LeATHERMØUTH

MINORS DNI THIS IS INNAPROPRIATE CONTENT 4 U | Maleficent // 25 | Creepypasta & Marble Hornets | Starting this blog to let out some frustration in the form of fanfics about murder puppies. | CHECK OUT MY A03 FOR MY FICS https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maley

[sabbathofruin]

🎥 Director's Cut ⦻ 📼

Hoody/Brian Thomas X Reader

Act I | The Kickback

⦻... It's a good night to lose your mind at a neighborhood house party, but as social misfit, you're finding the task easier said than done. Just when it seems like all odds are against you, enter Brian, a quippy heartthrob with a devious side. The two of you share an unforgettable night of party antics and pernicious chemistry that rewrites your narrative for good.

⦻... cw: afab!gn!reader, no use of y/n, plot heavy ahh exposition, 75% buildup and sexual tension my bad, smut, piv, creampie, cunnil, semi-public sex, knife play (teasing), intox play, impact play, Brian plays too much, lowkeysadist!Brian, highkeyyydominant!Brian, depictions of cannabis and alcohol consumption, trashy college party events, cringe yumeship slop, minor sexual harassment and bullying, for the plot ya feel me, fear/paranoia elements, guest starring Tim + the creeps, shameless author self insert rahhh

⦻... words: 13.9k of [tba]

⦻... regards... holy shit folks, starting with a fucking bang... who knew my crippling brian thomas fixation would elicit my longest fic thus far, fingers crossed that it pays off! i had so much fun writing this ngl, i love party tropes. much gratitude for all the support ive gotten on this project, s/o to twin @purrsonline and my beloved moot @poodledoodle1 for being my biggest fans, and HIGHLY REVERENT S/O to @rainrot4me and @dirtyl0ver for being incredible visionaries and my creative inspirations. now, read it and creep.

⦻... [Director's Cut Info]

Friday. 

You watch as your hand disappears, slipping into darkness. The cool air blows gently over your fingertips. Then, a blood-curdling shriek from close behind you. You whip your head over your shoulder, spine straightening defensively. 

A breath of relief fills your lungs as your eyes refocus. Crimson splatters across the pixelated TV screen, then the picture cuts just before the grand reveal; a silicone dummy of the screaming actress being carnaged by the slasher lead. Heavy streams of blood jet across the frame as the masked murderer grunts and huffs in rabid satisfaction. 

It was an iconic scene from one of your favorites that happened to catch you off guard, pulling you out of deep contemplation. You release the tightly gripped hanger in your palm, exhaling. 

Going back to shuffling through your dimly lit closet, your eyes scan over each piece before shoving it to the other side. After a couple more pathetic swipes, you scoffed, giving yourself an eyeroll. 

You knew perfectly well it hardly mattered what you chose to wear, you were still a sitting duck. Ever since you’d arrived in Alabama, shameless looks of bewilderment and harsh words of judgement offered you the most company. 

Perhaps it’s your choppy, self-given haircut (that’s completely intentional), or combination of piercings and tattoos that litter your skin, or your unconventional wardrobe and makeup style. All of it was ammunition for ridicule. 

Thankfully, your resolve is toughened from a similar childhood experience. The constant dismissals from your parents about the “whole pronoun thing” and your relatives’ hushed derogatory comments about you being “perverted” or “confused”. The lectures you’d received from school administration after doodling morbidities and suggesting to play “killers and bodies” on the playground. 

In higher grades, the retaliation worsened. Taunting laughter and the crash of fists pounding the bathroom stall door as you shrink into yourself, clutching your lunch tray. Despite it all, you didn’t waver - you figured it was better to live authentically and keep in the best company of yourself.

However, your social life is as dead as the characters in your favorite flicks. With a fresh start out from your hometown, you decided to start a Horror Cinema Club. At least, you’ve hatched the plot. 

Next week, the university is hosting A Night of Art and Philosophy at the local history museum, an event for students to submit presentations and participate in organized activities. Your presentation is titled “The Argument for Fear Recognition and The Significance of Horror Media in Society.” 

With steady efforts in between managing your classwork, the project was almost finalized, effectively only needing a visual component to accompany your verbal presentation. Still, the bulk of the work had been taken care of, and you decided that tonight was your chance to throw your responsibilities out the window and just lose yourself. Even if just for one night. 

This time, it was the deafening silence that derailed your train of thought. Realizing the movie credits started to roll over a droning, suspenseful orchestral composition, you find the TV remote to shut it off. Black swallows the screen’s image with a quiet tick. 

You spread out two outfits on your bed in front of you. You click your tongue, eyes darting from one option to the other, analyzing the palette and silhouette of each before finally settling on the ensemble you know for sure flatters your figure. 

Gathering the bundle of clothes in your arms, you abandon the other set that’s still laid out on the sheet and head for the shower. 

The patter of water hitting the shower tile fills your ears as your fingers ruffle the suds in your hair, eyelids shut to prevent the shampoo from seeping through. Just as you tilt your head backward to rinse off the foaminess, you hear something- 

Soft creaking, from behind the shower curtain. 

Your chest tightens and your jaw clenches uncomfortably as your mind races, debating on whether it was enough a reason to open your eyes. Instead you freeze, letting water run over your face, and listening. It was the same pattering of water, but your ears strain in efforts to catch any other shuffling noises or creaking. 

There wasn’t. Your nerves become too much to handle, your eyes fly open and you shove the curtain to the side, but all you see is the same empty bathroom. You listen again, but hear nothing to raise an alarm. Your blood is still on fire under your skin, but you focus on taking deep breaths, unclenching your balled fists. 

A weak chuckle escapes your lips as you make a note to yourself: no more scary movies right before a shower. 

Stepping out of the shower draped in your towel, you find your phone on the sink and flip through your playlists to establish the vibe for the night. Something energetic, a powerful beat to get you pumped up and ready to party, blended with a sultry tone to set just the right mood.

𖦤ᯤ i heart you - kmfdm ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ─•──── ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

You dry off completely and slip on the chosen outfit, lips moving in sync with the music. It lifts your spirits and you get ready with haste. You sing to yourself in the mirror as you complete your grooming routine. The final touches were your signature jewelry accessories that glisten and dangle from your frame like a collection of treasure. Honestly, you manage to clean up real nice for this party. You open your phone’s camera to snap a couple selfies. 

Your thumb swipes across your phone screen again as you try to find the online party flier. It was posted to the host’s Instagram story, sorority poster child and student body aristocrat, a conniving, entitled brunette bimbo ironically named Charity. Was she the periodic source of torment throughout your enrollment, sure. But, her grad-season kickback was guaranteed admission- almost. 

BYOB or denied entry! No freeloaders allowed!!!

Written in alarming text next to the date and address. You shrug, finally exiting the bathroom to scan your room for the essentials. Inside your pockets you stuffed your phone, your wallet, apartment key, and a slender pocket knife with a retractable blade that tucks away to stay easily undetected. 

You pop a stick of gum between your teeth and turn for your front door, but you stop in your tracks for a moment, a beat of confusion sweeping across your mind. You hadn’t been paying attention, distracted by party preparation, but you finally catch a glimpse of your bed in the corner of your eye. 

The bedding is smoothed over the mattress as normal, your plushes and wall adornments all in their rightful places. Still, something about the empty bed strikes a pang of uneasiness in your belly, but the exact reason escapes you. You regain control over your breathing pace again and shake the doubt from your head, pushing your front door open. 

Brisk air immediately nips at your exposed skin, so you walk with purpose. There’s a gas station near your place, you head in that direction for your entry ticket. Your breath comes out in a small plume of vapor before dissipating into the darkness. 

The biting wind makes you shiver, crossing your arms over your chest and clutching the opposite side of each to insulate your own body heat. 

The night is still and quiet, the soft whip of the breeze in your ears the only sound. Your feet carry you down the strip of sidewalk, the occasional hum of a passing car breaking the near-silence. 

Each of your footfalls hits the pavement with an urgent, shallow tapping sound. It becomes a song in of itself and your ears tune into the predictable rhythm as you continue forward. 

Suddenly, a different sound. It was distant, but heavier, more expectant, more patient. You swallow the knot that immediately formed in your throat, turning your head side to side and over your shoulder to scan your surroundings. 

There are no uncanny figures as far as your vision goes, but nevertheless your heart’s pace quickens, as does your walking pace. 

Listening with intent now, your ears pick up the light, hasty tapping of your own footsteps, and then another ominous tapping that falls just out of time with your stride. Your hand traces the outline of your knife in your pocket instinctively. 

It’s comforting to carry, but you quickly realize that you aren’t sure if you’re even ready to use it properly. Your breath comes out in ragged, shallow gasps as your legs fly out in front of you, nearly breaking into a sprint. 

You keep your eyes forward, terrified to look behind you.The bright neon of the gas station signage comes into view and that’s when you finally pick up your feet, essentially jogging into the lot. 

When you make it to the door, your body’s momentum pushes you through the swinging doors and you stumble, catching yourself from falling on the floor once inside. 

You clutch your knees, panting, looking behind you through the transparent doors, but there’s nothing of interest. Straightening up, your eyes meet the gas station clerk at the front counter, whose expression is something between puzzlement and intrigue. “Having an okay night, sweetie?” he asked insincerely. 

“Uh, yeah. No sweat, just running a little late for something.” Your voice is more rattled than you expected. The clerk’s eyebrows relax into a sleazy position, mouth curling into a nasty grin. “Alright then, sweetheart. Need help looking for something good?” You cringe, shamelessly rolling your eyes before turning to the coolers. “I’m good, thanks.” 

Not a huge selection, but liquor is liquor. You settle on a case of cheap pilsners and haul the box of clinking glass bottles to the register. When you step up to the counter, a whiff of putrid body odor hits your nose. You try not to make eye contact with him, smacking your gum impatiently, but the clerk opens his mouth to speak again. 

“Need help putting these in your trunk, sweetie?” He cocks a brow. Your eyes slip from the counter and you catch a view of his scraggly facial hair, clogged pores, and dirt-coated spectacles. “Forget it, man, I can take care of it.” you muttered. The clerk huffs out a frustrated grunt and puts his palm outward. “ID.” 

You dig into your pocket and fish out your wallet, unfolding the layers. You blink, stunned, pupils dilating and retracting as your mind scrambles. Your ID is missing from its usual spot, slipped into the clear pocket. “Wha- I… what the fuck is going on?” you murmur under your breath. Then, you cleared your throat to reply to the clerk. 

“It’s missing, I don’t- it’s normally right here. I’ve been of legal age for a couple years now, I mean, look at me-” 

“I have been, lovely. You’re cute enough, so how about I make you a bargain.” 

Cute enough. He sure was one to talk, the man looks and smells like an asswipe. He’s licking his bottom lip, staring your body down in a way that makes you want to spew your guts all over the counter. 

“I’ll sell you the case if you can do me a quick favor.” He traces his hand down his stomach suggestively, stopping at his waistband.

You scrunch your nose, crossing your arms. “I’m over 21, you fucking asshole. Just let me pay for it. Shit, I’ll pay for the price of two if that’s what it’ll take.” Your tone id furious, words grating against your vocal chords in sheer disgust. 

He shook his head, the ugly smile falling from his face. “I don’t really negotiate. Sorry, not sorry. So you want the beers, or not?” 

The door flings open so hard that it hits the outside wall when you storm out of the building. You let out a loud, agitated groan, the sound echoing through the darkness outside. 

First, your ID’s missing, now you’re out of an entry ticket and you got creeped on. You don’t even know what direction you’re going, but your feet keep sending you forward as you rack your brain, assessing the options. 

Eventually, you’re too mentally strung out to really make sense of anything. You got all dressed up and you’re already stood outside, desperately needing to take the edge off, so you’re content to keep walking toward the party in hopes you can bribe your way in with some cash.

The walk through the nicer neighborhood in town stretches on uneventfully and you regain consciousness when the fuzzy house lights sharpen in your vision, the whir of heavy electronic music growing mightier as you draw closer. 

𖦤ᯤ megalomaniac - kmfdm ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ─•──── ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

Clusters of partygoers appear on the sidewalk, some filing in and out of the entrance, bodies squeezing and drunkenly swaying into one another. There’s a dense cloud of smoke hanging in the air surrounding the house, residual from sessions throughout the night, with many more to come. It’s a big house, complete with a handsome front lawn already strewn with bras, cans, and red solo cups. 

You shuffle toward the driveway, where a few athletically-built students are securing the entrance, beer bottles in hand. When you step forward, they don’t give you a chance to explain before one of them shakes his head, voice droning out to you. 

“Empty-handed, beat it, corpse bride.” You grumble, hands reaching for your wallet again. The jock that just spoke sighs deeply, rolling his eyes at you and the other is absently scrolling on his phone. 

After a moment, you brandish 2 $20 bills, the amount you were willing to pitch in for more drinks. The first jock raises his hand to your shoulder, getting ready to guide you away, but you quickly add a third bill to your offer. He huffs out another beer-tinged breath, thinking for a second while the music buzzes through the windows. 

“John, tell Charity to get over here.” He turns to the other kid, who barely looks up from his phone as he responds. “I don’t know where she is, bro.” 

“Then fucking call her, dude, tell her to come out front real quick.” He demands. His counterpart mutters a few curses before dialing. “Peter said to come out front… I don’t know, he’s talking to the weird kid with all the Halloween stuff on…. Okay, bye. She said hold on.” 

“Well, is she coming out now?”

“Yes, bro, fuck!”

You rub your temples, smoothing out the irritation building in your head. 

Finally, a flash of silky brown hair spilling out of a claw clip coming from across the yard. The girl pushes through the front door and through the crowd of partiers on the lawn, stumbling slightly as she finds her way to where you’re standing. 

It’s no wonder this girl is college royalty, she’s practically flawless, at least physically. Her tanned, smooth skin is near fully exposed in her booty shorts and tube top that hug her curves nicely. The sheen of her caramel-shaded balayage let her dark brown, marbley eyes stand out. 

But when Charity opens her mouth, it’s nothing but bitter, foul and ugly. ‘Well, if it isn’t the village freak show. The fuck do you think you’re doing at my house?” Her voice is whiny, voice slurring together subtly. 

Your chest rises and falls heavily as you take in a deep breath, gathering some courage before speaking up. “I forgot my ID, but I was going to get something, I swear. Can I pitch in some cash?” You wave the green bundle in front of her nose, but Charity’s eyes don’t follow it, instead they zero in on you, full of disdain. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it, babes. As if I need the money, but that’s besides the point. If I make an exception for you, then I’ll have to for everyone, and that’s not really fair, is it?” 

