#like a lamb led to slaughter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 2 months ago

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[0] 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one

Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flamme’s feet.

You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.

“Lift your head, if you would,” he commands gently, and you do as you’re told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winter’s frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. “I must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?”

“You speak wise and true.” You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. “You are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.”

Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. You’re led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like you’re being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.

“There is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,” he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. “You are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.”

You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.

“You are too kind, Father,” you acquiesce. “As a modest servant of God, it’s my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.”

“Hmm. A laudable outlook.” His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.

Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the world’s sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.

Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.

Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. “A quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if you’ll listen: ‘When asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.’”

You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.

“What troubles you, Sister?”

“It is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you I’m of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.”

“There is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.”

You rest your hand upon Father Flamme’s, which has somehow found its home at your hip. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

He smiles that empty smile again. “If He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.”

“Yet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.” His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. “What manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?”

Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy it’s suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in ice—like a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.

A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the other’s face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.

You’re courageous enough to break the quiet first.

“If it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.”

“Sister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.” Before you can object, he offers his arm. “All children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by God’s brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.”

Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. “I’ve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.”

“By all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.”

You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, you’re aware he’ll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.

Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.

“Recent events have led me to believe—though I pray it isn’t true—that my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheral—no trick of the light, I assure!”

“Perhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?” he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. “Peace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.”

“I shall do so most ardently.”

“To rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.”

You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flamme’s casual gait. “Oh, I couldn’t. As of late, I’ve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my own…”

His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, they’ve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.

“Oh? Do elucidate.”

Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.

“Something—what it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjecture—is hunting me.”

He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.

“How say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?”

His features are set in perfect neutrality; it’s impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar.

“It is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,” he says, breaking the suspense. “Tainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are… I shall remedy that.”

You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. He’s between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.

In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newborn’s cry.

Your chest heaves in a panic.

Gracious God above, I implore you—save me from this wretched devil!

Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.

“Father—”

Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.

He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “God, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.”

You sputter an incoherent noise.

He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. “Amen.”

Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like it’s flickering flame. “Father, I beg of you… Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.”

He sighs, unconvinced. “You are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish it—who will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.”

His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs.

“Belle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for children’s stockings.”

He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.

I adjure you, Lord… Save me from this demon. You must. Please, Lord…

Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence.

There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.

“Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” you snap, tearing your arm free. “You would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod upon—to so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!”

“It is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,” he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. “Oh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears… Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.”

“To stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner… You are no better than swine!”

“You shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.” Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. “I shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.” His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. You’ve never felt more lost. “And your sins shall be forgiven.”

Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. It’s thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.

Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chest—an ominous chuckle.

“You are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?”

“You’re a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?”

“You are mistaken, Sister.” He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. “Let my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.”

“Defile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.”

Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.

“Your Excellency, forgive our intrusion!”

Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You don’t feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.

Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.

“Ah, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,” Father Flamme greets them, smiling. “Do come in. I’ve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.”

You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunter’s rifle.

“Your Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.”

“Before that, you must accompany us to the hogs,” the other interjects. “Death has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must come—come and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!”

Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.

“As you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shan’t be too arduous a task.” He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. “Sister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must take…caution—you might say—in sorting such a sensitive matter.”

The men exchange bewildered looks.

“You imply…punishment, sir?”

“Nay, I think not!” you interrupt, striding forwards. You’re stopped by Father Flamme’s arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. “Father, I am steadfast in my faith. I have—”

“If such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.”

Pushing past him, you plead with the men: “Sirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtue—my loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faith—all of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe in—”

Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but you’re aware of his cunning machinations. “I ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.”

“Sister, your virtue I do not question.” The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. “What shall we do, Your Excellency?”

A smile curls on his lips. “Take her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.”

The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.

“Father, I beg of you—you mustn’t send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.”

“It serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.” He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. “You have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. I’m certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.”

“Do not speak as if you have dined with my father,” you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.

Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. “Let us away.”

You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this year’s autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before you’re lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. You’ve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.

The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.

When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.

There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sun’s soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.

In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.

As you’re helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.

You’re joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.

“Have you no sympathy, sirs!” you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. “To treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.”

The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.

“Unhand me! I’ll go of my own accord. I’ve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.” Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.

What brutish handling… These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the church—and a lady, no less!

The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.

“You shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.”

The men nod and stand at attention.

If you’re so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.

Father Flamme offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your face—dust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.

I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.

You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.

“A bird will not fly in captivity,” Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. It’s equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You can’t help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.

It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.

He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. “I shall retrieve you in seven days’ time.”

You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. “May you rest guilty on your bed of lies.”

He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. “May you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.” He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. “You will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.”

Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.

Now you’re truly alone.

“How boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!” You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. It’s packed full of straw. “I am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.”

Alas, this is your new misfortune.

To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehow—and you have every right to be fastidious—you doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.

“And not a drop of water!” you announce to the empty room. “He has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. I’ll make sure of it.”

Until then you will never know peace.

Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a book—anything to preclude the impending accidie.

Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.

“Dear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.” You tug anxiously at the beads. “If you are there, show me… Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.”

Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.

“I will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,” you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. “Perhaps then you might acknowledge me.”

Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #yandere rollo x reader #yandere rollo #the test of faith #the test of faith prologue

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inknopewetrust · 1 month ago

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𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. [𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] [𝐰𝐜: 𝟕𝐤]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐱. 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 [𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠], 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚+ 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

You weren’t sure when you started to feel this way.

It ate at you—the sensation. Nipping at the bits of yourself that were far too obvious in a mirror. They rushed through you like you were a lamb for slaughter. It was often you wondered if all of those creatures you sought could feel it too, this vulnerability underneath a tough skin.

And you could see it too. In the mirror, passing a reflecting door or window, in the sunglasses of a friend. Every time your image reflected back to you, a wave of self-doubt washed over you.

It was debilitating and something you never voiced aloud. The thoughts simply ate away at you as the days passed on and the world unraveled with it.

Little help came when your daily return to safety came in the form of a mismatched bunker. In it, the glamorous common sections provided a bit of beauty while the corridors were bland and the rooms much more so. There was nothing there to make you feel pretty—let alone beautiful in such an ugly world.

When the bunker was quiet, those thoughts came alive.

Everyone had gone off for the day. It was one of those strange, sitting duck kind of days where there wasn’t a story to chase or evil lurking around the corner to seize a moment. It was quiet, content with whatever lull had formed for the time being. You were alone in your room flipping through an old book on werewolves that was quickly losing your interest.

For once, you just wanted a break to be normal. To feel normal and be normal without a fear of cosmic retribution for wanting to be someone other than what you had become. This… monster-hunting sidekick chick who feels a bit down and out about the cards life dealt her.

Dean and Sam weren’t on the same wavelength as you, you had imagined. They played off their content with this life as perfectly as anyone could.

A knock at your door interrupted your thoughts abruptly. It startled you. Shaking a little jump from your skin, you approached the door with caution as your knowledge had led you to believe you were alone.

But as you cracked open the door, it was painfully obvious you weren’t.

“Dean?”

He gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I thought you’d be—“

“I told Sam to go on his own,” he clarified. Sam went down to Wichita early that morning and with the roar of Baby, you had assumed Dean had tagged along.

“Oh.”

There was something more stirring in the air around your room. The internal self-loathing was misting and Dean’s presence was billowing. For you, all it took was one glance into his green eyes to fall into an abyss of him. Dean Winchester had girls falling to their knees, praying for a miracle that he’d notice them and fall in love with them and end up with them forever.

He never did but it was too notable to ignore.

He made your heart thump louder. The blood stirring the cauldron of doom inside, building a pool of sweat in your palms and your pupils to grow wider. He was a beautiful man—it was almost embarrassing to think that he’d pay more attention to you than he did.

And there was a scorned inside for the scattered moments he did make you feel something more.

It was on days like this: when everyone was gone and fate had found you alone together when something clicked into place, drawing you together like moths to a flame and touch was a burning relief.

Having sex with Dean was an action that lit up the pitting feelings of doubt.

Every time your shirt came off—hideous.

Every time your pants came undone—ugly.

Every time he gave himself—unworthy.

And every time you let go—pathetic.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth and gnawed at it. Dean leaned against the frame but didn’t push. He never did.

“Why didn’t you go?”

He shrugged his shoulders. In his own bashful way, he looked down at his shoes.

“Didn’t want to, I guess,” he said. “Got better things to do than go see a city I’ve seen a hundred times before.”

There was more to do there. There were more girls there to choose from.

“Well it’s not anymore exciting here,” your eyes gave an unfortunate admission. “Just me.”

“You’re plenty exciting,” Dean lifted his head with a scoff. “I figured if you stayed behind then at least it be worth staying behind for.”

When he said phrases like that, it was so casual. It made you roll your eyes in a shallow disbelief he was flagrant with saying your worth anything. Wichita had more than you could ever offer.

You rested the side of your body on the door and clung to the doorknob on the other side tightly.

“I’m afraid you might be wrong on that one.”

Dean’s eyes flinched in curiosity. They searched your face unabashedly for answers it was unwilling to give.

“Why?” He asked. “We never get any time to ourselves. It’s… nice for a change, yeah?”

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just don’t think I’m worth staying behind for.”

He let out a laugh. No smile, just an amused laugh at the suggestion. You weren’t sure if you should feel miffed or reassured.

“Spend five hours in the car with Sam on a Saturday or spend the day with you? I’d much rather be here.”

His honesty was endearing. It was far different from the man you met so many years ago. He had grown comfortable, willing, in that time and if you thought hard on it, it was generally only around you.

For Dean, being vulnerable was cracking his soul open. It was as debilitating as your inability to see yourself as valuable was. But he was comfortable here, alone, and he was content in letting it bleed from every part of him.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Is there a plan I am unaware of?”

Your day was to be spent flipping through books and taking notes of what resolutions could help you all the most.

Dean shrugged again and kicked his foot out slightly. You knew what he wanted, hell, you wanted it too but you couldn’t feel that inside of you.

“I don’t know,” he played. “That’s really up to you.”

Ball, court.

“There’s no one here,” Dean reassured you. You could be loud. You could do what you wanted. You could take your time.

“I know,” you nodded your head. You twisted the knob on the other side of the door.

“We don’t have to,” he backed up with words. The last thing Dean wanted you to feel for him is resentment for propositioning you. “It’s alright. I can… I can,” he cleared his throat, “take care of myself.”

“No,” you said quicker than you meant to. “No.”

“No?”

“You don’t have to take care of it, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded at him as the tone shifted. In your hearts, the beating anticipating was in your throats. You could feel it in the jittering movement of your fingers and toes and the insatiable appetite that manifested inside.

The door you were holding on to opened slightly to gain him entry. He took the signal, brushing past you and not feeling cautious when his hand came to rest on your side as he pushed by.

It dawned on you as he entered that you’d never had sex in your room. It was always Dean’s and the one, singular occasion he caught you in the library on a day like this one and ate you out between the bookshelves.

You shut the door behind you as he stepped into the room and took it in differently than before. He’s been in it, sure, but when the circumstances change, everything changes too.

“You remodel?” He joked, pointing around the room that looked identical to all the others. “Looks nice.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. Leaning against the door, you folded your hands behind your back. “It was a real task, you know? All the painting and laying the wood.”

He nodded with a hum. He patrolled the space before shrugging off his flannel that rested atop a t-shirt.

You weren’t sure what he wanted exactly but you were hesitant to approach him.

Sitting, facing your bed from its place on the floor was a mirror. And you’d be fucking damned if you watched yourself fuck Dean Winchester through your reflection.

It might be the death of you.

And you didn’t want to curse Dean with that memory.

He kicked off his shoes without instruction. Pieces of himself began to unshed before you. First the shirt, then the shoes. His hands went to his belt, flicking it open and unraveling itself in swift motions that your own hands had learned to do before.

Dean didn’t look at you, he didn’t ask you to join him.

His hands went to the bottom of his shirt and as he lifted it up and over his head, you weren’t shameful to ogle him. That was why he was here—for you to feel him, touch him, worship him in ways he wouldn’t get elsewhere.

There were plenty of other girls in Wichita.

He tossed his shirt to join the flannel before looking at you. Dean held out his hand to you, beckoning you.

“Come here,” he said softly. It could have been enough for you at one time, but it wasn’t today.

You shook your head.

“You come to me.”

If you knew Dean correctly, he would, and he did.

Even in your doubts, having Dean near you was comfort. His eyes drank you in. Completely encapsulated by you and only you and he felt free in that space. He was giving and grateful.

So, he stood toe to toe with you. One of his hands creeped up your slides and slotted into the space where your hands created an opening to the back of you. He silently begged for you to untangle your hands, taking one of them in his own as he allowed the position to draw himself closer.

