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archives-of-a-hidden-writer · 1 month ago

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Indulgence

Christian Yu / DPR Ian x GN!Reader

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》[Entry No.001 - Indulgence]|

》Loading Archive Entry "Indulgence"|

》Location of Entry: Archivial's |

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》 Summary: You shouldn't have done this. You knew that, even before the situation before you... You shouldn't even have opened the door in the first place.|

》 Warnings: Injuries, Toxic Relations(Past), break-ups(Past), Almost Caught(sfw), non idol!Christian Yu, Abrupt Ending |

》 Archive Entry Loaded ◇

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You shouldn't have done this. You knew that, even before the situation before you... You shouldn't even have opened the door in the first place.

It was late at night, where the moon was at its peak. You were downstairs in your home, or you and your parents' home to be specific, and you were just getting yourself a drink after crying to yourself for the past few nights at the kitchen when you heard a knock at your door.

The knock surprised you slightly. Who would be knocking at the door in the middle of the damn night?

Yet despite that, you went ahead and checked who it was. You almost dropped the glass of water you held as you creaked the door slightly open.

Christian fucking Yu, in front of your home entrance, breathing heavily and is seemingly almost out of it as he was covered in bruises and injuries, shirt and coat splattered with a bit of blood(you didn't even try finding out if it was his or another's). He was clutching his side, an indication of a horrible wound he had.

"I had no where to go to... Please, can I stay for the night?" Christian asked, a sense of vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

As he asked this, you were still as surprised, "... What...?" Was all you can mutter out, the glass in your hand close to slipping before you swiftly caught it with the other on the bottom. But you still remained staring at the man in front of you, now you know as your ex-boyfriend...

Months prior, you and Christian broke up over a heated and layered argument. Christian was neglecting his health, and you, over his 'work'. He never truly told you his line of work, but from how many times you had to clean and patch his wounds and injuries up every time he comes home, you had already pieced what work he might have, which also helped bloom the flower of worry which led to the break-up.

But it wasn't just himself he was neglecting, but also you. Once again, prioritising his work over his lover, you.

Despite you being patient enough about it, it soon got to you when one of his friends 'accidentally' sent you a picture of them, including Christian, in a club partying away when Christian deliberately said he was busy hours prior.

And after that, months went by without the two of you conversing. Well, maybe it was one-sided as you ignored and pushed aside any message or calls he tried sending to you during those times.

Things went somewhere after that minus the days and nights you cried at the remembrance of the man.

And now, after so long of ignorance and suffering from both sides, the two of you reconciled in one of the worst possible waus to ever exist.

"Please..." Christian begged, clutching his side as he does so, the red stain covering both the surrounding cloth of his shirt and his hand.

Without thinking straight and maybe out of familiarity, you let him in, immediately sending him to go upstairs to my room quietly as my parents are sound asleep in their room. You placed the now empty glass back at the kitchen sink before following Christian to my room to patch his wounds. All this occurred while an inner turmoil slowly forms in yourself. Should you really do this? To the man that hurt and made you suffer? Should you do this? You shouldn't have let him in.

Multiple things appear in your head, but you shook your head, ignoring all of them as you see Christian sitting in your bed, head hung low. He looked like a kicked puppy or an injured puppy at that. You quickly let go of the thought and went inside the bathroom, motioning and helping Christian to get inside the bathroom.

As he got in, you helped him sit(or lean) onto the vanity as you got the first aid kit in the mirror cabinet. "Lift your shirt up..." You said, sounding colder than intended, to which Christian slightly winced and flinched at the sound.

Slowly, he lifted his shirt to show the wound, showing the number of injuries he really had. Scratches, bruising, all of it adorning his torso, the wound at his side speaking the most out of all of them.

"... It's not that bad..." Christian mumbled, subconsciously earning a scoff from you, "But it's something that made you knock your ex's door..." You retorted. Christian winced at the mention of 'exes' in your situation, but you didn't notice as he ended up huffing at your retort, looking away as you started cleaning his wounds.

The work was silent. You cleaned and patched him up as he winced and moved once in a while as you did your thing, but every once in a whole, Christian would sneak glances towards you.

To him, you hadn't changed one bit. Well, that was a lie as he could definitely tell the slight sunked of your cheeks, your eyebags being more evident but also the slight red puffy eyes indicating you just had a hard crying session at least a few minutes or an hour ago. Christian felt himself being eaten up by guilt at the sight. He noticed everything about you. How could he not? He loved everything about you, before and even now... He still loved you.

He wished he had done better, better towards himself and you, specifically on you. You had been there for him, and even now, even after what had happened, you still continued to care, even if you hid it under the thick lining of ice that covered it and your heart.

"... There..." you muttered as you finished up patching his wounds, allowing him to bring his shirt back down.

Christian muttered a small "thanks" as he lowered his shirt. It was weak, close to a whisper. He then earned a hum from you as you then started to clean up, throwing away all the used materials.

As this all occurs, Christian can only watch with shame and guilt. Of course, he would be guilty. He was the one thag caused the break-up, the mental pain and suffering that was brought to the two of you. He believed he deserved it, the pain and all, but he believed you didn't deserve it. You were there at his ups and lows, after all. You were nothing but loving and kind to him, and he took it for granted.

