#residency takes away your soul man

[indestinatus]

at home, eating ice cream and writing 😭 I could cry. relaxing this way makes me forget I'm going to spend christmas without family

[hadesrise]

## murder for you, baby !!

summary──── a justifiable serial killer on the loose, and jason finds himself being enamoured by him.

pairings──── jason todd x dbd!ghostface!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, serial killer themes, dead dove do not eat, sexual arousal in response to violence or torture, murder, blood, deaths, gore, foul language, bottom!jason, top!reader, reader’s physique is described as tall and broad ( the slasher build ), possessiveness, choking, praise kink, blood kink, knife play ( reader carving his initials on jason ), toxic!reader ( ? ), sorta toxic relationship but also not, unprotected sex, love-making, pet names, overstimulation, dumbification, degradation if you squint, lil’ bit of manipulation, creampie, doggy style, mating press, biting, marking, oral ( r. receiving ), voice kink ( ? )

author’s note──── not me coming back with halloween themed fic after halloween days have passed lol. i’m alive, y’all !! hope you enjoy this one that took a fucking month to write 😭

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ; this post may contain disturbing contents that may not be suitable for every reader — a reader discretion is advised. MINORS DNI !!

Gotham’s been terrorized by the worst people you could ever imagine, the kind that’ll stick with you forever and take residence to your nightmares if you were unfortunate enough. Many were hurt or even murdered as a result of the villains’ terrorization, with vigilantes running through the night to capture and send them to Arkham Asylum.

With the existence of a Psychopathic Clown, his equally psychopathic girlfriend with PHD’s that’s been wasted down the line, the Mother Nature freak, the ridiculously huge man with a gas mask on, the green coloured living question mark, and many others, no one would’ve ever thought anything could get any worse.

Until some criminals’ bodies turn up across the streets in such disturbing manner that haunts the witnesses to death.

One, a criminal who murdered young and homeless boys, gutted deeply to the point of their intestines hanging out. Another, a criminal known for kidnapping and selling people’s organs, mutilated with their torso torn back to expose the organs settled inside of them. Another one, a priest-turned-criminal who’s been violating women and children, crucified naked in his own church with his eyes gouged out, a Bible verse carved in his chest; ‘And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.’ Matthew 18:9; his penis cut off and body seemingly violated as well. Another more turns up, a governor-turned-criminal who’s been feeding into the rich despite their oath of generosity towards the poor, severely tortured with the skin on his back cut open, ribs severed from the spine and broken to the sides in order to create the illusion of wings, fluttering lungs pulled out from their chest cavity to resemble an eagle’s wings, with the word ‘traitor’ carved on his forehead.

The brutality and gruesome nature of the murders has set an alarming panic and fear across Gotham City that forced civilians into locking their doors at night. Criminals who were unidentified and not found by Gotham Police Department were also turning up in a form of miserable, tortured soul, along with the evidence and proofs of their crimes being carelessly laid beside their lifeless corpse.

The killer taunts those who are in charge of justice within their city each time the damned were unfortunate enough to be hunted down; pigs of failure written in the criminal’s blood right beside the drawing of a police’s logo.

However, despite how gruesome and disturbing the murders were, most people couldn’t deny that it was doing the city a favor. Justice System has failed more times than one could count to the extent of victims yearning to exact revenge themselves against their perpetrator, which causes most to react rather positively to the wrongful, unlikely hero who had seem to suddenly appear out of nowhere. The haunted finally getting the chance to slay the traumatic demons with the help of another psychopath on the loose.

Another justified monstrosity shouldn’t be the counter against one inhumane monstrosity that caused so much pain, trauma, and misery. But kindness could not vanquish one’s tainted blood. Forgiveness could not suddenly wash away the sins engraved deeply into one’s soul.

Imperfect, the victims muttered. An imperfect yet perfect way to save our burning souls wrongfully condemned by the criminals.

Red Hood has heard their murmurs.

