Nov 27, 2025
ough my evil aviscott...
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from Sweden
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Belgium
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Lithuania
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United States
ough my evil aviscott...
[heuhuheuhuewagsmytail]
A little something something for the Bloodloving people
A snippet I've written for our fave doctor and the mayor, it's not smut but suggestive enough to be post here I think.
Legundo had long since disappeared into his work. The study was quiet save for the soft scratch of pen against paper, his brow furrowed, sleeves rolled up, entirely consumed by whatever problem had rooted him to that chair for hours. So consumed, in fact, that he didn’t notice the door open. Didn’t notice Louis slip inside. Didn’t notice him watching, leaning lazily against the doorframe at first, eyes dark with quiet amusement, taking in the sight of his human boyfriend so thoroughly distracted. Louis exhaled softly through his nose. Unacceptable. Without a word, he crossed the room. Legundo only realized something was wrong when a sudden, familiar weight settled into his lap. “What—?” He startled, shoulders tensing, pen nearly slipping from his fingers. Louis, already comfortable, adjusted himself like he belonged there, which, to be fair, he did. One arm looped loosely around Legundo’s shoulders, the other braced against the desk as he looked down at him with a slow, knowing smile. “Well,” he said lightly, “don’t mind if I do.” “Louis—” Legundo blinked, trying to reorient himself, though his hands had already come to rest at Louis’s waist out of pure instinct. “What are you doing?” Louis tilted his head, as if the answer were obvious. “Getting your attention.” “I was busy.” “Yes,” Louis hummed, dragging the word out as his fingers idly brushed over Legundo’s chest. “I noticed.” The touch was slow. Distracting. Intentional. Legundo inhaled, steadying himself. “I’m in the middle of something important.” “Mm.” Louis shifted closer, turning in his lap until they were face to face, knees bracketing his hips. One hand slid up to rest against his shoulder, thumb grazing absentmindedly along the seam of his shirt. “You’ve been in the middle of something important all day.” “That’s because I—” His words faltered slightly as Louis leaned in. Close enough that their breaths mingled. Close enough that Legundo had to stop himself from leaning the rest of the way. “—have work,” he finished, weaker now. Louis’s smile deepened, softer this time, but no less dangerous. “And I,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “have been very patient.” Legundo swallowed. That tone never meant anything good for his productivity. “Louis…” “Don’t you think,” Louis continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, “you deserve a break?” His fingers pressed just slightly into Legundo’s shoulder as he shifted again, settling more firmly against him, their bodies aligned in a way that made concentration… difficult. “I can help,” he added, almost thoughtfully. Legundo let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something more strained. “I’m not sure your definition of help is very—” Whatever argument he had prepared dissolved the moment Louis dipped his head. The first touch to his neck was barely there, a ghost of a kiss, warm and deliberate. Legundo went still. “—productive,” he tried to finish, though the word came out unevenly. Louis didn’t stop. Another kiss, slower this time, lingering just a fraction longer. Then the faintest brush of teeth, followed by the soft glide of his lips against sensitive skin. Legundo’s grip on him tightened before he even realized it. “Louis,” he said again, but it lacked any real warning now, more breath than protest. “Hmm?” Louis murmured against his neck, entirely unbothered. “You can’t just come in here and—” His sentence broke off sharply as Louis shifted just enough to find a better angle, his mouth pressing more firmly now, unhurried, deliberate in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Legundo’s head tipped back slightly, betraying him. A quiet sound escaped him before he could stop it. Louis smiled; he could feel it. “And yet,” he whispered, lips brushing his skin again, “I just did.”
Could you mayb draw a Legundo 👀
I mayyyy
Its not fully nsfw but the vibes are there, I had fun with this one. Its implications of bloodletting are for those who want it. Iykyk
Warning for: blood, bruises, bondage, boner
Full image: here
Such A Good Pup
I recently read "all he needs is a little training, really," by jinx69 on ao3, and it's… oh my god, it's so good!!! I'm very obsessed with near the end when Owen says this to the doc, and I quote:
"...You might even want to get yourself off when you're feeling all tired and sleepy in your bed, and be unable to stop thinking about me when you do."
Please, please read the lovely fic by jinx69 beforehand, it's amazing. I can't even compare, but I just had to write this solo doc scene. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I would say this is like an aftermath of it
This makes no sense whatsoever. Just my very normal ramblings, but I thought it would be hot for the hypnosis to have a different affect then imagined.
Tags: Edging, powerplay (kinda), sleep deprivation (caused by Legundo himself), hypnosis, hypnokink, masturbation, solo male, the voices (as a side effect of the hypnosis), cum description (I'm never doing this again) pet play (gets called pup, a lot), technically domOwen (I should write him as a dom more this and the fic that inspired this was hot)
Days blur together after the day he went to see Owen in the forest. Not in the way they usually do, full and purposeful, each hour accounted for, but in a strange, uneven rhythm. Moments slip. Thoughts trail off halfway through. Legundo finds himself standing in rooms without remembering why he walked into them, tools in his hands he doesn’t recall picking up.
He tells himself it’s exhaustion.
It has to be.
Because whenever he gets close to that gap, whenever he tries to linger on the edges of it, there’s something in his mind that gently redirects him. A soft, almost comforting insistence that there’s nothing there worth worrying about. That everything is fine.
So he lets it go.
There are too many other things demanding his attention anyway. The town doesn’t let him breathe long enough to sit with the unease, even if he wanted to.
Oakhurst is restless. The militia is stretched thin, running patrols longer than they should, doubling routes they can barely cover. Reports come in pieces, never the full picture, shadows moving where they shouldn’t, livestock found drained and abandoned, whispers of red eyes watching from the treeline. Vampires, pressing closer. Testing. Waiting. Legundo throws himself into the work because it’s the only thing that feels solid. If he keeps moving, keeps thinking, keeps doing, then the strange gaps in his memory don’t matter. The way his thoughts sometimes feel… nudged, guided away from certain places, it doesn’t matter.
What matters is finding something that works.
A defense. A cure. Anything.
And if he runs himself into the ground trying—
At least he would be useful...
Sleepless nights at his workbench, grinding ingredients down into fine powder, hands stained with herbs and ash. Bottles of cloudy liquid line the shelves, failed attempts, half-finished remedies, something close to holy water that still isn’t quite right. Notes scribbled in the margins of older notes, theories crossing over each other in restless loops.
He looks worse with each passing day. By the time Cleo finds him, he barely registers her at first.
“Doctor.” Her voice cuts clean through the fog, sharp enough to anchor him for a second. He turns, slow, like his body is lagging behind his thoughts. She takes one look at him and her expression tightens. “You look like shit.”
Legundo manages a faint, lopsided smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah… I guess there’s still a lot to do.”
“No.” Cleo steps closer, firm, unyielding. “No, there isn’t. Not like this.” He sways a little where he stands, and that’s all the confirmation she needs. “You need sleep, Legs.” Her tone softens just a fraction, but it’s still not negotiable. “We’re going back. Now.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t really have it in him. She drags him along, half-guiding, half-hauling, through the quiet streets and up to the clinic. He barely notices the walk, his head dipping, steps uneven. Inside, she stops at the bottom of the stairs.
“I can’t go up with you,” she says, glancing toward the upper floor. “You’ll manage, yeah?” Legundo nods automatically, that same slow compliance surfacing again without him thinking about it. “Good. Then go.” She pauses, studying him for a beat. “Please sleep.”
And then she’s gone, already shifting, dissolving into the flutter of wings before disappearing into the night. The silence she leaves behind feels heavier. Legundo stands there for a second longer than necessary before turning toward the stairs.
Up.
Each step feels like it takes more effort than it should. His hand drags along the railing for balance, his body swaying faintly. By the time he reaches his room, he’s already half-gone, caught between waking and
something softer, deeper. He doesn’t bother with the lamp. He just makes it to the bed and collapses onto it, limbs heavy, eyes slipping shut...
...and then opening again.
Sleep doesn’t come. Not fully. His mind won’t stay quiet long enough. Thoughts drift in loose, disconnected fragments at first, unfinished formulas, half-remembered conversations, the sharp smell of crushed herbs, but they don’t hold. They slide away, replaced by something else.
Someone else.
Owen.
It happens without warning, without intent. One moment Legundo is trying to focus on anything else, anything, and the next, the image is just… there. Clear. Too clear.
The shape of his face. The way his eyes catch the light, red, vivid, impossible to ignore. The faint scatter of freckles across his skin, soft against the sharper edges of his expression. Legundo exhales slowly, his head tilting back against the pillow.
It’s strange.
He doesn’t remember much, nothing concrete, nothing he can pin down, but the feeling lingers. Warm. Heavy. Good in a way that doesn’t quite make sense. Safe, even.
His brow furrows faintly at that. Why does it feel like that? He shifts slightly, restless, trying to shake it off, but it only makes him more aware of himself, of the tension still coiled in his body, of how awake he feels despite the exhaustion dragging at him.
His thoughts circle back. Owen again. Always Owen. The memory isn’t there, not really, but the impression of him is. Hands in his hair. A voice low and steady, saying things that felt… important, even if he can’t remember the words.
Legundo swallows, his breath catching just slightly. This is ridiculous.
He turns his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might help. “Just sleep,” he mutters to himself, voice barely above a whisper. But his mind won’t listen. It drifts again, pulled back like there’s something waiting there for him.
Owen’s eyes. That’s what sticks the most. Red. Bright. Unnervingly beautiful. Legundo lets out a quiet, uneven breath, staring up into the dark. “…what is wrong with me,” he murmurs. There’s no answer.
