♡OBESSED♡

As the moon gets fuller and he becomes more and more disheveled. Anxiety and irritation building in him, he pays no mind to keeping himself looking presentable. Five o'clock shadow deepening into a darker shade, you can tell he hasn't shaved in days. Usually gentle green eyes blacken to a shade of unease.

Early on he's confused by the changes. Struggling and failing to keep his temperament in check, and he finds himself isolating in the church the more the moon swells. He keeps telling himself he's just tired and that maybe he's caught a bug that's been going around town. Opting out of any social interaction he can.

The nightmares begin shortly after the first full moon. Ripping, tearing, horrid dreams that feel so vibrantly real he wakes screaming. Shuddering breaths and soft trembles in the dark occupy most of his wolf-less nights. Muttered prayers in hushed tones, aimed at protection and comfort. He's scared, but he can't quite put his finger on why.

When he can't fall asleep or doesn't want to, nightmares digging into his subconscious and giving the tell tale warning signs of their arrival, he'll visit you. “Night walks” he calls them, tells you they soothe his occasional insomnia. Tells you that he “decided to drop by and check in.” even though it's 2 in the morning and any decent person would be asleep. Flashing you a nervous smile, while his hands twist and rub together anxiously. He doesn't want to impose, but he can't help himself.

You know what he needs. He wants you to take him in and make him feel safe. Comfort he gives to others but rarely receives himself. It's vital for him, especially nearing the full moon. The nightmares are bad and his mental state worsens. You don't miss how he trembles, the shimmer of unshed tears brimming in his eyes. As soon as you open the door, sleep is the furthest thing from your mind. You can see the damp beaded sweat on his brow beneath the dull golden glow of porch lights. “Oh, Les.” You coo, foot propping the door open so he can come in of his own accord. Holding your arms out, welcoming him into an embrace if he chooses.

He never refuses. head coming to rest on your shoulder, arms either wrapped tightly around you or crossed over himself. hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. Shuttering breaths don't ease, and you brace yourself for a long night. You expertly navigate backwards to the couch, getting more comfortable for the emotional clean up you're in store for.

“What's wrong, Les?” You tilt his head to look at you, but he avoids your eyes. Silence envelopes the surroundings, everything quiet aside from occasional sniffling. The Reverend was a quiet mourner, lest anyone acknowledge that he had demons of his own.

You wait for him to respond. Many nights he'll avoid it, head dipped low and sulking. Not welcoming conversation he has to partake in, preferring to just wallow in your presence and physical touches.

“Just ain't hav'n a good night s’all” his gentle southern drawl is little more than a whisper, “.....I had another one tonight….. Real bad.” he rubs his eyes furiously. You sigh, gently resting your forehead on his. Hands still resting on his face. He's still avoiding eye contact, it must have been a horrible dream. You don't push him to talk about the nightmares, having him relive it and regurgitate the horrid details sounds needlessly cruel. He tells you if he feels so inclined, although most times he would prefer to forget.

“It's okay. I've got you now. You're safe in my arms, Honey.” you repeat this like a mantra, and he seems to settle down a bit. Breath slowing and deepening. “Let's go lay down and I'll read to you, yeah? Put this nasty business out of your mind.” He nods and you rise, for a brief moment he loses the warmth and shivers. You offer him a hand and he greedily takes it, you lead him to the bedroom. It's almost routine at this point, climbing into bed and Lester follows. Planting himself firmly on top of you, so your arms envelop him. Your soft voice above him begins speaking words from the nearest novel you gave on hand. The sound of your heartbeat thumping steadily, it's so ordinary it makes him feel normal. Like all of this is a bad dream.

Cold air bites at your skin, hair prickling from its icy touch. Stumbling down the steps from the bar, you let out a little giggle. Vision blurred and spinning, balancing seemed to be almost impossible. Saying you were tipsy would be an understatement. Obviously, you were in no state to drive. You had the foresight to have one of your friends drop you off and pick you up, but unfortunately, they were called away for a family emergency. Whatever the fuck that means. 

