| Don't Play With Your Food -> Eyeless Jack x Fem!Reader Smut |
𝙰/𝙽: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢! 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜! 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜. 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 (𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎)
𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟿.𝟼𝚔 | 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝚍𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 (𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝), 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜: 𝙿-𝚒𝚗-𝚅, 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝙴𝙹 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚝, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚞𝚋𝚌𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 (𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐), 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛-𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛-𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚝.
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚌 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢! (𝚗𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚎𝚝𝚌.)
Far from the dregs of modern society and the plight of humanity lay your home. A reclusive–much like you–modest cabin, nestled amidst towering oak trees and far off the main trail. It had taken you a few years to establish your self-sustaining sanctuary, but now it was a thriving homestead.
Vibrant green leaves sprouted up in even rows of dirt beside your house, a few paces away from a fire pit you had dug yourself one Spring evening. You would, of course, travel into town for luxuries like AA batteries and processed chocolate, but your trips became few and far between–eventually optional. You found yourself leaving less and less. You didn’t miss the drone of rush hour traffic, overly congested sidewalks, empty night skies, or ever-climbing prices.
If anything, the quiet felt earned.
As your disdain for your old way of life grew, your want to stay dwindled until you ditched it all and went off the grid.
Everyone assumed you would last a week, perhaps a month, and you hated to admit you had held similar sentiments. The initial move was hard, but once you had set up a decent router and a generator, you became settled much more quickly.
Settled.
That was the word you used, anyway.
The only absence you felt was a social one. As days of silence stretched into weeks, the realization of your isolation became harder to ignore. Your shopping ventures hardly fulfilled your needs, filled with mindless small talk and passing remarks purely for the sake of politeness–and in hopes of earning a tip. The remaining connections of substance you did have all but eroded with the separation, not only physical but emotional as well. Quitting your job all but severed your connection to former coworkers, up and leaving your friends had earned you their ire, and your family was a complicated mess that all but caved in on itself after your decision.
So, there you were. Your best friend may have well been the ground hog that had made itself a home beneath your porch, and your only conversation came from the few and far between hikers in dire need of directions.
They never stayed long, and you never asked them to.
It was, at least, easy to be of service; the criss-crossing of trails was familiar as all of the forests’ odds and ends were second nature. That muscle memory carried you from your cabin and down the steep slope of your backyard.
The grass around you grew slim and short from the limited sunlight that made it through the thick canopy of trees. Sparse green patches faded into smooth pebbles and sandy mud as you closed in on the shallow stream cutting through the woods. It was just deep enough to house small fish with a healthy population of frogs at various stages of life. Because of its frail inhabitants, you avoided fishing there–however, the water did attract a decent amount of other wild animals ripe for hunting.
That wasn’t your particular intention today, instead you were simply scouring the area for any plants you had yet to harvest. So, donning chunky rain boots and worn gloves you began searching. Parting shrubs and shifting stones you were greeted with the expected wriggling earth worms, scurrying ants, and–
Heavy steel-toed boots.
You froze.
Huh?
Before you was a huge pair of work boots, made of worn black leather caked in mud with straps galore. Tucked into them was black cargo pants, plentiful with pockets which were all stuffed full. As if that was not enough storage, a utility belt hung from his waist. In one of the loops a serrated hunting knife caught your eye, stirring some surprise and apprehension.
You hadn’t heard him approach.
Taking a tentative step back for your own safety, you weren’t sure what was more shocking–the appearance of another person or the fact that they were decked out in tactile gear like the world was about to end.
How odd this truly began to set in. How had you not heard anything? Why was he so close?
Your heart rate picked up a bit as you stood up, eyes flitting from his black belt to his black hoodie–
Wow. This guy had a favorite color.
Underneath his baggy sleeves was, you guessed it, black gloves which seemed to be pulled over bandages of some sort. And then–best of all–was a dark blue mask, stained with heavy black tear streaks.
Great. Just great.
You had been discovered by an edgelord with a knife which was basically a would-be serial killer–assuming you were his first victim. If that were the case you were fucked.
For one, he had no discernable features, save for a mess of dark curls peaking out from beneath his hood. And, secondly, he was huge.
The stranger was easily the tallest man you had ever seen, pushing seven feet tall with wide shoulders and a soft stomach.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t shift.
He just…stood there.
“Hello.”
He spoke firmly, his formal voice much smoother than you would have expected.
“Hi…” You croaked out in turn, wishing you had brought a more substantial weapon with you than a spade. Clutching the shovel like a life line you did another rapid once over. He was at least a head taller than you and could probably snap you in half like a twig. Swallowing the lump in your throat you waited anxiously for his response, a bit too scared to prompt him yourself.
“You live near here.”
His choice of words left you dumbfounded. He stated it, like it was a fact–which it was, technically–but how the hell did he know that?
“Yes, I do.” You replied, the words coming out more like a question than an answer.
A hum of understanding left him, a deep rumbling vibrato. He raised his hand stiffly, more like an animatronic than a man. It paused midair, fingers twitching once before settling, pointing at you.
“Food.”
“Yeah…?” What the fuck was wrong with him.
“What do you do for food?” he continued. “Is it…easy to hunt? Have you ever been interrupted?”
The question seemed oddly pointed considering the awkwardness of his wording, but you found yourself answering anyway.
“I grow my own stuff–tomatoes, carrots, easy stuff mostly. It's not the best place to catch anything here” you gestured towards the stream. The stranger simply tilted his head in response. “But uhm, no. If you go after animals it's not like another one is going to stop you from doing it or anything.”
He tensed–subtly, but surely.
Like something in your answer hadn’t aligned with what he expected. “I see. I mean, more so, have you ever been interrupted by people?”
That got a laugh out of you.
Not because it was funny–but because it wasn’t.
