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supervillain-smut · 1 year

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How do the slashers react to orgasm denial?

You’ve managed to get the jump on them and successfully restrain them. How you did it, you don’t know, but now that you think about it, they’re kind of hot, and completely under your control… It’s your turn to torture them. Give them a taste of their own medicine, in your own special way.

(THIS WORK FEATURES NON-CON ELEMENTS (MOSTLY SLASHERS RECEIVING), CURSING, DUBIOUS CONSENT, AND ORGASM DELAY/DENIAL. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!)

FEATURING: BO & VINCENT SINCLAIR, BRAHMS HEELSHIRE, BUBBA SAWYER, GHOSTFACE (GENERAL PERSONA, WHICHEVER YOU FANCY), DR. HANNIBAL LECTER (ANTHONY HOPKINS), MICHAEL MYERS, RUBEN “RUVIK” VICTORIANO, STEFANO VALENTINI, THOMAS “TOMMY” HEWITT, AND HARRY WARDEN/TOM HANNIGER

AO3 LINK

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Bo Sinclair: He’s at a loss for words.

“F…Fuck! Will you just lemme… Ahhh! God…”

The man who was just about to torture you in this dingy little basement, who’d seemed like such a sweet-talker only hours ago, could not form a complete sentence. The anger was still in his eyes, oh was it ever, but he’d given up on getting out around an hour ago and had only focused on convincing you to let him cum.

He wasn’t about to beg, oh no he was far too proud of that, but if he wasn’t going to before he is sure as shit he might now.

You could tell he was getting close again, the time it took was becoming shorter and shorter, as he leaned his head back, his breath came in short gasps, and his hips strained against the rope you had used to tie him down after he couldn’t stop bucking into your hand in a vain effort to reach completion.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry from hanging open, panting, and attempting to talk for the last half hour, his voice beginning to sound hoarse. “Pl… GOD will you just let me cum? FUCK it hurts… Aaarrggh!!” He growled as you took your hand off his cock again.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should think about it.” Bo’s eyes widened in fear at your words, and he began to fight his restraints again desperately.

You walked away to the beginnings of his screams of threats, the last one fading in volume as you shut the door.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING WALK AWAY FROM ME! DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!!”

Brahms Heelshire: He begs.

You didn’t really have to restrain him at all. More like telling him to stay like a dog and he reacts like he’s bound. Even still, you’ve tied him to the headboard, and not once has he fought it. He’s been surprisingly good.

“I’ll be good, I promise!” He whines as he tries to buck his hips into your hand. “I won’t hurt you! I would never! I wanted to protect you! He hurt you!” He cried out as he let his head fall back into the pillows. You could see him swallow thickly and feel his hips still in an attempt to ‘be good’ for you.

You almost felt bad for the last four times he was close. Almost.

You stilled your hand again and heard him whine. He was almost pathetic with how easily he submitted to your demands, how he’d let you tie him up and tease him for this long, even though you could see it in his body that he wanted to fight back, to take control back, and yet he didn’t. Not once.

You watched him steady his breathing and pick his head up to look at you. You made the mistake of meeting his eyes; the biggest brown puppy dog eyes looked straight into the empathetic part of you. He was so patient, and he was being good… You resumed your pace, running your thumb over the head of his cock and he keened in return. His hips thrust forward just slightly, and you corrected him.

“Ah-ah! Be good and you can come. Don’t move.” He groaned, but still, you felt his hips stop.

You pressed just behind his balls and his back arched before he slammed back down onto the bed, remembering your order; he was really trying, you could tell. You felt him pulse and twitch in your hand, signaling he was close as precum oozed from the tip. You didn’t stop this time and watched as thin, watery jets of cum erupted from his cock, coating your hand and his stomach as he cried out again and again.

“Good boy, Brahms. Such a good boy.”

Bubba Sawyer: He’s obedient.

