#jtk

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It clung to him like a second skin, never fully gone, never far from reach. The iron tang seeped into his clothes, lingered in his hair, stained his hands until it became part of his smell—sharp, metallic, familiar. Blood made Jeff who he was. And the things he loved most eventually ended up drenched in it too.

You were no exception.

The front door creaked open, and there he was—clothes soaked halfway through, hair damp and matted, streaks of red drying against the pale lines of his throat. His grin was sharp, feral, his knife still loose in his hand, the faint drip of someone else’s life sliding off its edge.

He looked delicious.

You didn’t wait. You lunged for him, a hungry collision that knocked his back into the doorframe. Your hands grabbed at his hoodie, smearing blood over your fingers, and your mouth crashed against his, tasting copper the moment your lips met. He groaned into you, low and hungry, teeth nipping your lip until they clamped down hard. The kiss turned wetter, messier—copper on your tongue, his and yours mixing—and you moaned against it like it was the only thing you wanted.

“Can barely get in the fuckin’ door,” Jeff rasped, dragging the knife up alongside your hip as he pressed you harder against him. His free hand smeared across your cheek, leaving crimson streaks like war paint. “It’s embarrassing how desperate you are, baby.”

And he was right—you were. You craved the heat of it, the smell that filled your head, the way it slicked over his skin until he looked less human and more like the monster you couldn’t stop wanting. Every drop only made him more intoxicating, and the sight of him—knife in hand, chest heaving, grin sharp and stained—set your body on fire.

You pulled at him harder, clawing through his hoodie, shoving his weaponed hand up near your head, urging him to cut, to smear, to ruin. You wanted every inch of him—every inch bloody, brutal, and yours.

“Cut me,” you panted.

Jeff’s wide eyes nearly shot out of his head. His arm hooked under your thighs, lifting you up the stairs two at a time, his knife still flashing in his hand. You clung to him, mouths locked together in a bruising kiss, blood mixing on your tongues until you couldn’t tell where his ended and yours began.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind him, and he shoved you onto the bed with a laugh that was half-growl, half-madness. The sheets were clean for a single heartbeat. Then the knife was there—sliding under the hem of your bra, a quick, precise slice that snapped the fabric apart. He tore your shirt away like it was paper, exposing skin that he immediately marred with shallow cuts, crimson blooming across your chest, staining the stark white beneath you. You hissed, body jerking at the sting of his blade, but it just got him more excited.

“Fuck, look at that,” he hissed, eyes wide, transfixed as the red spread across the sheets under your back. “Mine. All mine.”

Your pants didn’t last long—he gripped, yanked, ripped seams until denim gave way, tossing them to the floor without a glance. His hoodie followed, soaked and sticky, hitting the ground with a wet slap before his hands were back on you, dragging down your sides, smearing blood across your stomach. You grabbed at him like you were starved, pulling his mouth back to yours, biting hard enough to taste more iron, grinding against him desperately as he fought with the zipper of his jeans. The knife pressed to your hip, nicking again, sharp little reminders of who was in control, each sting answered by your moan into his mouth.

When he finally kicked free of his pants, he was already slick with blood, pale skin streaked, muscles taut and trembling. He pressed down against you, grinding hard, cock straining against you, dragging blood across your thighs as you writhed beneath him. His hands left crimson fingerprints on your tits, your throat, your hips, marking you as completely as the knife did.

“You’re making a mess—”

“You love it,” Jeff growled back, teeth scraping your jaw as he shoved his knee between your thighs, pressing until you arched. His knife trailed lazily down your ribs, leaving another burning nick. “You love being ruined by me.”

And he was right—you wanted nothing but this: his mouth, his blood, his knife, his body pressing yours into blood-stained sheets until you couldn’t remember where you ended and he began.

The blade glinted as Jeff slid it lower, the edge hooking beneath the thin lace of your panties. One quick slice, and they fell apart, curling uselessly against your thighs as he ripped them away and tossed the scraps aside. He didn’t stop kissing you through it—teeth dragging, lips sucking blood from the cut he’d already made in your mouth, groaning into the mess he’d created.

