Eyeless Jack

You hadn't meant to let it happen like this. You’d meant to keep your distance, to tell him no, to wait it out. But the second he caught the scent. Metallic, warm, ripe. His head tilted like he heard something inside you call his name. “You’re bleeding, Moonbeam” he murmured, voice calm but voice dropping an octave lower, smoky and dark. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You tried to hide it behind a weak laugh, half shame, half dysphoria. “Because I figured you’d freak out or think it’s gross or…I don’t know.” He just stared for a moment. Then leaned in, hands pressing against your thighs. “You really think I wouldn’t want you, Love?” he said. “When you’re this raw? This open? This alive?” That’s the last thing you remember before he pulled your boxers off with his teeth. Now, you’re lying back, legs trembling, knees thrown over his shoulders as he devours you like he’s starving and you’re his last meal on earth. Your blood’s already coated his mouth, thick streaks running down his chin and soaking into his hoodie—but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even blink. His claws are gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open so he can bury his face in you. And he groans with every lap of his tongues. One tongue slides deep inside your slick, aching hole, curling and twisting, rubbing against the sensitive inner walls while another circles your clit, teasing it with featherlight flicks. The third? It snakes around the mess between your legs, gathering your blood like nectar. You can’t breathe. You’re panting, moaning, shaking. “You taste so fucking good like this, baby boy.” he growls into you, voice feral. “Sweet and metallic. Like fire. Like you were made for me.” You let out a strangled gasp, hand tangling in his dark hair, thighs threatening to close around his head—but he growls, deep and possessive, and spreads you open even wider. “Don’t hide from me. Let me see you like this. All of you.” He licks deeper, faster, messier. Slurping, moaning, devouring. He doesn’t flinch at the blood—if anything, he’s getting harder against the mattress. You feel his breath everywhere, heat ghosting over every inch of exposed skin. The sounds alone are obscene—wet, loud, needy. You feel it building too fast. Your body clenches, muscles taut, toes curling. You try to warn him. “J-Jack—fuck—I’m gonna—!” But he just digs in harder, tongues moving in perfect rhythm, holding you down with his claws as you shatter under him, hips jerking, blood and slick dripping down his chin. You scream his name. And he doesn’t stop. You’re still shaking when he finally comes up for air—face soaked in red, mask pushed up just enough to expose a satisfied, sharp-toothed grin. He kisses your inner thigh, letting his breath cool against your damp skin. “You’re beautiful like this.” he whispers, dragging his tongue over a bruise forming on your hip. “I want you like this again. And again. Until all you remember is how it feels when I ruin you.”