“Oh god no–I mean, not really.” You tried to recover, still on edge. “People, like, rarely come through here. Usually just hikers and stuff, so they don’t go off the trail.”
Your explanation seemed to please him this time, earning you an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, I’m glad I could help.” Your response carried more warmth than before, offering a small smile you hoped he returned beneath his mask.
“Yes.”
He turned to leave, taking a few steps before pausing.
Then–he turned back.
Not at your face, just at you.
“I’ll see you around…”
“I’ll–”
“I’m Jack.”
Taken aback by the awkward interruption, silence fell between you both for a few painful moments.
Then, your laughter broke the tension, easing him to relax his shoulders–just slightly.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”
He didn’t respond right away, he just stood there for a second longer than necessary.
Then, without another word, he left.
~~~~~
“Shit.”
You cursed under your breath, seeing that the pale thread had somehow–yet again–worked itself into a nasty knot. Reaching for your seam ripper you tore the string and pulled it from your shirt which, by now, had more holes then before in your repeated attempts to fix it. It seemed that sewing really, really wasn’t your strong suit.
It was early in the evening and although sunlight was fleeting there was very little you had to do outside, so you got some much needed chores out of the way instead. Getting up from your seat to grab a new sewing needle in hopes that would make up for your utter lack of raw skill. Just as you reached the small round table that had become an overgrown junk drawer, you noticed how dark it seemed. Gazing up at the orange glow of the setting sun from a window at the far end of your living room, you knew it should have been brighter outside. Looking to your left towards your front door you jumped for a moment, before sighing in dismay as you saw the culprit.
Jack stood on your porch, peering in through the front window and blocking out most of the light with his massive frame. Today he donned a navy pull over and a black canvas jacket rather than his usual ratty hoodie–he must have been feeling adventurous today.
Waving at your friend through the glass he stiffly returned the gesture, staring a moment too long before you opened the door to greet him.
“Can I help you?” You asked, a joking lilt in your voice. As odd as this was, you had come to learn this was simply how he behaved and you were admittedly glad he had stopped by regardless.
“No.” He deadpanned, closing the distance between you two and getting a bit close to the point where you had to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. Something about it brought a faint flush to your cheeks and suddenly shy, you cleared your throat to urge him on. “I needed to come by.”
“And you didn’t knock because…?”
“You were occupied.”
“Riiight…” You couldn’t help the sass that slipped into your voice, simply rolling your eyes at his peculiar formalities. “Well, if you’re going to watch me, why not just do it from inside the house next time?” You attempted to crack a joke, raising your eyebrows at him expectantly.
“Alright.”
Taking your sarcasm as instruction, he brushed past you with impressive ease and stepped into your living room.
He looked comical, trapped by low ceilings and smaller furniture made to accommodate one normal sized person. Rather than looking at the surroundings he walked to one side until his foot nudged a table, placing a hand on it and feeling the layout of the room's outer edge as he took even steps around the perimeter.
“...Jack?”
“I am mapping it.”
“...Mapping it?”
“Yes.”
Right. Of course he was.
In his exploration you noticed a faint trail of blood at his feet, causing you to lurch away from the door towards him until you realized it was just a rabbit clutched in his free hand.
Well, the remains of a rabbit.
It was very dead–hunted and cleaned, hanging limply in the man’s grasp.
There were no tears or evident damage to its flesh. No uneven edges. Just a clean, precise opening like someone had performed an operation rather than a hunt.
“I didn’t see you this morning.”
“Hm?” you asked, missing almost all of what he said as you focused back in.
“You weren’t by the stream earlier today.”
“Yeah, I–”
“You are there most mornings.”
The statement landed heavier than it should have.
Ah, right. Running into Jack by the river had become…routine. Not something you had planned, not something you had even acknowledged aloud, but something that happened all the same. You would check on your traps, and he would be there. Or he wouldn’t–and then he would be by the time you left.
“Right, sorry about that.” You said, a bit more carefully now. “I usually meet you after I see if I caught anything–”
“I know.”
Right.
You glanced at him, then away.
The obviousness of your explanation left you a bit embarrassed considering you usually passed him with blood stained pants and some collection of dead animals.
“Well, I don’t typically have any luck after it rains and since it did yesterday, I thought I would wait until tomorrow morning.”
“You were gone longer than usual.”
That…was not what you said.
You blinked, stunned for a second, before forcing a small laugh. “Yeah, well–I guess I got mixed up. The days sorta blend together, ya know?”
Your explanation seemed to satisfy him, prompting a small nod. Silence settled again–denser, this time.
Then he stepped forward, almost proudly brandishing the rabbit out to you.
“I brought you meat. I wasn’t sure if you would have anything to eat.”
The sentiment brought a smile to your face, and the realization that he was thinking about you, worrying–well it made your cheeks turn red all over again.
Man since when were you so easy?
Turning away you quickly composed yourself, taking a quick breath and clearing your now busy mind. “Thank you, Jack. That’s very sweet of you.”
He stilled.
Not just paused–stilled.
Like the word was unfamiliar and had caught somewhere it didn’t belong.
“Sweet,” he repeated, quieter now.
“...Yeah.”
Another pause.
Then he held the rabbit out further.
You took a step closer, now only a few inches from him. Your hand hovered for a moment–hesitation flickering–before something in you pushed forwards. Just for a second, you brushed your knuckles over his.
Cold.
Not freezing, not entirely unnatural.
Just cold.
His grip tightened–only slightly–and just for a moment.
But still, enough that you noticed.
You stilled now, and he didn’t let go right away.
Instead, his head dipped–just barely towards you–as if he were staring at the point of contact.
“It's still warm,” he murmured.
A shiver ran down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.
“Yeah.” you said quickly–maybe a bit too quickly–pulling your hand away as you took the rabbit from him. “That’s–uh, that’s kind of how it works.”
