged across your chin, your cheeks, unsteady fingers brushing the corners of your eyes. “I’m–” You had to cough once before your voice came back. “I’m fine.” The small laugh that followed was awkward, almost shy.

Reality crept back in quietly, settling into the air, your awareness suddenly too sharp as it sank back into your bones. This was the part where you both pretended it hadn’t been anything, like this was a normal way to spend time between two friends. God, you needed more alcohol, sobriety wasn’t welcome right now.

Luke had already fixed his pants, even picked up your shorts from the floor and placed them beside you on the couch. His gaze fell on you like it was trained to, the sudden shift in the mood not going unnoticed by him. Your name left his lips in a slow, sweet drawl, his hand settling at the nape of your neck, guiding your face closer to his in a way that made you want to crawl under his skin.

“You did so, so good for me.” His finger slipped one of your curls behind your ear. “I know we say a lot of nonsense during sex, but fuck, no one does it like you. I swear.” His forehead rested on yours, your eyes following Luke’s as they closed for just a second, just a breath.

You didn’t know how to put it into words, how you wanted your body to be his, how you could feel his heartbeat in your head, how you wanted to mold your skin into his, how you wanted him to kiss every scar away, how you wanted him to be yours, yours, only yours, how you wanted to tear his chest open with your own hands and settle inside his heart.

Instead, you said the first thing that came to mind, attitude and cynicism curling on your tongue:

pairing. eater!luke x eater!reader

summary. “what is desire but to consume? the only difference between a kiss and a bite is how deep the teeth go. both can kill.”

warnings. +18. mdni. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. cannibalism. graphic gore. body horror. explicit sex (messy makeout, breast touching, dry humping, overstimulation, penetration). codependency. distorted mentions of god, devil and religion. religious trauma. sub!luke, but he’s a top. dirty talk (kinda). angsty. self-harm mention. horror. blood. worshipping. violence. gun use. panic. death.

wc. 4,9k.

now playing. tempest by ethel cain.

author’s note. it’s very important that you listen to the song throughout the entire read to have a more immersive experience. take the warnings seriously, please, this is heavily based on bones and all and ethel cain, the cannibalism here isn’t used as a metaphor of love but as an act of love and devotion, so it can be pretty gut wrenching and grotesque. keep that in mind if you’re sensitive, especially since this doesn’t have a happy ending. also this is pure fiction, my version on this story doesn’t reflect reality in any way, luke is just a vessel used for a character i created. if you don’t fuck with hannibal, bones and all, ethel cain, yellowjackets type of shit, you probably shouldn’t read this. with that said, i hope you enjoy. feel free to let me know your thoughts on it, thank you. :)

Luke’s howl ripped through your ears as it echoed. Sharp, vicious enough to swallow the growl of the old truck’s engine. His teeth were predatory, intimidating, blood smeared across the white, shreds of skin caught between his front incisors. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, fangs bared, he wouldn’t hesitate to bite. If you didn’t know him, you would fear him.

Your lips were parted, your breathing a restless thrum in your chest. The realization of what was happening settled over you, slow as the sinking of your teeth into the abdomen of a man whose face was now nothing but a blur–his body chewed up, torn open, left behind; the smell was what lingered most–overwhelming, crowding your nostrils, cloying with a rotten edge. Something alive ran through your veins, adrenaline screaming loud enough to choke down the guilt that would soon weigh on your bones.

Blue and red bled over his features in the shadows. Long, steady fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, blue eyes glaring into your soul, a smile aimed at you that you felt deep in your stomach. You warned him. Told him it was too exposed, that this wasn’t like the other towns you’d drifted through on the road. It didn’t matter. Your voice would never be louder than the hunger that tore at his guts.

Frenzy clung to Luke’s skin in a fidgety presence, threatening to slip out through every pore, the thrill of danger flickering in his gaze as it snapped between you and the open road. The clothes clinging to his body were as ruined as yours, blood and dirt dragged across the fabric and beneath your nails. The wail of a police siren, not far off, ripped through the desolate highway once more. There wasn’t much to see at that hour beyond the darkness creeping in, the green of the surrounding fields bleeding into the night sky.

