Hello everyone, I realized I should write request rules and guidelines to be more specific as to what you can and can't request and what I will or won't write
As stated before, this blog will contain occasional dark content but I will always include warnings before each fic if you don't want to see that. Dark Content including non con, dubcon, violence, and gore. I also want to specify that I do not condone most of the things I write. It is purely fictional, nothing I write is real. This blog is 18+.
Will write:
For pretty much the entire gang
Character x reader
Smut, fluff, angst, etc
Action/fight scenes
Body horror/gore (I am a huge horror fan)
Cannibalism
Some taboo kinks:
CNC/dubcon/noncon
Piss kinks
Age gap relationships
Stepcest
BDSM
Yandere themes
If you have any other kinks/fetishes you'd like me to write/don't know if I write then dm me and we can talk about it
Will not write:
Age play
Race play
Scat
Straight up pedophilia
Incest
Character x character
I can’t think of anything else right now will probably add later
Also, please be specific in your requests! If you want me to write a gn or male reader then specify or else I will automatically assume it is female! Also specify if the reader and character are already in an established relationship or else I’ll write the relationship how I see fit. If you don’t care then there’s no need to specify either.
I am a developing and aspiring writer, so I have other projects I am working on. This is simply my side hobby, and it can serve as good practice for my personal work, so don’t be afraid to be as unhinged and creative as you want, it is good practice. Thank you, that is all for now.
Fanfic where reader is interning at Dutch's company as a college student and has a series of affairs with him to ensure she is hired.... Gears are turning.... What do we think guys
My comeback post is literally some dark angsty idea I had with a sprinkle, a mere DASH, of Arthur at the end. Very vague and sad. Not proofread :p
Warnings: mentions of suicide, death, dark and gritty
Top of the map, it was. Don’t feel that way. Feels like rock bottom. So dark there’s no end and you can’t see your own hand in front of your face. So cold you can’t feel it anymore after a few minutes. If you took ten steps into the night you’d probably fall into a hidden cavity of snow. You could look around you and you wouldn’t even know where you were. It’s all the same. What do you call a nightmare that you’re living in?
Northernmost settlement in Ambarino. Couple hundred miles from the nearest town. Name means “red”, but the only color you see for miles is white. Colter. There’s no road you can take out while valuing your life. Its rocky and mountainous terrain makes it hard to move elsewhere, even if your life depended on it. No plants, no fresh food, aside from what’s caught and hunted: fish, rabbit, deer, bison, elk. Days so cold and snowy you can hardly leave your rickety house. Nights are even colder and darker, you lose yourself stepping outside. A lawless land. People freeze to death after wandering into the snow in an episode of disorientation and hysteria. You suppose death is better than remaining here. The snow here is different. Dry. Every footstep sounds like a shriek beneath your foot. And the wind here; sometimes the howling is the only thing that keeps you company. Nearly 20 below. So cold your skin begins to burn at the slightest exposure. Freezing, but warming. When the orange sun is replaced by the bleary eye of the moon, the horizon turns into nothingness. And then more nothing in every direction. Just waiting for the sun to rise above it, so time can exist again.
Mining was the only thing Colter had. The only thing that gave the town any livelihood. Daddy’s come down real sick, won’t stop coughing. Fever’s real bad too. Sometimes all he can do is lay in bed and mumble to himself. His skin is so blue you forgot his original shade. You spend nights lying on his side tracing the hundreds of visible veins beneath his thin skin. Your brother had to be sent to the mine instead. Some days go by without you seeing him at all. Sometimes you can hear gentle sobbing coming from your parent’s room, you never ask your mom about it.
