Thinking about it, and also because I saw the chronological order for the Monogatari series, the month of August was absolute HELL for Araragi lol. He:
Found out Tsukihi was the reincarnation of the legendary phoenix, also nearly died by Kagenui's hands
Went back in time 11 years (this was on him tbh) and while being there he tried to save Hachikuji from dying in a car accident
Went back to an apocalyptic future where Shinobu went crazy and made everyone her kin, making the entire world into some sort of vampires who also acted like zombies in a way?
Went back in time again to undo everything
Going back into the normal future, and not even 24 hours later, he has to escape from an entity that isn't even an aberration, but definitely wants to kill him and Hachikuji (Hachikuji goes to the other side here I can't say die because she's already dead, but she's fully gone now)
Shortly after, he indirectly almost gets Kanbaru killed because of Sheishirou's Energy drain and the fact that the Tiger destroys the abandoned school
Not even a full day later he gets to know the truth about why there's so many aberrations around his town
He also ends up fighting in a duel against Sheishirou and wins, all with the time behind him because he believes something really bad happened to Hanekawa and Senjougahara
Lastly, he has to fully reject Hanekawa's feelings
Good thing that September seemed to be a chill month for him, because goddamn August was way too much lol
Summary: You are close and strangely soft with the patient Michael Myers. He seems to only really interact with you and seems to feel close with you; at least you think so. But that relationship is broke when you are removed from his care team after Dr. Loomis closes his case on him. You no longer can see him, but it's not like that will stop him from wanting you in ways you secretly dreamed of.
Content/Warning(s): SMUT (MDNI), unethical relationship (nurse/patient), dr. loomis/noel/random dr i made up are dumb and mean lol, Michael speaks but not much, rough sex, choking, biting/marking, PiV, breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), slight size kink, Michael is unhealthily obsessed with reader, reader is more down bad for Michael than she should be.
A/N: I got a request for breeding kink RZ!Myers so here is a breeding kink RZ!Myers fic. The breeding kink isn't overtly stated but I tried integrating it into this story.
Tap, tap, tap.
You type away important information pertaining to Mr. Thompson as per his psychiatrist's orders. Finishing a sentence, you take a moment to massage your temples with your fingers as you look over the patient's chart. Being a nurse for Smith's Grove Sanitarium wasn't your initial choice, but it was one that paid decently enough to keep the lights on at home and had great benefits. The doctors treated you and the others as inferiors and the patients could really make or break the day, but you persevered.
You recognized some here were just deeply troubled and needed someone to listen to them properly. And while a few of the psychiatrists and therapists try, most are here for the money or recognition of working here. The man you work under is one of those. Dr. Daniel Jackson is one of the most egotistical men you've met, convinced that he could crack open Myers despite the many years Loomis put into trying just that. There is a rumor floating around the possibility of Dr. Loomis wanting to stop his work, and you just know Dr. Jackson is chomping at the bit to take over the Myers case.
You glance over at the time and quickly finish up your charting, putting in Mr. Thompson was medication compliant, no longer feeling SI yet still experiences HI and AVH, but is seeing improvements with the new medications given to him. You save everything and click out of his file, pushing away from the nurses station.
It was nearly time to see Michael Myers. You quickly grab a large Rubbermaid tub with the supplies needed for paper mache and drop them off in the usual room Loomis uses to speak with Michael.
It was a few years ago he was added to your rotation. You were a little apprehensive at first, given what happened to a nurse who worked with him before your time here. Outside of him making his masks, he just…lives in his own world. Yet when you took over part of his care he seems to have perked up a little. His change was subtle–almost discernable–but still present when you enter the room. He perks up when you enter his room, he shows you the new masks he makes, and sometimes has you make a mask with him. He seems to respond to you–not always verbally but something about you breaks through his dissociation. And despite the warnings around him, you've developed a bond with Michael. You've tried to explain some of what Michael shows you to Loomis, yet he never believes you.
A part of you feels it teeters on the unprofessional side, but the other part believes you two share a connection. You're not sure how deep it is and you know you shouldn't indulge in any feelings you may feel fester inside you when you're with Michael… but you can't help but be softer with him. Feel something for him you probably shouldn't feel, especially on those late lonely nights you seem to frequently hace larely. You definitely shouldn't think about his towering height over you and how his subtle actions towards you and you only really do it for you, but you do. You shove those thoughts and feelings away, yet they are always present.
You meet up with Ismael, giving him a friendly smile until you spot a new guard with him.
“Hey, Ismael, new hire?”
“Yep.Noel Kluggs. Showing him the ropes.” Your friend nods and the three of you start walking down the hall to Michael’s cell.
“So who are you and why does this place have such a hot ass nurse here?” Noel comments with a sleazy grin, making your steps fumble as you look at him with clear disgust on your face.
“Hey, man, not cool.” You’re grateful for Ismael’s quick scolding even if you could easily stand up for yourself against someone like him. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“He’ll be quick to learn to not fuck with me.” You chuckle, which makes Ismael laugh at your comment while Noel looks confused. He doesn’t make any comments further but he does try to put on a ‘macho man’ show towards Ismael.
Ismael opens Michael’s cell and greets him like usual. You were about to say hello like usual but the new guy started making a scene. You roll your eyes and you were about to tell him to knock it off when he goes and touches one of Michael’s. Ismael shouts at him while you reach out and smack the man’s hand.
“Don’t touch his masks.” Ismael warns.
“What the fuck, did you just slap me?” Noel growls and takes a step towards you but the sound of metal scraping stills the three of you. Michael had stood up abruptly and turned to face all of you–everyone’s breaths catch in their throats. You could see Myers’ chest heaving as he loomed over everyone else. You could barely see his face with his mask and hair in the way but you can just barely see his dark eyes focused on Noel, his large hands clenching into tight fists.
“Hey, Mikey… It's alright. We're sorry. He's new.” Ismael speaks softly as he looks up at Michael. He clasped the cuffs around Myers's wrists, the chain dangling between his arms. “I'm sorry about the chains, but we are taking you to see Dr. Loomis.”
“What the fuck are you sorry for? You like this guy?” Noel looks genuinely baffled as he looks between the two of you and Michael.
“It's called having basic decency, Mr. Kluggs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have Mr. Myers here handled. You can wait for us outside.” You let out a little ‘hmph’ and focus on the tallest in the tiny cell. You can see how much he is on edge right now with how tense his posture is. “You ready to go, Michael?”
“I am not leaving you alone with this freak.”
“Wait outside, Noel. Michael wouldn't hurt me.”
“What the-”
“Listen to her.” Ismael grunts, grabbing Noel by the shoulder and guiding him out. He gives you a worried look but obliges. The door isn't closed, but it is still almost daunting being alone with him.
“I'm sorry about what just happened, Michael. He's new and just trying to prove himself.” You murmur as you step up close to him. You never thought much of your height compared to others but whenever you stood near Michael he made you feel so small and you have to cool off any sort of reaction his height brings you. It may be foolish to be so up close to him, but he's never given you a reason not to trust him. “Ready to go? We can make new masks before you and Dr. Loomis have your session.”
Michael’s body seems to slowly relax back into his typical slouched posture. You barely hear the soft grunt from him as he shuffles forward, his eyes now locked on you.
Your smile gently and without touching him, you lead him out of the room. Ismael and Noel looked shocked at the hulking man following you so easily with no restraint and quickly scrambled to stand next to him. Nothing is said until the four of you reach the all too familiar, large room. Michael takes his seat at the table and you gently pat his shoulder and take your spot near him.
“Need anything else, nurse?” Ismael asks as he looks between you and Michael.
“No. Thank you for your help.”
You hear the dual footsteps grow further away until the door opens and closes. You know both of the guards are still outside, but now it is just you and Michael.
You don't say anything as you pop off the lid and set out the sheets of newspaper and various colors of construction paper. You get the necessary ingredients out and mix them for you both. While you can’t heat up the flour and water, it still works for crafts.
“Do you want me to make one with you?”
He lets out a soft noise and pushes some of the paper to you. He immediately starts tearing paper and getting to work and making something. You were slower as paper mache was a new medium to you but Michael’s hands worked fast, the chains connected to his cuffs tinking and shifting with each movement. You ‘tsk’ softly but know the guards wouldn't ever take off his restraints outside his room. You glance up from your own work to observe him.
“How are you doing today, Michael?”
His hands slowly stop his work as he peers up at you through his long hair. He doesn’t say anything and you don't expect him to, but his little responses tell you everything. He gives you a slight shrug and resumes making his mask.
“My neighbors are still being jerks.” You start to talk about your life as you normally do. It seems to be one of the few things that brings Michael out and in the present. “Last night they were so loud in their backyard. I don't know how two people can make so much noise but they do. I've tried telling them I work mostly in the mornings so I need sleep but they don't care.”
Michael grunts as he smooths out some of the wet paper of his mask.
“I made a delicious batch of cookies though, which was great since I usually suck at baking. I'll talk to Dr. Loomis and see if I can’t bring you some tomorrow.”
Again you are met with silence from him but he stops his task for just a moment to briefly look at your face. He stares for a long time before going back to his mask. You don't say anything more as you focus a little too hard on finishing your own art project.
Your mask is a little chopped and not the greatest made thing when you finish. It's lumpy under the red and yellow paper you placed on top of the newspaper yet it still has some charm. You let out a little huff at the sight of the mask Myers made with black as the primary shade with specs of red and blue placed on various places where the cheeks and forehead would be. It looks more smoothed out and less chunky than yours.
“You are too good at that.” You grin as he looks at your face and the mask you made. He slowly slides the mask he made over to you. “For me?”
He grunts again and returns his hands back to in front of him.
“Then, I will give you the one I made. I'll take them to my desk to dry while Dr. Loomis talks with you.” You carefully lift the mask he made into your hands and look it over with a smile. “Thank you.”
Michael leans forward a little, tilting his head back a little so you see more of his eyes and the current mask he is wearing. You blink as he stares and your smile waivers just a little at the intensity. You catch his hand twitching against the table and he moves as close as he can to you. Your breath catches in your throat but you don’t show any fear. It may be foolish not to be scared of a patient known for his random bouts of violence. It may be stupid, too, to reach over and gently place your hand over his.
“You've done good today, Michael.” You nearly whisper and you can feel the nearly indiscernible twitch of his fingers. His hand–much larger than yours–turns and he grips yours firmly. It makes you wince and almost instantly you felt his hand loosen its grasp on yours. You smile softly and squeeze his hand gently and he returns the gesture. You feel him start to pull you close and you swallow thickly.
Before anything else could happen the door opens and in walks Dr. Loomis. You are quick to remove yourself from Michael’s personal space, your heart racing at almost getting caught being so close to a patient. You let out a shaky sigh, giving Michael a reassuring look, before looking at Loomis.
“Ah, making masks again, are we?” The older man asks with a raised brow.
“As always, Dr. Loomis. I'll get the table cleaned up.” You murmur politely, all while Myers still stares at you. You gather up the supplies, place them in the clear tote, and click the lid back in place. You place the masks on top of the box and carefully lift it into your arms before grabbing the small bowl with the water mixture. “I shall stop by your room afterwards, Mr. Myers.”
You can feel Dr. Loomis's stare on both you and Michael as you leave. Ismael thankfully opens the door for you and Noel doesn't say anything. You let out a sigh as you walk to your desk. You set down the container and place the masks down at your desk before taking a seat. You feel almost warm, or lighter, at the subtle progress Michael has made.
You stare at your hand as you recall Michael’s behavior, when Dr. Jackson appears with a stupid smirk on his face.
“Have you heard the news?”
You don't reply to him and just give him a hard look as you stand up.
“Dr. Loomis is closing his work on that freak, Myers. He's going to hand the case to me.” His words make you freeze.
“What?”
“He doesn't think he can learn more or help Myers at this point, so he is giving him to me. And the first thing I implement is removing you from his case.”
“You can't be serious? Michael has shown improvements after he was added to my rotation.”
“Only that you have seen.”
“Ismael has seen it too.”
“Ismael barely knows his right from his left.” Dr. Jackson waves you off. “I don't need you or him meddling with what the patient needs.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Believe it, sweetheart.” He grins and waves as he quickly takes his leave before you can say anything else. You stared at his retreating figure in disbelief. You feel the cold realization that he is limiting your time with Michael and the fact that Loomis won't be his primary psychologist anymore. Change can be life altering for the patients and you worry about Michael’s reaction.
You get through small tasks until the hour is up and Michael would be escorted back to his room, bringing the mask you made along with you. When you approached the room you saw Loomis leave with an almost troubled look before he spots you. Michael is led out by Ismael and Noel and you could see just how tense he is.
Dr. Loomis calls your last name. “May I speak with you?”
“Of course.” You swallow thickly as Michael is led back to his room.
“I have decided to stop working with Michael Myers and have handed my case on him off to Dr. Daniel Jackson.”
“I've heard. He is removing me from Michael’s care team.” Your voice is tense. “I don't think that is a good decision, especially if you're no longer in charge.”
“While I respect your dedication to Michael’s care, I think Dr. Jackson's choice is a valid one. You are in too deep. I've seen the way you've treat him-”
“He responds to me, Dr. Loomis!” You exclaim, cutting him off. You felt your frustration boiling over at how stubborn this man is. “He doesn't speak but he responds with action.”
“And I have yet to witness that.” Dr. Loomis's face turns stern as he looks you over. “I advise you to drop this matter or I will highly recommend to the charge nurse you will need to take some time off and a suggestion that you take courses around the ethics of healthcare as a nurse.”
“Dr. Loomis-”
“I will not hear anything else from you. And I will also advise you not to see Michael out of your own volition either. If Dr. Jackson wants you away from him, then you stay away. Now…Have a good night.” Dr. Loomis gives you a tense nod before walking off, not giving you a chance to speak.
You stand for a few moments in shock. Your frustration and also the sudden sadness you feel brings tears to your eyes, but you try not to cry. Michael has been doing so well. Even if it's small actions, he's been coming out of his dissociation. Your heart clenches at the thought of him as you start to head to your desk, grabbing the mask you made before heading to his cell.
Losing both Loomis and you will certainly shake Michael in some sort of way, and you worry for him. You worry about the care Dr. Jackson will place on him too. You worry Michael is either going to regress back completely into his dissociative shell, or become violent. Your stomach churns at all the possibilities.
You're grateful to see Ismael when you arrive back at Michael's cell. He has a sympathetic look on his face. “Heard the news. I thought you'd want to say goodbye to him.”
“I just hope he'll take the news well.” You murmured before Ismael opened the door for you. You take a deep breath and step inside, Ismael cracking the door so you have some semblance of privacy. You look at Michael as he sits at his desk, slouched and tense.
When your footsteps sound in the cramped room his head perks a little.
“Hello, Michael.” Your voice is a little above a whisper as you greet him. You get yourself to where you are close behind him. You'd stand to his side if there was enough room in his tiny cell.
You're surprised to see him slowly turn in his chair and peer up at you from his spot. Even sitting, he is a hulking man.
“Dr. Jackson and Dr. Loomis told me what's happening.” Your chest feels tighter at what you're about to tell him. Your instincts tell you not to, but you can’t help but squat down and offer your hand to him. You half-expect him not to move, but you give him a small, sad smile when he places his large hand on yours. “And…Dr. Jackson wants to remove me from your care team.”
You feel his grip tighten on your hand as you let out a trembling breath. You don't see his face past his mask but his eyes seem to search your face.
“I tried reasoning with both him and Dr. Loomis, but they feel I am impeding your care. Loomis threatened to have me put on leave. I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but I would hate for you to not know why I won't be present any more.” You feel your eyes sting and the tears you were so desperately trying to hold back fall. You ‘tsk’ at yourself and hastily wipe them away with your free hand. Screw being professional. “It wasn't out of choice. If I wasn't risking my job or license I would choose to stay as your nurse.”
Michael pulls you closer to him, making you stumble and your knees hit the floor. He grunts and his hand is almost painfully tight around yours. His breathing seems to have deepened all while he stares directly at your face.
“I'm truly sorry.” You stand up slowly and try to take steps back but his harsh grip keeps you near. You almost worry–for just a second–but he drops your hand. You can barely force yourself to move away. You know if Loomis or Jackson catches you in here the consequences will be worse.
You leave his cell with a sad look and don't say anything to Ismael. You just head back to your desk at the nurses station to finish the rest of your rounds. Your mood stayed somber and it didn't help that Dr. Jackson would walk past you with a gloating smile.
—
You planned to turn in early when you got home but trashy television was a great distraction. You mess with the bandaids now adorning two of your fingers when you accidentally sliced yourself when you were cooking, the credits playing on the tv screen. You let out a soft sigh and decide to turn off your show and get up from the couch.