After that, you thought that there's no way he would be able to easily get home to wherever in that state, you decided to actually let him stay for the night.

"Sleep on my bed..." You said, more like a command rather than a suggestion, taking the two bean bags you had(one that was once Christian's that you always forget to put away after the break-up) and placing them on each other, making a makeshift bed as you took one of the pillows and an extra blanket to sleep with. Christian noticed what you were doing and immediately protested.

The two of you went at each other, just like before, but it was stopped by the sounds of footsteps in the hallway outside your room.

"Hun', are you awake? I heard something," your mother called from the hallway. You immediately stopped what you were doing and approached the door, creaking it open so that your mother wouldn't possibly notice Christian.

As the two of you talked, Christian remained silent. You were really covering his back right now from your mom, your mother, just because he shouldn't be here after what he had done, this caused the flower of guilt to bloom even further within him.

Once done with your conversation with your mom, you listened to the descent sound of her footsteps before sighing. She almost caught Christian being in your room.

Looking back at Christian, who now finally decided to sleep on your bed, you sighed, the inner turmoil slowly crept in again. Was this worth it? Should you really be doing this? But you can't back out now as you went to the bean bags and laid down. Going to sleep before Christian called your name.

He called your name, "... Can we talk...?" He asked, his head turning over to you as he asked. "Just go to sleep, Christian..." you replied, not in the current when you should be actually talking about it. "Can I ask you a question?" He asked, earning a soft groan frim you, "Go to sleep, Christian..."

"Are you... Truly over me...?" Christian asked. That question made you open your eyes, the sleep you once had faded out at that one specific question, yet you did not answer. Christian silently waited for your answer, but he was already taking your silence as an answer. "Are you...?" Is all you managed to say, asking him the same question as in all honesty, you didn't know either.

There was a pause of silence before Christian answered, "... No..." he said, now looking away from you.

That answer surprised you somehow, hah, after months, he's still wasn't over me. You muttered out something incoherent before just deciding to sleep for the night, your gaze were somewhere but on him, something he wished you'd do, look at him, even just once, but he deep to himself he doesn't deserved it.

Yet even when he knew he felt like he didn't deserve this, he still kept trying and trying for you.

Because he loved you.

They loved you.

But do you still feel the same way for him?

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Archiver's note: Abrupt ending, I know. Maybe in the future, I'll archive another part of this entry.

#🔷️Archives #christian yu #christian yu x reader #dpr ian #dpr ian x reader #yu barom #mito

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eureka-its-zico · 2 years ago

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Kiss Me and My Bones Turn to Ash

Synopsis: You get introduced to Mito in the worst way possible.

A/N: I love AU’s like this. This was a long time coming, but finely, this WIP is seeing the light of day after some long months. I tried to make it 5k words or less, but apparently, 7.3k is the smallest I can do. I hope DPR fans (and even nonfans) enjoy this little one-shot of mine. As always, much love, Jenn

Pairing: DPR IAN x Reader

Genre: Demon!Mito, Demon AU,

Word count: 7368

Warnings: dark themes, sacrificial themes, light BDSM, smut, blood, light gore mentioned, there is some dirty shit in here y’all. Mentions of drug-use

Your throat was raw and your skin ached.

Raw from screaming and attempting to struggle out of the many hands that gripped your arms and legs. Your one last shot at freedom echoing between cypress trees and an endless midnight sky. Multiple hands stripped away every last shred of dignity from your body until there was nothing left but tears that flowed freely down makeup smeared cheeks down to naked skin.

You were defenseless as these intrusive hands came by the dozens - yanking and pulling you down dirt paths deeper inside the forest.

It didn’t matter how your voice rose in a crescendo of despair; the fear worming its way deeper inside your gut. The small hope you’d held onto that someone - anyone - would save you died the minute your bloodied back met cool stone.

You continued to give them a fight as they spread you like a star across the midnight stone of their altar. You wouldn’t make it easy for them. While they treated you like something disposable, you knew your life meant something to you with all the moments you’d never see flashing wildly behind frantic eyes.

It wasn’t until the ropes cut painfully deep into the skin of your ankles and wrists that you felt the last grain of hope die in your chest. The prayers to whoever was listening, cracking one last time and washing out to silence as a wolf howled somewhere off in the distance.

No one was listening to the sounds of your prayers - or so you thought. It wasn’t until later you’d learned he’d been walking beside you, as they dragged you through dirt and rocks that cut into your skin. He watched and listened as you thrashed and cursed them with your own hatred bubbling molten hot beneath muscles and bone.

He watched and waited for the perfect time to peel free from the shadows and find his new home inside you.

Cloaked men came together to form a tight circle around the altar. Their arms raised up along with their voices in a deep chant that you swore made even the branches on the trees tremble. Was it Latin? Aramaic? The only ones who knew were the voices of the men and whatever god they were praying to.

You were trying to catch a glimpse around the edge of the hood of someone’s clock - was that Devin from microbiology? - when a knife started to carve shallow lines across your stomach.