“So you’re going to be good, play nice, and help me out of this place, right?” You needed to make sure he was going to help you, but at this point, you were pretty sure he’d do anything, probably including chopping off his own hand just so he could come. You pressed your foot harder into his erection and he moaned, hanging his head as the ropes that bound his hands behind his back and around the metal pole took his weight.

He was drooling and bucking his hips into whatever touch you gave him. You knelt down and tipped his head up. His eyes pleaded with you. You slowly slid your hand up and down his shaft, and he began to hit his head on the pole in frustration. You quickly brought your free hand to the back of his head and did your best to stop him.

“Hey, hey! Don’t do that. I’ll let you come, and then you help me out of here, okay?” He met your eyes and nodded frequently and mumbling something you could never understand. “Okay, then.” You picked up the pace and he was breathing hard, his noises were getting louder and louder. Finally, he came, his sounds muffled in your hand covering his mouth, his cum blending in with the rest of the mess that covered his apron.

“There. Now, your end of the bargain.”

Ghostface: He screams for hours.

You needed earplugs or something. What started out as a good idea in your mind now that you had the bastard that had tried to kill you tied up in a chair and completely at your mercy had eventually turned into a goddamn banshee of threats and insults. He sounded like the one being murdered now.

“You fucking bitch! I’m going to kill you! I’m going to gut you like a fish and skip rope with your intestines!”

Yeah, you stopped having fun a while ago. Around the third time you didn’t let him come.

“You know what?!”

“What?!”

“You can fucking stay here and rot for all I care. I’m grabbing a drink from the store, and you get to stay here. Scream all you want, you’re caught red-handed by the security cams trying to kill me, and I stopped them before I started to have my fun, so as far as they know you were just some pervert that was trying to kill a defenseless person!”

Silence. For the first time in two hours, complete silence from both of you. He sat there and, what you assumed, was staring at you. You grabbed your bag from the floor and pulled on your shoes.

“Wait, where are you going?” You didn’t respond. “You’re not seriously leaving me here, are you?” You continued towards the door and opened it, turning to look at him. “You wouldn’t dare. You get back here!” You backed out of the doorway. “Don’t do it you little bitch!” You slammed the door. “GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!” He was muffled from down the hall and behind the door, but not by much. Man, that guy could scream.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter: He acts unfazed.

You had stopped him from coming four times now. You wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, the only evidence you’d even so much as started to have your way with him was the slightly red flush to his cheeks and the small beads of sweat on his forehead.

“How?” He lifts his head to look you in the eyes, his baby blues as stubborn as they were intrigued at what you’ll try next.

“How, what? Be specific, otherwise, I can’t answer the question.”

“How have you not gone crazy yet? Surely you want to come.”

He stayed silent for a moment before answering, looking you up and down. “Why? Would you have? Besides, if I admit what I want you’re just going to keep taking it from me. Best to keep you guessing whether that’s what I want or what my body wants.” You tilted your head in confusion.

“What’s the difference between what you or your body want?”

He smirked at you. “The difference, my dear, is that your body merely reacts to stimuli, meanwhile your consciousness and your wants make all the difference as to whether it truly affects you.”

You thought for a moment. “So you don’t want to come?” You smirk back at him, leaning into his game. “I didn’t say that. Then again… I didn’t say suggest anything to the contrary, merely stated a fact.”

As he was talking you began to stroke him again, running your thumb along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. You finally noticed something you hadn’t before; he gasped when you did.

You paused everything. “Thank you for that fact, Doctor Lecter. It’s given me a great deal of insight.” It was his turn to tilt his head at you, as much as the hand truck dolly he was restrained to, as well as the mask to keep him from biting you, would allow him.

“You do want to come.” He stayed silent, but his eyes betrayed him.

“Clever girl.”

Michael Myers: He never stops trying to escape.

