Miss Fantastic Fox

You'd met Koby when he joined the marines as a recruit, having been in Garp's unit at the time, when he came with his friend Helmeppo and began to train. It had been funny to watch how hard Garp pushed them, and you knew he must've saw something in them, or in Koby, that he hadn't seen in a recruit in a long while. He didn't see it in you either, but that was just fine, you didn't need to be anyone special.

The two of you had become fast friends. He was sweet and gentle, but determined. He had a dream and he was going to achieve it, even if it killed him. You couldn't help admiring that part of him. You had a front row seat to his transformation, from the small scrawny boy you'd first met, to Marine Hero. You were just happy to be along for the ride.

It was a quiet evening on Garp's ship, the two of you were sitting in a communal area that was otherwise empty, most people either still eating or getting ready to head to sleep for the night. Koby liked to get some quiet time for himself before he slept, and you appreciated the feeling of peace he brought to any space that he was in.

"Hey," he said, and you looked up to show that he had your attention, "have you ever kissed someone?" He then asked, and that was quite possibly the very last thing you'd been expecting him to say. You were caught though, because you hadn't. You were so busy, and there was very few people in your unit that you'd even consider kissing. "It's okay if you haven't," he hurried to say, a little louder than necessary, "I uh- I haven't. Kissed anyone." Koby finished, and for a moment he couldn't look at you, eyes darting nervously around the room but never focusing on you. "Uh, I haven't either." You said with a small shrug, looking back down at the book that you'd been reading, though you could feel it as Koby's eyes suddenly snapped to focus solely on you. "Really?" He asked, and you weren't sure exactly how you were meant to respond to that. "What does that mean?" You asked, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. It was Koby, so you weren't exactly sure what you were expecting to find, but he looked curious, confused even. "I don't know I guess I just thought, you're cute, you probably get attention from people." "Oh. Well, I do. I'm just busy, and I don't wanna kiss any of the guys out there. They're all pigs." You rolled your eyes as you laughed, and though Koby would never verbally agree with you, he did laugh along. "That makes sense I guess."

"So, you think I'm cute?" You gently teased after a moment silence, and Koby groaned and covered his face, flustered in the face of his words being turned against him. "I mean, yeah. You're my best friend, other than Helmeppo, I've seen all the cute stuff you do." He replied, awkward and nervous, but his words warmed your heart, making it flutter just a little. You decided that was enough teasing, and let him calm down before you asked your next question, though you missed the pink of his cheeks. "Why do you ask? About kissing, I mean." "Some of the others were talking about it earlier, kissing and meeting people when we dock and it just got me thinking. Like, what if I'm bad at it, you know? What if we dock and I meet someone I like and I kiss them and.. I'm bad at it. That'd be so embarrassing." He confessed, hand raising to rub the back of his neck, once again unable to meet your eyes. "And what? You wanna practice?" You joked easily, turning your gaze back to your book, sure that Koby would just laugh and the two of you would move on. But he didn't laugh, and you could feel his intent gaze on you. When you looked up at him, his eyes were slightly wide, assessing your face as if to determine how real your offer was. "I mean- would you? With me?" There was a just a beat that passed between you, something people may call a pregnant pause, before you spoke again. After all, the situation was delicate and you had to account for that when you spoke. "Better than anyone else in this shit hole." You said and immediately knew that wasn't quite the right way to respond, and yet Koby was interested anyway.

As you marked your page and set your book aside, Koby pushed away from the table he was sitting at and stood, shuffling his way over to the sofa where you'd been lounging previously but now sat upright.

"Really? Not that I doubt you I just.. want you to be sure that you're sure." You smiled, a warm and bright thing, and if you'd been looking you may have noticed Koby’s shoulders relax in response. Instead, your eyes were focused on his smile, more nervous, like he might change his mind at any moment. "Are you?" You asked, a light teasing lilt in your voice. "Yeah. Just. Nervous." He admitted, his awkward laugh endearing and only serving to make you smile wider.

You'd read enough to know how this next part worked. You reached up to cup Koby's cheeks in your hands, then guided him toward you slowly. You stopped just an inch before your lips touched, about to ask again if he was sure, and then he was surging forward to kiss you. His lips were soft and warm, pressed gently against yours. You didn't doubt that it was clumsy, but you had nothing to compare against, so to you it just felt like bliss.

There was a brief moment after that first kiss where the two of you separated to catch your breath, looking at the other as you processed what had just happened. Then, the two of you couldn't stop. You pushed Koby backward against the back of the sofa and hauled yourself up into his lap, kissing him deeper. You had no idea what you were doing, you just knew what felt good, and being able to feel his strong chest beneath your hands while your lips moved together felt really good.

The first time it happened, you didn't realise, thought maybe he was adjusting or attempting to shift you slightly in his lap to be more comfortable. Then it happened again, and this time you felt the press of something hard in his trousers against you. You didn’t think about what to do next, you did it on pure instinct, grinding down against him in return. Koby’s moan was audible even with his lips on yours, his hands tightening slightly around your hips. Neither of you stopped, or checked in again, you just kept going. The kissing was addictive, and if you’d had the capacity to think about anything other than his body on yours, maybe you’d have wondered how you had waited so long to do it.

His length felt good against you, thick and hard, and as you adjusted your hips slightly he began to grind directly against you. Quickly, you were both growing far too loud for a public space, but you were too lost in the moment to care. Your fingers tangled in Koby’s hair, his glasses knocked off and forgotten, your shirt untucked so he could lightly touch your skin, almost reverent with it. Koby’s hips stuttered again, only encouraging you more, until suddenly he made a slightly different sound, his breath catching in his throat. You felt as his trousers grew damp, and realised what had happened. You were trapped between fond amusement and lust, but made sure to contain any laughter, lest you upset or embarrass him anymore than he already was.

“I- I’m so sorry!” He said once he’d caught his breath, face a deep shade of red. You kissed him again, even as Koby floundered. “I’m flattered.” You lightly teased, as if you also hadn’t been moments from cumming just like that. “Stop please don’t tease! I’m so embarrassed.” He whined. You carefully brushed some hair from his face and kissed him again. “If it helps, I wasn’t far from joining you.” Koby’s eyes widened, and you felt his cock give a valiant twitch beneath you. “Then.. do you want to.. continue?” He sounded out of breath as he suggested, like he was winded just by the suggestion, but not so much that it prevented him from offering. “Yes please.” You whispered with an eager nod, and your lips were on his again.

After all, you needed to be sure you were doing it right, and you’d only get better with practice.

Tag List: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss @queenmimi2817 @fanaticsnail @mermaniaa

Tyler paces like a wolf with a limp, a blade in his hand and murder in his eyes. The metal sings each time it drags across the whetstone.

Shhhk. Shhhk.

A whispering rhythm. Each stroke harder than the last.

You don’t look at him. You’re too busy sprawled across Brains’ lap like a spoiled cat, fingers tracing lazy shapes along the seam of his thigh. His hand rests on your hip, unmoving but heavy, the kind of possessive weight that says mine without sound. You can feel the tremor in it, hunger, maybe, or the effort of not breaking something.

The air is thick with sweat, blood, and rot. The stink of death follows Isaac like a shadow now, clinging to his collarbones and the curve of his throat. It’s not just on his skin. It’s in him. You catch a whiff of disinfectant, wet concrete and your favorite scent: chaos.

Tyler’s eyes keep flicking between the door and you, like he’s waiting for someone to break in or for you to explode. His shoulders are tight, his hair damp with rain. He looks like a caged animal in a den that isn’t his.

“You smell like corpses,” he mutters, voice rough.

Isaac tilts his head. “Because I ate one.”

He says it like he’s telling you the time of day.

You laugh, too loud, too delighted. 

“Two, actually,” you correct, dragging your nails down his ribs just hard enough to make him smirk. “The one in the alley and the nurse who begged. You bit through her skull like a peach.”

Isaac hums again, eyes glassy but sharp underneath, like there’s still a man trapped somewhere inside the monster. Tyler throws the blade across the room. It clatters against the wall with a violent rattle and sticks in the wood.

“Don’t start,” you sing-song, not even looking. “Unless you want to hear me come on his fingers again.”

That gets a sound out of him. Not words. Something rougher. Something worse. A low growl, a small step forward. Isaac doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink.

“You didn’t mind when she did it on yours,” Isaac says, voice like smoke curling under a door.

You grin, teeth flashing like knives. “Boys…”

The silence after that is nuclear. Even the pipes in the walls seem to hold their breath. Rain hammers on the ceiling like fists. Outside, the world is burning or drowning  - you’ve lost track - but in here, in this stale bunker of a hideout, you’re the only storm that matters.

Finally, Tyler breaks the quiet. “Do you even know what’s outside that door?” he snaps, jerking his chin toward the exit. “Guards. Cops. Henchmen. Every bastard we’ve crossed.”

You roll onto your back in Brains’ lap, looking up at him through your lashes. “Then maybe you should stop sharpening knives and start sharpening your tongue, puppy.”

He snarls without sound, but his jaw ticks, his fingers twitch toward the blade he threw. Isaac’s thumb draws idle circles on your hip. It feels like a question. Or a dare.

“You’re playing with fire,” Tyler warns, softer now. “He’s not even… he’s not what you think he is.”

“I know exactly what he is,” you reply, sitting up, stretching like a cat. “I like him that way.”

You stand slowly, enjoying the way both of them track the movement like predators scenting blood. Tyler’s jaw works, but he doesn’t say don’t go. He doesn’t have to. It’s in the white of his knuckles.

“I’m taking Brains for a walk,” you announce, grabbing your jacket. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Isaac rises behind you, silent and towering. His movements are wrong in the right way - too fluid, too still - like a marionette with no strings left to cut. Dirt under his nails, blood dried in his hair, eyes darker now than the tunnel outside.

Tyler sighs but he doesn’t move… Because you haven’t told him to and he listens to you. Both of them do.

You smile, slow and dangerous, as the rain hisses against the door.

The rain slaps the asphalt like it’s trying to erase the city. You walk beside Isaac like you’re not worried he might snap and crush your skull between his teeth. You probably should be… But you’re not. 

You glance at him sideways. He’s staring ahead, eyes glazed but focused. Like something behind them is still burning. 

“You remember her ?” you ask, but he doesn’t answer. “Good. Makes it more fun.” 

You grin and he lets out a noise, low and not quite human. “Why do you want her dead ?”

“Because she hurt me,” you reply, twirling a knife between your fingers. “And because I want to watch what you do when I let you.” 

He stops walking and turns to you. His eyes catch the light wrong, like they’re made of wet bone and something older. 

“You’re not afraid of me.” 

“You don’t want to eat me.” You smile, and his throat flexes. “Do you ?” 

His jaw tightens. There’s blood on his breath. He’s not sure… But he kisses you anyway, sudden and filthy, the kind of kiss that would leave a bruise if lips could bruise. His mouth is colder than Tyler’s, but there’s heat behind it. Starving heat.His hands don’t roam, they grip, crushing your waist like he wants to anchor himself to the only living thing that doesn’t run from him.

You laugh into the kiss - a little breathless, a little mad - and pull back just enough to drag your nails across his jaw.

“Easy, Brains,” you whisper, voice sugar-sweet. “Don’t blow your load before the main event.”

His pupils dilate, wide and black, and he stares at you like you’re the first hallucination he doesn’t want to shake.

“I’m not Tyler,” he rasps, low and cracked. “You don’t have to play games with me.”

You tilt your head, mockingly offended. “Who says I’m playing?”

A beat. Then you flash him a smile sharp enough to cut something. 

“Besides, Tyler would’ve killed her cleanly. Boring and predictable. One and done.” You lean in, eyes sparkling, voice dipped in venom and delight. “You ? You’re gonna rip her apart for me.”

His breath stutters, and for a second, you think he might grab you again, devour you, fuck you, kill you… But he just growls deep in his throat and keeps walking.

You fall into step beside him, your boots splashing through puddles, and start humming something off-key. Something that might’ve been a lullaby once… Or a funeral song.

“You know she called me crazy ?” you chirp, twirling your knife again. “Dragged me down a hallway by the hair. Told the guards I was broken in the head, that I needed ‘correcting.’”

Isaac’s jaw clenches hard enough to crack.

You lean closer, nudging his arm like you’re on a date. “Didn’t like that very much but I couldn’t do anything, not then. Would’ve been a shame to waste my one phone call on a murder charge.”

He glances at you. “And now ?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Now I’ve got you. And Tyler.”

He stops. You stop with him. There’s something feral in the way he looks at you now, like he’s not sure if he wants to kiss you or drag you into the gutter and fuck you until your legs don’t work.

“You’re the only thing that makes the hunger shut up,” he mutters, half to himself.

Your grin softens, just a little. You reach up and tap his temple, light and teasing. “I’m in your head already ? We haven’t even started.”

His hand shoots out, grabs your wrist, yanks you close - chest to chest, breath to breath - and you laugh, giddy and unafraid.

“Promise me you’ll watch,” he growls. “All of it, don’t look away.”

“I’ll moan if you make it pretty,” you promise, dragging your tongue along your bottom lip.

And when the rain pours harder, the screaming’s about to start.

The house is quiet. Too quiet. You can smell the guilt in the curtains, lavender soap and lemon polish failing to cover the rot of conscience. There’s a Willow Hill uniform folded on the arm of the couch, badge still pinned. Her boots in the corner, spotless.

You’re already grinning.

Isaac slips in behind you like a shadow that learned how to walk. The smell hits you instantly, rust and meat and the sour stink of old blood still clinging to his skin. He hasn’t cleaned up since the last one. 

He doesn’t care. He’s not supposed to.

She’s in the kitchen when you kick the door in; the woman who slammed your head against cold tile and said you were asking for it. The same one who called Brains a thing before the sedatives even wore off. She's slicing cucumbers.

She turns just in time to scream.

Isaac hits her like a goddamn freight train. No words. No pause. Just slams into her and takes her down, nails already tearing at the soft underside of her jaw. She shrieks and gurgles. You stroll in behind him, slow as silk.

He pins her with one hand, fingers splayed like talons, and opens her throat with the other. Not a clean slice, not a practiced cut. He rips it open like it offended him. Her legs kick. Her hands slap uselessly at the floor… And he moans like it feels good.

His hands are inside her chest now, ripping through cartilage like wrapping paper. There’s a crunch. Then a wet, guttural sound that makes your thighs clench and he feeds, face buried in the wreckage of her body.

He laps at the blood like a dog at a dish. You see her spasm - once, twice - before she stops moving. You don’t flinch, but you tilt your head, curious.

He feeds like he’s trying to remember who he was. Like each bite could stitch something real back into him… But it doesn’t. It just makes him wilder. The wet, wet sound of it echoes off the walls. Her scream still stuck in the air like perfume.

You lean against the counter, smiling like a girl watching fireworks.

When Isaac lifts his head, his mouth is soaked, chin to collarbone. But he’s different now. Less corpse, more human. The gray pallor of his skin has faded to something pale and flushed, like blood is finally remembering how to flow beneath it. The shadows around his eyes have receded, revealing lashes too long for a killer and cheekbones sharp enough to wound.

His lips, still dripping red, are full and pink again. His hair’s darker, damp with sweat and rain instead of rot. The curve of his throat pulses with life. Something ancient and elegant stirs beneath the gore, like a statue remembering it's a man. 

A very pretty, very dangerous man.

You blink, surprised by how beautiful he’s becoming and lean on the table, propping your chin in your palm.

“Well,” you remark. “Someone was hungry.”

Blood arcs, splashes across the cabinets and your shirt. You look down, amused, and drag a finger through the smear on your collarbone, slow and lazy and his eyes snap to you. His expression shatters. Hunger, reverence, something primal… and then he’s on you.

You don’t stop him when he licks the blood from your skin. The flat of his tongue drags up your chest, tasting iron, skin and whatever wickedness lives between your ribs. He groans like it’s better than fresh kill, filthier. His mouth closes around the blood at your throat, lips sucking bruises where a necklace used to hang on hers.

You laugh, delighted, threading fingers through his damp curls. He pants against your neck and then you cup his cheek - bloody fingers and all - and tilt his face up to yours.

“You’re my favorite monster.”

His breath hitches. Then he smiles, slow, terrible, almost boyish. “I did what you wanted.”

“You always do.”

He stares at you like he’s not sure if he wants to kneel or tear you open.

“What now ?” he asks, rough and thick.

You lean down, smear a thumb across his bloody mouth, just to lick it and smile.

“Now, Brains… I show you why I’m the only one you won’t eat.”

The woman’s still twitching when he lunges, not at your throat - not to kill you - but to devour. He grabs your wrist, drags your blood-smeared fingers to his mouth and sucks. Groaning like it’s the first real meal he’s had since dying. He tongues between your fingers like it’s your cunt, slow and obscene, and you moan because that’s what it feels like. Hot and filthy and wrong. You’re soaked before he even touches you there.

“You taste better than her,” he rasps. “Sweeter. Hotter. Alive.”

“ So ? Are you gonna eat me, too ?” you tease.

He stares at your neck like he might. Like he wants to. His tongue flicks out, dragging up the blood slick skin of your collarbone to the base of your throat. You tilt your head back and offer it.

“Do it.”

But he doesn’t bite. He just groans, low and ruined, burying his face between your tits and rubbing himself against your thigh like an animal. Like if he doesn’t fuck you now, he’ll fall apart. His mouth finds the blood his hand accidentally smeared across your hip. He licks a stripe through it, moaning, then sinks to his knees.

He yanks your pants down with one brutal motion, grabs your thighs, and buries his face in your cunt like it’s the last brain on earth.