Silent whispers of gratitude that fell on deaf ears, their previously dim soul brightening in relief and sanctuary with smiles on their faces as the Universe had finally took mercy on them and sent a Fallen Angel to slay the Demons away. He’s watched their spirit uplift, no longer chained down by the trauma and fear of the monsters that once ruined their lives, able to walk the streets carefree of tormentors. He’s watched their stiff posture visibly loosen, lively peacefulness settling itself at last within their haunted eyes. He’s watched them glow with happiness not feeling the presence of their perpetrator every couple of seconds, finally capable of living without needing to constantly look over their shoulders in paranoia and fear.

Ghostface is what the serial killer’s called, nickname born out of the mask that resembled a ghost always being left behind in crime scenes, each slightly different.

Jason has seen you. He didn’t mean to, really.

The temptation to get at least one look at you was great every-time he patrolled, wishing to just catch glimpse of an immoral hero who could make sacrifices no actual heroes could — who’s doing exactly what he wished before for Batman to do.

The Universe seems to have granted his wishes when his eyes catches the void of ghostface’s eyes, your mask tainted in splatters of blood from the dead criminal below you. Jason feels his world come to a stop as you slowly rise from crouching position and reveal your unnaturally tall height, broad shoulders visible under the black hooded leather. You hold silence and calmness despite being caught, tilting your head slightly to the side.

His heartbeat quickens yet he doesn’t feel fear. Jason idiotically steps closer as if he was in a trance, burning your existence within his eyes to engrave in his memory. Your bloody knife barely grazes his neck to stop him before using it to tilt his chin up, your figure looming and towering over him while seemingly staring into his eyes through his helmet.

A sense of peacefulness overcomes Jason being in your presence despite the absolute brutality and mercilessness that surrounded your entire being. You were deadly, silent, certainly creative with your work that it deems almost artistic, as if the criminals’ bodies were your own canvas to paint on — and Jason finds solace in you. A man he always needed, someone who’d be willing to cross the line and get rid of the actual evil for the sake of victims that’d be forever haunted if it continues to exist.

“I’ve heard things about you, Red Hood.”

Low, raspy, monotone voice speaks, sending shivers down his spine. It sounds cool and handsome regardless of the obvious use of voice changer, somehow littered with tiniest hint of flirtatiousness.

It takes him quite a while to answer, barely managing to let out a “yeah?” as he feels you drag the knife slightly closer to his pulse. His heartbeat quickens, but slows down when the cold metal was finally pulled away.

“Pleasant things,” You hummed, before your voice lowered a few octaves, “Can’t say the same about Batman.” Anger seems to seep through your tone that felt a little more than just sympathy for victims of villains Batman refused to put six feet under. Jason wondered if you’re also one of the victims his father failed.

“You… You know him that much?” Jason’s voice shakes from the nerve, your presence somehow greatly affecting him.

“I think everyone knows him enough,” You chuckled, but it sounded so empty that Jason can’t help but feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. It was quite chilling to meet someone who shows only a certain amount of emotion which could even be felt expressionless due to the monotonous pitch. The ghostface mask certainly did its job of making you seem more less human, the unmoving expression of ghost being horrified to death adding to the eeriness of your toneless mechanic voice.

Jason’s breath hitched when you took one step closer.

“But I know more about you. Your little past and the sufferings you’ve endured,” It’s spoken as if his life was one of your necessary investigation in your twisted justice. “It’s unfair, don’t you think? I would’ve gutted the Joker like a fish if it were to happen to my son.” There’s a condescending way in which you spoke, not directed at Jason but to Bruce.

“How—” Jason swallowed. “How did you—”

“I can make your dreams come true,” You interrupted him with a tempting offer, shutting him up effectively. Wide grin plastered your face despite not being seen behind your mask. “I can kill the Clown for you, Red Hood. If it means it’ll silence your troubled spirit. If it’ll bring you peace. I can hurt him on your behalf just like he deserves.”

It was like a whisper from the devil, slithering its way into Jason’s heart and mind to possess his soul, mirroring the one which whispered on Adam and Eve’s ears.