He pulled back only long enough to shove his boxers down, the fabric sliding to his knees before he kicked them off. His cock bobbed free, thick, flushed, already smeared with traces of pre from your frantic grinding earlier. He wrapped one hand around himself lazily, stroking once, twice, letting you see every inch of him, his grin sharp and filthy as your breath hitched.

“Look at you,” he rasped, knife tip grazing the swell of your breast as he lined himself up against your soaked entrance. “Spread open on my bed, desperate as a whore… begging for me.” He dragged the blade down your chest, pressing just enough for the skin to split in a thin, hot line that welled with crimson. You clenched your teeth, gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white against the sting. His eyes lit up at the sight. “Fuck… perfect.”

”Jeff—” You moaned, arching into the sting, your body desperate, trembling, every nerve alive. He pressed his cock against you, teasing, smearing the head through the slick mess between your thighs but not pushing in yet. Each shallow cut he made along your ribs, your stomach, sent a jolt of heat down your spine, mixing pain with unbearable need.

“Careful now,” he mocked, kissing the corner of your mouth as the knife nicked your skin again. “Every time you move like that… whoops.” He smirked, shallowly dragging the blade lower, across your belly, as he bullied just the tip of himself inside. “You’ll just end up bleeding more for me.”

The stretch was overwhelming, the tease unbearable, and you whimpered, trying to push back against him. His free hand clamped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place.

“Nuh-uh,” Jeff snarled, voice dropping, hungry. “I go slow… or I don’t go at all. And you want me, don’t you?” He pressed in deeper, dragging the knife back up your chest, painting his palm red as he smeared the blood across your breast. His cock split you open inch by inch, filling you until you couldn’t breathe, the sharp sting of the blade mirrored by the stretch of him inside you.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt with one sharp thrust that made the sheets beneath you bloom red from the fresh cuts that dribbled down your skin. His grin widened, wild, manic, as he ground his hips against yours, knife hovering over your throat now. “I want to hear you cry.”

Jeff let the knife clatter to the nightstand, the sound sharp against the breathless silence of the room. His hips rolled steady, deep, a measured pace that dragged along your insides and left you gasping. The sudden slowness was maddening—the kind of tease he never indulged in unless he was trying to get a reaction out of you.

You gritted your teeth, nails curling into the ruined sheets. “You never go slow—ah,” you panted, voice breaking on the thrust. “What the fuck are you doing?”

His grin split wide, feral, eyes burning as he leaned over you. “Oh, you don’t like this?” he mocked, driving in deep, slow again—before snapping his hips forward with a brutal slam that knocked the air out of your lungs. “Better?”

Your cry broke into a moan, your back arching as he did it again, faster this time, harder, the teasing pace abandoned as he fucked into you with agressive, merciless thrusts. His hands roamed your body, dragging through blood on your chest, your stomach, your thighs, smearing crimson across your skin until you were slick and streaked. His fingers pressed into every cut, every bruise, spreading the mess, marking you again and again.

Then, with a wicked laugh, he pulled his hands back and ran them over his own torso, dragging your blood across his pale skin. The contrast was obscene—his chest heaving, abs flexing with every slam, smeared with streaks of red that shone against his ghostly pallor. His muscles caught the light in sharp planes, painted in the mess he’d made of you. You couldn’t look away. His body was lean but cut, every thrust pulling the cords of his abdomen taut, the smear of blood making him look less human and more like the predator he was. His pale skin glowed against the dark color, sweat making it glisten, and your mouth watered with the urge to lick him clean, to taste every inch.

“Fuck, you’re staring,” Jeff rasped, catching the hunger in your eyes. He smeared another handprint over his ribs, dragging down across the sharp V of his hips as he knocked his hips deeper, faster, the blood dripping down his sides in rivulets. “You like me like this, huh? A mess. Covered in you.”

