𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: lıllılı.ıllı.ılı Jack Nyras x F!Reader ıılıı.lllııılı.
"Haunted - Beyoncé ⋅" ★
𝟶𝟷:𝟻𝟷 ━━━━━━●─── 𝟶𝟹:𝟶𝟹 ⇆ ◁ ❚❚ ▷ ↻
W/C: 10.6k // Summary: Your mother had always warned you to be careful with who you trust- for if you weren’t, the devil would eat you out of house and home. Getting used to your new life was easy, until a man born half shadow starts to visit your door. And with no one to turn to, you realized that maybe you should have listened.
Tags: P in V, cunnilingus, slight dub-con, breeding, monster fucking, light fear-play, the dove is mildly concussed, predator-prey dynamics, water sports if you squint, dry humping, throat fucking, knotting, marking and biting, cannibalistic tendencies (obvi :p), and talking reader through it.
A/N: This is the most freak nasty thing I’ve ever written. She is fat. And she is FILTHY. Jack is actually prehistoric and is fluent in at least 8 languages !! (He calls reader like 2 latin nicknames bc I thought they were fitting ^.^ mellilla: little honey and mi ocelle: my little eye. Like, that’s so him me thinks…)
I’m really proud of this one so I hope you guys like it T-T ALSO title idea from a blurb @horny-marbles wrote that I obsessed over and @rainrot4me ILY. The name little lamb fits Jack so well I’m crying. (I’ve stolen it.) OKAY HAPPY READING ^3^ !!
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You moved in exactly a year ago.
New town, new you, or something like that. A house on the edge of nowhere, tucked into the treeline. When you’d initially bought it, shaking hands to seal the deal, nothing was out of the ordinary. The conversation itself was mundane, but there was a tension in the realtor's shoulders that made you uneasy. His eyes were constantly darting to the windows in every room, always glancing at something just out of sight. It was odd how he seemed so ready to bolt, like there was a threat he couldn’t tell you about, a hushed secret that outsiders weren’t supposed to know.
You had brushed it off, even when his palm trembled in yours far more than professional jitters allowed. Ignored it when his obvious apprehension built sky high as dusk started to set. This was a good deal, rare and reasonably priced on the market compared to the others. So you packed your bags and settled in, the memory of the troubled salesman long forgotten.
Until that night.
A week in, and you were decently satisfied. Arranging the built-in fire pit for some well-needed rest, when you’d heard it. A rustle of leaves along the borders. Your backyard stretched acres, the fields were vast, your home was isolated from neighbours, and the closest thing you had to civilization was a gas stop on the highway.
You weren’t superstitious by any means; logic came first. It was probably just a fox, attracted to the bright lights of your porch, not some ghastly ghoul that’d come to eat you, right? Shaking your head to rid the thoughts, you resumed your task. Your decor was homey, miscellaneous camping chairs you’d bought on a whim, all circling the bonfire you’d painstakingly started on your own. Armed with a pack of marshmallows and graham crackers, you sighed. Popping the fluffy treats on a cleaned stick and kicking your feet up.
The hearth looked borderline ancient, with scuffed brick and unused for at least a decade; it still worked like a charm, though. Enjoying the warmth, you should have been relaxed, the atmosphere serene, moon hanging bright over the clouds. The breeze was cool enough for a light sweater, comfortably chilled to perfection. There was just this feeling that wouldn’t leave you fully, the heaviness of being watched.
Overactive imagination had haunted you since childhood; that’s all it was, naive anxiety over things that didn’t exist. Yet the feeling of eyes on you only grew.
You had eaten through a quarter of the bag by now, distracting yourself with the sugary snacks barely worked, and the once peaceful evening had developed an edge. This was stupid; you were not going to ruin your long weekend because the person who sold you the home had anxiety. The rumours hadn’t helped much either; your trips to town were eventful, the people kind and considerate. It was whispers that made you pause, the look of shock, when you told them about your residence.
Patting your shoulder as if they pitied you, gaze drifting to the multitude of missing posters stapled on almost every corner. The words ‘how unfortunate’ were never spoken; you felt it anyway. The nonsensical worries flooded your mind, and you decided you were going to silence them once and for all. What’s the harm in checking? You were going to do a quick sweep along the perimeter, something to ease the tension.
You’d gone back inside and grabbed a flashlight, the metal snug in your hold. Feeling confident as you walked. This was just because the house was new, being unaccustomed to your surroundings, had you a little off-colour, that’s all. The beam swayed back and forth, searching between branches and shrubbery, but nothing. You were about to head back, ready to tell your friends the next day about your little adventure, when you caught it.
A figure, just stray of the spotlight. The shape of a hand, the rest completely swallowed by darkness. It didn’t even register at first; you were frozen, not screaming or sprinting, simply standing in place. Nearly unbothered, you slowly tilted the torch up, from his arm to his chest, your head angled back. His form never seemed to end, reaching to the leaves, you don’t know how you’d missed him before. Broad in an inhuman way, you had to step back to fully capture him in light, neck hurting from the strain.
The sight hits you full force when you see his face.
A dark blue mask, eyes barren with empty voids in exchange, he looked a part of the shadows themselves. Towering over you, only a few feet away. Cold sweat wracked your body. Donning a black sweater, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, you realized why his hand had confused you. His skin was grey. A muted charcoal, claws in place of dull nails. Stygian and blade-like at his fingertips, you were going to die tonight. It wasn’t even his appearance; it was how he carried himself.
The air around him reeked of death, making every instinct preinstalled in your blood scream danger. Your ancestors’ way of survival. A millennium of defining what it meant to be in the presence of a predator. Palms clammy, you were panicking; therefore, you said the first thing that came to mind.
“Please don’t eat me.”
Squeaked out in a pitiful attempt to be spared. He didn’t move an inch, stillness alienating. You were an anxious rambler; this time was no different. “I have marshmallows if you’re hungry?” Then, just barely, he leaned his head to the side, as if he was studying you. You continued anyway. It was a very, very dumb thought, but maybe he was friendly?
“You’re uh… super tall. That’s cool, you live around here, or you just prowl the trees for fun?” Awkward and sweaty, you laughed at your own joke. And despite being terrified, you did your best to crack a grin at him. He remained silent. Shifting from foot to foot, you stared at him, and he stared back. His eyes, or lack thereof, were boring into you, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Coughing into your fist once, you cleared your throat, “I just moved in, so, neighbours, am I right?” Shrugging, you chuckled.
He didn’t. “I think I’m gonna turn in, long day and all that. I’ll.. see you around, probably?” Cautiously backing up, you inched towards the house, facing him the entire way. By the time your heel made contact with the porch, he was still here, unmoving as ever. Now, a faint silhouette in the distance, you waved and shouted goodnight.