A fresh wave of screams rose from your throat. The sound was lost inside the ominous chanting of men with hidden faces and the night. You knew your thrashing was pointless. You weren’t miraculously going to develop superhuman powers and Hulk your way free from your restraints.

So, with each descending cut down your abdomen you snarled, “Fuck you!” In their direction. Your fear was bleeding away into something carnal - something worthy of savagery. No longer did you want them to see you weeping for a God to save you. If you were dying, it would be with defiance in your eyes and skin in your teeth.

Another seething retort was flaring to life on your tongue when you noticed him, and that was when your world completely shifted.

You had to be hallucinating him. A sadistic trick of your own mind to find comfort in…what? He didn’t seem real. He couldn’t be. But there he was. Over the shoulders of these hooded men, at the backdrop of the forest, he paced around them. His eyes pitiless and empty except for what looked like a blue spark of flame. His thumb traced the bottom of a pouty lower lip with the top of his Cupid bow curling into something sinister. You were watching him - you’d seen him and for some reason it brought him joy. He seemed amused, whoever he was, and that amusement sent that blue spark into a flame that lit up the entire iris of his eyes.

He was handsome. The kind of handsome Roman sculptors looked for as a muse when carving into marble. You were willing to bet that there were dozens of odes and poems written just about him. Dark long hair framed his features and somehow made the pout of his lips more exaggerated. The edges touched the collar of his black trench coat that framed wide shoulders. Shoulders that spoke volumes of muscles that rippled with power and seduction: that left thousands begging for forgiveness for following any that wasn’t him. His jawline was razor sharp and the bones of his cheeks raised high. A part of you wanted to call him Apollo, but deep down you knew if he was a God he could only have one name.

Hades.

The chanting came to an end and with it the carving. You didn’t want to turn away from him - your lord of the underworld - but your curiosity took hold. You wanted to see what these bastards had done.

You didn’t yell or scream when you saw the drizzles of blood that ran like heavy syrup down your sides. The crudely cut shape of a pentagram carved into the soft flesh of your abdomen.

He could’ve done better.

It felt fucked up to think that way but you were all out of tears and if you were going to die you at least wanted it to look better than resembling a carved-up Christmas ham. The enter situation began fucked up from the minute you woke up inside a cell and only worsened with each passing hour. If only you hadn’t accepted that stupid invitation maybe then you’d be home in your room eating discounted Oreos and on to your next Netflix binge.

The regret built thick and thicker on your tongue until it made it impossible to swallow past the growing rage. Or maybe your throat was just raw from all the unanswered pleading you’d done - you were done crying. If you were going to die you refused to let it happen with fresh tears in your eyes.

You took in a heavy breath and let yourself grow rigid - hard and hollow - ready to curse them and show them your defiance. It didn’t matter if it was a pitiful last attempt at acting like you had any semblance of control. You weren’t going down begging.

“Fuck-“

You. That’s how it should’ve finished.

Instead, one of the hooded assholes - Jisoon from economics, it looked like - let out a gasp. If you were under better circumstances, you would’ve made fun of him.

“It’s you! Oh, my lord!”

His body collapsed down to his knees. His arms out in front of him in what he must have thought resembled reverence. In actuality, he looked more like he was afraid.

Groups of hooded heads turned to see what made their brother fall to his knees. Your own head included. You weren’t entirely sure why you needed to look. You knew he was there.

You’d felt him long before your eyes ever gazed upon him.

He manifested from darkness. The shadows cast down by the moonlight from trees, bushes, and rock slithered to create his form and once he was made he stepped out into the clearing. The second the group of eyes fell on his darkened figure they followed down on their knees. Their faces buried in the dirt where their praises fell from their lips to the soil.

“What are you praising? The dirt? Fuckin’ idiots,” you snarled.

If you’re going to worship something - someone - you look it in the eyes. Let them feel your devotion like a plague.

One of them looked at you then. His hatred was evident on his face. If he could, you were sure he would’ve spit on you. If you could, you would’ve strangled him with the rope he left you to die in.

“Dark lord - foul one - we bring you the offering that you have desired.”

Besides the long dark coat he wore underneath was a graphic shirt that reminded you of a Rorschach painting. Black designs flooded the white material until it took on different shapes. It was tucked inside black denim that hugged his thighs and dove inside black combat boots.

If he really was a demon he was not only the most ridiculously good-looking one out there, but self-consciously stylish.

Your head dropped back against the stone. Your wrists and ankles are still tightly spread and trapped by the ropes that hold you bound in place. You want to keep looking at him. The desire to look at him was overwhelming, but your body was too weak to fight the exhaustion of holding yourself up.

He walked calmly into the circle they created with you at the center. His eyes took you in and you swore you could feel the trail they took along your body. You felt a need so violent suddenly flash under your skin your wrists jerked against the rope. A whimper of urgency to plead with him to touch you almost escaped your lips, but you caught it and swallowed it back down.

A sexy smirk played across his lips. As if the son of a bitch knew what he almost made you do in a sacrificial circle with you as the main star.

Fresh anger brewed in your stomach and you were ready to spit it out at his feet when you blinked and he was just there. His hand clasped tight to your cheeks in warning as his obsidian eyes of flame met yours.