He held on to you in two ways: against you, pressing you into the door as his nose knocked your own, and his and your intertwined hands pressing into your back. You used your free one to cup his face. You hummed in agreement. Dean tilted his head, breathing in deeply as the skin of your face grazed his own. He could play a long time. The hand you let linger on his cheek brushed along the sides of his neck, folding itself around his back and gripping onto his opposite shoulder. His skin was hot to the touch. Dean let his fingers detached from yours and he cupped at your ass to pull you closer. There was nowhere closer than him. Flush against his body, feeling everything but the blood rushing through him and he soaked in the staggered breaths of anticipation.

You tipped your head away from his to look in his eyes.

His short stubble was tough under your palm. Nothing, however, could detract you from the way his eyes bore into you. He had lovely lashes, fluttering and romantic compared to his outward appearance of “tough man.” They complimented the way his eyes changed from welcome to conversation to lust.

Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was enough for now.

“How’s this gonna work?” You asked him, breath fanning his face.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he mumbled. Eyes hooded, trapped on your lips as they wet themselves. “But we’ve got time. We can go slow.

You nodded like he read your mind. Slow, steady, different from other times.

“I don’t need slow,” you murmured. He gripped your ass harder than before, pushing you against him before letting go and running his hand smoothly over the rump.

“But I’ve got too many clothes on.”

“You’re damn right about that, sweetheart.”

Dean needs no true instructions.

Even in your wallowing pitiful despair of self-destruction, as long as you truly couldn’t see yourself everything would be fine. It would be fine. Dean’s hands roamed your body freely with the invitation. Hands large and free, they begged to grip and squeeze what they could but settled on unraveling the fruits of the goal. With every piece of clothes that came undone and piled themselves onto the floor at your feet, you spied Dean’s eyes grow shades of green. Each deeper than before—tantalizing from opportunity and wolfish in a hunt.

His hands met the tops of your bottoms, trading the top of it with his fingers as they grazed the skin of your stomach. You laid your head back against the door, admiring the way he had the smallest sign of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. Something glimmered, something gleamed in his eyes when he looked back. Dean leaned in, planting a light kiss on the edge of your lip but not on them before falling to his knees.

Clad yet in his beltless jeans, Dean ran his hands over the curve of your waist and down your legs. The agony of time made your heart thump. Thump, thump, thump against your ribcage and into your mind and into the place where his head was mere inches from. You loved the way Dean made you feel—you just hated how you felt on your own.

The muscles of his shoulders worked elegantly as he removed your bottoms and re-ran his hands upwards along your skin. Light goosebumps formed along his trail and he smiled, letting out the lightest laugh in admiration.

Dean’s thumbs found themselves on the edges of your underwear and he paused.

“Like I said,” he was gruff, “we’ve got all the time in the world. So, how do you want me?”

There were few men in the world who would offer themselves to a woman. Be freely tasked with whatever she wanted, not he.

But again, you hated decision making. From dinners to motels to books to people, you hated being the shot caller.

“Use your imagination.” You settled on. “I’m all yours, Dean.”

And since he was already on his knees, he supposed he’d start there.

Dean bent an index finger and rested it at the top of your underwear before dragging it downward, slowly watching your eyes and chest as he inched closer and closer to your core. He didn’t stagger as he crossed a threshold of your covered clit and continued further as he wrist turned and his palm rested against the front of you, his fingers pressing into you from above you panties.

He rubbed his hand back and forth, arching his fingers to press inwards but not moving the Fabric away but caressing it into you. Dean shifted his hand upwards and outstretched a finger on your clothed clit to massage small circles on the bundle of nerves. His opposite shoulder knocked into your leg, opening the space for him as on of your hands shot to a dresser top beside the door and the other rested on his head.

He could feel your hand falling with every ministration. He turned his head in the direction of your hand, the heat of your hand on his face pulsing as the blood was rushing.

“Are you gonna keep fingering me like a middle school boy or really make me feel something, Winchester?” You looked down at him.

He stopped moving his finger.

“Well you told me to use my imagination, sweetheart. You gotta be more specific than that.”

“I want you to eat me out,” you clarified. “I want you to use your fingers and then I want you to fuck me before everyone else comes home.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. A smirk, followed by a “yes ma’am” gave him the orders he needed.

In your imagination, you thought it’d be here by the door. He’d eat you out from the floor and then fuck you against the door but for some, god-fucking-awful reason you can’t place, Dean got up from the floor and walked toward the bed.

His reflection of his back toward the bed reminded you of what you didn’t want to see in it—you.

Dean took a second to undo his jeans and remove himself from them. He was strained already against his briefs but didn’t care to take care of himself first or make it the “problem” needing to be fixed.

And like before, he extended his hand out to you.

“Come on,” he called out and it was hard to ignore the order itself.

A wave of nerves washed over you and made you cold. The sudden realization that you were nearly nude, he too, and your brash words of sex were all that was on the table became too much of a reality. His outstretched hand remained cold.

If you hadn’t known better, you could have assumed a poltergeist had appeared in the room. The sudden chill, the bucket of water dropping on reality bursting a bubble of pretend before it was too late. You were self-conscious and it began to leak like a sieve through the floorboards and walls and all it took was for Dean to truly, really look at you to see that something had changed drastically in the minutes it took for him to move, remove his pants, and hold out his hand.

The romance, the lust, or the sex had died in the moment.

Your hand grasped the edge of the dresser tightly and you couldn’t bare to look at Dean. A shameful, whimpering dog-like mentality was embarrassing and you didn’t fathom it would take on this large of a life. It encapsulated your wants and your needs and was now preventing you from finishing a job that you’d become all too familiar with and it should have been easy.

The mirror reflected those thoughts.

“Hey,” Dean closed his hand and his brows furrowed. “Hey.”

He received no response, just a near frozen you. You shook your head no.

“W-what’s wrong?” He questioned in a state of confusion. Things had changed so quickly. You clicked your tongue, shutting your eyes tightly before opening them again and looking anywhere but him and to the left.

“It’s…” you staggered your words. “It’s, I just, I thought that… well…”

You laughed incredulously at yourself. The hand once gripping the dresser flew to your face in embarrassment and over your eyes.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

Dean could only reiterate his “hey” over and over as he approached you calmly. He shushed in reassurance as he tried to remove the hand that covered your eyes.

“No, no, Dean—I’m fine, really, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Dean said quietly. “What’s going on, hm? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you let him move the hand from your eyes yet you couldn’t look at him. “Nothings wrong I just… I just needed a second, that’s all.”

He didn’t believe you.

He never did when times like these flared up. Whether it be about what he knew or didn’t, any time where you, Sam, or anyone else had a sliver of doubt or injury or sadness, Dean would stop his world to help even if it hurt his own.

“Sweetheart, I think we both know that isn’t true.”

“I’m good. Really.”

He studied you for a time. Just looking, watching the way the muscles in your face twitched, the lack of contact you gave back to him. Dean was far from stupid even if he had his moments; he could see through the veil.

“Then come on,” he proposed. “Let’s just sit down and we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” You knew he wouldn’t force you to.

Dean made the slightest move to step backwards and your eyes flashed in the direction of the mirror.

“It’s ok!” Goddamn. How many times were you going to say it?

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him back. “It’s alright!”

Dean shook his head.

“No, it’s not.”

“We can just do it here,” you suggested. It wasn’t exactly the romantic afternoon he had planned out in his head. “Right here.”

“Against the door?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. Your gaze popped again in the direction of the mirror.

Dean caught it this time.

“The doors fine with me,” you restated assuredly. Dean nodded but didn’t make a move to finish what he started before.

Instead, he lifted one of his hands and cupped your face gently. His green eyes bore into you like lasers, prodding for answers he wasn’t sure he’d get but attempting to discover them nonetheless. There was a slice of pity, a lingering disappointment he couldn’t mask but above all else, Dean wanted you to be truthful to him.

He’d spent forever being lied to. Being told that there was only one path to getting what people needed out of life and listening to the directions of people who didn’t truly care what happened to him nor what he wanted. In a small corner of his own personal heaven, he wanted it to be nothing short of perfect even if perfection could never be attained.

And lies were always the cause of its destruction.

“What’s wrong with the bed, Sweetheart?”

You shook your head.

“This ain’t like a… monster-under-the-bed kind of situation, is it?” Dean joked. You scoffed, a smile cracking itself on your face and he could feel the way it grew underneath his hand.

“No,” you laughed. “There’s nothing in here except you and me.”

“Good,” he said lowly. “Then what’s wrong with that mirror on the wall?”

The smile on your face fell.

“Th-the mirror?”

Dean turned his body slightly to open the pathway to the mirror. Floor length and bolted into the wall sat a mirror across from the bed. It was there when you all arrived at this destination and you had never bothered to move it, only growing to hate its location when you got up, got dressed, and when you met the reflection on accident when you were halfway to self pleasure.

“You keep looking at it like it might come alive.”

“There’s nothing in the mirror.”

No real demons, at least.

“Then come to the bed,” Dean offered again. “I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

The ground was too hard even if the idea enticed him. He’d work you to your orgasm and then need help getting up—one too many throw downs with evil and the world catches up with you.

“We could always go to your room,” you suggested.

Dean’s hand caressed your face. You knew he knew you were avoiding something larger than just a room.

“What’s wrong with the mirror, baby?”

Ah shit. Baby.

“Dean—“ you started in argument against him but he wouldn’t let you. He wasn’t letting this go until it was like all other mysteries in his life and it was solved.

“No,” he argued back. “No, and you know you’re not telling the truth. What’s wrong with the mirror?”

“Nothings wrong with the mirror!”

“Yes there is,” his voice was getting tougher, rough around the edges in frustration with not you, but the thoughts swirling within you.

“No—“

“Yes!”

He let go of your face and grabbed your hand.

“Dean—“

Dean took one step toward the mirror and you broke the façade.

“Fine!” You grunted, tugging your hand out of his grasp. “Fine! It’s the fucking mirror, okay?”

“Well—“

“I don’t like it! It’s at the end of my fucking bed and I can’t stand looking in it.”

Dean’s eyes shifted again to a slight sadness and you wanted to throw a brick at the glass.

“Sw-“

You cut him off. “All I see when I look in that reflection is someone who’s… disgusting. I just… I can’t look at myself anymore and I certainly don’t want to watch myself doing something I don’t deserve to do.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean wanted to reset the day. “You’re not disgusting, sweetheart. Why did you say that, wh—“

“You could have gone with Sam and had someone else for the day, Dean. Someone pretty and sexy and fits all the right boxes for you. I don’t know why you didn’t go.”

“I don’t want them” he said your name firmly. “I stayed because I want you. I don’t want them. They don’t know me or what I like and I chose to be here.”

“Because it’s easy or because it’s convenient?”

“Because it’s perfect.”

“It’s not perfect, Dean.”

Dean stood there aloof in his briefs. Across from him, you were the most vulnerable he’d ever seen you and you were beautiful. There was nothing that caused him to feel repulsed or rejected. He was encapsulated by a glow he’d grown fond of and wanted to be held in. You were gorgeous, underwear and all, and nothing you’d say was going to change his mind.

“To me it is.”

Dean’s head tipped to the side in observance again. “I don’t know what you see—I won’t know what you see. But to me, I see someone who checks all my boxes and it takes nothing else.”

“I can’t look at myself.”

“What if I showed you someone else?”

It didn’t sound right to you. Dean could see it on your face as the confusion fizzled the upset and he wanted to walk it back to clarify yet didn’t.

“You’re not ask-“

“No one else is here,” he shook his head as he reproached you. He grasped one of your hands and hesitantly brought you to the mirror.

“But I want to show you someone else.”

You wanted to protest against him so loudly but when he stopped you in front of the mirror and stood behind you, the words died on your lips. You saw the same person.

The vision in front of you was lumpy and frumpy and the choice of underwear was quickly becoming something to regret.

“Who do you see?” Dean asked you. One of his hands rested on your shoulder, digging into the spot where your neck and shoulder met. The other held onto your own and intertwined your fingers gently.

“I have a feeling you won’t like what I say.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I see… an unfortunate woman. She’s not a supermodel and she’s not a celebrity. So… she’s not the standard of beauty. Her hair’s not done and her makeup is well… not ready for the magazines and she chose the wrong day to wear this color bra.”

“Anything else?” Dean listened.

“The man behind her is too handsome for her. He deserve someone who matches what he gives and that’s not the person in the mirror.”

Dean let that sit in the air for a moment. The seconds felt heavy and you wanted to look away from yourself and crawl under the covers and never see the light of day again.