After the great storm of ‘84, half the town was decimated. You bid people farewells not knowing if they’d even make it out of Ambarino alive. “There’s nothing left for us here.” Your neighbors said. Not much more waiting for you in the snow either, you thought. Population dwindling slowly. So much so there’s no point sending your brother to the mine anymore. He treated the loss of his job more like losing a family member. Drank all of Daddy’s whiskey. You don’t know what’s worse: being cooped up all day or being in the mines. One morning he’s not in his bed. The footprints outside lead towards the mines. You never saw him again after that. Daddy died. Wasn’t no liquor left to help keep him warm. Mama killed herself. Found her a few paces away from home before seeing her collapsed body. There was already a layer of snow on her by the time you found her. The only thing that aided in your search was the bloody footprints and the bloom of red in the snow coming from her raw soles.
What do you call a nightmare that you’re living in?
You don’t remember too much, except thinking that you were just like those old loons from Colter that would wander into the snow in search of asylum from this place, only to inevitably die. All you had with you was the coat on your back, some clothes, and a few matches. It didn’t matter no more. You knew it didn’t matter whether you stayed or not. You anticipated collapsing. Feeling shivers wrack your body as your face carved into the snow. It felt so cold yet so comfortable.
All you do remember is feeling a new kind of warmth. Some stranger’s burly back. The furious footsteps of a horse beneath you that felt more like your mom rocking you in her arms. There was booming conversation between the man and a group of other men besides him, also on horseback. You dared open your eyes a sliver and saw the comforting orange of an oil lamp held in one of the man’s hands as he drove the horse. You pulled your face from his shoulder, only to slump it back down once the throbbing of your head settled in. You felt the cool pool of saliva you had left on his coat. The man seemed to sense the movement.
“You okay back there, sweetheart?” A smooth voice asked, feeling the way his back rumbled with each word. “Real nightmare out here. Don’t worry, we’ll get you to warmth and safety soon. We can talk once we’re there.”
Hello everyone.... I'm not quite sure what to do about all the reqs in my inbox because they've been there for months and I don't know if it'd still make sense to answer them??? Because yall probably got tired of waiting. I wanna write new stuff but I have all those old reqs as well so should I just sift through them? Delete em? Start anew? I DONT KNOW AHHHH just know I'm working on something for yall that is not related to a request teehee
Head canon that you played Lana Del Rey in the car with John once and he told you he didn't like it but he secretly listens to her when you're not around
Okay I should explain... My leave was a combination of college taking over my life and EXTREMEEEEE writers block. Like I swear to God I haven't written in like 3 months. And my life took such a turn that I put this entire account on the back burner and began focusing on different areas of my life but! I think I am ready to start writing again! Perhaps! I'm hoping to be up and running again and I'm AM SOOOO SORRY TO EVERYONE FOR DISAPPEARING WITHOUT WARNING AHHH. I started a new semester of college but im finding the time and inspiration to write again! I still love red dead and writing! I'll have to figure out what to do with all my reqs FUCK
Idk if you've done this, but I saw the eagle flies with a short s/o, but what about with a partner thats taller than him? (gender neutral if you can 🤞)
Eagle Flies With A Tall S/O HC
Like I said before, he's a tall guy, so he'd be quite surprised to see someone much taller than him
Part of him would see it as a sort of challenge, be a little intimidated, but he wouldn't be hostile because of it
He makes subtle comments about your height, and you not so subtly tease him about being taller than him
YOU'D be the one making jokes about him not being able to reach stuff even though he's considerably tall, but it'd still piss him off enough for you to be satisfied
Place stuff he needs just barely out of his reach
Once he gets over his initial prideful phase he starts enjoying your height
Leans on your shoulder while standing next to you
The two of you probably get stares while out in public
He's so babygirl so I can see him being the one to curl up and lay on your chest
Also little spoon
The two of you need multiple blankets in bed so that they're able to cover both of yall
The two of y'all are able to share clothes and he thinks it's the most convenient thing ever
Sometimes he'll go out with an outfit made up entirely of your clothes
He loves making direct eye contact with you every time the two of you turn to look at each other. Makes things so much more intense
Making out is easy
Love holding each other's waists while one is cooking or doing something
Happy Thanksgiving y'all. In which the reader kills and eats John. A little idea I've had brewing. Heed the warnings please don't take them lightly. On tonight's bountiful night, this is dessert
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, extremely graphic depictions of gore, cannibalism, noncon, smut
John awoke to a world of pleasure and pain.