He released it immediately, but didn’t move away, simply lingering in silence.
“I’ll make it for dinner–beats having just vegetables and bread.” You turned slightly, trying to busy yourself, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up for no good reason. “You can stay–only if you want, of course…”
You hesitated, “you know, just like, a thank you.”
There it was, laid out plainly.
The want.
Your home had been empty for far too long.
“...Alright.” He replied simply.
But he didn’t move, not right away at least.
And when you glanced back at him, you realized he wasn’t looking at the rabbit.
He was looking at you.
~~~~~
The news was bullshit, meteorology was a lie, and your weather app clearly had a personal vendetta.
What was supposed to be a brisk fall day with “light showers in the afternoon” had quickly transformed into a torrential downpour early in the morning.
It was just your luck, however, that it had happened to start after you had left without anything to protect you from the elements.
Seriously, the converse you refused to let go of had seen better days and the thin, worn canvas had left you with wet socks and an annoying squish following every step.
The dense foliage above you did little to stop the rain, simply delaying the inevitable; fat droplets of water slipping down leaves and soaking through your clothes one patch at a time.
Once the storm had started, you considered turning back. If you had any animals they would surely still be stuck tomorrow, and any herbs or berries certainly weren’t going anywhere. And yet, you stayed.
Old sneakers sunk into the damp earth with every step, carrying you down a path your body knew better than your brain did. Each day, the same path, the same time, the same—
You slowed.
The same stream came into view through the trees. Its once steady trickle was now a roaring current, moving fast enough that it had consumed the surrounding bank. There were no fish in sight, not a single lingering tadpole, not even an earth worm or two seeking reprieve from the wet soil.
The woods felt…empty.
The only life there was you.
“You’re late.”
You froze.
Turning towards the source of the voice you were unsurprised to see Jack standing there.
He was, of course, eerily still and as tall as ever. His drab clothing—consisting of his usual black cargo pants, but a new dark rain jacket—blended in with the dark atmosphere. His mask which was no longer as disconcerting had become a smeared mess of black…well, whatever that crap was. If he had been more diverse in this choice of clothing, it most likely would have been a stained mess.
He didn’t move closer.
He didn’t wave.
He just watched.
“I—” you let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “I wasn’t planning on coming, I thought about going back when the rain started,” you explained with a soft laugh.
“You always come.”
Well, he was being rather blunt.
He wasn’t accusatory, or upset, or even curious.
Just…certain, if you had to try and place it.
You swallowed.
“That’s not—” you started, then stopped, because arguing felt pointless for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. You weren’t even sure why you cared so much—or why he did either.
“It rained yesterday,” you tried instead. “I told you I don’t usually check traps after rain.”
“Yes.”
He said it immediately.
Of course he did, of course he remembered something so trivial.
You shifted your weight, shoes squelching slightly in the mud. “So… I’m not late, then…Technically.”
A pause, filled by the dull pitter patter of the rain.
Then—
“You are late.”
Again, he wasn’t arguing per se, just repeating his point. Firmly.
Something in your chest tightened.
“Jack—”
“You are later than usual.”
Ah.
There it was.
You huffed out a breath, shaking your head a little. “Sure…alright. I’ll meet you in the middle, I’m later than usual.”
“I am correct.”
That—unfortunately—made you laugh.
“Don’t test your luck!” You said, a giggle slipping out despite yourself, while he simply cocked his head in response.
“I’m not testing anything.”
Oh wow, had he never heard of sarcasm? Thinking back, you really didn’t think he had. You couldn’t remember a single time he had been sarcastic. Or joking. Or…wrong.
Maybe he was raised Amish or Mormon or something.
The thought of it made you laugh again, cutting through the damp chill settling into your bones. “You’re…you’re something else, Jack.”
He tilted his head and stared in your general direction.
You didn’t think he understood the tone—maybe even the phrase itself—or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.
Another beat passed, filled only by the sound of rain hitting water, slipping from the leaves above and pelting the fabric of both your clothes.
Neither of you moved.
“You’re going to get sick standing out here,” you said finally, gesturing toward him. “You’re soaked.” As if you were one to talk—at least he had on a jacket—but he had seemingly been out here much longer than you.
“No, I won’t.” He didn’t hesitate, but he wasn’t challenging you, he was just overly confident in his immune system.
“And why’s that?”
He paused, taking the time to think for once, “…I have a good diet. Lots of protein. Vitamin C…”
A dry chuckle forced itself past your lips, eyebrows raising in disbelief—obviously you had been mistaken, he did understand a joke.
“Right.”
“Right,” he echoed, slower now, mulling over your response. “You don’t believe me. You should. I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor of what, vitamin deficiencies?”
“No, but, I know I won’t get sick.”
“Uh-huh…” Losing interest in his antics you gazed around; the rain only seemed to be getting heavier. Your hoodie was losing the fight, the cold was settling in deeper now—sharp at your fingertips, creeping up steadily into your arms.
You rubbed at them absentmindedly, only to realize a moment later that Jack seemed to be watching you do so.
“We should move somewhere, get out of the rain…” You peered over your shoulder, briefly considering the walk back. The idea wasn’t particularly appealing—not with your socks soaked through and your shoes heavy with mud.
“Yes,” Jack agreed, offering nothing else.
“There’s a rock overhang, like a cliff thing a bit further up..” you said, nodding upstream, your arms crossed tight across your chest for warmth. “It’s not much, but it’s better than this.”
“Show me.”
He didn’t look where you pointed.
At his instruction you pivoted, making your way along the uneven edge of the stream. It was different then you remembered—the rain had chewed at the bank, reshaped it into something unfamiliar—and it took longer than it should have to find a place narrow enough to cross.
Even then, it was a stretch.