You groan as you stand up and stretch. You turn off your lights and pad your way to your bedroom, cursing softly at how the now stretched hems of your sweats catch under your heels. Your bed is a welcoming sight after the day you hand. You close your squeaky door and promptly flop on to your bed. You struggle for a second to get under your plethora of blankets but soon find yourself in a comfortable cocoon of warmth.
You let out a soft sigh as you press your face into your pillow. You close your eyes and try to take deep, slow breaths. You've always struggled falling asleep yet tonight you find yourself drifting off easily.
You're not sure what caused you to stir awake. Was it that your doors squeaked when it opened? Was it the heavy breathing you heard when you arose from your slumber? Or was it the sensation of being watched?
Your brain barely comprehends it as you wake up and sit up. You shiver when your plush blankets fall off you, making the cold air envelop your once warm skin. You rub one of your eyes with the heel of your palm and groggily look over to your door.
Your heart drops into your stomach as your eyes lock on to the masked figure wearing stained, brown coveralls. Your eyes flicker down to his clenched hand and you spot the bloodied knife, and you whimper, scooting back against your wall. The man doesn't move or say anything. He just stares. You stay still as if any sudden movement was going to trigger something, your eyes locked on his form as your muscles tighten in case you need to fight or flee.
The man tilts his head and underneath the neck part of his mask you spot messy, blonde hair peeking out. Your eyes widen as you realize the sheer height and you suddenly recognize the figure.
“Michael?” You whisper, voice unsteady. You can hardly believe yourself but everything about this man points to your former patient. Even the way he tilts his head to the side reminds you of him. “Michael, what are you doing here?”
You don't expect a verbal reply despite your question as you stare at him. You can see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath before he steps closer to your bed. What could you really say or do in this scenario? You and him have a good history, but now that he is apparently does that really matter?
Michael starts to step closer to your bed and you don’t make any more sounds or attempt to move. You swallow thickly when he reaches the side of the bed you’re on. You crane your head up while he looks down at you with a tilt of his head. His hand–not the one gripping the kitchen knife–slowly reaches out and grips your wrist. He lifts your arm and stares at your hand, his thumb sliding up from your wrist to tap against one of the bandaid’s around your pointer finger.
“Accidentally cut myself cooking. I was a little… distracted after everything today.” You murmur and cringe a little at reminding him of early.
Michael grunts and shifts his hand quickly, sliding his palm against yours and intertwining yours and his fingers. You swear your heart is about to slam out of your chest from your nerves. What was he thinking? What does he plan to do? Those are questions that everyone at the Sanitarium asked and you find yourself asking those same questions at this moment. The tall man looks over at your nightstand and sets his knife down slowly.
Your eyes train in on the open wounds on his hand and you look up at him in surprise. They look like scratches and you fear the worst at the thought of where they came from. The blood on his overalls implies what answer you’d get from him if he were to speak.
“Are…Are you alright, Michael?” You’re hesitant to ask but you do so anyways as you look over his hand holding yours.
“Mmm…” Was all he replied with before his other hand moves around your hand and grasps the back of your head. He grips your hair and tilts your head back a little too roughly but it's clear he is holding his strength back. Something about him towering over you with his hands on you both terrifies you yet sends shocks of arousal through you. You want to push those feelings and thoughts away like you did back in the Sanitarium but they persist.
You shouldn’t still be thinking like this about him. He is dangerous…but he has never been threatening with you. He's been soft, you think.
“Michael…” You whimper his name and his hand’s grip tightens.
“You.”
Just one, singular word is all he said before he makes you lay back down on your bed, ripping your blankets away from your body. You let out a soft noise of surprise and before you know it, Michael is shoving his mask up above his nose and sloppily pressing his lips against yours. He still grips your hand tight and presses it against the bed as he crawls on top of you, his leg sliding between yours.
He bites your lips rough and his kiss is uncoordinated, but god is it hot. You're half-tempted to try and push him off. He's your former patient after all and it's all sorts of wrong. And yet, you find your free hand coming up to grip his shoulder. He barely lets up for air before his mouth is attacking yours again. He removes his hand from under your head to grip your jaw, pulling it enough to force your mouth open so his tongue can slip inside. Your mind is overcome with the roaring flames of growing passion that any previous hesitations or guilt have left you.
Michael lets up his kiss to your lips and instead attacks your neck. You whimper out as he roughly bites and sucks at your skin, his hand on your jaw keeping your throat exposed for him. You can feel the old, rubbery mask press against your skin as he bites and sucks at the same spot again and again, likely trying to leave a mark.
“Why are you doing this?” You manage to whisper out to him. You weren't complaining but you were confused in the midst of this shared heat. Michael grunts and slowly pushes himself up. He can’t see you with how his mask is pushed up but you watch him lick at his lips.
“You.” He repeats in his deep, almost hoarse, voice. He presses his knee against your core and you gasp. “Family…wife.”
You don't get a chance to reply, his mouth is back on yours in an instant.
“You are nice.” He grunts against your lips before he bites your bottom one again. You're certain it will be swollen in the morning. “Mine.”
You should feel excited he is speaking and acknowledging you directly, yet all you can focus on is your own growing need as he presses his knee against your pussy through your sweats once more. You let out a breathless moan at the sensation and you feel his hand–fingers still intertwined with yours–squeeze your hand in response and his other squeeze your jaw.
You're completely at his mercy and it thrills you. You can't help but roll your hips to try and get more friction where you need it most. Michael grunts again and pulls his mask up enough to where you can see your eyes. He isn't gentle about getting your clothes off. He nearly rips them from your body and tosses them onto the floor until you're completely exposed to him. His face is blank but his eyes roam over your body possessively.
“We shouldn't be doing this.” You murmur and his eyes snap up to meet yours. You feel his grip on you tighten before you continue to speak. “But, I'm no longer your nurse and clearly you aren't a patient anymore…”
That seems to please Michael. He leans down and nips at your chest before he licks at one of your hard nipples, sucking it into his mouth hungrily. You let out a sharp moan as you feel his teeth bite around the areola as he sucks and licks at the hardened bud. His hand leaves your jaw and he roughly grabs and kneads at your breast, all while keeping his other hand connected with yours. You squirm and roll your hips again, grinding your now bare pussy against his leg. He lets off your breast with a slight pop before he attacks the other one just the same. Your nipples feel tender and are deeper in color, covered in his saliva with his bite marks around each, once he is done with them.
Michael sits up and his hands finally move to grip your legs. His movements are fast as he lays down on his stomach with his head between your thighs, putting your legs over his broad shoulders. You can feel his hot breath on your wet folds and it makes your face flare with heat.
“You don't have-” Your words are cut off by a moan when he licks at your folds. Your noises are soft as his tongue laps up your wetness eagerly. No part of your cunt is left untouched and when he swipes over your clit? You're crying out and arching off your bed. You hear him grunt and his lips suction around your swollen bundle of nerves and focus all his attention and effort into licking and sucking your clit. You choke on a moan as jolts of pleasure and arousal shoot through you. One of his hands leaves your thigh and he maneuvers it underneath himself.
You cry out when two of his thick fingers slide inside you, your slick wetness making it easy for him to start pumping them in and out. He doesn’t start out slow and gentle. His pace is rough as he works you open.
“Curl your fingers a little…Just-Just like that.” You sighed before sharply gasping when he’s brushing against that spongey, sweet spot inside you. Feeling your legs twitch and try to close in around his head and with all the noises you were making has Michael doubling his efforts. You curse and babble and feel the telltale signs of your orgasm rapidly building to the precipice. Your hands move on their own as you attempt to push him off your sensitive pussy but he growls in response, using his free hand to bat away yours. You don’t even get a chance to react to his actions as you tumble over the edge of pleasure faster than you have in a while. Your release hits your hard and fast, and you can practically hear the increased wetness as he still fingers you.
You cry when Michael jerks away and pulls his fingers from your pulsing heat. You lift your head off your pillow and look at him looking at your pussy. His hands move and his thumbs part your folds as he watches your cunt clench around nothing. You feel his hot breath against your flesh and you hear him let out a mix of a grunt and exhale as you come down from your quick high. Slowly he sits up and falls forward, catching himself with his hands as he looks down at you. He pulls down his mask while you reach up with shaky hands.
You cup his face over the mask before dragging your fingers down his neck. You pull at the overalls and he lets you. You can still hear his heavy breaths behind the latex of his mask and you feel your arousal rekindled at the thought of his mouth smeared with your release underneath that mask. Michael sits up a little with you as you push down the coveralls off his shoulders to his waist, leaving just his white shirt covering his chest. Pushing them down a little more, you can clearly see the tent in the dark boxers he has on.
“Want me to pull those down too?”
He grunts once more and he rolls his hips against your touch. You bite your bottom lip to hide your smile as you pull down the fabric constraining his length. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. Michael, for a lack of a better word, is hung. You take a moment to look over what’s going inside you, admiring the deep red tip glistening with his precum. Your gaze trails over a prominent vein along his shaft before looking over the pubic hair at its base. You place your hands under the hem of the white shirt and trail it upwards his stomach. You can feel his thick happy trail leading up to his belly button as you caress over his hot flesh.
“You’re so warm.” You whisper as you pull off his shirt. He goes back to hovering over you with one hand bracing himself by your head and the other gripping your hip firmly. You can feel him tensing under your touch and his length twitches and drips a few small drops of his pre-cum onto your stomach. You can tell he is getting impatient–you’ve seen it plenty of times from him towards the guards and Dr. Loomis. “Do you want to fuck me now?”
The low groan from him tells you his answer.
Michael shifts his hips and he presses his cock against your folds. He grinds against you with a deep sigh and you whimper each time he rubs against your swollen clit. You reach down and gently grasp his flushed cock, guiding him to your entrance. Immediately he pushes his hips forward and you whimper when the thick head of his cock pops inside you.
Much like with his fingers, Michael sinks inside you to the hilt in one thrust. You cry out at the stretch and he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust to his size. He’s already rocking into you with steady movements and you can hear his breaths coming out harshly beneath his mask. You grab at his arms as you try to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain you feel. You watch as he tilts his head down and you just know he is watching himself disappear into your tight heat.
“M-Michael…” You breathe out his name as you try to adjust your legs around his waist. He grunts loudly and tightens his hold on your hip while moving his hand from beside your head to around your throat. His pace starts to quicken as he drives into you again and again until he is practically snapping his hips against you. He leans forward and drapes himself over your body, practically drowning you underneath his impressive frame.
Michael’s mask presses against the side of your head and you can hear his heavy breaths and grunts so much clearer. His hand still grips at your throat enough to make you light-headed in the midst of your pleasure. You shift your hips and the new angle as you squirming against him. He lets go of your hip and slides his arm under your lower back, palming at your ass and keeping your hips angled how you want them. His cock rubs perfectly against that spot as he continues roughly grinding into your heat. Your noises grow louder and you can tell that please him greatly.
“Mine.” His voice is hoarse and muffled against your ear. You grab at what you can, your fingers digging into his skin. His pace is starting to falter and shifts into sloppier movements while you feel the familiar heat growing in your lower belly. Your walls start to clench and tighten around his cock while your breath catches each time he is fully inside you. With the added squeezing from his large hand along with your sensitivity from your previous release you’re at the edge once more.
“I’m s’close again.” You rasped out, gasping slightly for air. You feel his hand lighten up for a moment before squeezing again, making your head spin once more as tingles start to travel up your legs. He’s recklessly rutting into you, his grunts and your moans filling your room.
“Breeding you…family.” He mutters and you barely catch what he says.
You can’t speak. The words are trapped in your throat as you let out hoarse cries of pleasure. In your hazy arousal, you haven’t thought about the fact that he has no condom on or how you’ve been spacing getting your refill for the pill. You feel too good to tell him to pull out…not that you think he would listen to you. In a different setting you would have insisted on some form of birth control, but you didn't and you still don't.
The coiling tension in your lower belly finally breaks and you dissolve into pure pleasure beneath Michaels. You let out a strangled moan as your walls pulse around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you.
You hear a tense groan from him and his hand briefly tightens around your throat. Michael’s hips stutter until he gives you one final, powerful thrust, emptying himself inside you. His dick throbs with each spurt as he fills you full of his cum. You can’t help but moan at the feeling, your walls milking every last drop he gives you. Sweat sticks to both of you as he keeps himself pressed against and in you.
Michael lets go of your throat and pulls his mask up again. His mouth is back on your neck, biting and sucking repeatedly in several spots. He still slowly grinds his hips even as he's softening inside you. You let your legs fall from around his waist as he stills his movements with a soft breath. Giving your skin one last lick, Michael pushes himself up and off your body after fixing his mask. You could faintly see his eyes trail down from your face to where you both were connected.
You were expecting him to pull out. Instead, he removes his arm from underneath you to brace himself as his other hand caresses over your lower belly. Your face flushes at his action and you are reminded he came inside you. That you and him just had sex and you don't feel regretful at all about it. All your schooling and training about ethics in healthcare have gone out the window.
You let out a soft, content sigh and caress his chest and shoulders. “Are you going to stay the night?”
A soft noise comes from him before he lays back down on top of you, pushing his arms under you before rolling you both on your sides. You can feel his coveralls and boxers are still bunched at his thighs but he doesn’t seem to care. Neither do you at this point. You feel boneless and so full right now as he holds you tightly against his frame.
You can’t help but nuzzle against his chest as you relax, trying not to think of all the possible outcomes from what just happened. You don’t think about Michael being out of the Sanitarium and the implications that brings. You try to forget the knife sitting on your nightstand or the few words Michael whispered to you in the heat of the moment.
Instead, you kiss his collarbone and feel him tense against you, his fingers digging into the skin on your back. He shifts his hold and keeps your head pressed against his chest. You can feel his release start to leak around where you both are still connected.
“Mine.” He mutters once more and you feel his touch drag from your back and slip between you both, resting against your stomach once more. “Ours.”
You should refute that and move away, but you don’t. You don’t think you can at this point…not that you want to. Rather, you tiredly nod against his chest at the idea while your exhaustion slowly washes over you again. You try not to fall asleep so quickly but you can’t help it. Strangely enough, you feel safe in his arms.
𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 to all the thomas hewitt girlies out there, we write our beloved husband without him actually having any dialogue, yet all of the stories i find of him are always literal gems !! you rock girlies, never stop writing ! ♡ for tommy nation >< 🤍 🪽 happy international writers’ day !
Includes: jennifer check, horny the clown, billy loomis, stu marcher, ethan landry, bo sinclair, hannigram, thomas hewitt, jeepers creepers, art the clown.
Warnings: the title speaks for itself!! gifs are not mine credits to the owners.
ʲᵉⁿⁿⁱᶠᵉʳ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ:
She is extremely possessive of you. After all, she is Jennifer Check—whatever she wants, she gets, and that includes you. In public, she is very touchy and won’t let you go or even allow you to think about leaving her. She will go to great lengths to hurt anyone who makes her feel threatened when it comes to you. When she’s in her demon form, it gets even worse; she grabs your arm and drags you around in public, making sure everyone knows that you belong to her. While she knows she is attractive and could have anyone she wants, she only wants you.
ʰᵒʳⁿʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜˡᵒʷⁿ:
It depends on his mood that day, but most of the time, Archie tries to keep you close. He is someone who needs constant comfort; if you're not around, he becomes increasingly unstable. He is jealous and possessive, wanting you to stay with him at all times. Don't leave his sight, or he might harm someone you care about. He will feel bad for making you cry, but ultimately, he just needs you by his side. You are the only one who truly sees the real him, and he will always appreciate that.
ᵇⁱˡˡʸ ˡᵒᵐᵐⁱˢ:
He’s completely possessive, I’m sorry—well, actually, I’m not. Billy is full of ego and pride, and whenever you spend time around someone of the same gender as him, he feels as if you’re trying to make him jealous. He yells when it’s just the two of you, making it clear that he doesn’t want you to do that again. It’s not like you mean to upset him; he’s just very sensitive and fragile about it. Despite that, he does show you love in his own rough way in the end.
ˢᵗᵘ ᵐᵃʳᶜʰᵉʳ:
This poor boy is incredibly loving and caring. However, beneath that exterior, he does exhibit some controlling tendencies. He may not show it openly, but there are moments when you can notice a shift in his behavior, leading you to ask questions. He consistently responds with, "I'm fine," when, in reality, he is seething with anger. If you’re not careful, it might not be safe to be around him for long, and you'll find yourself stuck in an uncomfortable situation until he feels he can trust you again.
ᵉᵗʰᵃⁿ ˡᵃⁿᵈʳʸ:
I could go on for hours about how he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This boy is a demon, I tell you. He’s very manipulative and jealous of everything you do. If there’s another boy around, he will get rid of him without hesitation; in fact, it’s a bit strange. His anger isn't rare, surprisingly; it's quite common. He does try to hide it, but it never really works out. You can see every time how the sparkle in his eyes disappears when someone gets too close to you. He may act shy, but he’s far from it.