The last thing John remembered was being in a saloon with you, sitting at the bar and drinking while engaged in blithe conversation. A hazy memory of Arthur’s face tormented him. Had he been there? Now that he thought about it, had the rest of the gang been there as well? He thought so, but the whole scene seemed so blurry, clouded over by the feeling of incapacitating nausea after he downed his last drink. Had there been something in the drink? But he was there with you and the rest of the gang.
His memory seemed to spot afterward—as if someone had come in with a scalpel and surgically removed chunks of it. He remembered staring at the ground as you cooed soothing words into his ears. His limbs were numb and felt full of static, but he still remembered the feeling of his arm slung over your shoulder as you walked him toward a hotel room. It was a distant dream that would soon be eclipsed by a present nightmare.
His wrists and ankles were tightly bound, each to a corner of the bed. The restraints felt like his leather suspenders. The surface beneath him was soft and cushioned like a bed, a feeling that wanted to allure him towards the belief that he was safe. Every breath he took felt like sandpaper scraping his nostrils and throat, an unbearable parchedness making itself known. His head hurt dreadfully, a dull throbbing pain that intensified with each slight movement of his neck as if he could feel millions of little blood vessels burst inside his brain. The yellow light that hung lowly on the ceiling felt familiar, like he had been taken to someone’s childhood home. Despite his confusion, the lighting made him feel strangely safe.
He was hard, and he was fully down your throat. He slowly broke the surface of subconsciousness as if he were emerging from a pool of water. He flickered his eyes down to stare at you—able to hear the dryness in his eyes as he moved them—and came to discover you were already staring up at him, your eyes frosted over by something unfamiliar. John hadn’t paid any mind to the fact you were naked, but rather, that he was fully barren as well. You became keenly aware of John’s consciousness, removing his cock from your mouth and letting it fall against his stomach with a wet slap.
You stood at once and brandished a warm smile as you walked towards the nightstand next to John’s head. You grabbed a wet cloth and dabbed the white film of drool around the corners of his mouth. You briefly glanced over John’s body, the lighting making him appear like a yellowed corpse. You picked up a glass of water John hadn’t noticed was there before offering it up to him.
“Water?” You asked.
A sense of bewilderment flickered in John’s eyes. His confusion was only multiplied tenfold, baffled by the bizarreness of the situation and how you were able to act so casually. Without waiting for an answer, you slid your hand to the back of John’s head and picked it up, watching the way his face scrunched. The throbbing only worsened as you lifted his head, though he voluntarily opened his dry lips as the rim of the cup came into contact with them, deliciously cold. The water trickled down his throat, a shred of relief coming over John as he downed it, the same way one would feel relief waking up in the middle of the night and drinking water.
A small moment of clarity came over John. With his head lifted by your help, he was able to look around the room better. His nakedness made him feel vulnerable in a way he didn’t enjoy. The two of you had had sex plenty of times before, and exposure was never something that bothered him, but there was something strangely ominous about this. Not to mention being bound to the corners of the bed. If this was some sort of sexual fantasy you wanted to fulfill, John didn’t understand why he was just now becoming aware of it. He questioned why he had to have been passed out for it. Being tied up was never something he was against, maybe a little scared by it, but he would have been happy to discuss it with you prior if you had just asked. An unexplainable feeling of dread washed over him like a cresting wave, enough to make tears well up in his eyes. He swallowed again and found his ability to speak.
“(Name)... What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse. You smiled in a chilling way, in a way that was unfamiliar to John in all the years you’d been together but so natural to you.
“Eating you.”