“Yes—yeah, yeah—” You nodded, reaching for him desperately, needing to touch him, to drag your hands across the blood on his chest, but Jeff caught your wrists in one rough grip. He slammed them above your head into the sheets, pinning you down, his grin sharp and merciless as he loomed over you, his dark hair curtaining you to see his face only.

“Nuh-uh,” he rasped, thrusting deep, grinding into you until your eyes rolled back. “You don’t get to touch, baby. You just take it.”

His free hand pressed flat against your stomach, just above where he was buried inside you, and the pressure made every snap of his hips hit deeper, harder. The sensation ripped a scream from your throat, pleasure and pain fusing until you could hardly breathe.

Blood trickled from the thin cuts on your chest and stomach, smeared under his palm, dribbling across your sides and soaking deeper into the sheets. The white beneath you had turned nearly pink, streaks spreading every time you writhed and bucked beneath him. Your whole body was painted red, each thrust shaking more warmth free from your wounds, until you were slippery and glowing under him.

“You’re beautiful” Jeff growled, his voice ragged, feral. He ground harder, pressing his hand down cruelly on your belly while his cock pistoned in and out of you, the wet slap of your bodies mixed with the slick sound of sticky hot gore. “So beautiful. Better than any—hah—any stupid bitch I’ve cut up before.”

You whimpered, locking your thighs around his hips, pulling him tighter, deeper, keeping him there as if you could fuse your bodies together. The iron tang of blood filled your nose, your mouth, your skin, and still you arched into him, trembling under the steady assault of his thrusts.

His pale skin was streaked with your red, his chest shining with sweat and ichor both, every flex of his muscles smeared with proof of how he ruined you. His hair stuck to his forehead, dark strands damp and clotted with copper, and still he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

“You’re filthy,” he snarled, slamming harder, hips snapping with merciless rhythm as his grip on your wrists tightened. “Such a dumb bitch letting me do whatever I want.”

Jeff’s nails dug into the soft skin of your wrists, biting crescents into the flesh until you cried out, your body writhing helplessly beneath him. His other hand pressed cruelly down on your stomach, his full weight bearing into it as his cock drove deep, every thrust slamming straight into your core with bruising force.

“Fuck—fuck fuck fuck—” you felt your eyes beginning to roll.

The pressure was unbearable—too much, too sharp, too good. You broke almost instantly, your body arching against the sheets as your climax ripped through you. A ragged scream tore from your throat as you clenched tight around him, your walls spasming, milking him in frantic pulses.

“F–fuck,” Jeff snarled, voice cracking as his hips stuttered, his cock caught in the vice of your release. “God, you’re—fucking—tight—” His teeth bared, a groan rumbling low in his chest as he slammed harder, chasing the feel of you squeezing him.

Your thighs shook, locked tight around his hips, dragging him deeper as you gasped, “J-Jeff—don’t stop—fuck—”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he hissed, leaning down, his breath hot against your chest. His tongue darted out, dragging a slow, wet stripe up the cut he’d carved there, lapping at the fresh bleed as though it were nectar. You shuddered, the sting sharp and intoxicating as he licked higher, tasting every drop of crimson on his way.

By the time he reached your throat, you were still trembling, aftershocks rattling through your body as he mouthed at your neck, sucking more blood to the surface. His lips finally found yours, crashing down in a wet, messy kiss that smeared both your tastes together. His tongue pushed into your mouth, tangling with yours, copper on both your tongues, kissing you silly, sloppy, desperate.

“Mine,” he groaned against your lips, biting until he drew more blood, then swallowing it down with another bruising kiss. His hips rolled even as he kissed you, deep and frantic, the bed creaking under the merciless rhythm. “My bloody, filthy, perfect girl.”

And you kissed him back with everything you had, tasting iron and sweat and sex, your body wrecked and painted red beneath him, his weight crushing you deliciously into the ruined sheets. “Jeffrey—”

Jeff snarled against your mouth one last time before abruptly rolling, flipping your bodies with a brutal twist. You landed on his chest with a breathless gasp, thighs straddling his hips, your slick cunt still clenching around him. He leaned back against the bloody sheets, eyes dark and burning as he shoved up into you, filling you so deep you nearly saw stars.