Then, Charity let out a wasted laugh. “You really think you’re special or something, huh? What, rules don’t apply to you because you’re so mysterious and creepy?” She starts to get in your face. 

“Hey, I’m not looking for trouble, alright? Just wanted to let loose for a night, is that a crime?” Your pathetic attempt at deescalation. 

“Same for me, you fucking basket case. Fuckin’ bothering me at my party like a sorry bitch. No booze, no entry, o-fucking-kay?” Charity drunk voice booms, heads starting to turn in your direction. 

You were seething at the disrespect, huffing breaths of hot fury through your nose, your lips wound up into a tight pucker. You both stared in each other’s faces, standing your ground for a few passing moments. The boys just stood idly, waiting for a cue from their queen bee. 

Finally, she turned on your heels, whipping her hair in your face. As she struts away, your body lurches forward but you’re caught by the jock’s arm flying across your chest to stop you. A warning gesture, one that you reluctantly take into consideration.

You walk down the driveway defeatedly, dropping onto the curb. You bow your head low between your knees, taking a few minutes to recoup before beginning your cold, sober trek back home that you were dreading so much. 

Closing your eyes, you let the music and the overlapping party chatter become static noise in your head as your nerves settle. 

The low rumble of a car engine trills by, following the flash of headlights scattered on the pavement, prompting you to look up instinctively. A van, near-black in color with heavily tinted windows only at the driver’s and passenger’s seat. 

It zooms past you before rounding a tight, skidding U-turn and coming to a park on the curb opposite of you, a little ways down the street. 

One of its doors flies open and the inhabitants spill out onto the curb. You gawk in disbelief at the group unfolding before you, they were like no kids you’d ever seen around these parts. If you were a freak show, they were the whole damn circus. 

First to emerge was a cheerful girl with her pink-dyed hair teased in the 2010's scene throwback style. She grinned widely, holding out her arm to help her friend step out.

 The next girl was even shorter than the last, shoulders hunched over and hood pulled tightly over the shaggy layers of her pitch-black hair. They both stood to the side of the door, waiting for the rest. 

Then, a lanky, sickly looking guy stepped out, his pale skin and crystalline eyes offered stark contrast to his dark, unruly head of hair. 

Behind him, a smaller blonde boy joins the group, his long, sleek hair tied into a low man-bun, a pair of dark sunglasses shading his eyes. 

A brunette follows in the blonde’s footsteps, his spiky locks of hair rustle with his twitchy movements, a bandage fixed at the corner of his mouth and over his cheek. 

The passenger’s seat door finally opens and this guy has to duck his head under the door frame before stepping out. He’s also wearing sunglasses, his imposing height and funny cool-toned skin raising a few silent questions in your mind. All of them so far looked to be around 18-21 years old.

Finally, the driver’s seat door opens and out steps a slightly older man, maybe 24 or 25, brawny and draped in plaid, a cigarette already tucked between his lips. “Can’t believe you kids convinced me to take you to this shithole.” You heard him grumble to the rest. 

“Heyyy, don’t be like that, it looks like the party’s bumpin’!” The pink-haired girl responds.

“The real party hasn’t even started until we get in there,” The blonde one chimes in. The kids chuckle harmoniously as the young man gives a resigned sigh. “Yeah, yeah, you wanna go in, help me grab these, will ya?” 

Each one of them rounds the car to the trunk, picking up either a case or a large bottle. “Hold up, I wanted that one!” the sick looking one said, in almost a bratty tone. “It’s just for us to get in, you fucking dumbass. You can drink whatever you want inside.” retorts the tallest guy in sunglasses.

 A few more groans are exchanged before the group’s hands are all occupied and they’re making their way to your side of the street. 

“Wait,” the quietest voice, coming from the short girl in the hoodie calls to the rest as her walking pace stalls. When the group turns to face her, she continues, “Where’s Brian?” 

All heads turn to the man smoking his cigarette, but he just shrugs dismissively. “Beats me. I told him the plan, not sure what he’s up to at the moment.” The boy with the bandage on his face pipes up, “He said he’s co-com-ming, though, right?” 

“That’s what he told me.” The man says, raking a hand through his raven-colored hair. “Couldn’t get a hold of him earlier today, so, not sure what to tell you guys. Are we doing this or what?” They all exchanged glances and shrugs, looking about ready to ditch the topic. 

Just then, the screech of tires prompts heads to turn in the direction it came, even the “bouncers” and some of the partiers on the lawn. 

A dark gray pickup truck rolls in, whizzing by the yard and nearly cutting straight through the group standing in the street. They all jump back to safety and the bandaged kid yells out a triumphant WOOO, laughing maniacally. The man in plaid lets out another exasperated sigh. 

The truck ends up parked right behind the van and out steps their missing friend, snickering to himself as he hops out of the driver’s seat, shoes hitting the pavement with a resonant smack! 

It's like that pivotal scene in an iconic fright flick, the threshold that alters your brain chemistry and seals the victim’s fate all at once. 

He’s the embodiment of perversity, looking like a fever dream and your worst nightmare tucked into one smoldering figure.

You can’t be sure what caught your eye first, but your best guess is his smile. He’s grinning ear to ear, evidently satisfied with himself. The way he wears it is goofy and cocky at the same time, a sliver of depth nestled between his two front teeth, which for some reason, registers to you as dreamy as fuck. 

The man is wearing baggy jeans and a plain red t-shirt, his build a delicate balance of meaty muscle and artful proportions. You watch as his thick arms flex to accommodate the weight of the box of bottles he’s lifting. 

His hazel-toned eyes and short, fluffy locks of dusty bronze hair become more visible as the group draws closer to your curb again. The shape of his facial hair flatters his face marvelously well. He looks about the same age as the other man in plaid, probably in his prime. 

You swallow your drool down hard, questioning the visceral reaction to seeing him. Suddenly, you become painfully aware of how fast your heart is slamming against your ribcage, your trembling fingers, the way your insides are turning and hollowing out. 

He’s getting closer now. Footsteps moving in your direction, so you avert your gaze. Trying to look distracted, you drop your cheek in your palm and let your elbow dig into your thigh. 

The circus’ voices grow louder as they approach, and your ears catch onto something in particular. “My bad, guys. I went to go watch something I’ve been meaning to see and lost track of time.” 

“Bullshit.” His counterpart scoffs. You look up and the group is right in front of you now. The younger kids shuffled quickly past your spot on the curb, brandishing their contributions before stepping past the jocks. 

The man in plaid stops in front of them, though, gesturing with his hand to let the rest of his group know that he’ll follow behind them shortly. He turns to his friend that arrived late, the really good-looking truck driver with the tooth gap. 

“The fuck are you playing at, man?” he said through clenched teeth. 

“Tim, relax, buddy. I told you that I’d be here and I am now. Big whoop.” his broad shoulders gave a carefree shrug. 

The man supposedly named Tim dropped his head forward, pitching the bridge of his nose in anguish. “Ah, fuck it. We’re gonna talk about this later, Brian.” he mutters. 

Brian’s hand slams against Tim’s back in forceful pat, making Tim cock his brow irritably. “Okay, whatever you say, man. Let’s focus on the task at hand, to get fucking wrecked, right?” Brian grins at Tim, eyes wild and intense. 

“Right.” Tim exhales before finally taking another step forward. He walks ahead of Brian, holding up his case of beer and pushing through the crowded lawn to the front door. 

You finally realize you’d shamelessly watched the whole conversation unfold, so you try to rip your eyes away again to not arouse suspicion, but the attempt tragically fails. 

Your eyes are still met with the pavement when a voice overhead piques your ears. 

“That curb sure looks comfy. You mind if I sit here?” 

Fuck. Of course, on top of everything that’s gone wrong tonight, now in your moment of weakness, this dreamboat’s attention is fixed on you in all your pathetic glory. 

You almost freeze, but you force your head to look up to the man standing above you. Brian’s eyes stared back into yours, making your heart do a leap in your chest. 

The way his figure is hovering over you, the box of beers tucked under his arm, makes your mouth go dry. You muster up an answer anyway. “I mean, it’s a free country.” 

You want to kick yourself. You default to defensive sarcasm, but you feel like screaming out how badly you want him to do exactly what he's offering. 

His laugh is a falsetto chirp, the sound that rings full and sincerely. “My bad, not exactly crying for company, huh? Enjoy the party, man.” 

Your breath hitches into a plea before he can step too far away, “Wait- you don’t have to leave me alone. Sorry for being rude.” You press your lips awkwardly into a tight line, looking at how his head is turned over his shoulder at you. 

He moves toward you again, setting his case of beer down on the sidewalk before dropping onto the curb next to you. 

As he takes his seat, you immediately feel how his presence shifts the gravity around you. The weight of him and the warmth coming off his body makes the air go still. You find yourself struggling to take clean, even breaths, your skin tingling. 

He’s just seated with his hips inches from yours, shoulders rising and falling ambiently with his deep, contented breaths, meanwhile  you're summoning every bit of restraint not to squirm. The two of you sit in heavy silence for a few passing moments before he breaks it. 

“I’m Brian.” he says simply, his voice low and steady. You give him your name in a soft murmur, to which he hums, then repeats it to himself like he doesn't want to lose track of it. Something about hearing your name in his voice makes you restless. 

“My friends and I are visiting from out of town, do you go to school with these kids?” Brian's eyes dart in the direction of the front lawn and the house. Your mouth moves faster than you can think, “Yeah, but I’m here by myself.” 

“Lone ranger, huh. You got my respect.” Brian nods, fishing his phone out of his jeans. He gives it a quick glance, typing a quick message with thumb, before replacing it in his pocket. Probably his friends checking on him. 

Then, he produces a small metallic case and a lighter from his other pocket. You keep silent as Brian tucks a greenish cone between his lips and ignites the other end, the tip glowing fiery red when he draws in the first hit. He sighs with his mouth closed, sending the smoke out in a stream through his nose. Then he turns the cone, offering the filter side to you. 

The both of you exchange hits, a weighty silence between you as the party rages on just behind. Each puff adds another layer of fuzziness over your head, making your limbs feel heavy and gooey. 

As his fingers slip the cone into yours again, suddenly, it clicks. This fine ass man is sharing his joint with you. You consider pinching yourself.

But instead the question gripping at your mind blurts from your mouth before you can register it, “Why did you sit next to me?” You cringe as you hear the words spill out.

Brian eyes meet yours and he waves the joint, a non-answer. 

You sigh, “Duh… I don't know what I thought…” you bite the inside of your cheek.

Brian caves, extinguishing the roach into the concrete beside him as he talks “I noticed you were just sitting here, kind of observing my friends when I got here.” The easy admission that makes the air leave your lungs. “Sometimes, I like to do that too, people watching. It's fascinating, the things you’ll find out just by paying attention a little bit.”

Your heart dances at the sound of his voice but his words land like denotations. Each bomb he drops has you crumbling further and further in on yourself. Your brain is blown to bits but you grasp at the fragments, trying to piece it all back together. 

You were just sitting here- He noticed you immediately. 

People watching- He notices everything. The realization makes your heart plummet. 

The things you'll find out just by paying attention- What is he trying to tell you by saying that? 

You must've been terrible at hiding your mortification, because when you look back at Brian, his mouth is curled in a bashful pout. “You sure I’m not bothering you? You probably came out here for a break from everyone-” 

“I didn’t even get in.” You mutter it so quietly that it was essentially only a reminder to yourself. Brian’s shoulders are squared in your direction now and he's craning his neck lower in effort to meet your eyeline. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.” 

Turning your head slightly to face him, you let out a deep sigh when his eyes meet yours. “I didn't get in. I lost my ID so… party host told me to get lost.” You frown at Brian, who’s leaning impossibly closer, you could practically feel his breath on your cheek now. 

“Was she drunk?” he smirks. 

Your brows furrow in confusion but you indulge him, “Erm, yeah, it seemed like it. Her attitude was worse than usual.” 

Brian’s mouth tugs at his cheek, a mischievous grin forming on his face. His straight, concentrated brows, and strong bone structure sets off fireworks in your belly every time you look too hard. 

“Then maybe she’ll be too distracted to bother you about it.” Brian suggests, putting his palms to his knees to hoist his body off the sidewalk. 

“One sec,” then he makes a break into a light jog toward his truck. He opens the driver’s seat and rummages around for something, returning to your curb when he finds it.

A bottle of bourbon. 750 ml and sealed. Brian grips the bottle’s neck in his tough-looking fingers, the label facing out, and he waves it in front of you insistently. “I’ll just need to see your ID for this.” You freeze, stomach dropping to your feet. “I’m kidding, c’mon, hold this.”

You hesitate while looking up at Brian, observing how the moonlight carves him out of the darkness of the night sky, a silver lining cast over his silhouette- the image of confidence and humility all at once. 

Finally you shift your weight over your feet and stand up, accepting the bottle. You hold the glass receptacle to your chest in careful effort not to drop it, following Brian’s footsteps back up the driveway. 

The talkative bouncer nods at Brian but raises his brow to see your face again. He opens his mouth but you cut him off, “She said ‘no alcohol, no entry’. This is alcohol.” 

“I’m not blind, basket case.” The jock twists his face in disapproval of you. 

Brian chimes in, his voice cool and crisp as his favorite ale, “Want a shot?”

Glass bottle clutched to your chest, a jock-sized swig of whiskey now missing from its contents, you follow Brian to the front door. 

They’re blowing the speakers out with a raunchy hip-hop anthem- the trappy, bouncy sound has the partiers hopping and grinding.

𖦤ᯤ half on a sack - three 6 mafia  ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ─•──── ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

The two of you wade through the bantering and smoking huddles on the lawn to find the crowd only grows denser, becoming a swarming mass of swaying bodies, elbows pumping and hair flying to the blasting music. 

Red solo cups, aluminum cans, and glass bottles clutter every counter and tabletop, some strewn across the floor. The tile grips the bottom of your soles with each step, coated in sticky liquor. 

The sweltering, musky air presses heavily on your lungs. You take deep breaths initially, straining for oxygen, but eventually your body acclimates to the crushing atmosphere. 

Brian’s locks flicker between his natural shade of butterscotch, pitch black, and vivid hues as the strobe lights paint the whole scene a mosaic of flashing multicolor. 

When the crowd starts closing in on your path, threatening to drive a wedge between you and him, Brian’s hand finds the small of your back, applying the tiniest bit of pressure to guide you while maintaining contact. 

“You okay?” He leans in so close that you feel his breath blow over your ear. You nod, peeking out of the corner of your eye at his collected, focused expression. “Just keep walking, I’m looking for my friends.” 