Athleticism failed you at the worst possible moment; your foot slipped on the slick edge, and you pitched forward, barely catching yourself before faceplanting into the mud.
“You tripped,” he dead panned.
“Yeah, well…yeah..” You mutter, pushing yourself up with a wince. The feeling of the mud made you cringe—it was smeared across your palms, your sleeves soaked through and clinging uncomfortably to your skin.
Before you could turn fully, a shadow fell over you.
“Jesus—”
The word caught as you looked up.
Jack was already there.
Too close.
You hadn’t heard him move.
Reaching down, he took your hand. Firm—yet careful. His grip was steady, almost deliberate, as if he’d done this before.
A gloved thumb pressed lightly against the inside of your wrist, lingering just a second too long over your pulse, before sliding down to cup your knuckles. He rotated your wrist slowly, testing the joint with quiet precision, pushing it gently in different directions.
“What are you doing, Jack?”
“Does it hurt?”
He ignored the question entirely, his other hand coming up to brace your forearm—fingers spanning it easily, thumb pressing into muscle like he was mapping something out.
The faint smell of iron flooded your senses which was odd, given that you weren’t bleeding. Jack didn’t seem to be either.
“No, it doesn’t,” you huffed, trying to pull away—
His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt, not in an attempt to pull you back. It was just strong. A warning.
“I told you,” he said evenly. “I’m a doctor.”
You weren’t quite sure how to respond, simply pulling your arm back again—this time he relented and let go. “I’m okay,” you said, brushing uselessly at your sleeves. “Thank you…”
The gratitude felt strange on your tongue.
He only hummed.
The rest of the walk seemed much longer than you remembered, almost painfully so. Maybe it was the slog through the mud.
Or the way you kept adjusting your pace without realizing it.
Or maybe it was him.
You weren’t quite sure what to call Jack.
That uncertainty didn’t help when he started trailing behind you—not beside you, not even a step back, but several paces removed.
Far enough that it didn’t feel like walking together.
Far enough that, if you didn’t know better, it would feel like being stalked, rather than followed.
And yet—
Close enough that you could feel him; his looming presence, his stare bearing into you.
Watching.
You couldn’t quite hear his footsteps, and yet you always knew when he stopped.
You turned, glancing back. “What’s up?”
“You slipped.”
Did you?
You frowned slightly, thinking back. The ground was slick, your shoes useless against the mud. “Uh…yeah, I guess?”
“You shifted your weight to avoid falling,” he said. “Your steps changed.”
“…I mean, yeah. That’s kind of how it works?”
Silence.
He just stood there, staring—not at your face, but lower, like he was watching the way you stood, the way your weight settled into the ground.
Waiting.
For what, you weren’t sure.
You exhaled, a little sharper this time. “Come on, Jack.”
The remainder of the walk was a silent slog, all to something that wasn’t quite worth it.
The overhang wasn’t much.
Just a jut of rock where the earth dipped slightly, enough to block the worst of the rain. You stepped beneath it with a sigh of relief, shaking out your hoodie a little and pushing damp hair from your face.
It took a second to realize he hadn’t followed.
You glanced back.
He stood just outside, letting the rain hit him.
“Jack?”
He just looked at you.
“You can come under here, you know,” you urged. “That was like, the whole point of us coming here.”
“No. I am fine.”
You stared at him for a second, shaking your head in dismay.
He was unbelievable.
Stepping forwards you grabbed his sleeve, “c’mon, get in here you idiot.”
You tugged and, surprisingly, he moved.
There was no resistance—or even allowance—just letting you.
The second he stepped under the overhang, the space shrank considerably; you hadn’t really accounted for how big he was.
Or how little space there was.
“Okay, wow,” you muttered, instinctively stepping back—only to hit the stone almost immediately. “That’s—great. Love that.”
He stood directly in front of you now—too close.
You could feel his breath, the warmth radiating off him, and hear the faint beating of his heart.
And yet, there was no point of contact between the two of you.
But close enough that you could see the individual drops of water clinging to his mask, gathering before falling down in heavy clumps.
And close enough that the faint metallic scent you’d noticed before was stronger now, mixing unpleasantly with wet earth and damp fabric.
Your breath hitched—just slightly.
“Jack, what is that—“
“You are cold.”
Again—not a question, just an observation.
“I’m wet,” you shot back. “That’s kind of how that works.”
There was a tense pause, and then his hand lifted. The movement was slow and deliberate, but still awkward like it had been before.
“May I?”
Your brain stalled and your body stalled.
“…What?”
But he was already closer now—if that was even possible—closing the last of the distance between you two. His chest brushed against yours, his hand hovering just short of your arm.
You could say no, you probably should.
Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke without really thinking.
“…Okay, sure.”
His fingers closed around your wrist–firm and still.
The same as before.
But now—without the muck of mud and the pelting of the storm–you could feel it properly.
No warmth, no give, no subtle pulse. Like a corpse.
He tilted his head, focusing on the contact.
“You are shaking.”
“I’m cold,” you repeated, quieter this time.
His other hand moved, settling—awkwardly, uncertainly—against your sleeve, like he wasn’t entirely sure where it was supposed to go; like he was trying to recreate something he’d seen before.
The space between you disappeared completely, lost to the mingling of your heated breaths and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
You could feel the shape of him now—solid, unmoving, too still to be natural.
“…Jack.”
“Yes.”
“You’re, uh—” you swallowed, heat creeping up your neck despite everything. “You’re kind of—close.”
“I know.”
That did not help.
At all.
You let out a small, strained laugh, trying to lean back again, still stuck by the unyielding stone behind you. “Right. Of course you do.”
He didn’t move away, didn’t loosen his grip; if anything, his fingers tightened—just slightly.
“Your pulse increased.”
Oh my god.