Your body locked up before you even realized it. Your heartbeat pounded hard against the cage of your ribs, so violent it felt like your chest might cave under it. Your face tilted toward Luke’s, eyes dark and dim, lost on the only person who had ever felt like salvation from your own ruin.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. I promise.” His voice teetered in a thin line between angst and bliss, breath ragged as his lips met yours in a brief, sloppy kiss–iron spread past your lungs, seeping deeper into your crimson-red lips; in your mouth, Luke tasted of depravity and devotion.

You still remember when he found you.

Kneeling back on your heels inside a discarded building in the dead of the night, chest rising and falling in irregular bursts, blood drenching deeper into the white dress you wore–sticky and cooling against your skin. Mouth stained with that same shade of red you had grown familiar with, hands trembling in your lap, eyes roaming over the remains of something that God once breathed into–the cavity of the man’s chest torn open by hands that never looked strong enough to do it; muscle ripped apart, gaped to open air; skin shredded into pieces; the slick gleam of organs interrupted, managed, mouthed; pale bones laid bare under the moonlight, a ritualistic, sacred offering: the spilled seeds of divine fruit. The smell was thick–copper-rich, warm, something almost sickly sweet beneath it. It coated the back of your throat, but it never repulsed you.

Luke had been quiet when he arrived, wary steps cutting through the unsettling stillness–subtle, as if he feared startling a hostile animal. There was nothing in his face but the piercing glint of curiosity in his eyes, recognition settling in the silence between your breaths. Crouched in front of you, blue so deep it could swallow you whole, he muttered about how he had caught your scent from miles away while his fingers reached to brush the blood-stained strand of hair from where it clung to your forehead.

At the roots, you could see its natural dirty blonde shade through his silky, bleached curls, long enough to coil into a spiral right before his eyes; the same eyes that didn’t dare stray from your hunched figure. A decayed angel, you thought. Pink lips, so perfectly shaped, working around your name in a light, almost frisky tone that made the urge to see him come away stained red by you hone its teeth on your spine. With those sinful hands, you ached to tear your own chest open, beg him to crawl in, to consume him whole in a craving that edged into something almost righteous. Luke, Luke, Luke–you thought you knew hunger before him.

You had never known anyone like you, not your age–no one except for an old man who took pleasure in collecting souvenirs of his victims, always speaking of himself in the third person, you had sworn to stay away from Sully–and your sense of smell had never been sharp enough to pick out an eater from that far.

Luke hadn’t left your side since then.

“I starve,” he had confessed once, knees on the floor, lips dragging slow over the sharp bones of your hip, haunted eyes as they found yours with all the reverence forgotten in Catholicism, calloused hands worshipping in sanctified hymns as they slid up the sides of your thighs. “Can’t you see that’s the fucking problem? I starve and i starve and i starve. I am sick.”

“What do you starve for?” you rasped, voice velvet and low. Fingers buried deep, always trembling, in the sun-bleached strands that comforted, steadied you. Your head bowed toward the sinner kneeling before you.

“You. Everything. Strip me away. Feed on me. I’m yours.” He pressed his head against the hollow of your stomach, devout, in something that almost tasted like faith. “I’m yours.” The plea broke against his lips as it was born, head lifting toward his altar.

The Devil was cunning on your tongue, lurking in every breath, intimate as if he knew every impure fiber that made up your core.

Not him. Not him. Not him.

The prayers ran relentlessly through your head, growing louder, louder, like church bells.

Not him, God. Please. Not him.

The bargain clawed at the edges of your mind like sacred verses of the Bible rooted deep in the back of your skull–but the more you tried to call out to God, the more the realization that no one was coming to save you sank its claws into you; sleepless nights, on your knees beside the bed you longed to rot in, the old wooden cross on your wall as a witness, whispered prayers slipping past the gates of your lips, only to ricochet back to you; He was gone all along.

But the hunger, the hunger was an old companion, murmuring lullabies under its breath, lips pressed to your forehead. Its grip was unyielding, solid, a frightful hum underneath your bones, keeping upright a skeleton that should have long since crumbled to ash.

Treacherous, it showed itself in your aching gums; teeth clenching hard as you resisted your nature; yearning fingers itching to sink deeper and deeper.

There, with Luke at your feet–a guard dog, waiting, always waiting for whatever scraps he might be given to gnaw on, religiously at your side–you imagined the sound that would slip from his lips when your canines sank into his shoulder, your hands firm as you held him down while you took, and took, and took.