You comply, his hand doesn’t leave in that spot on your spine as you keep cutting through the bustling crowd of drunken partiers.

The house tremors under the weight of the mosh pit, you stumble in effort not to step on any feet, failing anyway. A grating chorus of shrieking laughter, yelling, and cursing and the sharp stench of sweat and alcohol assault your senses, it makes you smile because this is exactly the kind of mess you want to get lost in with him.  

Now deeper in the house’s trenches, an extra push on your spine as Brian’s mutters into your ear again, “Over there, I think it’s them.” 

Your eyes scan ahead of you in search of a clue and that’s when you notice the shape of bulky shoulders poking over the sea of heads, the dude’s height singling him out. He’s hovering near a staircase lined with stumbling kids. 

As Brian ushers you closer, you recognize the short, blonde kid standing next to him with a strawberry soju in his hand. You catch his eyebrows raise over his sunglasses as he spots you two approach. 

“Bro, this music is trash.” the blonde declares, voice sharp with prerogative. The tall brunette stays silent, his head bobbing subtly to the beat. His hands are empty, so Brian sets his case on a stair and holds a bottle out. The kid’s expression is partially unreadable due to the sunglasses, but he declines, waving a hand. “I’m cool tonight. Thanks, though.” 

To that, Brian shrugs and just puts the bottle to the center of his waist, using his belt buckle to pry the cap off with a pop! He takes a few heavy gulps out of the bottle, the amber liquid disappearing behind his tongue, then tips the bottle back upright to let out a loud, rippling belch. 

“Dude, real cute. That’ll impress fine shit over here, for sure,” The blonde scoffs, in acknowledgment of how you’re ducking behind Brian’s back. 

You clear your throat, stepping to the side to place the bourbon next to the beers. Brian takes the cue and introduces you to the boys in front of you.

 “Where’s my manners,” He has to project his voice to be heard over the party’s volume “This is brat number one, Ben, and brat number two, Jack. Ben, Jack, meet my new friend.” 

Tall kid’s snarling voice closely follows Brian’s, “There’s no way I’m brat number two. That’s got to be Jeff.” The three of them share a brief chuckle before Brian goes on, “Speaking of brats, where are the rest of you guys?” 

“Jeff and Toby already needed to take a piss, the bathroom’s upstairs.” Jack gestures with his head to the line for the bathroom, up the staircase. The sight struck a pang of grief to your chest. 

“Do you guys know if there’s only one bathroom?” Your voice is barely audible over the noise, but Jack’s head twitches in your direction before responding, “In the basement. But no one is really going in there.” 

Your eyebrow raises, but before you can ask any questions, there’s footsteps thudding loudly down the staircase. It’s the other brunette with the bandaged face and the pale boy with scrangly, charcoal hair. 

“Jesus, were you fucking jerking off in there or something, Tobias?” The latter lets out a nasty laugh.

“You’re not funny, Jeff-fr-ffery.” A very unamused reply from the stuttering kid.

The pair return to where they left Ben and Jack. Upon their reunion, Brian identifies the boys as Toby and Jeff, both of their gazes landing on you. Toby shuffles restlessly, but Jeff’s hands remain tucked into his pockets as they inspect you. 

You glance at Brian, whose eyes have darkened slightly. But he just blinks, takes in a deep sigh, and finishes his bottle with a snarky grin. “Looks like one of you numbskulls is driving.” 

The group leads you and Brian to the kitchen, where the two girls you saw earlier and their chaperone are lingering. Tim’s eyes find Brian and he huffs through his nose, flipping his cigarette box open to spark one up. 

“How nice of you to join us.” Tim grunts. The pink-haired girl crosses past him to approach you, throwing her arms around you in a stammering embrace. 

“Hiii, bestie, how are you doing? Brian, you recruited a new p-” 

“Friend.” The hooded girl interjects, peeling her counterpart’s arms off of you. “Sorry. She’s Nina, I’m Kate. A pleasure.” Her voice is deep and hoarse. Tim groans and takes a drag from his cigarette, his eyes studying you with what feels like detestation. 

He stops glaring when he’s handed an ice cold beer can, and he goes to pop the cap- 

“Hold on, Tim,” Brian starts, reaching for his keys. Ben smirks, immediately catching on, and tilts his can on its side, walking over to Brian. 

The key pierces the thin sheet of metal with a sharp krrssh, foamy beer dribbling from the fresh incision. Everyone’s can gets the same treatment except Tim, who gives Brian a playful sneer before pulling out his own key to help himself.  

Truthfully, it’s been quite a while since you’ve attempted this cruel little challenge, but you feign confidence, gripping the tab with your thumb in anticipation. When Brian realizes that Jack is holding a can as well, he confronts him, “Hey, I thought you weren’t drinking, dude.” 

“I just didn’t want to drink your pick, bro, that shit’s so nasty.” Jack admits, his smile a little too twinkly to be normal. There’s definitely something off about this friend group, but before you can give it any more thought, you're distracted by the sound of Brian’s hearty cackling. 

“Bottoms up.” He cues, bringing the side of his can to his lips and popping the tab on the top to create the vent. You follow his lead, popping your tab and letting the chilly beer flow in a heavy stream onto your tongue. 

Your eyes squeeze shut in response to the shocking cold that seizes your palate. Then, your tongue is coated in that familiar, malty bitterness as you swallow mouthful after mouthful frantically. Your eyelids flutter open about halfway through and search for Brian. 

His concentrated gaze meets yours, he was already watching you so you watch him back, memorizing how his throat throbs and contracts while he’s chugging from the can. The sharp angle of his jaw makes you hiccup, sputtering a little beer onto your own face. 

The corner of Brian’s lips curl upward in the tiniest figment of a smile, eyes still darkened and locked on you as he gulps down the last drops. 

You invite the last ounce of beer into your system, a warm buzz sprouting over your body. Tim finishes a second later, followed by the rest. 

“Fuck, yeah.” Jeff snarls, crushing his can and tossing it on the floor. “I’m ready to get so shitfaced.”

The blinking colors on the dance floor start to intensify and the music sounds grittier and more melodic now as you rock your body in time. You dance with another drink in hand, taking swigs mindlessly as you lose yourself in the song playing. 

𖦤ᯤ death valley - fall out boy ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ─•──── ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

Your hands are everywhere, in the air, in your hair, and feeling up your own body as you jerk your hips side to side. Brian never leaves your side, he gives you a couple inches of distance to let you fill the space with dancing. 

The two of you stomp your feet and wave your arms to the beat-  the push and pull between your bodies magnetic. Brian keeps shooting you frisky glances, you pout and sneer back at him. 

Brian has a consistent, boozy grin on his face that flaunts his tooth gap. Every time you look in his direction, the air is stolen from your lungs at how inhumanly sexy he looks.

 The harsh lights accentuate the way his shirt rides up when he throws those big arms over his head and how his pretty face and neat stache look straight out of a storybook. 

It feels like your heart is beating in sync with the pulsating rhythm of the music and your skin is lit on fire, but your body moves on its own, grooving blissfully and overloaded with dopamine. 

A rough grip tightens around your wrist. You turn, startled, but Brian loosens his fingers after he gets your attention. He jerks his head in the other direction and you follow him, wrist in clutch, out of the pit. 

You make it to a counter, where Brian picks an empty plastic shot glass (for sure already been used) and grabs a random bottle off the counter to fill it. You don’t bother to read the label, but it's clear and smells like antiseptic. 

“All you, bro.” you insist, but Brian puts the shot glass in your hand and lifts your wrist up to your jaw. You resist initially out of instinct, but surrender when you feel how he hardly budges when you push against him. 

“C’mon, there you go.” You swallow the ounce of liquor, burning on its path to your stomach. Now even looser than before, you fail to stifle a sigh as you watch Brian tip the bottle’s opening to his lips. He gulps some of it down, a small stream spilling from the corner of his mouth, not much left in the bottle when he pauses. 

You’re propping yourself up on the counter, practically fighting to stay upright when Brian tilts the bottle to your lips. “Might as well.”

All you can manage is to groan “Mm.. no-” but Brian’s hand is already under your chin, just his touch is enough to get your jaw to unhinge. He pours the bottle’s remaining contents in your mouth, you sputter but force yourself to swallow instead of spilling it.

“Fuck, why are you doing this to me?” You let out a weak chuckle, your head now spinning from the rapid fire shots. It takes you a minute to notice Brian hoisting you up by the waist with his arm. He looks at you through droopy eyelids, his words are low and slurred slightly, “I like seeing you like this.” 

Your chest throbs. White, hot longing fills your insides, your thighs rub against each other. In the absence of a response, Brian explains, “You looked pretty upset outside, I wanted to cheer you up. That smile really does suit you.” 

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you avert your eyes sheepishly. The music buzzes in your ears, vision unfocusing as the party falls away into only a backdrop to the moment shared between you and Brian. Your body feels like it’s filling with sand, so you nestle into his arm, letting him support a little more of your weight. 

Breathing him in, his sweet, earthy musk has your mouth welling with saliva. The air between you is warm but tense, almost suffocating. Your heart slams against your ribcage as his jaw draws closer to yours. His face nearly grazes yours and for a second, you think he might close the distance- but instead, you read the shape his lips make, “Sweet.” 

Your eyes follow his line of vision to a single cupcake placed on the counter, seemingly spared from the surrounding mess of spilled drinks and garbage. It’s a white cake topped with a dollop of buttercream piped in a spiral. 

He reaches for it and brings it in front of you while teasing “Aw, there’s only one. Guess we’ll have to split it.” Brian flashes you a coy smile. 

Without thinking, your fingers dip into your pocket, slipping out your knife. Holding it between you, Brian’s eyebrows jump onto his forehead and his smile deepens. 

Brian accepts it and the blade springs out, the sound getting swallowed completely by the music. Something about him wielding the sharp object between you, everyone around being too trashed and distracted to notice or have any concern makes your heart palpitate wildly. 

You watch him slice the cake in half, the blade smudged with rich crimson when it comes back up. It’s a pleasant surprise, a strawberry or raspberry compote filled into the center of the cake, the way the red bleeds into the fluffy crumb resembles swollen capillaries. 

Instead of returning your knife, Brian keeps it clutched and your eyes follow the blade as he brings it up to his face and licks it. He drags the silver edge over his tongue, wiping it clean.

If it weren’t for Brian’s hold, you would melt, knees buckling under you. You made a small sound between a moan and gasp, at which he smirks. “Damn, you’re easy.” 

He reads you to downright shame. 

Each of your hands finds a half of the carnaged cupcake, Brian’s eyes are drilling into yours as he takes his bite. 

It’s not bad, you think. The buttercream is a tad too sugary, but the cake is spongy and the filling’s flavor is jammy and tart. The treat makes you smile, bright red filling dripping between your fingers. 

“My compliments to the baker.” Brian jests. “A little sweet, though.” The two of you giggle, his face inches from yours, his arm snaked around your back. 

Before you can react, Brian’s hand is at your jaw again, juicy, red filling smeared over his thumb. Your cheeks burn hot because you foresee what’s about to happen. 

“Open.” he orders. Lips staying shut, your eyes shifting around in search of overseers. You give your head the slightest shake to decline him, conscious of the public setting, but Brian’s thumb presses against your mouth anyway. 

He wedges your lips apart gently, setting the pad of his thumb on your tongue and you taste the sweet flavor all over again. Your insides are fluttering, partially from embarrassment but partially from your sick fascination for this man. 

“Mmm..” you hum in response and Brian feels your mouth softly buzz around his thumb. 

“There’s that freak show everyone’s talking about.” A tone of flirty ridicule in his voice. 

Your new friend has you completely blindsighted and disarmed with his innocent, charming facade, and still, he looks for every loophole and pushes every boundary possible. 

“Takes one to know one.” you clap back, licking your own fingers clean while batting your lashes at him. 

Brian lets out a dry, cocky chuckle and bites his bottom lip. “If you only knew, babe.” 

The admission sends sparks flying everywhere in your body, in your brain, but especially burning you up at the center of your hips. Having almost no control left over your actions, you’re practically panting on him in a needy fuss. 

“This-s so humiliating, Brian. I just met you, ‘m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, I’m having the best time with you. Can’t wait to see you after this is over.” 

You feel like screaming, laughing, and climbing on top of him all at once. 

Suddenly, there's an uncanny feeling in your gut. The sting of eyes glaring from behind you. Your head swivels around scanning the profane, ass shaking chaos. Then, you see it- 

Arms folded tightly over her chest, slouched into the cushion of a sofa and grumbling to her friend seated beside her is Charity. Somehow you’d avoided her without even realizing, but now your eyes meet hers, full of rage. 

You watch as she leans over into her friend’s ear, a vicious smile carved into her cheeks. Her friend rolls her eyes but lets a small grin slip onto her face, hauling herself off the sofa and crossing the dance floor. 

“Where’d you go?” Brian leans into your ear. You look up at him with tight lips, taking deep breaths through your nose. “Charity- the host, I mean, she saw me.” You filled in. 

“That’s it?” Brian’s voice cracks through a wide smile. You huff, ready to elaborate, but out of the corner of your eye, you spot Charity’s friend walking up behind Brian. 

In her palm sits a large tray of plastic sauce cups, each filled with a jiggly, syrupy substance that’s either red, blue, or green. She stumbles over, the tray wobbling with her each step. 

“Hey, you two, looks like you’re having fun, hahah… Jello shots anyone?” She projects her voice, glancing side to side briefly, but no one around pays any mind. Brian just gives her the coldest, most detached face you’ve seen him make since you met. His eyes dim with plain annoyance. 

The girl ignores him, giggling obnoxiously. “C’monnn, don’t be a chicken.” 

“Careful who you call chicken.” You reach out to grab a Jello shot, a fatal lapse in judgement that it ends up being the cue she’s waiting for all along. 

She shoves the tray forcefully in your direction, “offering” it to you, but her hand slips from supporting the center and the entire thing capsizes, sending a rainbow cascade of jelly spilling over your outfit. 

The Jello needed more time in the fridge. Charity prepared them in advance but made her friend bring them out before they were fully set just to spoil you and Brian’s moment. 

His jaw flies open, eyes wide with shock, his arm flying out from under you. The tray clatters on the ground, causing a few heads to turn, gasping or laughing at your condition. Runny jelly clings to your clothes, reeking of liquor and artificial flavoring. 

When you look back in Charity’s direction, she’s already hollering with her hand clasped over her mouth, phone camera in the other capturing the whole scene. You close your eyes in acceptance. 