Only the slow, creeping realization that no matter how hard he tries to turn away from it, his thoughts keep slipping back to the same person. He was so hard it hurt. A dull, persistent ache that had settled deep in his groin, a throbbing reminder that refused to be ignored. Legundo shifted on the bed, the sheets tangling around his legs, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls. Every time he closed his eyes, the image was there, seared onto the back of his eyelids: Owen. The sharp cut of his jaw, the softness of his lips, the fangs he’d felt once, just a ghost of a memory, a press against his skin that made his whole body shudder now with a confusing, desperate heat.
Pathetic, a distant, rational part of his mind whispered. You’re lying here aching for a vampire. A monster. You’re pathetic.
But the thought dissolved like sugar in water, sweet and meaningless. The need was louder. It was a physical pull, a cord tied around his spine and yanked taut, centering everything on the swollen, leaking weight between his legs. He’d tried to sleep. He’d tried to think of supply lists, of patrol routes, of the formula for that damned holy water. It was useless. His mind was a river, and every current led back to the same red-eyed pool.
A low, broken sound escaped him, a whimper. He pressed the heel of his hand against his erection through his trousers, and the jolt of sensation was so sharp it bordered on pain. Oh god. He bit his lip, hard, trying to stifle the next noise. His hips jerked up, seeking more pressure, and the friction of the rough fabric was a cruel tease.
“Owen…” The name was a prayer, a curse, a plea, torn from his throat without his permission. It hung in the dark room, shameful and raw.
He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. This was insane. But the ache was becoming a torment, a tight, coiling spring in his gut that demanded release. His fingers, clumsy and shaking, fumbled with the fastenings of his pants. The button popped open. The zipper rasped down, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet. Cool air hit his feverish skin, and he gasped. He didn’t push the fabric down, just freed himself, his cock springing up to slap against his stomach, already wet at the tip.
Just a touch. Just to take the edge off. Then I’ll stop. I’ll sleep.
He wrapped his fingers around himself, and his whole body bowed off the bed. A choked-off moan ripped from his chest. He was so sensitive, every nerve ending screaming. His grip was tight, almost punishing, as he gave a single, slow stroke from root to tip. His thumb smeared the bead of pre-cum over the swollen head, and the slick, hot slide was so good, it made his vision blur.
Think of anything else. Anyone else.
He tried. He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing the clinic, the pages of his notes. But the images warped, melted. The ink on the pages swirled into the pattern of freckles across a nose. The scent of herbs became the clean, cold scent of the forest, of damp earth and… him.
“Owen,” he moaned again, louder this time, his hips beginning a shallow, helpless rhythm into his own fist. The stroke was rough, urgent, fueled by a frustration that was quickly swallowing the shame. “Please…” He didn’t know what he was asking for. Relief. Permission. Something.
His mind began to fog, the edges softening. The exhaustion, the relentless arousal, the hypnotic pull of that singular focus, it all blended into a heavy, warm syrup in his veins. His movements became less coordinated, his strokes uneven. His mouth fell open slightly, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of his lip to trail down his chin. He didn’t notice.
That’s it. Just like that.
The voice wasn’t his own. It was a smooth, dark ribbon of sound woven directly into the fabric of his thoughts. It felt like a memory. It felt like the present. It felt like... Owen.
You’re so good for me. So desperate. My good pup.
A full-body shudder wracked him, a convulsion of pure, electric pleasure that had nothing to do with his hand. It came from obeying the voice, from the praise that sank into him like a warm stone. His hips stuttered. Pup. The word should have jarred him, should have broken the spell. Instead, it settled in his gut, warm and right. A soft, high whine vibrated in his throat, an animal sound.
You can’t come yet, can you? the voice murmured, a phantom breath against his ear. You need to hear it from me.
A door swung open, and all the resistance, all the confusion, poured out. What was left was a simple, hollow space, waiting to be filled. His hand slowed, then stilled, just holding himself tightly, trembling with the effort of stopping. Tears of frustration welled in his unfocused eyes. He was so close. The pressure was a burning knot, a star about to go supernova in his core. But it was stuck. Held back by an invisible wall.
“O-Owen…” he slurred, the word thick and wet. “Please… let me… I need…” He couldn’t form the request. Begging was too complex. He just needed.
Show me, the voice commanded, gentle but absolute. Show me how much you need. Be a good pup for me.
His mind, blank and pliant, latched onto the command. Show him. His free hand, the one not glued to his aching cock, moved. It was a slow, uncoordinated motion. He brought his fingers to his mouth, staring vacantly at the ceiling. He sucked two fingers into his mouth, wetting them thoroughly, a clumsy, lewd imitation of something he couldn’t quite remember. A memory of a tongue, of fangs. He drooled around his own fingers. Then, guided by an instinct he didn’t question, he dragged those wet fingers down his face. Over his parted lips, his chin, through the mess of drool already there. He marked his own skin. He did it again, whining pitifully. Showing him. Being good.
Good boy Legundo, the voice purred, and another bolt of pleasure, sharp and sweet, lanced through him. His cock twitched violently in his hand, leaking a fresh stream of pre-cum that dripped onto his stomach. Now touch yourself. But don’t come. Edge for me. Be my good, obedient pup.
His hand on his cock moved again, slick with his own spit and pre-cum. This time the strokes were different. Not the frantic, desperate pulls from before, but a measured, rhythmic pumping. It was torture. Exquisite, mind-melting torture. Each upward stroke brought him racing to the brink. His balls drew up tight, his thighs tensed like stone, his toes curled. The orgasm built, a tidal wave gathering force, ready to crash.
Stop.
His hand froze. A sob hitched in his chest. The wave crested… and hovered, suspended in an agony of denial. He trembled violently, every muscle locked. A tear finally spilled over, cutting a clean track through the mess on his cheek.
Again.
He stroked. Five perfect, devastating pulls. The world narrowed to the feel of his fist, the pounding of his heart, the voice in his head.
Stop.
He stopped, whimpering, his body screaming in protest. The denial was a physical pain, a deep, throbbing ache in his soul. He was crying openly now, tears and saliva mixing on his face. He was a mess. A desperate, horny, sobbing mess, and the only thing that mattered was the next command.
You’re so beautiful like this, the voice cooed. You beautiful, stupid boy. All mine. Completely broken for me. Do you want to come, pup?
He nodded as best as he could.
Then ask properly.
He didn’t understand. He was past understanding. He just needed. A deep, guttural bark erupted from his throat, a sharp, canine sound of pure distress. He followed it with a high, continuous whine, his hips making tiny, abortive thrusts into the empty air where his hand was no longer moving. He was reduced to this. To sounds. To need. "Please?" he repeats. "Please, Owen, Owen?" he begged.
Good. Very good. The approval was a drug, flooding his system with warmth. Now, pup. Come for your Master. Let it all out.
The permission was a detonation. With a raw, shattered cry, his body unlocked. His back arched violently off the bed, every muscle seizing. His hand, almost of its own volition, gripped his cock in a brutal fist and pointed it upward, toward his own face.
The first rope of cum wasn’t a spurt; it was a blast, a thick, pearly jet that shot through the air with a soft, wet sound. Landing in a hot, sticky stripe across his own forehead, painting his hairline white. He was still screaming, a continuous, mindless sound of release as the second eruption followed, just as voluminous, splattering across his cheekbone and into his hair. The third pulse was a massive, glutinous load that landed squarely on his chin and dripped down his neck.
He couldn’t see, couldn’t think. He was a vessel, emptying himself on Owen's command. The fourth and fifth bursts were slightly weaker but no less copious, splashing across his collarbones and chest in warm, sticky ropes. The final pulses were thick, oozing dribbles that coated his still-throbbing cock and his trembling hand, a final, messy proof of his obedience.
The climax seemed to last forever, wringing him out completely, leaving him hollow and twitching. He collapsed back onto the sodden sheets, breath sawing in and out of his lungs, covered in his own spend. The room smelled of sex and submission. His mind was a blissful, empty static. The voice was gone, but the feeling remained, the warm, heavy, owned feeling.
He lay there, spent and ruined, a sticky, tear-streaked puppy who had finally been allowed his reward. His eyes, glazed and content, stared at the ceiling. A slow, dopey smile touched his ruined, cum-spattered lips.
“Thank you...” he whispered hoarsely to the empty dark, before the blackness of true, obedient sleep finally pulled him under.
can I request....v!lumberjack perhaps.....I don't care what scenario I just wanna read them fuck nasty.....plea,se,,
You've come to the right place my dear for fucking nasty! I wanted to write v!lumberjack for months I just never had an idea until today. The idea was very simple: muzzles :3
Modern day au or something, still very much vampires, but writing this I forgot they were supposed to be in Oakhurst...
Tags: Muzzle, Pet play (kinda? I think one day I'm gonna learn), praise
The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds of the apartment, striping the polished hardwood floor. Owen leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching. Pyro was a whirlwind of restless energy, pacing from the couch to the window and back, a low, playful growl rumbling in his throat every time he passed.
“What’s gotten into you today, huh?” Owen asked, his voice calm but edged with a familiar authority.
Pyro stopped, turning his head. A sharp, mischievous grin split his face. “Bored. Need to burn some energy.” He took a slow, deliberate step towards Owen, his eyes glinting. “Your energy.”
Owen didn’t move. “You bit me this morning. Hard.”
“You liked it,” Pyro countered, taking another step closer, now within arm’s reach. He leaned in, his breath warm against Owen’s neck. “I felt you shiver.”
“That’s not the point.” Owen’s hand came up, not pushing him away, but settling firmly on Pyro’s chest, holding him at a precise distance. “Scott saw the mark. Told me I should ‘control my dog’.”
Pyro stilled. The playful light in his eyes flickered, replaced by something hotter, darker. A challenge. “Did he now.”
“Mhm.” Owen’s thumb stroked a slow circle over the fabric of Pyro’s shirt. “Said it was embarrassing. That a well-trained pet shouldn’t be so… mouthy.”
The air between them thickened, charged. Pyro’s gaze dropped to Owen’s lips, then back to his eyes. “I’m not a pet.”