ᵇᵒ ˢⁱⁿᶜˡᵃⁱʳ:
You can probably guess what I’m going to say, and you’d be right: he is possessive of you. He sees you as his property that he must protect and keep others away from, which even includes his brothers. He can get quite loud if he feels one of them is flirting with you too much. While he understands them, he doesn’t want them to overdo it. He’s a busy man, which means you’ll likely spend a lot of time at home until he feels comfortable letting you out. That could take weeks—if you’re lucky.
ʰᵃⁿⁿⁱᵍʳᵃᵐ:
These two work together to keep harmful (innocent) people away from you. They operate in a way that is very different from any other human. They communicate silently, ensuring that you remain unaware of what’s happening around you. In about a week or so, that troublesome person will be gone. Will is best at distracting while Hannibal excels in taking action. They try to keep you from noticing the things they do, even though you know all their secrets. It's no surprise to you that they behave this way, but you don’t mind it too much.
ᵗʰᵒᵐᵃˢ ʰᵉʷⁱᵗᵗ:
Speaking of Thomas, he is exactly what you would expect. What I mean is that he is very protective of you because he loves you so much. It’s not in a scary way, though. He will do his best to keep you at home, trying to shield you from his darker side. Besides that, he truly loves you. He often wonders why you chose him out of everyone. He struggles with self-hatred and tries to deny it. However, you love him for who he is and dream of becoming his wife/husband/spouse one day.
ʲᵉᵉᵖᵉʳˢ ᶜʳᵉᵉᵖᵉʳˢ:
What do you hope to achieve by trying to leave him? He will track you down and restrain you even more. He can always tell when you are lying, so don’t even attempt to deceive him. Jeepers is a hardworking man, and because of his hunger, he will be out of the nest most of the time. However, that doesn’t mean you will be free. He will ensure you have everything you need while he is out hunting. He won’t allow you to see or interact with another human ever again. If he finds you talking to or seeing anyone else, they will be gone.
ᵃʳᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜˡᵒʷⁿ:
If you and he are really together, he will likely be the least possessive. He’ll definitely protect you and may even try to distance you from people he feels you spend too much time with, but that’s just part of it. Art himself is like a walking time bomb; one minute he’s allowing you to go outside, and the next he’s keeping you cooped up in the house with him for the night. It seems to depend on whether he’s injured or not. He won’t try to hide his darker tendencies because he feels there’s no need to, and besides, he has better things to do.
Summary: You and your group of friends find yourself stranded in a practically abandoned town in Texas. Luckily, there’s a large plantation style home just up the road, maybe the residents will be able to help the four of you out. Little do you know, Tommy’s taken a liking to you. (Words: 6,470)
Warnings: Major Character Death (Boyfriend and Friends are Killed), Minor Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gore, Blood, Mutilation, Canon Typical Violence, Cannibalism, Toxic Relationships, Brief Mention of Stockholm Syndrome, Body Horror/Skin Masks, 18+ NSFW Smut ft. Vaginal Fingering, PinV Sex
“Ugh, does it have to be so fucking hot?" Carly moans from beside you, the car seats have heated up to what feels like dangerous levels.
Lance looks at you from the drivers seat, an amused smile crosses his face as he shakes his head, only for you to see.
"Well, it is Texas." He chuckles, "In summer."
"I wanna go back to Wisconsin!" Jessica, from beside Carly in the backseat, whines as loud as she can.
"It's a road trip, you guys." You try to ration. "We'll be out of here in no time, we're just passing through."
Lance glances at you in barely concealed adoration, his hand sneaking over the center console to intertwine with yours. His thumb rubs little circles at the back of it. You haven't been this happy in a long time.
The two of you have had your ups and downs, but things have been going good for the past year. So good, you wonder if maybe he might propose. He's been acting a little secretive, like he's trying to surprise you with something. You dare to let yourself hope it's a ring.
"Hey, can we stop off at that little store? I need some water, stat." Carly asks, pointing up the road at a shabby looking store. It's a beacon of hope, nonetheless, for your parched little group.
Lance nods, turning into the small parking lot of the general store. His hand still gently caressing yours, passing heated glances with you.
Once parked, the two other girls hop out of the Jeep and pad their way along to the entrance of the general store. Lance looks at you conspiratorially now that you're alone. Jutting his chin in the direction of a secluded wooded area near the side of the store.
"Wanna get some alone time in?" He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows comically. You laugh and hop out of the car, sending a sultry look of affirmation his way. He's not far behind.
Lance's black hair looks silky in the hot sun as he leads you over to the little forest alcove. His hot palm kneading into your ass, little pangs of thrill shoot up your spine. He's not usually spontaneous like this and it's driving you wild.
"What's gotten into you, Lancelot?" You giggle at the nickname you've used for him for years. He presses you up against a tree, hands roaming over your hips and backside.
"You just look so good today…" He whispers into your hair, lips trailing down over your ear to your neck. His tongue lapping out and eliciting quiet moans from you as your own hands wander the expanse of his back.
Lances fingers make quick work of the buttons on your cotton, long sleeve, button up. He hurries to undo the front clasp of your bra, letting your breasts spill out for him to paw at.
You lean back against the tree, relaxing into his firm touch. Lance wasn't perfect at it, given you and him had been together since high school, but he was yours.
Just as he starts to suck a hickey into the top of your breast, you lean back and open your eyes only to find the largest man you've ever seen standing off to the side of the general store. His icy gaze is centered directly on you.
You gasp and push Lance away, he's about to ask what's wrong when he catches sight of the behemoth. "Holy fuck…" He whispers in terror.
The man's face is masked by what looks like a cow-hide muzzle. Only the top half of his face is visible, with just his bottom lip showing through the mouth-hole of the muzzle. His eyes dart down to your chest, widening in shock at the sight of your bare tits.
"Oh!" You exclaim, hiding behind Lance to button your bra and shirt back up. The man only then shifts his gaze away to stare down at his hands, which are littered with cuts along with his forearms. He's practically covered in dirt, as well as some sort of dried, rust-colored substance. Blood?
He's wearing an apron, looks like he came straight out of a slaughterhouse. Maybe he's a butcher.
"I'm so sorry, we didn't know anyone was back here!" You try to apologize, thinking maybe you've disturbed his workday by getting frisky behind his store. At the same time, Lance stands up straighter and casts a shrill look at the man.
"What the hell, man?" Lance looks at him suspiciously, still stood in front of you despite the fact that you're fully clothed. You look up at him in disbelief, you didn't think he was the sort of guy to get upset at a stranger like this. "What are you, stupid? Trying to get an eyeful of my girl?"
"Lance!" You cry out before turning to look at the man, who is now shaking his head 'no.' His fingers twitching, hands held above his belly. "I'm sorry about him, we'll get outta your hair."
The man can't rip his eyes off of you, hasn't since you saw him. You bow your head, grabbing Lance by the hand and pulling him away to the front of the store.
The man watches you leave.
Carly and Jessica are waiting for the two of you, Lance leans down so only you can hear him as the four of you head off towards the Jeep once more.
"Why'd you apologize? That guy was a freak." He mutters next to you, his hand pressed into your back starting to feel like a red hot brand. This wasn't how he usually was, the whole time you'd known him he'd always been compassionate. But then again, you don't think you've ever met someone like that man with Lance.
"What? It's not like he knew we were back there, he didn't do it on purpose." You try to reason. Lance isn't having any of it, there was something about that man that seems to have struck a chord with him.
"He was a creep."
"He's just a guy, Lance."
"What're you guys arguing about now?" Carly rolls her eyes. hopping into the back of the Jeep as Lance and you settle into the front. Jess shakes her head at Carly, a silent plea to leave it alone.
"It's nothing." Lance answers for you, you shoot him a half-hearted glare. Fiddling with the edge of your shirt, Lance starts to drive off.
It's already too late when Lance realizes just how low on gas the Jeep is. The car sputters out to a stop in the middle of a long stretch of deserted road. The only thing in sight is a large, white, plantation style home farther down the road. The only option is to get out and walk, see if maybe they have some spare gas. Not likely, with the state of the economy, and honestly, the state of this town.
A couple cars pass you along the way, and it's about thirty minutes walk to the house, maybe more. It's only just barely in sight.
"Why didn't we stop to get gas?" Carly complains, hand swiping off bead-lets of sweat from her forehead. Jess and Lance aren't far behind, with you leading the group noticeably farther ahead. Lance has been acting more irritable since the incident with the man at the store.
"Didn't think of it, I guess." Jess mutters, kicking a rock with the toe of her sneakers. You think you can hear Lance scoff under his breath, like somehow the blame isn't on him, the driver.
You try to put him out of your mind, watching as you approach the house, not long to go now. As you meander along, you can't help but think of the man at the store. His icy blue eyes piercing into you even from the recesses of your mind, his long black hair, greasy and sweaty, plastered to his forehead and neck. The thought of him towering over you, his eyes glued to your bare chest.
You feel a wave of guilt as your panties get a little sticky from the thought. There's an animal attraction there and you're not sure what to think of it. You're so stuck in your fantasy, you barely realize you've come up to the drive way of the house.
Lance pushes past you to trod up the porch stairs, banging his fist against the door. Carly chastises him for making so much noise, as the three of you join him on the porch.
A voice from inside the house calls out but its hard to hear, sounds like an older woman. The large wooden double doors swing open, leaving the screen door in between. An older woman stands before your group, her grey-blonde hair pulled up into a messy updo. She looks at you over her glasses, seemingly assessing you instead of your group as a whole.
"We're sorry to bother you, ma'am." You say softly, wilting under her scrutinizing gaze. You try to stay as polite as possible, hoping it'll get you into her good graces. "Our car ran outta gas a ways down the road, would you happen to have any to spare?"
She seems satisfied with whatever she was looking for in you because she smiles a gentle smile, stepping aside and opening the screen door.
"Well, I'd have to check, but why don't you kids come sit down while I look." She says as she ushers you in. Your group files in, meandering around the entryway as she shuts the doors behind you, not noticing as she locks the double doors.
She leads the four of you to a sitting room, where a man in a wheelchair sits watching TV. It's awkward as she gestures for you to take a seat on the seemingly ancient sofa. There's a faint stench of mildew and mothballs permeating the house, as well as a twinge of iron. It makes your mouth water in a strange, unexplainable way.
Almost smells like meat. You wonder if she's cooking.
"C'mere boy, why don't you help me look. It's a big can, won't be able to hold it m'self." She gestures for Lance to follow her. "The names Luda Mae, by the way, that there's Uncle Monty."
Monty doesn't even look your way as he raises a hand in greeting, half-heartedly.
"It's nice to meet you, Luda." You respond, giving your name in kind. You're the only one of your group to introduce themselves. Carly and Jessica are huddled up on the loveseat across from you, looking around in barely concealed disgust. Since when did all your friends turn into assholes? You didn't take them for the sort of people who looked down on others homes.
Neither of them can stop staring at Monty's missing legs either, it makes you ashamed to know them. The silence stretches on, only Carly and Jess whispering every once in a while breaks through. Footsteps begin to approach, you look up to find some sort of Sheriff stood in the doorway.
"Now, look-y what we have here." His grin is sleazy, and he narrows his eyes at Jess. Luda comes up behind him, Lance no where in sight.
"These poor souls ran outta gas." She explains, "I remember 'em from the store. Not this'n though."
You feel heat curling up your neck, shame sprawled through your chest. You didn't think you'd have to tell anyone about your little tryst outside the store.
"Oh, yeah. Lance and I went on a stroll while our friends went in." You lie, voice shaking just a tad. The Sheriff looks at you with a shit-eating smile, like he knows what really happened.
"Yes, I'd heard. My boy saw you out there." Luda says, making your face heat up even worse. The man out there was her son. You really wish a hole would just open up beneath your feet and gobble you right up, you'd never felt more embarrassed in your life.
"That was your son?" You mutter shyly, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Luda Mae seems to light up at your words, thinking maybe you've taken an interest in her boy. She comes forward to sit down next to you on the sofa. You get a glimpse of the Sheriffs name tag as he leans on the armrest of the loveseat your friends are sat at, starting up what sounds like an uncomfortable conversation with the girls. Hoyt. His name was Hoyt.
"Yes— my boy, Thomas. He's here now if you wanna see him." She smiles at you as she pats your shoulder, your head is turned to her in conversation and you don't see as Hoyt leads your friends out of the room. "He's real shy, bless his heart."
"Oh, that's okay—" You try to decline. Try to tell her you're taken, but she interrupts.
"I'll put on some tea; why don't you come into the kitchen with me?" Luda grabs you by the hand and pulls you out of the sitting room. As you cross the foyer once more, you catch a glimpse of a big shadow on the far wall past the stairs, but its gone in an instant.
As you enter the kitchen, Luda Mae sets you up at the head of the kitchen table before flitting off to get a kettle going on the stove.
"It's really okay, we should get going anyway. How's the gas coming?" You rush out, about to stand up when she gently coaxes you back down, patting your shoulder soothingly.
"Oh, it's alright. Hoyt had to go fetch it out of the back, your little friends are just helpin' him." Luda reassures you, smoothing a wrinkle out of your shirt. You try to listen to her but there's a creeping unease in the pit of your stomach, it only gets worse as the kettle whistles on the stove making you jump.
You watch in unsteady silence as she makes up some tea, pouring the both of you a cup. You're shifting uncomfortably in your seat when she sets the teacup down, handing you a little spoon so you can divvy up your own sugar. She settles down in the chair to your right, looking down at her cup with a strange expression. She almost looks sad.
"Y'know, I've waited a long time for my Tommy to find a good girl." Luda Mae looks up at you, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, watching you carefully. You let a weak smile cross your face.
"He's a handsome man, I'm sure he'll find a great girl." You say, hoping it'll keep her happy. Though, there's a truth to it, you did find him quite handsome. If a little intimidating, and yeah, maybe he could do with a good scrub, but he was handsome. You're sure whatever may be under that muzzle he wears can't be so bad. Her face lights up with hope.
"You're right, I think he's made a good decision." She says, and you're about to ask what she means when Hoyt returns. The hulking man from before, hovering just behind him, almost like he's trying to hide. Thomas wrings his hands together, avoiding you as you look at him.
"Well? What're you standin' there for, Tommy?" Hoyt guffaws, smacking Thomas on the back. The words he says next rattle you to the core:
"Get her before she runs away."
You stand up in shock, Thomas lurches forward for you. You squeal as you dodge him, ducking under his thick arms to make a run for the door. You think you can hear Luda Mae screaming encouragements to her boy but the blood pumping in your ears is too loud to make it out. Not that you really care about anything other than escaping at the moment.
You get to the entrance, trying to pull at the doorhandles but they only stiffly rattle as they stay shut. You yell out in anger, Thomas has you cornered. You turn to look up at him, he's much closer than before. A scream is lodged in your throat but it refuses to crawl out. His striking eyes have you pinned like a deer in headlights.
He lunges forward, scooping you up into his arms, holding you flat and tight to his chest. Legs dangling, but not loose enough to kick, and your head pressed into his shoulder. He stinks of sweat and dirt, and blood. It almost makes you gag. Little pleas reach his ears as you try to push at his chest, begging him to see reason.
"Why don't you stay for dinner, sweetheart?" Hoyt asks with a condescending smile.
You watch as Luda Mae and Hoyt disappear from sight as you're brought down the hallway, past the stairs and to a door. Thomas lurches it open as you look forward to see where it leads. The dirty, wet, ominous stairs leading to the basement does nothing for your nerves.
"Please, please, please…" You whisper into his shoulder, softly sobbing. He pats your back gently.
The stench that hits your nose is revolting, it's like being in the middle of a poorly run slaughter house.
You gag, looking around only to find Carly's body hoisted up onto a meat-hook. You cry out in despair, Jessica is right next to her, hanging. They're blood is dripping and pooling under their bodies; you try to thrash against him but it's no use.
"No! No!" You shake your head, closing your eyes tight but he only grunts in response. He takes you past a butchering table, there's a body on it but its hard to tell who it is. It's face has been peeled off its head. You sob and cry. It's clothes give it away, it's Lance.
Fat tears and ugly sobs wrack your body as you shove your face as far into the behemoths shoulder as possible.
He's lead you into a backroom of the basement, the stench doesn't permeate as deeply in here. He flops you down onto a mattress unceremoniously, the sheets are yellowed and streaked with blood in some places. You try to wiggle away but his grip on your legs has you rooted to the bed. He's tying them up, reaching for your arms afterward.
"Please, please, you don't have to do this." You try to reason once more, only to find a look in his eyes that says 'yes.' Yes, he does have to do it.
He leaves you there, tied to the bed and crying. He shuts the door with a gentleness that shouldn't be possible for a man capable of such violence. The last look he gives you is one of shame.
As Thomas leaves his girl on his bed, he wonders if maybe he's made the right decision. You had a boy, he saw it. But there was something about the way you spoke to him, the way you looked at him. He thought maybe you wanted him to be your boy instead. Maybe he was wrong.