His tongue is cold, not human. It slashes through your folds like he’s craving meaning from your body, lapping at your wetness with greedy groans. He doesn’t ease you into it. He devours. Nose pressed to your clit, tongue fucking into you like it’s a cruel hunger he’s trying to satisfy, over and over again.

You cry out - sharp and helpless - because it’s not gentle, not practiced, not sane. He’s slurping, messy, dragging spit down the inside of your thighs with each breathless gasp. You can feel his moans vibrating inside you. You’re not sure what part of you is slick and what part of you is leaking from the kill, but he’s drunk on it, eyes rolled back, drooling filth and devotion into you.

“Fuck,” you whimper, clawing into his hair. “You’re gonna make me…”

He growls. Loud. Like he wants that. Like it’s what he came back from the dead for. His mouth clamps down, lips wrapped around your clit now, tongue flicking with brutal precision. It’s violent, filthy, soaking…

He’s saying something down there but you can’t make it out, all you hear is your own panting, the obscene suckling, and the squelch of him finger fucking you with one hand while the other leaves marks on your thigh.

Your eyes roll back. You’re trembling. You don’t even want to be sane again. You want to live here, in this madness, on his tongue, with his face between your legs like some deranged altar boy worshipping the holiest part of you.

Your thighs seize around his head, and you scream, raw, primal, a jagged sound that splits the air like gunfire. He doesn’t stop. He groans into you like your orgasm is his oxygen, tongue lapping through the mess, sucking your clit like he’s starving for the way you break. You shudder violently, back arching, hands tangled in his curls as you ride it out, as you come completely undone on his mouth, dripping down his chin. He moans like he’s proud of it, like he meant to wreck you this hard.

“Look at you,” he rasps, voice low and ruined when he pulls back, like the boy he used to be is clawing from the grave for a taste. “You likethis.”

“I love this,” you correct, panting. 

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t warn you, just grabs your hips, lifts you to adjust your position like you weigh nothing, and drives into you in one vicious, perfect thrust.

You scream. It’s not pain - not really - it’s too feral for that. It’s the raw, electric agony of being split open by something you shouldn’t want, the way he fits inside you like your body was carved to be ruined by him. Your spine arches, fingers clawing down his back, scraping flesh, drawing blood that mixes with the already slick mess between you.

He growls like you stabbed him, then fucks you like it’s revenge.

The counter slams into your back with every brutal thrust, edge biting your skin, but you don’t care. You welcome the pain. You thrive in it. It grounds you, pins you to the moment like a butterfly under glass. The wetness beneath you slicks everything, your ass slipping on the surface, your thighs sliding against his hips, your cunt so wet it sounds obscene.

He ruts like a creature that doesn’t know how to be gentle. He’s not fucking you. He’s consuming you. Every snap of his hips is a claim, every breath a threat. His hands roam without mercy, one gripping your throat, the other fisting your hair, and his mouth finds your collarbone, your jaw, your lips, biting and bruising like he wants to leave pieces of himself on your skin.

“Come on, Brains,” you say, delirious. “Tear me apart.”

His snarl is a promise. He slams deeper, harder, rawer, until you're sobbing and laughing in the same breath, delirious from the stretch, the pressure, the utter fucking madness of it. You're already sensitive from his tongue - aching and twitching - and now you’re unraveling like thread in his hands, clenching around him so tight it draws a broken sound from his throat.

You finish first, hard, fast and chaotic, your back bowing, cunt squeezing, slick thighs quivering as your vision whites out.

He doesn’t stop. He can’t. He ruts through it, groaning against your mouth, fucking you through the aftershocks like he’s chasing his own destruction. His breath is hot and ragged, hands everywhere, hips stuttering as he loses the battle with himself.

He cums like a monster, his teeth bared, voice breaking on a snarl, slamming into you so deep it feels like he’s trying to crawl inside. You feel every pulse of it. Every drop. His cum floods you, thick and hot and wrong in all the right ways, and the mess of it - his, yours, hers - drips down your thighs like a river.

You collapse back onto the counter, limp, laughing, ruined but he doesn’t let you go. He stays inside you, buried to the hilt, breathing hard against your skin. Then he takes a step back and leans down, tongue flicking out to taste the mess dripping from between your legs. A low, filthy groan rumbles from his chest as he buries his face there once more, lapping at your overstimulated cunt like he’s trying to memorize your taste.

You whimper, twitching, boneless, fingers tangled in his hair again.

“You’ll kill me,” you warn, breathless.

He lifts his head, his pretty face wrecked, blood and cum smeared across his lips, and stares at you like you’re salvation and sin. His smile is bloody and his hunger is far from gone. His fingers replace his mouth for a moment, pushing into your overstimulated cunt, slow and deep, like he needs to feel how wrecked you are, how full of him. He fucks the mess back into you until your thighs shake and your breath comes out in wrecked little gasps.

You sit up on shaking arms and reach down between your bodies. He’s still hard, still wet from you, twitching against his thigh. You take him in your hand, pump slow, teasing, and lick the drop of leftover release from his tip that coats your finger.

He moans - louder this time, hips jerking - and you stroke faster, watching his muscles tense, his jaw clench and when he cums again, it’s messier - not a snarl, but a whimper - hot, thick stripes splattering across your thighs. You let it drip, smear it with your fingers, still smiling as you suck one clean.

He stares at you like he might lose control again… Or bite. His breath catches. For a second, he doesn’t move, but then he drops to his knees again like something inside him just snapped.

He starts by licking at your ankle, tongue dragging up, painting your skin. Each lap colder than the last. You shudder as he groans into the taste, gripping your calves, your thighs, like you might disappear before he finishes tasting your skin. Then his mouth follows the path of his release, smearing it deeper into your skin as much as he cleans it away. When he reaches the thickest streaks on your inner thigh, he pauses, breath heavy, gaze locked to yours.

Then he bites, just enough to sting. You gasp, half-laughing, half-moan, as he soothes it with a kiss, then keeps going. His tongue laps at the last of it, slow and filthy, lips soft now - almost tender - like he's not just cleaning you, but claiming you.

And when he finally looks up, mouth glistening with his own cum, his voice is wrecked.

“You taste better than anyone I’ve ever killed.”

Your smile sharpens.

“I know.”

The alarms are already screaming when you slip back through the staff door, sirens bleeding red across the linoleum. You smooth your hair with both hands, tucking the hospital bracelet out of sight, hiding the little detour you just took. You’re a patient here - everyone knows that - which makes your presence unimpressive and perfectly invisible. You’ve learned the rhythms: when the nurses round, which guard takes the corner shift, where the supply closet hides its secrets. You’ve been watching for weeks. Tonight feels ripe.

By the time you step into the common room, your grin has shrunk into something sweet and harmless.

A few patients look up from their games, wide-eyed at the alarms that went off. One woman rocks and hums to herself, another presses her face to her knees and sobs into shaking hands.

You ? You’re calm.

You plop into a battered vinyl armchair, swing your legs up, and flip through a deck of cards like you’re playing solitaire. The noise - sirens and shouted orders - makes a fun background for whatever you’re about to do. You tap a finger on the table, counting the seconds like a metronome.

“Crazy night, huh ?” you chirp at the man twitching across from you. He doesn’t answer, just stares at the flashing lights. You giggle, kicking one foot lazily. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything’s fine. Just a monster rattling the walls, happens all the time.”

The intercom crackles: “Unit D, lockdown initiated. All staff to containment…”

Right on cue, half a dozen guards sprint past the windows, keys jangling, boots thundering. You crane your neck like a curious child, eyes wide and lips pursed. When they’re gone, you lean back, rest your chin in your palm, and whisper under your breath;

“Go on, puppy. Show them your teeth.”

Another patient shushes you, nervous and frantic. You bat your lashes, feigning contrition, then giggle again, too bright for comfort.

It’s all fun and games until the head nurse bursts in, ordering everyone against the walls. In the shuffle, you “accidentally” hook your foot on the medication cart. Bottles orbit and scatter across the linoleum, a glittering spill. Someone shrieks, someone laughs. 

It’s beautiful.

You laugh too, covering your mouth with both hands like a child caught stealing cookies. “Oops.”

Chaos intensifies.

Patients dive for the pills, guards slip on the scattered capsules, a flailing hand slams into a nurse’s arm. In the breathing space of disorder, you twirl through the mess, humming off-key and slipping pills into the hidden pocket of your robe like party favors.

You don’t linger to enjoy the spectacle. The supply closet gives you exactly what you came for: a rusted tin shoved beneath a stack of gauze, full of old matches. You pluck one out, strike it on the box, and a tiny flare blooms in your palm like a stolen sun.

Smoke curls fast, hungry. You tug down a curtain, press the ember against the fabric, then shove it under the window frame. It catches quick, licking upward. You light another, then a third. Each match feels like another candle on a cake you plan to eat in the dark.

Then you walk. Because chaos is a symphony and you are its conductor.

You’ve been watching the zombie for days. Every time the guards toss scraps into his pen, every time he lurches into the glass with cloudy eyes and drooling lips, you linger. Fascination, not fear. He’s pathetic, terrifying, and beautiful in the way only broken things are.

Tonight, you finally pay him a visit.

His unit is half-cell, half-junkroom, forgotten by staff who call him a dozen cruel nicknames, none of them very clever. You’ve chosen a better one. Brains. Short, sharp, perfect.

The heavy lock is designed to keep the stupid and the hungry from touching anything they shouldn’t. It doesn’t stop you. The door groans open, and he stirs. At first sluggish, then with a slack, pleased grin that shows too many teeth. You approach, meet his cloudy gaze, and feel no guilt at all.

“Go on, Brains,” you whisper, tapping your thumb to his forehead like a start button. “Fetch some food and free your friends. Make it messy.”

His grin widens into something almost joyful. Then he lurches into the hall, a clattering, slobbering shadow. He slams against the nearest ward door until wood splinters, until a nurse shrieks and patients flood the corridor like a tide.

Perfect.

You glide through the growing chaos, still humming off-key. A guard lunges at you, but you hook his ankle with a neat flick and send him sprawling. Orange light from your fires licks at the ceiling, smoke curls like a lover’s breath, the intercom spits garbled orders no one follows… But you can’t stay to admire the mess.

Your endgame waits deeper in the cellblock.

The corridor smells of bleach and old fear, but when you push into his wing the air tastes different: damp brick, the metallic tang of blood, the scent of something wild that’s been caged too long. Your pulse quickens as you follow the sound of chains rattling, a low animal growl, tension coiled like a taut wire. By the time you see the dark fall of his hair, your grin is already sharp enough to cut.

He’s folded on the cot, wrists raw where the chains bite, a heavy collar snug at his throat. The yellow light throws hollows across his face, but you know what slumbers underneath: the Hyde. The stories. The way people whisper his name in fear.

Most people steer clear. You don’t.

“Hello, puppy,” you purr. “Or should I say… beast ?”

He lifts his head slowly. The look he gives isn’t human. His pupils blown, jaw a hard line, shoulders straining at the restraints like he could tear them free with a thought. The collar clamps at his throat, a ring of metal meant to be a leash; it only makes him look more dangerous.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he growls, voice low.

“Mm.” You tilt your head, grin sharp. “That’s precisely why I am here.”

You saunter to the console that keeps him tamed and still: a cluster of switches, a dial, a panel of red buttons that make the machine hum like a sleeping animal.

“This one looks fun,” you say, tapping a finger against a toggle.

“Don’t.” His warning slices the air, urgent and brittle.

You press the button.

Electricity screams through the wiring. His body jerks, chains clanging hard enough to throw sparks. A low, guttural sound slides out of him, Hyde bleeding into the noise. You watch every twitch, every shudder, delighted at the way his muscles contract under his skin.

“Ohhh,” you coo, leaning back in the swivel chair, crossing your legs like you’re at a theater. “That was fun.”

“You’re insane.” His glare burns, but it doesn’t reach your grin.

You twist the dial a notch higher. He arches, a high choked noise tearing out of him. Sweat beads at his brow. You keep the shock small enough to wake him, not to break him. You want him hungry, not dead.

“You like this, don’t you ?” you ask, voice soft and dangerous. “You like that I’m not screaming and running. You like that I want to watch.”

His chains groan as he strains against them, metal protesting. The restraint hums through the collar; the bolts in the wall scream under the pressure.

You stand and saunter to the glass partition that separates the common corridor from his cell. The reinforced pane hums faintly, scored with scratches… Memories of him trying to get free. He paces inside, shoulders heaving, claws half-formed, eyes fixed on you with a hunger so physical you can almost taste it.

You press your palms to the cold glass and lean in, treating the barrier like a lover’s skin. “Usually I prefer tentacles,” you say, voice silky. “But I suppose I could… accommodate myself to claws.”

His hands slam against the glass where yours rest. The vibration runs up your arms, catches in your ribs. He bares teeth - too many - and the sound he makes is more animal than man.

“Oh, there he is,” you whisper, tilting your head. 

His breath fogs up the glass. He looks like he wants to say something, maybe tell you to leave, maybe warn you… But whatever’s inside him now, it won’t let him speak. It just growls, low and rough in his throat.

You lean in closer. Then, slow and teasing, you lick a line across the glass, right where his face is. He jerks like he felt it. You laugh, bright and sharp.

“God, you look hungry,” you remark, eyes shining. “I love that.”

The sirens wail louder. Red lights strobe down the corridor. Smoke creeps in under the reinforced door like a promise kept. You sigh, like you’ve just been pulled out of a really good dream. You’ve had the keys of his cell for a week, thanks to a little mischief, a lot of charm, and a coffee spill that wasn't so accidental. You kept them tucked in your sock like a secret. Now ? Now they’re exactly where they’re meant to be.

The lock on Tyler Galpin’s cell isn’t even hard. Two pins, one twist of the key, and the door sighs open like the place itself is tired of keeping him. And the moment it swings open, heat rushes out like breath from a dragon’s mouth. Tyler’s steps forward before you can speak, the chains at his neck and wrists pulled so tight his veins are bulging. He looks like a storm caged in skin.

“About time,” he growls.

“Yeah, yeah.” You hum, stepping in like it’s a playdate. “Time flies when you’re flirting with monsters.”

You make quick work of the restraints, heel to the floor brace, twist at the collar lock. He shrugs off the weight like it’s nothing. His eyes darken. His chest heaves.

“The Hyde wants out to play, doesn’t he ?,” you say softly, watching the smoke swirl around you both. 

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. The growl low in his throat tells you everything.

Somewhere back in the main unit, Brains is doing exactly what you asked. Eating god knows what - or who - stirring the pot. It’s chaos now.

Perfect.

You reach for Tyler’s hand. It’s hot - too hot - but you don’t flinch. He doesn’t pull away.

“Come on,” you grin, tugging him down the corridor. “Let’s make a mess.”

The hospital is falling apart. Alarms scream from every wall, a mechanical choir shrieking in disharmony. Red lights pulse overhead, painting everything in flickering hellfire. Smoke curls down the corridors like it’s alive, licking at tile and metal and flesh.

You don’t walk, you don’t sneak, you run straight into the fire like the world is ending and maybe it is.

He stays close, heavy footfalls matching yours. There’s no time for smiles, no time for talk. Just motion. Just panic. Just the overwhelming yes of it all: yes, you burned it down, yes, you freed the Hyde, yes, you’re running straight through the wreckage you created.

Down the corridor, someone screams. A patient ? A nurse ? You don’t stop to check.

Tyler shoves a gurney out of the way with one hand, chains rattling from his wrist. You duck under a ceiling tile that crashes down in a cloud of dust.

“Left !” you gasp, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the west wing. He doesn’t resist, he follows without question, wild-eyed, sweat-soaked, beautiful.

A nurse barrels around the corner and freezes at the sight of you both. You offer her a sweet, sugar-sharp grin and toss a handful of pills at her feet like a flower girl scattering petals. She shrieks and scrambles back.

Footsteps thunder behind you. Guards. You recognize the voice of the one who once tied you too hard to your bed. He’s yelling orders. “Stop them ! Sedate if you have to !”

But he’s too late. 

Tyler pulls you faster, down another hallway where the smoke is thicker, where the power is flickering, where the locks have failed. Doors hang open. Patients scream and stagger through the chaos, babbling, laughing, sobbing. One runs past you with blood on his hands and glitter on his face. Another throws a tray like a discus into the wall.

“God, it’s beautiful,” you pant, breath catching in your throat from the smoke and the sprint.

You reach the last hallway to the east side exit. The fire is climbing the wall, blooming up the paint like flowers. Tyler kicks the double doors. They don’t budge.

You throw your weight at the emergency bar.

Clang. Still locked.

He steps forward and slams his shoulder into the steel, once, twice, then it gives with a shriek of twisted metal, and cold night air punches into your lungs.

You both stumble out into the dark.

Behind you, Willow Hill burns but you don’t stop to watch it die. You bolt across the back lot, past the chain-link fence you cut days ago, past the broken security camera, past the sagging willow tree that gave the place its name.

Behind you, someone shouts. A gun fires. The bullet misses you but sparks off a pipe and you shriek, not from fear, but from sheer adrenaline joy. Tyler grabs you again, palm to your ribs, yanking you behind a rusted ambulance. You breathe hard against his chest, eyes shining.

“Not now,” you whisper, nose brushing his collarbone. “Not yet.”

He nods once, tight, jaw clenched. You can feel the tremor in him, the Hyde pacing just beneath the skin.

You break for the trees and the woods open their mouth to swallow you whole into a snare of shadow and fog. Twigs snap like bones underfoot, mist clings to your skin like a second breath, and branches claw at your face with skeletal hands. You don’t stop. Neither does he. The forest blurs around you, tangled and endless, moonlight slicing through the haze.