Then, Brian’s fingers coil around your wrist once more, tugging you away from the sugary mess on the floor. He guides you through the house back to the staircase where partiers are lined up, slumped against the wall or railing and waiting to use the bathroom on the second floor. Brian grumbles, shoots a quick look at you, and turns the other direction. “Follow me.” 

“There’s a sink in the kitchen, Brian. Relax, I’m used to this sort of thing.” You insist, but he doesn’t answer, he just keeps pushing kids out of his path, slinging you along behind him. 

Eventually, you both reach the back of the house, where Brian ducks his head into an empty hallway, then turns to meet your eyes. “This way.” 

You follow him into the hallway and he turns the knob to a few doors before shutting them closed again. He tries a door near the end of the hall and lets its creak open instead, waving with his hand for you to step inside. 

Past the doorframe, there’s a descending staircase that he lets you climb down first, closing the door shut behind him. You both crawl into the dimly lit basement, a bare room with a few shelves worth of junk, a dusty workbench, and a closet-sized room in the corner. The single lightbulb in the middle of the low ceiling crackles softly, flickering every few seconds. 

“Creepy, kind of gets me in a certain mood.” You glance at Brian, whose tough expression cracks into the faintest, mischievous grin. Leaving a path of sticky footprints crossing the basement floor, Brian leads you to the door nestled in the corner, his hand getting tacky in yours. 

The bathroom is a confined space, undecorated, a single roll of toilet paper and a hand towel the only appliances. The unframed mirror has no accent lights, the little lamp in the ceiling buzzing lowly.

You slump against the sink counter, watching as Brian yanks the hand towel off the hook and runs it under the water, now having a completely different air about him. 

His features are harsher in this lightning, you notice his gruffness in the fine details- tiny nicks and scars littered over his skin, the dull, grayish hue cast under his eyes.

His charismatic mellow is now tightly wound into purposeful concentration, his jaw clenched tightly with vindication.

“Well aren’t you my knight in shining armor…” you mutter, smiling weakly. Brian huffs, lips still in a sour pucker. He wrings out the small towel and brings it to your body, swiping the residual jelly off the collar of your top. Your cheeks flush again as he cleans you, a grumbling response leaving his throat, “Hooded executioner, more like.” 

Context is lost on you, but you’re thrilled nonetheless so you bite your lip, brows falling into one another at Brian. You want to ask what he means by what he just said, make him give you an explanation for how Jack knew about this bathroom, tell him how badly you’re craving him…

But instead, you’re paralyzed, letting him keep wiping your clothes somewhat clean, the towel slowly climbing lower over your stomach and down the sides of your waist. 

Finally, his voice rolls out of his throat deep and bitter, “It’s not right… Those fucking kids treating you like shit… like there’s something wrong with you.”

“Can you blame them for thinking I’m nuts?” You pout, to which Brian furrows his brows, looking deeply into your eyes.

“Oh, you’re nuts, that’s for sure. That’s why I fuckin’ like you so much.” 

Brian’s hand stalls on your hip now, the towel dampening the spot until you feel the chill through your clothes. You take in ragged, dazed breaths, still completely wasted and breathless from how hot and dense the air is inside the bathroom with him. 

“My bad, let me help you out.” Before you can protest, Brian slides his arms on either side of your waist, scooping you up and setting you on the counter. You gasp, hands involuntarily flying past his ears and wrapping behind his neck to catch yourself. 

You’re face to face with Brian now, his torso pressed against the counter and tucked between your thighs. The position makes you feel dizzy, your limp body burning inside out, craving him so badly that you’re trembling. Excess of liquor still clouding your judgement, you nuzzle your head into his shoulder, sighing, “Brian… you really think I’m sick or something?” 

He chuckles, a sharp, broken sound. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I told you, I’m into it. Hah, I bet that if I do this, you’ll get real hot and bothered…” Brian’s hand slips into your pocket, retrieving your knife. He holds it steady, the blade makes a quiet clink as it flips out. 

The item is supposed to keep you safe, armed and prepared in the event that you are the target of violence. You forfeit all promise of safety as Brian teases you with the blade. He drags it along your throat, down the center of your chest, across your ribs… 

You’re gulping and writhing incessantly, a mess of panic and ecstasy, arms clinging to Brian’s neck. He’s smiling wickedly in your flustered face, cooing as your mouth makes silent pleas. 

“Hmm… proves my theory.” Brian retracts the blade and slips the knife back into your pocket before pulling away from the counter. His hazelnut-hued eyes flicker with a threatening intensity. Patient, collected, but greedy. 

His hands are flat on the counter on either side of your hips, his rugged body leaning into yours. “You okay, hon?”

You nod, your head reeling. He’s too hot, too close, and you’re too drunk and needy to stand the tension any longer. 

“I just want to kiss you so fucking bad, Brian.” You confess. 

“I know.” 

The music hammers onto the ceiling above you-  a sensual pop tune, heavy bass pulsing and vocals a raspy chime.

𖦤ᯤ agora hills - doja cat ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ─•──── ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

Finally, after so much grueling tension, Brian taking this time with the chase only for you to fawn every single time… He caves and puts you out of your misery. 

His jaw clashes with yours in a deep, forceful kiss that gets sloppy fast. Brian’s tongue slips into your mouth, joining with yours in a wet, swirling knot. Your body grinds up on his, fingers tangled in his hair as he swallows your moans.

That searing ache in your gut returns, begging to be ruined.

His jaw swivels with each lurch deeper into your mouth, the roll of his tongue licking and sucking you up hungrily makes your thighs squeeze against Brian’s burly hips. He growls into you, teeth grazing against yours from how rough he is. 

You kiss him back like you're dying of thirst and he's the only oasis in a vast desert. 

Brian’s lips break from yours in little pauses, little ‘yeah?’ and ‘fuck’s that drive you insane.

 “Baby, I love this, hah.. Don’t you?” 

“Mmhmm- Bri-” Is all the confirmation you can give, lips slippery and sore but clinging to his regardless.

Brian pulls away and gives you that devilish look, head tilted slightly down, apathetic eyes peering from beneath the edge of his browbone. You know the one. 

“Good. I want you to like it here. I wish we could stay here forever.. and ever… and ever…” 

“Kubrick… cute…” you mumble, managing a faint smile through your heaving breaths. Your mind lingers on the tasteful reference but not for very long as you’re distracted by Brian’s face. 

His expression softens, biting his lip sincerely. He picks a hand up from the counter to trace a thumb across your thigh, you feel it easier through your syrup-soaked clothes. Your breath hitches at his touch, knuckles turning white from how long and tight you’ve been gripping onto him. 

“My bad, hon, wasn’t done cleaning you up. Let me finish what I started, alright?” 

The implication sends a pang of arousal straight down your body, making your pussy clench onto nothing. You keep staring at Brian’s mouth, slightly plumped and flushed from attacking you with kisses.

His hand moves further, stretching his palm over the swell of your hip and he clicks his teeth. “Tsk, tsk, frankly, baby… These are trashed. You should just lose ‘em.” He doesn’t wait for any consultation before sliding your zipper down and wedging the waistband under your hips. The heap of fabric plops on the floor beside him. 

The cool air and exposure sends a chill through you, making you gasp. Brian hushes playfully, pressing his finger parallel to his lips, then yours. “You trust me?” 

“Not really, but I like you a lot…” You grumble reluctantly. Brian’s body drops lower, his shoulders settling between your dangling legs, fingers gripping the edge of the counter on either side of you. 

“I like you a lot too. Something about you is so… Captivating.” His head tilts to the side, planting a warm kiss on your inner thigh. “I just wanna see more…” 

You wiggle, hands climbing higher over his head. “Stay still, will ya?” Brian hums a quiet chuckle, his palms finding the swell of your ass to pull you closer to him. You whimper in response, feeling his breath waft against your panties. 

His fingers hook the edge of the fabric while his other hand turns your hips to the side, your eyes squeeze shut as he abandons the item. 

You see black nothingness as Brian’s lips pucker against your skin again, the brush of his stache makes you shudder. The kisses trail closer and closer to the center of you, Brian’s breaths growing louder, more unrestrained.

“Fuckkk, Brian-” you cry softly. You feel his head nod gently between your thighs before pressing deeper. When his fingers split into your folds, shallowly assessing it, a wave of sobriety crashes over you. 

Is this fucking real? You’re in the basement at a party, essentially naked, getting touched by a hot stranger who appeared out of the woodworks just to have you fall incredibly sick about him in one night.

Your eyes flutter open, mouthing desperate, wordless shapes as Brian’s fingers dig deeper into you. He drags his two fingers up through your folds, an amused laugh rumbling low in his throat. 

“Holy shit, you’re soaked. So fucking pretty, baby…” 

He teases the rim of your entrance, swiping circles around the hollow before dipping two digits into you. Your back arches off the counter in response to the intrusion of his thick fingers and he buries them a little deeper. He pumps into you slowly, stretching you up to his knuckles. 

“Do my fingers feel good fucking you?” He presses. You nod, jaw clenched tightly to manage the undeniable pleasure. 

He keeps burying his fingers into you, feeling how your walls grip onto him. He curls them, rubbing that patch of skin inside you that has your hips desperately grinding onto his hand harder. 

 Then, he withdraws, making you groan from the sudden emptiness. Using your slick coated on his fingers, starts tracing the mound of your clit in a little spiral. A gritty moan escapes your throat, your face on fire as he strokes you. 

Brian’s palm gripping your thigh gives a little squeeze, you jolt, nestling your pussy firmer against his fingertips. The pads of his fingers keep sweeping over your clit as Brian bites his lip again, eyes locked in on your pussy like it's his shiny new toy. 

He plays with you until he can’t tease himself anymore and lets his fingers slip from your cunt to hover over your stomach. 

“God, I’m gonna fuckin’ enjoy this.” He mutters, eyes wild with lust. 

You twitch against his head when Brian’s lips nuzzle your wet folds. His facial hair prickles your skin as he wedges himself deeper. His tongue pries you apart, making you moan out his name. 

The slippery muscle works at your clit, licking in brutal flicks that has your head lulling backward. Your fingers grip the threads of his hair as you moan and writhe under him. Your eyes frantically dart between the ceiling and the lewd collision of Brian’s mouth against your pussy. 

His hand climbs higher from your stomach, slipping under the hem of your top to grope your chest while he eats you over the sink counter. His rough fingertips graze your nipple and your body jerks forward and further into his face. 

As he always does, Brian picks up on your tells and rubs your nipple even harder, making you groan. He exploits your every crack, deconstructing and toying with you for his enjoyment.  

The pressure of his tongue on your clit and his big hand over your chest makes your insides turn to mush. You pant and curse, overwhelmed by your sensitivity, but it feels way too good to pull away. 

Brian keeps slobbering you something filthy, the drag of his tongue pressing and smoothing over you at just the right pace. 

Something expands deep inside you as his tongue laps over your pussy, eyes half-lidded in feral bliss, just ravaging you. Your hips lift up instinctively, the angle allowing him to probe you deeper.

He sticks his tongue inside of you, flexing it to fill the space. The stretch makes your eyes roll back as you whimper helplessly. “Mm- feels too good..  ah-” Your insides whirl and tighten frantically, the tension climbing as your body chases its climax. 

Every torturous thrust of his tongue chips away at your resolve, core convulsing, blood boiling under your skin. Your walls grip onto the warm muscle, clinging urgently to the sensation, but it quickly becomes too much and tips you further over the edge.

You’re practically trying to ride his face while on your back, hips rolling into his jaw with pitiful desperation. Your legs bat against the counter, voice cracking with broken moans, the room fading in and out as your body strains against the outstanding pleasure.

“B-Brian… ‘m getting so close… Fuck!” 

You hardly have time to adjust when his hand drifts back up between your thighs to rub a tight ring over your clit. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the other hand holding you firmly planted while you unravel against him. 

A surge of sweltering hot pleasure bursts through your body as the tension snaps. You come incredibly hard into Brian’s face, moaning and shrieking curses. Stars speckle your vision as you ride out the crashing high, grinding your hips against his slack-jawed mouth until the sharp sensitivity cuts too deep. 

His mouth gratefully slurps at the slick spilling from your entrance, guzzling your every drop until your legs are seizing uncontrollably around his head. When he pulls away, a wet string of saliva threads between your wrecked cunt and his jaw. 

Brian’s lips are now a deep, rosy pink hue, the flesh swollen, raw, and glistening from exertion. Regardless, it’s twisted in the shape of his cocky, gratified smile.

You can’t help but stare mindlessly at it while catching your breath, your body twitching through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Now for some real fun.” Brian prompts, rising up from his knees. He uses the hand towel to give his face a wipe before sinking his hips back in between your legs, his chest nearly pressed to yours. Another messy, probing kiss into your mouth as you hear the unmistakable clinking of his belt unbuckling. 

His hand grips either side of your jaw to tear your lips off his, digging his fingers into your cheeks. He squeezes your face in loving torment, “Aww, you're sooo cute.” 

He is so fucking cute beyond expression, the words never find their way from your head to return the compliment. 

You can only watch as his hand fumbles with his pants, shuffling them under his meaty hips. 

Brian’s thick, rigid cock bobs out of the waistband, flushed and pulsing expectantly. It looks just as exquisite as the rest of him. 

You let out a deep sigh to see him start pumping himself, eyes wandering over your shaking, wilted body. 

“So pretty, baby… can’t wait to see how ruined you look when I’m done with you.” He plants a kiss on your cheek. Your fingers clutch his biceps as he lifts your thigh up, throwing it over his shoulder. 

He lines himself up at your entrance, you cradle the back of his neck again, feeling how his pulse beats wildly to send extra blood down to this throbbing cock. You nestle your face into his collarbone, whimpering nervously, “Brian… right here?” 

The loud music and the heavy thud of footsteps overhead weighs down on the basement ceiling. Your eyes peek up at Brian, who glances up briefly but ultimately finds the center of your legs much more interesting. 

“Mhm… I know how bad you want it.” He’s got your body pinned between him and the counter, one hand planted on the mirror behind you to hold himself steady and the other palming your ass. He caresses you softly, the warmth of his hand grounding you. 

Then, there’s this naughty glint in his eye as he pulls his hand away, stalling in the air for a moment before bringing it back down onto your ass with a gentle pat. 

It catches you off guard, making you gasp. The soft impact makes your hips buck up higher to meet his. Brian greets it with a smirk. 

The tip of his cock nudges your entrance and makes your whole body recoil. “Shit- fuck, yes…” you blabber out, so desperate to take more. 

Brian pushes forward, letting the length of his shaft slip between your wet folds. The firmness of his cock pressed against your cunt makes you dizzy. 