There's a sizzling jealousy in him, one that permeates even as he looks at the butchered corpse of your boy on his table across the room. All Tommy has ever wanted was to have someone for himself, someone who was nice to him and let him hold them. It made him so jealous when he saw you with your boy.
He wanted that.
And when you spoke to him so kindly after… He wanted that with you.
He knows what he is, knows you could never love him like he loves you but he wants to try. Wants you to want him just the same.
He looks down at his hands, bloodstained and too thick to do any good. He's sewing a new mask, one out of that boys face. Hopefully, you'll like him a little better once he looks like him.
He hopes that you'll come to fall for him, as he's fallen for you.
That night, as you toss and turn for hours, rubbing your wrists raw on the rope as you try to break free, Thomas creeps back into the room. His room, you think.
His head is ducked down, out of sight, but there's something covering it. Another mask? It must cover his whole head. There's a mop of familiar silky black hair at the top of it. A pit forms in your stomach. It… Couldn't be. It couldn't.
He looks up and you know. It's skin. A mask made of someone's face. Lance's face.
Great, big, heaving sobs wrack your body as he shuffles closer. He's shy in his movements, approaching you slowly as your gentle cries reach his ears. Even as you sob, you remain still and quiet. You're such a good girl. He knows now that he made the right decision.
You look so little, huddled into the corner of his bed, arms pulled to where the knot is tied around his bed frame. There's butterflies in his stomach, fluttering around as your big eyes look up at him.
There's white hot terror flowing through your veins, you're stuck in place. Paralyzed in fear. He's wearing your boyfriends face. And he's getting closer.
You can see his icy eyes in place of Lance's warm ones; you wish he'd killed you like the others.
Thomas reaches a big paw out toward your face, caressing your cheek in a gentle but firm press. He thinks you look so beautiful and he's so excited to spend the rest of his life with you. He's never had a girl before, and he's glad he found you.
Tears spill over your cheeks and he wipes them away with his soft touch, leaning that horrid mask closer to you. It stinks like rot, like rusted iron in a pit of decaying compost. He touches the lips of the mask to your cheek. A faux kiss.
He lays a couple more faux kisses from your cheek down to your collarbone in a burning trail. You think you hear him whimper against you as his fingers hover just above the buttons of your shirt.
It strikes you with horror when you realize what he's doing. He's recreating the scene he interrupted with you and Lance.
"No, no…" You mutter, over and over, trying to cower further into the corner of the bed. He pulls away just for a second, seemingly worried, but he decides to continue anyways.
Maybe you just need to get used to him. Thomas knows how scary he is, but he needs you to know he'll never hurt you.
His shaking fingers fumble with the buttons on your cotton shirt, his breath leaving him in gusts. He's never been more nervous in his life. Not since he had to butcher someone for the first time. Though, even then he wasn't really nervous, just worried what might happen if someone found the family out.
As more of your lovely skin is revealed to him, he leaves little lingering kisses against it. This time with his own mouth and not the mouth of the mask, letting his tongue dart out inquisitively like he'd seen your boy do.
You're constrained hands are curled into his shirt, trying to both push him away and pull him closer. You're not sure what's come over you, maybe it's the shock, or perhaps Stockholm Syndrome has set in so soon, but you almost like the way his tongue feels trailing over your sweaty chest.
He starts to get nervous though, and pulls off of you. He looks away in shame. He can't seem to bring himself to continue, not with the way you're shaking under him.
Thomas looks down at you from behind the mask, your eyes laced with confusion and terror. He wants you to look at him with want, not like this.
He decides it would be best to try some other time. After you've calmed down a bit.
It's been weeks since you came to this house. Since you saw that dreaded skin-mask the behemoth wore. The one that used to be your boyfriend. It makes you sick every time you see it, you hope Thomas will realize this and stop wearing it but he seems to think you like him better that way.
He hasn't hurt you, hasn't even raised a finger at you. You keep waiting for it but it doesn't come. He doesn't even sleep on his bed anymore, having resided himself to passing out at the workbench across the tiny room.
You've gotten used to the space, given that the only time you're allowed out of it is during dinner. The walls are cracking and there's mildew on the ceiling, crude drawings litter the wall next to the bed, some of family members, others of animals. It almost looks like a child drew it, but you know better. He drew one of you.
You're looking at it now, as he sits at the workbench, sewing, repairing his old mask. The muzzle one. You wish he would put it on, but you don't say anything. Haven't said much the whole time you've been here. It's okay though, because he doesn't talk much either. In fact, you don't think you've ever heard him say a single word— only grunts ever leave his mouth.
He's untied your wrists and ankles, having realized they were cutting up your pretty skin. You're on a short leash now, a chain that's affixed to the bed frame. It's more demeaning but you couldn't care less, at least now you don't wake up with blue hands.
He comes down to feed you throughout the day, he's normally busy with chores or cutting people up in the other room, but he makes time to bring you breakfast and lunch since you're only allowed at the dining table during dinner.
You'd thought the eating people part would make you more upset, but after the first dinner, you had already gotten over it. It didn't seem nearly as upsetting after you'd seen your boyfriends faceless body, and your friends hanging from hooks.
It's after dinner now, when Thomas gets to spend the most time with you. He's got a couple books, they're young adult books. They look worn and used, he's probably read them over and over since he got them when he was little. Sometimes he hands one to you, hoping you'll read it to him. Sometimes you do.
You've seen him without the mask a few times now, albeit not on purpose. It happens sometimes when he's switching masks or getting ready for bed. It gets so dark when he turns off the rickety old lamp that he can sleep without his mask and you won't be able to see him.
His nose is almost completely gone, save for the top half of the bridge. His top lip is partially gone, turning upwards towards his nose. There's scars all around the area, and parts of it are red from irritation, or whatever skin disease he seems to have. Some of the scars look more purposeful than the others, like he's cut off chunks of the rot.
You don't think he knows that you've seen it already, and a part of you feels bad, but it wasn't something you did on purpose. You're not really sure why you feel bad about it in the first place. His gentleness seems to have softened you to him.
And gentle he is, even now, as he finishes up at the workbench. He switches his mask out for the leather one, turning away from you and hunching in on himself as he ties the strands quickly behind his head. He turns back to you, having picked up a book, holding it out for you.
You don't feel like reading tonight, so you shake your head in refusal. He's not upset, he sets the book down on the table. You're glad he's switched out his mask for what comes next.
Thomas sits at the edge of the bed and undoes his work boots, pulling off his crimson-stained apron. He crawls into the bed behind you, pulling you close into his plush chest. He still stunk but you'd gotten used to it, even started to find some sort of comfort in his soft belly and the smell of a hard days work.
His breath is heavy on your neck, his hands tracing your belly. This is when he's the most gentle, like he's afraid of breaking you. He lets himself have these little moments before he moves back to the workbench, moments where he gets to hold you and pretend you love him back. There's a part of you that thinks maybe you like this part just as much as he does.
You hate yourself for it, but you're growing closer to him everyday. Waiting for him to feed you, waiting for him to come get you for dinner, waiting for him to spend time with you before bed. All you did everyday now was wait for him to come back.
The first two weeks all you did was wait for it to be over, and now you're not sure whats changed.
Thomas trails his big, meaty finger down the side of your arm, tracing every little detail. His breath is hot and tickling you. There's a moment where you think of trying to pretend it's Lance but just the thought of that makes you upset. Lance never touched you this gently, and you're not sure why that makes you so mad.
How could Thomas be treating you softer than your boyfriend did? Just the thought makes you sick, so you try to push it from your mind; try to lose yourself in the moment. Let yourself like the way he touches you. And you do, you do like it.
His lips graze your collarbone as he leans closer to you, his chest pressing into yours as he shifts to hold himself above you. He's never gone this far before, but you can't bring yourself to fight. You think maybe you need it.
Thomas leans back to look you in the eyes, searching for permission. Your hand trails up his shoulder, over his neck, and tangling itself in his dark locks of hair. You nod slowly, hoping he'll continue to be gentle with you. He looks at you with love in his eyes, his forever-tense shoulders relaxing just the little bit. There's a tremor to his touch as he grazes his fingertips over your belly and up to your chest.
Thomas trails his featherlight touch over your breasts, moving to work open the buttons on your shirt the way he saw your boy do so long ago. His chest feels like its about ready to explode as he unclasps your bra, he's seen you before but this was all for him this time. All for him. He can't believe how lucky he is to have found such a nice girl.
His tongue darts out of the mask, but it can only get so far. He licks and licks at as much as he can get to, your whimpers gracing his ears like an angels song. He grows frustrated with the mask, pawing at the ties as he sits up to shut off the lamp on the bedside table.
Soon enough, the room is plunged in darkness and your heart is beating in your ears. He peels the rest of your clothes off your body, your shirt and bra discarded on the floor as he moves on to your pants. His fat fingers pull at the band of your jeans, dragging them down your legs until they're off completely.
You can hear his breath hitch when his hands find your lacy panties. He pinches the material in his fingertips, caressing it. He leans his head closer to your center, his heavy, labored breaths brushing your most sensitive parts. You can't stop the moan that he elicits when his tongue laps at your panties, a broad stripe up the slit of your cunt.
He grunts in satisfaction, you can hear him humping the mattress, still fully clothed. The sudden urge to feel him skin to skin is strong but his ministrations distract you for now.
Thomas pulls your panties down your legs, hot mouth darting to your cunt. You moan out as he starts licking at your folds, he's obviously inexperienced but his sheer excitement makes up for it. He quickly finds your swollen nub, sucking it between his lips in a pulsing rhythm.
His fingers play with your folds, trying to find the right way to touch you. You're pretty sounds turn him on, telling him where you like to be touched. He feels a heavy sense of honor, he's so happy you've decided to let him touch you.
He's been waiting to see that want in your eyes, and now when you'd looked up at him like you needed him, he was so glad to find it.
Thomas laps at your cunt with a fervor, slurping at it and bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The tip of his finger finds your aching hole, pressing in gently. He's amazed at how little resistance he finds, he's so proud of you for taking it so well.
As he starts to pump his thick finger in your pussy, you can feel your orgasm fast approaching. He's grunting and huffing, sucking your clit as good as he can.
He knows when you go stiff, your back arches off the bed, and your voice goes high-pitched and breathy, that he's done a good job. Your release slicks his chin; there's a little ring of cream on his finger that he licks off the second it's out of your tight, clenching hole.
"Tommy…" You moan out, and he's surprised to hear it, you haven't spoken to him almost the whole time you've been down here. "Tommy, I need to feel you."
You're breathless and pawing at his shoulders as he sits up on his haunches, listening intently.
"Take your clothes off, baby." You're not sure where this is coming from, but you're far past caring. He grunts in affirmation, forever willing to be good for you.
Thomas tries his best to take his clothes off as fast as possible, wanting to be close again. He's so glad you want him too. He wonders if you love him just as much as he loves you. He hopes you do.
He's on you again, holding himself above you, and though you can't see him, you can clearly picture him in mind; his large frame and heaving chest.
You let your hands roam up his sides, feeling the pudgy muscle there. He's covered in hair, sweat rolling off him in beads. His belly is hot and pressed against yours, you can feel his leaking cock pressed against your thigh, the tip of it practically searing your skin.
The smell of sex is pungent in the air, and you can't imagine how it's going to be after he slips it in. If he can slip it in, that is. If you thought he was a behemoth before, then his cock is some sort of hulking monster.
Thomas sucks at your neck as his meaty hand paws at your right breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You spread your legs from beneath him, wrapping them around his wide hips and urging him forward with your heels.
He groans out in satisfaction as his dick nudges against your opening. You're leaking for each other and panting into each others open mouths.
His kiss is firm and wet, his tongue exploring yours. You can feel the way his top lip is scarred and turned upward, but it doesn't phase you. He feels like Tommy.
Thomas presses a kind hand into your abdomen, silently preparing you for his entrance into your slick heat. The tip of his cock is fat and slippery as it pushes into your snatch, there's more resistance than his fingers met but all that does is spur him on.
"Oh, yes!" You cry out as it enters you fully with a pop, it's a fine stretch and it sets a heat in your belly. He pushes forward, inch after inch, until he's seated to the hilt inside of you.
He's breathing heavily, breath fanning out over your face. You can feel the way his muscles tense as he tries to hold himself back from thrusting into you with abandon.
Your hand comes to rest against his cheek, and he seems taken aback by this, but he doesn't pull away. A soft whimper is pulled from his throat and it's rumbling and scratchy but it's him.
Thomas starts to thrust into you, pulling back and pushing in experimentally. He tries different paces, different strokes, until he settles on a rhythm that feels very good for the both of you. He adores the way you mewl for him and arch your back to press your chest against his.
It feels so good and he's worried he won't last long enough to feel you clamp down on his cock and lather it in your creamy spend. His hand crawls down between your bodies to rub at your clit, he wants to feel you spasm all over him before he comes.
With each thrust of his fat cock, and each flick of his fingers on your clit, you get pushed closer and closer to the edge. You're moaning and whispering praises for him, it starts to get so good you almost think you're about to die.
Your orgasm rips through you, his tip pressing against that spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars and you realize you wouldn't mind dying like this.
He starts to howl above you, pumping into you faster and faster as your cunt clenches down on him and soon enough he lurches forward, once, twice, and a final third time as his hot seed spurts out and paints your insides.
Thomas holds your head in his hands as the both of you cling to each other through the tremors of post-orgasm bliss. Your breaths mingle and you think maybe you might be falling for him. It's a strange thought but you find it's the truth. You're falling for him.
He holds you close, his heart thumping against your chest. Breathless coos leave you without your permission, and you're petting his hair, letting him kiss your cheek and your neck. You tell him how good he was, how good it felt, and for a second it feels like you're somewhere far away.
Somewhere, where the two of you are normal; normal and in love.
Somewhere away from all the blood and the gore and the killing. Somewhere that could be home.
Thomas feels it too.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs and comments are appreciated :D Requests are open, just please be patient with me as writing tends to take me some time :)
“what are you doing?” you say, giggling while shoving his pout creased face away from yours.
since this morning, you’ve been struggling to get a breath of air from carl gallagher.
when you attempted to use the bathroom, he pulled you deeper into his warmth.
successfully sneaking out, you made breakfast for the both of you while striking up a conversation with ian.
though, shortly after ian left the room, you felt muscular arms wrapping around your waist.
with the roll of your eyes, you felt carl gallagher nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.
“i just want to love you,” he said, pulling you closer to him by grabbing from underneath your chair, “do you hate me?”
“i never said that,” brushing your fingers through his hair, he hummed in satisfaction, “i’m just trying to do some things is all.”
“we’ll do those things together then,” he said, rubbing his cheeks into the palms of your hands, staring up at you with his puppy eyes.
smiling to yourself, you say, “you’re so clingy this morning. what’s up with that?”
“i woke up desperately wanting to be with you more than usual,” he said, softly kissing your hands, “is it a bad thing?”
“not at all,” you mumble, giving into his plumped lips every so delicately.
in the moment, it was just the two of you, loving one another in your own little world.
“are you done sucking each others face off?” asked lip, walking in with a plate ready in his hand, “because i don’t know if i can keep my food down if you guys continue.”
I’m a bit late but there’s absolutely no better way to start the year than with my beloved wife 😩🖤
I think he dropped this 🧎♀️➡️🤲👑
I will be posting much more content of him and listing print pre-orders and things as they come out btw, if you’re interested! Got some good stuff comin in soon 😫‼️ This piece is available for pre-order now in my shop!
🖤 If you wanna see all new finished artworks as soon as I’ve made them please subscribe to my Patreon as well! :>
word count: 6359 // masterlist | inbox (please request ! ) | WIP list
summary: after a year long relationship that yielded nothing more than a few pathetic pecks on the lips, you venture out to get kissed. It's a stroke of cosmic luck that the man who chooses to kiss you is one of Hawkins's hottest.
Contents/Warnings: afab!reader, smut (18+), kissing, makeouts, fingering, brief oral sex (m receiving), brief mentions of virginity/virgin kink
A/N: this is special for many occassions! first, because I actually started and finished something that i haven't had sitting in my drafts for two years! second, because i'm finally back into the swing of things with stranger things and billy to boot. and third, because i hit 1K!!!!!! thank you so so much for helping me hit this milestone, it feels insane and i'm so ready to celebrate! i'm planning on a little writing event to celebrate even more but for now enjoy 6.3K of nasty billy smut <3
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
You feel like an imposter in the middle of this party. On the surface you know what you’re doing- you’ve got on a bra that pushes your chest up, and a top that plunges so low that you’re nearly showing nipple. It’s riding up your stomach, too, a strip of fabric that’s eager to reveal all of the parts you’re supposed to be showing, considering it’s Halloween and everyone’s costumes are thinly veiled excuses to get naked.