“Can I tell you what I see?” Dean asked you and you shrugged.

“I can’t imagine it’d be any different than me.”

Dean cleared his throat and from his reflection, his eyes crawled along every inch of you that was exposed to him. You were under a microscope and he the scientist.

“I see my best friend,” he started and you knew you were quickly sinking. “I see a woman who is so strong and capable and caring and good. I see pretty hair and pretty eyes and maybe… maybe…the best lips in this bunker. But I may have to take that back when I look at myself.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I see a woman who has the most beautiful body.” He took the hand from your shoulder and slowly ran the backs of his fingers along your spine. “Every part of her distracts me. I catch myself starting at her when she’s not looking and I have to look away before she notices. Every color looks good on her and she looks the prettiest like this.”

“Anything else?” You said quietly.

Dean looked you in the eyes from the reflection. There were a million things he could say.

“How long do we have?” He laughed. The sound bounced off you; his chest vibrating against your back.

“I haven’t always been the best… anything… when it comes to women. But goddamn do you make me want to be someone else, sweetheart. Like maybe I could be a rock star and you can be the most devoted groupie or… or maybe I could be a firefighter and you can be a school teacher who can’t wait for me to get home.”

“I think you’re projecting, Dean,” you chuckled and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you tight against his bare chest.

“The woman I see in this mirror is perfect to me.”

“I wish she could see that for herself,” you said dejectedly.

“Then let me show her how,” he prompted. His mouth at the base of your ear, his breath was hot on the side of your face. “Let me show you how.”

“I do—“

He said your name strongly. “If you don’t face it, you won’t overcome it.”

A half a second you thought he might have read that from his Dad’s journal back in the day. Perhaps it was a statement he had grown up with but no matter that root, he sought the end to the cause.

“What were you thinking?”

“Nothing different from what you had said before,” Dean’s hands began to shift. They curved over your back and to the front of your body. You watched in the mirror was they traced along your sides and over your hips. The slow agony of his glide caught the fabric of your underwear and begged for them to be pulled away, but he let them remain.

“I’m going to eat you out, like you asked,” you caught his eyes in the mirror and blood rushed to your face. Cheeks hot and flustered, you can’t believe how blatant you had been before. “And then I’m going to fuck you like it’s our last night on this fucking earth, alright?”

“And what of the mirror?”

“You’re gonna watch yourself, us, through it from the bed.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Dean.”

You panicked a little inside. But his hands kept roaming and his eyes were changing their shades again, and in it all, all you could feel was him. His hard body, his rough hands, the breath on your face, and words he spoke overtook the insecurities that plagued you.

“You can,” he assured. His long fingers played at the strap of your bra, inching it away from your shoulder and letting it slip down your arm.

“I know you can because you always listen to me,” he whispered in your ear. “So? What do you say?”

The same fingers that let the strap fall moved under your arm and around to the nearly exposed breast. His hand snaked around your body and up to cup the one breast before squeezing the flesh tightly. You shuddered a breath and he knew he had you.

Dean took your earlobe between his teeth and let go with a small ‘pop.’ His hand squeezed and soothed, the other sitting patiently at your hip. Fingers tugged at the exposed nipple and you watched it harden like magic in the mirror.

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me, baby.”

You met his eyes again.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

And he smiled into your neck.

There was something unexpectedly titillating watching Dean go down on you.

It was daunting at first. Dean had led you to the bed, sitting you on the end and crept up onto the mattress behind you. Your reflection stared back hauntingly—dreading yet curious as to what it may appear as in front of you. It was strange, watching Dean and feeling his touch but not truly looking into his eyes. His hands caressed your body and the seriousness of his need to prove your mind wrong was enough to challenge yourself.

He wanted to prove you wrong. Dean wanted to show you how beautiful you were in the throes of ultimate vulnerability and passion.

“Look,” he positioned your head to look in the mirror across the bed.

“I want you to keep looking, alright? Even when we move or I move you, I need you to keep looking.”

“What if I wa—“ You turned your head to the side to look at him but he took his hand and repositioned your head.

“What if I want to look at you?”

“I’m right here,” Dean looked at himself in the mirror. He puffed out his chest slightly, you biting your lip in his boyish confidence that never seemed to leave him.

You knew, however, how much Dean gave to everyone else. One day, you promised, you’d give Dean something he needed too.

“Now,” he rubbed the sides of your arms before moving out of the way and off the bed. “Lay down.”

“But—“

“I’ll tell you how to do it,” he dismissed.

You shimmed up the bed slightly and leaned back. Your back hit the mattress with the thud and you weren’t sure what to do with your hands, so you just folded them across your stomach. Dean scoffed and looked down at you to which your brows furrowed.

“What?” You questioned.

“You’re acting like you’ve never done this before.”

“Well,” you countered. “In a way I haven’t.”

“Yeah but we’ve done this before,” he made a gesture between the two of you with his finger. “Relax.”

You nodded your head and breathed in deeply. You had done this before. You had. He’s done it a hundred times and if you were counting, he actually liked doing it so it was more than a hundred times over the last few years.

Dean knocked his knee against yours, tipping his head in silent order to open them which you complied obediently with. Now, spread before him, your heart was racing.

“Sit up on your elbows.”

You did.

“When I get down,” Dean warned. “You’re gonna see yourself. And if you get too overwhelmed, you tell me and we stop.”

God, you loved him. You really did.

“Okay,” you said in a quiet nod.

Before you could back down, before he went down, he leaned across to you and kissed you gently on the lips.

“I mean it, yeah?”

You agreed. “Yeah.”

Dean hummed and kneeled on the floor against his better judgement. His hands that rested on your thighs went to your hips, catching the fabric between his palms and slowly, he pulled down your panties and helped remove them from your legs. Above his head, you could see yourself in the mirror—the most private part of you wholly covered by Dean’s head and the expanse of his back took up the rest of the space.

He lifted on your legs off the bed and onto his shoulder. He peppered a few scattered kisses on the inside of your thighs as he repositioned himself for the taking. You were right there, waiting. Dean’s own want was growing by the second and all he wanted to do was taste you.

He hooked his arm around your leg and brought his hand to your core, thumb pressing into you with a jolt. And then he pulled his head inwards. Painting a stripe with his tongue, that was all it took to let the fear escape your body.

Dean was at the alter of you; the reflection emboldened your acceptance of yourself and his actions that formed a deeper well within you. He kept going. His head moving, bobbing for every motion he made. His fingers pulled you open as his tongue painted pictures inside of you.

Each stoke of his tongue, of his fingers along the sides and his thumb pressing into your clit made the blood rush down. You throbbed, burning for something more as you watched nothing but the back of his head and the muscles of his back constrict with his ambition.

Dean watched you watch yourself. He was proud of you—how you didn’t truly watch him or fall to your back instead. You mewled, gasping with a jolt as he prompted himself to use his fingers more. He took it as a sign. Instead of palming himself on the outset of his briefs, he took his other hand and brought it to your pussy that beckoned it.

“You good baby?”

He moved the hand that was already there to your thigh and groped it. You split for a moment from the mirror to look at him. His cheeks were flush, chest laboring with a breathlessness he welcomed.

“Perfect. I’m perfect.”

He ran his tongue over his lips as he smiled and your heart skipped a beat.

“Damn right,” he encouraged.

You anticipated him to continue on with his mouth but he sat back on his knees on the floor. Straining in his briefs, Dean just looked at you before rising with a grunt and kneeling next to you on the bed.

“Sit up,” he pointed to the end of the bed and you did as told again.

“Wha-“

“Shh,” he hushed. He sat sideways next to you with one of his legs tucked under him. Dean’s hand reached out and rested on the space between your stomach and cunt and when you looked up, he clicked his tongue at you.

“Mirror,” he redirect you and suddenly, his fingers were inching lower and lower until they were meeting the wet remnants of his mouths product.

Your mouth fell open in the slightest; a rewarding breath escaped your lips as his finger, then two breeched you and met your warmth in an eager welcome. As he pumped his fingers in and out of you and gathered the wetness that built quickly, Dean’s forehead fell onto the top of your head and his body leaned into you.

With every staggered breath he was more rewarded. His fingers relished the sounds your pussy made as he sped up his wrist faster.

“Oh,” you barely mumbled out. “Fuck, Dean.”

Dean hummed and the rumble went through you. He kept his pace and you wanted to close your eyes, stall the feelings building inside of you but didn’t. You didn’t disobey his wants and efforts of helping you get over this self deprecation that was sealing fate before there was a chance to solve it.

“Dean,” you said again but not worried. He didn’t stop at his name.

His fingers curled inside of you, hitting the spot you ached for him to find without cause. The muscle in your leg jolted and your hand went to his arm, tightly holding on as the other dug into the sheets of your bed and formed new wrinkles in its wake.

The heat was fast in its approach. Screeching from an abyss of darkness to only be awakened by the light of him, your end was near. It was greedy to want it all the time yet Dean was more than willing to give forever if it meant he’d feel this way.

“Come on,” he egged you on as you clenched the two fingers. “Baby come on, I’ve got you.”

“F-fuck, Dean, I-Christ,” you writhed in pleasure. He was leaning against you and his eyes closed let the reflection before you come alive in more ways than one. He was all yours—not a single word or person or thing could change it. Completely and utterly devoted to you and for once, when you looked in the mirror, you felt beautiful.

Your breath hitched in your throat and there was little else you could say as the room was filled with nothing but your heavy breaths and the sick sounds of your pleasure.

Those sounds, the mirror, and Dean’s words were all it would take to send you over a ledge. The burning, bright light of relief was striking. It was blistering in its blaze and entirely too much to send words tumbling out of your lips. All you could do was dig your fingertips into his arm and watch your body twitch at the intensity.

It shook your legs; shoulders twitching with the muscles in your stomach convulsing. Dean slowed his fingers to a stop. He held them inside of you for a second before removing them as carefully as he could and he rested the hand above your knee. Your finish on his fingers wet your skin and brought a coolness that hadn’t been there before.

Dean pushed his head against yours. He opened his eyes and met yours face to face, not in the mirror.

As he hoped, there was something inside of yours that changed. There was no regret and the cruelty of your mind was the past for now—even if the evil crept in the shadows around the gleam that surrounded you now.

You were beautiful. You were perfect.

And if you couldn’t vocalize those words yourself, at least he knew you could see them.

“Did you see what I see?” He asked lowly. He wasn’t done with you yet.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I see it.”

“Good.”

“But I don’t want to look at me anymore.” Your eyes weren’t tortured. “I just want to look at you.”

When he fucked you into the mattress, you did. You took in him and only him and when everyone returned when the sun had long gone down, you felt anew when Dean glanced at you from across the table and that glow of renewal hadn’t left you.

As always, comments and reblogs encourage writers the most! I thank you for reading and I am so thankful you took the time out of your day to read what I’ve put out here. Thank you!

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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uhzuku · 11 months ago

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╰─▸ ❝ 𝐇𝐄’𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ( 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 ). ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: His eyes are hooded, dark with a venomous lust that used to frighten you — but you aren’t the shy lamb sent to slaughter that you once were, are you?

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: jujutsu kaisen | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ryomen sukuna/f!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 3.49k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: concubine reader, demon king sukuna, sacrificial lamb x vicious monster trope, fem reader, manipulative reader, canon-typical violence, background character death, reader got a death grip on sukuna w the pussy ngl, breeding kink, fingering, sukuna has two cocks bc duh?, throne sex, cowgirl, no condoms, double penetration, accidental voyeurism, minor exhibitionism, creampies, biting, kissing, pregnancy mentions, murder, blood, gore, didn’t think i’d have to say this verbatim ( but after wasted summer ig i must ) but reader isn’t a good person.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: he is so so mean and yet … here i am wanting his balls in my mouth 😔✊

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

The stone flooring is cold against your bare feet, icy and sharp in ways that you used to be able to say you were unused to — but after a handful of years as your lord’s most desired concubine, you’d grown more than used to the endless chill of stone against your soles.

Only a few short years ago you’d been sent into the mountains to the dusky temple of the demon lord Ryomen Sukuna, a toy for him to fuck then eventually rip apart as soon as he grew bored of you. Bound by the wrists with ropes that had scarred, you were dragged up the mountainside and thrown upon a vast stone table, bound yet again with your hands tugged over your head and your legs spread to opposing corners. Your inner thighs had each been granted one deep slash so blood would begin to flow, and then you had been abandoned there. Alone and in tears, night had fallen faster than you’d been found, and you’d almost felt frozen and delirious when the first shadows of a monstrous figure had caught your eyes.

