This is my submission for the community writing exercise for KinkSt. We were asked to write about any Reedus character and his "One True Love". This is part of the community "One True Love" /community/Reedus-s-One-True-Love-Challenge/112219/3/0/1/
If you wish to read more, you'll have to change the rating to "M" as some (including this one) are pretty naughty.
Of course, I decided to take on Mac and his many demons, so my submission is a bit...unconventional. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!
"Bite marks are love notes in flesh."
He remembered clearly the first time he saw her in the bar. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't smart. She wasn't really anything.
But then she was his.
She tried so hard to impress him, drinking far too much whiskey until her nimble, slight frame swayed back and forth and she struggled to hold herself up. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.
Mac snickered to himself, flicking the butt of his cigarette out the cracked window of his truck as he pulled to a stop in the middle of the desert. This was as good a place as any to dispose of her. She'd be coyote food before morning.
He stepped from the cabin of his truck and kicked the door shut behind him. "Rise an' shine, sweetheart!" He called, reaching into the bed of his truck and grabbing the rope tied tightly around her ankles. He pulled her naked form roughly across the wooden truck bed, scraping her stomach and face against the splintering surface. She whimpered beneath the gag he had shoved in her mouth, but didn't put up a fight.
She was naked; just like he liked her. From this vantage point, he could easily see every flaw on her pale skin. Every scrape, every cut, every imprint of his teeth was available to his eyes only. One for every time he thought she might love him. A deeper one for every time he thought he might feel the same way. As a result, her body was a road map of angry, purple bruises and rough, brown scabs.
He marveled at her soft, porcelain complexion, reaching out a tentative hand to draw slow circles around a bite mark against her rib cage. She flinched at his touch, but soon mellowed. He was showing affection; as much affection as Mac could allow.
Her skin was more leathery, less lush then when he met her a few weeks ago. Dehydration and malnutrition had done their fair share of damage to her youthfulness. That wasn't the only change in her. She was a completely different person, inside and out.
Mac fucking loved it.
He had broken her.
When Mac first met her, she was a little hellion. She was too big for her britches, needed to be brought down a few pegs. She wasn't exactly his type, if Mac had a type. She was too tall, all legs and lean muscles. She barely had any fucking tits, but she had a near perfect ass. Mac barely noticed her at first. She blended into the bar scene, some rich bitch tourist living off daddy's money.
But she noticed him.
She must have had a thing for bad boys, because she wasn't relenting until Mac caught her eye. Boy, did she fuck up that night.
That night, Mac went easy on her. He had had a good day. He took her out to his truck. She was drunk and ready for anything, or so she said. He let her ride him in his front seat, hard and fast until they both came hard. She nearly knocked herself out on the roof of his truck. He controlled himself enough to let her out of his truck. She made it home that night. All would have been well and good. Mac would have forgotten all about that drunken lay and he would have moved on and she would have been alive after it was all over.
But then she came back the next night.
She made the fatal mistake of returning to the Luna Mesa. She was sober, a timid little lamb, giving herself over to the slaughter. He must admit, the contrast in her personalities intrigued him. The cougar from last night that he unleashed in the heat of the moment was packed tightly inside of this meek little girl. She would never be able to finish what she had started. She couldn't keep up with the big dogs. He couldn't allow himself to go easy on her a second time. He was good at pushing limits. He would go until she shattered.
He took his time stripping her, cutting her clothes off with his knife and grazing the blade along her body. She was moaning and writhing beneath him, reveling in this forbidden touch. When she was good and wet, almost ready to come, he plunged the hilt of his knife in her tight little pussy. She screamed at first, a tangent blend of husky moan and broken cry. That had only pushed Mac harder.
He got chills as he remembered how he had violated her that night. He really showed her what a real man could do.
She screamed as his finger grazed a particularly deep wound on her shoulder. Blood trailed languidly in streams down her shoulder blade. The melodic sound of her anguish was enough to rouse Mac again tonight. He had planned on just ending it, leaving her out to the other monsters the canyon had to offer, but he could always give her one last hard fuck. She was his, after all.
He pulled her upright, supporting her quivering back against his strong chest and leaned into her ear. "Ready to die tonight?" He snickered, watching a single, solitary tear roll down the plane of her cheek. He shoved her back down with one push. "Too fuckin' bad." He growled, reaching in his back pocket for his knife. Slowly, he trailed the blade along her skin, starting at her left shoulder and working his way up and down her back. At first, she jerked against the cold touch of sharp steel. She remembered the feel of that knife inside of her, squealing against the cotton bound in her vocal cavity, but she quickly adjusted.