He’s been wanting — needing — to hear those words come out of Bruce. His suffering and death seemingly being brushed off as a cruel accident shattered him more than he’d ever admit, Bruce’s unhealthy coping mechanism and morality getting in the way of showing his love for Jason that left the younger man feel lesser than he was. Bruce was a complex person that’s sometimes difficult to understand, his impressive ways to stick to his morals being exactly his character, but Jason wanted for once, to actually feel how important he was to his father.

Was that too much to ask for, or was he just unworthy of the entirety of it?

“Why would you do that for me?” Confusion and subtle suspicion filled his tone as Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out your intention despite the rush of hope that shot throughout his chest. He forced himself to feel nothing when you leaned in closer.

“Because you were wronged, of course.” You simply stated. “You are a victim. Not more, not less. You deserve a little more than just empty justice. And I’m a man who got tired of vigilantes that are afraid to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Then, you tilt your head slightly to the side in a way that’s somehow alluring. “But I can also say I’m intrigued by you.”

Jason’s heartbeat quickens again when your big hand seems to wrap perfectly around his throat, fingers resting just above his pulse points. It makes such filthy thoughts flood themselves into his mind, your long and quite thick fingers falling victims to his tainted imagination, and he had to give everything in himself not to bare his throat more for you. You seem pleased of his lack of disobedience and bite, having expected him to shove your hand away or flinch back before you could touch him. You’ve seen Red Hood once and how his uncontrollable rage resulted in violence, heavy burdens and extreme trauma turning him into a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute with the wrong move. He was absolutely lethal, the bullets serving as the evidence of his wrath and resentment towards the underground scumbags. It’s amusing that you have the man of violence himself now somehow completely under your control, surprisingly quiet and shy and obedient. You wondered if this is how he was before he was ruined by the cruelty of the world.

“You want it, don’t you? For me to kill the Joker.”

Jason feels as if you know everything he wants. Is this what it feels like to be important?

It takes a little while for him to answer, but he eventually came up with a “You’ll do that?” which sounded vulnerable and weak for the first time in his second life. Your heart clenched at the doubt and seemingly child-like vulnerability in which he uttered the words, as if he was afraid to trust something after being betrayed countless of times, reminding you of the sole person you’ve even began doing all of this for. They were quite similar yet so different — your older brother and Jason.

You hadn’t meant to cross his boundaries and unknowingly step into the empty hole that made home in his heart. Unconsciously slithering in like a snake by touching the subject his heart was longing for, not realizing his childhood’s still remaining within his spirit.

All he wanted was love and to feel safe again. You didn’t know the Red Hood was so adorably pitiful. A smirk plastered your face.

“I will,” You reassured and leaned your face inches away from his, the hand on his throat lifting his helmet slightly.

Jason doesn’t retaliate, blinded by a meat of hope dangled in front of him. He doesn’t move as the lower half of his face was exposed, and you lifted your own mask the same using your other hand. Jason willingly, obediently closes his eyes before your lips attached to his — a kiss of death, tasting like blood and cruelty. Warm and soft despite your rough, cold-blooded, corrupted soul. A kiss from the devil.

When Jason opened his eyes, you had already disappeared into the darkness with blood stains on the ground you stood before, a single note left behind; Hell will reopen for the Clown.

After neatly tucking the note inside his jacket and making sure no evidence has been accidentally left on the crime scene, Red Hood smiles for the first time in a long while and reaches for the comms without a heavy heart.

“Batman, I found another body.”

Whatever happens, he’ll have no knowledge of the following misfortune that’ll befall on the Joker. It’s the righteous serial killer’s doing, after all.

What was used to be a maniacal laughter turned into screams of agony and pain. Strong stench of death and blood makes euphoria rush within your mind, the feeling of slicing through flesh with your knife bringing pleasure and ecstasy that made your pants tight. There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in the way your own actions cause serious harm and scarring to criminals who once deemed themselves powerful, being reduced into nothing but a powerless prey that could easily be gotten rid of.