He had been a terrifying monster, sporting a vast mouth on his abdomen, two sets of eyes, four arms, and two pairs of legs all connected to a towering frame — all things normally singular about the human form had been doubled, and the owner of such a body had slunk over to you all while salivating. At first you’d feared he’d molest you, then you feared being devoured — but he’d mocked you cruelly and cut you loose before dragging you along behind him by the rope binding your wrists with your slit thighs screaming, your journey ending with him casting you at a half dozen women you later learned to be his concubines, and you’d not left his great stone temple in the mountains ever since. On the contrary, your life had become much easier — you led a life of luxury nestled comfortably on your knees atop a plush pillow next to your lord’s hip, you followed wherever he led you to go, and you warmed his bed and his cock whenever he so chose — which was often.

Today was one such day, and you desired nothing more than to ready yourself to see the man who clung to you as if he were starved and you were a magicked feast.

“Off to see the King again?” one of the other concubines, Ino, asks snidely as you loosely drape chains of delicate gold over your skin, and you sigh. Ino always started fights whenever she saw the chance, and you were more than tired of it. Still, a verbal spar was nothing for the King to sneeze at, so he wouldn’t make any attempts to stop it; some days he even found the arguments amusing.

“Must I really answer your question?” You ask tiredly. “He has called for me—“

“As he does every day,” another concubine, Shouko, snaps. “He never calls upon us anymore, not like you.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you snap back, and in response the bane of your existence stomps forward, smelling of the honeysuckle and melons that grew along the mountainside where you all resided.

“Maybe if you’d not come here and thrown yourself at him like a common whore, we wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Inko, Ino’s elder sister, snarls aggressively. Her eyes are dark and stormy, and her voice low and angry like a startled rattlesnake. “We all had a proper system before you came and ruined everything — but that’s all you know how to do, isn’t it? Traipsing in here practically naked from your first day and swallowing his cock down like it was what you were born for, then even daring to take away my night as well as Komori’s the following day.” Komori was another concubine, one nearly as bitter as Inko; she, however, chose to ruin what few of your belongings she could rather than spar with you verbally.

It was always the same with them — always angry that your lord doted on you more than the others, that he cooed at you so fondly while growls were occasionally sent their way ( growls you’d never received ), and that jewels and silks were lain reverently across your soft skin as rewards for earning his affections. “Maybe he likes me better for a reason, Inko,” you say coldly, standing your ground. “Maybe he isn’t calling upon you anymore because he’s realized how much of a surly bully you are — or maybe he’s grown tired of your once overused loose cunt.”

The sound of a loud, harsh slap echoes through the room, followed immediately by startled gasps of shock and your face stinging painfully; as much as you all threw poisoned words through the air like arrows were loosed from an archer’s bow, none of you had ever dared lay a hand on one another.

Your face burns, both from the pain from the hard slap and from a barely repressed anger, as you turn back from where it had been forcibly swung to the side at Inko’s strike to glare at her.

“You’ll start being a lot happier with your life when you stop basing it around both mine and a man’s,” you hiss before exiting the makeup room and navigating your way through the halls of Lord Sukuna’s temple before finally entering the throne room. He was listening to a few servants of his describe the look of the lands outside the temple, and what they believed the upcoming winter would offer them, but he brushed them away upon realizing you’d entered.

“Oh, my sweet treasure,” he purred warmly. “Come closer so I can bask in your beauty as I do every day.”

Obedient as always, you do just that, drifting closer before kneeling before him in acknowledgement of his power. Before you do so, you see the look in his eyes, and it sends a shot of fire to your stomach that you know all too well; his eyes are hooded, dark with a venomous lust that used to frighten you — but you aren’t the shy lamb sent to slaughter that you once were, are you?

“My lord Ryomen,” you murmur in a voice as thick and sweet as honey while just as deceptive as it would be when a part of a trap for flies. He stands, striding down the short set of stairs that led to his throne for you as he did for no other, and in a gruff voice commands you to stand at your full height. You do as told like always, and it doesn’t take long for him to catch sight of your aching face, which was no doubt starting to bruise.

He gently grabs you by the jaw, careful that his claws do not prick your soft skin as he tilts your head to reveal your cheek to him. “Your beautiful face…” King Sukuna rumbles lowly, his voice an angered growl as he gently tips you by his grip on your jaw to look at the bruising handprint marring your face, and his eyes are as stormy as the sky outside of the temple as thunder booms amongst the clouds. “Who dared do this to you?”

“Inko,” you murmur quietly, then whine, “She called me a common whore and said I ruin everything. It hurt my feelings.”

“She will be punished,” he promises, cupping your face and kissing your forehead fondly in a show of slight sweetness that you knew he showed no other and strove to keep hidden at all times. Typically his words would comfort you, but not today. You were tired of Inko’s behavior, and a week locked alone in a room with nothing but bread and milk was no longer fitting in your eyes.

You wanted her dead.

“Fill me with your seed, my Lord,” you beg sweetly, and he groans while grabbing you borderline painfully tight and grinds your crotches together as you stand together in the throne room, allowing you to feel him at half-hardness. “I want to carry your spawn for you, just like you always say.” It was true; Demon King Ryomen Sukuna was a weak man when it came to his almost wicked thoughts of breeding one of his women’s fertile cunts, but he’d not yet filled any of his concubines’ wombs with life. That privilege, you knew, was to be yours alone — and with how desperately you knew he wanted it, you’d get your prize of Inko’s head on a golden plate and he would get his of the instinctual want for an heir before the week was up.

You wrap your arms around his neck, standing as high on your tiptoes as you can to do so, and as usual he dips down so you can mouth sweetly at his skin, feeling one pair of arms rest at your hips while the other gently cup your face. “Let me ride you on your throne, my king,” you whisper sweetly, pulling your face from his hold and closing your teeth around one of his earlobes, tugging lightly. You both feel and hear the aroused growl leave his throat, and you move to nip at the base of his throat before asking again. “Please, beloved one?” you beg lightly, pressing a kiss to his jaw as he basks in the attention from your lips and your now wandering hands, which bury themselves in his hair in just the way he likes. “I want you to fill me in the way that only you will ever be able to. I desire the honor of bringing you life.”

You’re being dragged to his throne before you know it, your words plenty enough to tip him over any and all edges he had when it came to you, and he’s taking a seat and tugging you up onto his lap with a practiced ease that you both remembered all too well. He grinds his cock up into the crux of your thighs, his already hard length pressing against the place you were always bare for him beneath your skirts so perfectly. It only takes a moment for him to loose his cock from his robes, and even less time for him to press two of the fingers on one of his other three hands into your wet hole, the appendages curling just so inside so as to toy with you and prepare you for the vast stretch of one ( or even both ) of his cocks.

“F-Fuck — M’Lord, there-!” You whimper shakily, hips bucking into his touch as he presses one callused thumb to your clit and begins drawing harsh circles on it in time with each curl of his fingers.

“I know, sweet treasure, I know,” He murmurs softly. “I’ll take care of you — gotta get ya’ all nice and sloppy for me, dear one.”

“No more!” You whine impatiently. “Want you in me!”

His eyes are already dark, but they seem to darken even further at your senseless pleading. “As my foolish girl begs,” he says in mock-sweetness, pulling his fingers from your sopping cunt with a wet shlk! and beginning to use what you’d left on them to wet his cock rather than lick them clean like usual. Your heart ba-bump!s in your chest as a nervous shiver courses through you, but you don’t back down — you’d take his cocks and the resulting child of this coupling as well.

“Oh gods — yes, please-!” you whimper, feeling the way he drags his cock against your slickened slit, and he chuckles lightly before pressing the fat head in. A stuttery gasp falls from your lips as your head does likewise to his shoulders, and you cling to him desperately as you begin to sink down onto him entirely. In what feels like forever ( but is really only a couple short seconds ) he’s fully sheathed inside of you, and you both still for a moment to soak in the feeling of both filling and being full — and the the Demon King decides the time to adjust is up, and begins fucking up into you.

You bounce on his lap, moaning brazenly like a woman in a whorehouse, and your nails dig into his skin as he uses you like a toy for his own pleasure. Each drag of his thick cock inside you alights a fire in your belly as it always does, and you keen from your place on his lap as all four of his arms rove your body — two palming at your tits, one rubbing cruel circles on your swollen clit, and the third thrown around your waist.

“Fuck… Fuck…” he moans, biting at your neck, and you whine needily while grinding down on him, trying your hardest to tempt him into forcing his second cock inside. Unfortunately, you doubted he would, considering he was always so cautious not to break his favorite toy ( you weren’t a fool, there was no love in his heart — there remained no heartstrings for you to tug on, only his sensitive cock. ), but seemingly today was an exception as a hand on one of your tits releases it just so he can grab his second length and press it against your sopping wet hole. The thick ring of cream around the base of the cock he’d already filled you with smears across his second as he urges the tip inside, a short scream falling from your lips as it pops in after a long moment of slightly-pained pressure.

You’re overfull, tears are rolling down your cheeks, but Lord Sukuna just licks them up and begins using your body like the hole to fuck it is, bluncing you brutally on both of his cocks all while still seated on his massive throne. Behind you, you hear the wide doors to the throne room open, but it isn’t until a scandalized cry fills the room that you turn to look while your lord master continues fucking you without a care in the world for the eyes watching.

“My Lord-? Oh gods, my apologies! I beg your forgiveness, my king!” The hand that had wandered in wails, falling to his knees in subservience at the realization that he’s just walked in on his lord taking his most favorite concubine in the throne room. The sight of both of his king’s cocks sinking so deeply into your glistening cunt had his own single cock twitching beneath his robes, but there was no way in hell he would ever dare to act on such a thing; the last time someone other than the king himself had touched a concubine with their unworthy hands, both had been torn apart in the King’s rage and fed to the carrion birds.

“Fuck, you’re nothing but my sweet whore, aren’t you?” Sukuna groans deeply, ignoring the man entirely as you refocus entirely on him and the feelings he was forcing upon you.

“Y-Yes, my king,” you moan shakily, your eyelashes fluttering as an ever-present knot starts to grow tighter in your lower belly alongside the overfull feeling, fueled by a heat that always burns in his presence.

“Cum on my cocks,” Sukuna orders through a moan. “Give it to me, I command you — I want to feel your cunt pulse around me as you come undone.” As he speaks he speeds up the circles he was drawing on your clit, and within moments you’re falling apart around him, crying out in ecstasy as he lets out a demonic roar and oresses himself as deeply inside as he can before emptying his balls. Faintly you register his eyes rolling back as he cums, but you’re too wrapped up in him to truly give a damn about any of it.

After a few moments he begins to tug you off of his lengths, the muscles in your body just as instinctually unwilling to give them and their stretch up as you are as a natural resistance shows before being overtaken by you clenching down on him. “No,” you whimper, holding him tight. “Mine.”

“Y’gotta let me go, my precious jewel,” he rumbles quietly, and the urge to actually cry fills you and you just cling tighter.

“No,” you say again, a fresh wave of tears stinging at your eyes. “Don’t wanna.”

A low groan falls from his lips, but he stops fighting you. You barely react as he lifts you, his inhuman strength making most any show of strength possible ( and making lifting you something easily scoffed at ), and you do likewise as he carries you off to his private chambers. A questioning noise falls from your half-chapped lips as he closes the massive open door of the two closed behind him, and he just shushes you before pulling the silk sheets and thick blankets and furs back before placing you on them. He’s straddling you, still stuck due to your clinging, and it takes a brief moment of wrestling with you before he manages to finally pull out.

A borderline sickly wet noise fills both his and your ears as his cocks are drawn from your needy cunt, and the rush of thick demon cum that follows makes you whine pathetically. He just clicks his tongue at you and tugs on a rope made of golden chord that would ring a bell in one of the servant’s halls and summoned one such person, ordering them to ready your nightly meal ( despite the sun still being up ) so you could eat then sleep at your own leisure. Once the trembling man is gone, he joins you in bed.

“I hope you meant your urging for me to grant you a child,” he purrs, biting at your shoulder while you press close to him. He pulls away, sitting up on the side of the bed, “Because there’s no going back now — you will carry my seed in your belly until you birth me a child.”

None of this matters to you. You had always planned to birth his first child, had always known that it was what your fate held for you — this moment was not for talk of a baby, no. You wanted your prize.

“My dearest lord,” you sniffle needily, sliding from the bed on shaky legs and sinking to your knees between his legs, then propping yourself up over your crossed arms on them with a pout downturning your lips. A quickly growing puddle of his leaking cum begins to drip on the floor between your legs. “Please kill Inko — she’s so very mean to me, and all the other concubines are too because she’s been here so long.” Your bottom lip trembles as fresh tears start, and he sighs.