You didn’t sleep a wink.
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You truly, in honest to god truth, have no idea how you ended up here.
After your encounter, you began gaslighting yourself into thinking it was a fever dream. That plan immediately went down the drain when he started showing up. Frequently. At first, you’d been jumpy to say the least, stiff while you had your one-sided conversations. He’d show up at the threshold at random times during the week, always silent and as rigid as the day you’d met him. You didn’t know why he kept coming back, or why you’d light your bonfire and wait, you just did. Justified by the fact that if he wanted to hurt you, he would have already.
Over time, his attendance became less scary and more routine. You could rant, spew every living thought you had, and he’d just stand there. You weren’t even sure if he was paying attention; it was simply nice to get things off your chest. Then, he’d stopped looming in the evergreen, choosing to sit quietly on a stump a couple of steps behind your chair.
It was kind of charming the way he’d scrunch himself up to fit, the make-shift stool far too small. His hands folded neatly in his lap as he listened. The question of who he was and why he was forefront of your mind, he definitely wasn’t a run-of-the-mill man from what you could tell. Aside from the ashen skin and claws, you’d catch glimpses of pointed ears when he’d shift. Hidden under his hood, highlighted by the fire when the wind was in your favour.
You’d asked before, but you never really expected a response to be fair. Odd fashion choices, you supposed, but who were you to judge? You’d talk about unceremonious things, a show you’d started, a new recipe you tried, and he’d stay no matter how boring. You spoke to him the way you would a stuffed toy, not quite addressing him, more just filling the air. However, after another night in his mysterious company, it clicked. He was lonely. An answer so obvious that you were disappointed in yourself. The discussion wasn’t special or different than the others prior; the pieces just fused.
You couldn’t guess what he got up to in the daytime, but you thought you were well within your rights to assume he didn’t get out much.
The understanding changed your view of him entirely. And with that, the way you interacted did too. Your fear mellowing out into fondness, your talks stretching longer and longer. Finding comfort with him near, and whether you knew it or not, you were breaking him down. The walls he’d spent years building, soaring and impenetrable, were starting to chip. Jack kept his distance for good reason; he knew what he was. The thing parents would tell stories about to keep their young in bed, the shadow in the closet that you’d have nightmares of.
He was an abomination, born of violence and greed, sacrificed for the promise of grandeur. The ritual forsaking, binding him to walk the earth in chains. Imprisoned by the very hunger that had damned him. The appetite for blood. The need to take, stealing from the innocent, to feed. He had lived more lives than he could count, each more punishing than the last.
He hunted on autopilot, getting it over with and gorging himself full. It made him feel disgusted; most days, he’s numb, and on others, he screams until his throat is raw. An outsider in his own home, his peers wary at best, but he sees the way they judge. As if their hands are not as tainted as his, they talk amongst themselves, sharing meals and inside jokes, and he watches.
Their companionship refuses to extend. When passing around chips or confectionery, he’s skipped. Never considered, like the nourishment will be dirtied if he touches it. The worst part is, he can’t blame them. He doubts they’re aware he can even digest anything other than flesh; how could they? When he returns, emanating finality, when he walks past with crimson dripping from beneath his mask. He hates it, being the boogeyman, even amid monsters.
That’s why you were so interesting. He could smell the fear on you, yet you laughed at him. Told him he was tall, and that it was cool. The normalcy of it stunned him, made him return. To watch as he always did, but you started talking to him. Cautious at first, then your scent warped into something sweeter, warmer.
He searched everything for hints of distress, your body language, your tone, your eyes, to the way you sat- and nothing. You trusted him.
He thought you were strange.
You thought he was sad.
So, that night you’d brought him a snack. His hands were always empty while you munched on whatever treat you had. It made you feel a little guilty; perhaps he never talked because he was shy, and you were literally stuffing your face in front of him. Waking up early to prepare, you spent the afternoon baking away. If you were going to offer him food, you were going to do it right.
Packing a basket with the pastries, you descended the foyer, already spotting his emerging figure from the trees. However, instead of facing your seat to the fire, you’d swivelled around. This was new; the basket in your arms was also new. He tilted his head to the side. Just what were you planning? For the first time since you’d met him, he seemed genuinely shocked. Leaning back like a skittish animal as you placed the goods in his lap, he tensed. A couple of seconds passed, and you began to second-guess every decision you’ve made up to this point. Was it offensive? Maybe he was allergic? An uncomfortable pause wedged between you, before he broke the silence.
“You don’t fear me.”
A statement. His voice was deep, baritone rumbling low in his chest. The base of it was so guttural you felt it more than you heard it. Peering up, his gaze meets yours, “Why?” The question was asked softly, for someone who appeared so commanding, he spoke fairly quietly. The contrast was jarring, yet it endeared him to you even more. “Well, I don’t know, I thought you looked lonely.” The last syllable left your mouth as he stood. How curious, a human, capable of understanding how he felt.
His frame overtaking you, neck craned up, “I just think you’re neat, I suppose.” Nodding, your eyes flicked to the basket that had slipped onto the grass. “I baked, if you were hungry.” You were a timid little thing, clueless and naive. A fawn ensnared in the claws of a beast you’d willingly thrown yourself at. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him without disdain, and you were so open. Defenceless, almost like a pet, it wasn’t your weakness that made his mouth water. It was your trust.
It stirred something in him, a part he’d assumed died long ago. Want. His desire, animalistic and starved, simmered under his skin. Ever-present and ready to snap. You could see it for just a moment, his muscles contracting as if he’s prepared to pounce- before it’s smothered. The heat freezing over, shame taking its place. Guilt and mortification surge through his body in waves. You’d offered him your efforts in good faith, and his appetite had increased for a completely different reason. It was humiliating to have the lack of control he possessed.
Your words had seemed to take his breath away for the worst. Somehow even more rigid than earlier, this was not the effect you wanted. Backtracking, you sputtered, “I’m sorry if I overstepped- it’s just I always have something when you visit and I realized I’d never offered before-“ A clicking resounded from his throat, eyes (voids) vacant. You fidgeted in place, “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, it’s cinnamon rolls I made today. I think they’re pretty good- ah, I should have asked if you’re allergic.”
The explanation is clumsy, though your earnestness fascinated him, so desperate to make him feel at ease as if you had any power here. Caring so much about his comfort that you’d spent your precious time baking for him. Mortal lifespans were terribly short in comparison to his decades of existence, and you had chosen to waste your constantly whittling human seconds just to not- what? Hurt his feelings? An ever-draining hourglass, each granule of sand adding to the growing mass, counting down to your end. An act so seemingly meaningless to you held a world of weight to him.