“Aren’t you?” Owen’s voice dropped to a murmur, a private sound meant only for the space between their bodies. “You get that look. The one where you want to be told what to do. Where you want to be good for me. But today… today you’re all teeth. No discipline.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be good,” Pyro breathed, but the waver in his voice betrayed him. His hips gave a tiny, involuntary shift forward, seeking the pressure of Owen’s restraining hand.
Owen saw it. He always saw it. That silent plea beneath the defiance. Scott’s stupid comment echoed in his head, not as a criticism, but as a spark. An idea. A delicious idea.
“I think you do,” Owen said finally, his tone shifting into something smoother, more deliberate. He pushed off the counter, forcing Pyro to take a step back. “I think you desperately want to be my good boy. You’re just having trouble remembering how.”
He turned and walked toward the hallway closet, his steps measured. Pyro followed, a magnet drawn to its pole. “Owen…?”
Owen opened the closet door and reached up to the top shelf. His fingers closed around smooth leather. He pulled it down, the straps whispering against themselves. It was a muzzle. A simple, human-grade, breathable leather muzzle with a padded interior. They’d bought it as a joke, a prop for a costume party last Halloween. It had never been used for its intended purpose.
Until now.
Owen turned, holding it up. Pyro’s eyes went wide, his breath catching audibly. He didn’t step back. If anything, he leaned closer.
“This,” Owen said, his voice a low, resonant command that vibrated in the quiet room, “is for biting.”
Pyro stared at the muzzle, then at Owen’s face. A flush crept up his neck. “You’re serious.”
“Scott thinks I can’t control you. I think he’s wrong.” Owen took a step forward. “I think you’re going to be so, so good for me. Aren’t you, Pyro?”
The use of his name, coupled with that tone—firm, expectant, brimming with unshakable confidence—unlocked something deep in Pyro’s core. His shoulders slumped, the fight bleeding out of him, replaced by a throbbing, immediate heat. He gave a single, shaky nod.
“Words, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” Pyro whispered. “I’ll be good.”
“Good boy,” Owen praised, and the effect was instantaneous. Pyro shuddered, a full-body tremor of pure want. His eyes fluttered shut for a second. “Now. On your knees.”
Pyro sank down gracefully, the denim of his jeans whispering against the floor. He knelt upright, hands resting on his thighs, head tilted back to look up at Owen. The submission was beautiful, total. Owen approached, the leather cool in his hands.
“Open,” he instructed softly.
Pyro parted his lips, his breathing already coming faster. Owen guided the muzzle into place. The padded bar fit comfortably behind his teeth, the leather cups settling against his cheeks. Owen’s fingers were deft, gentle but firm as he buckled the straps behind Pyro’s head, checking the fit. He tucked a finger under a strap, ensuring it wasn’t too tight. “Comfortable?”
Pyro nodded, the movement restricted but clear. A muffled sound, an affirmative hum, came from behind the leather. His eyes were huge, dark pools of surrender and arousal.
Owen stepped back to admire his work. The sight was profoundly erotic. Pyro, strong-willed and fiery Pyro, brought to his knees and silenced. His expression was one of deep, abiding trust, mixed with a wild excitement that made his chest rise and fall rapidly.
“Look at you,” Owen murmured, crouching down to be at eye level. He ran a thumb over the leather covering Pyro’s cheek. “So perfect. My perfect, muzzled boy. No more biting. No more trouble. Just you, being good for me.” Each word was a caress, a reinforcement. Pyro whined, a desperate, hungry sound, and nuzzled his face into Owen’s palm.
Owen’s own desire, a slow-burning coal, burst into flame. He stood, his hand sliding into Pyro’s hair, gripping firmly. “Stay.”
He walked to the living room, Pyro’s eyes tracking his every move. Owen settled into the armchair, spreading his legs. He unbuttoned his jeans, the sound obscenely loud. He didn’t hurry. He took his time, pulling down the zipper, pushing fabric aside. He was already hard, his cock springing free, thick and flushed.
“Come here,” he said, his voice rough now with need.
Pyro scrambled forward on his knees, the leather of the muzzle brushing against Owen’s inner thigh as he moved into the space between Owen’s legs. He stared at Owen’s cock, then up at his face, a question in his eyes.
“You want to be useful, don’t you?” Owen asked, his hand back in Pyro’s hair, guiding him closer. “You want to show me how good you can be?”
Another muffled, eager sound. Pyro nodded, his hot breath washing over Owen’s skin.
“Then show me.”
Owen didn’t force him down. He applied just enough pressure to guide, to direct. Pyro needed no more encouragement. He leaned forward, his tongue darting out first to lick a broad, wet stripe from base to tip. The sensation, the visual of his muzzled partner trying to lavish attention with only his tongue, sent a jolt of pure lust straight to Owen’s groin.
“That’s it,” Owen groaned, his head falling back against the chair. “Use that tongue. Show me how sorry you are for being so mouthy.”
Pyro moaned around the muzzle, the vibration traveling through Owen’s cock. He set to work with a focused desperation, his tongue flattening against the underside, lapping at the bead of pre-cum that had gathered at the slit. He couldn’t take Owen deep, couldn’t use his lips or teeth, and the limitation made every swipe, every circling pass of his tongue, feel infinitely more intense. It was all sensation, all wet, hot, silken friction.
Owen’s grip in Pyro’s hair tightened. “Such a good boy,” he rasped. “Look at you, trying so hard. Your tongue is so clever, so pretty.” He used his free hand to stroke Pyro’s cheek, his thumb rubbing over the strap of the muzzle. “My good, pretty boy. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to kneel and serve.”
Pyro’s answering whimper was broken, overwhelmed. His hips began to rock against empty air, seeking friction of his own. The praise was like fuel poured on the fire of his arousal, making him dizzy with it. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue delving and swirling, bathing Owen’s length in slick heat.
The pleasure built in a slow, relentless wave. Owen could feel the tension coiling tight in his abdomen. He watched, mesmerized, as Pyro worshipped him, the leather straps framing his face, his eyes screwed shut in concentration and bliss.
“Not yet,” Owen breathed, pulling Pyro back by the hair. A string of saliva connected Pyro’s tongue to Owen’s glistening cock for a second before snapping. Pyro looked up, dazed, panting through the muzzle. “Stand up. Take your clothes off. I want to see all of you.”
Pyro rose on unsteady legs, his own erection straining painfully against his jeans. His fingers fumbled with his belt, his button, his zipper, movements clumsy with urgency. He pushed his jeans and boxers down in one frantic motion, kicking them aside. His t-shirt followed, tossed to the floor. He stood naked before Owen, trembling, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach.
“Beautiful,” Owen said, the word a reverent exhale. “Every inch of you. Come here.”
Pyro moved back into the space between Owen’s legs. Owen’s hands went to his hips, pulling him closer, until the head of Pyro’s cock brushed against Owen’s still-wet length. The contact made them both gasp.
“You’re dripping for me,” Owen observed, his voice thick. He reached between them, wrapping his fingers around both of their cocks, squeezing them together. The feeling was electric—hot skin, slick with spit and pre-cum, the thrilling contrast of his own hand and Pyro’s muffled cry.
He began to stroke, a slow, tight glide that made his vision blur. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?” he gritted out, his hips pushing up into the friction. “To be put in your place. To be shown who takes care of you.”
Pyro could only nod frantically, his hands braced on Owen’s shoulders for balance, his body bowing over him. Every slide of Owen’s fist pulled another choked, desperate sound from behind the muzzle.
“You’re being so perfect,” Owen whispered, his pace increasing. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, a wet, rhythmic slap. “Taking your muzzle so well. Letting me use you. My perfect, good boy. You can come. Come for me.”
It was the final permission. The praise, the overwhelming sensation, the psychological surrender of the muzzle—it all crashed over Pyro at once. His body locked, a sharp, guttural cry muffled by leather as he came, stripes of white painting Owen’s stomach and chest in hot pulses. His knees buckled, but Owen held him up, his stroking hand never stopping, now slick with Pyro’s release.
The sight, the feel, the smell of it pushed Owen over the edge mere seconds later. His own orgasm tore through him with a force that stole his breath. “Fuck—good boy—so good—” he chanted, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled over his own fist and onto the mess already on his skin.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing. Pyro slumped forward, his forehead coming to rest against Owen’s shoulder, his body shaking with aftershocks. Owen slowly released his grip, bringing his soiled hand up to cup the back of Pyro’s head, holding him close.
He reached up with his other hand, fingers finding the buckle of the muzzle. He released it with a soft click and gently pulled the leather away. Pyro’s face was flushed, his lips reddened, his jaw slack. He licked his lips, taking in a deep, gulping breath of free air.
Owen tilted his chin up. Pyro’s eyes were glazed, sated, utterly peaceful. “There’s my good boy,” Owen murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly, tasting himself on Pyro’s tongue. “You did so well.”
Pyro melted into the kiss, a soft, contented hum vibrating in his throat. “Owen…” he breathed when they parted, the word full of awe.
I Hope Im not annoying you with all my bloodletting ideas, but I just got a concept I can't exactly shape and I wanna at least say it here:
Werewolf Legundo
You propably thinking something like "a werewolf? so the heat fic, right?" And here I am, saying
NO - THAT OVERUSED
WE CAN GO DEEPER INTO THIS CONCEPT - WE CAN HAVE A FERAL LEGUNDO. LEGUNDO THAT LOOKS AT OWEN AND IS LIKE "Im gonna dom the revenge out of this poor man" AND LETS OWEN TOP HIM, BUT ITS ONLY BECAUSE HE LETS HIM
IDEK, DOES THAT SPUNDS HOT ENOUGH?
(I kinda wanna write it myself now lol)
~ @anonymous-gooner-potato
Wolfgundo
When something unexpected happens, Legundo knows he can always rely on his lovers to be there for him, without fail.
