Dsmp x reader smut

The Masochism Tango

Credit to orphan_account

Warnings for Blood kink, R@p3/Non-con Elements, Dacryphilia and Emetophilia! 

Don't come for me! Blame the person who wrote it (I do not proof read this shit)

————————————————————————

It was a quiet day at the bakery. Most of the days had been quiet, actually. It was getting cold and snowy and you couldn't do much but look out the window and watch the snowflakes fall and build on the ground. It was pretty enough, and Nikki had ínstales red stone speakers into the cozy place, so really, your only job was to sit back and relax for a couple hours until she came in and took the late shift.

Today had felt different though. Maybe it was the extra cold chill in the wind that brushed on the back of your neck as you walked to work. Maybe it was the small note NIKki had left you at the cash that said 'Speakers aren't working today! Sorry, I'll pay you overtime!' Or maybe, just maybe, it was the man who was supposed to be dead currently walking up to the shop.

He pushed open the door casually, the door making that awful bell sound to let you know someone had just entered. As if you weren't wide eyed, frozen, hands placed flat and steadily on the counter as your undead love smiled unsettlingly at you. You felt like you could pass out, he looked up a the menu, scanning it over before looking back at you.

"What's good here?" He asked too casually, leaning on the counter in front of you with a grin of knowing exactly what he was doing. He knew you the last thing you wanted at the moment was for him to walk in. You'd probably take an armed robbery at the moment.

"Get out. Please, get out. We're - we're closed, and you need to leave. Soon. Now." You said, tripping over your words as you fiddled with the call button under the countertop, considering whether or not to let Nikki know you might pass out and die and maybe get kidnapped, maybe he'd sell your dead body for cigarettes. You fiddled with the glass casing anxiously as you projected your voice louder as you told him to leave.

"I don't think I will, unfortunately." He said calmly, before walking over to where you'd go behind the counter, pushing the small door open and walking through. You felt like you could throw up as he stepped closer to you. You didn't even have time to flip open the glass casing of the call button and finally decide to press it before he had backed you into a corner, smiling down at you.

"Why do you have to keep coming back, Will?" You said almost pleadingly and shivered under his touch as he gently caressed your cheek, admiring the soft skin before running his thumb on your quivering bottom lip, admiring the mauve shade you had chosen this morning. You felt like you might throw up on his hand. That might deter him.

"Because some twisted, sick, terrible part of you wants me to come back to you, and I choose to take advantage of that." He stated simply as he cupped your cheek in his calloused hand again, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, in a vile, too hard, too intense sort of way, not the type he used to bless you with when there was still some semblance of sanity left in him. He nips hard at your lip with his sharp canines, and the terrible metallic taste of blood invades your mouth. He slips his tongue against your lips to lap it up, like a dehydrated dog who has just received his first taste of water in days, sucking and biting at your lip again to squeeze out as much of the thick red substance as he can get.

And god, some part of you loves it, some part of you loves the desperate hitched whines that are escaping from your now bloodied lips, some part of you loves that he's gripping the back of your head and pushing you into him, and you let that twisted part of you win as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, reaching back and pulling hard on his hair; ashy and white-streaked and everything wrong with you.