But beyond that-? Beyond dressing the part, beyond wearing the right bra with the right top and smearing glittery eyeshadow over your lids, you’re at a complete loss. Because the bra and top and makeup are supposed to get you laid, and you’ve never done that before.
You’re woefully under-touched, under-kissed, even, but enough time has passed since the end of your last relationship that you’re looking to get back out there again. The problem with that one had been that it was simply… boring. It feels mean to say that, because the boy was nice and respectful- maybe too respectful. A year and a half’s worth of dating had garnered only quick pecks on the lips, and you were starting to wonder who was less interested in physicality with the other person by the end of it. It had felt more like you’d been friends for the year, and had dipped your toes into awkward hellos and goodbyes on the mouth. It was a relationship by name only- and you’re ready for the real thing.
You’re nervous, but you’ve been thinking that you might need something hot and heavy to get you comfortable in the dating scene. After all, as much as you’d resented your last relationship’s lack of spice, boys are hardly ever that hands-off. You suspect anyone else you try going steady with will have their hands all over you by the third date, and the thought makes your stomach flip. It’s a little trepidatious, a little excited, which is why you’re testing the waters tonight, and aiming to get kissed before going home.
It feels too perfect that the man whose eye you catch is Billy Hargrove. You’ve been subtly gazing at him for months now, because he’s easy on the eyes and his rebellious attitude only sweetens the deal. He sits behind you in history, too, and you admittedly relish the shenanigans he comes up with to both keep himself occupied, and irritate your teacher. You’ve caught yourself smothering a laugh at a few of his snarky comments, or leaning to your left to cover up the sight of him smoking from the front of the class. On occasion he asks you for a pencil, and the last time he’d returned it he’d flashed one of those dazzling smiles at you, reaching out to tug at a lock of your hair before sauntering out. You wish you could say you’re smart enough not to fall for such childish antics, but you’re not, and you’ll happily get schmoozed by the school’s bad boy instead of going home un-kissed.
“Hey,” He offers you a salacious grin, his dusty blonde curls spilling over his shoulders in ringlets you’re jealous of. He’s either going as the Terminator or as a half-naked man, and honestly, the second option sounds more like him than Arnold Schwarzenegger does. He’s got a leather jacket on, one that he hasn’t even attempted to zip up to cover his tanned chest below. He’s thick, muscled and stocky, but you try keeping your eyes on his own as he crowds you against the wall of the hallway you’re both standing in. You’re the only people in the narrow space, but the party rages on just through the doorway, so you’re not completely removed. He has to raise his voice just a smidge to talk to you, but you can hear him and his gruff voice sends a chill up your spine. It’s dark, and your stomach does another one of those flips as you realize you’re nose-to-nose with one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.
You shrink backwards against your volition- what you wouldn’t give for the courage to lean closer - and smile, a curve of your lips accompanied by a flush to your cheeks, “Hi.”
“You look nice,” He comments, “I’ve never seen you dressed like this before.”
“I don’t usually wear it to class,” You glance down at your chest, then back up at him to find that his eyes dart upwards at the same time. Your cheeks heat more, and your stomach writhes below your heart, “It’s a little… much.”
“It’s perfect,” He grins, blinking lazily at you and tilting his head further down, one of his arms coming up to brace against the wall behind you, “You’re kind of the last person I thought would be here, though.”
“I’m not that bad, am I?” You ask, nearly cringing. But he laughs, and you’re really berating yourself for falling so easily now, because your knees nearly give at the sound. It’s rich, warm, and practiced, you’re sure, but it doesn’t matter in this moment, because Billy Hargrove is paying attention to you, and it looks like the only item on your bucket list is about to be checked off pretty soon.
“Not bad. Just quiet. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. And that’s not really something you see at these types of parties. You drink?”
“Not really,” You shake your head, peering down at your underfilled cup of something, barely two sips taken from it, “I only took it because someone handed it to me, and I didn’t know how to say no.”
He takes it from you without another word, his fingers brushing your own as he grips the cup in his gloved hand, lips stretching wide around the rim to down the thing in one go. He blinks afterwards, shaking his head briefly as the taste stings his tongue, but his eyes are brighter when they open again, and he drops the empty cup onto the hallway floor without a second thought.
“How much have you had?” You ask, not wary, but curious, and he laughs again.
“None of that. I’ve only had beer so far. That’s gross,” He licks his lips, his tongue so bright pink it’s almost red, his lips now coated in a glossy sheen of saliva, “They just put whatever they could find in there.”
“Is it strong?” You ask, remembering the way your throat had burned in taking only a few sips.
“Nah,” He shakes his head, his curls flying and his eyes gleaming, “Not unless you’re a lightweight.”
You shrug haphazardly, then realize all too late that you’re not good at flirting. Perhaps this is why you’d gone a year and a half without a proper kiss- what do you say now? He’s inches from your face, liquor wafting off of his tongue and cologne off of his bare chest. What could the right thing to say possibly be in this scenario?
Billy seems to realize he needs to do the talking, because he dips closer, his face now achingly close to yours, “So, do you like it here?”
“At the party?” You ask, and he doesn’t point out your stupid question. He just nods, one of his curls falling and tickling your cheek where you’re looking up at him.
“It’s okay,” You hum, casting a wary glance towards the crowd mere feet away, “It’s a little loud, though!”
Your voice is semi-raised to prove your point, and he breathes out a laugh that makes his teeth gleam in the dull light of the hallway. He gets impossibly closer, his chest pressing against yours for a split second before his hands find your waist and nudge you backwards, to your left.
“What-” You stammer, but your feet soon find a doorway instead of solid wall, and he backs you into a dark bathroom off the hallway, further removed from the noise of the party.
“There,” He hums, flicking on a light and shutting the door behind him, planting his feet against it and leaning back, “Is that quieter for you?”
You feel the breeze coming through the window, and the soft lights of the bathroom are actually pleasant compared to the lingering darkness of the hallway or the stark white lights of the main room. You turn to face the window, peering out over the lawn that’s lit only by streetlamps. There’s no partygoers on the lawn yet, but there’s no police either, so maybe that’s for the best. It really is quieter in here, not silent but better, and you nod thoughtfully.
“Yeah. Thanks.” You turn, finding Billy mere inches from your face. He licks his lips, his tongue glistening and dark pink, obscene as it coats his lower lip in a layer of saliva you want to taste. It’s a bold thought, considering you’ve never done more than a press of lips-on-lips, but you can smell his breath and even the beer on it doesn’t discourage you from thoughts of kissing him for real.
“Anytime,” He winks, he actually winks, a ludicrous gesture that you appreciate for its obviousness. You’re so nervous that you need over-the-top, you need him to lead so that you don’t fumble around in the dark and lose your shot. If he wants to kiss you, he’ll have to kiss you, and from the way he’s breathing against your face you presume he’s about to.
“So,” He hums, one of his hands finding your waist. Your tight shorts mold right to your skin, not boxy or baggy or anything that would prevent his fingertips from pressing against your every curve, “‘Thought I heard you broke up with your boyfriend this summer.”
“I did,” You nod obediently, head bobbing up and down while your lashes flutter involuntarily. You don’t necessarily mean to act like a lovesick child, but he’s so close and warm and electric in the small space of the secluded bathroom that you’re uncontrollably fawning over him. It’s difficult to look him in the eyes so you do it upwards from a bowed head, pupils surely eclipsing your irises by now.
“So you’re mingling,” Billy nods slowly in understanding, his lips pursed in thought before they spread into a grin so dripping with charisma that you’re surprised it’s not forming a puddle on the floor. “That’s good. You need to let loose and have some fun.”
“I guess so,” You laugh, quietly, primly, nervously. You wonder if he can tell that you’re thrumming with equal parts excitement and terror. You won’t go back on your mission for the night but now that it’s plausible you’re getting clammy-palmed and weak-kneed. You hope when he does it- if he does it, he won’t laugh when you collapse afterwards.
“You seem nervous.” He notes, and your stomach drops to your feet. Okay, so he can tell. But he doesn’t back off- on the contrary, his hand strokes gently over your waist, rubbing in one soothing, slow circle before cementing itself against your side again.
“I’m sorry,” You blink, glancing down at the floor in search of sanctuary from those icy blue eyes, another gentle laugh spilling from your lips like it’ll shield you from the moves he’s putting on you, “I’m really- I don’t usually do this. I’ve never done this before.”
The admission comes out before you can really think about it, and when you do, you cringe.
The mission of the night was to get kissed, not to admit you’d never been before. And sure, it could still happen. But if word ever gets out that Billy Hargrove was your first kiss, your first real kiss despite your year-long relationship, you’d never show your face outside again.
He rears his head backwards, genuine shock taking over his face before he schools it back into that delightfully-forward grin of his. You’re drinking in how sleazy he’s being, because for once you want to feel like a man can’t keep his hands off of you, not that you’re dreading the moments before you have to see him because you’ll have to peck at his lips like a shy bird. Perhaps tomorrow will be the day you decide greaseballs aren’t for you, but tonight, you’ll let this one win.
“Y/N,” He practically sings, his voice low like a cat’s purr and twice as sensuous, “You’re kidding. He never kissed you?”
“No, I’m not,” You breathe, nearly sobbing despite your lack of tears, “I don’t- I just never… no one’s ever-”
“How could anyone resist?” He asks, and your heart pounds in your ears.
“That guy-” Billy’s brows scrunch, his curls dangling over the sides of his face as he leans closer to you, “Michael-? Bradley-? Tom-?”
It’s none of those, but you’re not eager to utter his name at the moment. You stay silent, aware that you could press yourself backwards against the wall behind you but pointedly staying in place, silently begging for Billy to close the gap between his lips and yours. It’s a painfully small thing, and a 5 degree lift in the angle of your head would fix it. But you’re frozen, basking in the way his eyes shine as he leans over you.
“How could he not kiss you?” Billy asks, and he leans in, he’s leaning in, he’s doing it, he’s closing the gap and-
Your entire world shifts on its axis.
At first, it’s just like it was with your ex, but longer. It’s a press of lips to lips, but Billy’s are soft and they taste a little bit like nicotine and a whole lot like beer. Then he breaks away and before your brain can even register that he’s done it, there’s a soft smacking sound and he goes back in for more. This one, this one is a killer. You feel his tongue, warm and wet and smooth, peek out of his mouth and brush upwards against the apex of your bottom lip. It makes you shudder, a full body thing that Billy feels against his palm. He breathes through his nose, probably a laugh but not a cruel one, and when his lips briefly part from yours again, barely backing off a milimeter, they brush against your own mouth when he speaks.
“He never did that?” Billy asks, his voice husky and low. He moves in for another kiss, and this time, at the prodding of his tongue against the seam of your lips you part them, nervous and excited and everything all at once as his tongue blots at the soft skin lining the inside of your mouth, spit-soaked and barely missing your teeth. He doesn’t break apart this time, though, he breathes through his nose and you feel the cool rush of air against your philtrum. It means his lips don’t have to separate from yours, and you barely hold back a moan as his lips advance further on yours, slotted with your own and gently pulling at them, urging your own mouth to mesh further with his. His hand on your waist begins tugging, dragging you closer to him as he pries his mouth off of yours, panting softly while his spit-soaked lips press a wet kiss against the skin just at the corner of your mouth.
“How did he never do that? Shit,” He breathes, long and low as he goes in for another kiss. He’s bolder this time, his tongue spilling out of his own lips and into your mouth, brushing against your own in a gesture that whites out your vision. It’s electric, it’s hazy and it stirs something squirmy beneath your gut as his tongue slides over your own, rolling his spit over yours and combining them in a substance you want to swallow. You don’t have much choice, because it drips close to your throat and you nearly choke on it, but his tongue retreats and your throat bobs as you chase after it. You do moan this time, nothing obscene but audible in the small, closed-off bathroom. Billy grunts at it, a low, gruff sound that makes the feeling beneath your stomach more intense, and you realize your hands have come up to grip against the sides of his leather jacket without your consent.
“How’d he stop himself, huh?” Billy asks, his voice husky. It sends a shiver down your spine but it follows through to your core, and you feel yourself begin to throb dully, “How’d he resist? I can’t fuckin’ stop. I can’t stop.” He grunts, pressing kiss after hot, sucking kiss to your lips, “How’d he stop himself from doing this 24/7, babe?”
You hang off of him desperately, whining lowly, but he’s so good of a kisser that you’re not embarrassed about it. It’s justified- you’re almost mourning the fact that this is your first kiss and not your forever kiss. There’s a good chance he’ll never look at you again after tonight, and you can only hope to find someone half as good at this as he is.
He moans, nose smashing against yours as he drags himself off of you, “He never did this? How ‘bout this,” He ducks down again, this time kissing against the side of your jaw and veering towards your ear, “Did he do that?”
“No,” You whimper, putty in his hands.
“Why not?” He asks, trailing towards your mouth again, “Why didn’t he kiss you, babe?”
“I don’t know,” You breathe, the response as true as it is embarrassing.
But he doesn’t seem to be mocking you- no, he goes in for another round of mouth-to-mouth, mumbling against yours, “He’s a fuckin’ idiot, that’s why. Can’t believe he never gave you what you deserve.”
He licks into your mouth again, tongue snaking in and out as he swipes it against your molars. It’s so far in your mouth that you’re surprised you haven’t swallowed it yet, but you valiantly try to, your lips closing around it as you suckle it and slide off of it with a wet smack.
“Motherfucker,” He groans, a choppy, broken sound that comes out like a laugh as he grips your face, preventing you from chasing after his mouth. He’s breathing heavily, and you realize you are, too, partially exposed chest heaving against his own bare one. You hadn’t realized how dazed you were until the bathroom light spills back into your eyes from where Billy’s forehead and curls had been blocking it, and he stares at you with a half-grin and twinkling eyes.
“You sure you’ve never kissed anyone before? That was a good move,” He licks excess spit off of his bottom lip, eyes staring harder at your lips than your own gaze, “Fuck, I can’t believe that loser could keep his hands off of you. Jesus, f’you were my girl,” He stops short, words half-choked as he cups your face in a large, rough hand. You stare up at him, dazzled, eyes flitting over the boy’s unfairly charming grin and movie-star handsome features, “I’d never stop kissing you.”
“Billy,” You whine, a desperate mewl while he holds your face in his large palm. It’s dizzying, and you feel drunk off of the kiss instead of whatever jungle juice you’d been reluctantly sipping only minutes before. Not only have you been kissed, you’ve been frenched, properly wooed and sweet-talked until your limbs began melting. He seems to sense that you’re not steady on your feet, and his nose scrunches for a flash of a second before it smooths out with his widening grin.
“Come with me,” He slides his hand from your waist to your back, then lower beneath your ass. It’s not necessarily lewd, but it’s not chaste either, and you yelp until you realize he’s trying to get you to jump into his arms.
“Come on, up,” He instructs, tugging again at the plush of your ass through your shorts, and you clamor to wrap your arms around his neck, hiking your waist up to wrap your legs around his own.
He grins, wolfish and toothy, “Good.” Then he’s off, arms slung beneath your ass as he hauls you out of the bathroom. Instead of turning back towards the party he heads for the stairs, and your stomach jumps with nerves as he starts to take them at a jog.
“Billy!” You shriek, arms clasped tight around his neck, “Don’t- you’ll drop me.”
“Relax. I work out,” He huffs, half-scoff, half-laugh, “Whatever you weigh, I can lift more.”
He proves his point by maintaining his grip on you the entire way up, but as soon as he starts beelining for a bedroom your gut twists again.
“Billy,” You repeat, your voice embarrassingly nervous. Are you ready for this? You’d like to be. It’s a fantasy, really, being swept off of your feet by him and sharing your first time with the man who’s surely the best lay in Indiana. But you’ve just had your first kiss, should you really be moving so quickly? “I don’t- I- I’m sorry, but I don’t know-”
“Seriously,” Billy grunts, throwing a hand out to slam the door shut behind the two of you as he hefts you onto the bed, “Relax.”
You bounce on the mattress, watching as he stops in front of you in all of his leather-clad glory. His chest is still bared, his jacket more of an accessory than an article of clothing. His curls are beginning to frizz, springing wildly this way and that, and his breathing matches your own despite hauling you up a flight of stairs mere seconds ago. He jams his hands into his pockets, a lighter in one and a squished carton of cigarettes in the other. He strikes his thumb against the lighter, burning the end of a cig until it glows, and you watch him take a deep drag through the same lips he’d just pressed all over your own.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” He says, after smoke billows from his mouth, “Not yet, if you’re not into it. But you can’t go home without a real kiss,” He grins doggedly, offering you his cigarette, “You smoke?”
“No,” You shake your head, and he snickers.
“Didn’t think so. Wanna try?”
“No,” You repeat, squirming on the bed, “So you’re not gonna- we’re not-?”