Deciding it's no big deal, since you only live a couple blocks away, you don't call a cab. Might be a nice night for a walk. The crisp air feels good against the warm flush of your skin, it nearly makes you forget about the creep you encountered at the bar. It seemed like the usual harassment case, weirdo wanting your number or a quick fuck. However this guy just felt…Off. So, endowed with the liquid courage you'd been consuming the whole night, you told him off. Digging into his appearance and the creepy manner he was communicating. You made it known that you were too good for him. The man did eventually leave after your loud commotion. Tail tucked under legs, retreating pathetically.

Running your hand across the passing buildings for support, you wobble your way down to a dimly lit section of street. Figures that your route home would have a conspicuous dark patch, bordered by an alleyway that seemed to swallow up the light. Electing the path of brave stupidity, you begin to waltz past the alley, stumbling without support. A hand snakes around your waist and one covers your mouth in a tight clasped. You're yanked into the blackness before you get a chance to realize what's happened. 

Your back is slammed into the cold brick wall, you try to speak but are shushed by the entity that grabbed you. A metal blade is pushed into the skin of your neck, just enough so it's a real threat. You raise your hands in a sign of surrender, tears starting to form from realization. Drunk buzz starting to wear off from bounding adrenaline. Starting to whisper some soft pleas, “don't hurt me. Take whatever you want. I won't tell anyone if you let me go. Why are you doing this?” (the basics, yk)

The entity laughs, and you swear you know that voice. You can almost put a face to the voice, your eyes slowly becoming adjusted to the dark. The blade is moved from your neck to push some hair out of your face. His silhouette is a clear black outline inside of the raging dark, malignant eyes sparkling. 

“You said all those nasty things to me, Princess. Now I'm going to repay the favor.” Soft rasps in your ear, He's close to you, but now he's moving closer. Pressing his body into you, squeezing you into the wall. His erect penis pushing into you, his face bending awkwardly into the crook of your neck, inhaling the smell. “Aww are you scared, my little lamb? There's no need to worry if you behave. We're just going to have a little bit of fun. Let's see if we can't use that mouth for something more… Productive.”

He lifts his head so he can look into your eyes. Bringing up his hand, he probes your locked lips with his index and middle finger. “Open up, Angel. Gotta get you niiiiiice and ready for me.” You turn your head, and he presses the knife tighter into your neck as a warning. With no choice but to comply, your mouth falls open and he inserts his digits into your mouth. 

He feels around inside for a while, before telling you to “suck them good and hard. Practice makes perfect. Don't you want to be perfect for me?” His fingers taste of sweat and chemicals as he pumps them in and out of your mouth. Parting them on the return so they stretch your lips open. Saliva stringing them together, and pulling from your mouth. He pushes them so far in, you gag around them.  shutters in what you can only assume is arousal, moaning in pleasure before he begins rubbing his erection on you. dry humping your body while his fingers work your mouth open, trying to create any stimulating friction. Disgust and fear mingling and creating a pit in your stomach. He's letting out huffs between thrusts that contain a mix of praise and degradation. Hot and sticky breath, you can't wait to get away from it. High pitched whining emitted from him, as his legs shutter in place. Head thrown back, as his fingers come to a standstill in your mouth. A wicked smile plastered on his face, his pants are now coated with his seed. 

He pulls his hand free from your mouth. “Practice is over, Princess. Time to show me what you learned.” You protest this, shaking your head. Frightfully pale and queasy. He grabs your throat, tightly squeezing it. “get on your fucking knees, Angel.” Each pet name he spits with absolute vitriol. He lets you go, coughing and weezing. You slowly lower yourself to your knees, resolving yourself to just go along with what he wants. “Look at youuuuu! So pretty for me on your knees, all for me to ruin!” He purrs. He motions at his pants. “go ahead, pretty thing. Work for it if you want it.” you sob gently, tears streaming down your face. Working to undo his belt and pants, sticky to peel off from the ecstasy he worked up earlier. His dick springs free, hitting the cold air and making him hiss. You reluctantly look around and start at the tip. Giving small kitten licks, nauseated by the taste. His hands find purchase in your hair as he urges you on, thrusting his hips to meet your lips, you cough around his cock and he moans sweetly. Gently bobbing your head up and down, and he's muttering prayers to an unseen entity. 

“Now tell me again, my arrogant Angel, are you still better than me?” sentence punctuated by loud and heavy huffs. Each jerking motion of his hips sends him deeper down your throat, tears prick your eyes as you struggle to breathe. You whimper at the sensation, and he keens.