He would forgive you, you were certain.

Instead, your hands came to rest cautiously on either side of his face, holding him as though nothing God had ever made was holier. Lips eager colliding against his in a kiss where you knew this would be the closest to heaven you would ever get.

“Come on.” He blurted, baked blood on his fingertips brushing narrowly against your knee in an instinctive grip before he slipped out of the driver’s seat in a heated motion.

Adrift in the numb haze of dissociation, you hadn’t even noticed when the truck came to a stop in front of the closest thing you could call home; the shelter stolen from one of your sins. The police siren was nothing but a distant noise now, but you knew it better.

Your body moved before thought could catch up, hasty steps carrying you inside the house, its guts groaning as if in pain, aware of the horrors dragged in by the strangers that trespassed within it. The buzz clouded the edges of your eyesight, your breath so unsteady it felt like a game of hide and seek with an oncoming panic attack; you could hear it climbing the floors, drawing closer.

It was then that your back collided with the weary wallpaper of the bedroom wall, the one you had, for a few nights, called your own. Possessive, longing hands on your waist, crawling towards your hair, crimson smudged lips crashing against yours in a ravenous kiss, knee already pressuring its way between your legs; Luke was a storm pressed flush against your body.

You knew your man the way you knew your hunger. Formidable and perverse, teeth poised to indulge in your flesh; carving into the parts of you you had never seen.

And you let him. You let him when his hands went frantic in your hair, hauling you into a kiss with the same mouth that had just torn a heart open as easily as one would split a pomegranate, the moon and the gore bearing witness.

You prayed that in his lips you might find redemption, that when the hounds of hell came sniffing, they would drag him first by the ankles if they couldn’t tell where your rot ended and his began.

You were not like him, this did not give you purpose, did not thrill you. You fed because you had to, because it would gnaw you down to bone if you didn’t–unlike Luke, who had a boner every time you devoured someone; it was romantic when you shared a heart, he said.

Still, you loved him, even knowing your love would never be enough to save him.

“Lu, the cops–“ the nickname slipped from your lips–slick from the unexpected kiss–sweet and drawn out, your train of thought cut short when his mouth took over, sealing a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses along your jaw, dragging down the stretch of your neck, your head tipping back on instinct.

“I lost them. It’s just me and you now.” His voice came rough, muffled against your skin, you barely registered the needy whine that tore from your throat.

You knew that wasn’t true, the awareness coiling deep in your gut, something wrong rooting itself there. But God, when his broad palm slipped beneath the cotton of your shirt, fingers soft, almost tender as they traced your ribs, dragging along under the swell of your bare right breast before gripping, it was as if nothing else dared exist.

“Fuck– i wish you could’ve seen how my cock jerked in my pants just from hearing that pretty sound fall out of your mouth, baby. Don’t do this to me, i can’t take it–“ he panted, pulling your lips back to his; harder this time, impatient, unraveling inside his own devotion.

Luke’s hand snapped to your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, your hands bracing against the wall in a sharp reflex, swollen lips parting on a soft gasp, your face tipping over your left shoulder as both his hands gripped your breasts beneath your shirt. The cold kiss of silver from his rings against your bare skin sent your hips pushing back, meeting the forward grind of his. The vintage fabric of your skirt was thin enough for you to feel his bulge pressing against the curve of your ass–how long has he been like this?

You gasped again. “Fuck–“ your lips stayed parted, as obscene as the sounds slipping from them. Luke pressed closer, tighter.

“Do you know how hard it is to focus on getting away from the cops when my cock’s been hard since the second you looked at me with those fucking bambi eyes and blood dripping down your chin?” He purred against your ear before catching your earlobe between his teeth.

He kept your hardened nipples tight between his index and middle fingers on each hand, working them slow, deliberate, drawing you into a deeper arch toward him; an instinctive response, already famished and he had barely touched you.

A scoff tore out of your throat before you could swallow it back, a smirk threatening to curl at your lips. “You’re fucking sick.” You rasped, voice edging in a tone more amused than you managed.

“I am. I know i am.” The words came jagged, his mouth dragging over your shoulder, down to your pulse, sucking hard enough to rip a hiss from you. “But isn’t that how you want me? Sick and twisted?”