“Yeah, that tends to happen when people invade other people’s personal space.”
He thought for a moment, “I can let go.”
He was right. He could let go, you could ask him to stop, either of you could move away.
But you didn’t, and neither did he.
“...No.” You finally said softly.
That short answer seemed to appease him.
A heavy silence fell immediately, your gaze shying away from his.
His, however, stayed; unrelenting, just like his grasp.
The rain didn’t let up for a long time.
And–not even for a moment–neither of you moved.
~~~~~~
It had been days since you had last seen Jack.
Although there wasn’t any obligation to meet up, the fact that you saw one another everyday was an unsung ritual. Whenever you were late—let alone completely absent—Jack wouldn’t let you forget it. And then he had the nerve to stand you up for the last three days.
Not that you were counting.
But you kind of were.
At first you had thought maybe he did get sick from standing out in the rain like an idiot. The glory of “I told you so” lasted a mere 24 hours before you began to worry that he was avoiding you on purpose since that rainy morning you spent huddled together.
Then, since this morning, for your own wellbeing you had half convinced yourself that he was being held for ransom somewhere.
The other half was still toying with the much more realistic possibility that he no longer wanted to see you.
The weight of that hurt more than it should have for losing an…acquaintance wasn’t quite right. Neither was a friend or neighbor or anything else you could think of.
You made a habit of seeing each other every day. You worried for each other. You provided for one another.
Whatever the word for that was would be most fitting.
Disconcertingly, your uncertainty and grief had left you unable to sleep the last few nights.
Tonight, you found yourself on the porch of your cabin. A thick wool blanket was draped around your shoulders for warmth, countering your thin flannel shorts and baggy t-shirt. A long abandoned book lay open on your bare thighs—although you had quite enjoyed it the last few days, it was comparably much harder to read by moonlight than desk lamp.
Instead, you found yourself engrossed in the perplexity of the surrounding forest.
The silence had first set in three days ago. The woods around your cabin were usually a symphony of life—the chirping of crickets, the hoot of an owl, and the rustle of small creatures in the undergrowth. But, as of late, there had been nothing.
An absolute, unnerving quiet that pressed into your very bones, somehow making you feel so much smaller and yet infinitely exposed all at once. The air itself felt thick, charged with static energy that made your skin prickle,
The woods itself, and all of its inhabitants, seemed to be waiting with baited breath.
The immense weight of the change felt crushing, nearly unbearable, as some primal part of your mind urged you to flee back inside.
You didn’t listen.
Instead, you nursed your cup of tea that had long gone cold, examining the uneven treeline. The storm had been bad, leaving branches scattered and once tall oaks splintered in half as maws of pale, exposed wood.
It had been hell to navigate even sparse patches of forest.
Examining a particularly gnarly branch, something stirred in your peripheral vision. Off to the right, a blotch of inky black emerged from the dense wreckage of foliage.
Whatever it was walked with an odd gait, long uneven strides as it hunched over. The thing was tall, similar to a bear walking on its hind legs but too thin and coordinated to be so. It was impressively silent and balanced, maneuvering with ease at almost an alarming pace.
It approached you quickly—in fact it was making a b-line straight for you—fear set in momentarily until you saw a familiar glimpse of the navy.
Jack.
Your it was a he, and he had picked the worst possible time to show up at your doorstep.
You discarded your book alongside your tea and frustration, alarm setting in at his absence and sudden reappearance.
“Jack!” You took a few steps from your porch, meeting him.
You grabbed at his arms, panicking when you felt something wet as the overwhelming smell of something metallic filled your lungs.
Your fingers tightened, the thick, coppery tang of blood flooding your senses. His navy hoodie was drenched, the fabric heavy and clinging to his frame, but beneath the dampness, his skin burned like a furnace. His breath came in ragged, uneven pants, each exhaling a ghost of steam in the cool night air.
He felt beyond feverish and was borderline boiling.
"Jack, what happened? Are you hurt?" Your voice trembled, but you forced yourself to meet his face—though there was nothing to see.
His eyes were empty voids, hollowed out and shadowed, yet somehow, you felt his gaze on you—intense and starving. His lips parted, but no words came, only a low, guttural sound vibrating from his chest.
His grip on your arms tightened, almost bruising, as if he were afraid you might vanish. He tried to choke something out, the beginning of what sounded like a no that was quickly interrupted by a guttural groan.
The silence stretched, thick with the weight of tension. You couldn't place it—there was something primal in the way he leaned into you, his body trembling not with pain, but with something else entirely. His fingers twitched against your skin, restless, desperate. Then, without warning, he yanked you closer, his face burying into the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed your pulse point, not biting, but teasing, testing.
A shiver wracked through you; half fear and half something dangerously close to anticipation.
"You're bleeding," you whispered, though the realization felt distant. Your mind was hazy, but somehow your instincts made it clear; he wasn’t the one in danger.
You were.
“It’s not mine,” he finally rasped. The explanation was minimal and no less troubling than your assumption.
He, however, didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
His hands roamed lower, mapping your waist, your hips, like he was trying to memorize all of you. The blanket around your shoulders slipped, pooling at your feet as he crowded you against the cabin door. The rough wood pressed into your back, his body flush against yours, leaving no space to breathe—or think. The metallic scent of blood mingled with something else; something darker, muskier, something that made your stomach twist and tighten all at once.
"I can smell you," he gasped, his voice raw, cracked. "All of you." His knee slid between your thighs, pressing up, and the friction sent a jolt through you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he rocked forward, slow, deliberate. The movement was predatory, possessive, and yet, there was no malice—only need. Raw, insatiable need.
Your heart hammered against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. You should have pushed him away, should have screamed, should have run—but you didn't.