You feel increasingly powerful the more you strip them of their dignity and arrogance as they shed blood on the holy ground. Your existence alone striking them with crippling fear and anxiety feeds into your ego, yet you never stray away from the sole purpose or reason for your murders — making them taste their own medicine.

From what you found on countless deep dive and research, Joker preyed on Red Hood when he was still a young child full of life and joy, having been under the name Robin at the time. Second Robin to be exact, considering he was a lot different from the first one. It actually surprisingly pained you when you’d seen how much of an adorable, dorky, nice kid he was before misfortune cut his life short. You would’ve never thought you would find a kid adorable in your entire life, the little menaces often being nothing more than a headache to be around with that caused a certain dislike to grow towards them within you, but Jason was everything a cute kid was. Just excited to be there, to be fighting alongside Batman, to be relevant.

Such a precious boy ruined for the sake of shits and giggles for the Clown. For the sake of getting under Batman’s skin. And the Bat couldn’t even make fucking amends to his flaws as a father and mentor.

Well, he didn’t need to anymore.

You’ll give Red Hood— Jason Todd —what he wants. Yearned for. Perhaps, even what the other civilians who have fallen victims to this vile criminal want. You would stop at nothing until every criminal is gurgling and choking on their own blood.

Joker’s scream shoots a jolt of electricity within your body as your knife pierce through his skinny thigh and to the ground, pinning his leg down. You had been doing an effective job of reducing the maniac into nothing but a screaming, cowering average victim by torture. Bruises, burns, gashes, and stab wounds littered his body that was done carefully enough to not be life-threatening. Fucker was laughing maniacally at first, of course. It irritated you so much that you might’ve went a little overboard.

Watching Joker heave and struggle to breathe from the pain, you tilted your head and roughly grabbed his throat. It catches him off guard and he grips your wrist, barely even having the strength to fight you off. You’re amused by the entirety of Joker’s nature, how he’s still just an average man that can easily be overpowered — nothing that makes him special enough to not be killed, becoming proof of Batman’s selfish willingness to let the victims suffer than bring them actual peace.

You’ve never uttered a word since you captured him and it unnerved Joker from the beginning, but then, words finally come out of your mouth in a form of monotonous, mechanical, emotionless, eerie voice as you lean over him; “Laugh it out, Joker. Why so serious?”

It sounded like a death sentence.

He’s right in a way, because another of your knife pierced the corner of his mouth soon as you uttered the words. Your other hand tightened on his arteries to choke him while you drag the knife to slit the side of his mouth into a grin, following the lines of his red lipstick. It was certainly not a clean cut, but an artist has their own creative ways to make their art. Tears mixed in with blood that gushes out of his face, complete horrors written across Joker’s eyes which boosts your satisfaction. You go on and do the same thing to the other side of his mouth, before finishing your art piece by carving ��J’ on his painted cheek.

You resist the urge to moan at the sight of blood coating your fine piece, always finding it to be an amazing finishing touch.

From then on, Joker was brought to literal Hell.

Jason flinches when a playful knock sounded from his safe house’s window, cautiously approaching to see ghostface waving at him through the glass. His eyes widened and immediately opens the window to let you in, not wanting anyone to see you — your sudden appearance distracting him from the fact he’s never given anyone the location of his safe house.

He stops in track at the blood splatters across your mask, and just then had he noticed you seemed to be hiding something behind your back with one hand. It definitely strikes his curiosity, but he somehow didn’t feel like you were holding something that could harm him.

“You got something for me, ghostface?” Jason feels you grin under your mask.

“Got you a present,” Your raspy, rough voice enthusiastically quipped.

Jason’s breath hitches when you show what you were holding — the Joker’s decapitated head in a square glass container tainted by its blood. You obviously had planned to bring it barehand, but you considered the possibility of its blood dripping down on his safe house and becoming a false evidence to point him to the murder, which prompted you to put it inside the container. An unbelievably sweet gesture for a fucking psychopath like you.