“Not now,” He rolls his eyes, but there’s another charming smile on his face, like he’s endeared by the way your fingers twiddle together, “You need a makeout. It’s good shit,” He sniffs, taking another drag from his cigarette and pinching it between his fingers as he advances towards the bed, “Move.”
You scoot backwards, nearly too far, and he leans himself against the pillows. He eyes you expectantly, then grabs your bicep to usher you over his lap, “C’mon, like this. There you go,” He nods encouragingly as you straddle his waist, and he wastes no time before reaching for your face again, this time curling his hand around the back of your neck and yanking you in.
It’s less slow this time. You don’t mind it- he smashes his lips to yours and his tongue fills your mouth before you can process being kissed at all, licking hot, fat stripes against your own and swiping over your teeth. The appreciative hum that he lets out when your tongue licks a careful, tentative line against his own vibrates through your mouth, transferring into a full-body shudder that shakes you against his lap. He snickers into your mouth, and it’s an odd sensation, one that leaves you reeling when he tears himself away for another inhale at the end of his cigarette.
“You’re learning,” He notes, smoke filling the air in a hazy cloud not unlike the one covering your brain with the taste of Billy’s saliva on your tongue, “You’re so shy. Still can’t believe that guy never touched you,” He scoffs, his free hand regaining its spot on your waist and molding to its curve as he sucks in another lungful of smoke, “His fuckin’ loss. Lemme fix it, though.” He eyes you, ducking his head so that his eyes bore into your own, “We don’t have to do anything tonight. But when you feel like it,” He reasons, his voice dripping with warm, enticing charm, “Give me a call. Anyday, babe, I’ll be there. You don’t deserve some two-pump chump that’s gonna waste your time. Call me,” He knocks his forehead into your own, less gentle than an embrace but tender all the same as he steals another kiss from your spit-slicked, puffy lips, “And I’ll pick you up.”
“Billy,” You breathe, stars in your eyes. It’s an offer you wouldn’t refuse in a million years, and despite knowing that you’re not ready for sex yet, you’ve got a dull ache between your legs that refuses to go away, and an embarrassing amount of wetness between your thighs for someone who’s only been kissed. He leans back in with that shit-eating grin to press it to your mouth again, and you happily let yourself get sucked back into another sloppy, languid kiss. You suck on his tongue again- he liked that the first time, and you feel his stomach muscles tense where your fingertips splay out over his bare abdomen beneath you.
The more you swap spit, the more you feel Billy get hard beneath you. You wouldn’t have flattered yourself before now and assumed that sitting on a man’s lap would get him hard like this, but the feeling of his cock hardening beneath you is undeniable. You pant when he breaks away to take one last drag of his cigarette before smashing it onto the nightstand, barely hitting an ashtray. He’s hard and you’re throbbing, and the pressure between your legs is too intense to ignore when Billy’s mouth trails spit down from your mouth to your neck. He starts mouthing at the skin just beneath your jawbone, juts towards your ear, then migrates back over to your throat. He tongues messily at the skin there, then sucks so that a sharp pain begins blooming on the surface, your skin beginning to raw.
“Never got a hickey either?” He guesses, the words tongued into your skin. You shake your head, and he feels it when your hips begin to rock unconsciously against his.
“Jesus, slow down,” He bites against your neck, breaking through your brain fog and holding you still by your hips, “Thought you didn’t want anything crazy.”
“I don’t,” You whimper helplessly, “But- but I need something, this- this feels really good.”
“Alright, easy,” He pats your hip twice, sharp smacks against the hem of your jeans, “How ‘bout I finger you? That’s all, just my hand. Won’t even look if you don’t want me to.”
“I-” You falter, thinking it over, “I can keep my shorts on?”
“S’fine,” Billy shrugs, raising his head to press his nose against yours and mouth at your lips again, “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“But you,” Your hands fall to his lap, braced against his thighs and pointedly avoiding the bulge between them, “That’s not fair.”
“I’ll jack off,” He grunts against your mouth, “Good?”
“Yeah.” You make the split-second decision, stomach aflutter as you try dismounting his lap. But he doesn’t let you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he holds you firmly in place.
“No, here,” He insists, and despite the awkward angle, manages to fit his hand into one leg of your shorts. He drags his fingers across your clothed core, but as soon as he feels the wetness seeping through it his eyes flash darker.
“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ soaked. It’s a shame that fucker never kissed you.” His eyes gleam and so do his teeth as he grins, “You clearly like it.”
The only answer you’re capable of giving him is a wanton moan, feeling the pads of Billy’s fingers drag tantalizingly slowly across the pad of your panties. You’re sure they’re stained entirely by now, and once Billy gets you used to the feeling of someone touching your cunt he hooks his fingers in the elastic band and stretches them to the side.
“You sure?” He asks, his mouth still infuriatingly distracting as it slots over yours, time and time again. He’s a voracious kisser and you revel in every second of it, nearly forgetting to nod affirmatively.
He needs no further prompting.
His fingers touch your pussy, bare this time instead of clothed. It’s an odd sensation, mildly alarming that you have to quell by reminding yourself that you want this. And you do- you really do, you want Billy’s fingers to push past the slit of your cunt and press against the sensitive spots inside. You’ve experimented with yourself, felt your body and figured out what makes it feel good. What places to stroke, what places to push, what places to tease. But Billy’s fingers are bigger than yours, and it’s an entirely different sensation to have someone do it for you than to use your own hand.
It’s thrilling, and you melt against Billy’s lap. You realize your kiss has gone weak from the sensation of Billy’s fingers stroking up and down your cunt, giving you all the warning in the world before putting any pressure there. When he finally slips two fingers inside your slit and catches the wetness gushing out your jaw goes slack, tongue doing nothing but pooling spit around your teeth while Billy’s swipes over it.
“Fuck,” He grunts against your teeth, his free hand pawing at your jaw to tilt your head backwards slightly. It allows his tongue to go deeper towards your throat and you nearly gag, your own tongue rising to clash with it. Once you reengage you can’t stop, and you’re not sure you ever want to considering the way this feels right now.
His fingers stroke in and out, back and forth, up and down, and the tight pressure your shorts put on his wrist keeps it pressed firmly against your clit. It’s a heavenly feeling and you’re close already, the kiss having stirred you up more than you’d like to admit. You’re worried about leaking against his jeans but Billy takes it in stride, fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt so skillfully that there’s wetness beginning to slide down towards his wrist.
You’re caught between mortification and bliss, but a long, forceful roll of Billy’s tongue over yours cements you in the latter.
“You’re almost there,” He notes the way your thighs clench around his wrist, feeling the pulsing of your sex as his fingers slide smoothly in and out, “Come on, babe,” He speaks across your tongue, lips pressing ravenously to your own, “Come on, lemme have it. Come on, give it to me, your first time. I wanna feel it, lemme feel you lose it on my fingers.”
“Oh my god,” You whimper, hips ticking forwards as Billy mumbles filthy hot utterances into your mouth. You drink them, sucking against his tongue again and feeling your chest begin to shudder with choppy breaths. The feeling that’s been plaguing you between your thighs all night is beginning to crest, and one deliberate nudge of Billy’s thumb against your already-aching clit is all you need to begin trembling on his thighs.
“Oh- oh my god, oh- aah!” You cry, Billy’s mouth colliding with yours and muffling your words. He licks them out of your mouth, teeth scraping against your lower lip and stinging the skin there. You roll your hips against his hand, unknowingly but helpfully, and he lets you ride out your orgasm to its end before he begins clamoring for his jeans with still-sticky fingers.
“Oh- lemme,” You start, hands flying for his zipper, but they hover there uselessly while he stares up at you. You can tell he’s agitated, pent-up energy making his eyes wild. You feel bad for the guy- he’s honestly generous to offer to get you off and take care of himself. But this is so far out of your wheelhouse that you’re afraid you’ll do it wrong, and you’d be embarrassed to no end if you couldn’t get a man off when he’s already this hard.
“You don’t have to.” He repeats, continuing to fumble for his cock until he can wrestle it free from his boxers. It’s large, you’d say, though you have nothing to base it against, and it’s an almost pretty color at the tip, flushed and pink. It’s oozing with wetness the same way you were, and Billy presses a flat palm to your mouth instead of his own.
“Lick it,” He instructs you, unable to tear his other hand away from his aching cock even though it’s dry, “Get it wet.”
You feel ridiculous dragging your tongue up his palm but you do it anyways, and he slams it onto his cock so roughly it looks like it’d hurt. But he starts tugging at it, palm sliding up and down its length almost viciously. You wonder if it does hurt, but there’s enough lubrication from your spit and your slick alike for his palm to glide instead of catch. You watch in almost-fascination as he jacks himself off, grunting and lunging forwards to draw you into another kiss, his tongue smearing messily over your lips before prodding between them.
As much as he’d teased you for getting off on kissing, he seems to be doing the same. He pumps his fist up and down the length of his cock but he’s grunting and groaning into your kiss, tongue fighting against yours when you’re brave enough to use it. The next time you remember to suckle at the tip of his tongue he heaves, his muscles tightening beneath your palms as he nears his own climax.
Wordlessly, without even breaking your kiss, you fumble for his cock. You remember to dip your hands between your own legs first to gather the leftover slickness there, and you’re by no means experienced, but you find its mushroom tip with your fingers and curl them around it. His own hand stutters, then stops, and you slide your fist down his length, stopping when you press against his balls. You pick up your pace, but try doing it gently in case you’re somehow doing it wrong, and he slings his arms around you waist to crash your bodies together even closer.
“Fuck,” He pants into your mouth, hot and heavy and gruff, “Fuck, you’re dirty.”
You squeeze experimentally, at the very base of his dick, and he bites your lip. It’s rough, and you’re almost convinced he’s drawn blood, but you know now that squeezing works, so you work your way up and down his cock, peppering in there and there until his chest is heaving against yours.
“Good, keep going, keep going,” He chants, the words spilling messily over your mouth, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna fucking-”
You part from the kiss, keeping one hand on his cock as the other flies to the mattress. You haul yourself off of his lap and flatten yourself over his thighs, knees bent as you fit your mouth over the head of his cock.
He cums.
You don’t know why you did it- it’s not like you’ve ever done it before. But you know it’s what you’re supposed to do, and you’re pretty sure you did it right if the mouthful of cum shot at the back of your throat is any indication. You nearly choke on it, cheeks briefly bulging until you can manage to swallow what doesn't stick to your tongue and cheeks.
“Aagh, what- what the fuck,” He groans, aggressive, nearly a roar as his hips buck. It presses his cock further into your mouth, nearly down his throat, and you steel yourself against gagging as he fucks out his orgasm into your mouth.
“Fucking hell,” He pants, grabbing you by the hair and tugging you off of him. He pulls you back into his lap and dives in for a kiss that lets him taste his own release on your tongue. It nearly makes him hard again, and he has to push you off before he goes back on his earlier promise to take things relatively slow with you.
“You’re fucking crazy,” He accuses, eyes hooded as he stares scrutinizingly at you, “You’ve never done any of that before?”
“No,” You breathe, shaking your head dazedly as you regather your surroundings. You feel the mattress beneath your fingers, the burn from having your knees bent for so long, “No, I- I don’t know, I just did what felt right.”
“Felt fuckin’ amazing,” He tosses his head back against the pillows and watches you swallow the contents of your mouth, part your spit, part his, part cum.
“You,” He starts laughing again, a breathless shudder of his chest, “You’re better than you think you are. Now I’m really not letting some loser fuck your virgin pussy,” He rolls his head sideways to look at you, and you nearly squirm under the intensity of his gaze, “Swear you’ll call me?”
“I swear.” You nod akin to a bobblehead, “Are- can we…? Stay here?”
“I need a minute,” He admits, nodding, his brows raised as he fumbles for another cigarette. You tentatively stretch out beside him, but you don’t close the gap until he does. His large palm grabs the side of your head and mashes it into his chest, playfully smearing at your hair until you’re sure it loses its shape.
“You bombshell.” He laughs, letting you curl into his side on the bed. You plant a hand on his chest, and something happy and squirmy happens in your chest, “You tricked me.”
“It’s my first time!” You insist through a proud, growing grin, and he drags his hand down your back, nails scratching there and eliciting a shiver that bleeds down your spine, “I swear.”
“I believe you. But you’re hot.” He insists, breathing heavily as he exhales smoke, a rare contentness seeping through his body as he recuperates beside you, “Can’t wait to see what you do when I finally get inside you.”
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
you understand parts of billy that i’ve never been able to, like i can’t even comprehend how perfectly you write him?? it’s kind of crazy tbh. but anyway, if i had a dick it’d be hard as shit right now because that was so hot. like next level hot. 10/10, hit all the best spots, dirty beautiful sexy gorgeous filthy perfection‼️
word count: 6359 // masterlist | inbox (please request ! ) | WIP list
summary: after a year long relationship that yielded nothing more than a few pathetic pecks on the lips, you venture out to get kissed. It's a stroke of cosmic luck that the man who chooses to kiss you is one of Hawkins's hottest.
Contents/Warnings: afab!reader, smut (18+), kissing, makeouts, fingering, brief oral sex (m receiving), brief mentions of virginity/virgin kink
A/N: this is special for many occassions! first, because I actually started and finished something that i haven't had sitting in my drafts for two years! second, because i'm finally back into the swing of things with stranger things and billy to boot. and third, because i hit 1K!!!!!! thank you so so much for helping me hit this milestone, it feels insane and i'm so ready to celebrate! i'm planning on a little writing event to celebrate even more but for now enjoy 6.3K of nasty billy smut <3
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
You feel like an imposter in the middle of this party. On the surface you know what you’re doing- you’ve got on a bra that pushes your chest up, and a top that plunges so low that you’re nearly showing nipple. It’s riding up your stomach, too, a strip of fabric that’s eager to reveal all of the parts you’re supposed to be showing, considering it’s Halloween and everyone’s costumes are thinly veiled excuses to get naked.
But beyond that-? Beyond dressing the part, beyond wearing the right bra with the right top and smearing glittery eyeshadow over your lids, you’re at a complete loss. Because the bra and top and makeup are supposed to get you laid, and you’ve never done that before.
You’re woefully under-touched, under-kissed, even, but enough time has passed since the end of your last relationship that you’re looking to get back out there again. The problem with that one had been that it was simply… boring. It feels mean to say that, because the boy was nice and respectful- maybe too respectful. A year and a half’s worth of dating had garnered only quick pecks on the lips, and you were starting to wonder who was less interested in physicality with the other person by the end of it. It had felt more like you’d been friends for the year, and had dipped your toes into awkward hellos and goodbyes on the mouth. It was a relationship by name only- and you’re ready for the real thing.
You’re nervous, but you’ve been thinking that you might need something hot and heavy to get you comfortable in the dating scene. After all, as much as you’d resented your last relationship’s lack of spice, boys are hardly ever that hands-off. You suspect anyone else you try going steady with will have their hands all over you by the third date, and the thought makes your stomach flip. It’s a little trepidatious, a little excited, which is why you’re testing the waters tonight, and aiming to get kissed before going home.
It feels too perfect that the man whose eye you catch is Billy Hargrove. You’ve been subtly gazing at him for months now, because he’s easy on the eyes and his rebellious attitude only sweetens the deal. He sits behind you in history, too, and you admittedly relish the shenanigans he comes up with to both keep himself occupied, and irritate your teacher. You’ve caught yourself smothering a laugh at a few of his snarky comments, or leaning to your left to cover up the sight of him smoking from the front of the class. On occasion he asks you for a pencil, and the last time he’d returned it he’d flashed one of those dazzling smiles at you, reaching out to tug at a lock of your hair before sauntering out. You wish you could say you’re smart enough not to fall for such childish antics, but you’re not, and you’ll happily get schmoozed by the school’s bad boy instead of going home un-kissed.
“Hey,” He offers you a salacious grin, his dusty blonde curls spilling over his shoulders in ringlets you’re jealous of. He’s either going as the Terminator or as a half-naked man, and honestly, the second option sounds more like him than Arnold Schwarzenegger does. He’s got a leather jacket on, one that he hasn’t even attempted to zip up to cover his tanned chest below. He’s thick, muscled and stocky, but you try keeping your eyes on his own as he crowds you against the wall of the hallway you’re both standing in. You’re the only people in the narrow space, but the party rages on just through the doorway, so you’re not completely removed. He has to raise his voice just a smidge to talk to you, but you can hear him and his gruff voice sends a chill up your spine. It’s dark, and your stomach does another one of those flips as you realize you’re nose-to-nose with one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.
You shrink backwards against your volition- what you wouldn’t give for the courage to lean closer - and smile, a curve of your lips accompanied by a flush to your cheeks, “Hi.”
“You look nice,” He comments, “I’ve never seen you dressed like this before.”
“I don’t usually wear it to class,” You glance down at your chest, then back up at him to find that his eyes dart upwards at the same time. Your cheeks heat more, and your stomach writhes below your heart, “It’s a little… much.”