“I wouldn’t do that, little lamb.”

You would have told him to shove it if he wasn’t holding on to your face so painfully tight.

“Is this all you brought me?”

Well, that was fucking rude.

“Lord Mito- “

One of the hooded assholes from earlier began to rise from his knees. This guy makes himself the preverbal leader of this merry band of idiots. He was on his way up from a one-knee position when Mito stopped him. His only other free hand halted him in place.

At first, you thought it was nothing more than a gesture. He was staying still because his master instructed him to do so. It didn’t hit you that it could’ve been something else until you noticed his pale complexion begin to darken to crimson. The other hooded assholes now looking around in uncertainty and - something you truly enjoyed - fear.

“You come to me - like your parents - to make deals for your Ivy League tuitions with riches and recognition and you come bearing fruit from only one tree. You ungrateful roaches.”

With each word he spoke the boys began to writhe on the ground. Their identities exposed to you the way they’d exposed you to their treachery - naked and alone - to a demon for slaughter just so they wouldn’t need to try hard at life. Some of them you’d thought were your friends.

“We have more! We can get you more!”

“There are tons of these drunk bitches back at the house.”

More drugged women they meant. More women like you who were dumb enough to take their betrayal as friendship. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted revenge. It stoked the dying fire of rage that was left in your gut and made it new.

For a moment, you blinked, and your entire world evaporated into darkness. A part of you screamed as you tore your face free from his hands to stay put - to be a good girl.

What had being a good girl ever got you but sacrificing yourself until you end up on some fucked up altar in the woods.

You were surprised when Mito didn’t turn his grip tighter to hold you in place. He didn’t try to keep you in place and was willing to let you go. Your defiant eyes staring up into his that flashed with mirth.

“I have a better offer for you.”

Your voice was hoarse. Hours of begging for your life will do that to you. Now it felt like its own premonition. Maybe to begin again all of what held you back needed to be stripped away in fire and blood to show you what you were capable of becoming.

“Shut up, you whore.”

It was Carl - sweet coffee shop Carl - who lashed out at you then. His words full of a frantic need to keep you quiet. Mito’s head tilted in his direction giving Carl only a sideways glance before a hand moved into view. His middle and ring finger making a swift motion up sending Carl up into the air.

When Mito spoke the rich baritone of his voice grew darker. The night itself shifted back as if whatever words he hummed in Latin were more terrifying than what resided inside it. You watched as Carl tried to scream as his body contorted in an ungodly way. Blood pulled from the corners of his mouth and eyes with unspoken words gargling out his agony.

“I don’t expect any further interruptions, children” Mito snarled with Carl dropping in a twisted - and very dead - heap on the forest floor. “I smell a deal coming. Please, little lamb, continue.”

Your tongue flicked across your cracked lips. Your hesitancy dying off as soon as you watched his hungry eyes follow their movement.

“I offer you them.”

A crescendo of yelling rose as a wave around you. The men who sought to end your life with brutality did not seem to enjoy losing their lives the same way. How funny.

Mito made a swift turning motion with his hand and pulled it close to his chest. In the span of the same heartbeat it took to do it all the screaming stopped. He’d stripped them of their voice.

“If I wanted them I would have them.”

You shook your head hard once to deflect his claim.

“That’s not true. If that was the case, they would already be dead. Especially Carl. You’re stuck in some weird servitude thing. I bet you can’t even leave this area.” An unnatural cold wind rushed over your skin. It involuntarily caused your hands to grab at your bindings as a shiver ran across your body igniting it in goosebumps. “I can offer you all of them. All twelve of them along with my servitude and the release to feed freely as you wish until I’m dead.”

Everything appeared to grow still as his eyes searched your face. Was that excitement in his eyes? You couldn’t tell at first but realized the growing flames that seemed to leap up endlessly past his iris wasn’t because of anger. It was the thought of new prospects. A freedom to feed in a way he’d been denied after however long he’d been summoned.

Mito began to slowly lean down towards your face and you struggled not to turn away. The fire in his eyes created the illusion that you were falling further into hell and, maybe you were. Strangely enough - for him - you were willing to burn.

“You’ve got a deal, little lamb,” he breathed across your lips just before he crushed his mouth against yours.

You shouldn’t have thought of it as a kiss. It was visceral - every part of you fought against your ropes, digging the thread deeper into your flesh just to feel his pouty lips envelope over yours. The tip of his tongue moved across your lower lip, asking for entrance, and you gladly gave it.

You opened to him without hesitation and Mito deepened the kiss. He used his tongue to open you up further; cracking your lips and smearing it against his own. At the first hint of copper on your tongue Mito let out a moan that made you strain against your bindings. The sound was pure sin. It was the promise of pleasure and pain - of being torn apart and made anew.

When he tore his mouth away from you in a snarl, you almost screamed out in frustration, but the twelve hooded assholes who you’d offered up did it for you.

You couldn’t see all that well what was happening in the clearing around you. The sounds of screaming resonated back inside the night sky once more, but this time it no longer was yours. You listened as some ended abruptly while others gurgled around throats full of blood just before their end. The sound of flesh and thicker things landing with a plop on the dirt made your stomach flip. Splashes of blood rained down on you and you squeezed your eyes shut tight.