He starts moving, pulling his hips away and pushing back in leisurely.  His tip rubs against your clit with every thrust and it drives you crazy. 

He keeps dragging himself up and down your pussy, cheeks flushed, gorgeous eyes fluttering as he looks at your face. 

Lunging forward to lock you into a kiss, Brian grinds harder, the way his cock catches on your sensitive bud is agonizing. 

A sharp contrast to the comforting warmth of his kiss is the abrupt smack of his palm against your ass, this time stronger, enough to leave the faintest sting.

Your pussy twitches in response, which Brian feels on his shaft. So he does it again- slaps your ass again to invite your body’s gracious reaction. You’re gasping and moaning into Brian’s mouth and hardly kissing him back.   

“P-please, mmm… Bri…” Another smack and you’re begging, he lets out a pleased snarl through his teeth. 

Legs trembling around him, you’re spread wide open and longing for him to fill you. Even he can’t take it anymore, teasing himself with your pussy. His body tenses up, ready to give you everything. 

“Big breath…” He instructs. 

Fresh air fills your lungs just to be knocked clean out by the dip of Brian’s cock into you, stretching the outer ring of muscle. You and Brian’s voices overlap in wispy moans of relief. “Fuckkk…” he hisses. 

Staying still is impossible as he keeps moving his hips, dragging his shaft slowly out of your pussy and thrusting back forward to bury himself back in. The center of his waist meets the valley between your thighs with searing friction.

“Oh, god… yes, m-more.. ye-ah!” you plead. His rock hard shaft delivers slow, cruel strokes against your walls. “God, Brian… you feel so good inside,” You stammer out praise and his cock pulses in reaction, you back arches with how it fills you out. 

“That’s right, keep fuckin’ talking to me for as long as you can, babe.” he challenges, digging himself deeper inside your slippery, warm cunt. You grip him with such fervor, it has him grunting and gulping down drool as he slams his cock into you. 

He throws his head back, eyelids shut ever so slightly, still allowing you a peek of his pupils rolling up into his skull. You catch a glimpse of that stupidly cute gap in his front teeth as he heaves and grunts. 

They’re unapologetic, the sounds he makes, and sooo fucking hot. 

“Holy shit… mhmm…” he groans gratefully.

Brian’s pounding your sorry cunt into the cold, hard counter with gloriously deep thrusts. His pace is methodical, maddening- deliberate strokes that have your pussy fluttering and your legs twitching open wider to welcome the blow. 

“Yeah, hah, take it just like that, you fuckin’ slut.” Brian growls, making you sink under him, flustered and whimpering. With your head tucked below his chin, you smile gratefully, one he doesn’t see. “I want all of you…” you sigh into his chest. 

His hand finds your breast again, squeezing the cushiony flesh and rubbing your nipple with his thumb. His fingers are rough, subtly calloused, prickling your skin just right. 

You groan at his rugged touch, the exact kind you’ve been aching for. He gropes you harder, pounds you deeper, burying himself all the way to hilt with each devastating thrust. 

Brian’s sweat tousled hair clings to his forehead, his eyes glazed over with twisted, ruthless devotion.

“C’mere, kiss me.” 

He leans over you to latch his mouth onto yours, kissing hungrily while his cock stretches out your tight cunt. 

You moan into his mouth, opening wide enough to let his tongue taste the inside of your mouth. His lips move ferociously, sucking and nipping at yours like it’ll never be enough for him. Your eyes roll back and so do his. 

Brian’s jaw retracts from yours, leaving the smallest distance for him to hiss into, “Turn around.” 

He tells you like it's an order, but his hands shift to maneuver your body for you. Grabbing your hips, he pushes himself out of you to spin your body so that your palms hit the counter in front of you. Your own fucked-out face greets you in the mirror that’s now in front of you. 

You watch Brian position himself behind you, pushing forward to split the folds with his slippery, pussy-soaked cock. 

“Oh, fuck, yes…” he groans, rutting his hips faster and harder into your aching walls. You heartily grind your ass backward to meet him in motion, the force of the impact sends ripples of sharp pleasure prickling under your skin and deep in your core. 

His thick meat pries your hole wider in punishing thrusts that make your pussy gush and coil around it. Your insides are molten lava, heat and pleasure crashing together so unbelievably good that it feels like sin. 

The nasty slapping coming off the friction fills the tiny, suffocating space, leaving nothing in the world apart from Brian’s unworldly fuck- the weight of his body sinking into you and the hot, messy noises that it makes. 

He’s pummeling you so hard, so entirely deep that you lose track of where you end and he starts. It’s maddening how your bodies cling and mold to each other, his meat rubbing yours so raw and perfectly. Your pussy coils around the big, solid muscle restlessly, drawing his peak out of him. 

“Shit- ‘s too good… gah- gonna make me come… you ready for it, baby?” 

He rocks your hips back and forth on him, letting his cock split you open, tearing you to pieces. The swollen tip hammers your cervix, your guts melting on him as you fucks you stupid, tension swelling to the brink in his groin. 

“Y-yes, fuck… do it, please-” you plead like you’ve never been guiltier.

His eyes glare into the mirror, watching how your body bounces off of his, the way your hair whips about your flustered face, moaning and crying out in ecstasy. 

A hearty, growling moan rolls out of his throat as the tension finally breaks. His wildly hard cock presses right up against the deepest part of you, thick pulses of hot seed spearing into your guts. 

Brian blushes hard through his orgasm, you watch  his skin flush cherry red from his chest up to his ears in the reflection. 

His hands hold you firm in place, fingers still digging into your hips. Sweat drips from his brow as he pants, chest expanding and falling shakily, a faint grin smeared across his lips. 

“Holy shit, dude.” is all the commentary he can manage through broken gasps. 

Your grip on the counter’s edge weakens as you fight for air alongside him, drawing in heavy breaths with your forehead pressed to the surface to support your weight. Your pussy still feels every subtle push and twitch of Brian’s cock. 

It’s gotten uncomfortably stuffy in the cramped bathroom- the grimy, sweet stench of drunk sex polluting it up to the ceiling, the mirror foggy with condensation. 

The point of contact at the center of his hips is a mess of your juicy slick and Brian’s milky load dripping down your thighs. A rough, gratified sigh escapes his throat as he studies the absolute filth he’s made of you. He loosens his grip on you just enough to take it all in. 

Reality fades back in as your ecstasy climbs down, the noisy roar of an entire student body partying on the floor above you roots your senses back to Earth. Your face burns with newfound, sober panic. 

“Bri- Mm- need my clothes...” your voice croaks out pathetically. 

“Awww, don’t kill the mood, now, hon.” Brian taunts you, nipping at your ear and sinking his cock all the way inside your wrecked, aching cunt again.

You squeal softly, turning your head to the side to peer at him behind you. 

His smile is so bewitching, you know full well with every inch of your being that you’ll stay right there and let him fuck you as long as he wants. 

So you shut your eyes, bracing yourself for him to give you more- 

But instead of meeting the expectation he pulls his hips away. The shaft slips out of you, the sudden hollowness making you sigh. Then he gives your ass another heedless smack, a gesture of praise and his signal of ownership. 

“Just messing with you, we should definitely get the fuck out of here.” 

Brian’s hand pushes on the bathroom door and it swings open with a creeeak. He peeks an eye in the sliver of the frame, assessing the basement before giving you the “All clear.” 

Climbing the shadowy staircase back up to the main floor, the loud music and bright lights saturate on your ascent. 

Without any other option, you wear the outfit you came in, the sticky fabric clinging to your skin, covered in stiff crinkles and stains. Your throat is locked tightly, nervous system a wreck, dignity in shambles. 

Your mind races-  ballpark measuring the span of time you’ve been absent, assessing visual cues that might be incriminating, replaying the whole act in your mind to recall the volume, but the memory just makes your thighs squirm instead.  

To your relief, the party is just as you left it, bustling with rowdy partiers, hardly any heads turning in your direction as you pass by. You duck your head in the kitchen, where Charity is sounding off, voice cracking, about the terrible mess and guests long overstaying their welcome. 

Brian shoots you a glance and wiggles his eyebrows in acknowledgment of Charity’s despair. You clasp your hand over your mouth to stifle your giggles. 

The urge to take his hand while you walk comes over you, the mere inches of distance makes him feel so far apart from you now, after everything he shared with you. Everything he did to you.  

Your hand makes a courageous leap outward, just barely brushing his fingers. Brian’s arm twitches, he peeks out of the corner of his eye at you, the ghost of a smile appearing for a fleeting moment. 

Brian’s hand reaches in search of yours again. He takes it, fingers gently interlocking with yours.

Your heart surges, the comfort of his hand in yours is bliss beyond description, internally you’re screaming and thrashing like a rabid animal. 

For the love of God, you can't stop staring. Brian is so pretty, so charming, not to mention he lays some crazy pipe. You’re a ghost in your own body, floating beside him and witnessing yourself like a spectator. 

Your little piece of heaven fades from reach as you step through the front door, the frosty air outside makes you shiver. Brian’s hand slips from your fingers, a knee-jerk reaction to recognizing that familiar pattern of crosshatching lines and feathery plumes of cigarette smoke in the near distance. 

Tim’s silhouette sticks out in the crowded lawn, those unmistakably beefy shoulders and full-grown sideburns. He’s taking a puff off his cig, crowded by Toby, Ben, and Jack who are sharing a smoke of their own. 

His head hardly lifts for a peek as you and Brian approach the group, just keeps his eyes looking forward to the rest. 

“Motherf-fucker. You guys missed some crazy shit.” Toby greets you. His demeanor is not unusual aside from his twitches. Ben and Jack on the other hand- it’s like you can feel their piercing glares through the dark lenses of their sunglasses. Not upset, just knowing.

Brian tries to keep the ball rolling, “Where’s-”

“Nina’s a mess, Kate dragged her to the van and Jeff just fucking dipped at some point, but he was fucking trashed too so… eh, he’ll be fine. He’s Jeff.” Ben fills in. 

“How’d that happen?” Jack refers to the soiled, candied state of your clothes. 

Brian scoffs, throwing his hands in the air. “Some bitch dumped a tray of Jello shots on basket case, here. Gonna give ‘em a ride so I’ll meet you guys at the house in a bit.” 

The boys nod and bid their farewells, but Tim still refuses to make eye contact with Brian. He only huffs out a close-mouthed grunt and that’s all the acknowledgement he gives, paying his cigarette more attention instead. 

Brian escorts you to his truck, holding the passenger door open for you to climb inside. The interior is weathered but cozy, a few dorky and cheesy stickers applied on the dash, a soot-coated ashtray in one of the cupholders, a paper coffee cup in the other, and one beaded garlands you make at summer camps dangling off the rearview mirror.

It smells entirely like him. Musky, leathery, faintly honey-sweet. 

“Tonight was so much fun, thank you.” Brian coos.

You watch his hands grip the wheel as he drives, how his legs fall apart when he sinks deeper into the seat, the wind blowing in from the rolled-down windows ruffling his feathery, bronze hair. 

His eyes leave the road for a fraction of time to meet your gaze and shoot you another cocky smile that leaves your stomach crawling. 

“Shouldn’t I be thanking you for helping me get in there?” You smirk. 

“Heh, I guess we’ll both thank me, then.” Brian’s hand rests idly on his thigh closest to the passenger side, his thumb tracing a short line over the curve of his jeans. Your body screams for your hand to reach for his and hold it again… uncertain, you keep them tucked in your pockets, eyes fixed on that spot in his lap. 

The fatigue finally hits you, your head bobbing down and back up, eyes fluttering and straining to stay open as sleep threatens to overtake your sore, wrung-out body. You snap back awake when the truck's wheels stall against a curb, the inertia throwing you slightly forward. 

“Hey, sleepyhead, need me to carry you in?” It’s hardly a question since he’s already on your side of the car, scooping you out of the seat to lift you in his arms. 

Your arms cling around Brian’s neck, his arms hooked under your knees and behind you back so he’s carrying you parallel with the ground. 

You nuzzle your head into his chest, breathing in his scent as he walks you inside the building. “Mm… thanks, Brian…” you murmur dreamily. 

“Anytime at all…  I mean it.” Brian assures you, arms pulling you tightly to him in a nearly suffocating embrace. 

The night closes in on you, your body losing the battle against much needed slumber. So you rest tranquilly in those marvelous arms, so exhausted and hazy with bliss-  no resolve left to question why you can’t remember if you even gave Brian your address in the first place.

[leathermouthproxies]

tim is my man my man my man but by God if the Brian lore isnt going crazy lately.

[cryingintheclubdhmu]

⌞ 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 [◉"] ▷⌝

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: lıllılı.ıll. Hoodie x F! Reader .lllııılı..lıllıl

"Stalker’s Tango - Autoheart ⋅" ★ ➤ ➤

𝟶𝟷:𝟻𝟷 ━━━━━━●─── 𝟶𝟹:𝟶𝟹 ⇆ ◁ ❚❚ ▷ ↻

W/C: 8.2k // Summary: Hard work was hard work. Brian’s day to day consisted of blood-labour, ridding of evidence, and a drink, if he was in the mood. He didn’t have time for relationships- until a stranger starts following him around.

He believes it’s fate. So, when you break into his house, he decides to keep you. People did say it was good to have a wife to come home to, right?

Tags: Stalker! Reader, Yandere! Hoodie, Dom! Hoodie, Dubcon-adjacent, cunnilingus, oral (m-receiving), breeding, baby trapping (ish), 69, felching, overstim-to-watersports-pipeline, p in v, pet play (kinda?), he calls you puppy like twice, humiliation, intox, choking, kidnapping technically but you really want it, and talking you through it

A/N: This one is really freaky but have fun reading !! ^3^

➽──────────────❥

Brian was quite the romantic, in his opinion.

A full week off, the cabin that he and Tim ransacked months ago was finally of use. However, his companion had been sent on another solo job, and the house was empty aside from him.

He had his laptop propped up on the counter, the screen displaying a recipe he’d been wanting to try. It was rare that proxies got downtime, and he’d finally had the chance to unwind.

A home-cooked meal, ingredients he’d painstakingly saved up for, and an ice-cold beer on the side. It was going to be perfect.

In theory.

The thing with being a killer was that you didn’t get to practice your culinary skills much. Which meant that he couldn’t just eyeball it. Which also meant the chicken was burning and slightly oversalted.

He was glad he’d only used a third of the meat to start with, because this was not going as well as he wanted it to. He sighed, shucking the charred remains into a bowl- when a clatter echoed from the hall.

He switched the stove off, wiping his hands on a rag. He was wondering when you’d show up.