“What… What do you mean?” If that was meant to be some sort of sick sexual joke, John was not for it at all.
“Exactly what I mean. I’m going to eat you. Like I did that plate of lobster downstairs.”
Your answer only served to confuse John more. Your declaration seemed so far out of the realm of possibility that the feeling of fear he should’ve felt did not register fully. But you seemed dead serious, and a part inside of John’s head screamed at him to take it to heart.
“Why?” He asked, his chest beginning to heave. His fists tightened as if he were ready to pick a fight with the mere idea of what you meant. You felt like you were at the point of artifice being over; you saw no need for fakeness or dishonesty.
“It’s what I like.”
At this point, you noticed how John’s eyes looked towards your lips, which were now sealed. His face went through various stages of confusion, the muscles in his forehead moving in opposing directions for several seconds, a tinge of expectancy in his eyes as if he were waiting for you to confess to all sorts of atrocities and you were forcefully keeping your jaw clenched. John decided to take a stab at it, still unsure of the gravity of your words.
“Have you done this before?” His heart raced as he waited for an answer. It was torturous watching you run your tongue over your teeth before sucking on them.
“A few times.” A cold feeling spread inside John that started at his neck. Before he knew it, he was trembling. He would’ve attempted to convince himself this was a dream if not for the static of his limbs being reduced to his toes and fingertips, full feeling returning to his body. He closed his eyes again, hoping he’d fall out of consciousness and would miraculously be taken away from here and wake up in a much more pleasant state of reality.
John chuckled dryly, his last attempt at calming himself. He watched you for a few seconds and waited for you to laugh as well, to burst into laughter and declare that you were just playing some sick joke on him to try and scare him, he wouldn't even be mad. But it did not happen. Wordlessly, he began tugging at his wrists and ankles with the same fear of a cornered animal. He muttered curses and pleas that you needed to let him go. But his limbs were far too heavy for any real progress to be made, and if he were set free, he’d hardly make it far before you’d catch up to him walking.
His body finally slumped against the mattress. You realized his eyes were wet with disbelief.
“Why me?” He asked, his voice shaking.
“Because I love you.” You said. You leaned down and caught John’s lips with your own, something he returned. He kissed back with so much vigor despite his weakened state, almost as if he thought that if he kissed you passionately enough, you’d change your mind about this whole thing and come back to your senses. You parted from it, much to his dismay.
“I don’t want to die.” John pleaded. Speaking the words was a concrete confirmation of what would prevail. Speaking it out loud finally convinced John fully of the graveness of his situation.
“Yes, you do.” You stroked his cheek with a dainty finger. “You should feel joy at the fact that I love you so much that I want to unite us wholly, forever and ever.” As you spoke, John shook his head and whispered no.
“You’re fucking crazy, woman.” He spat. At that moment, John was ready to bare his fangs and claws at you. But he did so with the helplessness of a kitten, a fact that made you chuckle.
“If being in love makes me crazy, then I suppose you are too.” You retorted.
“I’m going to scream, and they’re going to come in here and fucking kill you, you psycho.” He yelled. But you remained calm.
“I know.” You reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a familiar object. “Which is why I’m going to gag you. Prolong the fun.”
One final wave of terror crashed over John, threatening to pull him into an ocean of incomprehensible depth. You meant it. You were going to tear him apart and eat him. He remembered the feeling of hopelessness he’d felt when he was on that mountain, facing off with a pack of wolves before fighting them off. He remembered the feeling of relief he felt seeing Arthur and Javier’s faces. And the triumphant feeling of exultation he’d got knowing he survived. How he wished he could see their faces right now. But unlike then, there was no fighting back. And he was trapped.
Vomit rose in John’s throat, stinging and sour. You aided him and pushed his head to the side, where he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor, barely missing the mattress and painting some of the sheets with his bile. You took the same rag from earlier and wiped his mouth clean, but the gesture only seemed to anger John more as he jerked his head away from your help. In that moment, John knew he was going to die, here and now, but he would fight the idea as much as possible.