She welcomed death.
Mac found his way down her back to the roundest part of her ass and ventured further, slipping between her legs. She made the sweetest noise when the blade found her clit, buried beneath her slick folds and past her ripped hosiery. The fishnet pattern was now embedded in her legs at this point. Mac liked the way they looked on her and hadn't seen the point in taking them off. He just tore the crotch and went about his business.
"You're making me love you." He whispered, his voice thick with animalistic lust. Mac would have thought that by now he had had enough of her, but the thirst was insatiable. That sound was enough to make his cock grow hard. That, mixed with the vulnerable, broken sight of her had him ready to go at any moment.
He slid the knife down the length of one of those long legs until it slide beneath the scraggly rope tied around her dainty ankles. With a flick of the wrist, the rope fell to the ground.
Mac tossed the knife to her side and worked at the buttons of his coveralls quickly with deft fingers until they fell open at the apex of his thighs. Easily enough, his cock sprung forth and he gathered her around the middle, bending her over the bed of his truck. She wasn't quite tall enough and her toes dangled a few inches above the red Utah clay. He spread her legs wide and wriggled himself between her legs. Before she could move, he thrust into her roughly. She screamed against her gag, trying to find purchase with her wrists and ankles still bound. His finger tips dug into her, his nails piercing another scab, rupturing the sealed surface.
It wasn't long before she was clenching around him, her tight walls expanding and contracting around his turgid length. She was over used and on edge at all times, now. "Don't you fuckin' dare." He warned, slapping her ass hard as he leaned into her, causing her to arch into him and deepen his thrusts at a wonderful angle that made her toes curl. He wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled back, arching her into him as he fucked her, good and hard. His lips connected with the skin of her long neck and he bite down, hard, drawing blood.
One last pump and the convulsing of her impossibly tight little cunt quickened and sent Mac over the edge. He pulled out quickly, spewing his hot seed in thick spurts across her back, marking her one last time. "God damn!" He growled, once his orgasm subsided. "Fuckin' warned you, didn't I?" He rolled her over and his open palm came into contract with her damp cheek. "You're gonna beg me for it." He grunted. All she could do was whimper.
For one solitary second, he felt a tinge of remorse, if that's what you would call it. He felt sorry for her, for how stupid she had been in coming back. She'd asked for it. Hell, she had begged for it at first. If he would allow it, she would stay his forever, just because she loved the abuse.
He had to shut it off, that hollow feeling in the back of his mind. Feelings were for the weak. Mac was never weak.
He would prove it.
Before he could change his mind, blind rage forced Mac to wrap his hand around that knife, still lying beside the girl's breast. With one fluid movement, he slid his arm underneath her torso and flipped her over onto he back, looking her in the eyes. She was terrified.
Mac felt a surge of power, plunging the tip of the blade into her stomach, making a long, lateral incision across her abdomen. She screeched, the sound muffled, this time not only from the cloth, but from the distinct gurgling noise as blood filled her throat. The white gag slowly grew red. Droplets dribbled their way down her chin, smearing against the bruises and scabs along her once graceful neck.
With a blood soaked hand, Mac gripped her ankle and flung her tiny body to the ground. Her entrails splayed on the ground around her body. She was laid out like a rag doll as she drowned on her own blood, losing consciousness from blood loss. She didn't stand a chance.
He left her there, driving off into the dark of the night. Another hit from his tin had his mind swimming and he soon forgot her. He forgot everything. His mind shut down and he mechanically made his way home.
It wasn't until late that night, after he had arrived back at his shack, that he thought of her again. He was in the throes of another fit, wildly scribbling incoherent drawings of abstract things; demonic circles and the spiders that haunted his nightmares.
That's when he thought of her.
She was beautiful. She was flawed. She was perfect.
He had destroyed her.
She let him destroy her.
This fiery one that seduced him in the skin tight jeans. The frail little girl who came back the next day, looking for approval. The one who let him brutalize her, beat her, fuck her senseless, tear her to shreds.
She took it all.
She died in his hands.
She died at his hands.
Mac let out a howling scream, torn by his feelings. He never had to deal with feelings. Shaken from his trance-like state, he looked down at his drawings, scrawled on loose leaf paper in black ink. Something new, something else now haunted Mac: the imprint of his own rancid, decrepit teeth on perfect, porcelain flesh.