A sacrifice. Scarlet dripping down your arms as you proposed it at his decaying shrine, clueless to the fact that this was what had sealed your fate. The moment he’d decided for the first time to keep something for himself. If the devil dealt in blood, this must be his payment for the carnage he’d spilled. His paid bounty finally surfacing, a gift in exchange for all the destruction he’d raged. Wrapped in silk ribbon, his naive rabbit to keep.
You’d spent the rest of the evening as you usually did, except for his newly added dialogue. He still wasn’t much of a talker, but he’d tell you things. Actually answering your questions instead of leaving them to fade into obscurity.
He told you his name was Jack, that he lived far into the woods away from the lights, told you he didn’t like the noise. Said that it was better to wear a mask, not expanding further when you prodded. You had learned that he had some sort of enhanced hearing, scent and senses alike, you also assumed he was blind, though you thought it’d be rude to ask, settling on his hobbies instead.
He was smart, that’s for one. Jack’s knowledge of the medical field was no joke; he knew about intricacies you hadn’t even heard of, and that he liked order and schedule. Organization, spending his time memorizing the way the trees moved, mapping out the forest trails and the wildlife that inhabited them. It was admirable how much he noticed about such tiny details, picturing his lumbering form silently staring at squirrels while he walked past made you giggle.
His responses drifted from vague to elaborate; it felt like you’d both known him your entire life and only met him today at once. Nonetheless, a routine had formed. And so had your solace in him, an unlikely companion was a companion all the same.
Or so you thought.
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The anxiety of the house’s surroundings became a far-off memory.
Rarely crossing your mind, you worked, you rested, and in between, you had a friend to keep you company. Yet, the word friend was becoming more denial than fact by the day. Your initial impression of Jack was fear-inducing, clouded by distrust and adrenaline, then it was baseline acceptance, and currently it rests at humbling and embarrassing attraction. The traits that had you recoiling in shock now had you doing a double take, not in disgust or terror, but in longing.
His outfits remained more or less the same; it wasn’t new clothes or anything of the sort that drew you in, it was the minute attributes that slowly caught your attention as your perception of him altered.
First, his height. It had stunned you the night you’d run into him; presently, you had to take a breath every time he ducked under a doorway not to say something obscene. Towering in all his might, the worn-down fabric stretched across his chest, struggling to contain his brawn with each step he took. And he was broad, shoulders stacked with high-strung muscle, built for pressure and gruelling labours you couldn’t name.
The same claws that had frightened you made you want to douse yourself in ice water; you think your entire head could fit in his palm. Faint scars littering his forearms, you’d watched as the veins in his hand bulged when he helped you move a table. Lifting the heavy oak with an arm, not a single grunt, either, it was effortless. One time, you were so entranced in your daydream about what it’d feel like if he’d just pick you up and squeezed—
He had to have called your name at least three times to snap you out of it.
The worst offender? His voice. Like the purr of an engine every time he spoke, smooth and low. As deep as bourbon. He didn’t speak much, and when he did, it reminded you of distant thunder. Resonate in the way it commanded, never failing to make you shiver. You thanked your lucky stars he couldn’t see, saving you the humiliation of being caught glancing at him excessively, or the way you pouted with want when he’d move a certain way, his hoodie rising just above his belt.
Your face growing hot, eyes averting his face when he’d lean down to listen. The way you’d squeeze your thighs together when he’d hum by your ear in agreement. He was your friend, so when you’d mention you needed something fixed around your home, he’d do it without question.
The shameful part came when he would grab the tools, and you’d tell him you were going to read. The lie was always said confidently. You were most definitely not going to read or spend any time in your room, trailing behind him as quietly as you could, peaking from the corner while he worked. It was terrible, and you knew it; the guy couldn’t see, and you were using that to your advantage like a pervert. He would kneel by your sink or wherever and tinker about, with your figure tucked by the room’s edge.
He navigated your space with ease, most likely due to his intensified awareness, you presumed. You tended to forget he didn’t possess the same sight you did, rushing up to him, picture in hand to show him a stupid doodle you’d made, to be met with nothing. A slight head tilt and silence, freezing for a brief moment before you start prefusely apologizing. Jack’s response was the same every time. Bringing up a loose fist, his knuckles brushing your nose bridge, before tapping your forehead twice with his thumb. A way of teasing you, his version of vocalizing he took no offence.
His face is hidden by the mask, but you swear he’s grinning at least a little behind it. You imagine the quirk of his lips, the way his cheeks pull up just a tad, you think his smile would be nice. You also think it’s an absolute crime that no one has hit on him before, appalling, actually.
Selfishly, you’re grateful, though that doesn’t make the information any less shocking. You’d brought it up in passing if he was seeing anyone, and he’d turned to you with such visible confusion you’d laughed. In theory, it made sense; in practice, it did not. Like have you seen him?
Over seven-feet-something of straight man, hulking yet gentle, and aside from his vaguely questionable hobbies— he was nearly perfect boyfriend material. Gentlemanly, where he didn’t even try, the type to cup the corner of tables when you’d bend to pick up a dropped mug. Closing cabinets so you wouldn’t hit your head in the bustle, and grabbing your bags before you could even decide if you needed help or not.
Jack was thoughtful, far more considerate than you think people gave him credit for. And perhaps if you told your peers you were in love with some lone-wolf forest dweller who lacked eyes, they’d judge you, but that’d only be because they hadn’t met him. You guaranteed that if he had a night on the town, he’d have suitors lining the block. You told him that. Making a joke about it when he was staring at you like you were crazy for insinuating he, the literal embodiment of the silent type trope people dreamed about, was taken. He had shaken his head, pinching your cheek softly, then returning to his task.
Patient, tall and humble. And he almost one-hundred-percent did not see you like that. This must be hell.
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Jack was not blind.
As a matter of fact, he had better sight than anyone else on the planet.
Demon biology and science were tricky; he didn’t have physical eyes, sure. However, he could see just fine, analyze moving creatures even miles away if he wanted; his “view” of things worked vastly differently from the average person’s. The first time you’d stumbled and apologized, he had half the heart to correct you, until you blushed.
He could feel it, the blood rushing to your cheeks, then you mumbled out some shy excuse about your bad memory. Twisting your thumbs together, pupils dilated as you blinked up at him. It was adorable. He knew it was probably bad and very misguided to lie to you like this; he simply couldn’t help himself. You and your puppy-like curiosity, so excited to show him the most mundane things, because you thought he’d like it. A cool rock you had, or a funky colored sticky note you’d found, as if your eagerness would overwrite your previous knowledge of him.