@anonymous-gooner-potato I also want to thank my lovely, lovely potato for the idea, for helping me refine it, and for taking the time to explain it so beautifully. It truly means a lot <3
Word Count: 3783
Tags: Werewolf!Legundo, FTM Louis, Bratty Owen, pet play (kinda), leash, strap on, heat, Dom Louis
If I'm missing some tags do let me know
The heat came in waves.
It started low, almost ignorable at first, just a restless itch under Legundo’s skin. But as the hours dragged on, it built into something heavier, something consuming. His body felt wrong, too tight, too hot, like he was burning from the inside out.
He couldn’t sit still.
The house was quiet, too quiet. Louis and Owen were somewhere—he knew they were, but right now it felt like the walls were closing in on him, trapping all that rising heat with nowhere to go.
Legundo dragged a hand through his hair, pacing across the room. His breathing was uneven, sharper than it should be. Every movement made the sensation worse, like his body was begging for something he couldn’t quite name.
“Damn it…” he muttered under his breath.
His shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin. Too warm. Too restrictive.
Without thinking too much about it, he tugged it off, tossing it somewhere behind him. It barely helped. The air against his skin was cool for all of two seconds before the heat surged right back, stronger, needier.
He exhaled shakily, bracing his hands against the edge of the table.
This wasn’t just discomfort. It was instinct, loud, demanding, impossible to ignore. His pulse hammered in his ears, every sense sharpened to an unbearable degree. The faintest sounds in the house felt amplified, every scent lingering too long, too vivid.
He needed to move. Needed something to ground him, to burn off the energy clawing at his chest.
But nothing worked.
Not pacing. Not trying to focus. Not even forcing himself to breathe slower.
It just kept building.
A low, frustrated sound slipped from his throat as he straightened again, muscles tense, jaw tight. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams, like if something didn’t give soon—
Footsteps.
Somewhere in the house.
Legundo stilled instantly, head snapping toward the sound, senses locking in with sudden, sharp focus.
Louis? Owen?
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then something in him, instinct, need, something deeper, pulled him toward it.
He moved without thought, stumbling into the hallway. The need was becoming something else, something hotter and more concentrated. It was settling in his hips, his groin, a deep ache he couldn’t soothe. He felt himself, his cock half-hard already, the fabric of his pants torturously tight against it. He should go to their bedroom, he should find them, but his legs felt weak, his mind fogged. He was panting now, his forehead damp, his whole body trembling with a strange urgency.
He stopped at the threshold of the living room. It was empty. The sound came from upstairs.
But he couldn’t climb. His knees buckled. The ache swelled, becoming a sharp, demanding pulse. He had to touch it, had to ease the pressure. He sank down onto the plush rug, his back against the wall, his hands clawing at his jeans. His fingers shook as he popped the button, yanked the zipper down. He shoved the fabric aside, and there it was, hard, hot, already slick at the tip. He groaned as his hand wrapped around his cock, the simple contact sending a jolt through his spine. It wasn’t enough. It was too much. His skin felt scorched. His hips jerked, seeking friction, relief, something he couldn’t provide himself.
He was leaking. The wetness dripped onto his thigh, onto the rug below him. He rubbed his palm over the head, over the shaft, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. His cheeks burned, his neck flushed crimson. It was humiliating, this desperate display, but the shame was a distant flicker compared to the roaring fire in his veins. He needed release. He needed them.
He heard the door.
The front door opened, then closed. Voices floated in from the entryway. Owen’s laugh, bright and teasing. Louis’s lower, calmer murmur.
Legundo froze. His hand stilled on his cock. He looked down at himself, exposed, flushed, panting, kneeling on the rug in the middle of the living room like a fucking offering. The heat didn’t dissipate. It roared louder, seeing his escape, his relief, walk into his view. He tried to scramble, to hide himself, but his limbs felt locked, heavy with desire.
They came into the living room, still chatting.
And they stopped.
Both of them stopped.
Their eyes landed on him.
Owen’s expression shifted first, from surprise to something sharp and amused. Louis’s gaze darkened, became focused, intense.
Legundo’s breath stopped. He looked up at them, his eyes wide, pleading. He couldn’t speak. A sound escaped him, a high, thin whine that was more plea than anything else.
Owen grinned. “Well, hello there.”
Legundo’s flush deepened. He tried to pull his jeans up, to cover himself, but his hands were useless. His cock twitched, eager and exposed.
Louis didn’t say anything. He just watched. His eyes traveled down Legundo’s body, from his flushed face to his bare chest, to his trembling thighs, to the hard, wet cock standing stark against his stomach. Louis’s tongue slid out, wetting his own lips. A slow, deliberate gesture.
“Looks like our puppy’s been waiting for us,” Owen said, dropping his bags by the couch. He stepped closer, circling Legundo like a predator examining a prize. “Didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Just collapsed right here, all needy and ready.”
“Owen,” Louis said, his voice a quiet warning.
“What? He’s asking for it. Look at him.” Owen crouched down in front of Legundo, his face inches away. Legundo could smell him, the faint scent of ozone and cold stone that clung to Owen’s skin, a vampire’s scent. It made his head swim, his need sharpen. Owen’s fingers brushed Legundo’s cheek, tracing the heated skin. “So red. So hot. Is it getting to you, Legs? That little… wolfy thing you got going on?”
Legundo shuddered. “I… I don’t…”
“Don’t know?” Owen’s smile was wicked. “Don’t care? You just want something to fill that ache, huh? Want us to take care of you?”
Legundo nodded, a jerky, desperate motion. “Yes. Please.”
“See? He’s polite.” Owen’s hand drifted lower, skimming over Legundo’s chest, over his stomach. His fingertips danced just above Legundo’s cock, not touching, but the proximity was torture. “Such a good puppy. Even when he’s desperate, he still knows how to beg nicely.”
Louis moved then. He walked over, his steps measured. He set his own bag down, then knelt beside Owen. His presence was different, calmer, heavier. Legundo’s eyes flicked to him, seeking something steadier in the storm of his own need.
“Hey,” Louis said softly. His hand came up, cupping Legundo’s jaw. His touch was cool, a contrast to Legundo’s fevered skin. It felt good. “You’re in heat, aren’t you?”
Legundo swallowed. “I think so. It just… hit me.”
“It’s okay.” Louis’s thumb stroked his cheek. “We’ll take care of you.”
Owen snorted. “We’ll take care of him? Or you’ll take care of him while I watch?”
Louis’s gaze shifted to Owen. There was a softness in his eyes, but it was edged with something firmer. “You’re being a brat.”
“I’m just stating facts. You’re looking at him like you want to devour him. And I know what you want to devour him with.” Owen’s eyes glinted. “That nice strap you keep in the drawer. You want him on it, don’t you? Want him begging for it while you hold him down.”
Louis didn’t deny it. He just watched Owen, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, a quiet exhale. “Our puppy’s behaving so well,” he murmured, his eyes back on Legundo. “Even now, he’s just waiting. Listening. He’s not trying to take, not trying to push. He’s just… needing.”
“And I’m not?” Owen’s voice dropped, a challenge.
“You’re needier in a different way,” Louis said. His hand left Legundo’s face, and he reached out, catching Owen’s chin instead. “You need to be reminded.”
Owen’s grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of something else, anticipation, submission. “Reminded?”
“That you’re not the only one who gets attention.” Louis’s voice was still soft, but it carried a weight that made both of them listen. “That sometimes, the puppy gets the treat first. And sometimes…” He leaned closer to Owen, his words a quiet murmur against Owen’s ear. “…the brat gets the leash.”
Owen’s breath caught. Legundo saw his eyes widen, his body tense.
Louis looked back at Legundo. “You want to be taken care of, puppy?”
Legundo nodded, frantic. “Yes.”
“You want me to fuck you?” Louis asked, blunt, direct.
Legundo’s cock throbbed. He whimpered. “Yes. Please, Louis.”
“And what about Owen?” Louis’s gaze was steady. “Do you want him too?”
Legundo’s mind spun. He looked at Owen, who was watching him now, his expression a mix of defiance and want. “Yes. I want… both. I need…” He didn’t know how to articulate it. The heat was a fog, a demand. He needed contact, pressure, fullness, release. He needed them.
Louis smiled, a small, gentle curve of his lips. “Good.” He stood up, pulling Owen up with him by the hand. “Owen, go get the strap. The black one. And the leash.”
Owen’s eyes lit up. “The leash?”
“The one with the silver clasp,” Louis said. “You know which one.”
Owen didn’t argue. He turned, a quick, almost eager movement, and headed for the stairs.
Louis knelt back down in front of Legundo. He reached for Legundo’s jeans, pulling them off entirely, tossing them aside. Legundo was bare now, fully exposed on the rug. Louis’s hands were cool as they ran over Legundo’s thighs, his hips. “You’re so hot,” Louis murmured. “Burning up.”
“I can’t… think,” Legundo confessed, his voice cracking.
“Don’t think,” Louis said. “Just feel.” His fingers traced the line of Legundo’s cock, from base to tip. Legundo jerked, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. Louis’s touch was firm, knowing. He ran his thumb over the slick tip, collecting the wetness, then slid it down the shaft. “You’re already so ready.”
Legundo could only nod, his head dropping back against the wall. His eyes closed. The sensation of Louis’s cool hands on his fevered skin was heaven and hell. It cooled but it also ignited, every touch sparking more need.
He heard Owen return, his steps light on the stairs.
Louis’s hands left him. “Stay there,” Louis said, his voice a quiet command.
Legundo obeyed. He kept his eyes closed, listening.
Owen handed something to Louis. The sound of a buckle, of straps being adjusted. Then Louis’s voice, directed at Owen. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around. Let me put it on you.”
A moment of silence. Then Owen’s soft, “Okay.”