You had dodged death many times on Halloween night. Once by avoiding death via The Shape, otherwise known as Michael Myers, and about seven more times since you’d somehow, by some miracle, managed to restrain him. If you weren’t dead before, you’d absolutely be if he caught you. He hasn’t stopped struggling since he noticed he was trapped, wrapped up in extension cords and strapped to the table with his arms pinned at his sides.

You’d been taking advantage of this new and exhilarating scenario heavily, starting with merely feeling him up while you had the chance, then palming him through the mechanic's suit, until you were jerking him off and had even dared to deny him release. He was not happy about that. Not at all, given the amount of struggling he was really doing now.

You were hypnotized by every muscle, every muffled grunt of effort, frustration, and fury that escaped his lips that you couldn’t see, obscured by his iconic mask. You moved to take it off, and you could’ve sworn he’d nearly given himself whiplash with how hard he jerked his head away from you. He began to struggle again, and you leaned back in your chair, expecting it to be another fruitless endeavor of his. That was until his arm came shooting out toward you, stopping just before your face.

You launched out of the chair, unsure what to do; you couldn’t restrain him again. You thought too long about it, and by the time your mind had caught back up with reality, his hand was around your throat. Finally, as he brought his face centimeters away from yours, could you see his eyes. Something in them told you he wanted revenge. How he was going to get it was the terrifying part.

Ruben “Ruvik” Victoriano: He threatens.

“Let go of me. Now.”

That was how it started, anyway. His voice was as calm yet deadly as the sea. Now, however, it shook with desperation.

“Once I get out of this… I’m going to… Ahh! Fuck!” You started to stroke him just as he began another empty threat, staring him down as those icy blue eyes glared a hole straight through you.

“We both know you either won’t do anything, or you can’t do anything. If you could’ve, you would’ve by now. I’ve got you right where I want you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” You spoke calmly as you stopped moving your hand, opting to instead circle the head of his cock with your thumb, watching as his chest rose and fell as he watched you, a moan rumbling from his throat. The gurney wasn’t the most ideal thing to strap him to, but unfortunately, the only thing you had.

“I can absolutely get out of this. This is my world. You’re in my world!” You raised your brow at his words, feeling his cock twitch, threatening you of its release.

You let go of his cock and walked away as Ruben gawked at you from the gurney.

“Alright then, get out. Or off.”

Stefano Valentini: He bargains.

“Oh, tesoro per favore non fermarti*!” Stefano whined from under you as you held the knife to his throat, pressed your knee harder into his chest, and stroked his cock at a fast and relentless pace, watching as his face scrunched up in pleasure. His mouth was agape, panting and pouring honeyed words in Italian as he gave in to your demands at knifepoint.

You had somehow managed to get his knife off of him and his camera lay forgotten, at least for now, a good five feet away from you both, unharmed. You had left him on the edge of euphoria three times now, and the view was incredible. He sat in front of you with his back pressed to the wall as you held him steady with his own blade, your knee pressed flat to his chest as if he needed any further reinforcement not to move, and your other hand was on his cock.

“You know, if you let me go I can really fuck you properly. I won’t lay a finger on you that you don’t want to be there, I swear.”

You couldn’t lie that his propositions weren’t making you incredibly wet; you wanted him, of that there was no doubt, but you did doubt if he’d hold up his end of the bargain. You considered his offer, slowing your pace, but hardening your grip on the knife. You had decided as you removed the knife from his throat, much to his delight evident in his eye, and you slid it across the floor far away from you both. He smiled earnestly at you, and then he was on you in a flash.

*Honey please don’t stop

Thomas "Tommy" Hewitt: He glares.

His body shudders violently and he groans as he nearly reaches his peak before you take your hand away and pull harder on the ropes tying him to the chair he had in the basement. You can’t look at him and those chocolate eyes filled with hate and murderous intent, solely for you. He hasn’t taken that gaze off of you since you managed to tie him up.

You let him sit for a little while before working his cock again, pulling an animalistic growl out of him as his hips desperately tried to thrust upwards into your hand, but his position wouldn’t allow him. You ran your thumb over the head, causing his head to fly back as he moaned hoarsely. Maybe if you stopped teasing him, he’d stop glaring at you like that.