Jason could feel his heart beat rapidly as he takes in the animal’s state, carved up grin and the letter J and the horrors seen in its lifeless eyes proving the absolute misery and suffering it went through before being put down. The monster was finally, finally slain and gone forever from his life. Nightmares detangles from his spirit and the past unwraps away from his soul, utter peace and relief spreading throughout his chest. Tears gathered in his eyes at the feeling of being free at last from the life long torment, breath shaking as his knees wobbled.

The child in himself, the innocent Robin that was killed unfairly, finally rests in peace.

Then he sees you, his hero, waving your seemingly new knife playfully in the air with your outfit splattered in blood without a care that you actually saved him, and Jason feels a sudden surge of arousal and will to submit. To give you everything, anything.

“Do you love it, Red Hood?”

Without answering you, Jason grabs the glass container with shaky hands and sets it aside on the counter before stepping back closer to you again, blood rushing to his veins from arousal. He removes his helmet with a thud on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, lustful and yearning emerald eyes looking up at you.

“Let me thank you, please.”

It makes you groan as your pants significantly tightens more.

You slide your knife back into the holster before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, and thank fucking Heavens there wasn’t any blood on it that would taint his face, because he’s a sight to behold. He’s truly a gem, something precious you had never seen before. “So beautiful,” You whispered, making Jason flush. “Baring yourself to me for such a simple present, doll?”

“Not a simple present,” Jason mumbled as he snuggles on the palm of your hands. “You saved me.”

You hum appreciatively, getting the itch to bare yourself to him as well. “You wanna thank me by what?”

Jason looks back at you, face flushed with a little hint of uncertainty and embarrassment, doubts. “I— uhm,” He stammers, but encouraged by your thumb’s gentle stroke on his cheek. “By… by becoming yours.”

Your cock throbs. Fuck, he’s so fucking adorable, you just wanna fuck his guts out. You’re usually tempted to gut people, not fuck their guts— which is funny to say the least— but you weren’t going to say no when the Red Hood’s so willing to offer himself up.

“You wanna take my mask off, doll?” He seems surprised by your question as if he hadn’t thought of it, making you chuckle. “If you wanna be mine, I gotta be yours too, don’t I?” It was dangerous to reveal your identity to him, but you couldn’t care less, especially when you could just fuck his brains out to shut him up. That’s the plan, first time that didn’t include butchering or cutting a body up.

Jason fucking Todd and his effects on you.

The emerald eyed male hesitantly grasped your mask when you led his hands to it, slowly lifting it over your head. He’s met with a fucking luscious feature to ever be adorned on a man and dark, lustfully murderous blood red eyes that makes a whimper slip past his lips. You merely widened your eyes at the sound he made before immediately grabbing his jaw and smashing your lips against his, swallowing Jason’s surprised gasp.

He reciprocates the insatiable hunger you displayed, tongue dancing along with yours and moaning into the kiss when your fingers lightly tugged on his hair. You pull him up in amidst of making out and squeeze his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around your hips. You detach your lips from his to trail kisses down his jaw and neck as you walked towards his bedroom, questionably knowing where it is, and Jason tilts his head back to give you more access with closed eyes. Letting him stimulate both of your restrained cocks by grinding down, you sat down on the bed and sucked on his throat as Jason moaned.

“Please, please…” He whimpers, uncontrollably moving his hips in a perfect rhythm yet he seemed to want something else.

You pulled away and traced his lips with your thumb, watching as he naturally took it in and sucked, giving you a desperate look. Swiftly turning off the voice changer attached to your neck in a form of choker, you chuckled when his hands fiddled with the belt on your hooded coat. “So needy, aren’t you?” Your real voice sends shivers down his spine.

An alluring, low, slightly rough pitch and somehow more emotionless than when you were using the voice changer. It makes his cock twitch and empty hole clench down on nothing, the need to be stuffed full of your cum swarming in his belly. You’re fucking bewitching, a man made up from every guy and girl’s fantasy, wet dream, and your attractiveness mirroring the Devil’s that would tempt and lure others to sin.