Behind you; boots, shouting and the crackle of radios. They’re still chasing. Still stupid enough to think they can catch you.

You laugh, giddy, breathless and cracked wide open with adrenaline. “God, they really want us back in our boxes, huh ?”

Tyler grunts beside you, chest heaving, still human, still fighting the thing clawing behind his ribs. His jaw is tight, throat working, hands still bloody from the cuffs. The monster is under his skin, pacing, growling, twitching in his muscles like it’s trying to climb out. You can smell it.

You want it.

“They’re going to catch us, tie us down, drug us up, put me in a pretty white jacket and lock me in the dark.” you taunt sweetly, and he stiffens at that. You lean in, brushing your lips against his ear with a breathless whisper: “Unless you let him out.”

He stumbles, just a beat, as if the words hit something raw.

“They think we’re prey,” you pant, ducking behind a rotted tree trunk. You grab his face with both hands, wild-eyed, grinning. “So now prove them wrong. I want to see it.”

He growls - a low, broken sound - and you feel it vibrate in your fingertips. The boots are closer now. You can hear one of them panting hard and calling out; “We saw them ! Over here !”

Tyler snarls. His eyes blow wide, veins flash black across his neck and jaw. You see the monster rising in him, cresting like a tide.

“Yes,” you gasp, delighted.

He doubles over with a groan, hands on his knees, shoulders twitching violently. You step back just as the first guard crashes through the clearing behind you, flashlight beam slicing the dark.

You don’t scream. You don’t run. You watch… And Tyler breaks.

Bones crack. Flesh tears. The scream that rips from his throat turns feral, guttural, then something else answers it. A snarl, deep and wet and full of ruin.

The guard lifts his weapon too late. Tyler lunges, too fast, too strong, too gone. He hits the man like a thunderclap and they both go down. You laugh as blood hits the leaves. It paints the fog in pink mist. Another guard yells and tries to flee but he is on him before he takes three steps. Claws now, teeth now, eyes glowing like fire through the trees.

You turn in a slow circle as the screams rise, basking in the chaos like it’s music. Shadows dance. Flesh tears. Someone begs for help. You sigh, dreamy, and perch on a fallen log like a queen watching her hound rip through a banquet.

When the noise fades, when the last ragged breath leaks out into the dirt, Tyler returns to you. Blood-slick, panting, chest rising and falling like a war drum. His eyes still burn. His hands still twitch.

And you are absolutely, breathtakingly delighted.

“God,” you murmur, breath hitching as you step into his space. “You’re beautiful when you kill.”

He doesn’t answer. He’s still half-monster, still vibrating with aftershock. You reach up, run a finger through the blood on his cheek, and suck it clean with a hum. Then - soft and efficient, disturbingly domestic - he strips the dead guard’s jacket from his shoulders, tugging his boots off too. His hands move with the same precise hunger you’ve seen when he rips things apart; now they slip into fabric like a tailor, like someone who knows exactly what to take to disappear.

You help. There’s a ridiculous choreography to it: you pull off the guard’s belt, wedge your thumb under the collar, peel the nameplate away and tuck it into your pocket like a trophy. When Tyler finally stands, the new jacket hangs off his broad shoulders and the boots slump heavy and ludicrous on his feet like a grotesque parody of a man in uniform.

“You look ridiculous,” you tell him, delighted. “Perfect.” 

You steal one of the guard’s caps and slide it low over your eyes, like a mask and together, you disappear deeper into the woods.

The smell of the street hits you for a second; wet asphalt and gasoline, the world outside a bright, stupid normal. Then you duck into a grate and the noise of the world becomes a thin screaming above. The sewer stinks like sulfur and old rain and something alive. It’s homey in a way: dark, secretive, full of swallowed things. 

You laugh aloud, the sound bubbling off concrete.

“We’ll be ghosts tonight,” you tell him, leaning your head against his shoulder after you slide down the slimy ladder.

He answers with a noise like approval and an elbow that knocks you playfully in the ribs. He moves differently in the damp, more animal than man, each step sure, predatory. You arrange the dead man’s jacket across his shoulders and pull the cap down harder, a ridiculous coronation for a fugitive queen.

In the dark water below, rats scatter at your passing, offended by the intrusion. The sewer swallows your laughter and the memory of the hospital burning like a bright bruise behind you. Up above, lights blink and sirens whine. Below, you have each other and the dark.

You grip his hand again, tighter. He hums, a low sound that might be contentment, might be a vow. It vibrates through your knuckles and into your bones. Together you move down the tunnel, two pieces of dangerous glass, giggling, filthy, certain of everything except the world that tried to keep you caged.

Ahead, the sewers divide into hungry black veins. One of the tunnels bends into a dry alcove, a hollow where old bricks bow inward and the drip-drip of water is a lazy metronome. Tyler slams the grate shut behind you, chest heaving, skin still twitching with feral echo. He looks wrecked, bloody, shaking, torn between shame and hunger.

You spin in the half-light, arms out like a ballerina. The stink of rot and rust coils in the air like smoke, but you breathe it in deep… Freedom smells like blood and burning.

“You’re a psycho,” he mutters.

You stop spinning with a flourish, arms out. “Finally,” you breathe, grinning wide enough to hurt. “Someone gets me.”

He doesn’t laugh. “Why did you free me ?”

You take a step closer. He tenses like an animal expecting a trap.

“Felt like it.” You shrug.

“No one does something like that just because they feel like it.” He scowls.

“I do.” You prowl forward, your grin all teeth. “I wanted to see if the stories were true. If the Hyde was real. If the monster everyone whispers about could still kill.”

He flinches, almost imperceptibly. His eyes flash.

“You don’t know what I am.”

“Oh, I do.” You reach out, sliding a finger down the bloodied front of his stolen uniform, smearing dried red into the fabric. “You’re teeth and claws and rage… and it makes me wet just thinking about it.”

His breath catches, fists clenching. “What the fuck is wrong with you ?”

You tilt your head, as if considering it seriously. Then beam. “Everything.”

“I should’ve left you there.”

“You didn’t.” You trail your finger higher, let it linger on the edge of his collarbone. “You came with me.”

“You made me.”

You raise your brows. “Did I ? Or did part of you want to run ? Want to tear through the woods and not stop until you killed ?”

His silence answers for him.

After a beat, he huffs and jerks his chin toward you. “What’s your name ?”

You smile sweetly. “I liked it when you called me psycho.”

He rolls his eyes. “That can’t be your name.”

“Sure it can.” You give a dramatic little curtsy. “Or Baby. Or Trouble. Or Nothing-Left-to-Lose.” You step closer until you’re toe to toe. “And I’ll call you Puppy.”

He flinches like you hit him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Ohhh… but it suits you. All bite. All bark. All those pretty noises when you growl.”

He catches your wrist suddenly, fast and hard. Slams your hand against the wall behind you, fingers digging into your skin.

“Stop.”

“Make me.”

One second he’s glaring. The next he’s on you. Hyde hot in his blood. Mouth devouring yours like punishment, like hunger, like he needs to taste your spine to believe you’re real. His hands are brutal, tearing at your clothes, dragging fabric aside like it insulted him.

You gasp into the kiss, laughing through the heat. “That’s it,” you pant as he shoves a thigh between yours, grinding hard. “That’s my monster.”

He breaks the kiss just long enough to growl, “Careful what you ask for.”

“Why ?” you whisper, eyes glittering. “Are you afraid I’ll love it ?”

His hands are everywhere, rough, frantic, uncoordinated like he’s trying to memorize you with his palms. He tears at your clothes until your breasts spill free, his breath hitching when he sees skin.

One hand grabs your jaw, tilting your face so he can drink you in, the other drops to his belt. You hear the hiss of leather, the rasp of a zipper, and then he’s fisting himself, already hard, already leaking. He groans low and filthy at the sight of you, grinning like the devil herself. You don’t even blink when he presses the blunt head of his cock against your thigh, smearing precum on your skin like a claim.

He lifts you clean off the floor, your back slamming into the bricks as his hips rut forward with zero finesse, all fury. Your fingers claw down his back, your body already aching for more.

“Come on, puppy,” you gasp. “Bite.”

And when his teeth sink into your throat - not gentle, not human - the pain sparking hot into your belly, you shudder, laughing and crying out in the same breath. His hands shove your thighs apart, lifting you even higher up until your feet dangle, and he buries himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

The sound you make echoes down the tunnel; half scream, half cackle. The bricks are wet and crumbling, your back scraping raw every time he slams into you. He looks like a beast unleashed, but you can see the hesitation flicker in his jaw, like a leash he still hasn’t let go of.

And you laugh. You laugh like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

“Is this it ?” you gasp, nails dragging down his back hard enough to draw blood. “The big, bad Hyde ? You fuck like you’re scared of breaking me.”

His snarl vibrates against your throat. “I will break you.”

“Then do it !” you shriek, grinning wide, eyes bright. “Choke me, come on, puppy, I want your hand around my throat while you ruin me.”

He growls, feral, but his hand shoots up, fingers curling around your neck. He squeezes, not enough to cut air, just enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm.

Your moan is obscene. “Harder,” you hiss, teeth flashing. “Don’t let me breathe unless you’re inside me.”

Something snaps in him. His grip tightens, cutting your breath in ragged shudders as he fucks you harder, hips pistoning, brick dust raining down with every slam. You writhe against him, eyes rolling back, manic laughter spilling past your lips until he shoves two thick fingers between them, silencing you with the taste of iron and skin. You suck them down like candy, moaning around them, eyes glazed with hunger.

He stares, half horrified, half undone. You pull his fingers free with a wet pop, panting, smiling sharp enough to cut. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your head back until your throat is bared, teeth scraping your skin. He fucks you harder, deeper, claws digging into your thighs as he holds you pinned like a doll he means to break.

You’re delirious, demanding more with every ragged breath. “Break me, snap me in half… Make me bleed for you. I want it. I want you.”

He slams into you, relentless, brutal, fucking you until the wall itself feels like it’s going to collapse. Your screams echo, manic and gleeful, cut short again when he shoves his hand over your mouth, muffling you. You bite his palm and he groans, rutting harder, rougher, until you come undone around him in violent spasms.

You laugh through it, laugh like you’re burning alive and loving every second. He keeps going like a beast starved too long. Your thighs ache from the way he’s holding you open with nails digging into flesh, but you’re drunk on it.

“Harder,” you choke out, voice muffled against his palm. “I want you to break me.”

His hips snap so deep you swear he’s trying to split you in two. The sound of it is obscene, flesh slapping, nails scratching, your manic laughter turning into gasps swallowed by his hand.

You wrench his palm off your mouth, breathless and grinning so his hand clamps around your throat instead, harder this time, cutting your air until black edges crawl at your vision. The pressure makes every thrust sharper, hotter, dragging you closer to the edge again with every ragged slam.

You’re half-gone, body convulsing, when he shoves his fingers back between your lips, silencing your screams with the taste of him. You gag around them, drool spilling down your chin, and the sight makes him groan, pushing into you with feral abandon.

Your second climax tears out of you like violence, spasms ripping through your core, walls clenching so tight he snarls against your throat. He bites down, teeth sinking hard enough to draw blood, and the sting sends you over again, a third orgasm crashing through you while your laugh turns into a broken sob.

His rhythm stutters and with a roar that echoes down the tunnel he comes, hot and brutal, spilling into you as his body shudders against yours. He fucks you through it, grinding, snarling, hips still snapping like he can’t stop claiming you even as he empties himself inside you.

When he finally slows, both of you are wrecked. Sweat, blood and spit smeared over skin, brick dust clinging to every bruise. He keeps you pinned, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

“Don’t pull out,” you whisper. “I want you to stay inside me.”

His head jerks back, eyes still wide, face stricken. “What ?”

You hook your legs tighter around him, grind down on his cock, still twitching inside you. “I want you to breed me. Stuff me so full I can’t walk. Put a monster in me and make me yours forever.”

He snarls, part horror, part hunger. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Exactly.” Your nails scrape his jaw, forcing him to look at you. You lick his blood off your lips, grinning sharp. “And you fucking love it.”

The tunnels finally spit you out into a narrow brick-lined stairwell, slick with moisture and echoing with the ghosts of your footsteps. You’re both breathing hard, boots scraping against stone, blood smeared like ink down your arms. The place smells like rot and iron, but it’s familiar, your kind of place.

You lead the way, dragging Tyler up by the wrist like a naughty dog on a leash, your shoulder bumping his chest with every steep step. At the top, behind a nest of rusted pipes, you crouch and dig under a loose stone. Your fingers come up dirty and trembling - but triumphant - with an old brass key. You shove it into the lock, twisting hard.

The hinges groan like something dying as the steel door creaks open into a hidden room. Dust blooms in the air. It's dim, lit only by a broken lantern in the corner and the moonlight slicing through cracks in the boarded windows. The space is packed with old furniture: a tattered velvet couch, a cabinet stuffed with stolen supplies, a makeshift bed on pallets. Shelves sag under the weight of canned food and liquor bottles with no labels.

You step inside like it’s a cathedral and spin, arms thrown wide, hair whipping around your face.

“Welcome to our little kingdom,” you croon, voice syrupy with triumph. “Perfect for monsters on the run.”

Tyler doesn’t answer. He collapses onto the old couch like his bones are smoke, head tipping back, blood crusting along his jaw. He drags both hands down his face with a groan, smearing dirt and sweat and war paint across his skin.

You crawl into his lap without asking, straddling him like a throne. You bite his jaw - hard enough to leave a mark - and whisper against his ear; “Bet I can make you forget the world with my cunt again before sunrise.”

He chokes on a laugh and shoves at your hips, but it’s weak, lazy. His eyes are already darkening, pupils wide, hunger not entirely sated.

“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters, voice rough and warm against your throat.

“That’s the fun part.”

You curl tighter against him, legs over his lap, head against his chest. You can feel his heart, still thudding wild like it doesn’t believe you made it out.

You giggle into the curve of his neck, dizzy on smoke, blood and adrenaline. The world is still burning, but here, in your stolen corner of it, you’re filthy and ruined and more alive than you’ve ever been.

The quiet stretches, soft and strange. Tyler’s breathing slows. You let your eyelids drift, your fingers tangled in his torn, stolen shirt… And then a sound rises.

Thump.

Drag.

A wet, slurping growl.

It echoes up the stairwell like a bad joke with teeth. You sit up slowly, grin blooming sharp and wicked. Tyler groans.

“Tell me that’s not…”

“Brains,” you whisper, delighted. “He followed us home.”

☕ If you enjoyed the chaos, buy me a coffee and I’ll brew up more filth... 👀🖤

He hadn’t wanted to go. Truth be told, big crowds made his skin itch. All the noise, the forced smiles, the suffocating pressure of being the sweet, harmless guy everyone liked… But then you asked.

You’d said it with a laugh, a throwaway tone, like it wasn’t a big deal. « We should go to prom  together. You know, since we both have no one. »

And something in his chest had tugged hard. He’d looked up from the counter at the Weathervane and seen your smile - tired, teasing, tucked behind a coffee mug - and it had knocked the air from his lungs.

Just a little.

So he said yes… Of course he did.

Now you’re beside him; his date, even if only technically. Hair done, eyes lined, wearing something that makes his heart stumble. The soft gym lights catch on your dress and scatter across your skin; it hurts to look and it hurts worse to stop. You look like everything he shouldn’t want but does.

He keeps pace with you, shoulder brushing yours just enough to be felt. He’s careful, always careful. Keeps the smile light, the gaze harmless. Keeps the darker thoughts where they belong; buried deep, locked away, somewhere they can’t slip out through his eyes.

He tells himself he’s fine, that this is fun, that you just asked him because you work the same shifts at the café, because he’s safe and reliable, a friend… Not because you might want him too. He doesn’t let himself imagine that.

You lean close to say something over the music - something about how weird it is to see everyone dressed up - and he laughs on instinct. He barely hears the words, too busy watching the way your lips move, too caught on the sound of your voice. He swallows, licks his lips, blames it on the dryness in the air.

You turn back toward the dance floor, hips swaying in time with the beat, and his pulse jumps. He tells himself he’s only watching to make sure you don’t trip in those shoes but his eyes linger a little too long, tracing the line of your dress, the way the fabric catches at your waist before falling loose again. His hands flex uselessly at his sides.

Be normal, he reminds himself. You’re just here to have fun. Don’t stare. Don’t… 

Too late. He already is.

Every movement feels meant for him, though he knows that’s not true. You’re just happy and carefree. Beautiful in a way that makes him ache.

He tells himself it’s enough. That being the one who makes you laugh, who catches your hand and spins you toward the lights, is enough. That being near you, breathing the same air, will be enough.

He’s lying to himself but he’s good at it.

Then the song changes to something bright - something everyone knows - and you grab his hand, tugging him toward the center of the room.

He lets you. Of course he does.

Your fingers fit easily between his, warm and sure, and he follows you like he was made to. The crowd swallows you both in glitter and motion. You’re laughing, hair brushing your shoulders, eyes glinting under the lights, and he stays close, not touching, just near.

Close enough to smell the sweet perfume that clings to you. Close enough to catch the faint shimmer of gloss on your mouth. Close enough that the heat of you blurs everything else.

He moves with you, careful, quiet, pretending it’s the music that’s got him dizzy. But really it’s you.

Always you.