That was your plan as you worked him over the edge, as he gasped and whined, jets of cum hitting his apron and oozing onto your hand as you gave him a few moments to catch his breath. Once his breathing had slowed back to normal did you lift your gaze to his. He was still glaring at you like a big cat in a cage, unrelenting in the slightest. You couldn’t let him go or he’d absolutely kill you, so you tied the ropes into knots behind him and began working on your escape.

Vincent Sinclair: He writhes.

He despised the fact that he was currently strapped down to his own bed, in his own workspace, with his twin brother just upstairs, completely unable to hear him, and completely unaware the person he was looking for was just below, torturing him. Vincent couldn’t help the way his body was reacting, begging for release as all he could do was let out hoarse moans and pleas. His hips desperately chased his release as you stilled your hand once again, causing him to throw his head back and arch his back as much as the restraints would allow him as he cried out.

His legs and arms were working desperately to free themselves, to no avail as you left him on the edge over and over again. He was beautiful, you had to admit; his one blue eye silently pleaded with you as his pitch-black hair lay sprawled on the bed, some strands stuck to his sweaty forehead as the heat of the basement and the heat building inside him proved too much, his mask was removed long ago when it had started to lose its form.

He attempted to buck up into your hand once again, and he wailed as you completely removed it, his body still writhing, although he was unsure why anymore. Was it to escape and end you, or a vain attempt to find some other way of release? He had all the time in the world to figure it out.

Harry Warden/Tom Hanniger: One hates it, the other loves it.

When Tom was in control, it was a consensual bit of fun, edging him until he couldn’t take it anymore and gave in. He loved those times with you, seeing how long he could last, sometimes beating his previous record, other times giving in much earlier. But when Harry was in control, when that mask was on and all you could hear was his heavy breathing, it was a whole different game, a whole other test.

Tonight was one of those nights. Instead of Tom coming home to you, Harry Warden stood at your doorway, had forced his way inside and onto you, still feeling the adrenaline of what seemed to be a fairly recent kill given the amount of blood that dripped from his pick, which he leaned against the door frame.

He had made it clear exactly what he wanted as he forced you onto your knees, but what he didn’t anticipate was your rebellious nature as you had seemingly obeyed, taking his cock into your mouth and eventually down your throat, until you felt him twitch, his breathing heavier than before, his right hand digging into the wall behind you as his left clenched into a ball at his side.

You could hear the gasp and groan that escaped him when you stopped completely with his cock down your throat, your hands on his hips to keep him from thrusting into your mouth. He stood there, eerily calm as you waited until his breathing slowed again before you returned to swallowing him.

This went on twice before he’d had enough, gripping your hair at the back of your head, pushing your hands away, and relentlessly fucking into your mouth, forcing himself down your throat until he came down it. He pulled himself out of your mouth as you gasped for air, and he gently wiped the tears that had fallen, before he roughly picked you up and threw you onto the couch; apparently, he wasn’t finished with you just yet.

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impala-dreamer · 2 months

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Cherry Wine

A Tale from the 'My Bloody Valentine' Universe

~Tom left town in a hurry, escaping capture by faking his death. On the run and distraught, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.~

Tom Hanniger x Rose (OFC)

2,453 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sexual Scenes. Torture. Bondage. Psychosis. Movie Level Blood and Gore.

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "Be good for me and I'll untie you."

This takes place immediately after the film and shows Tom still dealing with his issues, namely murder. If you're unfamiliar with the movie, I doubt it will matter. Just know that he is insane and dangerous. Hope you enjoy!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't go home.

He didn't even know where home was anymore. Was it back in Harmony surrounded by memories and the corpses of his childhood? Or back in the hospital with all of his twisted pain and overly medicated thoughts?

He didn't know.

So he drove.