How the fuck were you real?

“Speak up, pretty bird.” You smirked, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Jason mutters, cheeks tinted in pink. “Wanna suck your cock and make you feel good.”

“Fuck…” You shifted in place, “You’ll do that f’me? Get my cock nice and wet to take you apart? To fuck your guts out?”

Jason shakily inhales and nods, climbing off your lap and kneeling on the floor. You lean back on your hands as he unstraps your belt and slide your zipper down, slightly raising your hips to help him get rid of the excess clothes. Your thick and lengthy cock smacks against your clothed stomach, making Jason’s mouth water. Thick veins throbbed on your big shaft, the tip angry and red from arousal leaking precum. It wasn’t just big, it was long, and Jason squeezes his thighs together to keep himself from just riding your cock all day.

His hand wraps around the base, starting to stroke it with a content rhythm. God, you were so fucking big. It’d definitely split him open if you shove it in so suddenly and fill him up nice. It’d make him scream his head off from the unbearable length and girth, almost too much, and Jason wants you to force him to take it. Pin him down and fuck him despite his pleas to stop.

Jason swipes his thumb over the slit, smearing precum, pumping it for a good amount before licking a stripe up the underside of your cock. You shudder, removing your gloves to slip your bare fingers through Jason’s hair, encouraging him to take you in. He obeys, relaxing his throat first before sliding your cock inside his warm mouth, and you groaned at the warmth that surrounded you. It almost didn’t fit from how big you were, but Jason braced himself and took it in further until he gagged as the tip touched the back of his throat. Wrapping his hand around your shaft that he couldn’t take in, stroking gently as if to apologize.

A moan slips past your lips when he starts bobbing his head, tongue brushing against the underside of your dick. “Fuck… Doin’ so good,” You roll your head back. “Such a pretty face to fuck, ain’t ya?”

Jason whines, tears gathered in his eyes as he sucks and fastens his rhythm. Curses, grunts leave your lips that left him feeling all hot and bothered, his other hand moving to skillfully pull his pants down and free his aching cock.

You see him touching himself and a smirk adorns your sinful face, gently scratching his scalp with your nails which earned you a whimper from him. “Go on, fuck yourself. We both know it wouldn’t fit that easily without proper prep,” Expression twisting into a cocky one, your grip on his hair tightened. “I’ll do as I please with your mouth until you’re done.”

Without waiting for his approval, you roughly shoved your cock deep down his throat and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. Jason gagged with a loud whimper as his eyes rolled back into his skull and cum shot out from his throbbing cock, hips jutting forward and twitching due to the sudden orgasm. You chuckle lowly, amusement and lust glinting in your bright red eyes, before you pull back and ram on his throat again.

Jason’s cries and moans were muffled as you ruthlessly use his throat to gain pleasure. His mind has already turned into mush from your assaults, white cum and precum staining the floor yet he doesn’t put up a fight. Taking it all like the good, obedient boy that he is. He’s reached behind him to insert two fingers in his awaiting hole, walls clamping down on the digits from the arousal of his throat being utterly wrecked.

Yesyesyes, please. He chanted in his mind. Use me, mark me, cum in my throat, make me yours.

The moment you fulfilled your promise and delivered him the head of his enemy, he was already yours. It’s all he ever wanted. Unquenchable thirst that always gnawed on his throat and hunger that left his stomach restless, his soul practically teared in half from being battered and beaten. He matters now — mattered enough to you, that you went ahead and killed the source of his misery. The love exploding in his chest was almost unbearable; he was already high on cloud nine from the moment he’s seen you present the head so cheerfully.

You see how he looks up at you, emerald eyes almost displaying hearts with how much he was melting. He’s taken your murderous act as an affection, and you couldn’t be more happy, because it’s what you intended.