Then he notices it. At first it’s just movement, a classmate slipping between couples on the floor, his jacket glittering under the lights. Tyler doesn’t think much of it until the guy stops right in front of you. He says something that makes you laugh, of course it does, you’ve always been kind, you talk to everyone… But then you look up at him - really look - and Tyler’s breath stalls as recognition hits.

That’s the guy you mentioned before, during a shift at the Weathervane, when the espresso machine was hissing and you were stirring a drink with a straw. You’d been telling him about your last year at Jericho High, about a crush you used to have, about how you’d finally worked up the courage to ask the guy out and he’d smiled, apologized, said he wasn’t looking for anything.

« Nice, right ? At least he was honest. » You’d laughed then, pretending it didn’t sting.

Tyler remembers hating him a little, even then. Some faceless guy who didn’t see you. Who didn’t understand what he’d turned down. And now here he is, standing too close, the music vibrating through the floor, leaning down to say something in your ear.

He goes still. Something deep in his chest tightens, the air catching sharp behind his ribs. Warm first, then hot.

Not again.

He tries to look away. Tells himself it doesn’t matter. You’re just talking. He’s probably apologizing, saying hi, whatever… But then you smile that soft, forgiving smile you give everyone, and it feels like watching sunlight touch someone who doesn’t deserve it.

The guy laughs. His hand lifts, just a brush of fingers at your arm, too casual, too familiar. Tyler’s jaw flexes. He can hear his pulse louder than the bass now. He remembers the way you’d looked at him earlier tonight, asking if your dress was “too much,” teasing him for not wearing a tie. He’d liked that, the small, harmless intimacy of it. Now it feels like a lie.

You turn, catching his eye over the stranger’s shoulder. You grin, bright and unguarded, as if to include him in the joke.

It should bring him back. It should be enough… It isn’t.

His hand twitches at his side, a reflex he covers by running his fingers through his hair. He tells himself to breathe, to stay normal, but there’s a voice under all the noise, a whisper that’s growing louder: She’s not yours.

He hates it. But it’s true, isn’t it?

You’re not his. You never said you were. You’ve never kissed him. You just come early to your shifts, steal the good mug, hum while he works. You talk to him like he’s easy to be around, like he matters, and maybe that’s the problem. Because he knows what he is, what he’s hiding, what it costs him to stand here pretending to be just another nice guy. Every second beside you is a fight not to stare too long, not to want too much, not to imagine what it would be like if he could be someone else.

And now this guy - this same one who once made you feel small - is leaning in again, saying something that makes you blush. Tyler’s knuckles go white around the paper cup he’s still holding. The music keeps pounding, but he barely hears it. Something inside him stirs, heavy and dark, pressing against its cage. He breathes out through his teeth, slowly.

Be good, he tells himself. Just… be good.

But he moves before he can think. It’s smooth on the surface, practiced, even. He steps forward like it’s nothing, like he’s just joining the conversation, easy and harmless but the way his hand slides around your waist is anything but.

It’s not nothing. It’s everything.

You jolt slightly, surprised, but you don’t pull away. His fingers press warm against your side, anchoring you to him. You glance up, laughing a little, light and teasing like you always are.

« Getting handsy, Galpin ? »

Your eyes flick toward the other guy still standing there, still smiling like he doesn’t feel the tension climbing into the air like a spark waiting for fuel. 

Tyler smiles. Or tries to. He keeps his mouth in shape, but his jaw is clenched, the muscle twitching slightly under the skin. His voice is quieter now, pitched lower, just for you.

« He was staring. » The words come out flat. Too honest. Too fast.

The guy shifts beside you. « We were just talking, man. Chill. »

That tone; casual, dismissive, like Tyler’s ridiculous for even reacting, makes something hot curl behind his eyes. He turns slightly to face him, not a full confrontation, just a shift of weight, a straightening of spine.

You catch it. Your brow furrows, and your hand brushes lightly over Tyler’s chest, a subtle anchor.

« Seriously, it’s okay. He’s just… »

« I know who he is, » he cuts in, gaze flicking to you now. It softens instantly, but the softness doesn’t quite reach his eyes, not all the way. “You told me about him.”

Your lips part. You blink, surprised. You had told him weeks ago, you probably didn’t think he’d been paying that much attention but he remembers. He remembers everything.

« You said he turned you down, » Tyler continues, a touch quieter now, the smile curling slightly at the edges, not quite sweet anymore. « Funny how that works. Suddenly he sees you in that dress and now he’s got something to say. »

The other guy scoffs, backing off half a step, but not leaving. « Look, I didn’t know you two were… »

« We’re not, » you say quickly. « It’s not like that. »

Tyler’s pulse thuds hard at your words. Of course you said that, it’s the truth… But God, it stings.

And the other guy hears it, too. His mouth tugs in a little smirk, smug and gone in a blink. But Tyler sees it. He sees too much. The lights are too bright, the music too loud, the world too sharp and suddenly, he feels the creature in him shift, not breaking loose but… aware.

The thing inside him stirs at the proximity of you. At the challenge in the air. So he forces his expression back into something easy, something normal. He lets out a short, practiced laugh.

« Right, not like that. »

But his arm doesn’t move, if anything, it tightens. You look up at him again, slower this time. There’s something like curiosity in your expression now, a faint crease between your brows.

« Are you okay ? »

He meets your eyes and holds them. Too long. Something flickers behind his gaze, not dangerous but… deep. Old. Raw. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips where they touch your waist.

He’s being good. He’s trying. So hard.

The other guy finally backs away with some half-hearted joke and a wave, disappearing into the crowd. He breathes. The bass is pounding through the floor now, and someone stumbles past you, jostling you closer into him. Your hands brace against his chest but you don’t pull away.

His hand spreads against your back, holding you just a little tighter. His jaw clenches again. His breath comes too warm, too close, as he leans down and murmurs near your ear, low, quiet, not quite a threat:

« I just don’t want to share you tonight. »

You don’t answer right away, you just look at him. Eyes wide, lips parted, your breath caught somewhere between surprise and something else; something softer, warmer, dangerously close to want and it hits him like a sucker punch, like a nail driven clean through his chest.

He feels it.

The words he just said are still hanging there between you, trembling like a match right before the spark. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, not like that, not with that edge in his voice, that weight of possession, that note of something too raw to be harmless.

He watches the blush rise on your cheeks, sees your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. You don’t laugh. You don’t pull away. You don’t say no… Instead - slowly, almost shyly - you nod. A tiny, tentative motion, like you’re not even sure what it means yet. Then you slip your hand back into his like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it’s natural.

« Then don’t, » you say. « Just dance with me. »

Your voice is quiet, nearly drowned out by the bass, but it hits him loud and clear like it’s made just for him. Like you are.

He doesn’t remember nodding, doesn’t remember agreeing but somehow you’re already pulling him back toward the dance floor, and somehow he’s letting you, following without resistance, without thought, like a tide pulled helplessly toward the moon.

A moment later, you’re in his arms. Close. So fucking close.

Your hands settle around his neck, soft and casual, like you’ve done it a thousand times. His own land low at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress with a kind of reverent desperation, like if he doesn’t hold on, he might lose his grip on reality entirely.

You’re so warm, so soft, so you and he can’t think, can’t breathe.

The music shifts, slows, throbs into something more sensual, more dangerous. People blur around you. The lights melt into color and shadow.

All he knows is you.

Your perfume curls into his lungs, sweet and sharp, already etched into his memory. Your chest presses lightly to his, every breath synced with his heartbeat. He can hear the whisper of your dress as it brushes against his pants. He can feel your lips hover too close to his collarbone. You laugh, soft and breathless, and your mouth grazes the side of his throat. 

That’s it. That’s the moment it starts.

The thoughts flicker across his mind like sparks dancing across dry leaves, fast, bright, out of control… He pictures himself pushing you up against the wall, sliding his hands beneath your dress, feeling the warmth of your thighs open around him, lowering his mouth to the curve of your neck and biting down just hard enough to make you moan, right here, right now, in front of everyone.

And worst of all, he knows he could. He could make you want it, make you beg for it. He knows the pressure of his body against yours would make you gasp. He knows you’d taste like everything he’s ever wanted and everything he was never meant to have.

Stop.

He grits his teeth and tries to blink it all away. The music. The thoughts. The feel of your hands playing with the hair at the back of his neck. But then you shift in his arms - just a subtle roll of your hips, nothing intentional - and it hits him like a bolt to the spine. Heat floods his gut. His breathing stutters.

Be good, Tyler. Don’t take what isn’t yours.

You’re too close, too easy to want and too hard to resist.

His fingers twitch against the small of your back. His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold. He wants to press you closer, to crush you against him, to bury his face in your neck and breathe you in like salvation.

« Tyler ? » You say his name, unaware of everything boiling just beneath his skin. He hears it like a plea, and that’s what breaks him. He lets go of you so suddenly it makes you stumble, a half-step backward, startled. « Wait, what… ? »

But he doesn’t answer. He’s already gone, shouldering through the crowd, head down, chest heaving like he’s about to be sick. He doesn’t hear the music anymore, doesn’t see the lights, doesn’t even hear you calling after him.

He just runs.

Out through the gym doors, into the hallway, and straight into the cold. The air hits him like ice water. He stumbles a few steps, then stops. Plants both palms against the stone wall, chest rising and falling like he’s just come down from a sprint. His forehead presses to the surface, cooling his skin but nothing helps.

The hunger is still there.

The creature is thrumming under his skin like static, clawing at its cage. It had liked that. It had liked the way you fit against him, the way you trusted him, the way you’d leaned in, all soft and sweet and oblivious to the monster you were touching. It wants more. 

It wants you.

And the most terrifying part? So does he.

He hears the door creak open behind him. Light footsteps and a pause. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s you. He can feel you.

« Tyler ? » Your voice is quiet, concerned but still soft, still kind.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

« Go back inside, » he says. The words come rough, it’s not a request.

You don’t listen. Of course you don’t.

You step closer, cautious. « Are you okay ? »

« No. I’m not. » His voice cracks. It’s too honest. You move even closer. He can hear your heels on the ground, feel your presence at his back. He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. « I said go back inside. »

This time it’s sharper and this time, you stop. He can feel your silence behind him like a weight. Maybe hurt. Maybe fear. And that’s the worst part because you should be afraid. You should run.

He exhales hard. His hands curl into fists, knuckles pale. The thing inside him growls at the restraint. He speaks again, quieter this time, like a confession. A surrender.

« I don’t want to hurt you but I think I might. »

And God, it’s killing him because you didn’t do anything wrong. You were perfect and that’s what almost pushed him over the edge.

You don’t move, you just stand there behind him, arms loose at your sides, your breathing soft and steady, too soft and too calm for what he is.

« Please, » he continues. His hands are braced on the wall, but his whole body is trembling. « Just go. »

You step forward anyway and that’s when he finally turns. He spins on you like a storm breaking loose, eyes wild, hair mussed, chest heaving, but it’s not the movement that freezes you. It’s his face.

His eyes.

Wide, not human. They glow faintly, pulsing like something alive beneath his skin. His pupils are narrowed, black slits, ringed in light. The veins at his neck and jaw are raised, almost visible beneath the surface, and there's a shadow in them, dark, inky and wrong.

He sees the flicker of fear in your eyes, and it hits him like a knife.

Good, he thinks. Good. Be afraid. Leave.

But you don’t flinch, you don’t scream… You just breathe.

« Tyler, » you whisper, « what is happening ? »

His chest is rising fast, too fast, like he can’t get enough air. His voice comes hoarse, sharp with warning. « You don’t want to know. »

« Maybe I do. »

« No, you don’t. »

But your eyes hold his, steady and challenging. You take another step. You should be running but instead, you reach for him.

« Stop. » His voice is guttural now, barely his. « Don’t… »

But your hand touches his chest, right over his heart and it breaks him. It’s not fear in your eyes anymore, it’s want. And then you’re pulling him down, or maybe he’s already falling, because the moment your mouth brushes his, he’s gone.

The hunger snaps its chains. The mask shatters.

He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, rough and desperate, almost punishing. His hands are at your waist one second and in your hair the next, gripping too tight, dragging you impossibly close. You gasp against his mouth, and it only makes him hungrier. You kiss him back. 

God, you kiss him back.

His body surges forward, walking you backwards until your spine hits the stairwell wall. You stumble, and he catches you without thinking, hands everywhere; hips, thighs, up your back, into the heat beneath your dress like he’s starving.

« I told you to run, » he growls against your neck.

« Then stop kissing me, » you reply, challenging.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He lifts you without thinking, gripping under your thighs, your dress sliding high as your legs wrap around his waist. Your back hits the wall again and he groans low and broken as your hips roll forward into his.

It’s too much. Too close. Too good.

Your fingers rake through his hair and tug, hard, and he groans again, this time like it hurts, like it makes the monster purr.

« You don’t know what I am, » he gasps into your skin.

« Then show me. »

The words are your undoing. His mouth is on your throat - kissing, biting, desperate - and his hips grind against yours with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs. One hand fumbles with the hem of your dress, pushing it higher, the other braced against the wall behind your head to keep him steady. Your lips find his again and he growls into your mouth, all teeth and tongue and chaos. 

He’s lost. Fully. Finally.

There’s nothing sweet about this anymore. He wants you, right here, right now and if he’s not careful, if he doesn’t stop, it won’t be just a kiss. It won’t be just fingers under fabric. It’ll be everything. All of him. All at once. And it might kill you both.

His hands are tangled in your dress, his hips pressing into yours, breath ragged, heart racing like he’s seconds from changing, really changing. And for a moment… he wants to. 

That’s what terrifies him. Not the kiss, not the sound you make when he bites your neck, not the way your hands clutch at his shirt like you can’t get close enough, but the fact that he doesn’t want to stop. 

He pulls back like he’s been burned.

« Shit." His voice is hoarse, almost broken. « Shit, shit, shit… »

He lets go of you too fast, like your skin is poison, like he can already feel your judgment crawling over him.

You slide down from where he had you pinned, feet unsteady on the cold ground. He stumbles back a step, then another, hands trembling like he doesn’t know what to do with them now that they’re empty. His lips are wet. His chest heaves. And his eyes are still glowing faintly, still bigger than what they should be. Not human. Not safe.

He turns away from you, like he can somehow stuff it all back inside if he just stops looking at you.

« I wasn’t, I didn’t mean to… »

He can’t finish the sentence, can’t find the part that would make any of this okay. He hears you breathing behind him, feels it, that stillness… That silence. He braces himself for fear. For disgust. For the way people always look at him once they’ve seen too much but it doesn’t come.

Instead, softly, almost too quietly to be real, you speak. 

« Do it again. »

He goes still. Like, completely still. You could hear a pin drop, or his heart shattering.

« What ? » he asks, but it comes out like a plea.

You take a step forward. He still won’t face you. « Look at me, Tyler. »

He flinches but he does and what he sees in your face nearly undoes him. You’re flushed. A little stunned. Lips red, pupils blown wide but not with fear. There’s no fear in you. No judgment. Just the ghost of a smile at the corner of your mouth, and something warmer in your eyes.

« You should be scared. » He says. 

« I’m not. »

« I could’ve hurt you. »

« But you didn’t. »

His hands shake harder. « You don’t know what I am. »

You shrug gently. « Then show me. Slowly this time. »

That nearly brings him to his knees. He steps back again like he might collapse, and runs both hands through his hair, tugging at the strands like it’ll keep him grounded.

The silence stretches between you, fragile and bright, like the moment before a thunderclap. His chest still heaves, but the glow in his eyes fades to a faint shimmer, more ember than fire now. You step closer again, slower this time. He doesn’t move away.

Your hand rises to his cheek. He flinches, but you don’t stop. Your thumb traces the cut of his jaw, the stubble rough against your skin. He exhales through his nose - shaky, uneven - and when his eyes close, it feels like surrender.

The distance between you shrinks until there’s only breath. The music from the gym seeps faintly through the door, muffled and far away. Every other sound drops out. When he finally leans in, it isn’t the wild crash from before. It’s a slow slide of warmth and want, a kiss that trembles at the edges. His fingers brush your hip like he’s asking permission each time they move. You answer by moving closer, your hands finding the back of his neck, your heartbeat climbing to meet his.

He deepens the kiss, tasting hesitation, apology, desire. The kind that hums through every inch of him until he can’t tell where the wanting ends and the fear begins.

« Tell me to stop, » he murmurs against your mouth.

You shake your head. 

He gathers you against him, pressing you back toward the wall of the stairwell, never rushing, never letting go of your eyes for long. The air is thick with the sound of breathing, fabric, heartbeat. His hands find your waist again, then your shoulders, tracing the map of you like he’s trying to memorize it before the night ends.

Every touch feels heavier now, less about heat, more about need. A need to know he’s still human. A need to know you’re real.

When your foreheads touch, he whispers your name like a prayer. His voice is rough, uneven. 

« I shouldn’t want you like this. »

Then another kiss, slower this time. Deeper. Steadier. It rolls through him like a tide, warm and relentless, sweeping away the last of his restraint. His hands slide up, threading with yours, guiding them to his chest like he wants you to feel what you’re doing to him, his heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.

His breath catches. Every inch of you is pressed to him now, and the shape of you burns through the layers of clothing like it’s been carved into his memory.

He’s moving without thought, pulling you tighter, moving the fabric of your dress up, guiding your leg around his hip, hands sure but shaking slightly. You cling to his shoulders, your fingers digging in just enough to anchor him.

He finds the soft lace of your underwear, pulling it aside to bare your heat to him. Warm. Wet. Inviting. The creature inside him roars in his ears, a raw instinct whispering to take what he wants, but he fights it back. He’ll be good. He’ll be human. He’ll do this right.