It was awfully indulgent on his behalf, yet he didn’t have it in him to cease. Especially when you started following him around, nearly tripping over yourself in an attempt to be discreet. It became a game, pretending he didn’t see you, ignoring your inaudible giggles behind your hand when he’d move something heavy for you. Acting like he hadn’t noticed you peering from the hallway, mouth pressed into a thin line in fear of being caught while he was repairing a rickety chair leg. He was well aware he was playing with fire; you didn’t even know who he was, what he did, let alone what he was.
But was it truly so wrong to preserve this one thing?
All he did was serve under orders; his dictator left him alone most times, but that didn’t mean he was free to do as he pleased. Patching up wounds day and night, drowned in violence at hours on end. Saving the lives of people who would leave him to bleed if they got the chance, not even in feeding did he have reprieve. An act so impossibly human warped into something despicable by most standards.
He was deluded at this point because, somehow, a part of him believed you’d stay. Stay when you inevitably find out, stay when he’d confess to you his wrath, stand by his side when he’d return to you, soaked in gore and carnage. You had to, wouldn’t you? He’d shown up in the middle of the night, looking like death itself, and you’d grinned at him had you not? He’d returned time after time, as mysterious as the last, and you’d welcomed him, had you not? Giddy when in his presence, your joy seeps into his bones, and he can smell you. Smell your craving. Your lust. The scent is sickly sweet, thick molasses that coats the walls. Borderline taste the heat that coiled between your plush thighs.
Your want comes in waves, knocking the air out of his lungs, the second it hits his nostrils. And it was getting harder and harder to ignore, spit collecting under his tongue as you bluff. Sitting in front of him, pretending your core wasn’t slick with need, all because he was close to you. A lamb to the slaughter, presented on a silver fucking platter. The control on his own desires waned every time you pushed too close, leaned in too far.
He was growing restless, the energy making his body taut. He started hunting more, feasting with abandon, tunnel vision stuck on his memory of you. Winter was approaching fast, and he needed more meat to keep him satiated than normal, primal instincts taking hold. Jack’s hunger was blistering; he wanted to devour you whole.
And he was sure you’d thank him with a smile on your face.
➽──────────────❥
There had been a shift in the air recently.
The forest around your residence had turned quiet. Originally, you’d assumed it was the weather that had driven the birds away, but this seemed… different, strange in a way. The silence felt unnatural, like the wildlife was hiding from something. Chased away by an invisible threat, the once lively trees had fallen still. It left a strange ache you couldn’t quite place. As for Jack, he’d been weird lately, too.
The last time you saw him, his shoulders were tense, and he barely answered any of your questions. It didn’t feel like he was irritated or annoyed, just distant; as if his mind were elsewhere. Responding to everything you said with grunts or stiff nods, his body jerking faintly once and a while, resembling a predator holding itself back.
He’d abruptly stood up when you were reading on the couch, arriving only a few hours earlier before suddenly storming out. That was weeks ago. You were worried, staying up on random nights just in case he’d stopped by and no one was there to open the door. He did have the spare key you’d given him; you just wanted to see him the second he returned. Wracking your brain for anything you could’ve done to set him off, yet you can’t remember a single time in the past month he had even disagreed with you. He was fine, nothing was standing out, leaving you to stew in your own confusion and fret. Your concern was solely focused on him—
Until you started noticing the blood.
Stark against the fresh snow, the faded red streaks weave between the timber. Specks spread across the yard; you had tried to rationalize it, you lived in the woods for god’s sake, just because it was a little quieter than usual didn’t mean the animals stopped existing, stopped hunting. It didn’t mean the rumours were true.
Then, you noticed the claw marks. Dug into the bark, stretching across the trunks and dragging into the frozen soil. They were ragged, angry, left by something starved. The scores were sizable; whatever creature that had done them had to have been massive, some too high up to be from a bear. You weren’t close to the hillside either, mountain lions out of the question, and even if you were, what kind of feral cat leaves scratches like that?
None of it was making sense; the lacerations didn’t look sporadic either. Your property had been marked. Ice filled your veins as you stared; you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.
The sun was long gone, dusk setting heavy over the treeline. A gnawing dread had begun creeping in; you were terrified. If it were on paper, perhaps you could have brushed it off, chalked it up to nerves. You’ve dealt with strays before; this was another variant entirely. A finality in the air that wouldn’t shake. Along with your worry for Jack, you selfishly wished he were here to protect you. His unyielding nature, always reliable, sturdy and safe. He appeared to be able to keep a cool head about almost anything. He’d know what to do, where to go, what to say to stop the tremble in your hands.
You were close to tears when you spotted it, cold sweat lining your back. A flicker amongst the trees. Moving far too fast to be human or animal, the shadow ripped its way through the shrubbery. Breaths picking up, you darted behind your sofa. You knew it was a bad hiding place, but something in the way it advanced told you shelter was pointless. Pulling your knees to your chest, you clamped a palm over your mouth to muffle the petrified sob. A growl echoes out; the sound is guttural, reverberating through the walls, shaking the glass windows as the wind wails.
Eyes shutting tight, you curled into yourself. Of course, this would happen when he was away. At this moment, you would’ve given anything to bring Jack back to you; he’d know how to fix it, he always did. When you’d panic over something stupid, he would soothe you in a way only he could. But Jack wasn’t here, and you were alone. Scared out of your mind with a hell bound beast encroaching on your home, you didn’t want to die.
The fear was unlike anything you had ever felt, chilling you from the inside out. It spread like a parasite, aching in your lungs with every breath, twisting your stomach to nausea. You hiccuped, hugging your legs close. You didn’t want to die- this wasn’t fair, and if something happened to you, what would happen to him? Your dearest friend, more loved than he’d ever know, and you’d never even gotten the chance to tell him. The porch creaked loudly, heavy steps thudding against the frosted wood; you wanted to scream.
The door swings open, breeze screeching in the background. The cold is rushing in, draft circling the room, and the lock clicks shut. Apparently, this beast had manners. Heartbeat deafening in your ears, then you hear it. The tell-tale shuffling of boots, Jack. Shooting up, you spun around, already stepping past the couch. Relief flooding your body, lips twitching up, you wanted to laugh— tell him about how scared of the storm you got without him.
He’ll probably think you’re ridiculous, shake his head a tad and ruffle your hair. Scold you softly, say you’ve been watching too many movies, reading too many books, with a reasonable explanation on the tip of his tongue. Rounding the corner, the words died in your throat. The tempest had cut your power, but even from where you stood, you could tell something was horribly wrong.