“But first, how else could I bid you adieu without giving you some sort of fun.” You walked towards the foot of the bed, staring at John and basking in all your naked glory. You were vulnerable, yet you had never felt so powerful. John looked at you with something that resembled wonderment, the same way he stared at the vast open plains of the west for the first time and realized just how beautiful they were—but at the same time, realizing just how small he was.
You began crawling ontop of John, akin to a panther crawling over its meal, ready to sink your fangs into him. His body tensed, back arched above the mattress in a refusal to relax.
“I don’t want this.” He said firmly, but the end of his sentence cracked like porcelain.
“Yes. you do.” You repeated. You took ahold of the base of John’s cock and slid it into you before seating yourself fully on his lap. Even then, John couldn’t help the pleasured grunt that escaped his lips. John instantly began in a series of uncontrollable sobs as you bounced yourself on him, your bodies rocking back and forth. You paid his tears no mind, settling your palms on his chest as you fucked yourself on him.
“Oh, John!” You gasped, goosebumps wracking through your body from mere excitement. In tonight’s feast, this was merely the appetizer. John’s cries were a dreadful backdrop to your moment of passion, but soon, you as well joined him in a chorus of cries. But your tears were a different kind than the ones he shed.
“John, I can’t believe we’re finally going to be whole as one!” You sobbed, wiping your eyes. The burning in your thighs as you worked your cunt up and down on him became unbearable; used to the way John would hook his arms around your knees from beneath you before fucking up into you. But you recognized that that was simply not an option tonight. John’s body would occasionally come alive beneath you as he tried to fight his restraints, still under the belief that he could escape this.
“Don’t be sad, John!” You consoled. “You’re getting the opportunity to be with me forever. Inside of me. That’s true love. We’re no longer limited to just sex where you can be in me. This is so much more than that, my love.” But this provided John with little relief. He wanted nothing more than to be as far from you as possible. Even the pleasure firing in his lions wasn’t enough to convince him otherwise. He knew it was going to hurt like hell, and the terror of not knowing just how much it would hurt terrified him to no end. He doubted he had ever felt anything comparable. Surely, a bullet wound was nothing like being split down the middle.
Thinking of being shot made him reflect on every action he had done during his life that led up to this. Was this some sort of sick karma he was experiencing in return for every bit of sorrow he had brought upon others throughout his life? For ever drop of blood he had made others shed, would he shed it tenfold? He certainly expected to meet such a gruesome end, but not one quite so intimately regarded, and at the hands of his sweetheart. That led him to think about the years he had spent with you. You were carnal, loved sex and drinking and were full of passion. You were the most fun John had had in his entire life. Upon meeting, you had mentioned you were an outlaw. But you had certainly failed to mention this part of your past, yet you did not skimp out on details of your other crimes. Naturally, John didn’t care. The way you made it sound, you were a saint compared to him. And John was helplessly in love, more than he’d ever been.
Were there signs you would end up doing this? John was sure there was, but he did not have the mental fortitude to being delving into all the red flags he had missed or ignored, and his time was running out, he would rather not spend it pondering on ambiguous thought. Perhaps this was a divine stroke of mercy at the hands of God’s intervention. He supposed spending his last moments with the love of his life was better than bleeding out on the side of the road, alone and defeated. But how different was that than this? The only thing that was different was the setting—and the gruesomeness of it.
“Do you love me?”
The question ripped John from his terrifying train of thought—he wasn’t sure if coming back to reality was any better than reflecting on his life. He looked at you as though this was the most ridiculous question to be asking at a time like this. John thought about it. He loved you. He knew it. But he was so petrified, saying he loved you right now would be like telling a random stranger on the street that he loved them. This was not the (Name) he knew.