You tug at his vest, popping buttons, dragging him closer. Your legs tighten around his waist as though you’re afraid he’ll leave you, as though you need him to stay this close. He slides his fingers between your thighs, and the sharp breath you draw makes his head spin.

Nothing else matters now. The music from the gym is only a faint pulse behind the doors, the stairwell scattered with fallen leaves and echoing with shallow breaths. He holds you there, against the wall, and you let him, neither of you caring if anyone sees, as if the whole night has narrowed to this single point where control and wanting meet and tremble.

His hand wrench open his trousers, freeing himself. You gasp again and it sounds like music to his ears. And when he thrust into you, you cry out against his collarbone, the tightness bordering on cruel until your body yields, molten and slick. Each movement echoes against the walls, gravel shifting underfoot, the choked rhythm of your breathing, as he pins you higher, deeper, your heels dangling uselessly at his hips now. 

« Look at me, » he demands, his voice frayed at the edges. A command but not a cruel one.

Your gaze lifts, dazed and wanting, and he feels your pulse hammering beneath his thumb as he traces your throat and it nearly ruins him. Your eyes, glassy and wide, lock on his with a kind of unguarded need that steals the air from his lungs. Your lips, red and parted, tremble with each uneven breath, and the soft curve of your mouth looks so kissable, so impossibly perfect, he forgets how to move for a second.  

There’s a flush rising beneath your skin, warm and glowing in the dim light, your lashes damp, your expression undone. He watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face, every stutter of your breath when he moves inside you, and it doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel real. You look like something pulled from a dream he never thought he deserved, and yet here you are, wrapped around him, looking at him like he’s the only thing you want in the world. And for a moment, it’s too much. The beauty of you. The way you let him see it. The way you look back without fear.

Each slow roll of his hips drives the tension higher, a sweet, dangerous ache coiling low in his belly. He can feel it building, that tight wire of pleasure strung so taut it’s ready to snap with every drag against that swollen ridge inside you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. His name dissolves into a gasp as he angles deeper, hitting a spot that sparks white behind his eyelids. So he slows, dragging himself almost out before sinking back with deliberate, grinding pressure. 

The tightness of your pussy burns deliciously now. He feels the humid heat of your breath beneath his ear when you arch as his thumb find the silk over your nipple, circling until the peak hardens painfully against the fabric as he moves deeper, slower, grinding rather than thrusting; slow and hungry.

« Tell me you need this as much as I do. » He punctuates the command with a sharp upward tilt of his hips, hitting that deep, spongy place that makes your vision blur. Your moan, raw and unfiltered, echoes off the walls. Somewhere behind, a door slams shut.

« I do, so don’t you dare stop. Faster. » You beg, and he obeys, slamming into you with more force, the wet slap of skin against skin syncopating with the distant music’s dying notes. He feels your inner muscles clench around him, a vise of velvet heat as you dig yours heels into the small of his back, causing a ripple of sensation that pulls a ragged noise from his throat.

His thumb presses hard against your clit through the lace of your panties, a rough circle timed to his thrusts. Sweat slicks the hollow where your neck meets his jaw, warm and salt against his skin. He leans in and licks it like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. 

The taste of you floods his mouth, sharp with salt, threaded with something raw and electric that makes his knees nearly give. You’re trembling, breath catching, and it only makes him hungrier. The creature inside him stirs, feral and restless, but he holds it back for now. Because this - this - feels holy. Your skin. Your pulse. Your scent in his lungs. He wants to sink his teeth in. He wants to stay here forever.

Your mouth falls open, but no sound escapes, just a sharp, full-body shudder as your climax tears through you like lightning striking from the inside out. The force of it locks your throat, steals your breath, every muscle pulling taut around him in relentless, rhythmic waves. It drags a raw, half-broken curse from his lips, and he keeps moving, hips stuttering as if the gravity of you is dragging him under with no hope of surfacing.

And then… Something snaps.

His eyes flare wide, blown pupils devouring every trace of hazel until only black remains, deep and endless, twin voids swallowing galaxies. His teeth bare with a snarl he tries to bite down, but it cuts loose anyway, low, guttural… Inhuman. His jaw trembles. His breath saws in and out.

His hands are still on your hips, but now his fingers curl too tight. Tighter than they should be. Bone under skin. Tendons pulled like wire. Nails stretching, sharpening, not quite claws yet, but close enough to make him choke on the wave of instinct rising like floodwater in his chest.

Not now. Not with her.

He’s supposed to be present, gentle, yours… But the thing inside him wants to own you instead, wants to bite down, wants to leave marks no one else can ever touch. Your body trembles against his, soft spasms echoing through you, and it’s too much; your warmth, your scent, the way you look at him like you’re not afraid, like you still want him even now.

Even like this.

He’s too far gone to stop. His body locks tight, a wave of pressure building in his spine and rolling forward with terrifying force. His hips jerk once, twice, no longer smooth or controlled but sharp, shuddering thrusts, driven by instinct more than thought.

Don’t shift. Don’t change. Stay human. Stay with her.

But he can feel it, feelthe thing under his skin rising, snarling, clawing its way up like it wants to burst through his chest and claim. His vision whites out for a heartbeat as pleasure seizes him, violent and bright, the kind that drags a sound from his throat he doesn’t recognize, half-growl, half-cry, too raw to be anything but real.

His hands brace against the wall behind you, shoulders hunched, arms shaking, trying to hold himself back from tearing into the nearest soft thing: you.

His release punches through him like a wildfire with one final brutal thrust inside you. Hot. Blinding. Primal. His heat floods you, thick and warm, mingling with the slickness already streaking your thighs. And for a split second - just one - he loses the fight.

His claws fully extend. His back arches. His head snaps back, jaw clenched so tight it aches, teeth just a little too sharp behind parted lips. But your hands are on his face, steady, grounding, and you whisper his name like you’re not afraid.

« Tyler… »

He gasps like he’s surfaced from drowning, eyes snapping back to yours. The glow dims. His hands retract, fingers trembling. His breath is ragged and shallow. Sweat slides down the sides of his face, and he slumps forward, forehead dropping to your shoulder like it’s the only safe place left in the world.

You hold him. Arms around his shoulders, fingers still cradling his face, your cheek resting against his temple like you’re not touching something that almost stopped being human a second ago. His body is heavy, shaking, slick with sweat, chest rising in uneven, shallow gasps but he’s not snarling anymore. Not twitching. Not growling through his teeth.

He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t deserve it.

The monster had come closer than ever before. He’d felt it in his spine, in his teeth, in the way his vision blurred and his hands ached to take instead of hold. He’d stopped fighting for a moment, he knows that. He gave in to the fire because it felt too good, too right.

He was gone, but you called him back.

He shudders. His hands slide to your waist, loose and careful now like he’s terrified to touch you without knowing who he is anymore. His head is still bowed, as if looking at you might make it real, or make it worse.

His voice is hoarse when it comes, like he hasn’t used it in days. « I didn’t think I could come back from this. »

You don’t move. You don’t say that it’s okay because it’s not. Not really. But you’re still here, still close where he thought there would be fear. You tilt his face up, and he lets you. His eyes are his again. Human, bloodshot and uncertain.

« I saw him, » you whisper. « I saw… it. »

His stomach drops. This is it. Now you’ll run.

« And I stayed. » You add.

He breaks. Not loudly. Not with tears or words. Just a slow collapse, the kind that happens inside your bones when someone touches the part of you you thought could never be forgiven. Your hands stay on his face. His eyes stay on yours. And for the first time, he stops wishing he was different and starts wishing you’ll never run away.

────────

He was supposed to be off on Sundays- practically unreachable. It was a clause in his final contract that he signed almost 11 months ago. He had Sundays off with no disruptions. No calls, no emails, no meetings- and absolutely no work. So, when his phone rang through the quiet confines of his loft-style apartment, he groaned out in frustration.

Leave me the fuck alone, Paul…

He thought, slumping further into his couch as he slung his forearm over his eyes. He had nothing on his agenda besides a well-needed nap and some light D&D manual reading. He didn’t even plan on leaving his apartment. Just that.

So, when his phone stopping ringing, Eddie let out a sigh of relief- trying to doze off again before it started ringing again. Not even a five minute pause between the last call.

Whatever he wants, he can leave a goddamn message like everyone else.

He would get to it on Monday. Maybe. If he was lucky.

But no.

On the third attempted call, Eddie jumps off the couch with a groan- stomping over to his wall phone before picking it up.

“Munson.” He murmurs gruffly as he leans against the wall impatiently.

“Eds! Jesus Christ, kid! Pick up your damn phone when I call.”

“What do you want, Paul?” Eddie drones, already wanting to be off the phone as fast as he picked it up.

“Look, kid, I know you said no Sundays but-“

“Nuh-uh.” Eddie cuts him off “No. You know the rules. The only thing I asked for when we renewed my contract was that I get to be unreachable on Sundays. This-“ Eddie gestures to the phone in his hand even though he knew his manager couldn’t see him. It was all for emphasis, really.

“This is not unreachable.” He finishes “It can wait until Monday.”

“Look, kiddo, I know what you said but I don’t think this can wait.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll have to wait. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

“Do not hang up on me, Munson! I know you’ve only got a month left of this but at least respect me enough to hear me out when I speak to you.”

“Fine,” Eddie sighs, rubbing his temple in exasperation “What do you want?”

“I’ve got a gig for you. Trust me, kid, you’re gonna love it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Y’know, Paul, I feel like I’ve heard you say that before.” He points out.

“Nah, kid. I mean it. I’ve got something you’re gonna love. Meet me in my office in an hour.”

“What!?” Eddie exclaims “Hold on! Wait-“

But before Eddie could argue, his manager had already hung up- leaving the other end dead as he stood there in disbelief.

That fucking bastard.

────────

To say that the porn industry had made him jaded would be an understatement.

After three grueling years, a lot of fucking, faking it, and getting off enough women to start a Jim Jones-style cult- Eddie had had enough. He was retiring. For good.

The announcement to the porn industry had been a shock to everyone. Eddie “The Freak” Munson; the sex-industry’s “Prince of Porn” (Or “The Prince of Pussy” as some called him, for some odd reason) was leaving behind his legacy as the ladies’ favorite male pornstar. No one has seen anything like it. It was practically unfathomable that someone of his caliber- someone who jackhammered his way into the hearts of millions- was walking away.

To almost every man in America, Eddie “The Freak” Munson was living their dream. Eddie, however, was bored, tired, and lonely. It was fun while it lasted but he was ready to move on. You could only fuck so many blondes with huge tits and daddy kinks until it got completely played out and repetitive. It also didn’t help that, outside of filming, he wasn’t even interested in sex.

True be told, sex had become the last thing on his mind. Not that he couldn’t fuck anyone he wanted. Hell, he was sure there would be a line halfway to Europe if he did. He just didn’t see the point. It was like eating the same meal everyday for the rest of your life. You get tired of it pretty damn quick. What was the point of sex without the emotional connection? The passion? The lust? It was just a waste of time and energy.

Eddie rolled into his manager’s office an hour and a half later, taking his sweet time as he parked his van at the studio. He walks past the receptionists, sending a wink their way as he walked through to Paul’s private office suite. There have been many occasions when he overheard the girls at the front-desk fawning over him after he had just wrapped up a scene with some “up and coming” star that was completely underwhelming.

Sometimes he even thought about taking home one of the receptionists and dicking them down just to see if he felt something. That he wasn’t completely numb to getting someone else’s rocks off. But Paul would surely have his ass if he found out. Sometimes Eddie wondered why he even cared.

“Where the hell have you been?” Paul exclaims, turning towards Eddie once he walks through the door “I was just in the middle of calling you.”

Paul puts the phone down as he watches Eddie plop down into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk.

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. What are your other two wishes.” Eddie deadpans.

“You’re lucky that production pushed back today’s shoot by another hour otherwise you would’ve missed out on what the hell I even called you in for.” Paul chastises, earning an eye-roll from his client.

“Which is?” Eddie points out “You had me race across town in traffic and you haven’t even told me that the hell for. Let’s get on with it. What’s this gig you’re so obsessed about?”

“I found a girl for you.” Paul announces excitedly as if he were a matchmaker and not a manager for sex workers.

“….Okay.” Eddie replies slowly “That’s it?”

“Would you lighten up?” Paul replies incredulously “I’m getting there, okay? Just give me a minute to, you know, set the scene.”

“Paul, I don’t pay you 10% for you to ‘set the scene’ and waste my time. Let’s pick a lane here, and stick to it.” Eddie states, not mincing words. One thing he learned fast during his first year in the industry was that mincing words was what got you used up and stomped on.

“Alright. So, I found this girl. Her manager came to me. Her company is putting together a flick. Oral Fixation 5 or some shit like that. Anyway, they’re looking for a male costar for her. They want someone good. It’s the girl’s first time with a partner. She mainly does solo work. She’s a bit skittish but cute. Different than the type of girls you usually work with.”

“So, you want me to fuck an amateur?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, no. Not an amateur. She’s been on film before.”

“Has she fucked anyone on film before?” Eddie challenges, eyeing his manager judgmentally. Leave it to Paul to call him in on his day off to ask him to fuck some newbie that probably has no idea what she’s doing.

“See, that’s the thing, you wouldn’t be fucking her.” Paul explains.

“Then what would I be doing? Feeding her bon-bons?” Eddie asks.

“Like I said, it’s an oral flick. No fucking. Very simple stuff. She basically does most of the work herself. She’ll start off solo, get herself nice and ready, you come in and eat her out, make her come, she’ll suck you off, let you come on her face and voila! Done! You’ll be out of here by noon tomorrow. So, whaddya say?”

“….What does she look like?” Eddie asks, leaning forward in his seat. He would be lying if he said his interest wasn’t piqued. No actual fucking? Just some light oral work, a blowjob, and then done? Didn’t seem that bad.

“That’s why I wanted you to come in!” Paul explains “She’s here. In Studio B shooting some stuff for Hot & Horny. You can head over, give her a good look, see what she can do, and then we can book it if she makes the cut. Maybe if she’s up to your standards, we can use her for your big flick. But you have to decide today before someone else snags her. She’s cute, kid. A real looker. I don’t see her staying small for very long.”

“Really?” Eddie asks, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Really.” Paul assures him “What’re you thinkin’?”

“Alright.” Eddie sighs, standing up from his chair “Let me see her.”

────────

When he walks into Studio B, Eddie is expecting to find another cookie-cutter run of the mill porn girl. Big fake silicone tits, lip injections, and an overly-enthusiastic fake orgasm. Bonus points for bleach blonde hair. What he didn’t expect to find was you- the complete antithesis of all of the other girls he’s used to. You were a breath of fresh air.

You stood off to the side of your set- a cute little bedroom set up complete with frilly pink floral sheets, heart shaped pillows, and cute little teddy bears. Boy band posters were taped onto the fake set walls to mimic the feel of a girl’s bedroom. College student, girl-next-door. Young, hot, and sexy- and, boy, Eddie was into it. He was so fucking into it.

Production staff began setting up the scene, placing several different adult toys onto the rose-printed lacy duvet. A smorgasbord of pleasure instruments. Eddie was no stranger to solo girls scenes. He’s gotten off to many of them. But this one was different. He was sucked in- intrigued.

You were standing in a silky robe, covering up whatever production has asked you to wear. All Eddie could get a glimpse of was the thigh high white stockings with lace trim that adorned your long, sexy legs. No heels. Interesting.

You were talking to a set manager, batting your long mascara-ed eyelashes as your pink, kissable lips spread into a sweet smile. The set guy said something that got you to laugh, your head tilting back as you let out an adorable sexy laugh- your hair draping down like a luscious waterfall.

Fuck, you were hot. So, so hot.

“Told you she was a looker.” Paul chimes in as he sidles up beside Eddie- too distracted to notice that he was even in the vicinity “What are your thoughts so far?”

Eddie didn’t want to reveal his hand just yet. He didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Let me sit in for this one. I wanna see what she does.” He replies slowly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Before he knows it, the director calls you over- motioning for you to enter your set and get yourself situated on the cutesy pink bed.

Alright, Eddie thought, Show-time.

Before the cameras begin to roll, you gingerly untie the silk sash of your rope- taking it off to reveal your lingerie ensemble before handing it off to a set manager. Eddie’s mouth immediately went dry.

There you were in all of your glory, decorated head-to-toe in a baby pink lacy lingerie set that Eddie wanted to unwrap- desperately. You wore a bra that was practically see-through, your perfect tits hardly covered by the lace that adorned them. Through the fabric, he could spot your perky nipples- his mouth beginning to water at the thought of rolling his tongue around them- his hands full of your gorgeous breasts.

You wore a pair of lacy matching panties. Your beautiful cunt barely hidden beneath the fabric. Covered up just enough to leave him wanting more. Teasing him. You were a vision. You sat primly on the bed, your legs tucked to the side- like a proper lady- as you waited for your cue to start. Eddie began to move closer- not wanting to miss this.

He sidled up to the small herd of production members, standing firmly as a few of them greeted him with a nod. They were probably wondering what the hell he was doing there. He normally didn’t sit in to watch scenes. He was more known to shoot his own shit, get dressed, and leave as soon as possible. Yet, here he was, metaphorically sitting on the edge of his seat as he waited for you to start.

As if by the grace of god, the set director calls action- signaling to you that the camera was rolling. There wasn’t even a hint of intimidation as you started off slow and tantalizing. You place your fingers over your lips, blowing your signature kiss to the camera. Those lips. Those pouty, pink lips. Eddie hadn’t seen anything yet and he was already hooked- those soft kissable lips drawing him in. Soft lips that he wanted wrapped around his cock.