The darkness of the hallway enveloped him. He stood off-center, shoulders hunched, his hands limp by his sides, twitching every couple of seconds. It was too dim to see clearly, yet you caught it anyway. A thick, viscous liquid, dripping from under his mask, now that you had noticed it, you realized he was drenched in it. The scent reaches your nose a beat after, metallic.
“… Jack?”
Muttered weakly. His head tilted down, like he was observing you. You knew it was him, so why were you so uneasy? His foot dragged an inch forward, your legs reacting before your mind, subconsciously taking a step back. He notices, he always does. When you were anxious, when you were hungry, because you forgot to eat breakfast, when you were scared.
The notion hurts him; your fear felt violating and wrong in his body. The pained howl he lets out has every hair on the back of your neck standing on end. Sharply pitched, inhuman as he continues to stalk closer. You shuffle away further, retreating, and it upsets him. You looked so terribly fragile, meek, with tears still clinging beneath your lashes. He needed to warm you, to keep you safe, it was blizzarding outside after all, and he knew how anxious you got during blackouts. His mask took a hit during the hunt, and his hood had been knocked off somewhere along the way. The buckle too withered to hold up the weight, finally snapping, mask slipping off and clattering to the floor. You barely register the sight before he crosses the hall in three strides.
His face. Gaping sockets where his eyes should be, filled with black tar that smeared his skin. He says your name, or a version of it anyway. Voice warbling deeper than you thought possible, cadence unsteady. Reaching out for you, his clawed hand brushes your cheek, catching a tear that falls when you blink.
“Little lamb.”
It barely sounded like him, and all you can do is stare. His mouth opens, tongues sliding out to wet his lips. Wait, tongues..?
Your eyes widen as they swiped along the edge of his teeth. Pointed and sharpened, like they could bite through bone. He presses his forehead to yours, arms caging you in. Your hands instinctively pressed against his chest, clutching the damp fabric. You trust him, yet your gut is screaming for you to run, the inner battle making you shake in his embrace. Brows furrowing, why wasn’t this working?
Shivering meant you were cold; it meant you were vulnerable. The scent of your distress sets off alarm bells in his head; his urge to consume and preserve you clashing. A gravelly and repetitive clicking resonated from his throat, overlapping his speech, “Cold. Why do you tremble so, mi ocelle?” The concern emitted from him in ripples, apprehension so heavy it felt as if you were suffocating. “I- I was just worried about you, it’s… storming out.”
You didn’t know what to say; the events playing out were something you’d never learnt to plan for. What were you to do when the devil was at your door with a bleeding heart in his hands? Perhaps you were foolish. Naive in ways others would never understand, but if the Morningstar were yours, then it must be in your fates to be burned.
Leaning in, he cooed. “You were worried… for me?” Your timid confession seemed to appease him, nuzzling your face with his. Amusement blooming across his features, he traced up your spine, the edge of his talons fraying cotton. “Prey tell, my dove. What do you fear?” Your mind was racing for an answer, searching for something- anything- that wasn’t him.
Swallowing, you stuttered, “I thought- I thought I saw something in the woods—“ He hummed, like this was fun, like he knew. Reading the barren truth that you could only deny for so long. “It was by the window. I saw it earlier, I swear-“ Cutting you off when he suddenly withdraws. The frost was a harsh contrast, his warmth no longer shared. “Then let’s look together. To ease you.” He glances at you once from over his shoulder, turning as he heads for the living room.
The plush entryway carpet does little to comfort you, following in his steps until stopping in front of the aperture, your stomach in knots. Jack leaned back against the frame, almost leisurely. “Describe it to me, won’t you?” You toed at the rug, ankle bumping the coffee table leg.
“It was tall- and it growled so loudly the house shook.”
His shoulders twitched, stature reaching above the windowsill. His brawn obstructs the moon’s glow, the shadows spilling like ink. As if you were framed by death’s silhouette. Baritone purr rumbling deep behind his ribs.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, and it left these gashes on the trees. Blood trails in the snow-“
The muscle in his forearms twisted while he gripped the glass ledge, sable keratin tapping the surface in rhythm. They gleamed under the pale light, dark crimson dripping off the razor edge and splattering up his hands like paint.
“I see.”
“And it sounded hungry, like it wanted to devour me in one bite.”
Tongue dragging along his teeth, nearly drooling. The weight of his eyes left goosebumps in their wake. Sweeping from your pouty cheeks to the flushed curves of your chest. Memorizing your damp skin.
“Starved, I’m sure.”
“It was tearing apart everything in its path, and moving too fast to be an animal- I don’t know- it- it was like a—“
“Monster?”
Your head snapped up. Empty voids boring into you, black oil mixing with red. His complexion, the claws, you couldn’t decide if you were stupid or so desperate for attachment you’d refused to see the signs. It was always there, a whispered thought when the conversation died down, a realization when his hand would jerk at the sight of the news. Now it was too late, the monster was in your home, and he was going to eat you alive. With nowhere to turn, panic seizes you, breath coming in shallow pants. Jack’s face was unreadable, eerily still.
You spin on your heel, sprinting up the stairs. He was standing next to the main hallway entrance; you wouldn’t be able to get past without him grabbing you. You can hear the harsh thud of footsteps from behind, hot on your tail. You know it was futile, yet adrenaline clouded your judgment. Running like hell, as fast as you could, swerving around the staircase railing the second your feet hit the second floor. It didn’t matter if he was going to catch you; you needed to get away. Ducking in through the gap of the bedroom door, you carefully made your way to the ensuite bathroom.
It was over; you just wanted to go on your terms, have some time to think before it ended. Being a human was truly awful, you think. Because in all of this, the part that bothered you the most was how much you enjoyed being held by him. His touch, the way he brushed away your sadness, and now he was coming to slaughter you. How ironic is that? That even now, being hunted, you still wished he were there to comfort you.
Vision blurring, you laughed to yourself. The bathroom didn’t have a lock; you slid down the wall and onto the cool tile. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots, stopping outside the door. The knob turned slowly, and he pushed it open. When you saw him, it made your chest heavy. He looked handsome like this, the moonlight from the window outlining his frame. He was pretty, beastly features or not, they were his, and that was enough. “Can you at least do it fast? I baked you cinnamon rolls, y’know.” Wobbly smile on your lips, you tensed. Bracing for the impact, the numbing pain of a puncture wound, but it never came.
Opening your eyes, you sniffled. Jack had knelt in front of you. Docile, unmoving and rigid as stone. Submission in the way bite-ridden guard dogs revere sheep. “Such a peculiar little thing.” Said softly, hushed and low. Not snarling or pouncing on you like you expected, simply quiet, handling you with care as he always did. Scooting closer, he tucks your frenzied hair behind your ear before resting both hands on your legs. His thumb rubbed in gentle circles against your calf, “You thought I was going to kill you?”