“DO YOU LOVE ME?” You yelled, gripping his jaw. John began nodding vigorously, hot tears spilling from the corners of his eyes and wetting his sideburns. “I love you! So much!” He yelled, more passion in his voice then there had ever been. The answer seemed to satisfy you, removing your hand and beginning to move on his lap again. You increased your speed, ignoring the pain in your legs as your moans increased in volume. Those sweet, sweet sounds that John loved so much, he wished he were in any other circumstance so that he could appreciate them.
An involuntary guttural noise of pleasure left John’s mouth; the familiar wince of his face that tipped you off in turn. You dropped your hips onto his cock with your full force and felt his pelvis begin to spasm as he came inside you. Several moments of spreading warmth passed before you threw your head back and screamed. It was the hardest you had ever cum, the finishing garnish for the meal before you. The moment of tranquility after the two of you came as you caught your breaths provided John with a small sense of solace. He wanted to be gripped by fear, but he knew he should enjoy his last fleeting moment of pleasure.
Your breath returned as you dismounted, a feeling of ravenous hunger replacing your carnal one. Now was when the fun truly began for you, and when the horror peaked for John. You walked your knees over towards John’s torso and leaned down. You licked the glistening sweat from his skin, savoring the bitter saltiness as if it were some sweet syrup. You lapped at his skin like a dog, attempting to enjoy every bit of his unscathed skin. The hair on his chest appear as fibrous candy that would melt on your tongue as soon as it was scooped by your wet muscle. You sucked and licked, watching his face contort between pleasure and fear. He was blabbering some incoherent words pleading for his life, begging you not to do this, words you didn’t pay enough mind to to understand.
You took John’s right nipple between your forefinger and thumb, rolling it gently, before beginning to suck on his left. You rolled it between your tongue, teasing it with you incisors and occasionally meeting his eyes. John’s skin shivered with goosebumps, a shudder leaving him as he tried his best not to respond to your touch. You held eye contact with John as you pinched the tender bud between your teeth, clamping down fully.
The pain was immediate and sharp in a way that made John throw his chest up towards you then back down on the mattress as if he was trying to escape your mouth. A scream caught in his throat, one that wanted to rip through his vocal cords but was still building up. Before it could come out, you slapped your hand over his mouth, allowing him to deposit the sound into your palm, muffling it effectively.
John barely noticed the way you climbed up off the bed and towards the nightstand once again. His nipple throbbed painfully, and he was scared to open his eyes and look down at the damage that had been done. The pain was so terrible it robbed him of breath as he struggled to suck in air in a steady stream. Yet he knew this was the tamest of what was to come.
You came towards John’s head, ball gag in hand and moving to clamp the material around his head.
“Wait wait wait wait no no no no, (Name), please don’t do this please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I ever treated you wrong I love you please—” You heard none of it. John got the remainder of his pleas out as you positioned the slick latex ball between his lips, tightening the strap securely to make sure it would not come off. You smoothed his hair back with his sweat, the way you loved he did while he was working in the sun. Such a shame you’d never be able to see it again, so you’d have to make sure to enjoy this to the fullest. You leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I love you too.”
John’s tongue was pushed back to the well of the back of his throat where saliva would pool. He hoped he would drown in his own spit before he’d reach the end of this. He gagged and struggled to compose himself, his nostrils flaring as he tried to calm his breathing. Though he would not choke or pass out, he was not granted the mercy of a significantly less painful death. He would be aware of every little feeling.
You ghosted your fingertips along John’s cheek, his jaw, neck, chest, and torso. You leaned down to hug him one last time, knowing it was the last time he’d be whole. You laid your palm flat on John’s belly button, as if you were at the supermarket and were testing the ripeness of fruit. You reveled in the secret, unseen movement of organs, imagining the hell of a stomach ache John was feeling from adrenaline.