Continuing on with your tease, you trail up your body with your cute little hands, reaching up to your chest- gently massaging your tits through your lacy pink bra. The movement was slow and sensual, your hands kneading your perfect breasts- pushing them together seductively as you began to look straight into the lens of the camera.

Okay, Eddie thought, this was definitely not your first time doing this sort of thing.

He could tell, immediately- his eyes taking in the way that you were confident and deliberate with your touches. The way that your hands trailed up and down your body- grabbing, kneading, and tracing your irresistible curves. You were comfortable. In your element. Eddie could tell right away that, when it came to getting yourself off, you were definitely no amateur. He had barely even seen anything yet and he knew- and all he wanted was to see it in real time.

You reach up to hook your thumbs into your bra straps, sliding them off your shoulders as you bit your lip- batting those pretty eyelashes at the camera lens. Reaching behind you, you began to unclasp your bra- sliding it off agonizingly slow. Eddie’s breath hitches as his eyes lock onto your bare tits- nipples hard and perky as you playfully toss the discarded bra onto the floor beside the set bed.

Eddie couldn’t help but smirk, loving the way that you teased the camera- staring it down as if it were the viewers at home. The sad, unfortunate losers that weren’t anywhere near as lucky as he was to see it in person- to even be offered the opportunity to get on his knees to please you.

You kneel onto the bed, giving the camera a good view of your lower half- your lace panties and stockings still on. Those fucking stockings. Eddie could feel the blood circulating to his dick, causing him to grow hard against the zipper of his jeans. You had barely even done anything but play with your tits and he was already starting to leak precum.

These days, it took a lot for Eddie to physically react to things. Being overly-exposed to sex in this industry tends to do that to you. So, the sheer notion that he was getting hard and horny for you when all he had seen so far were your breasts was pretty damn close to miraculous. You were barely even into your scene and he was sure that he’d have to use one of the private dressing rooms to rub one out afterwards.

You ran your hands down your stomach, staring down the camera as you caressed lower and lower down your body until you reached the waistband of your panties, biting your lip as you plunged your right hand into the fabric. Eddie had to stop himself from groaning at the sight. He had seen plenty of women touch themselves- he was a pornstar, for fuck sake- but the way that you did it was hypnotizing. His eyes become glued to your clothed core as he focuses on the way that your fingers moved and teased yourself behind the thin fabric.

So fucking hot. So goddamn sexy.

He wanted to see more- needed to see more.

Your nimble little fingers teased your clit, working behind the thin fabric of your panties as you threw your head back in pleasure- your hair cascading down as your free hand reached up to one of your breasts. You pinched the nipple between your fingers, letting out a light little moan that had Eddie’s dick stirring beneath his boxers.

Fuck, that’s hot. Eddie thought. Keep going, baby. Show me how you do it.

As if you could read his mind from across the room, your eyes open- flickering over to him as you inch your hand further down into your panties. You insert a digit inside of your pussy, causing yourself to gasp as the sensation.

Shit.

Eddie watches your knuckles work their way inside of your cunt as he strains himself to get even just a glimpse past what’s behind those pretty lace panties. He could bet that they were fucking sopping wet by the way that your muscles didn’t tense or stutter when you inserted another finger. You probably slid it in with complete ease. Like it was nothing- and that was so incredibly hot.

It went on like this for a while. Eddie staring at your lower half as you toyed with yourself from behind the panties. Just when he thought he was on the brink of getting blue balls, you slowly slipped your fingers out of your panties- the production lights on the studio set picking up the way that your digital glistened with your arousal. It was a fucking sight. Such a sight that Eddie didn’t even think about you upping the ante- taking your drenched fingers and sliding them into your mouth, wrapping your lips around them as you sucked them clean.

Holy..fuck.

Suddenly, the director called cut- the sound of his orders causing Eddie to snap his head over in horror.

Cut? No. No, no, no, no, no! You were just getting started! What the fuck?!

“Alright, babe, second act. Lose the panties and get into position. Legs spread, okay?” The director calls out, causing Eddie to sigh in relief. You weren’t wrapping yet.

Thank god!

You nod at the director, hopping off the bed as you begin to take your panties off, sliding them down your legs. Where Eddie was standing off-set, he had the perfect view as you bent over further and further to push your underwear off. You were bend over so low that he had a full fucking view of your glistening wet pussy, and he was right- you were sopping. It took all of the fucking strength and self-control he had to not stomp onto that set, pull down his jeans to free his raging hard cock and jam it into your fucking cunt. God, he’s never wanted to fuck someone so badly in his life. He wanted to tell production to fuck your solo scene so that he could start fucking you.

You straighten up, now standing as you kicked off the panties- leaving you completely nude aside from the white thigh-high stockings. You climb back onto the bed, perched near the edge as you opened your legs- sitting spread eagle in front of the camera. Eddie was fully convinced that he was about to pass out.

That perfect little pussy. It was wet, pink, and tight. The prettiest he’s ever seen and he’s seen a lot during his career. Yours was the first to make him go weak in the knees, wanting to sink down in front of you at the edge of the bed as he spread you open and devoured you- acting as if you would be his last meal.

Production came rushing in to fix your hair, smoothing away any imperfections before running off set- gearing up for your cue. You waited patiently like a good, good girl. Hands to yourself as you awaited permission to continue and, if it were up to Eddie, he would reward you. For being so good. So patient.

The director begins rolling, cuing you in to start and Eddie was hooked and ready to see what you would do next- spread out in front of him. Your eyes catch the camera, your hands roaming down to your core as you begin to play with your clit- now uncovered. No barriers in-between. Thank god.

Your middle finger does all of the work, slowly circling your sensitive little button as you throw your head back again, letting the sensation take over you. Letting your hands freely pleasure yourself as if no one were watching- as if it really were you in your bedroom alone. That, Eddie decided, was what made it so hot. You weren't putting on a performance for anyone. There was no theatrics, no drama- no over the top acting. It was you. Just as you were. Enjoying every little bit of it- and, goddamn, was it sexy.

You let out soft little moans and gasps that went straight to Eddie’s dick, twitching in his pants at the way that you sounded. You sounded sweet- melodic. Music to his ears as your breathing picked up. He stared as you moved your fingers from your clit and down through your folds, wet and glistening as you spread your arousal all over your sex. You were drenched. In all of his life, Eddie never even thought about wanting to be an appendage, but holy shit was he jealous of your fingers.

You use one of your hands to spread yourself open for the camera, causing Eddie’s eyes to almost roll into the back of his head. He was seeing so much of you and he hadn’t even met you yet. But he couldn’t help but watch. He couldn’t look away.

You sink the middle finger of your other hand into your pussy, pushing it in until you reach your knuckle- so fucking deep with that little finger of yours. Eddie couldn’t help but want to take over, wanting to use his much bigger digits to fill you up just how you deserved.

Eddie watched as you slip another finger in, framing your soaked core with your pointer and pinky finger. The way that you touched yourself was hypnotic, putting him in a trance as you ramped yourself up closer and closer to your orgasm. Your moans grew louder, breathing heavier and more needy. Because there was something you needed- Him. Or maybe that’s delusional of him to think. But he knew that he needed you. He was hungry for you and he wanted a taste.

You begin fingering yourself, expertly delving your fingers into your pussy as you fucked yourself with your digits just the way that you liked. Eddie studies this, watching the way that you liked it- wanting to replicate it. No, he wanted to do it better. So fucking good that you couldn't even fathom the idea of anyone touching you but him. He was so drunk on your pussy and he hadn't even so much as touched it yet. He was fucked.

"Alright, angel." The director calls out, catching Eddie's attention for a moment "How about we get some footage of you with one of the toys? Get a really good build-up, climax, we'll do a closeup of the aftermath, and then we're done. Sound good?"

Toys? Eddie forgot about the toys. He was so fucked. He probably shouldn't watch this, knowing that he could very well finish in his pants- but he didn't care. He was rooted to the spot. Too addicted to move. He was drunk on you and your sexy body and your perfect pussy. He needed this. He needed to see you come undone. He needed something to think about tonight as he jacked himself off so hard that he would probably chafe. He'd have to use lube. His own spit wouldn't cut it. There's no way that he could rub himself raw when he knew that he was going to be lucky enough to be in your mouth the next day. Sucked off by those pouty pink lips.

His own thoughts and the view of you naked on that bed, toying with yourself, was becoming overstimulating. It was like an outer-body experience to watch. Even though he didn't feel like he was in his own body, he knew that there was nothing he wanted more than to be inside of yours.

His eyes are glued to the scene as you daintily reach for the toy of your choice. A purple Jack Rabbit style vibrator. You click it on, watching as the toy came to life in your hands. Eddie couldn't help but think about how much bigger he was than that stupid toy. How he would be able to reach places inside of you that the vibrator couldn't even come close to reaching. Places that you probably didn't even know existed. You deserved to be fucked like a queen. Not by some inadequate toy. Even still, he watched as you pressed the tip of the toy to your clit- causing you to gasp loudly in reaction.

Fuck, Eddie thought as he watched you slide the tip of the toy past your clit and through your folds- marveling at the way that your body shivered in reaction. The way that your body responded to pleasure was oh so delicious. Eddie was eating it up like he was starving.

He watches as the toy collects a thick coating of your arousal, making it so wet that Eddie had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

Fuck, you were so wet.

You slide the toy back up towards your clit, pressing the tip against it harshly as your eyes fluttered shut- causing you to buck your hips.

So fucking sensitive.

You swirl the toy against your clit as you breath catches, followed by a soft moan that escaped those pretty lips.

Fuck, baby, let me hear you.

As if you could hear his thoughts, you let out a needy whine. You needed more. It wasn't enough. Not even close.

Before he could process it, you had begun to insert the toy into your pussy- falling back onto the mattress underneath you as you started to thrust it inside. Flicking your wrist with a motion that had you whimpering desperately. The vibration inside of your cunt causing your walls to contract around the vibrator- making it a tight squeeze to continue thrusting.

Eddie's eyes were wide as he watched. The sounds of your moans, the faint buzzing of the vibrator, and the wet squelching sound of your pussy completely overtaking him. Fuck, this was hot. The most erotic thing he's ever fucking seen.

You continue fucking yourself with it, picking up the pace as you sit yourself up enough to watch you fuck yourself with it.

Shit, yes! Bet you like to watch yourself get fucked, don't you?

You mouth falls open as you watch how slickly coated the toy was as you pushed it in and out of your pussy. Eddie was jealous that it wasn't his dick covered in your arousal, making it so easy for him to slide in and out of your cunt at an ungodly pace. He wanted it so fucking bad that his knees were weak.

Without warning, you finally find that spot. That perfect spot deep within you that had you going crazy. Toes curling, gasping for air, moaning out like crazy as you squeezed your eyes shut. You were close.

Fuck, baby! Just like that! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You pushed that pathetic little toy as deep as it could go, your mouth falling into a perfect little 'O' as you got closer and closer and closer.

Show me how you like it, baby. That's right. So fucking good!

Soon you couldn't control yourself, bucking your hips as you thrusted it in and out of hole as your moans became more loud and desperate.

Fuck, sweetheart, doing so good. You're almost there. Need to watch you cum.

You began to reach your peak, practically sobbing as you kept working for it.

C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Let me see it.

And as if on cue with his dirty thoughts, you cry out in pleasure. Finally peaking as your thighs began to shake, whimpering as you came all over that stupid toy- your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave.

Fuck, yes! That's it! Fuck, you are so fucking hot! Jesus fucking Christ!

You rode out your orgasm, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. It was so fucking hot. Eddie didn't know how he had gone this long in his career without fucking you. Without knowing you existed. A perfect little sex kitten that he wanted to play with. Hell, you alone were giving him second thoughts about retiring. Not before he could fuck you in every possible way imaginable. Fuck, he was so fucking into you that he could surely invent new ways to fuck you that had never even been thought of before. He'd have to create a whole new updated version of the Kama Sutra with you as his sole muse.

"That's a wrap! You did great!"

The director praises you as you slowly begin to sit up on the bed, hair wild with a blissed-out look on your face. Eddie had never seen someone look so beautiful post-orgasm.

A member of the production crew came over to you and handed you your silk robe. You stand up with shaky legs as they helped you put it on- making yourself modest after that fucking smoke-show that you had just given everybody. Eddie didn't know how no one else was crashing down like he was. He was leaking so much precum that he would probably need new pants. But it was worth it because you were...wow.

"See? I told you." Eddie whips his head over to catch his manager standing there next to him. Had he been there the whole time? Had Eddie been talking out loud? "What do you think, kid?"

Eddie's mouth was dry. He felt dehydrated from just watching. He felt like he needed to down a gallon of water after watching you get yourself off like a fucking professional. With an intensity that he's never fucking seen before.

"Is she still available?" Eddie croaks, his heart hammering in his chest. What if another guy had swooped in and booked the gig right under his nose while he was too busy ogling at you?

"I could give her manager a call and see if it's still open. I know they reached out to a few guys. That Chris Infamous guy being one of them. The jacked up one with the muscles. You know who I'm talking about."

Chris Infamous? Over his dead fucking body!

“Paul, go call her manager right now and tell them I’m in. Like, now.”

────────

The whole way home, he had been antsy. He had waited an hour after your shoot in his manager’s office as he called up your manager in an attempt to get in touch with them. There was no luck. Paul had missed them every single time- and Eddie made him leave a voicemail every…single…time. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his hands.

Eddie tried to busy himself with his previous plans that he had before leaving his loft earlier that day but he just couldn’t focus. The words in his Dungeons and Dragons player manual just blended together and his mind would wander off, causing him to read the same sentence over and over again.

He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. Your soft, supple body wrapped up in that pink lingerie. Those goddamn white stockings that you had kept on the entire shoot. The way your pussy glistened with your arousal underneath the production lights. Eddie was addicted- transfixed. He needed to do this scene with you.

He throws down his player’s manual, tossing his head back onto the couch. He stares up at the ceiling as he lets out a frustrated grunt. Waiting back for a response was torture. He just needed a yes or a no- hopefully a yes. God, he was hoping for a yes. But if the gig was taken, he wished he would know sooner rather than later in order to kill the anticipation.

He reaches onto the coffee table for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and placing it between his lips before lighting it. He took a couple of drags, the taste of nicotine barely doing anything to calm his nerves. He was so pent up. He had been ever since your scene. He was hot and bothered.

His mind drifts back to thoughts of you. Your perfect tits that would fit perfectly in his hands. Your perky nipples that he wanted to roll his tongue against, tasting them. But he mostly thought about your sex. What you would taste like. He imagined that you would be sweet- candy-coated beneath his tongue as he ate you up. Liquified sugar in the best way.

Eddie could feel his cock twitch beneath his pants as he fantasized- wanting to bury his head between your soft thighs as he worked his tongue against you so ferociously like it would be the last thing he’d ever do. He’d never wanted someone as bad as he wanted you- wishing that he could toy with your sensitive little button with the tip of his tongue. Teasing you until you begged for more.

Eddie began to unbutton his pants, feeling the ache in his cock that was dying to be satiated. He needed a release. His head was so full of you that he needed to do something to quell the heat that he felt in his groin. He needed to cum.

He pulls down his zipper, feeling a sense of relief as the pressure of the metal enclosure against his hard cock was finally removed. It was like releasing a long, pent-up sigh. He was painfully hard. Practically throbbing underneath his boxers as he slides his hand down past the fabric, gripping himself as he attempts to pull his dick out. He winces at the sensitivity he felt on his cock head.

When he pulls his dick free from his jeans, he looks down to find that his tip was nearly red, angry at the lack of attention that it was receiving. It had been a long time since Eddie had touched himself. He normally didn’t have to with the kind of work that he did. But this was different, he needed this. He needed relief.

He wraps his hand around his length, slowly moving it up and down the way that he liked but his member felt nearly hot to the touch. He was so worked up that it had made him ultra-sensitive to every little thing. Every stroke, every little flick of his wrist. He could feel everything with ten times more intensity than normal. And, god, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to jack himself off to completion on his living room couch. No, he wanted to sink his desperately hard cock into the velvety soft walls of your incredible cunt.

A pearl of precum leaks out of his tip, slowly dripping down until he collects it with his finger-swiping it up to use as lubricant and he began to buck his hips into his hand. It shouldn’t be his hand. It should be you. He didn’t want to settle for anything that wasn’t you. But he’d have to until he hopefully got the real thing.

“Ah! F-fuck!” He gasps as he picks up a faster pace, wanting to reach his peak as quickly as possible. He was desperate for it. He was needy and fucked out by the images of you that kept playing out in his head.

You on the bed with your legs spread wide open for him, ready to take whatever it was that he was willing to give you like the good girl you would be. Like the good girl he just knew that you were. He stroked himself fast and hard as he thought about how he’d want you to take his cock. He wanted your legs slung over his shoulders as he pounded into you hard enough to have you sobbing. He wanted to wrap his hand around your throat and jerk you back onto his cock as he fucked you from behind. He wanted to fuck you like a whore. Like you were made for it.

“Fuck, baby…” Eddie whimpers, more precum oozing from his tip as he imagined that it was your hand instead of his. Stroking him with those soft little hands of yours as you stared him down with those gorgeous eyes. Marveling at just how crazy you could drive him- at just how badly he wanted you.

“Shit….just like that, sweetheart. Fuck.”

Eddie could feel himself getting close, his breathing picking up faster and faster until they became needy grunts- trying to chase his high.