Legundo opened his eyes. He saw Louis standing behind Owen, fitting a leather collar around Owen’s neck. It wasn’t harsh, it was sleek, black leather with a silver ring at the front. Louis attached a leash to it, a long, thin black cord. He gave it a gentle tug, testing.
Owen’s posture changed. His shoulders dropped, his head tilted slightly. A subtle submission.
Louis walked Owen back to the couch, guiding him with the leash. “Sit,” he said.
Owen sat on the edge of the couch, the leash dangling from his collar to Louis’s hand.
Louis turned back to Legundo. He was wearing the strap now, a black harness, the silicone attachment already fitted, already shaped and ready. Legundo’s eyes locked on it. His mouth went dry. His cock pulsed, aching.
“Come here,” Louis said, not a command, but an invitation.
Legundo scrambled up, his legs shaky. He stumbled toward Louis, stopping just before him.
Louis’s hands settled on his shoulders, steadying him. “Look at me.”
Legundo looked. Louis’s eyes were dark, focused, but there was that softness still there, a care that underpinned everything. “I’m going to fuck you,” Louis said. “And you’re going to take it. And you’re going to enjoy it.”
“Yes,” Legundo breathed.
“And after,” Louis continued, his gaze shifting to Owen, who was watching intently from the couch, “you’re going to fuck Owen.”
Legundo’s mind blanked. “Me?”
“You,” Louis confirmed. “He needs it. And you need it. And I want to watch.”
Owen’s lips curled into a smile from the couch. He didn’t protest.
Louis guided Legundo to the floor again, but this time, he positioned him on his knees facing the couch, his back to Louis. “Hands on the floor,” Louis instructed. “Keep yourself up.”
Legundo obeyed, placing his palms flat on the rug, his body arched, his cock hanging hard between his legs. He was completely exposed, completely vulnerable.
Louis knelt behind him. His hands spread over Legundo’s back, cool and firm. He leaned close, his breath against Legundo’s ear. “Ready?”
Legundo nodded, a shiver running through him.
Louis didn’t rush. He took the bottle Owen had brought down with the strap, lube, slick and cool. He poured it over the silicone, spreading it with his fingers. The sound was soft, wet. Then his hands were on Legundo again, spreading lube over him, over his entrance. His fingers pressed, circled, prepared. Legundo gasped at the contact, his body clenching, then relaxing. The preparation was methodical, thorough. Louis’s fingers pressed inside, one, then two, stretching, working. Legundo groaned, his hips pushing back instinctively, seeking more.
“Good,” Louis murmured. “Taking it so well.”
He removed his fingers. Legundo felt the absence, the empty ache. Then he felt the press of something else, the tip of the strap, cool and firm, against him. Louis’s hands held his hips, steadying him. “Easy,” Louis said.
And then he pushed in.
It wasn’t a slow, gentle entry. It was a firm, deliberate push, filling Legundo in one smooth, deep motion. Legundo cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound. The stretch was intense, the fullness immediate and overwhelming. His body seized for a second, then melted into it, accepting, craving. Louis was inside him, deep, and the coolness of the silicone against his fevered heat was a shock, a relief, a torment.
Louis didn’t move right away. He stayed there, buried, his hands tight on Legundo’s hips. “Feel it?” he asked, his voice low.
Legundo could only gasp. “Yes.”
“It’s what you needed,” Louis said. “Something to fill you. To hold you.”
Then he pulled back, almost out, then thrust in again.
The motion was smooth, controlled. Louis set a rhythm, deep and steady, each thrust pushing Legundo forward on his hands, each withdrawal leaving him empty and desperate for the next. Legundo’s moans became constant, ragged breaths torn from his throat. His cock swung between his legs, untouched, aching. The friction inside him was perfect, the pressure exactly where the heat had coiled tightest. He could feel every inch, every movement, Louis’s body against his back, Louis’s breath on his neck.
“Look at him,” Louis said, his voice carrying to Owen. “Look at our puppy taking it so well.”
Legundo forced his eyes open, blurry with pleasure. He saw Owen on the couch, watching, his eyes dark, his lips parted. Owen’s hand was on his own cock, stroking himself slowly through his pants. He was enjoying the show.
Louis’s thrusts deepened, grew faster. His hands gripped Legundo’s hips tighter, guiding him, controlling him. Legundo’s body rocked with the motion, his own pleasure building in sharp, climbing waves. He was panting, drooling a little, his mind gone to nothing but sensation.
“You’re so hot inside,” Louis murmured against his skin. “Burning up for me. Taking every bit.”
Legundo couldn’t speak. He could only nod, his head dropping between his shoulders.
Louis’s rhythm changed, becoming harder, more demanding. The thrusts were sharper, deeper, hitting a spot inside Legundo that made his vision white out for a second. He cried out, his body tightening around the strap, his own cock throbbing painfully.
“Close?” Louis asked, his voice rough now.
Legundo whimpered. “Yes.”
Louis didn’t stop. He drove into him harder, faster, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room. Legundo felt his climax approaching, a tight coil in his gut ready to snap. He was moaning uncontrollably, his hands slipping on the rug, his body giving up all control to Louis.
Then Louis’s hand left his hip, snaking around his body, grabbing his cock.
The contact was electric. Louis’s cool hand wrapped around his hot, slick length, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation, the deep fullness inside, the firm friction outside, was too much. Legundo’s climax broke over him, sudden and violent. He shouted, his body convulsing, his cock spilling over Louis’s hand, over the rug below. Louis kept thrusting, kept stroking, riding him through the peak, extending the pleasure into a dizzying, endless wave.
When Legundo finally sagged, exhausted, Louis slowed. He pulled out gently, leaving Legundo empty and trembling. Louis’s hand released his cock, wiping the mess on Legundo’s thigh.
Legundo collapsed forward, his chest on the rug, his breath heaving. He was spent, but the heat wasn’ gone. It was quieter, banked, but still there, simmering.
Louis stood up, breathing a little heavier himself. He looked at Owen. “Now,” he said, his voice returning to that calm, steady tone. “Your turn.”
Owen was already up, the leash still attached to his collar. He walked over, his eyes on Legundo. “He’s done?”
“He’s ready for you,” Louis said. He tugged the leash, bringing Owen closer. “On the floor. In front of him.”
Owen didn’t hesitate. He knelt on the rug in front of Legundo, facing him. His pants were already off, his cock hard and eager. He looked at Legundo, a challenge in his eyes. “You gonna fuck me, puppy? Or are you too tired?”
Legundo looked up, his energy returning in a slow, hot crawl. The sight of Owen, kneeling, collared, waiting for him, sparked the heat back to life. He pushed himself up, his body responding despite the exhaustion.
Louis stepped behind Owen, holding the leash. “You’ll take him,” he said to Owen. “And you’ll take him well.”
Owen grinned. “I always do.”
Legundo moved closer, his hands settling on Owen’s hips. Owen’s skin was cool too, a vampire’s coolness, but it was warming under his touch. Legundo positioned himself, his cock still wet from his own release, pressing against Owen’s entrance.
Louis’s hand came down, spreading lube over Owen, preparing him quickly. “Go on,” Louis encouraged Legundo.
Legundo pushed in.
Owen’s body was tight, resistant for a moment, then it opened, accepting him. Owen gasped, his head dropping forward. Legundo filled him, the sensation different from being fucked, this was him taking, claiming, driving into the tight heat of Owen’s body. The heat inside him roared back, fueling his movements. He thrust, deep and hard, setting a pace that was rougher, less controlled than Louis’s. He was driven by need, by instinct, by the leftover fire in his blood.
Owen moaned, his hands grabbing Legundo’s shoulders. “Fuck, puppy… like that…”
Louis watched, his hand on the leash, keeping Owen in place. “Good,” he murmured. “Take him. Use him.”
Legundo did. He drove into Owen, each thrust pushing Owen back against Louis’s hold. Owen’s moans grew louder, more ragged. He was tight around Legundo, hot, gripping him perfectly. Legundo’s pace became frantic, his hips pistoning, his breath rough. He could feel Owen’s climax building, could feel the tension in Owen’s body.
Owen cried out, his body tightening, his own release hitting him. Legundo felt it, the convulsion, the grip, and it spurred him on. He kept fucking him through it, his own need still climbing.
Louis’s hand left the leash, coming to Owen’s cock, stroking him, milking his orgasm, keeping him sensitive and overwhelmed. Owen was panting, trembling, but he didn’t pull away. He took it, his body accepting Legundo’s relentless pace.
Legundo’s second climax hit him suddenly, a sharp, violent peak that tore through him. He shouted, driving deep into Owen as he spilled, his body locking, then collapsing forward over Owen’s back.
For a moment, they were all still, a heap of breathless, sweat-slicked bodies on the rug.
Legundo’s heat was finally quiet, a satisfied hum in his veins. He lay over Owen, his face against Owen’s shoulder, breathing heavily.
Louis’s hands were on them both, gentle now, stroking their backs. “Good,” he said softly. “Both of you.”
Owen laughed, a weak, breathless sound. “You’re… an asshole.”
“I’m the one who got fucked twice,” Legundo mumbled, his voice thick.
“And you loved it,” Louis said, his fingers tracing the line of Legundo’s spine.
Legundo didn’t argue. He did.
They lay there for a few minutes, the room quiet except for their breathing. Then Louis stirred. “Up,” he said gently. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
Legundo and Owen shifted, slowly disentangling. Louis helped them, his touch careful. He removed the strap, the collar, setting them aside. He fetched a towel, cleaning them both with a quiet efficiency.
Legundo sat back against the wall, watching Louis. The softness in Louis’s movements, the care in his eyes even after everything, made something warm settle in Legundo’s chest. Louis was dominant, but he wasn’t harsh. He was in control, but he was gentle. It was a balance Legundo had always loved.
Owen collapsed onto the couch, stretching out with a groan. “I’m not moving for an hour.”