“Ride me,” he growled, reaching to the nightstand. His bloody fingers wrapped around the handle of his knife, and he pressed it into your trembling hands. “Here. Feel it.”

You blinked, chest heaving, still gasping for air as you stared down at the blade. The weight of it settled heavy in your palm, the edge still glinting, calling you.

Jeff groaned, snapping his hips up under you, bouncing you effortlessly on his cock, his hands gripping your waist so tight it hurt. “Use it,” he rasped, voice cracked and guttural. He was teetering on that wonderful edge, you could see it. “Fuckin’—let me feel it.”

You trembled, turning the blade down and dragging it teasingly over his chest. Not cutting—just the flat of the steel gliding across his pale skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His abs flexed beneath it, the contrast obscene, your blood still smeared over every ridge and plane of his torso.

“Like this?” you smiled.

He bucked harder beneath you, his cock stretching you open with each savage thrust, his groans breaking into curses as he threw his head back against the pillow. “God—fuck yes—” His grin split wide, manic and wild, as your hand traced the knife down his ribs, then up across his collarbone. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon—just a little more, baby.”

You moaned, grinding down against him, your thighs trembling from the relentless pace he set, never giving you a moment to settle. The blade traced lower, over his stomach, skimming dangerously close to where you were joined, and Jeff’s breath hitched, his hips slamming up harder, chasing the sting that never quite came.

“You look so fucking good with that knife in your hand,” he panted, dragging his own bloody fingers up your sides. He reached up, smearing more crimson across your tits, pinching your nipples until you cried out. “Sitting on my cock, teasing me with my own goddamn blade—fuck.”

His hips snapped up again, the bed shaking, your body jolting with every thrust, the knife still balanced in your grip as you traced lazy, dangerous lines over the man beneath you. Your eyes roamed his body as you rode him, hips rolling in time with his relentless thrusts from below. Blood streaked across his torso in messy handprints, but underneath you saw the older marks—the faded scars crisscrossing pale skin. Some were jagged, left by fights. Others were neat, purposeful, the kind he had carved into himself out of rage or hunger or boredom.

Your breath caught, the knife still resting in your hand as you traced one scar along his ribs with the flat of the blade. “You’ve already been cut a thousand times,” you panted, your thighs trembling as you ground down against him. “Scars from fights… scars from your own hand…”

Jeff’s eyes locked on yours, wild, fever-bright, as you let the blade skate across his chest.

“But this,” you whispered, rolling your hips harder, your cunt clenching down around him, making him groan. “This would be different. Better.”

His grin faltered into something rawer, his jaw slack as your words hit him. His hips jerked up hard, nearly throwing you forward. “F-fuck—what?”

Your lips curved into a blood-smeared smile as you held the knife poised just above his abdomen. “Can I put my name here, Jeff?” you breathed, the question hot and broken with lust. “Mark you. I’m yours, right?”

He groaned so hard it sounded like pain, his head snapping back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before he looked at you again—wrecked, desperate, already teetering on the edge. His cock twitched violently inside you, and you could feel how close he was, could feel him pulsing.

“Fuck, fuck—yes,” he snarled, almost a sob. His hand shot up, catching your wrist, guiding the blade down until the tip kissed the skin just above his hipbone. He pressed harder, the edge dimpling his pale stomach. His eyes burned into yours as he growled, “Do it. Fucking do it.”

His hips snapped up again, brutal, nearly knocking the knife from your hand as he fucked into you. “Brand me—fuck—make me yours, too.”

“Alright,” you breathed, fingers steadying the blade. “I’m going to do this slowly. Letter by letter.”

He groaned immediately, hips snapping up reflexively, grinding into you even as his hand pressed your wrist down to keep him steady. “F-fuck… baby, I—oh—yeah.”

You smiled, teeth biting your lip, and guided the tip of the knife into his skin. The first nick drew a thin line of crimson, and he hissed, back arching, cock twitching. “Ah—shit… god, right there!” His hands fisted the sheets, his hips jerking against you in tiny, desperate thrusts, his legs growing restless behind you, but you held him still.