It felt like an eternity before the screaming stopped abruptly after the sound of a boot crunching the bones of someone’s neck. You could hear the wind move across the leaves and scatter them over objects - maybe bodies, maybe rocks - and branches. It became so eerily quiet that you wondered if the whole thing had been a dark part of your imagination.

Maybe you’d open your eyes and find yourself back inside the party. Your friend handing you a warm beer as you danced to a remix of some song that you didn’t know half the words too. It was a good thought - a great one, actually - but one you knew wasn’t going to be true.

When you opened your eyes a hurricane of emotion billowed up in your chest and threatened to release from your lips. Mito was floating above you, his eyes completely consumed with the flames that earlier had only shown like dying embers. Now, the fires were completely stoked by the souls of the corpses littered around you.

A devilish smile showcasing perfectly white teeth raised his lips as he watched you swallow down your fear. You could’ve sworn they all looked very sharp and pointy, but just like his eyes you watched as they all but disappeared. The only thing left to show for what had happened was a naked torso covered in tattoos and streaked with blood.

“Are you afraid?”

You licked your lips as you tried to think of how to answer and watched as hungry eyes followed the movement once more.

“It depends on what you mean by afraid,” you answered him softly. “Am I afraid of being in your debt? No. Am I afraid of you? Yes.”

His finger dragged along your cheek and followed the curve of your face. You thought he would stop there and gasped as he traced it further down to your throat, over your chest, and to the curve of your breast.

“You’re smart to be afraid of me,” he replied huskily. His body was no longer floating above you but was now being held up by his own weight. “But I promise to take good care of you, little lamb as long as you promise to do the same for me in return.”

His head dipped to the curve of your neck to press a soft kiss just below your ear. The intimacy of the gesture wasn’t something you’d prepared for. You’d expected him to be brutal; to take without remorse. Instead, Mito pressed his lips softly against your skin as if to tell it a secret.

It didn’t seem possible, but as his lips glided down your throat and to the hollow of your collarbone an ache began to grow hot and molten in your blood. He placed one last kiss between your breasts before his tongue dragged a hot line down close to the carved flesh of your stomach.

You were aware of his hand as it crept up your thigh. Mito made sure he took his time with every inch his fingers took - tracing over the dips in your hip and over the mound of your pussy. Constantly he teased you - getting close and pulling away - and never let you have an inch of relief.

A whimper was rising in your chest. Your hands no longer docile as they struggled to loosen the hold of the ropes at your wrists just so you could lace your fingers roughly in his hair. Mito’s tongue ran over the top point of the pentagram causing a hiss of surprised pain to rush past your lips. You wanted to move away from his wandering tongue as it continued to explore the open wound, but a strong hand held you in place.

Mito worked his mouth over the botched grooves of your stomach - cleaning up the last remnants of your fucked up night. A growl was growing louder deep within his chest, humming against your skin, just before he shoved his tongue brutally into the open wound.

The pain tore the air from your lungs. The scream you would’ve unleashed was stolen by silence and two thick fingers pushing themselves past your folds until they were knuckle deep inside you.

You wish you could say that your body fought him - your thighs had clenched shut around his arm or your hips made it impossible for him to enter you. That he didn’t find your pussy dripping and eager for him. None of that would be true, however.

Your body accepted him like a zealot to a newfound religion, and his fingers pushing past your folds to fuck you had your hips rising up to meet him with devotion.

“Please,” you hummed.

You didn’t care that you were begging. You were ready to shout for him to go further - deeper - when he inserted a third finger. The feeling of your pussy stretching followed by the overwhelming sense of fullness caused you to buck against the rock. The movement forced your stomach up into his hungry mouth causing his tongue to go deeper into the cut.

The stinging sensation should’ve been enough to bring you back to your senses - a warning that this was fucked; you shouldn’t be enjoying this - but Mito made your body crave his pleasure through brutality.

His wrist began to pump his fingers in deep, curling and stretching you until you came impossibly undone. Every time he pulled back - his fingers entering you anew - he went impossibly deeper. His fingers curl enough to hold the breath in your lungs and tear it free when his thumb curved up and pressed down on your clit.

A wet squelching noise began to rise up around you. It was lewd - complete filth that mixed itself together with the sloppy sounds of his mouth hungrily cleaning up the dried blood surrounding the pentagram. Your cheeks would usually burn red hot with embarrassment at the sounds being made, but when Mito’s thumb began to apply pressure as his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, fingers still fucking you, you couldn’t find a reason to care.

With a thick pop, Mito removed his mouth from your wound. Fresh blood - your blood - outlined his puffy lips. He made no move to go back to your chest or do anything. His fire filled eyes did not stop from watching as you writhed beneath him.

“Tell me: I want you to tell me to whom you belong.”

His voice was sin. It was sex - something ancient and primal that blossomed inside you like blood on a white shirt. It made your body needy as his thumb stroked in time with his fingers as they pushed inside your cunt.

“You - fucc it’s you.”