His right hand didn’t waste time slipping beneath your skirt, his middle finger barely brushing the cotton of your damp underwear, slipping through your clothed folds before gliding back up to press against your clit. A whine broke from you, your eyelids falling shut just to feel him better, your torso arching like you had any control left over your own body when all you wanted was to give in, more and more to his touch; slave to the slow circle of his left middle finger around your nipple, slave to the craving for him that drowned out any flicker of sense left in your Luke-addicted brain.

Luke was no different, panting into your ear like he was the one taking it, eyes shut as he felt your throb beneath his fingers, his forehead pressed into your shoulder like a devotee at prayer; condemned at your feet, ready to destroy himself at your call.

“Fuck– i can’t– bed. Now.” He’s breathless, whimpering like it hurt not to be buried inside you already, his hands leaving your body so abruptly it prickled along your nerves.

It didn’t take long before you were both stumbling into each other, mouths tangled in a mess of teeth, tongue, and spit. Your back hit the side of the mattress in a rushed motion, Luke settling between your legs while his hands fumbled at his jeans, shaking with urgency, his mouth never leaving yours.

Something bad lurked beneath it, the feeling in your core swelling with every second spent between broken gasps and sloppy kisses. You should tell him to stop, should grab your backpacks and head for the next western town. You felt it, you felt it, you felt it.

But the sin of the flesh didn’t end with your teeth sunk into someone; it carried on in your tongue dragging against his, always so eager for more and more of his taste.

His pants were pushed down as your skirt was hiked up, you feel him through his boxers, the vast length of him rubbing against the growing wetter fabric of your underwear. Your moans slipped long drawn between your mouths, Luke’s forehead falling lightly against yours.

“Fuck– that feels so good. You feel so good. God, i'd starve myself out ‘til i ended up eating my own fucking arms if you asked me to.” The confession came raw, lurching from his lips with ease.

It wasn’t just the moment, it wasn’t empty words. You knew the depravity of what you called his love for you.

One of your hands slid up into his curls, fingers lacing through his strands before tightening in a pull that rip a whine from him–that sound, fuck, you could come just from hearing it slipping through his lips–his hips answering in an increased rhythm, rubbing into you in a way that made it clear that if he kept going like that, it wouldn’t take long before you were both coming from that veiled contact alone.

Your chin lifted slightly, bone dry blood staining the skin there, eyes bright as they traced his angelic features under the dim light of the lamps you never really bothered to turn off. Your lips hung open, soft pants slipping out each time he moved against you with growing ease, the soggy fabric between your bodies making everything slicker, smoother.

“Lu, i need you– i need you inside me, please.” Your voice dipped, needy, your teeth catching his jaw in a slow, open-mouthed bite, pressing in just enough.

A hiss tore from Luke’s throat, eyes half-lidded as they found yours. “S–..shit, i don't think i can take it, baby.” He whined in that way only he could, face burying into the curve of your neck.

Your fingers dropped to the nape of his neck, a soft stroke ghosting over the skin before your hand returned to his curls–firm against his scalp, scratching just right. “You can, baby, you can. Don’t you wanna be good for me?” Your voice was rough against his ear.

“I do, i do.” He whimpered, lifting his face just enough to let his gaze fall to where he was humping against you. God, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the sticky mess.

Between ragged breaths and unsteady hands, there was nothing left between you. His blue poured into you just as deeply as his length slid inside you, your walls tight, greedy as they took him in completely.

“Fuck–“ you both breathed out, wrecked, panting mouth to mouth, a few of his curls falling across your face in a soft brush.

With his fingers digging into your thighs, he doesn’t hesitate to start moving. Hips pulling back for a split second, a shiver tearing up your spine, only to snap forward again in a hard thrust.

A guttural moan spills from your lips, both of yours kept parted. Your legs waste no time wrapping around his waist, always pulling him closer, always yearning more.

Skilfully, he finds a rhythm. It’s loud, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room, his balls slapping against your entrance with each rough thrust as your moans blur together in the seams of the four walls.

The stretch alone is enough to devour whatever sanity your cloudy brain had left. Luke, Luke, Luke–he’s everywhere, like a sickness spreading through you, filling every inch, every part of your body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby– you’re so fucking– mmm.” His teeth dig into his lower lip, the metallic taste of blood flooding his tongue in a way so filthy, so indulgent, he doesn’t even bother hiding the crooked, vicious smile he throws at you.