“Shhh… steady,” you murmured, pressing lightly on his stomach to ground him. You carved the first letter carefully, watching his reactions. “Feel that?”

Jeff groaned, voice raw, ragged. “F-fuck, yeah… like—oh—like fire…” His hips jerked, trying to ride the sensation even as you stopped him mid-thrust. “Hurry… please hurry, baby.”

You let a wicked smile curl your lips. “One letter done. Are you ready for the next?”

His breath hitched, chest heaving. “I—fuck… yes, god, I’m ready… oh shit, please…” He shuddered, pressing tiny thrusts into you every time your attention faltered between letters, edging himself against you, nearly spilling inside your slick heat.

You drew the next, slow, deliberate, following the curves of his skin. “Another,” you whispered, dragging the knife through his flesh, just deep enough to scar. Jeff groaned again, tilting his head back, hands clawing at the sheets and over his face.

“Holy—fuck—yes… don’t stop… don’t ever stop,” he hissed, snapping his hips in shallow jerks, trying to ride the pleasure-pain while you paused between letters. Each time he tried, you pressed your palm down on his stomach, murmuring, “Not yet… be patient.”

He whimpered, cock twitching, almost spilling every time, desperate, on the edge. He gripped your thighs, scratching his nails into the drying blood there. “Fuck—baby, please—I can’t… I can’t hold it—”

“Then feel it,” you teased, dragging the blade across another line, “but stay still. Let me do this.”

His hips jerked involuntarily, grinding into you, nails digging into your thighs, blood smeared across both of you, red and wet and intoxicating. His moans were ragged, broken, every thrust timed between your letters, every hiss a prayer, every twitch of his cock begging for release. You drew each letter slowly, watching his reactions—the arch of his back, the tremble of his thighs, the sharp intake of breath, the guttural groans that shredded the air. Each one made him whimper, shout, beg, growl, and beg again.

“F-fuck… yes, oh god, yes… ah!”

You shushed him, pressing your blood-slick palm against his chest. “And you call me filthy.”

You drew the final letter slowly, deeply, dragging the knife along his pale skin until crimson smeared across every line. Blood coated his abdomen so thickly it was nearly impossible to see the full word you had carved—your name stretched across him in messy, furious lines. Each nick stung, burned hot, and made your hands slick, but you didn’t stop, tracing the final curves with a shaky, trembling grip.

“I’m done,” you whispered, breath ragged, chest heaving, voice trembling from the mix of adrenaline, lust, and blood.

Before you could react, Jeff snatched the knife from your hands, tossing it aside with a sharp clatter. His hands caught you mid-breath, pulling you down onto his chest in one brutal, fluid motion. The wet, sticky press of his body against yours made the heat of your skin and the tang of blood feel electric.

He wrapped his arms tightly around your back, crushing you against him, pressing every inch of his gore-slick body to yours. The friction, the heat, the sheer force of him inside you drove a scream from your lips.

Jeff’s hips snapped violently against yours, faster, harder, and every thrust dug into you with a ruthless intensity. He couldn’t even tease you, teeth clenched so tightly as he fucked whatever restraint he still held up into your sopping cunt.

Then he came, hard and deep, every inch of him shuddering inside you, the sensation overwhelming as he groaned your name, biting, licking, and nipping as he rode out his orgasm. His tongue found your jaw, dragged along your cheek, tasting your blood and sweat as he held you close, grinding you against him even through the aftershocks.

“Mine,” he rasped, voice hoarse, chest heaving, one arm tightening around your back, the other tracing lazy, bloody lines over your skin. “All mine…”

You shivered, trembling in his hold, every nerve alive, slick and sticky, chest pressed to chest, body wrapped in gore and heat. You could feel his heart hammering, matching your own erratic pulse, and you both lay there, panting, bleeding, and utterly wrecked—completely, perfectly consumed by each other.