Louis smiled, a small, private smile. He finished cleaning Legundo, then knelt beside him. “Your heat’s passed?”
Legundo nodded. “For now. It’s… quieter.”
“Good.” Louis’s hand cupped his cheek again. “Next time it starts, you come to us. Don’t wait.”
“I didn’t know it was coming,” Legundo admitted.
“Now you do.” Louis stood up, pulling Legundo up with him. “Come on. Let’s get some water.”
They moved to the kitchen, a slow, tired procession. Louis filled glasses, handing them out. Owen drank lazily from the couch. Legundo stood by the counter, drinking deeply, the cool water soothing his parched throat.
Louis leaned against the counter beside him, watching him drink. His expression was thoughtful. “You okay?”
Legundo nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
“Good tired?”
Legundo smiled, a faint, real smile. “Yeah. Good tired.”
Louis’s hand brushed his arm, a simple touch. Then his eyes flicked to Owen, who was watching them from the couch, a lazy smirk on his face.
“Still a brat,” Louis murmured.
“Always,” Owen replied, his voice smug.
Louis looked back at Legundo. “We should probably talk about… this. About your heat. How it works.”
Legundo set his glass down. “Yeah. I guess… I didn’t expect it to be so sudden.”
“Werewolf biology,” Owen said from the couch. “All instinct, no warning.”
Louis ignored him, focusing on Legundo. “It’ll happen again. Probably sooner now that it’s started. We need to be ready.”
“Ready for what?” Legundo asked.
Louis’s gaze darkened, just a little. “Ready to take care of you.”
Friends?
This is a gift for my dear, dear @anonymous-gooner-potato
Tags: Honestly very sappy, very cute, praise,
Avid was halfway through taking off his shirt when he stopped dead.
"Hey," he said suspiciously, pointing at Pyro from across the room. "Do you remember when we agreed we were better off as friends?"
Pyro, completely naked and sprawled across Avid's bed like he belonged there, blinked slowly. "No," he said immediately. "Absolutely not."
Avid stared at him. At the smug curve of his mouth. At the way the candlelight dragged gold across his skin. At the fact Pyro looked unfairly pretty sitting there like temptation itself.
"Fuck…" Avid muttered weakly.
Pyro's grin widened. "You remember now?"
Avid yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere behind him. "No," he admitted while climbing onto the bed. "I don’t remember either."
Pyro laughed just before Avid kissed him. It started messy almost instantly. Not romantic. Not careful.
Months of tension snapping all at once as Pyro grabbed his waist and hauled him down hard enough to make Avid curse into his mouth. Their knees knocked together, hands everywhere, both of them talking over each other between kisses.
"This is a terrible idea—"
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely—"
Pyro kissed him again. Avid completely lost the ability to care.
The bedroom door opened. Neither of them noticed at first. Abolish leaned against the doorway, took one look at the disaster unfolding on the bed, and sighed.
"So this is why neither of you answered me for an hour."
Avid jerked so hard he nearly fell off the mattress. "Jesus Christ—"
Pyro barely even looked embarrassed. "Hi."
Abolish's eyes dragged slowly over the two of them tangled together in the sheets.
"…You know," he said thoughtfully, already starting to undo his coat, "I think this might actually be the first smart decision you two have ever made."
Avid stared. Pyro started laughing so hard he had to bury his face against Avid's shoulder while Abolish climbed onto the bed beside them like this had somehow become his evening too.
"Oh, we are so fucked," Avid groaned.
Pyro lifted his head just enough to grin at him. "Hopefully."
The mattress dipped under Abolish's weight as he settled at the edge, making himself comfortable against the headboard with his arms crossed behind his head. Watching. That particular gleam in his dark eyes that always meant trouble.
"Are you two planning to stop, or…?"
Avid's face burned. "We weren't—this wasn't—"
Pyro cut him off by grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down again. Mouth sliding against Avid's with a wet, filthy sound that echoed through the quiet room.
"Definitely stopping," Abolish said, voice flat. "Clearly."
Avid couldn't even argue. Not with Pyro's tongue tracing the seam of his lips, not with those warm hands sliding down his spine to settle possessive and firm on his hips. Every thought in his head scattered like startled birds.
"Getting brave?" Abolish asked, though his voice had dropped an octave from its usual disinterested drawl.
Pyro pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing Avid's with each word. "Jealous?"
"Observing."
"Same thing."
Abolish huffed a laugh through his nose. His fingers began working at the buttons of his shirt, unhurried, methodical. Like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly how much Avid wanted to watch.
Avid's throat went dry.
This was insane. This was genuinely, certifiably insane. He'd spent six months trying to convince himself that Pyro was just a friend, that whatever electricity sparked between them was platonic, that the way his chest tightened whenever Pyro smiled meant nothing. And now—
Now Pyro was beneath him, warm and willing and grinning like the cat that got the cream.
And Abolish was also here.
"When did this become a group activity?" Avid managed, breathless.
Abolish's shirt fell open, revealing the lean muscle underneath. A trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband. "When you two decided to be obvious about it."
"We weren't—"
"Every time I walked into a room, you looked like you wanted to eat each other." Abolish's mouth curved. "Figured I'd help."
Pyro's laugh vibrated against Avid's chest. "Told you he noticed."
"You hoped he noticed."
"Same thing."
Avid buried his face in Pyro's neck, groaning. "I hate both of you."
Pyro's hand came up to card through his hair, gentle despite the smirk in his voice. "No you don't."
The tender gesture cut through Avid's panic. Made his pulse settle into something steadier, something that felt almost like trust. He lifted his head, meeting Pyro's eyes, those ridiculous, luminous eyes that had been making him stupid since the day they met.
"No," Avid admitted. "I don't."
Pyro's expression softened. Gone was the teasing edge, replaced by something raw and honest that made Avid's stomach flip.
"Come here," Pyro murmured, pulling him down again.
This kiss was different. Slower. The urgency was still there, but it had transformed into something deeper, something that made Avid's chest ache in the best way. Pyro kissed him like he was memorizing every detail, the shape of his mouth, the way their breath mingled, the small sounds Avid couldn't hold back.
Behind them, Abolish shifted closer. His hand landed on Avid's lower back, warm and grounding. A question more than a demand. Avid pulled away from Pyro's mouth just enough to glance over his shoulder. Abolish raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"Okay?" Abolish asked, voice low.
Avid's brain short-circuited for a moment. He'd thought about this, fantasized about it, if he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was. Abolish with his sharp jaw and sharper tongue, always watching, always seeing more than he let on. The way his gaze had always felt like a physical weight, like hands on Avid's skin.
"Yeah," Avid breathed. "Okay."
Abolish's hand slid up his spine, drawing a shiver. "Good." Then his fingers curled around Avid's chin, turning his head, and Abolish kissed him for the first time.
Where Pyro was warmth and give, Abolish was control. He kissed like he did everything, with precision and intent, like he had already mapped out exactly how this would go and was simply executing the plan. His teeth caught Avid's bottom lip, tugging just hard enough to make Avid whimper.
"Perfect," Abolish murmured against his mouth. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to shut you up."
"Charming."
"I try."
Pyro's hands were still on Avid's hips, grounding him while Abolish consumed him from behind. The dual sensation was overwhelming, the hard heat of Pyro beneath him, the confident press of Abolish against his back. Sandwiched between them, Avid felt like he might shake apart from sheer want.
"More," he heard himself say. "Please."
Abolish laughed softly against his neck. "Look at you. Already begging."
Pyro's hips rolled up, and Avid felt the hard length of him press against his thigh. His own cock, trapped in his jeans, throbbed in response.
"Too many clothes," Pyro complained, tugging at Avid's waistband.
Avid fumbled with the button, fingers clumsy with urgency. Abolish batted his hands away.
"Let me."
Deft fingers made quick work of the zipper, and then Avid's jeans were being shoved down his thighs. He kicked them off somewhere, not caring where they landed. Pyro's hands immediately found his ass, squeezing with appreciative pressure.
"Gorgeous," Pyro breathed. "Look at you."
Avid ducked his head, suddenly shy. Which was ridiculous, considering the position he was in. But Pyro's gaze held genuine wonder, like Avid was something precious and unexpected.
"So are you," Avid said quietly.
Pyro's smile went soft. Abolish, behind him, pressed a kiss to Avid's shoulder blade. Then another, trailing down his spine. His breath was hot against Avid's skin, sending goosebumps rising in its wake.
"On your knees," Abolish said, voice firm but not unkind. "Over him."
Avid's legs shook as he positioned himself, knees on either side of Pyro's hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, flushed and leaking. Pyro's hands came up to stroke along his thighs, encouraging.
"Perfect," Pyro echoed. "Just like that."
Abolish moved behind him, and Avid heard the quiet snick of a cap opening. Lube. Of course Abolish had come prepared. The man probably had contingencies for his contingencies. Cool slick pressed against Avid's entrance, and he bit his lip against the sensation. Abolish's finger circled with maddening patience, spreading the wetness around without pushing in.
"Relax," Abolish said. "You're tight."
"Your fault."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
The finger breached him slowly, deliberate and careful. Avid exhaled shakily, willing his body to accept the intrusion. It had been a while, too long, honestly, and the stretch burned in a way that bordered on too much.
But then Pyro's hands were there, rubbing soothing circles into his hips. Pyro's voice, low and warm: "You're doing so well. Taking it so good for us."
Avid whimpered. A second finger joined the first, and Avid's head dropped forward. Pyro caught him in another kiss, swallowing the sounds that escaped. Their tongues slid together, messy and desperate, while Abolish worked him open with clinical efficiency.
"Ready?" Abolish asked after what felt like hours.
Avid nodded against Pyro's mouth, not trusting his voice.
The blunt pressure of Abolish's cock replaced his fingers, and Avid's breath stuttered. Pyro held him steady as Abolish pushed in, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was overwhelming, full and almost too much, right on the edge of what Avid could take.