You were his stalker- affectionately. He’d caught you staring at him across the gas station two months ago, and you’d been tailing him ever since.

At first, he was cautious. You could’ve been a spy or someone who got too nosy about business that wasn’t your own. However, after a week of his own research, he realized you were neither.

You just had a crush on him. It was obvious that, less than five days in, you were beyond flustered even being near him. A cute little thing, he thinks.

Your lack of skill was endearing, and he didn’t mind playing pretend. If you wanted to watch, he’d indulge you. Hoodie was going out of his way to pose for your pictures, doing the absolute most in broad daylight.

Stretching with a grunt, flexing his arms more than necessary. He’d wipe split liquor from his chin with the bottom of his shirt, giving you a direct view of his V-line and pecs.

Yet you would be too nervous to even hold the camera properly, sprinting off with a blurry shot at best. He had worked his abs the day prior, too. A shame, really.

Don’t get him wrong; he liked the whole cat-and-mouse act, but you were hopeless. He doubted you’d ever follow him home or break in, so he had to lure you out of your shell. Use a breadcrumb trail to get you into position. The works.

Earlier that week, he’d talked obnoxiously loud on the phone. Telling Tim about his plans, about how he thought he should “Go shirtless more often.” Maybe even invest in a pair of low-hanging sweats, you know?

He ducked into an alley, waiting for you to linger just around the corner, then he dropped the exact address. It was like shaking a bag of treats at a stray cat. Almost too easy.

Now, standing in the kitchen, Brian decided to make you a taste tester. You were already here, and he’s sure you’d be willing.

The sound of shuffling, followed by the thump of footsteps, grew closer. He could hear you cuss quietly; your struggle to sneak around had him holding back a laugh. How polite of you to remove your shoes.

Craning his neck to the side, he occupied himself with re-oiling the pan, his chain catching the light in slivers. He was bare from the waist up, his boxer band snug against his hips. He was a man of his word, after all. Though he was curious about how you’d react. If it were an enclosed space with no readily available exits, would you be bolder?

You had come all this way, and he hoped that you’d push yourself out of your comfort zone. It’d be rude not to. He prepared this evening for both of you; the least you could do was surprise him a bit.

His back was still turned when you tiptoed into the room, hunched over to make yourself smaller. He saw you nearly trip in his periphery, and he grinned, a plan stitching itself together in his head. He wanted to check exactly how inexperienced you were. And yeah, perhaps he didn’t have the right to be jealous- but he’d be lying if he said the idea of not being your first didn’t bother him.

You liked him so much that you probably walked here despite the trek. Probably giggled thinking about him, cheeks warm as you debated on what to take as a souvenir. To Hoodie, that was special.

Watching was a love language, one that he was uniquely fluent in. Who better to settle down with than someone who understood it perfectly, right? The muted padding of your socks on hardwood.

Two creaks to his right, about three paces away. Then silence. Three paces… Ah, you were going for his jacket. Except that the coat in question was his usual one, the leather thick, made for harsh weather. As much as he wanted to let you take it, he’d need it on the way back.

He clicked his tongue, speaking curtly. “Take somethin’ else, baby. I’m still wearin’ that one.” The metal tapped the glass stovetop, the burner switched back on, and you hummed. “Oh, okay. Thank you.” You swivelled on your heel, scanning the room for other items.

Thirty seconds passed. You picked up a stray glove lying on the coffee table. One full minute. You debated between snatching the empty cup near the sofa and going for his sweater thrown across the armchair. If you organized the items well, you could fit both in your bag. Another minute. The clock ticked by, repetitive while you searched.

“You hungry?”

“Um, a little-”

You shot up.

Eyes wide, your satchel fell to the floor, and Brian arched a brow. “I’m testing a new recipe. Thought you’d wanna’ try.” He was facing you now, a smirk gracing his lips when he cocked his head to the left, giving you a once-over. “You gonna’ stand there all night? It’s bad manners not to greet the host.” Teasing.

With his arms crossed, the contours of hard muscle were etched harshly under the dim light. His happy trail peaked over the elastic band, leading up to his navel, scars littering his torso. His chest was covered in sparse hair, the plush squished together. And he was so tall. Broad, his shoulders sculpted, a steel cross pendant framed in the middle of his pecs—

“It’s also bad manners to stare.”

You met his gaze in an instant and stuttered, unsteady on your feet. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to, you know. Well…” Your palms were clammy, heart racing a mile a minute. Yet he seemed relaxed, too calm for someone who had just found out their home was being intruded on.

He raised his hand, beckoning you with a finger. “C’mere.” He swivelled around after, and you were quick to obey, scrambling over when he placed two chicken breasts into the skillet. You stood awkwardly by his side, the meat sizzling against blistering oil. The kitchen felt claustrophobic. You didn’t know what to do with your hands.

Brian was right there. You could practically smell him.

Why would you think that?

That was weird. This was a terrible idea. But he clearly wasn’t normal either- he couldn’t be. No regular person would be unbothered by a situation like this.

“You’re good with chicken, yeah? It’s all I got, but if you really ain’t like it, we can order something.” You nodded at that, shoving down your inner monologue. “No, it’s okay. Chicken’s good.” He mirrored your response. Flipping the meat with tongs as he grunted. “Mm. I made a salad to go with it. You want a vinaigrette or ranch?”

“… Ranch. Please.”

“Water or beer? There’s wine in the cellar, too.”

“Water’s fine.”

The chicken had developed a sear. Golden brown when he gave it another flip. “You sure? We can open a bottle. Promise, I don’t mind.” He said, unhurried. The kitchen was quiet aside from the sound of his tongs hitting the pan once in a while, the proximity making you sweat. You fidgeted with your sleeves. “Okay.”

A meek reply, he smiled, checking the meat's internal temperature with a food thermometer. “Alright- help me plate this; then we’ll eat.” The heat was shut off, and he moved to wash his hands, opening the cabinets a second later. He pulled out two bowls, balancing them in one hand, and grabbed wine glasses with the other.

Once he’d placed the cutlery on the counter along with everything else, he glanced at you. “Well, I’ll be damned- I didn’t burn it this time. Should call you my lucky charm, darlin’.” Your ears were warm, and you avoided his eyes, stepping closer. “Y-yeah. It looks good.” The meal was put together swiftly, Brian handling it alone despite his earlier request.

You should do something. He had asked- maybe he just forgot?

“I’ll bring the food to the table while you get the wine.” You tittered, a nervous laugh escaping you.

He stared at you for a moment, features blank enough to have your blood running cold, then he grinned. Chuckling as if you’d said exactly what he wanted to hear. “Sure. Dining room’s right around the corner; I’ll be back in a bit.”

He walked past you, and you swallowed, picking up the bowls carefully before trudging into the hall. A light switch was flicked up, porcelain sliding onto the oak surface when you set the bowls down. You made another round to return with the glasses, taking a seat afterward.

He breached the doorway with a bottle in hand and settled in across the table. “That coat ain’t stuffy?” Nodding at you, he uncorked the wine. The dark red sloshed against the glass, both your cups filled halfway. “I mean, I don’t notice it. I guess.” This was definitely not how you thought this would go.

He stabbed his fork into the chicken, taking a bite as you followed hesitantly. “It’s warm in here. Yer’ gonna’ melt in that thing.” He snickered, and you tried your best to smile. “I can take it off if you want.”

A pause, then he gave you a look. “If I want?” Twirling the utensil slowly, he tapped it against the bowl once, sighing.

“You’re acting like I’m keepin’ you hostage, honey. Relax.” He drawled, lazily chewing while you faltered. “I’m relaxed- I was just saying.” Now that he had pointed it out, you were overly aware of the jacket’s weight.

The material hung heavily on your shoulders, almost dragging you down, your body heat simmering beneath the layers.

The once spacious table had shrunk, the walls closing in like you were trapped in a bubble. You could suddenly feel everything. The way the wooden chair stuck to your thighs even through the denim, the clink of glass each time he took a sip.

It was as if the air around you had grown tight, and the bulbs overhead thrummed loudly. Buzzing on your skin, suffocating you with its vibrance. You tugged at the zipper despite his reassurance, shrugging off the coat. Conversation. Be present.

“Thank you for cooking.” You said, breathing out at the ease in temperature, as he chuckled. “Oh, of course. It’s your first time here. I gotta’ impress you.” Winking at you, he reclined a tad, cutting off another chunk of the meat. “So, you do this often?”

A casual question. His tone was unhurried, still eating like this wasn’t absurd. You were simply a friend dropping by, a fun companion he’d met at work, and not a stranger who broke in. Your nerves fought your infatuation, your mind at war with itself.

Should you be grateful that he was so forgiving, or concerned that he wasn’t? He hadn’t interrogated you at all. Hadn’t shouted at you, sneering in disgust, appalled at the extent of your obsession.

The man was treating you shockingly well, nearly too friendly in your presence. The uncanny fondness he showed you made your head hurt- but you liked him.

His attention was addicting. The laughs he’d give you had your cheeks hot. It’d be smart to run, to sprint as fast as your legs could carry you. It was just that your crushes never really worked out, and he was everything you’d wished for, served on a silver platter.

Brian had been courteous all night, considerate towards your preferences. Regarding you with thought and flirting with you as if he returned your feelings. You couldn’t help the sugary giggle that slipped past your lips.

“No, I don’t get out much. I haven’t had dinner with someone like this since last year.” He grinned at that, humming when you swallowed a mouthful. “Yeah?” His fork clattered against the bowl's rim, chair squeaking under him, and he arched a brow.

“What about the stalking, then?”

You choked.

Blinking, your sputter was rushed. Posture turned stiff. “I- I wasn’t trying to. I just- I don’t know. Um.” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “Wasn’t trying to… what?” His gaze was analytical, and he shrugged, tapping a rhythm onto the oak. “It’s okay; we can be honest. I saw you takin’ pictures of me earlier, but ya’ ran off before I could pose properly.” His cheery nature had you restless in your seat.

Taking off your jacket had been a godsend, because you were currently boiling from the inside out. Had you been that obvious? You shifted in place, rubbing your ankles together. “Sorry.” Your sad mumble made him snigger, head slumping down, with his shoulders shaking. “Yer’ real cute, I’ll tell you that-” He straightened himself, exhaling.

“Really, though. You ever done this with anybody else?”

He was having fun- maybe you should too.

He appeared content when you acted comfortable, so it couldn’t hurt to banter.

You steeled yourself, suppressing the butterflies in your stomach. “What if I have?” You were ready for a laugh, a witty remark, but the second you glanced up, the hairs on your nape rose.

Brian’s grin had been wiped clean off, and he stared with an iciness you weren’t expecting. Slowly, as he stuck his tongue against his inner cheek, he narrowed his eyes.

Head tilted by a fraction. “Who?” While his cadence was monotone, his body language was screaming at you. Wound up like a caged tiger waiting for you to drop the key.

You simpered, strained. Attempting to brush it off. “Ah, I wasn’t-” He interrupted you, tunnel-visioned on your previous statement. “Did you like ‘im? I swear I won’t say nothin’.” The way his jaw tensed told you otherwise. He was smiling again, but it was off. Too sharp, not reaching his eyes, his chuckle hollow at best.

He spoke with barely contained animosity, working himself up the more he thought about it. “You keep the photos you took back then, or no? Tell me, c’mon. Do ya’ think about him?” His gaze was bordering on manic, agitated in his own skin. You rambled quickly. “No! There- there isn’t anyone else. I was kidding.” He froze at that, expressionless.

The silence prickled you, tension thorny amidst the stalemate- before he whistled low. Teasing lilt returned when he shook his head playfully. “You’re cruel, dolly. Thought you were gonna’ break my heart there.” The mood switch was jarring, and you forced yourself to adjust, scooping up another bite. He gestured to your still-full glass.

“Try it. It’s good.”

“Right- yeah.”

The cup was chilled in your palm, and you took a large swig, downing the rest in record time. The alcohol wasn’t terribly strong, but it burned nonetheless. You cleared your throat, and the glass was set back on the table, liquor kicking in almost immediately.

Being a lightweight had perks, though you weren’t sure that applied to your current predicament. It was fine- just something to calm yourself down.

Yet, drink after drink, the wine’s effect increased tenfold. Every time you emptied your glass, he’d pour you one more, evening the playing field by matching your pace. Except his tolerance was far higher than yours.

You had gone through a full bottle, on your second, and he was still impeccably upright. But he’d take care of you if you got too messy, wouldn’t he?

His hand smacking against the surface made you jolt, his cheer loud. “Goddamn, pretty miss. You sure can drink!”

You laughed at his excitement, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. It was easy to forget how scary he’d been only a moment ago. Especially with the intoxication settling in, you were on cloud nine.

You swayed a little. “Only if I’m trying to look cool.” The buzz soothed your jitters, and all you could focus on was the curve of his jaw. He was so pretty, charming like the princes you’d read about in storybooks. His scars gave him an edge, while his dimples made him appear sweet. A perfect balance.

Your eyes drifted to his lips, memorizing the hue. They looked soft, perhaps a bit chapped from the weather, but you’re sure they’d feel nice. You had dreamed about him daily, fantasizing about his hands on you, thinking about what he’d say.

It had begun about two months ago- the stalking, that is.

You had met him one year prior.

The rain had been brutal, flooding the roads and drenching you in the downpour. Winds so strong that the water droplets battered against the concrete like hail, thunder shrieking into the night. You were terrified, shaking in a thin jacket on the side of the road. The man you’d been chasing had lied to you.

He had smiled when you confessed, asking you to dinner. Texting you for days, swearing he was over the moon. He picked you up that night, and the drive was grand, filled with laughter the entire way. However, when you arrived at the designated location, instead of a cozy picnic under the stars, you found an empty parking lot.

He ushered you out of the car, and trusting him, you did so happily. Then it happened. The skidding of tires, overlapping voices, your heartbeat in your ears. His friends yanked you by the hair, snipping off chunks.

They jeered, they mocked and humiliated you- for believing someone like him could ever love someone like you.

They left you in pieces, sobbing on the cold cement. The storm began shortly after, and you were forced to drag yourself home, lost in the whirlwind. And that’s when you ran into Brian.

His truck had come to a stop on the highway, engine still rumbling, while he stepped out. You were blocking the road, and even though he seemed annoyed, he let you hitch a ride.

If he noticed your state early on, he didn’t say anything- not until you asked.

“Is there something wrong with me?”

He’d grunted, glancing at you briefly. “No.” He was probably just pacifying you. Probably just making sure the stranger in his passenger seat didn’t throw a fit. But it was enough.