Instead, your fingers tangled in his blood-soaked hoodie, pulling him closer. His name fell from your lips like a prayer. And when he finally crashed his mouth against yours, you met him halfway, tasting blood and something far more dangerous on his tongue.
His mouth was a maw of sharp, uneven teeth.
Despite his ferocity he didn’t kiss you just yet; he tasted as if you were his last meal. His tongue was a wet, hot invasion that scraped roughly over yours. It was wide, long and eager. In the mess of it all it felt overwhelming, until you realized he had not one but three, all of which seemed determined to map out the inside of your mouth. Some stranger's blood left a coppery tang behind, mixing bitterly with the lingering flavor of your tea.
His hands were everywhere, rough and calloused, gripping your waist with bruising intensity before sliding up to cup the back of your neck. He pulled away from your lips with a fervent gasp, tilting your head back and exposing the length of your throat. The sharp prick of his canines sent a thrill though you as they graced down your skin, stopping just above your collarbone
He didn't bite down hard enough to break the skin—not yet—but the promise of it was enough to make your knees weak.
Slowly, agonizingly, he broke the kiss. A line of saliva and blood connected your mouths for a split second before he pulled away. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, and then his gaze dropped to your neck, his mouth twitching as he inhaled deeply.
"You smell like mine," he murmured, his voice low and rough. Though the words sounded like nonsense, you were too enthralled with him to care. He buried his face in your neck again, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collar and down to your chest.
His hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt, palms rough and calloused, burning against your bare skin. He didn't try to rush. He took his time, mapping every inch of you with his tongue and his fingers, every movement slow and deliberate.
Eager fingers traced the line of your spine, sending jolts of electricity through you. Growing impatient with the amount of fabric between you two he pushed your shirt up, nearly moaning at the realization that your breasts were bare beneath.
He cupped your chest, thumbs pressing into sensitive peaks as he found your nipples. He rubbed the nubs between calloused fingers—his touch firm, but not gentle. It was rough but undercut by an unexplainable intensity and a careful awareness. Every ounce of his self control was being put into not ravishing you.
He wanted to go slow. He wanted you to enjoy this as much as him, but his patience was growing thin and if he couldn’t take his time, he would simply revere you instead.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. The word was barely audible over the rustling of the wind, and the mingling of your heated breaths. He finally looked up, staring at you as he caught his breath.
He pulled you closer, his mouth finding yours again—but this time it was different. It was less aggressive, less messy, but somehow more desperate, and just as insistent. His hands abandoned your breasts, one tracing the curves of your ribs while the other guided your leg around his waist, his strong hold supporting your thigh.
Rough denim bit into your exposed skin as his leg moved up. His knee pressed against the inside of your thigh, pushing higher, and you felt the heat of him radiating through his clothes, searing against your skin. Once he felt your own heat, the sure sign of your excitement as dampness on his thigh, he nearly lost it.
Nails dug into the fat of your leg, urging you forwards and back over and over as he set a sloppy rhythm. The hefty weight of his hard cock dug into your hip—long, thick, and warm. The length was intimidating, your stomach twisting as you fathomed how something that size would even fit inside you.
Between moans, he panted out “I need to be inside you. Please.” His hands were already fiddling with the button of your jeans without waiting for a response
The idea was, admittedly, equal parts terrifying and appealing. Despite your complex–yet heated–feelings for Jack, he was large and not to mention exceedingly eager as he moved down your body.
His intimidating frame melted into yours while you pondered the logistics of how you would survive someone of his size inside you without proper preparation, regardless of how embarrassingly wet you had become.
In the midst of it all you didn’t notice his rough hands tugging down your shorts until you felt cold air nipping at your exposed skin. By then you were spread bare before him, thighs parted as the warmth of his tongue met your exposed lips.
The feeling was oh so foreign.
Your time alone in the woods paired with how unnatural he was had you shuddering from mere licks.
You really were easy.
Self deprecation came naturally as something about his inhumanity stirred something deep in you. That excitement–prior to now–had been unbeknownst to you and now that it had been sparked, it quickly grew into a roaring flame.
Shaking hands found their way into dark curls, tugging and urging for something–you weren’t quite sure what.
However, Jack was.
One of his tongues–lengthy and feverishly warm–parted your folds, hungrily lapping up your slick.
“Shit!” You exclaimed, left breathless as the appendage slipped inside you, longer and thicker than you had expected, larger than you had even thought to be possible, too much to be human.
It was only dawning on you now–with his head nestled between your thighs, some stranger’s blood staining your legs from his cheeks–that Jack was something else.
You weren’t sure how you had overlooked the signs, or even failed to notice after seeing his lack of eyes and rows of jagged teeth.
Perhaps the isolation has rotted your brain.
Maybe it was something more taboo.
All of your aimless pondering came to an end as something else slipped inside you, all fruitless attempts to figure the enigmatic man out drowned out by the feeling of being absolutely and wonderfully full.
Two of his tongues were inside you now, burrowing deep enough that you swore he could taste your cervix.
Jack seemed unfathomably grateful for the meal, stretching you out and curling up until a shaky gasp escaped your lips.
“Jack!” Your plea rivaled reverence as your legs parted more, beckoning him in further to the sweet spot he had stumbled upon.
It was spongy to touch, somehow softer than the rest of your slick walls and every time he nudged it the pressure elicited a delighted squeal from you.
With a renewed vigor he continued the ministries, unrelenting in his attempts to make you squirm.
The pleasure had you struggling to see straight, heat quickly mounting in your abdomen as you tightened around him. It all felt like too much–his tongue's too thick, the escalation of events too quick, the lack of communication too daunting.
And yet, selfishly, needily you forgot all apprehension.
“Puh..Please don’t stop!”
Your whine was dulcet to Jack, the sweetest thing he had ever heard. It drew a deep growl from the depths of his chest, a subtle rumble that sent pleasant vibrations through your sex.