This is it, you think. You could die right there, in that exact second; Luke smiling at you, bloodied, twisted, sick, the perfect sinner filling you inch by inch, taking you to heaven and back, fucking you good.

“Fuck, Lu– y–..you could kill me right fucking now and i’d d–..die happily with a smile.” Somehow, you manage to get the words out mid broken moans and heavy breaths, unable to stop the smile that mirrors his.

Luke whimpered, bending just enough to press his lips to yours in kisses neither of you could hold for long without breaking with a moan.

“Y–..Yeah? I bet you’d like that, h–..hm? What a perverted, pretty little thing you are, b–..baby.” His words come out breathless against your mouth before his lips drag down your throat, your collarbone, your shoulder, soft bites scattered across your skin in small, consuming acts.

“Yours. All f–..fucking yours.” Your grip tightens in his curls, rougher now, your hips moving in sync with his thrusts; so full of him.

The high whine that tears from his lips would’ve been enough, but when Luke’s canines sink into your collarbone hard enough to draw blood, you knew; death was born in his fangs, in his tongue; in his mouth, you’d found a sin worth hurting for.

Your head falls back in a quiet offering, the pained grunt welcomed as it slips past your lips, fingers merciless in the pull at his hair.

You’re so close, you can feel it building deep inside you like it’s forcing space between your organs, ready to claim everything. And Luke is no different; every thrust, every wet sound between your bodies, every broken noise you make pushes him closer to the edge, held back only by the need to feel you fall apart first.

“I’m s–..so close, baby, so c–..close…” Your moan drags out, needy, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer like he’s your oxygen.

“I g–..got you, baby. I got you. Come f–..for me, come all over my cock, p–..please, i–..i need it.” There’s something ruined in his voice, something you’d only ever find in tragedy, his face burying itself back into the curve of your neck.

Luke’s fingers digging into your thigh will leave marks you’ll wear proudly the next day. One of his hands slipping between your legs, his middle finger working against that bud of nerves.

His name is the prayer that rises and dies on your lips as you come so hard the tightness of your walls milks every drop he had been holding back, a muffled cry pressed against your pulse.

Your limbs were boneless, a tangled mess slick with sweat, painted in streaks of red–blood and obsession. Through his flesh, he speaks to you; through your flesh, you understand him.

You’re just a feral dog i worship in bedroom ceremonials. Cut me up and take me like the bread and blood at church.

“Fuck, i love you, i love you so fucking much.” You could feel his lips moving against your skin, pressing tender kisses along the base of your throat, your pulse rising and falling beneath them as your giggle spilled through the room–eyes half-lidded, lips stretched into a vast smile, your fingers drifting through the hair at the nape of his neck as the sound of his giggle melted into yours.

That’s when the slam of car doors echoed through the thin walls of the house–nearly falling apart–followed by two unfamiliar voices, reduced to nothing but incoherent murmurs.

Your eyes found each other like they were the only thing you knew–wide, bodies going still, horror blooming through every inch of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You had heard those same words not minutes ago, the difference being the lack of panic sitting on his tongue then.

In seconds, Luke pulls his weight off of you, the abrupt absence hitting you in amber waves. His fingers tremble as he hastily fix his clothes back onto his body, your movements suddenly mirroring his.

The wooden door is kicked open without restraint, cautious, heavy footsteps creaking against the floorboards, creeping in. The Devil had heard your hymns, He was here to take you, to rip you away from Luke.

Luke is quick, grabbing both of your backpacks, the ones you had never seen the need to unpack–it was only ever a matter of time before you moved on to the next town after all–handing you yours, slipping the straps over his shoulders.

“Luke?” Fear laces your voice, he can feel it crawling beneath his skin.

You’re on your feet, watching as he moves toward the window, warped from age–trying, trying, trying.

“Luke!” The sharp cry tears from your throat, fear now spreading across your face as your hands rush to help him force the window open.

“W–..We’re fine, we just n–..need to–“ His voice cuts off when the window finally gives with a loud, dry crack, opening just enough for both of you to slip through–his neck turning toward you; eyes all over you. “See? Told ya–“

“Freeze!” A rough voice barks from behind you, the click of a gun cocking ringing in your ears.