You pushed yourself upright, hands planted on his chest, panting, sweat and blood slicking your fingers. Your eyes roamed over him—his pale skin streaked with crimson, his hair damp and matted, chest heaving, cock still twitching inside you. The sheets beneath you were ruined, more red than white, sticky and warm.

Sliding off his lap, the slick mess of his cum dribbled down your thighs, teasing you even though your body was still trembling from sensitivity. You were overwhelmed, overloaded, every nerve screaming—but somehow, impossibly, you were still desperate.

Jeff growled low in his throat, eyes dark, staring down at the messy jumble of letters on his abdomen, spelling your name. “Now you really are mine,” he said, sharp, possessive, and it made your chest shiver.

You swallowed, breath hitching, and pushed your lips into a mischievous smirk. “Prove it,” you breathed, voice shaky but challenging.

Your gaze fell to the knife tangled in the sheets at the edge of the bed. Slowly, deliberately, you crawled to it on all fours, hips swaying slightly despite your overstimulation. Then you turned your head back toward him, eyes wide, expectant, burning with need. You picked up the knife carefully and held it out to him, blood-slicked, a silent, daring invitation.

Jeff’s pupils dilated instantly. His grin split wide, sharp and feral. He understood immediately. No words were needed.

He crawled forward, slow, predatory, his blood-streaked fingers closing around the knife. Every inch of him radiated hunger and control as he moved behind you, chest brushing your back, cock hard and twitching even still, hands tracing the curve of your spine, the swell of your ass, the untouched, flawless skin between your blood-smeared patches. “Perfect,” he murmured, voice low, rough, almost reverent. “Completely… beautiful.”

You pressed back against him, letting him feel every slick inch of your heat grinding against his hard cock. The wet friction of him against your ass made your thighs tremble, every nerve screaming even though you were sore and overstimulated.

“I… I want to be yours,” you whispered, breath shaky, voice barely audible. “Truly… all yours.”

Jeff growled, pressing his hands to your hips and gripping hard, thumbs digging into flesh as he edged the knife down your spine. Each pass left angry red lines across your skin, shallow at first, marking you, teasing you, warning you of what was to come. He pressed back into the warmth of your cunt with a slow, steady thrust, hips rolling just enough to make you both gasp.

“You’re mine, baby,” he rasped, voice guttural, low and demanding. “Forever.”

The two of you moved together in this careful rhythm, so slow it made every nerve stand on edge. Every brush of the knife, every grind of his cock against you, made you shiver and whine. Your body was hypersensitive, blood and sweat mixing across your skin, and even the lightest touch from him sent sparks shooting through you.

“You’re going to feel this,” Jeff whispered, teeth grazing your shoulder, tongue dragging across the curve of your neck. “Every inch of this. Every mark. You’ll never doubt it again.”

You gasped, pressing harder against him, thighs clenching, heart hammering in your chest. The heat between your bodies, the sharp sting of the knife, the slick slick press of his cock inside you, all fused together, overwhelming your senses. You fisted the sheets beneath you, trying to stay as steady as possible.

“Slow,” he growled, nipping at your neck, dragging the knife lightly down again. “I want you to feel every line… every letter before I finish.”

And there, in the mess of blood, sweat, and adrenaline, you both teetered on the edge—so sensitive, so overstimulated, so painfully aware of the domination, the obsession, and the love twisted into something violent, erotic, and utterly yours.

Jeff’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady above the bed, looking down at how you were laid out before him, cock buried inside you, perfectly still as his fingers dug into your skin. His eyes never left the curve of your lower back, where he intended to carve his name—his devotion, his claim. The knife gleamed between his fingers, still slick with both your bloods.

“You got it?” he murmured, voice low, rough, but reverent. 

You nodded, lips trembling, tears brimming as you felt the weight of what was about to happen. Carving your name into him was one thing—Jeff’s body was a museum of experiences, of his story. But this—his name on you—this is the best act of devotion he could give to someone. Him claiming you. Pain licked along your nerves, sharp and immediate, but beneath it there was something hotter, deeper—pleasure tangled with terror, with arousal, with belonging.