That was enough to push you over the edge, crying out as your vision became spotty.
Heat spread through your shuddering body, spine tensing and arching as you were eased through your orgasm.
Jack’s unrelenting ministrations drew out your pleasure, urging more from you–more moans, more cries, more cum.
Even as your shakes subsided and muscles went lax he didn’t stop. Instead his jaw opened, more than it should have been able to, and his third and final tongue found its way to your swelling clit.
It became too hard to see, too hard to comprehend. Your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering until they shut as his tongue splayed over the sensitive nub. He worked quickly, sloppy circles causing your thighs to shake.
Pressure began mounting again, a knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten as your legs finally snapped shut–or as close as they could get to it–over his pointed ears.
Another growl rumbled through Jack, two hands coming up between you both to force your hips open again. Calloused fingers dug into the plush of your inner thigh, pinning them in place.
His work had left you both a mess, blood and cum smeared across your legs and his cheeks, slick separating you both by a few glistening strands as he pulled away to speak.
“Don’t move.”
“Okay…” You whimpered before you knew what you were saying, arched your back without really meaning to, tugged at his hair absently in hopes you would return to your sex.
Of course, your wish was granted.
It felt right to have his tongues slip back inside you, in the brief moments without them you had felt empty.
The realization made your cheeks flush, parted lips coming together so you could gnaw on the bottom one.
A small part of you was ashamed for succumbing to your urges, for indulging so blatantly, for not questioning what Jack was or why this was happening.
You no longer cared that he had been gone, you didn’t mind the mess he had arrived in.
You were simply glad that he was back.
The realization, although late yet again, eased your pounding heart and foggy mind, allowing you to slip fully into the throes of pleasure being readily given to you.
Jack worked you through orgasm after orgasm, not giving you a moment of respite, eating you out like a man starved.
He only stopped when your clit had become so sensitive his breath made you twitch, and when the mess coming from you was more cum than slick.
As he pulled away your hands fell from his head, slipping down his neck and over broad shoulders to tug at his hoodie.
You wanted him closer, but you also wanted it off.
To compensate for him having to pull away you wrapped your now weak legs around him.
Your attempts were futile as Jack seemed to have other plans for you both.
He wrapped one arm around you, effortlessly holding you up as he pulled you away from the wall before beginning to set you on the ground.
In your haze it took you a moment to notice that this wasn’t a temporary resting place.
“Jack..!” You cried, half whine, half scold, as he pulled the soiled sweatshirt off of his head.
The sight left you breathless for a moment, his hair a mess from your tugging, his face and neck flushed. His bare chest was soft but noticeably strong with defined biceps covered in a thin layer of hair that was also prominent on his messy happy trail.
Although you were waiting for an answer, your only form of acknowledgement seemed to be him pausing, arms still stuck in his sweatshirt as it hung limply in front of him.
Right. He was still like that.
“We…we are not having sex on the floor.”
“Yes, we are.”
You were dumbfounded by his blatant refusal, your mouth hanging open dumbly for a moment. “No we are not!” You shot back.
He stopped this time, pondering your demand and surprisingly asked, “why not?”
Splinters? Shame? Discomfort? The front door being wide open?
You could think of a myriad of reasons why it was a bad idea, and yet worlds failed you, as all you could muster was a “because I said so.”
Another beat of silence, followed by a soft plop as he finished taking his top off, before he finally relented. “Alright.”
Jack seceded from impatience it seemed. He closed the distance between you both again, scooping you up as he pressed heated kisses down your neck, across your breasts, up your shoulders–wherever his mouth could reach.
Setting you down on the couch he settled on top of you, his legs hanging over the armrest due to his height. His free hand undid the button of his cargo pants before he shifted and kicked to get them off. He cursed under his breath as he struggled, the arm holding him up trembling–not from exertion but from desperation.
His face was a deep red, sweat beading on his forehead and collar, a soft whine escaping every time your body simply brushed his.
When his pants and boxers were finally off, the last of his control seemed to evaporate. A heady groan escaped his lips, hard cock now curling up towards his frame and resting on your lower stomach.
It was long and thick, something you would surely struggle to maneuver even with both hands. Your stomach fluttered, thighs squeezing together as you eyed the veins running from his swollen head down to the bulb situated at the base of his dick.
Before you could really think of what it was, restless hands pushed your legs apart and up to rest over his shoulders, granting him access to your sex. Guiding his length between your folds, precum dripped over your entrance before he pushed in.
With a few shallow thrusts he bottomed out, forcing the monstrous size into you so quickly you saw stars.
_____
The pain was sharp, a violent intrusion that stole the breath right out of your lungs, but it was swiftly swallowed by the overwhelming fullness. You clamped down around him instinctively, your nails digging into the soft skin of his shoulders as he held himself there, buried to the hilt inside you.
You screamed, a sound that tore itself from your throat before your brain could even process the sudden sensation. It wasn’t pain—not exactly—but the kind of stretch that threatened to ruin you, a bone-deep ache that radiated outward until you felt impossibly wide, impossibly full.
“Jack…!” The syllable was barely a breath and hardly a plea–you weren’t asking him to stop, you weren’t begging for him to move, you just wanted him.
He stilled above you, his body vibrating with the effort to remain steady, his hands planting on the cushion next to your head to anchor himself. He panted, his chest heaving against yours, the heat radiating off him like a furnace.
"You're so tight," he rasped out, his voice guttural and wrecked. "You're... so tight."
He didn't move immediately, just rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged, hot pants that fogged the space between your faces. The sheer scale of him was staggering; he felt impossibly large, stretching you wide in ways that no human ever could. A heavy, musky scent—the same one that had filled the air earlier—wafted off him, thick and primal.
He leaned in, pressing a clumsy, desperate kiss to your mouth, tasting of blood and salt.