You had spent your entire life being unsure. You never knew where you fit in. The town was small, and for whatever reason, it seemed like you were born wrong. You were always too loud or too quiet. Either too promiscuous or a prude. Your affection was viewed as an abomination, the person at the centre of your desire recoiling at the idea.

You were the one just slightly out of frame in photographs, the friend who walked on the grass, and was never saved a seat at the table. A background character in a picture-perfect scene, unneeded.

You would be alone in a full room, forgotten about, even if you screamed at the top of your lungs. Isolated since the moment you opened your eyes, in a broken home with parents who held you for necessity's sake.

Nothing ever made sense; nobody ever had the right answers. But he did. You asked him if you were off-putting; you asked if you were disgusting to be around. You asked him over and over again if he thought you didn’t belong. Not providing any information for him to logically respond to. Yet that didn’t matter, and his reply would remain the same.

“No.”

Because Brian was different. Because he understood.

You tried so hard to ignore the constant flashing memories of that drive. You did things to distract yourself, going out more, indulging in new hobbies. They never stuck, though.

Soon enough, all you could think about was him. He was the only person who made you feel seen, the only one who comforted you when you offered nothing in return.

Because Brian was good.

You had the pictures of Brian taped to your wall. You saved Brian’s half-smoked cigarettes to kiss when you were sad. Brian was sweet to you. Brian’s voice was smooth like warm honey. Brian was—

“— Alright?”

Your pupils snapped up to his, and he huffed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I said, are you alright?” When you failed to answer, he snickered. “I’ve been callin’ yer’ name for the past five minutes.”

You pouted, tittering while you slumped forward. “Oh, sorry.” He got to his feet, rounding the dinner table and snagging the nearly empty bottle along the way.

“We hafta’ do something about those nerves of yours. Apologizin’ after every sentence- you’re worrying me, baby.” His grasp was firm on your jaw, tilting your head back.

The glass rim nudged against your parted lips, and he grunted. “Don’t worry, I got you.” Bitter, with undertones of sweetness coating your palate. You gulped desperately, deep scarlet dribbling down your chin.

It was starting to overwhelm you, and you clumsily reached for his wrist. Pawing, trying to pull back, but his grip refused to waver.

“Shh, s’okay. Nice an’ easy- jus’ like that.” He murmured, hushing you. Your lungs burned, the lack of oxygen making your head spin. Your eyes were barely open by the time he withdrew, and he brought the bottle to his mouth, downing the remaining liquor. He exhaled after, breathless.

The wine hung limp at his hip, his grin satisfied. “Atta’ girl.” He ran his tongue along his teeth and slouched slightly.

Tapping your bottom lip once. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.” With that, he hauled you up, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck as he walked down the hall.

He kicked open the bedroom door, stepping to the mattress before laying you down.

He crawled to kneel between your legs, resting on his haunches. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” You giggled drunkenly and nuzzled your head against the sheets. You were floaty, the duvet soft beneath you. “Mm… ‘m pretty?” You slurred, making him laugh. “The prettiest thing I ever seen, sweetheart.”

The linen smelled like him. He was looking at you. Hazy, you were so excited it felt as if your chest would burst. “Fuckin’ perfect.” His touch brushed over your collar, dragging down to your stomach, an inch above your waistband. “Did you pretend it was me when you used yer’ fingers?” He muttered, drawing shapes.

You hid your face behind your knuckles, bashful under his gaze. “Mhm.” The mellowed light from the bedside lamps bathed him in gold, his grin sultry as he hummed. “Show me.”

You pouted at that, and your whine had him hungry. “You wanna’ be good for me, don’t you?” Urging you softly, he nudged your shirt by a smidge, thumb hooked along the edge. You’d do anything he asked. Anything at all, even if it was mortifying.

The cotton scrunched over your chest when you tugged up your shirt, and his eyes flickered to the button of your jeans, expectant. “Go on.” He hadn’t even done anything, yet you were already on the brink of tears.

Complying anyway, unsteady fingers reached to undo the zipper, your hips shimmying slightly. You slid a hand into your underwear, gathering the wetness, before you circled your clit.

Your little gasps were mouthwatering. The plush of your chest squished together in a frayed bra, moving a bit every time you’d jolt at your own touch. He rubbed his thumb up and down against your skin, one palm on your hip, the other settled beneath your thigh. Keeping your legs open despite your embarrassment.

“Does it feel good?” He uttered, and you nodded pitifully. You’d done this countless times, but his focus had heightened your senses.

Brian was so close to where you needed him, separated by only a couple of layers of fabric. Your mind wandered, images of how he’d take you filling your head.

Would he be rough, or would he break you with care? Ruining you, leaving you crying for more when he’d slow his rhythm to a grind. Would he make you cry, or would he have you high off endorphins, nurturing your obsession until you couldn’t handle it anymore?

You slipped your fingers into your messy cunt, humping your own hand in desperation. He clicked his tongue. “You can do better than that.”

With thinly veiled disapproval, he squeezed your waist. It had you scrambling to appease him, and your cunt squelched loudly. However, it appeared your pace wasn’t up to par.

His warmth left your hip, and he cupped his knuckles atop yours over denim. Forcing your digits inside deeper, rocking you onto his large palm. “Ah- Brian.” You whimpered, soaking your panties.

It was sloppy inside your underwear, with arousal sticking to your inner thighs. “Did you say my name like that by yourself, too? Or did ya’ get shy?” He said mockingly, drinking in the view, when he continued.

“Imagining me touchin’ you here- bet you made a fuckin’ mess on your toys.” He had your darkest secrets laid bare, and you whined.

The weight of his hand had your body in overdrive, the constant shlick-shlick of your fingers pumping inside loud and exposing. “Not my fault- couldn’t help it- mmph.” You couldn’t even defend yourself properly, pitchy gasps interrupting your argument. It had greed gnawing at the base of his skull, the need to break you spiking.

He drawled the words, lazily bouncing you. “C’mon, princess. Give it to me.” The coil in your gut curled tightly. Your clit was rutting against your palm with every thrust, the reality of his proximity crashing into you.

Your pussy pulsed, twitching wildly as you came. Lids shutting while you arched. You hadn’t even caught your breath yet, and he grabbed your wrist.

Your fingers glistened with the proof of your orgasm, held in the air. “Mm.” He cocked his head to the right, amused. Then he pulled your hand to his lips, swirling his tongue around your digits. He groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Brows furrowed, swallowing, his saliva mixed with your slick, dripping down your arm. Depraved- starved. He withdrew a second later, swiping away the residue with his thumb.

The sight made you clench down on nothing, and he smirked, releasing your hand. He traced up your ribs, kneading your breasts through the bra. Toying with your sensitive buds until you writhed. Hickeys were littered all over your throat, down the valley of your chest, with Brian hovering above you.

He snagged your waistband blindly. Yanking your jeans and panties down your thighs before he reclined, hauling them off completely, the pair thrown aside. He was back over you in a blink, his patience dwindling.

His cock was throbbing, so hard it ached as he dropped his hips, grinding against your bare core. The coarse cotton slotted between your folds, making you mewl lewdly.

You were drenching his sweats, staining the fabric with your lust. He had your cunt pressed flush to his bulge. “You want me?” Grunting into the hollow of your shoulder, husky. You could feel him twitch, the ridges of his length snug to your cunt. You ran your fingers through his hair, your arms thrown around his neck. “Please- please.”

You were too empty. Needy to the point of anguish. “Want it- I-I wan’ it, please.” Your begs landed like burnt sugar, blistering and tooth-rotting.

He pulled away just enough to examine your desperation, nose brushing yours, and you slipped your hands down past his chest. Palms flat on his shoulder blades, holding him close. He cooed. “Poor baby. I’m so mean, hm?” Yet the way he angled his face to lick a stripe up your cheek betrayed his sincerity. You were crying.

You didn’t notice the blur in your vision, didn’t realize how pathetic you’d become. “Brian.” His name sounded close to a prayer coming from you, and all he did was hum, basking.

He tasted your tears sweetly, so coddling it was suffocating. “I know. It’s okay; I’ll take care of you.” He mumbled against your skin, extending an arm down to untie the drawstrings.

The elastic sagged, and he freed his shaft out of his boxers, cockhead sticky with pre. He lined himself up to your neglected pussy, tip catching on your weeping hole. “Deep breaths, yeah?” Then he sank in by an inch, stretching your entrance to accommodate his girth.

Just his tip thrusting in was enough to have you shaking. It was almost too good, the pleasure making you want to go limp. Mind-numbing and wracking you in waves. You were drooling, stupid on him before he even filled you.

Brian was thick. His cock felt heavy, bullying its way inside slowly as he rolled his hips. “Hah- nngh, s’good.” You slurred, eyes unfocused- he chuckled roughly. “Actin’ like you ain’t ever been fucked, my girl.” He rocked himself deeper, halfway in while you squirmed. “Not the same.” You whined, and your nails dug into his shoulders.

“No?” Whispering over your mouth, he gritted his teeth- and it took all his willpower not to split you in half when you shook your head. “Mm-mm, wasn’t you. Doesn’t-ah- feel good if it’s not you.” You were too adorable for your own good.

Pliant under him, staring at him as if he were your saviour, the hero in your story. It made him possessive. Dangerously so.

It made him want to keep you. Trap you here with him with bolted locks on the doors. The outside world wasn’t fit for people like you. You didn’t deserve the harshness it offered, didn't need to be subjected to the cruelty of strangers.

You’d clearly been through so much already; this level of obsession doesn’t just manifest overnight. You had most likely been struggling with no one to turn to. A sweet thing like you, all alone? It wasn’t right. The only logical option would be to protect you. That’s what any caring husband would do— wasn’t it?

If you were sick, Brian had to be decaying by now. He thought he could suppress it, but his fixation had begun consuming him.

Latching onto his organs, infecting him like a parasite. He’d lived as a ghost from his early adulthood till the present. He didn’t have an identity, never had a real place to call home. Feared wherever he went. Yet you never saw that.

You never categorized him into an isolated box. Instead, you held onto him for comfort. He was someone you deemed safe, and the feeling it gave him was indescribable. You wanted this- you wanted him. You loved him.

But he loved you more.

Hysteria pumped through his veins, the last of his sanity shattered. “Such a smooth talker, huh? You’re too good to me, dolly.” He snapped his hips forward without warning, piercing you to the hilt. His calm demeanour had developed an edge, and you jerked off the mattress. He was ripping you, forcing his cock in mercilessly.

You wailed, pain shooting through you sharply. He was so big it hurt. Tearing your poor cunt, the sting making you sob- yet he was finally inside. Brian was really here; he was inside of you, and it felt fucking euphoric. All the nights of picturing this very moment were incomparable.

Nothing came even close to his weight on top of you, nothing paralleled the fullness of being speared on his length. The scent of his need, his sweat tacky against your skin when he rocked in further.

Your head was spinning, heart beating violently behind your ribs. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. The wires in your brain fizzled, bolts sparking before they ruptured.

The thick drag of his cock was driving you insane. You could feel each throb of him, every vein, the curve of his shaft prodding against your most sensitive spots. He had carved his signature into your womb, branding your core with his lust. It was drowning, limerence so strong it was unbearable. Its hands had wrapped around your throat, and your lungs were on the brink of collapse.

He was here and fucking you. You were finally Brian’s girl. The sheets were a disaster beneath you, crickets chirping outside in tune with your pants.

Your breathing grew short, overwhelmed, while you struggled to hold back from arching.

It was too much. It was too much- you couldn’t handle it. He was making your pussy feel too good— you love him, you love him- youlovehimyoulovehim—

Brian watched in awe as your shoulders bowed. You scratched at his arms, frenzied. Eyes wide, with your spine lurching to form a semi-circle. “Hah- ah -'m cumming- can’t-” You rambled, irises rolling up, your ankles locked around his waist. You had hearts in your pupils, and he cooed. “Oh, sweetheart. Yer’ makin’ it hard to wanna’ let you go.”

Pulling out to just the tip, he slammed back inside your abused hole. Snickering drunkenly at the moan you let out. “You’d let me keep you, yeah?” He rasped, setting an agonizing pace. Slow and deep strokes, his girth pumping in and out. The bedframe creaking, his toned pelvis smacking against your mound wetly.

“Let me be selfish an’ have you to myself-” The smell of sex and fever was pungent in the air, aphrodisiac-akin. “I’d treat you nice, baby. Keep ya’ real pampered.”

Brian looked debauched. His hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration, skin flushed from the heat. The sculpted muscle under your touch had you whining, and he grunted when you twitched around him. You were so fucking tight, milking him for all he was worth.

“I’d spoil you, get you a diamond bright enough to make bastards cry.” His words rumbled deep in his chest, the bass of it making you shiver. “I’d show you off good- my sweet little wife; they’d be seething jus’ lookin’ at you.” He rolled his hips skillfully, grinding his cockhead against your cervix.

“So jealous they’d lose their fuckin’ minds cause they couldn’t touch you-” Your thighs trembled fiercely. His base kept rutting into your clit, your lids drooping. Eyes crossed as he worked you open. “Because they couldn’t fuck you the way I do.” He murmured, his baritone hypnotic next to your ear.

“They’d never reach this deep, hm? Couldn’t make you sound this pretty, not like I could.” He nipped at your jaw, leading up to the corner of your mouth. “Cause yer’ my baby, ain’t you?” Then he molded his lips to yours, groaning into you. He tensed his arms, his hips ramming forward- hard. Fisting the covers near your head when he sped up.

You choked. Suffocated by the kiss, his tongue shoved down your throat, starved and ruthless. “B-Brian-” You hiccuped, muffled by his hunger. Your teeth clacked together, and he licked at your canines, devouring you greedily. The mattress squeaked with every thrust, mahogany battering against the wall.

The headboard slammed into the plaster, decorative frames tumbling onto the ground from the force. Brian was fucking into your cunt like he was mad at it.

Balls slapping against your ass, harsh as he reclined, with ribbons of spit connecting you. Your kiss-swollen lips and lewd expression had him crazed, irate at the thought of anyone witnessing you vulnerable.

It was barbaric, pummeling into you animalistically. Bruising your pussy and splitting you on his cock like a toy.

“Fuckin’ look at you-” He yanked at your bra swiftly, snapping the front wire clean in half. Your tits spilled out, bouncing in rhythm with his hips. He had one arm bracketing your head, his free hand groping your chest- the calloused grip making you jolt.