“But her cunt is so sweet, dear one,” he murmurs, and you whimper and hide your face in one thick, muscled thigh.

“You said she was loose. Besides, she hit me — I carry your spawn inside of me, and she hit me.” You didn’t have even his cum in you then, much less a conceived child — but you knew how to play the Demon King’s instincts, and the slight angered huff through his nostrils betray the rage simmering beneath his skin. All it would take was the tiniest push further. “It was the face this time, the face you own, but what if she pushes me down the stairs next? I could lose my life.”

Growling fills the air, and you know you've done it.

“Rest here,” he says quietly, his voice shaking with rage, “Servants will be here to attend to you in a few minutes.”

He helps you up with one hand, half-tossing you onto the cushy bed, then begins making his way out of his private rooms. “Where are you going?” you call innocently, pushing a frightened tremor into your voice. “My lord Ryomen, please don’t leave me — I’m always so frightened without you!”

He stops in the middle of the room; you can see him shaking with anger. “I have business to attend to,” he says through gritted teeth.

Your eyes glitter. “Come back to me soon, beloved one — I miss you desperately every moment you are away.”

A grunt is your only response, and he exits the room as servants wheel in your dinner. You curl up prettily in his massive nest of a bed, and you peruse the options he’d granted you eagerly. When he was done, he’d use the excess rage to fuck you again — you’d need to quell what appetite you have now and then some if you wanted enough energy to survive.

In the distance, furious roaring mixes with shrill, fearful screaming, and you delicately tug apart the roast duck you’d been served as the sounds of more concubines than just Inko being killed fills the temple. Servants cower, and the younger cupbearers whimper, but you just smile softly and hold out your emptied cup.

“I would like more pear juice, please.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you

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twinksrepository · 2 months ago

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Who knew Librarians could be so mean? Or hot?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Satan X F!Reader

CW: NSFW, angst and smut, Penis in Vagina sex, making out, embarrassment, being yelled at, safe sex, condom use, semi public sex, listen you bang in a library, modern AU

Word count: Roughly 6K

A/N: It's your first year of University. So far your lifeline has been the library on campus. You might also have a thing for a certain blond haired librarian.

Well. I did say I was having thoughts because of the new Satan and Asmodeus cards. So here's the first fic. The Asmo one is also done but I need to edit it so it might be up soon.

Images belong to Solmare.

You knew university would be hard, difficult even. You just hadn’t expected it to be this hard. From the hours upon hours sitting in lecture halls and taking notes, to the lack of sleep as you never seemed to have enough time in the day to get everything you needed to done.

In fact, at this point, you’re certain the only reason you’re still alive is because of the library on campus.

Or.

More specifically the blond haired librarian with verdant eyes who wore sweater vests.

Your first interaction with the man had been late at night sometime during your first month of classes with minutes before the library was due to close. You were moments from tearing your hair out as you looked at the note you had as you hurried along the stacks looking for the reference books you needed. Out of your list of five that you needed for your first paper you had found zero.

Sure you were from a small town. Sure this library was the largest collection of books you had ever seen. But you weren’t an idiot. You knew the dewey decimal system and understood it! Plus the catalogue showed there were several copies and not all of them were checked out.

So why in the universe couldn’t you find a single one?

“Miss, we’re closing in less than five minutes.” Turning towards the voice you must have looked like such a mess with the way his stern expression softened. It might have been pity, it would have made sense for it to be pity since he did work at the library and was probably used to the first month of each semester to see new students looking like lambs being led to the slaughter.

Either way, he approached you and looked at the wrinkled note in your hand. “Do you need some assistance finding these books?”

“Yes.” You sounded pathetic even to your own ears. You had been ready to cry in that moment of defeat. There might have been water on your lashes as you looked at him.

“Ah.” With the paper in his hand he let out a chuckle as his eyes roamed over the page. “You must be taking one of Professor Willow’s classes.” At your nod, the smallest of smiles broke out across his face. “You’re in luck, follow me.” Feeling every bit like a lost little duckling you followed behind him towards one of the tables that another of the workers was cleaning up. “Your Professor gives the same first assignment every year, I noticed a group of what I assume are other students in his classes studying earlier. Ah, here we are.”

It was like a gift from the academic gods as he handed you three of the books on your list with a smile that made you want to cry again but this time in relief. “Thank you!” You didn’t even need to head to the checkout counter, as he pulled you towards one of the terminals and checked out the books once he had your ID in hand.

“I’ve made a note on your file to pull the other two you were looking for, is this the right number? We can send you a text when they’re ready for pick up.” This one man was a godsend as you nodded telling him it was the right number and you didn’t realize they offered that service.

“Maybe if you had a little more sleep you might have noticed.” Chuckling with a shake of his head. “I’m certain you feel overwhelmed, just know the staff are here to help. It’s important to find a rhythm that doesn’t burn you out and you look like you’re ready to fall over in a light breeze.”

Nodding again and starting to feel like a bit of bobblehead. “Thank you Sir! Um I mean…” Trailing off and letting your eyes fall to his nameplate and the few still aware brain cells in your head were still enough to tell you not to blurt out what you wanted to ask.

“Yes. My name’s Satan. Don’t ask.” And you didn’t. Not when he just saved your proverbial bacon.

Suffice to say however that interaction had been enough to make you smarten up a little bit. He made a good point, if you kept burning the midnight oil you might not have the energy to finish your degree and that would have been a waste of the scholarship you were there on. Or being burnt out and letting the grades you needed to maintain slip could cost you the scholarship as well.

You took his advice to heart and started asking the staff for help instead of wandering the stacks and assuming they’d think it a waste of their time. You couldn’t do it alone, at least not this part and the staff were always friendly.

Yet after that first interaction, you noticed that whenever you ran into Satan he always seemed to have that little smirk on his face as he helped you find what you were looking for. Several weeks later he even shook his head a little as he handed you a tome that looked like it could double as a murder weapon. “At least you don’t have the bags under your eyes anymore, just remember you need to eat too.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Throwing back at him as you walked away with a playful wink. Trying to ignore the tingling along your fingers that had brushed his green painted nails.

The more you interacted with him the more you learned about him and he in turn you. It was easier for him to start the conversations based on the books you were looking for he had been able to piece together what you were studying for your degree.

It wasn’t long before you found you both had a shared interest in reading and not just for school. “Knowledge is power. People respect someone who’s well informed.” He’d stated during one of your conversations with his hand on his chin. It made sense, and also made sense why he was a librarian. You also learned he was only a few years older than you, having finished his degrees in a time span that made your eyes widen in surprise. Knowledge is power indeed.

The downside you saw as you got to know him better was a simple one.

You had a crush on him.

Something you very much kept to yourself and didn’t tell and of the few friends you had made, certain you’d be made fun of for finding the blond attractive. It might have been more being worried it was because he was a librarian because you believed with the way some of the female students fawned over him he was attractive to more than just you. It wasn’t just his looks though, he seemed so earnest in his statements, and in the brief time you’d known him it seemed like he always knew the outcome of events before they happened. He explained it away as being the logical outcome after shrugging his shoulders and going back to work. Add in his tall lean frame, blond hair that fell just over the rim on his glasses with the way he parted it. Those soft little smiles and that slightly arrogant chuckle when he was right.

Well.

You were smitten. At least you were also smart enough to know nothing could ever come of it. Besides you didn’t want to risk your friendship with one of the few people that loved books as much as you did. They had been your escape as a child in your small rural town and you’d never stop being grateful for the worlds they allowed you to see in those printed pages.

At least. That was before the incident.

You’d been walking along in a corner of the library under an overhang when you felt it.

A single drop of water hitting the back of your neck as you perused the shelve. Lifting your fingers to the hair along the nap of your neck and feeling the wet spot. Tilting your head a little confused you looked up and felt your stomach drop. The tiles along the ceiling clearly had water stains and they looked new.

Fearful your eyes fell to the wooden shelves that held so many of the precious printed works you swallowed. Tentatively reaching out to press a finger to one of the spines, wincing at the spongy resistance that should have been solid. “Shit.” Grabbing one of the smaller books that was drenched you hurried back towards the main area of the library to find one of the staff to let them know what you found.

Grinning at a familiar sweater vest clad figure that had their back to you.

“Satan!” Calling out to him and glad you’d run into him, he’d understand the problem right away. “There’s a problem under the non-fic-” The smile on his face fading at your appearance.

“Why.” Cutting you off as his eyes landed on the sodden mess in your hand, his voice frigid and his eyes seemed almost dark compared to the usual mirth they shone with. “Is that book wet?”

You stopped for a moment looking at him in surprise. “Because there’s an entire stack that’s soake-”

“You ruined an entire stack of books!” You flinch at the way his normally even voice seemed to boom out across the space. There’s a fury on his face that has your stomach dropping down to the floor.

“What. No. I think there’s been a-” In a span of moments he’s right in front of you and you could have sworn it was the devil who’s name he shared instead of the sweet librarian you had a crush on.

“A mistake? There is. Letting someone like you into these hallowed halls.” His eyes seething as he stares at you while your heart hammers inside your chest and sweat starts to drip down your neck.

“I didn’t.” You whimper the words before he cuts you off again.

“Didn’t what?” You can’t take this sudden change in his demeanor, your vision blurry with the fluid forming along your lashes. Your stomach is nothing but knots as you shake your head, feeling your cheeks warm as you're mentally torn between being embarrassed and terrified. As well as something you refuse to name in that moment.

“Hey, Satan!” Another worker comes to your rescue. “It looks like we’ve got a water pipe burst down in the non-fiction five hundred to six hundred. We need someone to call maintenance and shut it off before more of the books get wet.”

It’s like watching the wraith that overtook his face wash away as he turned to you with a whisper of your name. His outburst has a crowd watching the two of you and the entire altercation. You can’t take that look on his face, not with the way you feel and the fact there’s been an audience to see and hear him treating you like dirt. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.” Slapping the ruined book against his chest as the tears finally start to fall. “Asshole.” Hissing the last word just loud enough for him to hear before you take off running out of the library.

You’ve had enough drama today. And the worst part? When he was yelling at you your body had responded, feeling your muscles tighten and your core throb. You did not have it in you to face that you might have a kink for being yelled at. Or degraded like that.

Back in your dorm, you curl in a ball and pass out. You just don’t have the energy to deal with what the hell just happened and the way your heart beats in your chest like it’s been broken.

When you come to the next morning you find an email from the student board, apparently, someone, or a few someones based on the detailed account, reported the incident.

Great.

You just wanted to put yesterday behind you and avoid the library for the rest of the year. So much for that. With the wording of the email you have no choice but to answer as they want to know how you want to deal with the incident and wondering if you wanted to have the employee face any potential job repercussions. That leaves a weight in your gut that makes you want to throw up at the way it’s worded.

Are you upset because of it? Yes.

Do you want Satan to lose his job because of it? No.

Dragging a hand down your face as you draft a response of how while you are upset at the situation and thankful that other students and faculty members reported the issue, you don’t want to take any more action than an apology.

In truth, you want more than that because his reaction made you wonder if Satan had some anger issues he needed to sort out. Something like that in the email could still end up with him facing job loss.

Finally checking your phone you see a message from an unknown contact. Clicking it you want to bang your head against the table.

I had no right to say that to you.

I understand if you never wish to speak to me again but I owe you an apology.

I won’t make excuses for my behavior.

However I made you feel in that moment I am deeply apologetic it wasn’t right to treat you that way.

The date timestamp show the messages were sent a few hours after the incident, and you have one more from this morning.

I’ve been placed on suspension. You don’t have to worry about running into me at the library for a few weeks.

Sighing you roll your shoulders as you start to type out a response.

Satan

Did you seriously take my number from the student system to text me after what happened yesterday?

That’s a bit unprofessional

Sighing again you look at the device in your hand. You’re still upset but you don’t want to leave things hanging with neither of you knowing where you stand and possibly losing what might be a friend.

I’m not going to say I accept your apology

You didn’t even let me answer yesterday and made me feel so small like I didn’t matter. It felt so different compared to the person that helped me out so often and reminded me when I needed to take breaks. You did a lot for me without even realizing it.

So this time let me say it.

I think you need a break.

Maybe once you’re back I’ll have my thoughts more in order on how I want to proceed with our friendship.

Rubbing your face as you dropped your phone beside you before flopping back in bed, glad you had a few hours before you needed to be in class anywhere.

As the weeks went by you found a difference in the library when you were there. It wasn’t that anyone treated you differently compared to any other student. It was more that you realized Satan did a lot of things for you that the staff didn’t do for students.