He pressed the tip of the knife into your skin above your ass, a shallow nick to start, and you gasped. “Shh,” he cooed, voice soft now, almost tender, trailing kisses along your shoulder. “Beautiful, baby. You’re perfect for me.”

Then he began.

J—a deep, deliberate stroke down and across, dragging red streaks across your lower back. You cried out, pressing against him instinctively, hips lifting as your heat flared with the sting. “Fuck… oh god…” you gasped.

“Shh… don’t move,” he whispered into your ear, rubbing his hand against your hip as he followed the stroke, steadying you, making every throb of pain feel like devotion. “You take this so well…”

E—each line carved slowly, the points of the letter pressing into your skin with precise force. You trembled, every nerve alive, biting your lip, gripping the sheets. The pain shot through you like fire—but beneath it, the pressure of him inside you, grinding gently even as he carved, made you arch, moan, trembling between ache and lust.

“That’s it… so good,” he murmured, voice ragged, pressing down between your shoulder blades to keep you steady. “Doing so good.”

F—the first F cut along the curve of your skin, shallow at first, then deepened, the line streaking bright red, warm droplets trickling down your sides. You whimpered, tears streaking your cheeks, body jerking instinctively. “Oh—oh fuck, yes… Jeff…”

“Shh, my love,” he breathed, pressing against you, letting you feel him pulse, slow and steady. “It looks perfect.”

F—the final stroke, completing his name, heavy-handed, slow, precise. You cried out, clutching the sheets, hips shaking, blood hot and sticky, knife searing, heart racing. And still, the rhythm of him inside you made your walls tighten, muscles clenching around him as you shuddered.

The knife clattered to the sheets with a hollow, wet sound. Jeff sat back on his heels for a heartbeat, pulling your hips to sit back with him, eyes fixed on his work.

You turned your head slightly, catching sight of the mark on your lower back. The letters glowed red against your skin, jagged but perfect—each line precise, evenly spread. He was a master with a blade. Every stroke, every nick, every curve had been calculated, controlled, exactly how he wanted. He had made sure it was flawless.

Jeff’s gaze flicked to you, heat and hunger burning in his eyes. Without a word, he leaned down, the very spot where your name was carved into his abdomen pressing perfectly against where his name now marked you. The alignment was flawless, your blood-slick bodies fitting together like they had been made to mirror each other.

He pressed his weight down on top of you, flattening you against the mattress, your thighs trembling under him, your cunt still clenching reflexively around his cock. His chest pressed into yours, the rhythm of his breathing rough and ragged. Jeff’s lips found your shoulder, dragging soft, wet kisses across the blood-smeared skin. His hand swept across your back, smearing the drying blood between you, mixing your gore together until there was no way to tell whose was whose anymore.

“Mine,” he murmured against your skin, voice low, reverent, possessive. “All of it… you, this… everything. Every inch.”

You smiled, letting your head drop to the cool sheets below as he kissed your cheek. His cock slid inside you with deliberate care, filling you completely, every ridge, every vein pressed against your walls, drawing a shuddered gasp from your lips. He moved slow, deep, steady, letting you feel the full curve of him, the heat of him, the undeniable strength and weight of his body.

One arm snaked under your stomach, fingers pressing against your skin, blood-slick and grimy, curling until the pad of his fingers landed on your clit. Gentle pressure, teasing circles, rubbing slowly as he began to rock into you, each thrust perfectly measured. The combination of fullness and friction, precision and heat, made your legs shake, thighs quivering as your body surrendered to him completely.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured, voice low, thick, almost reverent, lips brushing your neck, teeth grazing your shoulder. “You were such a good girl.”

Your hands found his arm where it braced beside your head, nails sinking into muscle, dragging him closer as he ground deeper, each steady stroke sending shivers of pleasure and warmth spiraling through you. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark, intense, drinking in your every gasp, every arch, every flush of skin smeared with both your fluids.