The lightness of his tone makes you blink, like scolding a child for not holding on when they were afraid of the dark. Shedding tears for something so easily fixed. “So sure I was your end, yet your body still calls for me.” He had you pinned, half crawled over you as he spoke, the random jolts that wracked his body worsening by the second. Faces inches apart, you could see the restraint that held him together, the slight shake in his breathing, how his hand flexed, nails digging into the porcelain. “I can smell it, mellilla.” Dipping his head to your neck, he inhales deeply before his teeth break your skin with little effort. You flinch at the feeling, gasping.
You grabbed onto his sweater, eyes watering in confusion. It hurt; the laceration was shallow enough not to be fatal, just deep enough to bleed. His tongues lapped at the mark. You were so sweet. Groaning as he swallows, and you shiver at the sound. His knee was pressed between your thighs, rocking back and forth every time he moved. The pain was slowly melding into gut-churning heat, wires crossing in your head, you whined. Breathing hard, he shifts, hips grinding down.
“You have no idea, do you?-“ The zipper of his jeans nudged against your clit, your thin sleep shorts were riding up, and the pressure had you dripping. “-What you do to me, fuck.” His assault on your throat never faltering, drinking in your nectar. Sinking his canines in deep over your pulse, he needed to feel it. Had to taste your heartbeat or he’d lose his mind. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, and you clung to him as if he were a lifeline, squeaking when he started gulping at your spilling wound. “Sorry- I know. It hurts, doesn’t it?” Muffled against your skin, his apology fell on deaf ears.
Parting from you with a wet pop, strings of blood and saliva stretched from his jaw to your neck. More beast than man as he sat back on his haunches, chest heaving. His lids drooped low, drunk off it, “Look at you, my little rabbit. Ripe enough to eat.” Hooking a finger under your shirt, he yanks it up in one swipe. Claw slicing it cleanly, leaving you bare. It made his mouth water. Caging you again, his mouth clamping around the perky nub. Writhing, your back arched off the floor. Arms secured to your sides by his palms, Jack’s strength was otherworldly. Even through his sweater, the contours of his body were unmistakable.
The ache had you dizzy, cunt throbbing in pulses with each nibble he took, littering your breasts in bruises and cuts. Tongues acting as a salve, easing the sting with gentle licks. Mewling, you pushed up into his mouth. He didn’t touch you like he wanted to fuck, he touched you like he was trying to rapture your soul. Have you reborn, remade, fracture your very cortex until the only thing you remembered was him.
Bodies moving in tandem, driving his hips to a slow, agonizing grind. Simulating sex, the same motions, yet not quite there. Your head was spinning, denim stained where your cores met. “You’d forgive me, wouldn’t you? If I got too hungry, you’d let me have you-“ When you said he was going to kill you, this wasn’t what you had pictured at all. The base of his words had you squeezing down on nothing, crying to be filled. He kisses you softly, to mar you right after. “-Let me lick your bones clean, show everyone my teeth- so they’d know how delicious you were. How divine you satisfied me-“
It was sick, vile, the fantasies he spun, your lust betraying your principle. Lips molding to yours, his tongues violating each centimetre of your mouth. You gagged around the intrusion, slimy and tentacle-like; they swarmed the cavity. Proding deeper, his mouth latched as he fucked your throat. Only pulling back once you were on the verge of passing out, fist rapidly slamming against his side. Your lungs burned, black spotting your vision, fear reaped amore that seeped into the darkest corners of your mind.
His cock throbbed with need, hefty against your cunt, and you could feel each and every pulse. It’d tear you apart, larger than you thought possible; you’d never wanted anything more in your life.
Panting above you, the chuckle that left his lips was manic. “They’d wage war in envy, massacre their own kind- driven to madness that they couldn’t have you.” Laving at your collar bone, the heat in your stomach on the brink of scorching, coiling tight. You’d soaked through the fabric, wetness making it stick to your folds, “Build shrines in your name, frame your ribs in mausoleums just to admire-“ His rutting growing harsh, desperate and feral, “Worship you like religion. Offer gold and jewels- sacrifice their gods at the foot of your tomb.” Your release hits you hard, euphoria choking you. Jack, close behind, cumming with a hollowed groan, the aftershocks making his hips jolt. Unrelenting, when his pace fails to cease, not giving you a chance to recover.
“You’re cruel to me, my lamb-“ Arms cocooning you, he lifted you off the tile, trapping you to him. His words pierce through the fog, “I- I don’t understand.“ Huffing out his nose, he laughs, exasperated. “You think I couldn’t see you? Hiding behind corners, following me around like a needy pup.” The admission floods you with embarrassment, pouting as you try and avoid his gaze. “I thought you were-“ he interrupts you, amused. “Blind? How quaint.”
Mocking and adoring all at once, you were so fun to play with. “It was adorable, you know. Pretending you weren’t there, watching you stumble and apologize.” He leaned in close, mummuring against your ear, “Pretending it didn’t have me starved.”
The cadence sends goosebumps down your back, shoulders bowed while you whine. “Always so kind, hm? Don’t worry, even if my sight did not lead me-“ kissing down your neck, he continues. “-There are plenty of other ways to indulge, are there not?” Leaving hickies in his path, nicking your fevered skin, “Sound.” Teeth grazing, before sinking in, your lips parting in a sharp gasp, “Jack.” Trailing further, slipping his hands from under you, and gripping your hips. Hard. His talons penetrate the fat of your ass, drawing blood. “Touch.” Pain and pleasure laced, and all you could do was lie there and take it.
Crawling down your body, bruises blooming over your abdomen. Mouth dragging over your tummy, your navel and pelvis. He snags the waistband of your shorts with his canines, jerking his head back harshly and shredding them off you. He borderline growls when his eyes land on your pussy. He thinks they should hang paintings of your cunt at the fucking Louvre. Puffy and weeping, beautifully delicate as he runs the pad of his thumb up your slit. “And-“ collecting the syrup, his grin stretched wide, a smirk that had you gushing,
“Taste.”
He dives in, lapping at your aching clit with fervour. It was too much, too fast. Convulsing, your hands shot to his hair, grabbing at the messy locks. Thighs snapping closed, bracketing his head. His tongues were everywhere, nose buried in your mound, wet squelching filling the room. “Oh- ngh- fuck.” You were crying, screaming as if you were being murdered. He uses your waist as leverage, thrusting you into his mouth. The tendrils reached deep, fucking you rough while his nose grinded on your sensitive bud. They scissored you open, devouring you whole, and you felt dizzy. Arching, your heels dug into his back, “S’too much- Jack, please- I can’t.”