“You’ll do what I ask of you. No questions asked.”

His curled fingers touched something deep inside you. Something that clawed a mewling sound out from between your lips and made your body struggle anew against your restraints. You knew Mito wanted an answer. The irritation was creasing that pretty brow of his and making his hairline drop to greet them.

The same irritation stoked the flame in his eyes from cobalt blue to crimson. Mito thrusted his fingers one last time into you before he removed them. If he was trying to punish you he was too late.

That last thrust - with the hard rub of his thumb against your clit - sent you barreling over the edge. Your orgasm hit you violently and fast and you found yourself wetting the front of his chest.

“Dirty girl,” he huffed. “You got me all wet.”

He moved along your body until you were eye level. Your body was still trembling underneath him when his fingers laced themselves at the base of your scalp and pulled. A yelp leapt out of you as Mito’s free hand took hold of your jaw and held your mouth open.

You watched as he accumulated salvia at the edge of his lips. Your brain barely registered what he was doing until he spit it inside your open - waiting - mouth and forced it closed.

“Swallow.”

The demand was fire. A promise of punishment if you disobeyed. You wish you could’ve said it was disgusting. The taste of blood - your blood - and brimstone staining the inside of your mouth and coating your throat pissed you off. That you fought against him and told him to fuck off. In all actuality, it only made your cunt clench down on nothing.

Once you swallowed it you opened your mouth and flicked your tongue out just to show him you’d been good. Done as he asked. The gesture alone sent a devilish smirk to curl across those pretty lips.

“Good girl. Now let me hear you say it.”

Oh. Right. “I’ll do what you ask of me, Mito. No questions.”

“I expect you to hold up your end of our deal tonight, little lamb.”

“I always keep my promises.”

You were trying to sound cheeky. Instead, it simply came out breathless. Mito was still staring down at you like you held the world he wanted to destroy and fuck if it wasn’t making it hard to think past the growing heat between your legs.

Slowly, Mito lowered himself closer to you and only stopped when his lips hovered a mere inch above yours.

“That remains to be seen.”

The baritone of his voice whispering against your lips sent your body into hyperdrive. You were ready to beg him to fuck you when he dropped the last inch and placed a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth.

The sheer softness of it startled you. Your eyes went wide as he pulled himself off of you and finally your makeshift altar. He was moving around you carefree. His movements slow and careful as he picks up his shirt and jacket out of the viscera and carnage he’d strewn across the fall leaves.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, little lamb.”

This asshole! Now your eyes were wide for another reason. You reached your arms up as high as you could raise them before giving the ropes at your wrist a shake.

“Ugh, hello? Are you just going to leave me like this in the woods?”

Mito stopped at the edge of the clearing and regarded where you were like you were complaining about being in a five-star hotel. His shrug only set a fire to blaze in your blood.

“It did cross my mind.”

“That’s gonna be a huge no for me.”

“You mean, you don’t like being tied naked to a rock in the middle of the woods?” He teased, with an eyebrow cocked.

“Tempting, but no. Not in the slightest.”

“Very well,” he shrugged. “See you soon, little lamb.”

Mito disappeared back inside the darkness he was born from, and you were ready to scream. To threaten to take your deal back when you threw up a middle finger at his exit and realized the rope was gone.

Thank god - whoever - for spooky favors.

You weren’t a smoker - still weren’t - but if offered you took one. From curious bartenders, frat parties with social smokers, and the ever-present sleazy drunks who assumed you must be a whore pressed so close to the shadows of the brick buildings Mito liked to frequent.

The only whore you were was his.

Of course, you were sure the only reason you let the toxic trash touch your lips was the same reason you drank in excess when he was gone. You weren’t entirely sure when you first noticed it. The emptiness you felt at small pleasures you used to enjoy became a distant memory.

When was the last time you truly enjoyed a milkshake? A damn good Lumberjack-style breakfast or a warm cup of coffee? These days it seems you need multiple milkshakes to really taste the sweetness of the cream or the artificial flavoring of candy. You need dozens of pancakes and a mountain of syrup to even begin to feel full.

No. When Mito was gone there was no fulfillment in anything. You were a bottomless pit of wants and craving and the only thing that could ease the burden of that unfashionable emptiness was him.

At first, you didn’t want to believe such a thing could happen, but the more he stayed away the more you felt the black hole of longing begin to brew inside your gut. You wondered if anyone else could see it; the desperate way you tried to fill it. No matter what you tried nothing could ease the ache of nothingness until he reappeared. Your knight in his all-consuming darkness.

When he would simply appear from the shadows or come up quietly from behind you while you sat on a bar stool, his hands covering your eyes and a devious, “Guess who?” cascading down your senses, you felt whole again. Complete. A fucked up missing puzzle piece finally fitting back in its rightful place.

Maybe this is what it meant to be soulless. A hollowed-out version of who you were that only knew relief by the hands of the devil.

You spent weeks since that night at the party - from your little adventure in the forest - before you saw Mito again. When he finally re-emerged for the first time that night with his hands hovering over your eyes you didn’t need to hear the husk of his tone to know it was him.