"Take it," he commanded, though the words were barely a whisper. "Take all of it."
Slowly, agonizingly, he began to pull back.
The friction was maddening, the drag of his length against your sensitive walls sending sparks of electricity shooting up your spine. When he bottomed out again with a deep thrust, your back arched off the couch, a loud moan tearing from your throat.
Each movement was deep, a heavy impact that rocked your body upwards. He was relentless, hips pistoning against yours with a brutal rhythm that had your head spinning, your vision blurring at the edges.
Your nails scraped down his back, leaving angry red trails against the soft skin of his lower back, the only mark you could leave on him.
"Oh god..." You gasped, your voice cracking, drowning in the sensation of him, stretched to the limit by his sheer size.
"Jack... please, don't stop," you whimpered, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.
You didn't need to ask twice.
He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that bordered on animalistic. Each stroke was deep, claiming every inch of you, hitting that same spot inside you that made your vision blur and your toes curl. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingled with your moans and his guttural growls.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky rasp. "You're taking it so well. So tight."
He shifted, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot harder with every thrust. The pressure built rapidly, a knot tightening in your lower belly until you were gasping for breath, the pleasure becoming overwhelming.
"You're going to cum," he noted. "I can feel it. You're clenching around me." The bluntness of his words drastically opposed the quiver in his words and the heavy breath between each syllable.
His hand moved down to your clit, rubbing rough circles over the sensitive nub. The dual stimulation pushed you over the edge faster than you expected.
You cried out, your body seizing as a powerful orgasm rippled through you, your inner muscles clamping down so hard on his cock that he hissed.
"Just like that," Jack urged, his face twisting in pleasure. He spoke breathily, nails leaving angry red marks as he forced your hips closer, half bouncing you onto his cock as he continued moving; driving into you with deliberate precision, his pace increasing as he chased his own release.
"You're mine," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy on your ear.
His knot began to swell, a thick, bulbous base that pulsed against your sensitive skin. It was an alien intrusion, a part of him that you were learning to accommodate–the friction creating a fire that burned in the very marrow of your bones.
"Jack, it's too big..." You whimpered, your hands grasping at his shoulders. You felt your stomach drop, sure that you wouldn’t be able to fit it–it was a miracle you had taken as much as you had already.
"Shut up and take it," he commanded softly, his voice laced with a dark, possessive need. "You can take it. You're doing so well." The praise was choppy, foreign coming from him, but well earned regardless.
He pushed forward, forcing the knot to expand, locking him inside you.
You cried out as your body was somehow stretched further, more than it had ever been before, the knot catching on your rim, and then sliding in with a pop. He was trapped inside you, a massive weight that filled you completely, leaving you no room to breathe, no room to think, only to feel the incredible pressure and the pulsing heat of him.
You gasped for air, your body trembling violently.
"Good girl," he purred, his voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to the roughness of his actions. "You took it all. You took all of me."
He rested there, his forehead resting against yours, the action oddly tender but far from unwelcome.
"You're so full," he continued, whispering in awe while his thumb stroked your cheek.
The sensation of his knot trapping you was intense, a feeling of being completely possessed, of being locked together.
"I'm full," you echoed, your voice barely a whisper, unable to process the magnitude of the experience.
"Good," he said, and his hips gave a small, experimental roll.
You jolted, the movement sending shockwaves through your body, the knot rubbing against your sensitive walls.
"Jack..."
He chuckled darkly, tentatively, his breath hitching his chest.
"Did you like it?"
You didn't answer, too overwhelmed by the sensation to form words. You could only arch your back, a silent plea for more, for everything.
He seemed to understand.
Jack started to move again, grinding his hips slowly and deliberately, the knot catching and releasing, sending you into a spiral of pleasure that made your head spin.
He seemed to be enjoying himself, his own release imminent, and the knowledge that he was trapped inside you– unable to pull out until he was ready–added to the immense heat and sheer alien nature of the creature you were sharing a moment with.
Your mind began to wander, twisting into a dark, erotic dreamland where you were nothing more than his vessel, his mate, his everything.
He was lost in the sensation too, his eyes fixated on where his cock was buried deep inside you.
He felt your walls clamp down on him, milking him for everything he had.
"I'm going to fill you up," he announced, as if to inform you.
His formality forced a dazed giggle from you.
His hips snapped forward one last time, and his cock throbbed violently.
A stream of hot cum flooded your insides, the sheer amount of it was staggering.
"Jack!" You screamed, your body tensing, your eyes rolling back.
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body as a stream of hot cum filled the emptiness of your womb.
He pumped his hips erratically, after every thrust, the room seemed to shrink, the world outside seemed to disappear, you were just two bodies locked together.
You, Jack, and what you had together was the only thing that mattered.
The flood continued for what felt like ages.
Eventually, he slowed, his breathing returning to a more normal–albeit heavy–pace.
The knot deflated slightly, but remained swollen, preventing him from pulling out.
He pulled his face from your neck, looking at you with adoration, but also a dark hunger.
"You're covered in me," he said, your body glistening with sweat and smelling strongly of him; your legs spread wide on the couch, your thighs sticky with a mixture of your own juices and his.
He lowered his head, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You're mine now.”
He reached for his sweatshirt and wiped his face, removing the remnants of his earlier meals–a mixture of your fluids and foreign blood.
You had a clearer look at his face now.
He had a strong jaw, well defined cheek bones and traces of wispy stubble on his chin. Despite his lack of eyes you could feel the intensity of his gaze and the reverence which he had for you. The man was adoring, relishing in the sight of you laid bare before him, especially fond of the point where your bodies met.
“Thank you…” you muttered, breaking the silence, tugging softly at his neck to draw him closer.
“You’re welcome,” he replied simply.