John continued to yell behind the gag (the best he could) as he watched you pick up a blade from the nightstand. The soft lighting made the stainless steel glow lightly. When he saw the tool, he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, praying to a higher being to will him away from this. But the only god present in the room was you, he was utterly at your mercy. He should've been praying to you to make this as quick as possible.
John tried to thrash his torso as the tip of the blade came into contact with the bottom of his breast bone, dimpling the skin until a droplet of blood appeared. John felt utterly defeated as he watched, and felt, the blade skate across the thin flesh of his torso. He couldn't gauge quite how deep it was, it all felt the same. The incision spanned from the base of his pectorals to his crotch, a perfect clean cut. The lips of the wound parted and fell to either side, and layers of skin, fat, and muscle became visible to John like the unveiling of a show, curtains drawn to either side. Instantly, the sheets beneath became drenched in blood. John could not muster up a sound primal enough to express how much pain he was in. His head lolled from side to side in disbelief and agony.
You thrust the knife into the gaping wound once again, blade sinking into vital softness. His head fell back, breath catching in his throat as he clenched and unclenched his fists weakly. John had seen a decent amount of gore in his life, more than he would remember; the smatterings of brain matter and blood on grass and dirt, the slippery tubes of intestines laid out next to their owners, shattered bones, decimated limbs. But seeing his own was worse than anything he'd ever seen. He had more colors than he could've imagined, the hole large enough for the both of you to fit your heads inside, enough for you to reach in and move your hands freely. The cold blade twisted, severing and slicing through tough membrane with a sickeningly loud crunch. John felt the warmth of his blood pool beneath him, rise in his throat, trickle out the sides of his gag and mat his hair. You unfastened the gag, letting it fall to the side along with a trail of vomit mixed with blood. John coughed, wretched, squeezed up more bile. He tried to breathe but it sounded more like gurgling. You leaned down and kissed the corners of John's mouth, his jaw and neck and all the places you had kissed before. You licked his swollen nipple, the bud nearly bitten through. John felt consciousness begin to slip from him.
He was ripped back by the white heat of your hands jamming into his intestines, tearing and ripping apart whatever would come loose. Everytime John had thought his pain reached it's peak, it seemed as though it could reach infinite more. You pushed apart the edges of his wound, slathering your entire body in his blood. It appeared as though you had just burst forth from a wild animal and emerged by tearing through its belly. Your hands thrust deep inside, ripping something out of him. The pain felt like a never ending shock wave that came in endless cresting waves. He watched your rabid jaws chew his dear, tender insides. His own flesh. The lower half of your face slathered in his own blood as you chewed at one of his slippery intestines, the meat dangling and dripping. You laughed and cheered and looked more euphoric than you had ever been. Your eyes held more joy than John had ever seen them hold. More joy than when he proposed to you. And part of him felt a strange peace at having brought you so much happiness.
You spoke to John as you chewed the stringy flesh, your lips purpled by his dark blood, chunks of gore lodged in-between your teeth. John thought you said something in between the lines of I love you, but he was too far gone to understand. He watched you through a blackening haze as the corners of his vision spotted and became darker. The pain seemed to fade, even as you thrust your hand inside him again and pulled out another fleshy pink object. He felt weightless, cold, as if he were laying on a cloud. The thought of this finally being over felt comforting, like the touch of a lover. Like your touch. John closed his eyes and would never open them again.
When morning came, you were gone. You had spent a considerable amount of time consuming John's body. You took snippets of his hair, hacked a bone off, ate as much as you could. You realized the time crunch you were in, but continued to gorge yourself with your lover as much as possible. You hurried off into the dead of night, undetected, never to be seen by the gang again. The hollow cavity of John's body remained on the bed, gaping and rotting. Saint Denis had it's hot days, causing the remainder of his insides to bloat and burst with putrescent fluids, mixing with the dried brown blood on the mattress. Soon, room service would come upstairs to kick the two of you out under the pretense that you had only paid for one night and were to be gone by morning. They would discover his body that reeked of your love for him.