He drove until the sun rose and hung high in the sky, blossoming over the Pennsylvania landscape like the face of God. Bright and warm, it beat down on the maroon truck as trees blurred in his peripheral.

When the gas tank was as empty as his stomach, he pulled off of the interstate and parked, taking only his wallet and jacket with him.

The late afternoon was warm. February had been uncharacteristically mild, and he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, readjusting the hood behind his head.

Bill’s Diner was open and crowded. Tables lined the big front window, each red vinyl booth filled with locals who chatted over never-ending cups of coffee and plates of over-done french fries.

A little bell rang overhead as he walked in, and a pretty brunette with long hair pulled back into a tight bun smiled.

“Sit anywhere, hun,” she called to him while navigating the sea of tables with her hands full.

Tom nodded and looked around for an empty spot before deciding on a stool at the counter. He sat and slumped forward, clasped his hands on the sticky linoleum. He stared at his hands, willing the trembling to cease, but it never really went away. He was always just a little bit anxious, some part of him always shaking even if no one else saw.

Trauma had slashed at his soul and the scars ran deep.

A deep breath steadied him and Tom looked up as the waitress came into view.

“Hey there. Welcome to Bill’s. Can I getcha something to drink?”

Her smile was captivating. Her two front teeth were adorably bigger than the rest and her plump bow lips were tinted gently with a red gloss that made them look forever wet.

He couldn’t help but stare.

She blinked and looked away, pale skin blushing a soft pink under his gaze. Bright blue eyes gleamed when she turned back and Tom’s chest ached.

She reminded him of Sarah but a little plainer, a little softer all over.

“Hello?”

She waved a hand in front of his face and Tom startled, sitting up straight and shaking his head to clear his vision.

“Sorry,” he said with a sigh. “Long drive.”

The waitress nodded and grabbed a mug from below the counter. “I bet.” She filled it with coffee and slid it to Tom who smiled and closed his hands around the cup. “You coming or going?”

He bit his lip, wondering how to answer. Where was he coming from? Where was he going? To hell, probably.

Tired green eyes swept over her. The plastic buttons on her white shirt were tiny and struggling to keep the thin fabric from pulling open across her breasts. Her dark jeans were tight and dusted with flour and a few drops of marinara that had slipped past her black apron. Her curves were decadent and she smelled like vanilla.

He cleared his throat. “Just passing through.”

She smiled kindly and laid a plastic covered menu next to his coffee.

“Well, alright then, stranger. My name’s Rose. When you’re ready, just holler.” She winked and turned away, leaving him to scan the day’s specials alone.

The giant clock in the corner ticked the hours away. Customers came and went. Coins were dropped; tips were thin. Empty plates smeared with ketchup stacked up in the kitchen; spilled salt was wiped from table tops with a dingy rag.

Rose was busy most of the evening, but never too busy to stop back at the counter and talk with Tom. She lingered near him, pretending to clean while they chatted about how it hadn’t snowed in a few weeks and how the price of gas was going down a bit. She was sweet and Tom liked being near her. She was beautiful and her voice was like a calm breeze that lulled and comforted him.

When the windows were dark and the fuchsia neon glowed bright, Rose set her hands on the counter and looked down at him.

“Closing time, buddy. You don’t have to go home, butcha can’t stay here.”

He looked up through thick lashes and smiled flirtatiously. “Already?”

Rose licked her lips. “Sadly, yes. All good things must come to an end. Or so I’m told.”

“That’s a shame.” Without looking away, he drained the sweet swill from the bottom of his mug. “There any place to get a drink around here?” He paused, calculating her interest, and then went for it. He had nothing to lose. “Or maybe I could walk you home…”

Rose’s cheeks burned and her smile was impossible to hide. “Maybe both.”

Tom rolled onto his back and stretched, rolling his head on his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He hadn’t slept so well in a long time; hadn’t felt so good in forever.

Rose had been just what he needed.