When you couldn’t find a book or a certain reference the staff just pointed you in the right direction or check in the system to see the status of it. Compared to Satan who wouldn’t just tell you, he’d lead you to the right stack and help you find it. All the while asking you about the reason you wanted the resource. Or more that he was making comments in that eerie way of his that he knew exactly what you were up to. It made you realize just how much Satan seemed to know about you and how much you missed his presence.

Stupid crush.

You really did miss him though, and the way your heart hurt inside your chest at his absence was a sign you were in a lot deeper than you should have been.

It was almost like a repeat of the first time you met him, minus the mad scramble on your part to try and find books. Well.

The time was anyway.

You’d stayed late to finish a paper, listening to your headphones while you typed away tucked in a cubical along a wall that wasn’t used very often with several books spread out across the space. Working on your closing statement to recap your thoughts when you jumped feeling a hand land on your shoulder.

Flailing and making the worker flinch just as much, pulling one of your earbuds out to hear what the person had to say. “Sorry! It’s almost clos-ing” A hitch in a familiar voice as you turn.

“Satan.” It tumbles from your lips and before you know it your arms are around his middle. Burying your face in one of his sweater vests. “I missed you.”

“I um.” Feeling his hand pat your shoulder awkwardly. “I think you might be the one being unprofessional at the moment.” Realizing what you did you jumped back, missing the slightest flush on his face.

“Sorry!” The tips of your ears feel like they’re on fire as you start to grab your things. At least until you pause remembering the series of texts after the incident. “Satan?”

“Yes?” He’d been standing there like he was still in shock at the sudden contact.

“I’m still not ready to forgive you for what happened.” Watching him you see him swallow and his face pale a little. Holding up your hand as his lips spread as if to interrupt you. “That doesn’t mean I’m mad, and well. I guess it’s my turn to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you an asshole.” Sending him a sheepish smile as you go back to gathering your things.

“You should have done worse, I was an asshole.” There’s a hint of dejection in his voice, but instead of still standing there he helps you grab your things since the library is closing.

“I guess as long as we’re clear on that.” Laughing as you slip your laptop into your bag. Except when you straighten and find the two of you essentially sharing the space, this close you see the flecks of yellow in his eyes. “I um.” Stammering as you notice the slight split in his bottom lip.

There’s a waiver in those pretty emerald eyes before he seems to make up his mind. “In for a penny.” Feeling confused by his words and your confusion only grows as his lips connect with yours for a brief kiss that has you feeling weak in the knees. It doesn’t last long before he steps back, creating distance between the two of you. “I guess I’m being unprofessional again.” Slowly blinking you notice the pink hue across his cheeks as he tries to look down at the floor.

“Maybe a little bit.” It’s hushed like you don’t want the words to carry any farther. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t like it though.” There’s a strange little flutter in your chest when his head snaps upwards. The way his eyes widen in what you can only hope is surprise is adorable. Squeezing the strap of your bag a little tighter in your hand as you swallow, hoping the material can wick away the sweat forming on your palms. “You are a pretty nice guy, well, when you aren’t yelling at me.” Giving a small chuckle as you step closer, certain he has to be able to hear your heart pounding inside your chest like a drum. Lifting your hand and placing it in the center of his chest with a soft caress, parting your lips about to say something more when a voice calls out.

“Satan!” Whatever courage you had mustered up after he kissed you shrivels up and fades in an instant.

“Yea?” With reflexes you hadn’t expected he tugs you towards the edge of the wall and places a finger to his lips before turning and taking a few steps before dissappering from your sight into the short hallway that leads to the area you’re in.

“Almost done over here? We’ve got all the tables cleaned up and the books back on their shelves.” What? Glancing at your watch you realize the two of you must have spent a lot longer than you thought just staring at one another. It’s almost half an hour after the library was supposed to close.

“Yea, just a few more books left to put away.” Satan’s voice is back to that steady tone you’re more used to hearing from him.

“Oh need a hand then?”

“No.” You can just picture him shaking his head at the offer of assistance. “I can finish up here myself.”

“Alright. Why do I get the feeling you plan on sticking around to read after we’re all gone again?” The new voice laughs as if it’s something the blond does on a regular basis.

“Books are more interesting than people.” You can just picture him shrugging in that nonchalant way of his that has his shoulders rising just enough to show that he’s a little bit broader than his figure would let you to believe.

“Well, have a good night then, and see ya in the morning.” Listening as the other person’s footsteps start to fade away until all you can hear is your breathing and the steady thump of your heart. Only to feel it miss a beat when Satan’s head pops back around.

“Good. I thought you might have darted down the hallway to make sure you weren’t seen.” Leaning against the wall you’re still tucked against he raises a hand to reach out towards you, only to stop with his fingertips no more than a hairs breath away from the skin of your arm. “Um… I guess maybe the moments over?” That adorable hint of blush is back on his cheeks again.

Feeling your face warm you shake your head. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be. Just… maybe this isn’t the best place?” Rubbing your thighs together nervously, while looking away from his face and biting your lip as your nerves come back. The idea of being caught making out with Satan in his place work where a few weeks ago he’d yelled at you for something that wasn’t your fault has you thinking this isn’t the right place. Another part of you, finds the thought of it tantalizing.

“There’s only a few other workers left.” He says it so bluntly you jolt a little as you turn back towards him, finding his face inches from yours. The longer you gaze into his eyes the faster your heart starts to pound inside your chest, banging against your ribs as if wanting to escape from the confines of your bones. Your palms grow damp again as your stomach starts to clench.

This close you can see the pulse in his neck, the shifting of his pale skin as he swallows and his adams apple moves. As steady as his voice might be, his body is reacting as if he’s as nervous as you are. The glasses on the bridge of his nose sliding down just enough that you make out the slight perspiration on his skin.

You snap at the same time he does, your mouths connecting in a clash of teeth. Leaning into him with your hand tangling into his hair along the side of his head while he turns. His arms frame your sides as his chest presses you more against the wall, wedged between the bland painted surface and his body. The kiss is hurried and messy, but you don’t care, all you do care about is the way your heart pounds in your eardrums as you move your lips against his. Letting your bag slip from your fingers so you can run your hand along his chest, dragging the thick material of his sweater upwards as your fingers seek out the skin of his neck.

Panting as you part your lips, wanting to deepen the kiss. It’s almost funny that he makes a similar move as your tongues slide across each other and you can taste what you think is coffee with milk. A bitter blend that's tempered by the tiniest hint of sweetness. Moaning as his body moves impossibly closer, as if trying to occupy the same space as you forcing you more against the wall.

This close, your core throbs with need. He’s a bit taller than you, and there’s more than just his belt buckle pressing against your stomach. The thought of it has your head swimming with the idea of him being inside your body.

Eventually, the two of you need to break for air. He’s flushed and his pupils are blown wide, almost hiding those striking irises of his as his shoulders shake in time to his deep breathing. You doubt you look much better. Neither of you moves too far away, sweeping your nose along the underside of his chin as you try to get your heart to slow down.

“You have” His voice is strained as he speaks, laced with desperation you don’t understand. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Surprised at his admission you let out the smallest laugh that sounds more like a wheeze from your still screaming lungs.

“Maybe. But I doubt it was before the start of the semester.” Teasing him has him letting out a chuckle as he ghosts his lips along the ridge of your cheekbone, following it to your ear before whispering lowly.

“I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t change just how much I want you. Or how much I’ve had to control myself when talking to you instead of shoving you against the stacks and leaving you breathless.” Well, shit. If that low rasp in your ear doesn’t have your underwear starting to stick to your folds from the amount of fluid dripping from you his next words do. “Kissing you until your lungs burn while I pound my cock into you so when you cum my name is nothing but a mumbled moan that no one but me can hear. Then.” Dragging out the word with a strained breath. “I’d take you again. And Again. Until you’re a boneless incoherent mess.”

“Damn. And here I just thought you were cute.” Trying to take away the building tension between the two of you out before your body screams to let him just do that. “Do you think that about a lot of new students?” A bad joke that doesn’t do anything to stop the thundering in your ears and the clenching of your core.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just think those thoughts about you.” Watching his cheeks take on that cute little shade of pink that you’re starting to suspect is also partly his embarrassment makes your stomach do a strange little flip flop.

“This is not a conversation I thought I’d be having right now.” Tilting your neck so your lips can brush along the point of his chin. “But I like it.” If how wet you feel is an indication it’s a lot more than just liking it.

“Shit.” Hissing through his teeth you find yourself blinking in confusion. “I didn’t think you’d want me, that it was just fantasies in my head. I want you right now but I don’t have anything on me.” Letting his hands fall to his slide as he steps back, looking like he’s annoyed with himself.

“Oh, Satan.” Chuckling you reach down to grab your bag and fish around inside one of the inner pockets. “You mean something like this?” Holding up the foil packet with a shit eating grin.

“Do you always carry one of those around?” He has a look on his face like he isn't sure what you’re doing with a condom in your bag.

“They say luck favors the prepared.” Teasing him a little as you lean back against the wall. “Plus, I’d rather have a condom on me and not need it, than need it and not have it. Seems like a good idea right now.” Watching that smile return to his face as he steps back into your space, kissing you again with a moan of his own as his fingers pluck the packet from your grasp.

“Does that mean you feel like getting lucky?” Amusement in his tone as he skims his hand along your side, nipping at your lips while he waits for your answer.

“You mean right here?” You definitely want this man, but the idea of it being against a wall doesn’t exactly keep you in the mood.

“No. At one of those little desks, you were at earlier. No one would be able to see the middle one.” Nodding you place your weight against his body and away from the wall, trailing your hand down to the bulge in his pants and rubbing him through the material. Groaning he lets you keep palming at his cock as his hands land on your shoulders to guide you to the space, sitting down on one of the chairs and patting his lap for you to crawl on top of him. “Next time I’ll do you in the stacks, but for now I’d rather we both enjoy it sitting.” If it’s possible he seems nervous, not that you aren’t as you lick your lips before letting your weight settle.

An experimental roll of your hips has both of you making some choked noises. The fire in your core is starting to make you sweat, and you just wanna feel him inside of you. “Satan?” Whispering against the shell of his ear with your hands resting on his shoulders, liking the feel of his lean form under your palms.

“Yes?” A catch in his voice as he says your name with a longing you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t want a build up, I just wanna feel you inside me. Please.” Whining low in your throat as you admit exactly what you want.

“Asking like that just makes me wanna give into you.” Agreeing as he uses his hands to lift your hips upwards. “We’ll save that for next time.” Next time. It makes your core clench tighter as you step back and work the button on your jeans open and slide the zipper down before shimming the material of your bottoms and underwear down to your ankles.

Glancing back to Satan and swallowing. His belt is undone along with his pants, pushed down to his knees with his cock in his hand as he strokes himself slowly from base to tip. It’s not the first dick you’ve seen, you’re not a virgin but you’ve only been with two other people as you tried things. Curious about how sex felt. But looking at him and the curve of his shaft already wrapped in the condom and how long he is you feel your walls clench and a dribble of liquid along the skin of your pussy.

“We can stop if you want.” He must have taken you not moving as hesitation. Shaking your head before you shuffle closer and sit on his lap with your legs straddling his.

“No. I want this.” Licking your lips as you place your hand over his chest and above his heart. “I want you.” Leaning in with a gentle kiss that’s more feeling than movement. Sliding your hands upwards to his shoulders you lift your hips up just enough so he can guide the head of his cock to your slick core. “Do you wanna stop?”

“No.” That edge of certainly is back and once you feel the tip breach your sex you start to lower your body down, letting more of his length disappear inside your walls.

“Sa-tan” Gasping as you tilt your head back, the burn from the slight stretch adding to your pleasure as his shaft reaches into the deepest part of you. Your butt cheeks clenching as you try to tighten even more around him, like your pussy wants to drag out that sensation of your walls being pushed to the point of pain as long as possible.

“Fuck you feel good.” Hissing through his teeth as his hands settle on your hips to help you ease more of your weight down on him. A single drop of sweat trails down the side of his face as he watches you, savoring your expressions and storing them away in his memory for when he needs release and he only has his hand to work with. “Such a tight cunt.” Clenching around him like a vice while lightning races along your spine. Making a small noise of discomfort when his tip hits what you think is your cervix. “Easy, don’t hurt yourself.” His voice is soft through his clenched teeth as one of his hands sweeps across the skin of your hip before climbing a little higher under your shirt.

Nodding as you try to breathe through your nose, shit, you’re almost ready to cum just from having his cock in your pussy. Throbbing inside of you to the time of his heartbeat, the stretch making you pant as sweat has your shirt clinging to your back. “Kiss me.” It’s more like a command than a request, but Satan complies none the less. Lifting the hand that had been tracing patterns into the skin of your stomach to the back of your head to pull you closer. Letting him have control of your mouth and distracting you so your body relaxes, because you want to ride him instead of just coming undone from him being in your cunt.