“Shit, shit, holy fuck…”

He kept stroking and he wouldn’t stop until he got there. Not when all he could think about was just how hot you looked when you orgasm. When all he wanted was to fuck you so good that you had to beg him to stop. How he wanted to make you cum on his cock over and over again until you couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to take you apart just to put you back together again.

Just when he was ramping up to his finish, a few seconds away from blowing his load into his hand, the phone rings- snatching him right out of his fantasies.

Fuck. No!

He growls in frustration, jumping off the couch as he stumbles towards the phone- barely stuffing his angry cock back into the confines of his jeans. A denim-clad prison.

“What?” He huffs as he picks up the phone, his breathing still heavy and ragged from touching himself.

“Eddie, listen, I got in touch with her management.”

“Fuck!” He sighs in relief, resting his back against the wall. “What’d they say?”

“They were pretty psyched that you wanted in, kid. Turns out you were first choice for them. Which is great because they were an inch away from giving the gig to Chris. Good thing I called when I did. Anyway, you got the gig. They’re excited. The girl’s excited.”

You were excited? Wait…You knew who he was?

“Wait, she knows who I am?” Eddie stammers, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Oh yeah.” Paul laughs “Apparently she’s a huge fan.”

“Fuuuck. No shit?” He asks, trying to fight the grin on his face. He felt on-top-of the-world fucking incredible.

“Have you ever known me to pull your leg, kid? She asked for you specifically. By name. Lucky you, playboy!”

Yeah, Eddie thought. No fucking kidding!

“She asked…for me?” He still couldn’t believe it. You were out-of-this-world gorgeous and you wanted him to be your first on-screen partner? Eddie hadn’t experienced an ego-boost this big since…well, ever.

“Yeah, kid. First on her list. She was worried we wouldn’t accept what her management was offering but I told her we’d make it work.”

Fuck, he would do it for free.

Wait…

“You spoke to her?” Eddie asks, jaw practically hitting the floor.

“Oh yeah,” Paul replied “She personally returned my calls. Wanted to thank us for accepting.”

“No fucking way.” Eddie swoons. It just kept getting better.

“She also wanted me to tell you that she hoped you were impressed at the shoot today. She said she was a little nervous when she saw you but hopefully you didn’t notice.”

You...naughty…little…minx. You had known that he was there the entire time? Fuck….

“Anyway, call time for tomorrow is eight a.m.” Paul adds “And Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fucking be late.”

────────

The next morning, Eddie had woken up early.

Not because he had something to do or somewhere to be. No vastly important errands that he needed to run. Eddie had woken up early because his body couldn’t stand to stay dormant and asleep any longer. Because, for once in a long time, his reality was better than sleep. He had something to look forward to- you.

He had never felt this way before, never took his work too seriously- honestly, what was there to take seriously? He just showed up, fucked, picked up his check, and went home. He never put much thought into things. He just did them. But today was different. Today, he seemed to be putting too much thought into everything.

He agonized over whether or not to drink coffee, worried that the caffeine might make him come off hyper or on edge when he finally had the opportunity to speak to you. He debated foregoing breakfast, giving himself an excuse to invite you out to post-work brunch if things really took off between you two. This was the start of all of his worries. The closer it got to his call time, he got more and more in his own head.

He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything about himself. Anything that you could nit-pick when you finally met. Did you like tattooed guys? What if you didn’t? Would you think his tattoos were stupid? Did you prefer guys with short hair as opposed to long hair? What if he wasn’t your type at all in the slightest and none of this even really mattered? It only got worse by the minute.

Then he reminded himself that you knew him. You’ve seen his work. You were a fan. There was obviously something you must have liked if you chose him out of any other guy in the industry. You were so pretty that you could have requested anyone you wanted- and you chose him. Eddie desperately wanted to know why.

He prepped and primped himself in the bathroom like a teenage girl. He took extra care in the shower, scrubbing every inch of himself vigorously with the soap that smelled extra good.

He washed and conditioned his hair. Hell, he actually brushed it and applied product instead of just running his fingers through it and calling it good. He fucking styled it- putting it into a low bun with a hair tie that he found in his medicine cabinet. He knew just how much wearing his hair up drove women crazy- and he hoped that you weren’t any exception.

He paid extra attention to his downstairs area, making sure that he was perfectly trimmed and proper for you. The last thing he wanted was for you to get on your knees for him and be met with an unkempt jungle. He wanted things to be neat and tidy. He also hoped that landscaping the bush would make his dick appear prettier- something that you’d want to put in your mouth.

An hour before his call time, he was shaking like a leaf. He felt like he was in high school again, nervous and skittish around the female population of Hawkins High. Which was ironic considering what he does for a living these days. Over the years following graduation and leaving that hellhole, Eddie had begun to gain a sense of self-confidence. His demeanor changed.

He became sure of himself, finally believing that he was worth women’s attention. That he was far more attractive than he initially gave himself credit for- and the critical feedback on his work as a porn actor definitely proved that. If twenty year-old Eddie could see just how many women would flip their shit over him, he’d have probably dropped dead in disbelief. But none of those women mattered. None of the porn girls that he had previously filmed with mattered. Even the girls from Hawkins didn’t matter anymore. You mattered.

The whole drive to the studio was anxiety-inducing. Multiple people tried to cut him off on the freeway- gotta love L.A. traffic. Some douchebag in a fucking Corvette flipped him off because he forgot to use his blinker, which seemed to worsen Eddie’s mood as he just kept overthinking himself. How was he supposed to talk to you, let alone shoot a scene, when he couldn’t even drive straight?

When he finally pulled up to the studio and parked his van, Eddie was officially a wreck. He had no idea what to do with himself. You were probably already inside trying to pretty yourself up for your scene together. Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what you would wear- hell, why did he even care if you wore anything at all?

He wondered if you were just as nervous as he was. Granted, you had an excuse. This would be your first scene with a partner, meanwhile, this wasn’t anywhere close to Eddie’s first rodeo. Yet, he felt like a virgin on prom night.

He enters the studio, trying to act normal as the front desk girls greet him. Even the choruses of “Hi Eddie…” in their seductive voices weren’t enough to get him out of his own head. He just gave a small wave and a slight tinge of a smile on his lips. Normally he would’ve leaned up against the receptionist desk and flirted- given them just a scrap of his attention. But not today. Not when he felt like he was going to be sick.

He drifted all the way back to Paul’s office, casually knocking on the door a couple of times before letting himself in. His manager looks up from his desk, suddenly adopting a confused look on his face once he laid eyes on Eddie.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Paul asks, tilting his head in confusion.

The comment takes Eddie aback, immediately causing his stomach to drop. Was he missing something? He was supposed to be here…right? Then he felt the dread seep in.

Fuck. The shoot’s cancelled. No way. There is no…fucking…way.

“I…uh…I’m confused.” Eddie replies slowly, shaking his head as he tries to keep it together. This could not be happening.

“Aren’t we shooting today? I came before call time. Did they fucking cancel?” He panics, running his ring-clad fingers through his hair in agony. Fuck!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Paul says “Nobody cancelled. Shoot’s still on.”

“But…I thought…you said you were surprised that I’m here.” Eddie tries to reason.

“Yeah,” Paul nods, looking at Eddie as if he were nuts “I’m surprised that you’re here before call time. I’ve managed you for the past three years and I can barely remember a time when you’ve ever shown up on time. Let alone early.”

“Oh.” Eddie replies, dumbfounded.

Well, at least the shoot is still on.

“Are you wearing cologne?” Paul asks, looking Eddie up and down as he stood awkwardly in front of his desk.

“Oh.” Eddie breathes “Yeah.”

That has Paul even more confused. Eddie always smelled nice but it was always just his natural scent- laundry detergent, a woodsy musk from the deodorant he wore, and a hint of cigarette smoke. Eddie never deliberately put on cologne unless he was trying to impress someone- and Paul knew this.

“Alright, well…” Paul starts, not knowing what to say to make things less awkward than it already was “Your leading lady is here. Dressing room A.”

“She’s here already?” Eddie gapes, taken by surprise. He thought he had more time to prepare. For what? He didn’t know.

“Yeah, kid. Unlike you, the leading lady happens to know a thing or two about punctuality. Speaking of which, why don’t you go see how she’s doing? Bet she’s sweating like a sinner in church. First time on-camera partner and all that.”

“Do you think she’s nervous?” Eddie asks, out of concern but mostly to gauge if you could be nervous because of him.

“No idea, kid, but it would be nice for you to have a conversation with each other. You know, before you stick your dick in her mouth.” Paul suggests.

To which, he had a great point. Eddie probably should go and say hi. Hopefully he can pull himself together enough to be charming and personable for you. Or, if anything, at least make you feel a bit more comfortable with him before he went down on you in front of a whole camera crew. This could either go very well for him or become a complete disaster.

────────

Eddie stood outside of your dressing room door, his body so tense that he felt like stone. On the other side of this door was you- the girl of his wet dreams that he somehow, begrudgingly, didn’t know existed until yesterday. To say that he was nervous would be an understatement. Eddie’s stomach felt like it was tied in knots and the last thing he wanted was for you to see that he was nervous. No, he had to play it cool- confident and sure of himself. He could do this. Even if it was all a facade.

He begins to knock, so nervous that he could practically break into a sweat over it. He was definitely glad that he decided to wear cologne today but then Eddie began to worry that maybe the cologne would make it seem like he was trying too hard. He was worried that you could sense it and that it would turn you off. Turning you off was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

He could hear shuffling from behind the door, the sound growing closer before the handle turned and the door swung open- revealing you. All dolled up with completed hair and makeup. Wearing that short little silk robe. As soon as you saw him, your face broke into a smile.

Okay, Eddie thought, that’s a good sign.

“Hey,” he smiles, trying to be smooth but it was so fucking hard when you looked at him with those eyes “I’m Eddie. I’m…uh…I’m your scene partner for today.”

Not that he had to introduce himself. You knew exactly who he was. You had gotten off to his scenes more times than you could count.

“Right, of course!” You exclaim, extending out your hand in greeting as you introduced yourself to him. Eddie raised his eyebrows when he noticed that you hadn’t given him your porn name. No, you had given him your real name.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you….properly.” Eddie jokes, causing you to laugh. God, he loved the way your lips curled into a smile- how your eyes lit up. You were so damn pretty.

“Me too.” you nod, looking at him for a beat too long to be accidental. With a cheeky little glint in your eyes as you casually looked him up and down.

Oh, Eddie thought, so we’re flirting now?

“You mind if I come in? Or are you going to make me hang out in the hallway?” Eddie teases “Which I wouldn’t mind. As long as you keep looking at me like that.”

Your heart flutters in your chest “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” You bite your lip nervously- and, boy, does Eddie notice.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He smirks “So, you gonna let me in or?”

“Right!” You shake your head “Come in.”

You step aside, letting him walk through the door before closing it for privacy. Not that you expected anything to happen. Not off-camera, at least.

Eddie walks over and sinks down onto the small loveseat that was against the wall in the dressing room. He sits seductively, legs spread apart as he leans back on the sofa like he owned it. Honestly, he was so charming that he could tell you that he did, indeed, own it and you’d believe him. You, on the other hand, sank down into the hair and makeup chair across from him.

“So, I…uh….I should probably say thank you for accepting. My management probably already told you but it’s my first time doing a scene with someone else. I normally do solo work.”

“So I’ve seen.” Eddie replies, a cocky smirk on his lips. He wanted you to know that he had seen you in action. Not that he needed to tell you. No, he just wanted to remind you of the fact.

“So, my manager might have told me that you had requested me specifically…..by name.”

As soon as the words left his lips, your face began to heat up in embarrassment. “He told you that?”

“Mhm.” Eddie hums, his eyes devouring you.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie smiles slyly “I was pretty flattered, actually. Not gonna lie, it kinda gave me a big head.”

And, to tell you the truth, I wanna show you my big head, Eddie wanted to say.

But he didn’t want to come off crude and overtly sexual during your first meeting.

“Really?” You mumble bashfully, trying to look anywhere but at Eddie but it was so hard when he was so fucking hot.

“Yeah.” He confirms “Especially coming from a girl like you. So, tell me, sweetheart….why me?”

The sound of his deep, sexy voice calling you sweetheart was enough to make you light-headed. Lord have mercy….

“Well,” you sigh “My management really started to float the idea of me doing stuff with a co-star. They thought it might push my career a bit more and give me more opportunities. To be honest, I wanted to do it but I didn’t want to do it with just anyone. So, I told them that I would only agree to do it as long as I could pitch at least one guy that I thought I could feel…comfortable with.”

You thought you could feel comfortable with him. You had chosen him because there was something about him that you felt was different than all of the other porn guys. You were far too shy to admit it but Eddie was your favorite male pornstar. You didn’t know what it was about him but he just felt safe. Like you wouldn’t be completely in your head if you were to work with him.

You had seen so much of his stuff that you had witnessed exactly how he treated other girls-putting their pleasure first so much so that he made sure to at least get them off twice before he finished, himself. It wasn’t just that but how soft he seemed with them. Like every one of them and how they felt was important. For your first time, you didn’t want to feel like a piece of meat. You wanted to feel cared for. You were certain that Eddie Munson would be the perfect guy to pop your first-time cherry with. He didn’t want to settle for anything else.

“I make you feel comfortable?” He asks, looking at you in a way that had you on the brink of melting into your seat. However, truth be told, it was Eddie who was trying not to lose his shit. You felt comfortable with him. You had chosen him because there was something different about him than the others. You felt something.

“That’s, uh, really flattering.” Eddie clears his throat, trying to stifle the very turned-on moan that he felt coming. "Can I maybe ask why you feel comfortable with me? Y'know, so I can lean into it while we're shooting the scene?"

And so I can use it as spank bank material tonight…

“Well, I don't really know what it is exactly.” You begin, wringing your hands nervously in your lap “I guess it’s the vibe you give off. I’ve seen your stuff and I just….there’s something about how you treat the other girls that makes me feel like I’d be safe. Cared for, I guess.”

“Okay, yeah." He nods.

Keep it together, Eddie. Jesus Christ...

“I want to make sure you feel cared for. It's important to me. Especially it being your first time. I'm really flattered."

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, of course. How could I not be?' Eddie admits “You're, like, super gorgeous....and you picked me, for some reason."

He says it as if he's not one of the most sought after guys in the industry. Like he was nobody. Like he couldn't have a harem of girls hanging all over him if he wanted to.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m looking forward to it. Making you feel cared for...and safe."

"Thanks, Eddie." You reply bashfully "That means a lot to me."

"Um....so....since we're being truthful and shit...can I admit something?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Yeah." You agree "Absolutely. Safe space and all." You smile and, god, it makes Eddie's dick so hard.

"I...uh...I've kinda got a little crush on you." He blurts out before he can back out of saying it.

"Oh." You breathe, your eyes widening in surprise "You have a crush...on me?"

Eddie fucking Munson just admitted that he had a crush on you.

"...Yeah." He winces "I've kinda been down bad for you since yesterday."

"Really?" You repeat "Me?"

"Why do you keep saying it like it's hard to believe or something?" Eddie laughs.

"I mean....because it is. You're...you know..."

"I'm what?" He pushes, wanting to hear you say it.

"You're Eddie 'The Munch' Munson, for god's sake."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Eddie laughs "That’s a new one."

"I mean...it's not not factual." You argue "When you...you know...eat pussy like that....you could have basically any girl that you want."

"Hm." Eddie hums, as if he were doubting it.

"Oh please," You tease "Don't act all modest. You know you're gifted."

"Oh, I am, am I?" He flirts, a cheeky smirk spreading across his lips.

"As if you don't know." You scoff, trying to avoid his gaze. But how could you when he was so hot?

"Well, sweetheart, that's really flattering coming from you." He compliments "At least I know that I have a pretty good chance of pleasing you later."

The comment went straight to your core, causing you to shift in the hair and makeup chair as you clamp your thighs together. You tried to be inconspicuous about the fact that him and his words had such a strong effect on you, but Eddie's eyes shift to your long, sexy legs as you crossed them in your seat. His lips curl into another smirk. He was loving this.

"Don't look at me like that." You practically whisper, your face heating up bashfully.

"Like what?" Eddie teases, that fucking shit-eating-grin still plastered on his face.

"I don't know. Like-"

"Like I wanna eat you?" Eddie interjects, raising an eyebrow at you seductively.

Cocky asshole....

"What if I do wanna eat you, sweetheart?" He asks, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on his knees, staring you down.

"I-"

"'Cause I do. As a matter of fact, since this is a safe space and all, I'm going to tell you that I wanna eat you so fucking bad. Real bad."

You were so fucking wet. Holy fucking shit.

"And if I'm being real honest, baby, I wanna eat you so good that I make you cry. But I get the feeling that you just might like that."

"Eddie..."

"But only if you want me to." He adds "I don't wanna misinterpret anything."

He couldn't misinterpret anything if he fucking tried. How you felt about him was so fucking obvious.

"Anyway," He says, quickly standing from his seat on the sofa. “I should probably go freshen up for you. Y'know, seeing as I'm about to get really lucky in the next..." He checks his watch "Thirty minutes."

He looks up from his watch, his big brown eyes falling upon you- drinking you in.

"See you out there, Princess."

────────

You were so fucking nervous. You stood off-set, watching as production set up lighting- making sure there was the right amount of brightness on the scene stage. The set was a small brick-walled room with an expensive looking black leather sofa in the middle. White shag rug underneath it and some vibrantly green foliage plants in the background.

It was reminiscent of those “casting couch” scenes that porn companies liked to shoot- but this one was classy. Not cheap and sleazy. Like it was the middle of someone’s living room- a glimpse into a private passionate moment between a couple and not just two strangers fucking. Eddie Munson was going to eat you out on that couch. The thought of it made you somehow even wetter than you already were.