“It’s perfect,” He grins, blinking lazily at you and tilting his head further down, one of his arms coming up to brace against the wall behind you, “You’re kind of the last person I thought would be here, though.”
“I’m not that bad, am I?” You ask, nearly cringing. But he laughs, and you’re really berating yourself for falling so easily now, because your knees nearly give at the sound. It’s rich, warm, and practiced, you’re sure, but it doesn’t matter in this moment, because Billy Hargrove is paying attention to you, and it looks like the only item on your bucket list is about to be checked off pretty soon.
“Not bad. Just quiet. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. And that’s not really something you see at these types of parties. You drink?”
“Not really,” You shake your head, peering down at your underfilled cup of something, barely two sips taken from it, “I only took it because someone handed it to me, and I didn’t know how to say no.”
He takes it from you without another word, his fingers brushing your own as he grips the cup in his gloved hand, lips stretching wide around the rim to down the thing in one go. He blinks afterwards, shaking his head briefly as the taste stings his tongue, but his eyes are brighter when they open again, and he drops the empty cup onto the hallway floor without a second thought.
“How much have you had?” You ask, not wary, but curious, and he laughs again.
“None of that. I’ve only had beer so far. That’s gross,” He licks his lips, his tongue so bright pink it’s almost red, his lips now coated in a glossy sheen of saliva, “They just put whatever they could find in there.”
“Is it strong?” You ask, remembering the way your throat had burned in taking only a few sips.
“Nah,” He shakes his head, his curls flying and his eyes gleaming, “Not unless you’re a lightweight.”
You shrug haphazardly, then realize all too late that you’re not good at flirting. Perhaps this is why you’d gone a year and a half without a proper kiss- what do you say now? He’s inches from your face, liquor wafting off of his tongue and cologne off of his bare chest. What could the right thing to say possibly be in this scenario?
Billy seems to realize he needs to do the talking, because he dips closer, his face now achingly close to yours, “So, do you like it here?”
“At the party?” You ask, and he doesn’t point out your stupid question. He just nods, one of his curls falling and tickling your cheek where you’re looking up at him.
“It’s okay,” You hum, casting a wary glance towards the crowd mere feet away, “It’s a little loud, though!”
Your voice is semi-raised to prove your point, and he breathes out a laugh that makes his teeth gleam in the dull light of the hallway. He gets impossibly closer, his chest pressing against yours for a split second before his hands find your waist and nudge you backwards, to your left.
“What-” You stammer, but your feet soon find a doorway instead of solid wall, and he backs you into a dark bathroom off the hallway, further removed from the noise of the party.
“There,” He hums, flicking on a light and shutting the door behind him, planting his feet against it and leaning back, “Is that quieter for you?”
You feel the breeze coming through the window, and the soft lights of the bathroom are actually pleasant compared to the lingering darkness of the hallway or the stark white lights of the main room. You turn to face the window, peering out over the lawn that’s lit only by streetlamps. There’s no partygoers on the lawn yet, but there’s no police either, so maybe that’s for the best. It really is quieter in here, not silent but better, and you nod thoughtfully.
“Yeah. Thanks.” You turn, finding Billy mere inches from your face. He licks his lips, his tongue glistening and dark pink, obscene as it coats his lower lip in a layer of saliva you want to taste. It’s a bold thought, considering you’ve never done more than a press of lips-on-lips, but you can smell his breath and even the beer on it doesn’t discourage you from thoughts of kissing him for real.
“Anytime,” He winks, he actually winks, a ludicrous gesture that you appreciate for its obviousness. You’re so nervous that you need over-the-top, you need him to lead so that you don’t fumble around in the dark and lose your shot. If he wants to kiss you, he’ll have to kiss you, and from the way he’s breathing against your face you presume he’s about to.
“So,” He hums, one of his hands finding your waist. Your tight shorts mold right to your skin, not boxy or baggy or anything that would prevent his fingertips from pressing against your every curve, “‘Thought I heard you broke up with your boyfriend this summer.”
“I did,” You nod obediently, head bobbing up and down while your lashes flutter involuntarily. You don’t necessarily mean to act like a lovesick child, but he’s so close and warm and electric in the small space of the secluded bathroom that you’re uncontrollably fawning over him. It’s difficult to look him in the eyes so you do it upwards from a bowed head, pupils surely eclipsing your irises by now.
“So you’re mingling,” Billy nods slowly in understanding, his lips pursed in thought before they spread into a grin so dripping with charisma that you’re surprised it’s not forming a puddle on the floor. “That’s good. You need to let loose and have some fun.”
“I guess so,” You laugh, quietly, primly, nervously. You wonder if he can tell that you’re thrumming with equal parts excitement and terror. You won’t go back on your mission for the night but now that it’s plausible you’re getting clammy-palmed and weak-kneed. You hope when he does it- if he does it, he won’t laugh when you collapse afterwards.
“You seem nervous.” He notes, and your stomach drops to your feet. Okay, so he can tell. But he doesn’t back off- on the contrary, his hand strokes gently over your waist, rubbing in one soothing, slow circle before cementing itself against your side again.
“I’m sorry,” You blink, glancing down at the floor in search of sanctuary from those icy blue eyes, another gentle laugh spilling from your lips like it’ll shield you from the moves he’s putting on you, “I’m really- I don’t usually do this. I’ve never done this before.”
The admission comes out before you can really think about it, and when you do, you cringe.
The mission of the night was to get kissed, not to admit you’d never been before. And sure, it could still happen. But if word ever gets out that Billy Hargrove was your first kiss, your first real kiss despite your year-long relationship, you’d never show your face outside again.
He rears his head backwards, genuine shock taking over his face before he schools it back into that delightfully-forward grin of his. You’re drinking in how sleazy he’s being, because for once you want to feel like a man can’t keep his hands off of you, not that you’re dreading the moments before you have to see him because you’ll have to peck at his lips like a shy bird. Perhaps tomorrow will be the day you decide greaseballs aren’t for you, but tonight, you’ll let this one win.
“Y/N,” He practically sings, his voice low like a cat’s purr and twice as sensuous, “You’re kidding. He never kissed you?”
“No, I’m not,” You breathe, nearly sobbing despite your lack of tears, “I don’t- I just never… no one’s ever-”
“How could anyone resist?” He asks, and your heart pounds in your ears.
“That guy-” Billy’s brows scrunch, his curls dangling over the sides of his face as he leans closer to you, “Michael-? Bradley-? Tom-?”
It’s none of those, but you’re not eager to utter his name at the moment. You stay silent, aware that you could press yourself backwards against the wall behind you but pointedly staying in place, silently begging for Billy to close the gap between his lips and yours. It’s a painfully small thing, and a 5 degree lift in the angle of your head would fix it. But you’re frozen, basking in the way his eyes shine as he leans over you.
“How could he not kiss you?” Billy asks, and he leans in, he’s leaning in, he’s doing it, he’s closing the gap and-
Your entire world shifts on its axis.
At first, it’s just like it was with your ex, but longer. It’s a press of lips to lips, but Billy’s are soft and they taste a little bit like nicotine and a whole lot like beer. Then he breaks away and before your brain can even register that he’s done it, there’s a soft smacking sound and he goes back in for more. This one, this one is a killer. You feel his tongue, warm and wet and smooth, peek out of his mouth and brush upwards against the apex of your bottom lip. It makes you shudder, a full body thing that Billy feels against his palm. He breathes through his nose, probably a laugh but not a cruel one, and when his lips briefly part from yours again, barely backing off a milimeter, they brush against your own mouth when he speaks.
“He never did that?” Billy asks, his voice husky and low. He moves in for another kiss, and this time, at the prodding of his tongue against the seam of your lips you part them, nervous and excited and everything all at once as his tongue blots at the soft skin lining the inside of your mouth, spit-soaked and barely missing your teeth. He doesn’t break apart this time, though, he breathes through his nose and you feel the cool rush of air against your philtrum. It means his lips don’t have to separate from yours, and you barely hold back a moan as his lips advance further on yours, slotted with your own and gently pulling at them, urging your own mouth to mesh further with his. His hand on your waist begins tugging, dragging you closer to him as he pries his mouth off of yours, panting softly while his spit-soaked lips press a wet kiss against the skin just at the corner of your mouth.
“How did he never do that? Shit,” He breathes, long and low as he goes in for another kiss. He’s bolder this time, his tongue spilling out of his own lips and into your mouth, brushing against your own in a gesture that whites out your vision. It’s electric, it’s hazy and it stirs something squirmy beneath your gut as his tongue slides over your own, rolling his spit over yours and combining them in a substance you want to swallow. You don’t have much choice, because it drips close to your throat and you nearly choke on it, but his tongue retreats and your throat bobs as you chase after it. You do moan this time, nothing obscene but audible in the small, closed-off bathroom. Billy grunts at it, a low, gruff sound that makes the feeling beneath your stomach more intense, and you realize your hands have come up to grip against the sides of his leather jacket without your consent.
“How’d he stop himself, huh?” Billy asks, his voice husky. It sends a shiver down your spine but it follows through to your core, and you feel yourself begin to throb dully, “How’d he resist? I can’t fuckin’ stop. I can’t stop.” He grunts, pressing kiss after hot, sucking kiss to your lips, “How’d he stop himself from doing this 24/7, babe?”
You hang off of him desperately, whining lowly, but he’s so good of a kisser that you’re not embarrassed about it. It’s justified- you’re almost mourning the fact that this is your first kiss and not your forever kiss. There’s a good chance he’ll never look at you again after tonight, and you can only hope to find someone half as good at this as he is.
He moans, nose smashing against yours as he drags himself off of you, “He never did this? How ‘bout this,” He ducks down again, this time kissing against the side of your jaw and veering towards your ear, “Did he do that?”
“No,” You whimper, putty in his hands.
“Why not?” He asks, trailing towards your mouth again, “Why didn’t he kiss you, babe?”
“I don’t know,” You breathe, the response as true as it is embarrassing.
But he doesn’t seem to be mocking you- no, he goes in for another round of mouth-to-mouth, mumbling against yours, “He’s a fuckin’ idiot, that’s why. Can’t believe he never gave you what you deserve.”
He licks into your mouth again, tongue snaking in and out as he swipes it against your molars. It’s so far in your mouth that you’re surprised you haven’t swallowed it yet, but you valiantly try to, your lips closing around it as you suckle it and slide off of it with a wet smack.
“Motherfucker,” He groans, a choppy, broken sound that comes out like a laugh as he grips your face, preventing you from chasing after his mouth. He’s breathing heavily, and you realize you are, too, partially exposed chest heaving against his own bare one. You hadn’t realized how dazed you were until the bathroom light spills back into your eyes from where Billy’s forehead and curls had been blocking it, and he stares at you with a half-grin and twinkling eyes.
“You sure you’ve never kissed anyone before? That was a good move,” He licks excess spit off of his bottom lip, eyes staring harder at your lips than your own gaze, “Fuck, I can’t believe that loser could keep his hands off of you. Jesus, f’you were my girl,” He stops short, words half-choked as he cups your face in a large, rough hand. You stare up at him, dazzled, eyes flitting over the boy’s unfairly charming grin and movie-star handsome features, “I’d never stop kissing you.”
“Billy,” You whine, a desperate mewl while he holds your face in his large palm. It’s dizzying, and you feel drunk off of the kiss instead of whatever jungle juice you’d been reluctantly sipping only minutes before. Not only have you been kissed, you’ve been frenched, properly wooed and sweet-talked until your limbs began melting. He seems to sense that you’re not steady on your feet, and his nose scrunches for a flash of a second before it smooths out with his widening grin.
“Come with me,” He slides his hand from your waist to your back, then lower beneath your ass. It’s not necessarily lewd, but it’s not chaste either, and you yelp until you realize he’s trying to get you to jump into his arms.
“Come on, up,” He instructs, tugging again at the plush of your ass through your shorts, and you clamor to wrap your arms around his neck, hiking your waist up to wrap your legs around his own.
He grins, wolfish and toothy, “Good.” Then he’s off, arms slung beneath your ass as he hauls you out of the bathroom. Instead of turning back towards the party he heads for the stairs, and your stomach jumps with nerves as he starts to take them at a jog.
“Billy!” You shriek, arms clasped tight around his neck, “Don’t- you’ll drop me.”
“Relax. I work out,” He huffs, half-scoff, half-laugh, “Whatever you weigh, I can lift more.”
He proves his point by maintaining his grip on you the entire way up, but as soon as he starts beelining for a bedroom your gut twists again.
“Billy,” You repeat, your voice embarrassingly nervous. Are you ready for this? You’d like to be. It’s a fantasy, really, being swept off of your feet by him and sharing your first time with the man who’s surely the best lay in Indiana. But you’ve just had your first kiss, should you really be moving so quickly? “I don’t- I- I’m sorry, but I don’t know-”
“Seriously,” Billy grunts, throwing a hand out to slam the door shut behind the two of you as he hefts you onto the bed, “Relax.”
You bounce on the mattress, watching as he stops in front of you in all of his leather-clad glory. His chest is still bared, his jacket more of an accessory than an article of clothing. His curls are beginning to frizz, springing wildly this way and that, and his breathing matches your own despite hauling you up a flight of stairs mere seconds ago. He jams his hands into his pockets, a lighter in one and a squished carton of cigarettes in the other. He strikes his thumb against the lighter, burning the end of a cig until it glows, and you watch him take a deep drag through the same lips he’d just pressed all over your own.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” He says, after smoke billows from his mouth, “Not yet, if you’re not into it. But you can’t go home without a real kiss,” He grins doggedly, offering you his cigarette, “You smoke?”
“No,” You shake your head, and he snickers.
“Didn’t think so. Wanna try?”
“No,” You repeat, squirming on the bed, “So you’re not gonna- we’re not-?”
“Not now,” He rolls his eyes, but there’s another charming smile on his face, like he’s endeared by the way your fingers twiddle together, “You need a makeout. It’s good shit,” He sniffs, taking another drag from his cigarette and pinching it between his fingers as he advances towards the bed, “Move.”
You scoot backwards, nearly too far, and he leans himself against the pillows. He eyes you expectantly, then grabs your bicep to usher you over his lap, “C’mon, like this. There you go,” He nods encouragingly as you straddle his waist, and he wastes no time before reaching for your face again, this time curling his hand around the back of your neck and yanking you in.
It’s less slow this time. You don’t mind it- he smashes his lips to yours and his tongue fills your mouth before you can process being kissed at all, licking hot, fat stripes against your own and swiping over your teeth. The appreciative hum that he lets out when your tongue licks a careful, tentative line against his own vibrates through your mouth, transferring into a full-body shudder that shakes you against his lap. He snickers into your mouth, and it’s an odd sensation, one that leaves you reeling when he tears himself away for another inhale at the end of his cigarette.
“You’re learning,” He notes, smoke filling the air in a hazy cloud not unlike the one covering your brain with the taste of Billy’s saliva on your tongue, “You’re so shy. Still can’t believe that guy never touched you,” He scoffs, his free hand regaining its spot on your waist and molding to its curve as he sucks in another lungful of smoke, “His fuckin’ loss. Lemme fix it, though.” He eyes you, ducking his head so that his eyes bore into your own, “We don’t have to do anything tonight. But when you feel like it,” He reasons, his voice dripping with warm, enticing charm, “Give me a call. Anyday, babe, I’ll be there. You don’t deserve some two-pump chump that’s gonna waste your time. Call me,” He knocks his forehead into your own, less gentle than an embrace but tender all the same as he steals another kiss from your spit-slicked, puffy lips, “And I’ll pick you up.”
“Billy,” You breathe, stars in your eyes. It’s an offer you wouldn’t refuse in a million years, and despite knowing that you’re not ready for sex yet, you’ve got a dull ache between your legs that refuses to go away, and an embarrassing amount of wetness between your thighs for someone who’s only been kissed. He leans back in with that shit-eating grin to press it to your mouth again, and you happily let yourself get sucked back into another sloppy, languid kiss. You suck on his tongue again- he liked that the first time, and you feel his stomach muscles tense where your fingertips splay out over his bare abdomen beneath you.
The more you swap spit, the more you feel Billy get hard beneath you. You wouldn’t have flattered yourself before now and assumed that sitting on a man’s lap would get him hard like this, but the feeling of his cock hardening beneath you is undeniable. You pant when he breaks away to take one last drag of his cigarette before smashing it onto the nightstand, barely hitting an ashtray. He’s hard and you’re throbbing, and the pressure between your legs is too intense to ignore when Billy’s mouth trails spit down from your mouth to your neck. He starts mouthing at the skin just beneath your jawbone, juts towards your ear, then migrates back over to your throat. He tongues messily at the skin there, then sucks so that a sharp pain begins blooming on the surface, your skin beginning to raw.
“Never got a hickey either?” He guesses, the words tongued into your skin. You shake your head, and he feels it when your hips begin to rock unconsciously against his.