They sat on her cinnamon couch and drank sparkling pink wine. Tom hated it, but the bubbles felt nice and each sip seemed to loosen her up a bit more.

When the bottle was empty and the glasses drained, Rose scooted closer and set her hand on Tom’s knee. He bit his lip as her fingers climbed higher, held his breath as she palmed his dick through his jeans, let his eyes close as she climbed into his lap.

She was heavy and warm. He ran his hands down her sides, slid his fingers around the curve of her waist. She pressed her ass down over him and rolled her hips.

He hissed at the friction and pushed a hand through her long hair, dragging her down for a kiss.

Her lips were plump and delicious. The gloss on her mouth tasted so familiar to him but he couldn’t place it.

“I never do this,” she whispered, half laughing as she ran her hands down his chest.

Tom grinned and traced the soft flesh above her jeans. “I don’t know, you’re pretty good at it.”

She chewed her lip and blushed. “I mean, take customers home. I haven’t done this in forever.”

He stared deep into her eyes and popped the bottom button of her shirt. “Well, I’m glad you decided to.” He scraped his nails down her sides and Rose’s head tipped back, her eyes fluttered shut, she hummed lustfully.

“Me too…”

He smiled and tossed the sheet off of himself; sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. He’d have to shave soon, but it wasn’t a priority. He scratched at his scalp and yawned.

“Mornin’.”

Tom sucked a strawberry nipple between his lips and melted at the sound she made. Rose arched her back, pushing her tits against his face and grinding down on his cock.

They were mostly naked, shirts and jeans tugged away and tossed into random corners of the small living room. Only thin fabric separated them now, and Tom rubbed his middle finger against her covered slit. Her raspberry panties were soaked.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Rose nibbled on his ear. “Wanna see the bedroom?”

He jerked his hips, bounced her in his lap. “Absolutely…”

The bedroom was flooded with mid-day sun that filtered through the thin curtains, and he stood up in a sun puddle, feeling the warmth instantly. He sighed and walked to the adjoining bathroom.

The tile floor was freezing and he tiptoed in, pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the tap.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick shower, do you?”

She was total perfection.

Stretched out over the bed, her pale skin looked like fresh cream against the burgundy sheets. She moaned as he tied the silken sash tight around her left wrist, squirmed as he leaned over her to secure the right.

“Another thing I never do,” she teased, reaching with her mouth to catch a kiss.

“What’s that? Let a stranger tie you up?” His smile was devilish yet sweet and he gave in to a deep kiss.

“Not exactly a safe thing to do…”

He licked into her mouth; savored the taste of her. “No,” he laughed, pulling back to look down at her. “It’s really not.”

Blue eyes fluttered as Tom drew his hands down her nakedness. He cupped each breast, pinched her nipples, scraped his teeth against the stiff buds.

“Fuck, you’re driving me nuts,” she whimpered, tugging at the restraints, needing to touch him.

He settled between her thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them open wide. “That’s kinda the point.”

His tongue burned like fire against her clit. He nuzzled into her, lapped at her slick heat, teased her to the edge of ecstacy.

Rose bucked her hips into his handsome face, held her breath as he slipped two thick fingers inside. Her body tensed. Her mind blanked. Her pulse quickened.

“Fuck. Please…”

Again, she tugged at the sashes holding her tight and Tom lifted his eyes. He grinned at her struggle.

“Be good for me,” he breathed, “and I’ll untie you.”

Heavy, warm steam filled the room as Tom lingered by the sink. He toyed with her toothbrush, sifted through her medicine cabinet. There wasn’t much inside and everything was expected. Floss, antibiotic ointment, a few hairpins. Half a bottle of aspirin, tweezers, lotion.

He smiled. Her skin was so soft.

He slipped in like a knife through warm butter, filling her up with his thick cock.

Tom thrust against her; dug his fingertips into the soft flesh above her hip bones. “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he moaned, his eyes closed, head thrown back as her body tightened around him.