“You’re mine. Nobody else’s.” He snarled, each syllable spat out with ice. He could see the fear fighting against your lust at his change in tone, and he snickered meanly. “Don’t get scared, now. You wanted this.” The pleasure was sharp, Brian refusing to take mercy on you for even a millisecond. “You chased me- followed me around like some lost puppy desperate for cock-”

The noises coming out of your throat barely sounded human. You were dizzy, orgasm building rapidly from the nonstop stimulation. “So you’re gonna’ act like it, you understand?” He sat up a tad, wrapping a large palm around your windpipe, your leg thrown onto his shoulder. His chain swung over your face, clinking when it’d hit his chest.

You snatched the pendant between your teeth, and the groan that left him was guttural.

A gluey ring had formed at his hilt, spilling down his balls, off-white lacquer staining the linen. He squeezed harder, and you were lightheaded from his clasp, drooling. “If I catch any motherfucker bein’ sweet on you, I’ll fuckin’ gut him.” He sneered, his lip curling up in a borderline growl. Utterly livid.

“I’ll blow his brains across the wall- cut him up and feed him to the fucking dogs, you hear me?” The threat made you clamp down on him like a vice, and you writhed aggressively, the steel slipping from your mouth. You mewl, cumming, with your vision blacking out at the edges. The tightness had him hissing, his chest heaving as he spurted against your cervix, stuffing you to the brim.

The room was quiet for a minute, nothing but your shaky breaths and his rough exhales ringing in your ears. You were boneless atop the sheets, sleep creeping in, only for your nervous system to restart when he abruptly freed himself. “You ain’t impressing me that easy-” He slumped next to you, sprawled on his back; then he grinned.

“Sit on my face.”

Despite your weak limbs, you hurried to follow his instructions. Stumbling closer and clumsily straddling his head, you hesitated before he clicked his tongue. “Not like that. You gotta’ earn it, dolly.” He gave your hip a pat, nodding past you. Oh.

Fire lit your cheeks, and you readjusted accordingly. Now facing away from him, your palms resting on his stomach, you’d never felt more exposed. It was such an embarrassing position, your still leaking pussy shoved right in front of him- but his voice disrupted your panic. “You’re a smart girl. I know, you know what to do.” You swallowed thickly.

Pitching forward, your body lowered until you were flush on top of him. His length was coated in your release, glistening when you let your jaw fall slack. You took the head into your mouth, and suckled at the tip, your hand stroking up the base. He tasted heavy. Like salt and musk, you moaned around him. Lashes fluttering closed.

You forced him deeper, tears bubbling on your waterline- you jumped at the warmth of his tongue. He was circling your clit, licking up your spillage. His nose buried in your slit while he lapped at your cunt.

The lingering sensitivity from your last orgasm had yet to fade, and you shuddered above him. Pathetically clawing at his thighs, your nails raking against the skin. Leaving angry red scours as he gorged himself on you.

You were attempting to focus with all your might. It was simply difficult to form a coherent thought, let alone use your mouth, when Brian was eating you from front to back.

He would hum around the throbbing bud, tracing figure-eights, then he’d tug your hips backward. Fucking you onto his tongue, the muscle probing past your entrance just to return to flicking along the rim.

Slick and spend covered his lips, pouring down his chin and onto his collar. It was debased, dirty the way he had you spread wide. Your jaw had become worthless. You could hardly crane your neck to suck him off properly, practically limp. He didn’t mind too much, though. He had promised to spoil you, so this was par for the course.

He bucked up suddenly, planting his feet for leverage. The new angle had your folds smothering his maw, and he gulped languidly. Taking advantage of your exhaustion, fucking your throat with the only anchor being the weight of your head. Every time you gagged at the intrusion, the vibrations would cause his eyes to disappear up into his skull.

Your pooling saliva made your mouth feel fucking perfect. Warm and sopping wet, the best cock sleeve he’d ever felt- second only to your pussy. You hollowed your cheeks, and he cussed against your heat. “Fuck- good puppy.” You wanted to stay here forever.

The praise had you burning alive, and you gathered whatever pitiful strength was left to take him all the way. Nose shoved into his hilt, slurping pornographically. It was disgustingly messy.

The entire lower half of your face was smeared with cum, his tip knocking into the back of your throat over and over. Being stuffed like this had you hiccuping. The dual-ended pleasure ransacking your frame, making you quiver uncontrollably.

You didn’t have time to warn him; your vocal cords were basically useless at this point. Good puppy. You were good. The phrase replayed on loop, and you spasmed.

Squirting as he pumped hot milk down your throat. You drenched his chin, splattering up to his brow, soaking the pillow.

And Brian laughed. Pinching your ass just to hear you whimper.

His cock slid past your teeth, flopping plump on his navel. Syrupy strings clung to your lips, and his seed bubbled when you coughed. You were the definition of obscenity. Skin painted with white ropes, your puffy cunt on display.

He manhandled you off him effortlessly, flipping you onto your stomach before propping up your hips.

Your thighs were trembling something awful, yet, if anything, he thought that made you more beautiful. Wrecked and corrupted, all by his hand. No less than stunning. He fisted himself, jacking off against your slit. His length collected your dripping arousal, and he tapped it against your clit.

“Jus’ one more, princess. Be strong for me, yeah?” Taunting, he steadied you with a firm hand on your waist, nudging himself in line with your pussy. He could see it clear as day.

Sitting down after work with you, his pretty wife, joining him for dinner. He was sure you’d be happy, fitting just right into his life. Keeping you was fate, the natural order of things.

“T-Too much- nngh- Brian- ah.” Aw, you didn’t even know what you wanted. How precious. He hummed, gently petting your hip. “Oh, it’s alright. You ain’t gotta’ worry about talking.” Then he bottomed out in a single quick thrust, groaning in pure satisfaction. “Fuck-” The overstimulation made you so tight, like doused silk around him.

With his head lolling back, he rolled his hips. Fucking you lazily, low pants punching up his throat. A muted, simmering ecstasy. Brian believed that you were heaven-sent.

His balls slapped against your folds while he used you to chase his own high, the soft plap-plap-plap of skin on skin echoing through the room. Stretching his neck, he glanced down, entranced. Watching his girth slip back and forth from your ruined hole.

You were crumpled into the pillows, eyes glazed over. It felt as if you couldn’t breathe, your air stolen by the repetitive thumps of his length. In and out, in and out. Deliberate and measured. You scarcely remembered your own name, and you could do nothing but moan. Taking him face down ass up like a cock-drunk whore.

Your clipped gasps were muffled by the stuffing, and he sniggered, sounding absolutely gone.

“I’ll get ya’- mmh- all the jewels y’want. Gonna’ set you up real comfortable- we can renovate. Make the cabin so pretty you’ll never wanna’ leave.”

He was force-feeding you the fantasy, injecting it into your bloodstream before you could even comprehend the gravity of his fixation. “I’ll build you a little swing in the yard. It’ll be nice to relax out there when you’re carrying.” He glided his tongue over his canines and hauled you back onto him. “It’s good for you to get some sun, dolly.” Pounding into your cunt with abandon, rabid.

Your need had created a puddle on the duvet, your pussy drooling incessantly. You thought you were going to die like this- your nerves scorched at the ends, his ardour devastating and inescapable.

His chest heaved, every muscle tensed from exertion. Hoodie’s pupils swallowed his irises until his eyes resembled voids. Obsidian tinting with mesmeric transfixion.

“Sounds like a fuckin’ dream, don’t it? S’why I gotta’ make sure it takes.” He slurred, lids heavy. “Treat this pretty pussy the way it deserves.” The liquid filth rolled off his tongue like molasses, and he snapped his hips sharply, making you paw at the cushion.

Brian stretched you on his girth for hours, having your tunnel memorize his shape. Fucking you through the mattress, then yanking you up.

Pressed against his chest, with his bicep locked around your throat. He bounced you onto him, and your shoulders bowed. Spine curving beautifully, your lover as the archer.

He was breeding you mean, and loving you tender. Filling you steadily, his promise of “one more” was simply a courtesy.

You had gone fucking dumb on it. Blacking out between the orgasms that he pulled from you, only to awake mid climax, your frame convulsing.

Snot and spittle smearing all across your features. Everything was spinning, your mouth permanently fixed in an ‘O.

However, the cant he had your hips at made his shaft strike onto the extra delicate spot inside you. Pushing right against your bladder. You’d finished almost a full bottle of wine, and the unrelenting friction of his cock inside you was catching up.

Overflooded, his appetite seemingly endless. The heat in your gut was blending with sharp spikes- your body sending out alerts in flares.

“Wait- ah- ah- B-Brian. Guh- gonna’—” You jerked forward, struggling against the iron bar over your neck. Though your fight was useless. His hand on your waist wrenched you back before his touch descended. “S’alright, darlin’. Make a mess for me- I got ya’.” He purred, drawing letters onto your clit.

‘B-R-I-A-N’. Over and over, claiming. Marking you, obsessed by classification. Your legs quaked, joints locking- you flung your head back. “I can’t-please- feels different- I can’t.” Your peak was approaching speedily, and he kept hitting your sweet spot. Striking bull's-eye, not missing even once. You writhed, your walls squeezing him desperately.

His palm pressed flat over your lower tummy, feeling the protruding bulge. You were so fucking cute, it made him want to cry.

“C’mon, you wanna’ cum? yeah? Give it to me- fuckin’ give it to me, honey.” He rambled, cock throbbing inside you. “Ngh- Oh, fuck-” You sobbed, thrashing, your blunt nails sinking into his hips.

The added pressure was nauseating. You’d been holding it in too long- it hurt. His weeping tip rammed into your cervix, once, twice, three times—

Your eyes rolled, and it gushed out of you furiously.

Warm as it poured down your thighs, drenching both his pelvis and the covers. Humiliation- exhilaration taking hold of you. The pleasure had you going slack. Arms limp by your sides, a complete factory reset.

He dropped his head, teeth piercing your shoulder when he spilled hotly into your cunt. Brian’s hips jerked as he rode out the aftershocks, grunting. “Shit.”

He mouthed at the bite, kissing up your neck. “You really are a puppy.” His chuckle was hoarse, and he unwrapped his bicep from your throat, easing you two down.

Now, with you resting in his lap, he swept the hair away from your damp forehead. Pecking your temple sweetly like he hadn’t just rearranged your guts.

“We can go for a drive tomorrow. Stop by yours an’ pick up yer’ things- get you settled here.” Your delirious nod had him grinning, and he slipped his length out from your pussy.

Shuffling to lie on his back, your cheek resting on his chest. Brian hummed, trailing his finger along your spine. You phased in and out of consciousness while he spoke. “Poor girl, I really tuckered you out, huh?”

He was terribly comfortable, and you felt so safe. Snug in his embrace, your body was exhausted, your breath finally evening out.

His voice acted as a lullaby, and sleep threatened to drag you under. But not before he pressed his lips to your crown, muttering to himself.

“Bet Tim’s gonna’ be excited to meet you.”

➽──────────────❥

A/N: No officer I let him do that trust

[leathermouthproxies]

ohhhhhhh artists got us eatin so good this anniversary

[firstchristmas]

TICCI TOBY/TOBIAS ROGERS X READER P LINKS + HEADCANONS 🪓

Please remember to be logged in for twt to view the following videos.

CW: rough sex, lots of cum, breeding, pussy eating obviously, fingering, squirting, switch tobias rogers

⚠︎︎ would love to let you use his cock as a dildo just for your pleasure, no matter how rough you get.

⚠︎︎ he’s very rough and loves fucking deep. he just wants you to know how much he loves you. if he has to fuck the words into you, so be it.

⚠︎︎ he would go insane if you wore fishnets for him. he loves anything you wear. just dress up for him, he loves it.

⚠︎︎ when he’s frustrated or upset after an argument with Tim, he’ll ask if you can let him fuck your throat. be careful though, he’s rough.

⚠︎︎ when you ask him to be more mean during sex, he will absolutely do his best to meet your standards.

⚠︎︎ loves some good 69 action.. he is so addicted when you rub your pussy against his tongue while jerking him off. <3

⚠︎︎ loves making you squirt all over his cock when he fucks you just right.

⚠︎︎ loves handjobs. he tries his best to stay quiet for you, he wants to be a good boy. <3

⚠︎︎ he cums a lot.. that “issue” being paired with the fact he has lots of stamina is like a match made in heaven

⚠︎︎ fingers the living fuck out of you so you can squirt all over the sheets. sometimes he gets a lil mean..

EXTRA HEADCANONS

⚠︎︎ toby is most definitely a switch. most of the time, he lets you decide. he can be a whimpering mess or a jerk for you. though, he can totally decide for himself.. when he does he’s making you cry into the pillow.

⚠︎︎ loves sweet pet names in bed. he fucks you harder when you call him baby, sweetheart, your good boy.. he calls you a lot of things. when dominant he’s more mean. he calls you slut, whore, and a bunch of mean names.

⚠︎︎ don’t worry.. he’s a total sweetheart for aftercare. he asks you if he did alright and if he was good.. then it’s just a bunch of kisses and cuddling.

⚠︎︎ when you first had sex, he was so insecure that his tics would mess it up. he’s really sensitive and sex just seems to make them more violent and repetitive. but when you assured him it was fine, he got comfortable.

⚠︎︎ call him a puppy and he’s eating your pussy like it’s his last meal.

REQUESTS STILL OPEN!

[leathermouthproxies]

I fear twink masky is working his way back in.... someone please hold my hand

[mogorified]

Ehe.....hehgegdhs.....brian....🤤🤤 ART BY ME (Insta/Tiktok: @mogorified)

[jaymeowick]

you are you, but who are you?

MARBLE HORNETS (2009 - 2014)

[cobaltspartan]

fascinated by jeff the killer tbh. everyone in that creepypasta has generic white usamerican names (jeff, keith, barbara, billy, etc.) except for jeff the killer's doe eyed little brother liu. why is he liu. is liu chinese? it's okay if he's chinese. is jeff also chinese? has jeff the killer been chinese this whole time? am I a bad person?

[leathermouthproxies]

what is with the j names and creepypastas help me underatand

[cryingintheclubdhmu]

!! BRIAN DOODLES !! :P

Bro talks like he’s five apples tall.

[cryingintheclubdhmu]

!! TIM SCRIBBLES !! :pp

Bro doesn’t wanna go on the mission 💔

I think I’m getting better at drawing his nose… happier w this one tho ^3^ my last sketch of him was a lil too sharp and I needed to rectify my wrongs <//3

Also haunted by thoughts of Tim w chest hair.

[leathermouthproxies]

yeah Toby breakdances.

[art-of-slaughter]

never ask a trans guy what his relationship with jeff the killer is

[remirtillo]

that one justin bieber meme

[tobiaserinr0dger]

It's not my art‼️ made this on capcut with a template, hope u like it :3

[dadforplaid]

dissociation