“Jesus, slow down,” He bites against your neck, breaking through your brain fog and holding you still by your hips, “Thought you didn’t want anything crazy.”
“I don’t,” You whimper helplessly, “But- but I need something, this- this feels really good.”
“Alright, easy,” He pats your hip twice, sharp smacks against the hem of your jeans, “How ‘bout I finger you? That’s all, just my hand. Won’t even look if you don’t want me to.”
“I-” You falter, thinking it over, “I can keep my shorts on?”
“S’fine,” Billy shrugs, raising his head to press his nose against yours and mouth at your lips again, “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“But you,” Your hands fall to his lap, braced against his thighs and pointedly avoiding the bulge between them, “That’s not fair.”
“I’ll jack off,” He grunts against your mouth, “Good?”
“Yeah.” You make the split-second decision, stomach aflutter as you try dismounting his lap. But he doesn’t let you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he holds you firmly in place.
“No, here,” He insists, and despite the awkward angle, manages to fit his hand into one leg of your shorts. He drags his fingers across your clothed core, but as soon as he feels the wetness seeping through it his eyes flash darker.
“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ soaked. It’s a shame that fucker never kissed you.” His eyes gleam and so do his teeth as he grins, “You clearly like it.”
The only answer you’re capable of giving him is a wanton moan, feeling the pads of Billy’s fingers drag tantalizingly slowly across the pad of your panties. You’re sure they’re stained entirely by now, and once Billy gets you used to the feeling of someone touching your cunt he hooks his fingers in the elastic band and stretches them to the side.
“You sure?” He asks, his mouth still infuriatingly distracting as it slots over yours, time and time again. He’s a voracious kisser and you revel in every second of it, nearly forgetting to nod affirmatively.
He needs no further prompting.
His fingers touch your pussy, bare this time instead of clothed. It’s an odd sensation, mildly alarming that you have to quell by reminding yourself that you want this. And you do- you really do, you want Billy’s fingers to push past the slit of your cunt and press against the sensitive spots inside. You’ve experimented with yourself, felt your body and figured out what makes it feel good. What places to stroke, what places to push, what places to tease. But Billy’s fingers are bigger than yours, and it’s an entirely different sensation to have someone do it for you than to use your own hand.
It’s thrilling, and you melt against Billy’s lap. You realize your kiss has gone weak from the sensation of Billy’s fingers stroking up and down your cunt, giving you all the warning in the world before putting any pressure there. When he finally slips two fingers inside your slit and catches the wetness gushing out your jaw goes slack, tongue doing nothing but pooling spit around your teeth while Billy’s swipes over it.
“Fuck,” He grunts against your teeth, his free hand pawing at your jaw to tilt your head backwards slightly. It allows his tongue to go deeper towards your throat and you nearly gag, your own tongue rising to clash with it. Once you reengage you can’t stop, and you’re not sure you ever want to considering the way this feels right now.
His fingers stroke in and out, back and forth, up and down, and the tight pressure your shorts put on his wrist keeps it pressed firmly against your clit. It’s a heavenly feeling and you’re close already, the kiss having stirred you up more than you’d like to admit. You’re worried about leaking against his jeans but Billy takes it in stride, fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt so skillfully that there’s wetness beginning to slide down towards his wrist.
You’re caught between mortification and bliss, but a long, forceful roll of Billy’s tongue over yours cements you in the latter.
“You’re almost there,” He notes the way your thighs clench around his wrist, feeling the pulsing of your sex as his fingers slide smoothly in and out, “Come on, babe,” He speaks across your tongue, lips pressing ravenously to your own, “Come on, lemme have it. Come on, give it to me, your first time. I wanna feel it, lemme feel you lose it on my fingers.”
“Oh my god,” You whimper, hips ticking forwards as Billy mumbles filthy hot utterances into your mouth. You drink them, sucking against his tongue again and feeling your chest begin to shudder with choppy breaths. The feeling that’s been plaguing you between your thighs all night is beginning to crest, and one deliberate nudge of Billy’s thumb against your already-aching clit is all you need to begin trembling on his thighs.
“Oh- oh my god, oh- aah!” You cry, Billy’s mouth colliding with yours and muffling your words. He licks them out of your mouth, teeth scraping against your lower lip and stinging the skin there. You roll your hips against his hand, unknowingly but helpfully, and he lets you ride out your orgasm to its end before he begins clamoring for his jeans with still-sticky fingers.
“Oh- lemme,” You start, hands flying for his zipper, but they hover there uselessly while he stares up at you. You can tell he’s agitated, pent-up energy making his eyes wild. You feel bad for the guy- he’s honestly generous to offer to get you off and take care of himself. But this is so far out of your wheelhouse that you’re afraid you’ll do it wrong, and you’d be embarrassed to no end if you couldn’t get a man off when he’s already this hard.
“You don’t have to.” He repeats, continuing to fumble for his cock until he can wrestle it free from his boxers. It’s large, you’d say, though you have nothing to base it against, and it’s an almost pretty color at the tip, flushed and pink. It’s oozing with wetness the same way you were, and Billy presses a flat palm to your mouth instead of his own.
“Lick it,” He instructs you, unable to tear his other hand away from his aching cock even though it’s dry, “Get it wet.”
You feel ridiculous dragging your tongue up his palm but you do it anyways, and he slams it onto his cock so roughly it looks like it’d hurt. But he starts tugging at it, palm sliding up and down its length almost viciously. You wonder if it does hurt, but there’s enough lubrication from your spit and your slick alike for his palm to glide instead of catch. You watch in almost-fascination as he jacks himself off, grunting and lunging forwards to draw you into another kiss, his tongue smearing messily over your lips before prodding between them.
As much as he’d teased you for getting off on kissing, he seems to be doing the same. He pumps his fist up and down the length of his cock but he’s grunting and groaning into your kiss, tongue fighting against yours when you’re brave enough to use it. The next time you remember to suckle at the tip of his tongue he heaves, his muscles tightening beneath your palms as he nears his own climax.
Wordlessly, without even breaking your kiss, you fumble for his cock. You remember to dip your hands between your own legs first to gather the leftover slickness there, and you’re by no means experienced, but you find its mushroom tip with your fingers and curl them around it. His own hand stutters, then stops, and you slide your fist down his length, stopping when you press against his balls. You pick up your pace, but try doing it gently in case you’re somehow doing it wrong, and he slings his arms around you waist to crash your bodies together even closer.
“Fuck,” He pants into your mouth, hot and heavy and gruff, “Fuck, you’re dirty.”
You squeeze experimentally, at the very base of his dick, and he bites your lip. It’s rough, and you’re almost convinced he’s drawn blood, but you know now that squeezing works, so you work your way up and down his cock, peppering in there and there until his chest is heaving against yours.
“Good, keep going, keep going,” He chants, the words spilling messily over your mouth, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna fucking-”
You part from the kiss, keeping one hand on his cock as the other flies to the mattress. You haul yourself off of his lap and flatten yourself over his thighs, knees bent as you fit your mouth over the head of his cock.
He cums.
You don’t know why you did it- it’s not like you’ve ever done it before. But you know it’s what you’re supposed to do, and you’re pretty sure you did it right if the mouthful of cum shot at the back of your throat is any indication. You nearly choke on it, cheeks briefly bulging until you can manage to swallow what doesn't stick to your tongue and cheeks.
“Aagh, what- what the fuck,” He groans, aggressive, nearly a roar as his hips buck. It presses his cock further into your mouth, nearly down his throat, and you steel yourself against gagging as he fucks out his orgasm into your mouth.
“Fucking hell,” He pants, grabbing you by the hair and tugging you off of him. He pulls you back into his lap and dives in for a kiss that lets him taste his own release on your tongue. It nearly makes him hard again, and he has to push you off before he goes back on his earlier promise to take things relatively slow with you.
“You’re fucking crazy,” He accuses, eyes hooded as he stares scrutinizingly at you, “You’ve never done any of that before?”
“No,” You breathe, shaking your head dazedly as you regather your surroundings. You feel the mattress beneath your fingers, the burn from having your knees bent for so long, “No, I- I don’t know, I just did what felt right.”
“Felt fuckin’ amazing,” He tosses his head back against the pillows and watches you swallow the contents of your mouth, part your spit, part his, part cum.
“You,” He starts laughing again, a breathless shudder of his chest, “You’re better than you think you are. Now I’m really not letting some loser fuck your virgin pussy,” He rolls his head sideways to look at you, and you nearly squirm under the intensity of his gaze, “Swear you’ll call me?”
“I swear.” You nod akin to a bobblehead, “Are- can we…? Stay here?”
“I need a minute,” He admits, nodding, his brows raised as he fumbles for another cigarette. You tentatively stretch out beside him, but you don’t close the gap until he does. His large palm grabs the side of your head and mashes it into his chest, playfully smearing at your hair until you’re sure it loses its shape.
“You bombshell.” He laughs, letting you curl into his side on the bed. You plant a hand on his chest, and something happy and squirmy happens in your chest, “You tricked me.”
“It’s my first time!” You insist through a proud, growing grin, and he drags his hand down your back, nails scratching there and eliciting a shiver that bleeds down your spine, “I swear.”
“I believe you. But you’re hot.” He insists, breathing heavily as he exhales smoke, a rare contentness seeping through his body as he recuperates beside you, “Can’t wait to see what you do when I finally get inside you.”
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
you understand parts of billy that i’ve never been able to, like i can’t even comprehend how perfectly you write him?? it’s kind of crazy tbh. but anyway, if i had a dick it’d be hard as shit right now because that was so hot. like next level hot. 10/10, hit all the best spots, dirty beautiful sexy gorgeous filthy perfection‼️
This is the beginning of my attempt of adapting the fanfiction "The Aftershow" (<- mind the rating and tags!!!) by @munchiemooz of our shared AU into a comic! :D
There’s just something about this mask-wearing, chainsaw-wielding, people-eating, beefy-behemoth of a man that has me enamored. So, please, enjoy this Leatherface x Reader oneshot🙂↕️🫶🏻
The cotton sundress fit perfectly. You smoothed the fabric around your stomach, admiring the color and the fit. How Luda Mae got your measurements exactly right was beyond you. Everything that woman does was perfect it seemed. You supposed that's what happens when she's had her whole life devoted to homemaking.
You stared at your reflection a little longer in the grimy mirror. You fussed over your hair, picking at the stray strands that framed your face. You always wanted to look presentable in front of the family as Luda Mae taught you, but especially now for Thomas.
Despite Luda Mae's efforts in matchmaking, Thomas could not have seemed less interested in you. Anytime you had a new dress made—or handed down— she would twirl you around making a point to ask Thomas how you looked.
Thomas would only stare. Not even offering so much as a sigh. He would then promptly walk past you and Luda and head straight down to the basement. The basement in which you were strictly forbidden to go down to. The very basement you had once woke up in, which now seemed like a lifetime ago.
You sighed heavily, and stopped fussing over your reflection, and left your small room. You had a plethora of chores to get through today, and you decided enough time had been wasted. You descended down the rickety wooden stairs of the farmhouse, and blindly turned the corner to the kitchen.
You were surprised to be greeted to an empty kitchen.
Luda Mae must have had to work at the store today. You reasoned.
You grabbed the list that was left on the counter, and looked at your laundry-list of tasks. Down at the bottom, in near perfect cursive, Luda Mae wrote;
Please have these done before Charlie gets home. He's expected to be back with new visitors around 7.
You groaned as you set the list back on the counter. Nevertheless, you kicked your ass into gear and began washing the dishes that were piled into the sink.
Thomas trudged up the stairs, ripping the sliding wooden door open, and upon seeing you, in your new dress that hugged your figure perfectly, Thomas stood frozen.
You turned, meeting his harsh and cold gaze with your soft and warm one. You smiled at him, "oh Tommy! Good morning. I didn't wake you with my chores did I? Hungry? I can make breakfast!"
You waited, looking for a nod or a small grunt of approval. Thomas did neither. He stood still.
"Thomas? Is everything ok-"
Thomas lunged at you, grabbing hold of your shoulders and forcing you face down on the antique wooden table. You let out a meek gasp at his rough nature, but curious at his brazen display, you let him continue, wanting to see where this was going.
Thomas lifted your dress over your hips, revealing your white cotton panties, which were already drenched in the middle. Thomas sighed loudly, and gently pulled them to the side with his thick fingers.
"Thomas! What are you doing!?" You feigned surprise.
Thomas's eyes were glued to your cunt, watching as a clear strand of arousal was pulled from your cunt, sticking to the cotton of your underwear. Thomas was mesmerized. Your cunt was inviting him in, and so willingly, all because he manhandled you over the kitchen table. He reached out, dipping his pointer finger into your folds, gathering up your slick.
Thomas brought his finger to his face, toying with your arousal between his finger and his thumb. He watched as it made the same silt strands between his fingers when he pulled them apart.
"Thomas?" You tried getting his attention.
Thomas placed his fingers in his mouth. He groaned at the taste; The taste of you. He dipped his saliva-coated finger back into your folds, collecting more of your juices, and repeating the same action. It wasn't enough. Thomas quickly yanked your underwear down to your ankles, got onto his knees, and shoved his face into your dripping cunt. His tongue lapped at the grool your pussy produced, making sure he licked up every ounce of arousal from you.
You moaned at the feeling of his tongue working you over. His slick tongue giving your clit much needed pressure. His tongue slipped into you, licking at your walls. You rolled your eyes closed, lost in the lust.
Thomas's hands gripped your hips with a bruising pressure, forcing you into his face as much as he could get you. Pathetic moans left your throat as you gave into him.
Thomas begrudgingly stood up, his tongue leaving you. He couldn't ignore the painfully present problem in his pants. He pushed his clothed cock against your exposed sex, and you gasped at feeling the sheer girth of him.
Thomas slowly rocked his hips, grinding his covered cock against your cunt, unintentionally teasing you. Your walls clenched around nothing, you were so desperate to get him to stretch you out, and fill you up.
You bucked your ass against him, "Thomas, please, it's ok, you can use me."
Thomas faltered, unsure of what to do now.
You groaned out in frustration, and reached behind you, trying to unbutton his pants for him. Thomas's large hand engulfed your wrist as he placed it by your side, holding it against the wood table.
With his free hand, he took out his engorged cock, lining it up with your heat.
Thomas focused on the way his flushed tip prodded at your entrance. He watched as his leaking tip slipped along your folds, gently catching the edge of your hole. Without warning, Thomas sheathed himself balls deep inside you.
You winced, shrieking at the sudden force in which was used to split you open. Despite being well beyond ready, your walls still ached trying to accommodate the girth Thomas boasted.
"Hu-hurry, hurry Thomas before someone sees us…" god forbid Monty wheel himself into the kitchen for a beer, or Hoyt come home early, but the thought that scared you most was God-Fearing, wait-until-marriage Luda Mae catching you two fucking on her kitchen table.
That's what it would be in her eyes. It wasn't sex, no, sex was between married couples in love, trying for a family. Fucking is what a cheap two-dollar whore partook in.
Your gut twisted with guilt. She fought for you to stay, after seeing the way you treated Thomas. She stood by your side making sure none of the men in her house hold took advantage of you. She fed you, clothed you, and sheltered you. And you? Here you were, with Thomas.
Your guilt was forced out your mind at the feeling of Thomas animilastically rutting into you, his fat cock bullied its way deeper into your tight cunt, his tip stabbed at your cervix as if he was trying to force himself past it and directly into your womb. His heavy balls slapped at your clit, giving it intense pleasure. You gripped the sides of the table, mind going dumb, as Thomas had his way with you.
You couldn’t help but let out lecherous moans at the feeling of his cock sliding against your sweet spot. Every thrust of Thomas’s hips shook the table, the wooden legs skipping across the wooden floor. Surely Uncle Monty heard it, but you were so far fucked out of your mind, you didn’t care. You just wanted to please Thomas, to get him off.
Your own pleasure was quickly building up, you felt it tight in your lower abdomen, just waiting to burst. You could tell Thomas was close, his grunting picked up in pace and pitch, his thrusts were sloppy and erratic.
“Thomas… please, don’t pull out.” You gasped through ragged breaths.
Thomas wouldn’t have left your warm cunt anyways. He was desperate to make you his, to mark you from the inside out. Thomas rutted into you for the final time, as he buried himself deep into you. You felt his cock pulse before he flooded you with his spend. You clenched around his softening cock as your own pleasure burst through you.
Thomas slid out of your drenched hole, watching in awe as your gaping cunt spilled his spunk onto the wooden floor beneath you.
Thomas stuffed himself back into his pants, pulled your messy underwear up and made you decent once more.
You lifted yourself from the table, smoothing out your dress, and watched as Thomas silently went back to the basement. You turned your attention to the mess on the floor. It needed to be clean anyways, but now it was priority on your list of chores.
You sighed, grabbing a bucket of hot soapy water, and an old washcloth, and got to work.
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