Rose held her breath, wriggling harder beneath him with each jerk of his hips.

“Please!”

He looked down at her wet, ruby lips and smiled. Leaning down, he folded her nearly in half and scratched hard down her sides. She squirmed and garnet lines erupted in his wake.

“So gorgeous…”

His pace quickened. She moaned loudly over the sound of his thighs slapping against her ass.

“Please!”

Each scream egged him on. Every twist of her body beneath him made his heart race.

Rose was panting, choking on her pleasure as he fucked deep into her.

“Tom-”

He closed a hand around her delicate throat, massaged the sacred arteries on either side.

She thrashed against the bindings; eyes wide and lips growing pale.

He squeezed harder and he felt her cunt pulse as she came. Blue eyes were fading in a sea of wine, blood vessels bursting as his grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he grit, riding her through the pleasure. “Just like that. Fuck!”

Tom closed the cabinet door. He swept away the fog with his palm and looked into his own eyes. He was happy, sated and beaming.

His lips were ruddy and swollen a deep red. He pressed his fingertips to them and sighed. He could still feel her kiss, taste her on his tongue.

She tasted like cherry wine.

He kissed her gently yet deeply, memorizing the feel of her plush lips against his and the way she melted into him. His cum ran down her leg, warm and messy.

He pulled away and rolled onto his side, yanked the thin sheet up around his shoulders.

She slept soundly; he mumbled in his sleep.

Tom stepped into the hot water and moaned happily. The pressure was sublime. Water pounded his aching muscles, burned his skin blissfully.

He ran his hands through his hair and turned around to face the spray. It washed down his cheeks, flowed into his mouth. He looked down at the drain and gasped as a whirlpool of crimson swirled around the chrome and disappeared.

“The fuck?”

His mind raced.

His hands were stained with dried blood; his forearms scored with claw marks.

He panicked, panting as the water washed the night away and his memory returned.

He ripped through her skin like a knife through warm butter.

Tom jabbed the blade into her; dug the tip into the soft flesh above her hip bones.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, green eyes wide as he watched the blood flow from her sides.

Rose gasped for a breath and wrenched her arms free of the silk sashes. She slapped at his chest, shoved his face away.

“Please!”

He looked down at her gaping ruby lips and smiled. With a murderous gleam in his eyes, he scratched hard down her side with the knife and watched the garnet stream erupt in his wake.

“So gorgeous…”

She kicked at him, summoning all of her strength to push him off even as her energy seeped away and soaked into the sheets. “Please!”

Each scream egged him on. Every twist of her body beneath him made his heart race and his cock twitch.

Barely able to breathe, Tom burst from the shower and steadied himself on the sink, knuckles blanching as he held on tight. He forced himself to look at his reflection and nearly broke as he saw the lingering blood on his cheeks. The splatter had been fast and furious- an arterial spray that painted his face from temple to chin.

“Fuck…”

He closed his left hand around her delicate throat, harshly pinching the sacred arteries on either side.

Rose clawed at his arms, drawing blood as she fought for her life.

He squeezed harder and felt her pulse slow. Blue eyes were fading in a sea of wine, blood vessels bursting as his grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he grit, lifting the knife to her jaw. “Just like that.” He sliced through her vocal chords, silencing her cries forever. A sanguine tide covered her milky breasts, stained his steady hands.

Through a cloud of steam, Tom stumbled back into the bedroom and bit back a scream.

Rose was laid out on the right side of the bed, her naked body posed as if sleeping. Her throat was torn, her sides split, chest carved open exposing the pale bones caging her heart.

He swallowed down a wave of bile and fell to his knees.

“Not again…”

Above the bed, drawn in Rose’s blood, was a simple heart.

Tom laughed as the last bit of life drained from her beautiful face. He bent to kiss her cold lips, savoring the last taste of her, memorizing the soft push of her lips.

He licked the blood from his fingertips as he rolled over, tired and sated.

She tasted like cherry wine.

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