The rhythm of him inside you was intimate, slow but urgent in the way that made your body quiver, made your walls contract around him, making every nerve alive, every inch of you acutely aware of him. Jeff’s fingers pressed and rubbed your clit with a soft insistence, his hips grinding deep into you with perfect, controlled pressure. He leaned down further, lips pressing along your jaw, your cheek, whispering praises, murmurs of possession, soft groans of pleasure that vibrated through your chest.

“You’re mine… only mine,” he murmured, grinding you fully onto him. “Mine, and I’m yours… all yours.”

Jeff’s movements grew more urgent, though still deliberate, every thrust calculated to make you feel him completely, every inch pressed into you a declaration of possession and devotion. His fingers never left your clit, rubbing gently, teasing, drawing whimpers and gasps that mixed with the slick sound of his cock moving inside you. Your back arched, back pressed to his chest, hands clutching his arm as heat and overstimulation pooled in your core. Every nerve in your body was alive, every sensation magnified: the weight of him, the fullness of him, the rhythm of his strokes, the soft press of his fingers, the lingering sting of blood, the smell of iron and sweat and sex thick in the air.

“I… I can’t—” you gasped, voice trembling, clinging to him.

“Yes,” Jeff rasped, grinding into you, hips snapping with slow, cruel insistence. “You can… feel it. All of it. C’mon, baby.”

Your walls clenched around him as pleasure built impossibly high, a rising tide that made you arch and cry out. His weight on yours, mouth brushing along your jaw, biting gently at your shoulder, murmuring praises between ragged breaths.

“You’re… so perfect,” he groaned, voice low, possessive. “So beautiful… all mine.”

The tension coiled in your body snapped. Your orgasm ripped through you, hot and shattering, making your legs tremble and thighs clamp together beneath him. Every stroke of him, every rub of his fingers, every grind of his cock into you sent your body higher, trembling with overstimulation, overwhelmed by it all.

Jeff groaned deep, his own restraint breaking as your walls clenched around him, his cock pulsing violently inside you. “Fuck—yes… mine—fucking all mine, baby—” he growled, thrusting deep, hard, spilling into you in shuddering waves. His arms tightened around your middle, holding you flush to him as he rode out the tremors of his release, each thrust slow and deliberate even in ecstasy.

Between gasps and ragged breaths, he turned your face, lips brushing yours, tongue dragging across your mouth, tasting blood, sweat, cum—you. Kisses sloppy, wet, and insistent, drowning out everything else. You clung to him, your hand reaching back to tangle in his hair, your bodies still trembling. His chest heaved against your back, pulse hammering, and he whispered over and over, “Mine… mine… mine… always mine.”

“Always,” you whispered back, voice shaky, heart hammering, “all yours.”

── .✦

Eventually, the cuts had begun to close, deep crimson fading to the raw, raised red of fresh scars. For the first couple of showers, you had to be careful—every spray of water stung, making you wince and cry out. You had resorted to using damp rags, gently pressing over your scars, cleaning yourself slowly.

Jeff had watched you do it once, eyes dark, mesmerized. He didn’t touch you—just leaned against the doorframe, silent, a predator and lover at once.

He loved the way his name showed when you bent over, the raised letters glowing red under your clothes. None of the other cuts he had given you had ever scarred like this. None of them had marked you permanently. But his name—his claim—was different. Every time he caught a glimpse of it, every time he ran a finger along the raised line of skin, he felt that same intense thrill, that same possessive hunger.

When the scars had finally settled, smooth and permanent, he made it a ritual. At night, when you were both tangled in the sheets (new ones, you burnt the others), he’d lean down, press a finger gently against the letters of his name on your back, tracing them slowly, reverently. His lips would follow, kissing along the lines, admiring them, “Perfect.”

You, in turn, loved seeing his abdomen, your name left etched deep into him. Every time he pulled his shirt up, fingers brushing along the scar, you shivered, tracing it with your own fingers in silent admiration. It was a proof of him, of you, of the intimacy and obsession you had shared—permanent, undeniable, and yours alone.

There'd never be a question of who you belonged to again.

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