Just as you were allowing yourself to get lost in the fantasy, you feel a large hand on your waist- causing you to look over to find Eddie standing next to you. Staring at you with softness in his eyes.

“Doing okay?” He asks, searching your face for any indication that you weren’t, indeed, doing okay.

“I’m okay.” You breathe shakily “Just a little nervous.”

“Don’t be.” Eddie whispers, leaning into you so intimately that only you could hear “There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just me. You’re safe with me, okay?”

And somehow those five little words felt like they’ve lifted so much weight off of your shoulders. He was right. It was just him. You could trust him.

“Okay.” You whisper, looking into his warm, brown eyes. Everything was going to be okay.

“How about this…” he starts, beginning to think “If things become too much or you need to stop, I want you to tap my arm twice. I’ll get them to cut and we’ll take a break.”

“Won’t they get mad?” You ask, your voice tiny and uncertain.

“It doesn’t matter.” He states “What matters is that you’re comfortable. This is about you, sweetheart. Without you, there’s no scene. You have the upper-hand. You are in control here. Nothing happens here that you don’t want to happen. Understand?”

“Yeah.” You nod “Okay.”

“You trust me?”

“I trust you, Eddie.”

“Good.” He nods “Because there’s nothing to worry about. If things start to get overwhelming with everyone watching just close your eyes and just focus on feeling, okay? That’s my job. To make you feel good.”

You didn’t think it was possible to be even wetter than you had been before but Eddie being sweet on you had practically opened up a floodgate inside of you. If it weren’t for the scene, you’d throw yourself at him right there.

“Well, hopefully I’m able to return the favor.” You say “I’ve never done that before…on camera.”

You were alluding to giving him a blowjob. It’s not like you haven’t given blowjobs to ex-boyfriends and casual hookups before. But this was different. You would be sucking off Eddie Munson- a man that’s probably received far too many blowjobs to count. He’s probably experienced some mind-blowing shit and there’s no way that you’d ever be able to compare to what other porn girls have been able to do to him with their mouths. You were embarrassed to even try.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, trust me. I’m not picky.” He laughs “Blowjobs are like pizza. Even when it’s not the best pizza, it’s still good because it’s pizza. Not that I expect you to be bad or anything.”

“…I don’t know if that’s supposed to be encouraging or not.” You reply, starting to retreat back into your own head.

“Sweetheart, what I’m trying to say is that it’s going to be fine. Don’t think too much about it.”

“But how could I not think about it when-“

You were cut off by Eddie grabbing for your hand, squeezing it affectionately as he looked into your eyes.

“I thought said you trusted me.” He points out, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I do.” You reply hastily “I just-“

“Like I said, focus on feeling. When we get to that part, I just want you to focus on what feels right. Things will be fine. Honestly, there’s also nothing sexier than a girl that’s into it, y’know?” Eddie explains “You don’t have to be the best at something. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you enjoy doing it and I want you to enjoy yourself. ‘Kay?”

“Okay.” You nod, letting his words sink in.

“Also, sweetheart, with lips like those, I’m sure you suck cock like a champ but I guess I’ll just have to wait to find out.”

Your heart skips a beat at his dirty confession and you almost think about smacking his arm before one of the production managers approaches you.

“You’re on in five.” They say “Start stripping down and we’ll get you on set.”

You felt your blood run cold.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers, voice low as he strokes your back with one of his large hands “If it gets to be too much just look at me, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the entire time.”

You take a deep breath before nodding. Eddie gives your hand another squeeze before letting you walk to take your place on set. He had successfully gotten you out of your head even just a little bit. Now Eddie just had to get himself out of his own head about cumming too soon.

────────

Eddie stands back near the camera as the director calls action. He had been watching you like a hawk, eyes peeled for any sort of sense that you were beginning to panic. He stared as you dropped your robe, handing it off before gingerly taking a seat onto the black leather sofa.

“Alright, start off slow like you normally do. Take as much time as you need. Start off with slowly taking the panties off. We’ll do some light touching, maybe some fingering. Get yourself nice and ready then Eddie’s gonna come in and take care of you.”

Hearing those words immediately felt soothing to you.

You look over towards the camera and lock eyes with Eddie. He was right there like he told you he would be. He winks at you, setting off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You began to follow directions, waiting for the director to give you the okay before you started. Then you began to do what felt right. Just like you were doing a solo masturbation scene. You began to touch and caress your body, getting yourself worked up as you got into the scene.

You began with your breasts, reaching your hands up as you began to knead them through the red lacy bra that you had chosen for this scene- something that made you feel sexy and confident. In your head you began to repeat it like a mantra.

You were sexy and confident.

You are sexy.

You are confident.

You could do this.

You push your tits together, thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the lace bra and you gasped at the feeling. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to be in the moment and just feel. Just like Eddie had told you.

Eddie, on the other side of the set, was watching. His eyes were hyper-fixated on every little thing. The way your soft hands roamed your supple body and you tossed your head back in pleasure as you teased yourself. He was too far away but he was sure that you were letting out the tiniest little moans as you touched and squeezed and felt your sexy body with gentle hands.

Eddie had been halfway hard all morning but now his cock was starting to respond to every little thing you did. Every pinch, every grasp, every flick of your fingers against your tits. He could’ve sworn that it was starting to get hot in there and your bra wasn’t even off yet.

“Okay, honey, start to naturally drift down more. Get to the panties and take them off. We want it nice and slow, alright? Tease the camera.”

Tease the camera? Eddie definitely won’t be lasting long enough for the planned cum shot if you kept going on like that. But he didn’t dare say it out loud. He didn’t want to immediately gain a reputation for finishing fast even when he had so much pornographic proof out there that he wasn’t a fast shooter. You were the first girl in the industry that made him worry that he was going to finish in his pants as soon as he got a taste of you.

Nevertheless, your hands began to drag down, lower and lower until they reached the waistband of your panties. Red lace just like the bra. You didn’t even have to feel yourself to know that you were ready to go. You knew as soon as you had locked your eyes on Eddie from where he stood off-set that you were going to be drenched. But your right hand still delved into your panties, swiping at your folds as you felt just how wet you were.

Eddie watched, heart pounding as he stared at your hand down your little red panties-playing with your sopping wet core until you slowly removed your fingers. Drawing them out to reveal a thin coating of your arousal. Eddie’s breath hitched as your eyes bore into him. You were staring at him. Your gaze was locked in on him. All of this was for him.

You bring your slick fingers to your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you popped them into your mouth, sucking them nice and clean.

Fuck, you dirty girl….

Eddie’s dick begins to strain against his jeans at the action. God, was he ready to find out what you tasted like. He couldn’t take the teasing and direct eye-contact for much longer. He was so fucking ready for you.

Meeting the expectations of the director, you slip your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, seductively shimmying your hips as you pulled them down tantalizingly slow- agonizingly slow. Eddie watches with greedy eyes.

You laid back onto the sofa, panties wrapped around your thighs as you begin to lift your legs up, pulling the wet lacy fabric the rest of the way down your legs that were lifted slightly into the air- giving the camera a nice view of your pussy. Thighs pressed together in a way that had Eddie staring hungrily. He wanted so badly to sink down to his knees and hold those legs up like that as he ate you. The sight was mesmerizing.

After the lacy panties were off, you flung them across the set- right in Eddie's direction and he swore he saw a cute little smirk on your face when you did it. God, you were so naughty- and he was going to teach you a lesson.

"Okay, honey, now lay back on the couch. Spread your legs. Great! Perfect! Can we get some finger action in there?"

Eddie realizes just how well you follow directions as your body melts into the back of the couch, bringing your legs up onto it as you open them for the camera- spreading them open for everyone to see and, god, it was a fucking sight that was so fucking unholy. Yet, Eddie couldn't look away. Not when you were bare and spread out in front of him for his eyes to feast upon. That gorgeous body, those lace-clad tits, that glistening wet pussy. You were going to fucking kill him.

Just when he thought it couldn't get any hotter, you looked off near the camera- eyes trained on his as you used your fingers to spread yourself open for him. He could have passed out right there.

Fuck, he was really gonna give it to you.

He was going to devour every fucking inch of that tight little pussy until you were screaming. Fuck the cameras, fuck the scene, fuck everyone who was watching. They didn't matter. All that mattered was what he wanted to fucking do to you.

Your fingers began to tease your hole as you glided them up and down your slit. You were so fucking wet that it was making Eddie weak in the knees. Your sopping wet pussy was none other than a holy altar in which he wanted to bow down and worship. Eddie wasn't religious but you were a fucking goddess that he would devote his entire fucking life praying to if you let him.

You began to play with yourself, using your fingers to rub your needy little clit in slow circles. You threw your head back against the back of the sofa as you close your eyes. Focusing on feeling. Making yourself feel good. Getting yourself nice and wet for Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie fucking Munson with his huge fucking cock and his soft-looking lips and those big brown eyes. How he made you feel. So cared for, so safe. Your fingers begin to work your clit a bit rougher. You had seen him on screen so many times fucking so many girls and now it was finally going to be you. His head between your thighs. His tongue in your folds. Sucking on your clit. It was getting you so fucking worked up.

You insert two fingers into your pussy as you begin to fuck them into yourself. You let your mind take over, moans tumbling from your lips as you try to fuck yourself with your fingers as deep as you can- wanting to hit that spot within yourself that had you curling your toes.

You shove them as deep as you go, trying to reach it but you just couldn’t. It felt like something was missing. But you kept trying. It felt good, of course it did, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Like you were struggling. Now you were beginning to wonder if closing your eyes and thinking about Eddie was what did you in.

You had no issues in the past with using your fingers on yourself to get the relief you needed but now they just felt inadequate. As if they suddenly weren’t enough. It was so odd. Was Eddie jinxing you? Were you maybe more nervous than you originally thought? Were you-

“Alright, honey, how are we doing?” The director asks, bellowing out to you from behind the camera. “You look good, babe. Gorgeous. We’re going to add Eddie in. Are you ready?”

You look over at Eddie as he begins to strip off his shirt, his brown curls still tied back in a low bun. As he removes his t-shirt, you can’t help but stare- zoning in on his sexy, toned body. He was so fucking hot. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more turned on by him, he looks up at you- making sure that you were okay. That you were comfortable.

You both lock eyes, staring at each other with so much sexual tension that the whole room could probably feel it. You wanted Eddie Munson so bad- his body, his mouth, this hands touching all over you. You wanted him so bad that your body felt hot to the touch. He had been your industry crush for so long and now you were going to have his mouth on you- tasting you.

You give the director the okay, still spread out on the couch. As Eddie prepares to join you on-set, he can’t help the way that his eyes wander over your beautiful body. Your perky tits, your long legs, your pretty face, your sexy curves- but, most of all, your glistening wet sex. You were practically dripping with arousal as he shamelessly stared at you- the most gorgeous angel he’s ever laid eyes on. He hadn’t even gotten his mouth on you yet and he knew that he was in for trouble.

“Alright, you’re on.” The director nods towards him, giving Eddie his cue. It was the moment that he had been thinking about for hours.

His hardened cock was surely very noticeable beneath his black jeans. He could’ve sworn that there was so much blood rushing to his dick that he would pass out from the sheer lack of it being anywhere else in his body- and it was only getting worse with the way that you were looking at him. As if he were the most delectable man on the planet. Which, you would have to admit, was pretty accurate.

Your eyes stay glued to him and the pure fucking sex god that he is as he crosses onto the set, introducing himself to the scene. You loved the way that the black denim of his jeans hugged his waist. You loved the silver chain that dangled against his right hip as he strode over to you. You loved the soft tufts of dark hair that made up the happy trail leading down into the waistband of his pants. Eddie Munson was a fucking dream. He was a king- and you wanted to be his queen.

“Hey, you.” He whispers, eyes on you as he sinks down onto his knees in front of you “Doing okay? Not nervous?”

He was checking on you. Fuck, there was no way this man could be any hotter.

“I’m okay.” You whisper back “Just a little overwhelmed.”

The way that Eddie looked at you with those chocolate brown eyes made you want to melt.

“Yeah?” He asks, voice still low enough for only you to hear- sharing this intimate moment with you only.

“Just a little.” You answer. You were trying not to focus on your nerves but you could feel the space that they occupied in your body.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and relax. I’m here to take care of you.” He says, his eyes warm “Remember what I said? If it gets to be too much just focus on me. Just forget that anyone’s even here. Okay?”

“Okay.” You whisper back, staring at him as you nod.

“Good.” He says “Now, how can I help you get comfortable? What do you need? Hm?”

God, he was making you so wet…

“….I….I, uh, can you use-“ You immediately felt embarrassed, your face flushes as you try to look away from him.

“Hey, hey, hey…” He tsks “Eyes on me. Look at me, angel.” He reaches for you, taking your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger- guiding you to look at him. “Tell me what you want. It’s just you and me here. It’s just us. Okay?”

“Okay.” You bite your lip, nodding along.

“Say it.” He demands, maintaining eye contact “I want to hear you say it. Need to know that you’re with me. That it’s just me and you in this room right now. Nobody else. Just us, okay? Tell me.”

“I….It’s just us.” You breathe, your body feeling as if it were on fire from the intimacy “You and me. No one else.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Just you and me. Now, tell me, what….do you….need?”

What did you need?

“You, Eddie. I need you.” You gasp lightly, causing his lips to form into a smirk.

“What do you need me to do?” He asks “Gotta use your words or I won’t be able to understand.”

“I want….I need you to kiss me. Please?”

Eddie lets of a short, low growl from the back of his throat as his hands fly to your waist, grasping tightly as he jerked you towards him- wanting you closer.

“C’mere, baby.” He rasps, straightening his body to become level with yours before he uses one of his large hands to grab the back of your neck- pulling you into a rough, hungry kiss that was so intense that it could have knocked the air out of you.

And Eddie fucking Munson was an amazing kisser.

The way that his lips slotted and molded against yours. The way that his mouth moved against yours as he nipped and licked and sucked at your bottom lip. The way that he slid his tongue into your mouth as if you belonged to him- causing you to want him to make you his.

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue fought for dominance against yours, taking your breath away with how desperate he was to kiss you harder and more passionately than he already was- if that were even possible.

How hands were all over. Grabbing your waist, his fingertips trailing up and down your back in delicate touches. The way that his thumb slipped underneath the clasp of your bra. He pulled his thumb back to stretch out the band then released it to let it snap back against your soft skin- earning him a surprised gasp.

He removes his lips from yours, beginning to pepper light kisses along your jawline before trailing his lips down your neck. You tilt your head back, giving him more access as he kisses down the column of your throat and then back up- working his way over until he began nibbling on your ear. You thought you were dreaming when he whispered in your ear.

“Can I take your tits out?”

You probably seemed needy and desperate as you fervently nodded your approval. You worried that you probably looked pathetic but, to Eddie, there was nothing hotter than seeing how worked up you were getting.

“P-please.” You mutter, voice coming out breathy and shaky.

“Mmm…good girl. Wanna look at those pretty tits when I fuck you with my fingers.”

You let out a startled squeak at his filthy works, causing him to grin.

“Fuck, sweetheart, does that turn you on? Listening to me tell you that I wanna put my fingers in you? Hm? That I wanna stuff you full?”

“Fuck, Eddie…” You moan.

“God, sweetheart, you’re already moaning my name and I haven’t even touched you yet. So needy for me. I fucking love it.”

He reaches both hands around to your bra clasp, expertly popping it open and removing it as if it were the easiest thing on earth. To him, it probably was. He’s probably taken off so many girl’s bras that he could do it with his eyes closed.

He pulled the bra off, taking it in his large hand before flinging it somewhere on the set. Not that it mattered. As hot as it was, it was getting in the way of what he really wanted. Your tits in his mouth.

“Mmm fuck, baby.” He groans, staring lovingly at your gorgeous chest- your hardened nipples. “You are so goddamn pretty, angel. So beautiful. Can I put my mouth on them?”

“Please.” You moan, arching your back in order to bring your tits closer to his face. Eddie chuckles at your eagerness.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He laughs “You want me to put them in my mouth? Yeah? These sweet fucking titties….”

He keeps one hand on your waist while the other snakes up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your boob as he squeezes it in his hand.

“So fucking soft, honey. So warm…..so perfect.” He teases, voice low and seductive. “Perfect little tits. Want me to put them in my face? Suck on your perky little nipples? Fuck, they’re so hard for me.”

You don’t know what came over you but you instinctively grasp at Eddie’s hand that was left grabbing your waist as you draw it up and onto your other breast, wanting him to have two handfuls of you.

“Look at you, sweet girl. You want both my hands paying attention to your tits? So bossy.” He tsks “Could’ve just asked. But that’s okay. I’m gonna give you what you want. But you’re gonna have to do something for me too.”

You look at him with curiosity in your eyes. You had no idea what he was going to ask you. Truth be told, it made you a little nervous.

“Since both my hands are full, sweetness, I’m gonna need you to use yours to play with your pussy for me. Think you can do that for me? Hm?”

Fuck

You stare at him as he surveys your body, now fully nude in front of him. God, you were a beautiful sight.

“Okay.” You squeak out, nodding your head.

“Atta girl.” He whispers “That’s my good girl. Now start rubbing your clit.”

────────

To Be Continued in Part 2…

A/N: Hope you enjoyed part one. Sorry that I cut it short, I didn’t want to make the fic too long and I also wanted to get it out before I left for vacation next week. I feel like I’ve already held this back from you all long enough. Please excuse any spelling errors. I’ll go back and edit later

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