Still, your hands shoot up instinctively, neither of you daring to turn around. Blue irises, flecked faintly with green, spilling over you–the only divine thing he has ever believed in. That smirk curls faintly at the corner of his lips, speaking in a language meant only for you. Without hesitation, you climb out the window; legs weak, unsteady, doing what you can to carry yourself across the blackened grass swallowed by the night.

Frightened and convinced not to look back, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing somewhere behind you was enough for you to know Luke wasn’t going anywhere; he was right there, chasing after you through the dark. A sharp crack tore through the air, and still, you kept going, going, going–driven by a survival instinct you didn’t even know you had.

The cornfields swallowed the breathless runners, your legs only giving out once you were deep enough inside, the sudden urge to vomit too violent to fight back. Your hair fell over your face as your torso folded forward–you could’ve sworn it was your guts spilling out, but the truth was, it was someone else’s. When it was over, your heart a disquieting beast rattling against the cage of your ribs, the silence that followed was deafening–too deafening.

Luke.

Your eyes turned frantic, scanning the endless rows of corn in search of something familiar, your vision blurring with horror, something gutting the flesh inside you, rotting you from within with every second you couldn’t find him.

“Luke?” you shouted, thorns caught in your throat. “Luke?!” You moved like prey sensing a predator, your nose sharp as you followed the thick, inebriating scent, stronger with every step.

God, you could’ve been sick all over again when your eyes landed on him; Luke sprawled against the dirt, his backpack discarded at his side, his trembling hands failing as they tried to stop the blood gushing from the wound just below his collarbone.

“Luke!” you yelp, stumbling in frantic steps to where his body lies, dropping onto your heels beside him, your hands just as restless as his as you try to help him, save him. “No, no, no, no.”

Luke coughs, tragic eyes hovering over you. “You run pretty fast for someone with such short legs.” The attempt at casualness hits you like a knife in the gut, his red, dreary smirk already fading from life right in front of you.

This can’t be happening, no, no, no.

Your gaze drags back to the wound, your hands getting pushed away by his as his condition only grow worse. Thorns twist deep in your throat, tears hazing your eyesight.

“Let me help you. Let me help you. I’m gonna help you.” Your voice wavers, a horror you’d never known before, crushing you from the inside out. Warm crimson seeps deeper into your palms, into your clothes, into your skin. He was everywhere, claiming you.

His body was rotting away by the second, soon there would be nothing left but the shell of something you once loved. He coughs again, that blue turning dull as it lingers on you for what might be the last time–in his eyes, you are sacred, a promise of being wanted, a tempest meant to carry him away.

Yours, yours, yours.

“I want you… i want you to do it. Do it, baby. Do it, please.” The plea dies on his stained lips, his eyes slipping further shut with each second.

You hold him like you could keep the life from slipping out of him, your hands unsteady, your breathing uneven. “Lu, stop.” The sob is ugly, breaking out of you in choked fragments, torn from somewhere deep, something inside you already waiting, already knowing.

Luke grips one of your hands in his, fingers brushing softly against yours in a language only he had ever taught you how to speak. “It’s beautiful–“

“No, i can’t. Stop, stop.”

“It’s the easiest thing, my love.”

“No. No. No! You can’t! I can’t!” You cradle his face in your hands, bending down just enough to press shattered, flimsy kisses against his lips through your insatiable sobs. The metallic, bittersweet taste spreading across your tongue.

For a second, your gums throb–aching, ready. Your fingers dig deeper into the skin of his shoulders in a violent grip.

“Just love me and eat.” His breath comes out thick, fragile, a final reverence, a sacrifice.

The hunger coils through you, a corruption stirring in your mouth, your devotion grew teeth; take, ravage, eat. Your lips slither down to his wound, something alive indulging inside your chest. You had learned that love was a language of hands and mouths; this way, he would never be taken from you; this way, he would be eternal at your core.

Just love me and eat.

Crying to God and praying to Death, the howl of the wind curling through the cornfields whispered promises into your ear, the moon bearing witness in its pale shimmer; from your mouth, he would receive purgation; from your mouth, he would reborn pure. Your torso bends in reverence, your eyes finding him in a prayer–God, are you watching? Do you watch as i worship him with my mouth? As i press my teeth into his flesh and preach of love? Does it make you sick?

With my love, i become you.