Your skin had become feverish with a desire so deep it felt like you’d taken a sledgehammer to the gut at just the heat of him pressed against your back. All the life you’d felt slipped out of you day by day, everything you loved and that made you-you suddenly was coming back with blaring clarity.

The second Mito’s warmth retreated from your back, your legs were swinging the bar stool around to follow him. He was moving to sit in the empty stool next to you. His feet barely touched down on the grimy linoleum floor before you were on him.

You secured your arms around his shoulders and, to his apparent surprise, used the momentum of your body rocking into his to pull him towards you. You weren’t giving him a second to speak or deny you any longer. With a hand secured at the nap of his neck, and the other twinning inside the soft silk of his shirt, you crashed his pouty lips down on yours. Your tongue darting to trace a request for him to open up to you.

Mito didn’t make you wait long.

As suddenly as you’d taken hold of him Mito took hold of you - trapped you - in his arms. His kiss devoured you; ate and tasted up every whimpering plea his tongue stroking over yours coaxed from your chest.

You felt alive. You felt whole again.

Every sinew - every nerve of your body crackled with electricity, and as Mito’s hands glided up the back of your thighs you swore you could’ve become a storm.

The both of you had stumbled into the bars’ back bathroom. The door held together by makeshift locks letting you know the entire place heard every moan he’d torn from you as he fucked you. When his cock bottomed out - so incredibly deep - between your folds and left you coming all over the edge of the bathroom sink, you knew that the whole entire bar heard.

Later that night, Mito made two deals with two grimy-looking fucks. They weren’t into specifics of the deals they tried to make, and that was the thing about demons. Specifics. They were wordy bastards - great at mind games and twisting phrases and promises around until it sounded like a sweet deal, but the fine print was always missed. Needless to say, the two men had made their own separate deals that night. Neither one of them made it to see the sunrise.

After that night, Mito allowed you to travel with him. When you made yourself useful and found him unsuspecting souls full of grief and gluttony and, Mito’s personal favorite, rage. He particularly enjoyed the souls that looked sweet on the outside; soft and sincere sounding with their crosses around their necks. Underneath all of that tried-hard smile was something sinister; something Mito claimed to be the sweetest flavor of sin.

You weren’t sure how all of his deals were struck. You were positive the women, and some of the men, probably asked for the deal to be sealed with a kiss. Sex. Not all of them prefer a handshake and words of good faith. One guy, in particular, wanted the deal to be sealed with a little flame, making Mito do a weird magic trick of using his finger like a candle.

Yeah, that was a weird one.

None of them made it past a week. Some - if they were lucky - got a few months.

That’s how you ended up backstage in a band’s dressing room. You’d met the lead singer at a club they’d been performing at. He’d sauntered up to the bar pressing the crotch of his jeans against your ass and tried to play it off like he was just leaning against the bar - waiting for a drink just like you.

The dislike for him was instant.

You allowed yourself to listen to him ramble. His pickup lines were incredibly atrocious. He thought being in a band made him instantly fuckable.

The only way you saw out of your predicament was to play into it and invite him to meet Mito. There were four other members in their group - four other people to come along for the ride. It didn’t take long for you to excuse yourself to their dressing room so Mito could do his whole song and dance.

Show them he’s a demon and did his best not to freak them out. He was out there buttering them up. Five fresh souls for the taking.

Whenever he made a fresh deal Mito liked to fuck. You weren’t sure if it was the excitement of a fresh soul, or a fresh kill when a particularly delicious sinner sat down at his table was too good to pass up (here is where the word games came into play). Whatever it was, he came back to you in such a euphoric high the tattoos that painted his skin writhed like a living thing.

You weren’t complaining, not really. Your only complaint - if you had one - would be on those days when he’d made multiple transactions in a day. You cared very much when your overstimulated body threatened to rip in half as his cock pushed back inside your bruised walls; fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your hips. His teeth leaving impressions in the mounds of your breasts.

There was no doubt in your mind that he was going to come back in one of those highs. He’d warned you to stay put and that taking one foot outside the room meant punishment.

Mito wanted you close and easy to find. You, however, were growing impatient.

You hated how easy it became for him to read you, especially during sex.

There were times you enjoyed playing hard to please and Mito? Well, he enjoyed playing into it just to tear you apart and turn you into a crumbling mess beneath him. It was his way of reminding you that he owned you - mind, body, and soul - and while you continued to play your little games, it was only because he allowed the facade of freedom to dance like little sugar plums around in your head.

But there were moments he stripped those sugar plums from your head.

The first night he’d marked you had been in the dressing room of someone famous. It’d make you nervous to be around them not because of who they were - you would have cared less about their money and a false sense of infamy. No, it made your skin crawl to watch these people negotiate deals with Mito as if they were making a setlist. They were too stupid to realize they needed to read the fine print; to know that fine print was open to change whenever Mito saw fit.

You tried to wait like he’d asked, just like now, but the place made your skin crawl. You’d grabbed your bag and had just made it to the door, your hand on the knob twisting and swinging it open when - like Houdini - Mito was just there.