"Breathe," Abolish said, hand splayed across Avid's lower back. "You can take it."
Avid forced himself to relax, to let his body accept. And then Abolish was fully inside, hips pressed flush against Avid's ass.
"Good," Abolish praised, and Avid shivered. "So good for me."
Pyro shifted beneath them, and Avid remembered, he wasn't the only one here. Pyro was still hard beneath him, neglected and waiting.
"Let me," Avid said, voice rough. "Let me—"
He reached for Pyro's cock, wrapping his fingers around the thick length. Pyro hissed, hips jerking up into the touch.
"Fuck, Avid—"
Avid stroked him in time with Abolish's thrusts, creating a rhythm that had all three of them gasping. The dual sensation was incredible, being filled from behind while his hand worked Pyro's shaft. Every nerve ending lit up like a livewire.
"More," Avid managed. "Please—need more."
Abolish's grip tightened on his hips. "Greedy."
"Please."
The word hung in the air, desperate and honest. Avid felt Pyro freeze beneath him for a moment before Pyro's hands came up to cup his face, pulling him down for a kiss that was more breath than lips.
"Tell us what you need," Pyro murmured. "We'll give you anything."
Avid's chest clenched. The tenderness in Pyro's voice, the steady presence of Abolish behind him, it was everything he'd never let himself want.
"Everything," Avid said. "I want everything."
Abolish's pace quickened, each thrust driving deeper. Avid's hand flew faster on Pyro's cock, matching the rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, breathless moans, and whispered encouragements.
"So beautiful like this," Abolish said, voice strained. "Taking me so well."
"Perfect," Pyro added, thumb brushing Avid's cheekbone. "You're perfect."
Avid felt the pressure building in his core, that familiar tension that promised release. His cock, neglected and aching, bobbed with each of Abolish's thrusts.
"Touch me," he begged. "Someone—please—"
Pyro's hand wrapped around his shaft, and Avid nearly sobbed with relief. The dual stimulation, Abolish inside him, Pyro on his cock, was too much and not enough all at once.
"Close," Avid gasped. "I'm—"
"Not yet," Abolish commanded. "Wait."
Avid whined, high and desperate, but forced himself to hold back. His thighs trembled with the effort. Sweat dripped down his temples, pooling in the hollow of his throat.
"Please," he said again, the word reduced to a prayer. "Please, please—"
"Look at you," Abolish breathed, sounding almost reverent. "So desperate. So perfect."
Pyro's hand tightened on his cock, stroking faster. "Come for us, Avid. Let go."
That was all it took. Avid shattered, pleasure crashing through him in waves. His release spilled over Pyro's fist, hot and thick. His vision whited out, senses overloaded with the feeling of Abolish still moving inside him, still chasing his own end.
Behind him, Abolish groaned, hips stuttering as he followed Avid over the edge. The warmth of his release filled Avid, triggering aftershocks that made him shake.
Pyro was last, Avid's hand still working him through his own orgasm. His back arched off the mattress as he came, streaks of white painting Avid's stomach.
For a long moment, none of them moved. Then Avid collapsed forward, landing half on Pyro and half on the mattress. His breathing came in ragged gasps, heart pounding against his ribs.
Abolish pulled out carefully, disposing of the condom before settling beside them. His hand found Avid's hip, thumb tracing absent patterns on the sweat-damp skin.
Pyro pressed a kiss to Avid's forehead, then one to his nose, then one to his mouth. Each one soft and lingering and impossibly sweet.
"You okay?" Pyro asked quietly.
Avid laughed, the sound exhausted and incredulous. "I have no idea."
"That's a no."
"That's a I can't feel my legs."
Pyro grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. "Good."
Abolish snorted from behind Avid. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
Avid closed his eyes, letting himself drift. The warmth of their bodies surrounded him, grounding him in the present moment. For the first time in months, maybe years, the constant buzz of anxiety in his chest went quiet.
"We should talk about this," Abolish said eventually, his voice serious.
"Later," Avid mumbled, already half-asleep. "Talking later. Sleeping now."
Pyro's arms tightened around him. "I second that motion."
Abolish sighed, but Avid heard the smile in his voice. "Fine. But we're discussing this in the morning."
"Promises, promises," Pyro murmured.
Silence settled over them, comfortable and warm. Avid's breathing slowed, drifting toward sleep. He was almost under when Abolish spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.
"I've wanted this. Both of you. For longer than I should admit."
Avid's eyes flew open. Pyro tensed beneath him. Then Pyro's hand came up to find Abolish's, intertwining their fingers over Avid's hip.
"We know," Pyro said softly. "We've always known."
Avid's chest went tight. He turned his head just enough to see Abolish's face. That carefully controlled expression had cracked, revealing something raw underneath. Something vulnerable.
"Good," Avid said, voice rough. "Because I'm not letting either of you go now."
Abolish's mouth curved into a genuine smile, the kind Avid had only seen a handful of times in all their years of friendship.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Pyro's laugh vibrated through Avid's chest, warm and bright.
"Now can we please sleep before you two get sappier?"
"Says the man who wrote me a poem last week."
"It was a limerick."
"Even worse."
Avid smiled, letting their familiar banter wash over him. This was right. This was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And tomorrow, they would figure out what this meant. What they were to each other now. But for tonight—
Tonight was enough.
Avid closed his eyes, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he fell asleep without dread coiling in his stomach.
The morning light crept through the curtains, painting gold stripes across the tangled sheets. Avid woke slowly, awareness returning in fragments. Warmth on his left. A heavy arm across his waist. The faint smell of sweat and sex lingering in the air.
He blinked his eyes open. Pyro was still dead asleep beside him, mouth slightly parted, hair a disaster. On Avid's other side, Abolish was already awake, propped up on one elbow and watching with an unreadable expression.
"Hey," Avid croaked, voice rough.
"Hey yourself."
They stared at each other for a long moment. The weight of last night pressed between them, heavy with meaning.
"How are you feeling?" Abolish asked.
Avid considered the question seriously. Took stock of his body, the pleasant ache in his muscles, the stickiness between his thighs, the residual warmth in his chest.
"Good," he said finally. "Really good, actually."
Abolish's expression softened. Before either could say more, Pyro stirred. Let out a groan, burying his face deeper into Avid's shoulder.
"Too early," Pyro mumbled. "Go back to sleep."
"It's almost noon," Abolish pointed out.
"Exactly. Early."
Avid laughed, the sound surprising him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up smiling. Pyro's arm tightened around his waist, pulling him closer. On his other side, Abolish shifted to drape himself partially over Avid's back, chin resting on his shoulder.
Trapped between them. Exactly where he wanted to be.
"So," Pyro said, voice still thick with sleep. "Last night happened."
"It did."
"And it was good."
"Very good."
Pyro was quiet for a beat.
"So what now?"
The question hung in the air. Avid felt both of them tense slightly, waiting for his answer. He thought about what he wanted. Really wanted, underneath all the fear and self-doubt that had kept him from acknowledging his feelings for so long.
"Breakfast," Avid said finally. "And then we talk."
Pyro snorted. "Romantic."
"Practical." Avid turned his head to press a kiss to Pyro's forehead. "I want to do this right. Whatever this is."
Abolish's hand slid up his spine, tangling in his hair.
"Whatever you need," Abolish murmured against his neck. "We'll figure it out together."
Avid's chest went warm.
Together. He liked the sound of that.
He liked it a lot.
Can anyone believe my first post ever here is toxic Majorscythe? Fork found in kitchen.
Smut under the cut. Kinda long one didn't felt as confident about it to post it on ao3 so I'm posting it here bc I worked hard on it.
Yk who else was hard- *gets shot*
Enjoy!!
Tags: blowjob, sadist/masochistic tendencies, begging, prey/hunter, vampire/human, kind of like cnc (?) Degrading
The lake was black glass beneath the blood moon. It stretched wide and silent through the clearing, reflecting the enormous red orb hanging low in the sky. The moonlight painted the world in shades of rust and crimson. The trees stood like dark sentinels around the water’s edge, their branches thin and clawed, scratching faintly against the wind.
Scott stood near the shore. Still. Patient. To anyone else, the forest would have been quiet. But to him, it was deafening. He could hear everything. The creak of the trees. The ripple of water against the stones. The distant scurry of animals deeper in the woods. And most importantly...
The heartbeat in front of him.
Fast. Irregular. Human.
Pyro stood a few steps away, his boots half sunk in the damp earth near the lake. His lantern trembled slightly in his hand, the light flickering across his anxious face.
Scott tilted his head slightly. Listening.
Thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump.
It was racing. Fear had a sound. A rhythm. And Pyro’s was adorable. The scholar tried to keep his composure, but Scott could smell it too, the sharp, coppery scent of fear rising off him like steam. It made Scott smile. A slow, crooked thing.
Pyro noticed it. His brows knit together. “What do you want from me?” he asked. Scott didn’t answer immediately. Instead he stepped a little closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots.
The scholar was fascinating to watch. So trusting. So earnest. So incredibly foolish. Scott’s smile deepened. “You know,” he said calmly, voice smooth as still water, “for a scholar… you’re rather lacking in survival instincts.”
Pyro frowned. “What?” Scott gestured vaguely to the forest around them.
“To begin with,” he said, amused, “following a stranger into the woods at this hour.” He glanced up at the sky. The blood moon loomed enormous above the trees. Everything beneath it glowed red. “And on a night like this.”
Pyro shifted his weight uneasily. The lantern light trembled again. “I didn’t follow you,” he muttered. “You asked me to come.”
Scott laughed quietly. That was true. And Pyro had come without hesitation. A stranger approaches him in a tavern. Mentions ancient texts. Mentions ruins near the lake. And the scholar follows him out into the forest like an eager little hound.