He groaned into your heat, your pleas making him rut against the floor. You were shaking something fierce, the pressure building in your gut becoming unbearable. “W-wait, please- please, feels weird-“ His tongues were hitting your spot over and over again, eyes rolling back as your body went taut. The orgasm was cataclysmic. Your cunt pulsed wildly, liquid splurting out. It coated his jaw, spraying across his face; you couldn’t even think. Brain completely emptied and ears full of cotton, Jack still gulping down your spillage. He pulls off of you with a sticky smack, breathing heavy, “Messy girl.” He taunts. Sitting up, he grabs the back of his hood, throwing it off in one swoop.
Shoulders sculpted, sweat beading down the contours of his chest, and you stared shamelessly. Gaze drifting from his flushed and heaving pecs to the divots of his V-line, happy trail peaking over his belt. He tugs at the buckle, the metal clasp falling open with a clink. Popping the zipper, he wrenches his cock free, and the sight made your eyes widen. The head drooled with pre, sitting dense in his hand, it looked like it weighed pounds.
There was no way that thing was fitting inside you. “I don’t know if I can…” Trailing off, hesitance contorting your features. “It’s going to hurt.” Blunt and matter-of-fact, and you knew he wasn’t boasting. Not for ego or otherwise, it was simply a warning. “But you’re strong, I know you are.”
Yanking you by the hips, he settled between your legs, lining himself up. “Remember to breathe, my flower.” Soothing you, as he nudges his cock against your entrance. The tip struggles past the tight ring before sinking in, the stretch making you hiss. Your fists are balled up at your sides, tears immediately gathering at your lashline. Whimpering, it felt like he was ripping you in half. “Shh, I know- doing so well. My brave girl.” He hushes you gently. Gathering your hand in his, he presses your palms flat and intertwines your fingers. “Squeeze when it gets too much.”
Rocking forward, he pushes in an inch, your pained whine bouncing off the walls. “Just focus on my voice, can you do that for me?” Forcing your lids to stay open, you nod, “Okay.” But as his hips buck barely a centimetre, your panicked yelp stops him in his tracks. “It- it hurts- I can’t.”
Hiccuping, you were quivering like a leaf, face scrunched uncomfortably. Cooing low in his throat, he drops his head closer. Tongue collecting the salt on your cheeks, “Poor thing, why don’t we play a game? To distract you.” You sniffled, “A game?” He hums, nose brushing yours. “When I move, you’ll count.” Explaining slowly, he kisses you, reassurance mixing with saliva. “Do you trust me?” The question whispered, sacred against your lips, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”
With your green light, he begins to thrust, carefully and reverently. Shaft glistening with your slick, he slides deeper. “One.” You sighed, breath fanning across his skin, “That’s it, good girl.” You felt like silk around him; it was intoxicating. His length is dialating your walls, “Two-“ The once prickling twinge had started to dull, melding into a warm simmer amidst your thighs. You clutched his hand firmly, “Ah- three.” Gliding in and out, probing further. He grunts, restraint wearing thin. “Four.” He was hardly halfway, and you swore he was in your lungs. Jack shuddered over you, vein prominent against the lines of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing.
Jaw slack, his spit dribbling onto your skin, carnal and dangerous. His teeth bared as he let out a strangled keen, “Forgive me, my sweet.” His hips were jerking before you could even comprehend what he’d said. Slamming to the hilt, and you wailed. “Gods, you feel- fuck-“ He panted, head flung back. Tremoring violently while he held you flush. You went limp, the sensations overwhelming you, fully speared on his cock. So impossibly filled, the last of his control had withered to ash.
He fucked into you like an animal. Hard and fast, brows furrowed in ecstasy. Bruising grasp on your waist, using your pussy as a sleeve, he raises you. Bouncing you as if you weighed nothing. One hand tugging at your wrist, the other keeping you steady. “Feels so good- can’t fucking stop.” Your back bowed, helpless. Shockwaves sparked up your spine each time you sank on his cock. Molten iron pounding against your cervix, branding your cunt with his lust. The climax takes you by surprise, whiting out your vision. You clenched on him so hard he could barely move, glands pulsing as he stuffed you.
The sticky lacquer is pumping you full, leaking out and puddling on the bathroom floor. Tongue like lead in your mouth, you slurred, “J-Jack- ngh.” He doesn’t even blink, slipping you off, he flips you. Your arms were jelly, crumbling onto your chest, face pressed to the cold tile. Ass propped by his claws, he slides back inside in an instant. Sanity draining with each second, he couldn’t feel your warmth.
Your body jolted roughly from the power of his thrusts, drilling into you with abandon, frantically chasing his release. His veins had been flooded with magma, broiling him alive. Thumbs kneading at your flesh, spreading you wide, he lets out punched groans when his balls slap against your clit. A milky ring is forming at the base of his shaft, gluey and opaque. Lewd plaps filling your ears, his palm pressed your arch down into a perfect semi-circle, driving deeper and deeper, “Christ- you take it so pretty, my lamb- fucking made for this weren’t you?” You scratched at the foundation, delirious, he was so strong. So big, fucking his authority into you, ruining you for anyone else.
Your eyes crossed- stomach bulging from his girth, you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, sobbing as drool leaked out of your agape mouth. Jack was mounted on you like a dog.
Lugging you up, manhandling your boneless form, he bends you over the sink counter. Chiselled hips pummeling you from behind, his flexed bicep locked around your throat. The mirror had fogged with condensation, the tap sputtering from the ruthless tempo, and you barely recognized yourself. It was pornographic the way he had you, something you’d see on the front page of an exed out website. And he wasn’t faring any better, dishevelled strands stuck to his forehead with perspiration. Skin dewy, globs of slick and cum dripped down your legs, he sounded gone. Huffing, “Made for me, made to be bred- should I keep you like this?” His pace quickened, close to the edge, “Keep you full, begging for my cock? Chained and desperate- you’d like that, no?”
Your brain failed to form a cohesive thought, high on the pleasure, “Ah- p-please-“ The response fuelled his rut; he needed to sear his print onto your flesh. Stain you like possession, sovereignty over your spirit, heart and womb. Jack snarled, seething, and he yanked your head back. The climate is sweltering, pressure on your airways tightened, “Words, girl.” He was so mean, abusing your poor cunt. “Yes- please, want it. Wan’ it s’bad.” Shrill cry, leaving your lips.
This wasn’t sex; it was ownership.
His release paints your walls lava-hot, stars bursting behind your lids. Before the afterglow has a chance to reach you, he throws you over his shoulder. Kicking the door open with his foot, the hinges screeching loudly, and you dangled almost lifelessly in his hold. Stepping into the room with little ceremony, he tosses you on the mattress, landing with a bounce.