It’s like he can sense it, sliding his tongue around the inside of your mouth as is mapping it for memory. Keeping his fingers tangled in your hair and doing his best not to cum himself. As much as Satan might have fantasized about this moment, he never thought it would happen, having you here right now stuff to the brim with him was making him want to throw you on top of the desk and buck into you like a wild animal trying to breed. No. He needs you to feel safe around him again before snapping his hips into you like he wants to break you, so make it so your body craves his the way he craves you. Humming when he feels that tight channel wrapped around his shaft loosen.

As the burning in your core starts to subside you lean back to break the kiss, placing your hands more firmly on his shoulders to steady yourself. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to cuming just from being penetrated.” Whispering the words as if sharing a secret before you start to gently ride him, focusing on the way his cock slides in and out of your walls. The way some of the veins along the underside brush against bundles of nerves that has you breathing deeper and freezing from the sensation.

“If it helps” his voice is strained and the blush on his cheeks has spread to his neck and ears. “The last time I was this close so quickly was my first time.” Its so earnest you can’t help but slide your fingers along the nap of his neck as you close the distance for another kiss, starting to ride him a little faster now.

Sliding your tongues together and breathing through your nose as you keep increasing the pace, moaning as his both of his hands are back on your hips. Helping guide you and keep you in place as you slide up and down his shaft from tip to base, feeling that coil in your belly growing tighter and tighter. All you can hear is the sound of wet slapping, moaning more into his mouth as he starts to buck up into you from the chair.

Mewling against his face when you break the kiss, barely any space between your lips as you pant and whine hovering at that edge. “Satan.” It’s a breathless call of his name as you let out another whine, you’re so close.

“I’ve got you.” Whispered against your face you feel his rapid exhales wash against your sweat slicked skin before you let out a strangled cry as you cum. All thanks to his fingers pinching your clit when his cock was balls deep inside you, moments later a grunt that might have been your name before Satan slams his mouth against yours.

Slumping into his body as your core keeps spasms around him, his balls pumping more and more of his seed into the thin barrier of the condom that serves as a divider between your sexes.

When you come down from your high you let out a soft little laugh as you lean your forehead against his. “That was fun.”

“It was. I’d like to do it again.” Licking his lips as he gives one of your asscheeks a squeeze, liking the way it feels in his hand. “But I’d rather us both fully naked and on a bed.”

“I live in the dorms.” Lifting your head with a smirk. “And didn’t you say next time would be in the stacks?”

“I don’t consider this time over yet.” Catching your mouth in another quick kiss. “My place it is then.” Helping you off him before his cock softens too much as you swallow at the amount of cum inside the condom. Shit. You can already feel your body warming at the thought of another round. “Oh, and I’ve got condoms at my apartment.”

“Then lead the way, Mr. Librarian.” Pulling your pants on and discreetly licking your lips. You like the idea of sucking him off and swallowing a massive load like that down your throat. “Does that mean I’m better than your books?”

The answer is a laugh that makes you grin from ear to ear. It’s the start of an interesting relationship with the man that’s for sure.

Obey me Masterlist

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lushaletta · 7 months ago

Text

the lamb and her wolf / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, tom is goin a lil mad

summary: have you fallen into the dark lord’s trap, or has he fallen into yours?

a/n: i wrote this at 4 in the morning so enjoy this stream of consciousness grumpy x sunshine esque tom riddle fanfiction or something.

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tom is in a frenzy of sorts, he’s concluded.

Perhaps it is the sleepless nights and stressful days that cloud his weeks that are causing the weird feeling in his chest. Insomnia-induced hysteria.

There’s a flurry of thoughts swirling around his head recently. All with a common theme; you. The space in his brain that he typically reserved for Ancient Runes or Arithmancy was now composed of you, you, and only you.

It makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s unfocused. And he can’t be, because he’s supposed to be working on the secret that Salazar Slytherin hid in the deep crevices of Hogwarts some years ago.

His fingers tap on the book that he can’t seem to pay attention to as he tries to make sense of this. The disgusting, awful, pleasant fondness he feels for you. For a Muggleborn girl no less.

The only solution to his problem is to kill you. It wouldn’t be hard, he thinks. You’re small and meek and all too trusting of him. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

You are a symbol of everything he despises. Joy. Innocence. You are of the same kind as his worthless father. So why is it that he can’t bring himself to end you? To end your time together? He’s done it before. He’s done it plenty of times and without a second thought.

“Tom!” your horrible, beautiful voice cheers, snapping him out of his thoughts. Oh, great, he thinks. You plague his mind and now you bedevil his reality.

“Hello,” he says after a beat.

You ignore his bothered expression and smile. “I’ve brought snacks! You do like mince pie, don’t you?” He nods weakly. “Good, because my mam’s had some sent. She’s trying out a new recipe. Secret ingredient or something like that. I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, with your inane study habits, I mean, do you ever have breaks?” You ramble on and he listens with fascination. How could you be talking to him so casually? So endearingly?

You’re far from done. “It doesn’t matter, though. You’ll have a break now. Go on, put your book away, would you?” He does as told. He’s not sure why. You take a seat at his table, fumbling with the paper bag you’ve brought. “Aha! Mince pie! One for each of us. Tell me if you like it, I’ll have Mam send some more. She’d be delighted.”

It’s at this point, where he’s chewing on warm minced pie and watching you do the same, nodding contentedly, that he wonders which life decisions he’d made led up to this. He’s the Dark Lord. A name that the world will soon fear. If all goes to plan, you’ll be reading in terror of all the vile things he’s done in the paper. You’ll be afraid of him, and he can’t help dread it. He dreads the thought of your heartbroken eyes as you realise what a wicked person you’d extended your kindness to.

It’s the frenzy again. What is he even thinking? He dreaded nothing. He looked at his plans with excitement.

“Tom? Hellooo,” you say, singsongingly. He didn’t even realise you’d been speaking. He glances up at you and imagines what you’d think of him once the truth comes out.

“Yes?”

“What do you think? About the pie, I mean.”

He clears his throat, fingers gripping the armrest of his seat. “Good. It’s good.” That draws another pretty smile out of you and he really hates the way it made him feel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Also, Tommy,” He quirks his brow. The nickname was a slip of the tongue. You’d never used it and it made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to mind so much. “Are you busy later? I need some help with Transfiguration.”

He’s always busy. Well, he should be. He’s been slacking recently, too preoccupied with your freshly baked desserts and strawberry-smelling hair.

“I could make time for that,” he says decidedly.

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You’re immediately on your feet, giddy like how he’d imagine a child to be upon receiving candy. “Thank you! Oh, you’re a lifesaver, truly!” you say, and suddenly a kiss is planted on his cheek.

A full stop. His world pauses and spins on its axis. Your lips felt good. Bad.

What an evil, evil wolf he was.

#🎞 by.ivy #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle

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crimsonfeatheredraven · 9 months ago

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I can't help but to think that one of the major, core things about Jason Todd is that he loves people more than they love him, or at least he loves people that can't show him that they love him in specific ways.

Bruce: accused him of murder at the age of 15 and didn't believe him when he said he didn't do it, didn't notice that he left the country (I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that was the case), put up the case™ calling Jason a 'good soldier', shit talked Jason and blamed him for his death after Tim and the others came into the picture, threw a batarang at Jason's throat and left him to bleed out in the rubble, dragged Jason to the site of his murder instead of asking him how he got back like a normal human being, beat the shit out of Jason and kicked him out of his home city after Jay 'shot' Penguin instead of using his words and asking Jason why, didn't apologize but simply justified his actions as Jason needing to be smacked around once in a while, Gotham...War. He says that he loves Jason but still did these things and Jason still goes back to him after rocking his shit a little.

Alfred: apparently also shit talked Jason after mourning for a bit. Also, I'm pretty sure that I read somewhere that he's the one who came up with the 'A Good Soldier ' plaque. Jason would still do anything for him.

Sh*ila: saw this 5'3 kid who placed his complete trust in her and wanted to help her to the best of his ability and almost eagerly led him like a lamb to the slaughter to gain an advantage, smoked with watching him get beat with a crowbar, only gave a shit about her actions when it was her turn to find out. Jason tried to protect her from the blast.

I can't really blame Catherine for anything because she was sick and it is what it is. It sucks ass and it's shit but what could have anyone really done?

He looked up to Barbara and one of the first things that she said to him was that he'll never be Dick Grayson.

The point is that it seems like he gives too much of himself to people or hold them in high regard and they either leave him because of extenuating circumstances, die, or decide to go, "fuck you, specifically".

He's been failed by almost every single parent he's ever had and he keeps going back to them. Any other relationship turns to dust at his fingertips. He's like the opposite of King Midas. His story is a tragedy and I love him so much.

#jason todd #it's like he always gives a fuck all of the time #i know that I called him a cold motherfucker before #and I still stand by that #but the more that I think about it #he still cares. he just didn't show it during those times

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crowntism · 2 months ago

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Dates with the bishops

I made this blog just so I could be gay in public lets GOOOO

Includes: Leshy, Heket, Kallamar, Shamura, and Narinder.

Leshy

Bishop form:

Dates with Bishop Leshy come in two flavors. Bad day dates and Good day dates.

Bad day dates often include terrorizing and causing absolute havoc across his domain, as there are two things that can make any day better for him. Spending time with you and terrorizing the people who live in Darkwood.

Sometimes he'll ask you how you want a village terrorized or how you'd like a certain follower killed. He understands if its not really your thing, but thought he'd ask anyways.

By the end of a bad day date he's exhausted and ready to curl up with you and "sleep". Bishops, being gods, don't need to sleep but regardless he loves curling up in a nest of moss and leaves and gently petting your head while you sleep. It rejuvenates him in a way nothing else can.

Good day dates on the other hand are much more chill. He takes you around Darkwood to see the beauty of the forest. He shows you every hidden nook and cranny of his territory and even shows you the hidden garden he has.

Its deep within the heart of the woods, so none ever tread in there, not even his own siblings. Its truly his home away from home. Its a field covered in a variety of flowers, some not even found normally in Darkwood, and its one of the most beautiful sights you've ever seen.

Most of your time spent there is Leshy curled around you while you try to weave a flower crown big enough for him. You can never get it long enough but its the thought that counts.

Follower form:

Dates are far less chaotic now, as he's fully lost his ability to see and it scares him a little. Most dates are led by you now as a result.

He still loves causing chaos, so some dates are spent pranking others until you (or the Lamb) put a stop to it.

Other dates are spent with you taking him slightly further from camp to go look for interesting rocks. While Leshy can't see the rocks, the texture and shapes are still appealing. You also try to find interesting flowers that smell nice.

Leshy often keeps the interesting things you find in his shelter, hoarding them for when he has his off days.

Speaking of off days, dates on those days consist entirely of staying in. Huddling up in his shelter so he can run his hands across you, mapping out your face and body shape in his mind so he never forgets you. If you were already dating while he was a bishop, he knows what you look like through the crowns eye, and his biggest fear is forgetting that knowledge. So it never hurts to remind himself.

Heket

Bishop form:

Dates with Heket often involve food. One of her favorites is to go to every village in her domain and demand they feed the two of you. If they refuse to feed you, she'll cast the worst famine they've seen before leaving them to slowly starve to death. If they feed you and you don't like the food, she'll slaughter the main cook. However, if they make a food you genuinely enjoy, their crops will be blessed. Villages that are closer together often collaborate to try and make the best dishes possible to ensure not only survival, but her blessings as well.

Dates that don't involve food are rarer but consist of her taking you out to safely see Anura's beauty. All bishops are proud of their domains, and her pride is the bountiful crops. Although Anura is known for its pumpkins, it also has an abundance of apples. Orchards are everywhere and she loves taking you to her favorites to show them off.

Apple picking dates are her way of getting you out of her temple and doing... something. She is very protective of you and doesn't let you out of her sight regardless, but at least now you don't have several cult members and servants doing literally everything for you! She also adores picking you up and holding you so you can reach apples higher up on the tree.

Follower form:

Dates with food are now rarer, as she doesn't have the abilities of the crown to dull the pain her throat is in. Most dates are spent on the outskirts of the camp just basking in silence.

When a date does involve food, it mainly involves the preparation. Harvesting, gathering, hunting, even just cooking the food. Her relationship with food is odd now, as with the yellow crown she was in a constant state of hunger and being uncomfortably full is an awful feeling, so she doesn't typically eat with you. She loves watching you eat what she makes though and loves knowing that even though she had caused famines in the past you'd never go hungry with her.