Scott studied him. Head tilted slightly. “You’re shaking,” he observed softly.
“I am not.” Scott inhaled slowly. Yes. Yes, he was.
The scent of fear was growing stronger. And beneath it... Warm blood. Sweet. Alive.
Six hundred years.
Six hundred years buried in the dark earth, trapped in a sleep that felt like drowning in silence. Six hundred years without this. Without the sound of a human heart beating right in front of him.
Scott licked his lips unconsciously.
Pyro noticed. His expression changed. “What… are you?” he asked quietly.
Scott’s smile widened. “That,” he said, “is an excellent question.”
Pyro took a step back. Scott stepped forward. The distance between them shrank again. Pyro’s heart stuttered.
Thump-thump-thump.
Scott could hear every beat. The pulse in his throat. The blood rushing beneath his skin. So loud. So fragile.
“Scott,” Pyro said carefully, “I think I should—” Scott’s hand lifted slightly. For the first time, Pyro saw them. The claws. They slid from Scott’s fingertips like drawn knives, black and curved.
Pyro froze. His breath caught. Scott’s smile slowly revealed something else. Fangs. Long. White. Wrong. For a moment the world went silent. Pyro stared. His mind trying to understand what his eyes were seeing.
“What the—”
Scott moved. He was faster than thought. One moment he stood in front of Pyro. The next he was on him. The lantern crashed to the ground as Scott slammed him back against the dirt.
Pyro screamed. Scott’s mouth found flesh instantly. He didn’t care where. Shoulder. Neck. Anywhere.
His fangs pierced skin with a wet, brutal sound. Hot blood flooded his mouth. Pyro’s scream ripped through the forest.
“GET OFF—!” He punched Scott hard across the jaw. Scott barely flinched. But the impact broke his bite long enough for Pyro to shove him away. Pyro scrambled to his feet, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
“What the fuck— what the FUCK—”
Scott watched him. Blood dripped from his lips. His pupils were blown wide with hunger. And something else. Something wild.
Pyro backed away. Then turned and ran. Scott didn’t chase immediately. He just stood there. Listening. The frantic pounding of Pyro’s footsteps crashing through the underbrush. The terrified rhythm of his heartbeat fading into the trees.
Scott wiped the blood from his mouth with his thumb. Then slowly licked it clean. Warm. Fresh. Alive.
His chest rose and fell with a breath that felt almost human. God. He had missed this. The hunt. The fear. The taste of blood in his mouth. For six hundred years he had slept in darkness and rot. Now the world was bright again. Sharp and electric
He laughed quietly to himself. Then he stepped into the forest. Not running. No. There was no need. Pyro could run as hard as he liked. Scott could hear him perfectly. Every crashing step. Every desperate breath.
Pyro was sprinting through the woods like a man possessed. Branches whipped across his face. Roots snagged his boots. His lungs burned but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.
He was going to die.
He was going to die.
“What the FUCK was that?!” His voice came out ragged and breathless as he crashed through the trees. His shoulder throbbed where Scott had bitten him.
Warm blood soaked his shirt. His mind spun wildly. Claws. Fangs. Speed. The blood moon. The stories. The warnings.
Avid’s voice echoed in his memory.
“You laugh now,” Avid had said once, annoyed, “but vampires are real.”
Pyro had rolled his eyes.
“Yes, of course. And next you’ll tell me they live in castles and drink wine from goblets.”
“I’m serious.”
Pyro stumbled over a root but caught himself. His heart hammered violently.
Oh god.
Oh god.
Avid had been right. All along. About everything. About vampires. About the strange man who had appeared in town. About Scott.
Pyro’s breath came out in panicked gasps. “What the fuck—” He nearly sobbed the words. “What the fuck what the fuck WHAT THE FUCK—”
The world dissolved into a blur of panic and pain. Pyro’s shoulder burned where the fangs had pierced, a deep, throbbing ache that pulsed in time with his runaway heart. He crashed through a thicket, thorns tearing at his clothes and skin, but he didn’t feel them. All he felt was the crushing, animal terror.
He’s behind me. He’s right behind—
A root snagged his boot. He flew forward, the air whooshing from his lungs as he slammed into the damp, leaf-littered earth. He tried to scramble up, his hands slipping on wet moss.
A shadow fell over him. Pyro froze, the cold seeping up from the ground into his bones. He slowly, slowly, looked up.
Scott stood there, silhouetted against the bloody moon. He wasn’t breathing hard. He looked… amused. A dark smile played on his lips, which were still stained a wet, glistening crimson.
“Tired already?” Scott’s voice was a soft, velvety rumble. It shouldn’t have been able to cut through the forest sounds, but it did, landing directly in Pyro’s ear like a physical touch.
Pyro tried to speak, to curse, to beg. A strangled whimper was all that escaped.
Scott knelt. Not hurriedly. He took his time, settling on his haunches in front of the prone scholar. He reached out, and Pyro flinched violently, squeezing his eyes shut. A clawed fingertip, cold as river stone, traced the line of his jaw.
“Open your eyes,” Scott murmured. “Look at what’s hunting you.” Pyro’s eyes snapped open, wide with terror. Scott’s face was inches from his own. The inhuman beauty of it was terrifying, the sharp cheekbones, the pale skin, the eyes that held the ancient darkness of the lake itself.
“Please,” Pyro choked out.
Scott’s smile widened. “Please? That’s a start. But it’s not specific.” The claw trailed down Pyro’s throat, stopping over the frantic pulse. “Please don’t kill me? Please let me go?” He leaned in, his breath a cold ghost against Pyro’s ear. “Or… please, don’t stop?”
A fresh wave of shameful heat flooded Pyro’s gut, warring with the fear. His body was betraying him, a traitorous, aching stiffness growing in his trousers despite the cold, despite the terror. Scott’s nostrils flared, and his smile turned into something knowing and vicious.
“Ah,” Scott breathed. “There it is. The little scholar likes to be chased. Likes to be prey.” His hand moved from Pyro’s throat to fist in the front of his tunic. With impossible strength, he hauled Pyro up to his knees. “On your knees. That’s where you belong when you’re begging.”
Pyro’s knees hit the soft earth, his body trembling uncontrollably. Scott stood before him, a tower of predatory grace. He undid the fastenings of his own trousers with a slow, deliberate click and a shush of fabric. He freed his cock.
It was… monstrous. Thick, veined, and already fully hard, jutting out from a thatch of dark cyan hair. It looked utterly inhuman, a weapon of flesh. Pyro’s mind screamed. He tried to turn his head, to squeeze his eyes shut again.
A hand, vice-like, gripped his hair and wrenched his head forward. “Look at it,” Scott commanded, his voice dropping to a guttural growl. “Look at the fucking thing that’s going to ruin your throat. You came all this way for knowledge, didn’t you? Well learn this. Learn what it means to be used.”
Pyro stared, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. The scent of musk and cold night air filled his senses. “No,” he whispered. “I can’t… it won’t fit…”
“It’ll fit,” Scott said, his tone conversational, even as he began to guide the broad, leaking head towards Pyro’s lips. “I’ll make it fit. You’re going to swallow every fucking inch, you desperate little thing. You’re going to choke on it, and you’re going to love the feeling of being this full.”
The blunt head pressed against Pyro’s tightly closed lips. He kept his mouth shut, a final, futile act of defiance. Scott chuckled, a low, dark sound. He increased the pressure, not forcing, just waiting. The pressure built, an insistent, threatening presence.
“Open,” Scott whispered. “Or I break your jaw.” A sob ripped from Pyro’s chest. His jaw went slack. The moment his lips parted, Scott shoved forward.
The thick crown breached him, stretching his lips obscenely wide, immediately hitting the back of his throat. Pyro gagged violently, his body convulsing, tears springing to his eyes. Scott didn’t pause. He pushed deeper, the massive shaft invading, filling, a brutal, unyielding intrusion. Pyro’s throat opened in a spasming, unwilling as the head forced its way into his esophagus.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Scott groaned, his grip tightening in Pyro’s hair. “Take it. Just a fucking hole. A warm, tight, begging hole.”
He began to move. Not a rhythm. A pistoning. Short, brutal jabs that buried his cock to the root with every thrust. Pyro’s world narrowed to the sensation of the slurp and gurgle of his own saliva, the wet smack of Scott’s hips against his face, the ragged, choked sounds he made with every inward drive.
Scott set a relentless, pounding pace. Pyro couldn’t breathe. Each thrust stole the air from his lungs, his vision spotting with dark stars. He clawed at Scott’s thighs, but his efforts were weak, pathetic. The overwhelming sensation of fullness, of being used, began to spark something else beneath the panic. A filthy, degrading heat coiled in his own groin. He was hard, painfully so, his own cock straining against his pants.
Scott saw everything. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” he snarled, fucking Pyro’s face with renewed vigor. “You filthy cocksucker. You followed me out here because some deep, rotten part of you wanted this. Wanted to be a vampire’s little slut. Admit it.”
Pyro couldn’t speak. He could only gag and drool, tears and saliva slicking his chin. But his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk.
Scott laughed, a sound of pure, dark triumph. “You were born for this. To be on your knees. To serve.” He changed the angle, driving downward, and the thick head pressed against a new, impossible depth. Pyro’s body went rigid, a silent scream locked in his stuffed throat. “Gonna fuck my cum straight down into your stomach. Gonna fill you up until you taste nothing but me for a week. You want that? Beg for it.”
He pulled almost all the way out, letting Pyro gasp a single, shattered breath. The cold night air burned his raw throat.
“Please,” Pyro rasped, the word torn and wet.
“Please, what?” Scott demanded, the tip of his cock resting on Pyro’s swollen lower lip.
“Please… fuck my throat,” Pyro sobbed, the confession shattering him. “Please… fill me up. I’m just a hole. Use your hole.”
Scott’s eyes blazed with sadistic fire. “Good boy."