He was gorgeous, the crescent light peeking through the curtains, tongue running along his sharpened canines. Sultry as he crawled between your thighs, up your body, famished. Prowling, eyeing you like sweet prey- he had you under him for hours. It was ritualistic, claiming and methodical; his devotion clung to you in smoke. Whispering scripture against your skin in languages older than the earth itself. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from your yielding body, refusing to stop until you’d forgotten your own name.
You were a mural of depravity, illustrated in fever. Aphrodisiac tinted with Jack as your artisan.
Ankles by your ears, you had lost count of how many times he’d made you scream, the bliss blending, and the only thing that existed was him. All encompassing, and drilling into your oversensitive pussy. “S’too m-much- I can’t.” His chuckle mocked, “Too much? And here I thought you wanted to be mine-“ He was bullying you, cruelly pressing down on your bloated tummy. Weeping tip knocking mercilessly into your soft spot, you flailed against the sheets, twitching and whining pathetically. “Please, I can’t- I can’t-“ babbling, you gushed around his girth, completely drenching his abs. He had fucked you dumb.
Snickering, he snaps his hips forward, pelvis flush and grinding on your puffy clit. “Liar.” And he began jackhammering into you, unrelenting, his weight folding you in half. The headboard slammed against the wall vigorously, pictures tumbling off the nightstand, mattress squeaking every thrust. Its movements were so harsh that they left indents in the plank flooring. His muscles rippling with exertion.
Claw hooked beneath your knee, his free hand reaching up to strike the bedpost with a bang. It splinters under his strength, and you moaned like a whore. “One more- give me one more, my life.” He grunted, panting and burying his face into your shoulder, the linen shredded to bits.
The frame was thrashing, creaking noisily with warning. His cock swelled at the base, the stretch burning as he forces it passed your opening. Knot stuffing you full, filling you to the brim, and you writhed hysterically- digging your nails into his back. Shallow scrapes littered his skin, from his shoulder blades to his tensing arms. “Mmph- oh god, m’cumming- Jack-“ It blazed from your head to your toes, igniting everything in its path, thrumming in your blood. Teeth sunk in your neck, growl vibrating to your lungs, his inflated girth trapping his seed deep.
Mahogany cracking sharply, the wood giving in and collapsing. The bed was slanted, haphazardly held up by one leg. And Jack is already licking the wound clean, kissing the area softly. He sighs, “… Apologies.” Strangely guilty, the change in demeanour gives you whiplash.
You didn’t know what he was apologizing for, whether it was the marks that scattered across your flesh, or the ruined guest room- either way, you could tell he meant it. Covered in bites and bruises, and you’d never been happier. He takes initiative, carefully scooping you up and rolling your bodies over slowly. Tucked against his chest as your breathing evened out, still connected. You assumed you’d be stuck here for a while. The primal heat finally dying down, the sun began to gleam over the horizon. Your limbs felt like lead.
Sleepy and warm, you broke the silence, “Would this be a bad time to tell you I have a crush on you?” The confession was framed as a joke, yet your vulnerability lingered in the air that followed. He exhaled through his nose with a huff, an almost laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching just a tad. “You are by far the strangest human I’ve ever met.” Giggling quietly, you cuddle further into his chest, “You would’ve eaten me if I wasn’t.” Your words make him pause, shame creeping in. Looking up, you can see the storm starting to brew in his head. “I was kidding, twas’ just a joke.” And he scoffs in disbelief,
“You should hate me.”
“Too bad I don’t.”
It was bothering him. No matter how stone-faced he was, you’d realized you had learned to read him. “Jack-“ He cuts you off with a disgruntled hum, “You don’t even know what I am, what I’ve done-“ Leaning up, you kiss him. Sweet and slow, letting him feel your trust. “I let you into my house when you’d say like- two words a day max. Plus, you looked like the boogeyman when you showed up that one time. And-“ You peck his jaw, continuing, “I still thought you were cute, so.” Jack stares at you as if you’ve grown three heads.
“Your self-preservation is severely lacking-“
“Answer my question, beasty.”
He raises a brow at the nickname before responding anyway. “… No, it would not.” You were admiring him, your gaze fond. “So…” Trailing off, expectant. Tilting his head in thought, while his hand pets the small of your back. “So?” He kind of reminded you of a stray cat, a very large, very dangerous stray cat. “Do you- y’know.” You mumble, shrugging. The expression that overtakes his features makes you snort. He seemed so offended, “If you’re asking if I care for you, the answer should be obvious.” He says it like you’ve insulted him, borderline pouting. Though if you told him that, he’d deny it with fervour. Perhaps it was in bad taste, but the rollercoaster he’d put you through demanded vengeance. “Which would be?” Drawling, you teased him. Jack’s deadpan somehow deepened, and you pressed.
“Say it- you like meee-“ And he blinks at you. Amused, he nods, “I do.” Something so plainly stated, so sure in his ways. It made your stomach flutter. “You’re lucky you’re so handsome, I’d be mad if anyone less pretty broke my bedframe.” His entire body freezes under you, sockets widening for a millisecond. Worry passes through your thoughts, going to ask what you’d said that had made him uncomfortable- you paused. The grey hue of his skin didn’t really allow for blush. Or so you thought. Because as he tilts his chin down just the slightest, the faintest hint of blue dusts his ears. You gasp,
“Oh my god, are you blushing?-“
“I beg of you.”
Interrupting you, his eyes shut. Holding you stiffly, as a lightbulb goes off in your head. He was flustered. Squinting at him, you were in shock. Jack had bent you six ways to Sunday after showing up covered in blood, scaring you half to death, and he couldn’t handle being called handsome? Swiping your thumb along the crease under his eye, you cradled his face. “I don’t know about you, but I actually think you’re quite dashing.” His lashes flutter open, memorizing your grin, the gentle lilt of your voice. “Rest.” Chiding you with a tut, he cups your nape, pressing your cheek back down. Skin on skin, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, closer than close, really.
Maybe there would be hardships, sleepless nights and times he’d chip at your heart. And maybe he’d mend it with guilty hands, hollowed eyes when he begged in atonement. However, that was for future-you to stress about. So for now, you’d lie your head and listen to the thrum in his chest. Safe in his embrace, more protected than you’d be anywhere else. Your love was filled with tongue-tied confessions, clumsy and unsure. That was okay, though.
Because he was yours, sharp teeth and all.
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A/N: SORRY FOR THE DELAY T-T I’VE BEEN TEWW BUSY BUT ITS HEREEE YAYY EVERYONE CHEERED !! I hope you guys liked it bc he is my princess and he is very gorjus to me ^3^
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