On her off days she doesn't even want to be around food, and with the cooks almost always working to feed the many mouths of the cult its best to take her further away. You take her back out to Anura, sticking close to trails already traveled, just to get her away and relaxed.

Kallamar

Bishop form:

Bishop Kallamar has many partners, so dates are actually very sparse. He wants all of his consorts to feel loved and cherished so he has a very strict schedule.

He often changes up dates depending on if he believes one of his consorts has been neglected. If he feels he hasn't been giving you enough attention he takes you around to different storefronts, encouraging you to get whatever you'd like. Sugar daddy behavior in that he'd buy you countless of the most expensive items for whatever hobby you choose. You're a painter? The finest paints and the best canvas for you. Seamstress? Only the richest and most vibrant of fabrics for you.

On normal dates he'd take you to a theater. He's big on theater and had quite a few built in his domain. Most of the plays are about him and his accomplishments but he does allow a few others. Most of them are sappy love stories as the guy is a bit of a romantic.

Group dates are also a must! Most group dates are held within the temple and involve dinner or his consorts favorite plays. He will literally start kidnapping people if you wish to see a play.

If you desire something lower key than a play that's fine too! Anchordeep is a beautiful place filled with wonder and he'd be more than happy to guide you through his favorite places.

Follower form:

Kallamar is kind of agoraphobic. He's no longer as powerful as he used to be and is actually very susceptible to disease and illness. Most dates you two will have are spent entirely inside.

He no longer has his other consorts (most of them either abandoned him or believed him to be dead) so dates are far more frequent. He genuinely hates being alone, so you pretty much live with him now.

Creative dates are a must have, whether the two of you are drawing or crafting or painting, he likes to keep his hands and tentacles busy with things of beauty.

If you're comfortable with it you often become the model for him. He's so happy when you agree and hes even happier when he manages to capture your beauty.

The walls are filled with images of you two together.

If you manage to get him out of his shelter then one of his favorite things to do is spend time in the river. He misses Anchordeep and the water, so taking him swimming is a must.

On his bad days its best to just spend time in bed. Nothing he creates turns out right and the outside world is terrifying. Just curl up with him and whisper sweet nothings to him, that's all he asks of you.

Shamura

Bishop form:

Shamura is, unfortunately, very forgetful nowadays. It's best to write down when your dates are and put them in noticeable spots for them to see.

Dates with them are often spent in their personal library, the two of you cuddled up in a silk hammock reading quietly. Whenever you request something they send a cultist or a servant to get whatever you wish just so you don't have to leave the comfort.

Other times dates are spent watching fight pits. Shamura allows you to decide if the loser lives or dies. Their fates are entirely within your hands.

Dates around Silk Cradle are rarer for Shamura, as they are forgetful and don't want to accidentally abandon you to the dangers outside. When they do take you out, its often with an accompaniment. Their most trusted followers who, should Shamura have an episode and leave abruptly, can guide you back to the temple safely.

Follower form:

Just like with bishop Shamura, you need to remind them of dates. Unlike with bishop Shamura, however, they don't have as many responsibilities. Meaning that the notes they have to sort through are fewer and they have a better chance at noticing and remembering.

Dates are kept close to the camp, the risk of Shamura having an episode and wandering off are too great, so it's best to stick around a place where they have reminders of their new life. You manage to get a library built in camp for them though, so most dates are spent the same way as with the bishop form.

On bad days, you don't really have dates. Bad days involve massive amounts of panic, they barely remember who you are or where they are, so the day is spent calming them down and going through some exercises to help them.

They always feel immense guilt over these days, so the dates afterwards are spent showering them in affection and attention.

Narinder

(No bishop form because my man was locked away for like. 1000+ years who knows what changed in the world since he was locked away. Instead imagine constantly dying just so the devil can go "heyyyyy lets go on a date in hell" but hell is an empty foggy void and his two kids are staring at you autisticly.)

Follower form:

Dates with Narinder often involve exploring. He was locked away for so long and finally gets a second chance and he's going to take advantage of it.

He refuses to hold your hand until you're further away from people, and then he latches on and refuses to let go. He's already dealt with so much loss in life, he's not willing to lose his partner even if its just a walk through the Lambs territory.

Loves exploring destroyed villages with you, though he denies it as soon as your back is turned he's burying the skeletal remains of villagers to give them a proper farewell from the world. He may not be the god of death any longer, but the will remains.

Pays his respects to every grave he sees, at least until you turn around and look at him and he's suddenly 4 feet from the grave terrorizing a small bug.

He HATES pda, but alone in the woods with you he'll start to get affectionate. Secretly loves holding your hand and pressing kisses to your face. Nuzzling is a must for this cat as well.

The rare few times you've had a date closer to camp it's spent sun bathing. Just laying on the grass being warmed by the firey star.

The date is over as soon as somebody else notices you two and he's sprinting away.

#cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl #cotl leshy #cotl heket #cotl kallamar #cotl shamura #cotl narinder #x reader #OKAY IT WAS LONGER THAN I THOUGTH It'D BE

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tsunosagun · 10 months ago

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false prophet

closeup and wolfwood Thoughts™ under the cut

i have many thoughts on wolfwood and duality.. the caption was inspired by the bible verse that originated the idea of "wolf in sheep's clothing", and this is one side to him- the judas character. but when he joins vash's side he becomes a different kind of false prophet by betraying the eye of michael

as for the wolf/sheep part, i think the idea of ww as a wolf is a valid one in Some ways, but mostly in that i think its how he sees himself/how he thinks he should be- the hunter, the lone wolf- with the irony ofc being that wolves are pack animals. and so are sheep! the lamb as innocence, the lost lamb, the lamb brought back by the shepherd, the lamb led to slaughter- all his life, he is the lamb. all this to say i feel like wolfwood is the complete opposite of the verse, which is what inspired this drawing- sheep in wolf's clothing

#trigun #trigun stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #tsunosagun art #i have no idea if this is coherent lol but yea.. wolfwood..... AUGH..

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ghoulsbounty · 6 months ago

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hi i heavily request something where the reader and the ghoul(cooper) are travelling together and it’s night time, they’re outside trying to get some sleep. the reader is sleeping beside cooper but they get cold and they subconsciously move towards him and grab him, laying on his chest. HOW WOULD HE REACT? 🫶

Until Tomorrow

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Bounty!Reader

Warnings: sliiiiight mentions of smut (18+), alluding to masturbation, a bit of angst, mentions of canon-typical violence/torture, control, small mention of barb if you squint, mention of sex work (not reader), Cooper is mean.

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: This is just a little ficlet that I've left open ended in case anyone would like a part two. I didn't want to go full-guns blazing into a smut fic since you didn't specify, but I am more than willing to do so, Anon 🫡 I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

👉Read part two HERE👈

"What are you up to?" the Ghoul's voice pierced the eerie night, sharp and accusing. The darkness shrouded the makeshift camp, the bitter wind cutting through with relentless force. His eyes narrowed as he watched you approach, tension thick between you.

You dropped to your knees, wrists sore from the tight bindings he had reluctantly removed. The sand greeted you with a thud as you settled beside him, maintaining a cautious distance. You needed warmth, but you couldn't get complacent with your captor.

"It's freezing," you stated matter-of-factly, shifting against the sand to carve out a somewhat comfortable spot, however impossible. "You let the fire die."

The Ghoul glanced towards the extinguished campfire, a thin wisp of smoke rising lazily into the frigid night sky. The remnants of charred wood and ash lay scattered around it, the faint scent clinging to his clothes as he reclined against the dunes.

"I can start it up again," he offered, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "If you fancy being deathclaw chow."

Your gaze widened as you glanced into the expanding darkness, the absence of the fire amplifying the encroaching shadows. Terrifying howls and snarls reverberated from the depths, prompting a chilling question: were the creatures lurking out there truly more fearsome than the man holding you captive? The notion of a swift demise by claws and teeth seemed almost preferable to the prolonged torment of captivity. While the Ghoul might not be the one to end your life, delivering you to the cartel as he had pledged would render him just as culpable. In that sense, he might as well be the one to pull the trigger himself.

After your first escape attempt, the Ghoul's demeanour turned even harsher, though the dehydration was a greater torture than any physical aggression. He justified his restraint, explaining that he refrained from inflicting worse harm only because you were required in perfect condition, and he took pride in fulfilling his bounties meticulously. However, his rationale did little to mitigate his rough treatment. To him, a few small bruises and the sting of restraints were acceptable, especially considering your spirited defiance.

But in the span of a few weeks, that defiance began to wane, and resignation crept in. You felt like a sacrificial lamb, resigned to its fate, being led to the inevitable slaughter.

"I'll take that as a no," he remarked, snapping you out of your reverie as he shifted beside you. Even he seemed affected by the cold, evident from how he huddled in his duster, arms crossed tightly over his chest in an attempt to retain warmth. You couldn't help but envy his layers, wishing for more of your own as you wrapped you arms around your torso.

You maintained silence, willing yourself to sleep as you turned away from him. Any further interaction felt uncomfortably intimate.

Cooper listened to the sound of your ragged breaths battling against the cold, your body trembling beside him. The wind was particularly brutal, the kind he would normally seek refuge from in an abandoned building. However, your sluggish pace throughout the day had resulted in him setting up camp in the exposed wasteland, devoid of shelter or respite from the elements. Your punishment, he had said, for dragging your feet.

He could endure it; he had endured it countless times before and would do so again. But for you, he wasn't so sure. Despite your initial bite, you had turned into a meek little thing in the palm of his hand. A small, niggling part of him wondered if he had been too harsh, but survival instincts dictated otherwise. When an animal showed its teeth, you put it down—figuratively speaking, of course, he couldn't risk losing his bounty caps.

This new approach seemed to have worked with you, perhaps a bit too well.

As you shifted beside him, turning to face him with closed eyes, Cooper felt like prey ensnared in the hunter's grasp, awaiting the next move. An uneasy panic gripped him at the sudden feeling of helplessness, but he willed his breath to steady. You released a deep sigh as you pressed your body against his side, and he stiffened at the unexpected closeness. Your arm draped across his abdomen, and a leg hitched and hooked around his thigh.

Cooper was nearly ready to question your apparent lack of brains when he noticed your breathing, deep and steady. His words died in his throat as he felt your arm tighten around him, drawing him closer to you like an anchor. It wasn't a conscious decision to seek him out; rather, a subconscious response to the biting cold, he reasoned. Yet, it did little to ease his discomfort as the warmth from your thighs spread over him, seeping into his core and igniting a sensation he hadn't yet entertained with you.

He found himself mesmerized, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, his gaze drifting to your parted lips as you released another sigh. Your nose pressed against his shoulder, and he could swear he felt the warmth of your breath through the layers of fabric, igniting the burnt skin beneath.

This wasn't real, not to you, and certainly not to him. By morning, he would carefully remove himself from your embrace, restoring the intended distance your unconscious mind had breached. You would remain oblivious, and only Cooper would bear the weight of knowing how his muscles longed to reach out to you, to touch you without the shadows of anger and conflict looming over them. He cursed the memory from a distant life that surfaced in his mind—a loving touch beneath soft sheets, a foolish adoration for a lover turned stranger.

His fingers twitched, restrained by the firm crossing of his arms over his chest. If he could just maintain this position, he could endure the night. If he could ignore the sensation of your leg tightening around his thigh, your knee brushing against his growing arousal, he could make it through. He chastised himself inwardly for his weakness. He should push you away, keep you bound and isolated from him, be indifferent to whatever dangers might befall you because it would have been your own fault. But Cooper needed those caps. If he could just survive the remainder of this journey with you and keep his sanity intact, he promised himself a visit to the next inn, where he could seek solace in the comforting touch of those who were more than willing to accept a ghoul's money.

Still, he didn't expect anything to compare to the softness of your breasts pressed against his side. Something snapped within him at the sensation, a jolt of electricity coursing through his body. The wild thought crossed his mind that perhaps you were warming to him, not just seeking warmth for yourself. He had broken you, after all, hadn't he? Or at least, he was on his way to doing so. He couldn't help but wonder: if he woke you, would you pull away or press yourself closer?

A foolish thought, but one that haunted him nonetheless.

He lay in silence, listening to the rhythm of your breath as he stared up at the stars. Waking you wasn't an option; he wouldn't risk the inevitable panic and distress of you finding yourself half-straddling the monster who had stolen your freedom. He would let you sleep, indulging in the fantasy that you felt something other than contempt for him as he waited for the sun to rise. Until then, he justified to himself as his hand slipped from its restraint under his arm and found the buckle of his belt, it would be a shame for a solitary man not to indulge.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout prime #fallout fanfiction #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout x reader #fic request

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