An itching sensation began to grow between your shoulder blades. One where you couldn’t tell if it was a warning, you just being antsy to flee, or an actual damn itch. Whatever it was, maybe you should’ve listened to the first part, but just the memory of being left alone - again - inside another dressing room left your brain pleading with you to flee.

Mito be damned.

You slid off of the couch and your chunky boots made a resonating thud inside the empty room.

Yup. Time to go.

The second your hand wrapped around the doorknob and pulled the door towards you flashbacks of that night replayed through your head at warp speed.

He didn’t seem surprised at your attempted departure. Instead, with an arm draped against the doorframe, Mito seemed like he was actually waiting for you to open it. A flurry of thought erupted in your head on how you could explain what you were doing - what he was seeing. You could easily tell him you’d sensed his presence at the door and were just trying to make it easier for him to enter. You knew, however, when reflecting obsidian eyes glanced down at your bag clutched tightly in your hands the jig was up.

“And where, little lamb, do you think you were going?”

“Mito I wasn’t-“

“And don’t lie to me,” he continued. His words over saturating yours as if he wasn’t finished talking to begin with.

His body immediately encompassed what small space was left between you, him, and your attempted exit. His pitiless eyes were still staring down at you - waiting for a response - while he closed and secured the door behind him.

You already knew the minute you saw him at the door you weren’t going anywhere. Now that he’d locked you in, sent your pulse racing with excitement or fear you weren’t too sure which was which. Lately, the two seemed to blend together.

He was pushing you back farther into the room; your feet backpedaling into a moment of peace before you knew what would happen.

“I was tired of waiting for you to get back. I was going out for a smoke.”

“I told you to wait here,” he growled.

“And I wanted a smoke.”

You wanted to sound unmoved by the fluorescent gleam of rage billowing up in his eyes. At any minute his left could wash over to the bleak white that promised he was minutes from breaking. The facade of playing a mere mortal man bleeding away until all that stood before you was Death.

You were so hyper-focused on him that you weren’t aware he’d backed you against the built-in makeup counter until your lower back came into painful contact with its edge. Just as a sharp gasp huffed from your lips Mito’s hand struck out - fluid and snake-like - to wrap around your throat. Constricting just enough to remind you it was there.

“Little lamb, I told you what would happen if you didn’t listen.”

He did. He’d told you many times. Mito even embellished his warnings like a tiny little nightmare meant to keep children from adventuring out into the woods.

Don’t go out there children. That’s where the wolf resides and he’ll tear you to bits.

You always were a whore for things with sharp teeth.

“You did, but I can’t help it,” your words gasped around his tightening grip. “You know I love to see if you’re a demon of his word.”

You watched intently as his eyes scanned your face. The Smokey trundles of white that began to billow up inside his left eye as his nostrils flared. A part of you felt victorious. A matching smirk was seconds away from sliding the corner of your lips upward until it was cut short.

Mito released his hold from your neck, his body moving back just enough to allow space for him to turn you around to face the mirror. His hips closed the few inches he’d given while he kicked your feet apart.

“You love being punished so much, don’t you, little lamb. Always testing your limits and one of these days you’re going to push too far.” As he spoke, his words curled at the base of your spine brimming with a threat that sent your heart thundering in your chest. “You’re so gluttonous for my punishment, let's see how you handle this.”

The reflection in the mirror showcased your uncertainty. Your brow creases with the weight of unspoken questions as to what Mito could possibly mean. For a split second, ice-cold fear encapsulated your mind that maybe this was it. Maybe your deal was done and he was finished with you.

That thought was ripped from your mind as Mito pushed your skirt up to your hips and a sharp smack of his hand against your ass brought you back to the present. Looking in the mirror, you could see his right eye was brimming with fire while the other had been completely consumed with white.

He pressed up against you to keep you trapped between his body and the counter. Mito’s eyes watching as you watched him begin to remove his jacket and then the colorful shirt that had lived underneath it.

No matter how many times you’d seen him naked, Mito never ceased to catch the air in your lungs. Your body forgot to register to breathe as you drank in the caramel tone of his skin and the museum of art that now slithered against his flesh. His muscles bunched and flexed as he tossed his clothes aside, and already you could feel the fabric of your underwear become soaked.

He dragged a hand from the base of your spine and slowly moved it up until his hand laced in your hand. His fingers twinning in its strands and pulling back hard enough to tear a scream from you.

With his free hand, he spanked you hard on the same cheek. The sting dulled out the momentary pain you’d felt.

“Tell me. Let me hear you say what you want.”

“I want you.”

Another hard smack against your ass left your hands scrambling for something to hold you up; anything at all. The only thing you logically seemed to find was the mirror itself.

“You know that’s not what I meant, little lamb. I know you want me. You’re soaking my clothes.”

Licking your lips, you caught his gaze in the mirror and held it. Your chest heaving as you struggled to get out the words you knew would ruin you.

“I want you-I want you to fuck me, Mito. My lord. My master.”

You threw in the last for fun. You knew he loved it when you used pet names for him. One that reminded you both of who - what - he truly was.

“As my slave commands.”

You weren’t about to correct him, because you were. You knew without him you were nothing and when he dropped to his knees in front of your cunt with his tongue pushing between your folds, you knew Mito worshiped you too.

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