“Shit, baby… Gonna cum soon,” You panted, thrusting vigorously. Jason hums and flexes his throat to provide you more pleasure, making you tighten the grip on his hair. “You want me to cum down your throat?”

You earned a desperate whine from him, closing his eyes to prove he was waiting for it. His fingers kept their own assault on his prostate, scissoring and stretching the squishy walls, muffled moans escaping him.

God, he looked so fucking gorgeous. He’d look even more gorgeous with your dick ramming inside him.

Jason feels your big cock throb in his mouth and his fingers move more aggressively to pleasure himself, wanting to reach his high at the same time as you. Stimulating your tip with the back of his throat a few times, you moaned loudly with a curse when Jason slightly flicks his tongue over your sensitive underside, forcing an orgasm out of your body. White, thick, warm seeds spurt out from your slit to his awaiting throat as Jason whimpered in delight and shot another layer of cum on the wet stained floor, hips thrusting in the air.

He greedily swallows every drop that spilled down his mouth despite the euphoria making him feel dizzy as his body slightly trembles.

You chuckled, breathing heavily, pleased expression spread across your face. “Good boy. That was such a good throat-fuck.”

The raspy, sultry tone of your voice makes electricity and chills run through Jason’s spine as his walls clench down on his fingers, yearning to be filled. Jason certainly doesn’t have a womb — it’s anatomically impossible — yet he couldn’t help but feel like it’s there, waiting and aching to be fucked and bred. He needs your cum to be pushed so far inside him. Need to be marked entirely as yours inside and out. Need you to rearrange his guts, fuck his brains out, breed him full, then fuck your cum further back into him.

Jason pulled his fingers out, whimpering at the loss of contact, before looking back up at you with begging eyes. “Can you-?” His voice cracks as he swallows, “Take me apart, please. Make me yours, fuck, I wanna be yours.”

You noticed tears gathering in his eyes, as if being rejected of his want to be your possession would be an ultimate heartbreak in his life; a life-threatening, gnawing thorn in his heart that’ll tear him apart piece by piece and shredding his soul. Jason thinks he can’t live without becoming yours, his savior’s. He can’t live without the source of his safety, the man that fulfilled his silly little dream and sacrificed his own sanity for it.

It absolutely amuses you that he’s become so attached just because you’ve driven him away from harm’s way. A little dumb, but he was your little dumb doll.

You gently caress his face and Jason leans into your touch, making your lips curl upwards into a smile. “Of course, doll.”

It leads to Jason being pressed face first on the mattress as you rail him from behind, sinful and alluring noises leaving his lips stained in drool. Your name escapes him like a chanted prayer, hands gripping the sheets, electricity sparking within his mind that left him dumb and unable to think coherently.

“Fuh-fuck! mgh, ah- yes, oh my god—!” He cries out when you pulled almost entirely back and rammed your cock roughly into him, almost seeing stars in his vision.

The roughness in which you handled him, the perfect angle of your hips allowing you to force pleasure out of his body every-time you thrust, the way you push his back down on the mattress to make him arch more into your merciless tactic, leaves Jason absolutely delirious. You didn’t just fuck him good; you fucked him with absolute vigor and violence, occasionally biting strongly on his shoulder to draw blood, showcasing your natural instincts as a serial killer. He feels your big fucking dick throb and gets impossibly bigger inside him each time his blood seeps out the broken skin, and Jason’s head spins at how much it drove arousal in his core.

“Good fuckin’ sex toy,” You grunted, roughly slamming your hips against his and causing a sharp moan to erupt from Jason.

“B-big—! s’too big- fuck!” Jason whines, tears spilling endlessly down his cheeks.

You smirk as you feel your ego skyrocket at being able to reduce a rather muscular man into nothing but a whining, blabbering bitch. “Yeah? I do split you open, don’t I? But you love it since you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”

“oh- aghn! y-yours— hnngh! Your s-slut! No one else’s-!” He chokes out, desperately reaching for you behind him.

“So fuckin’ adorable,” You chuckled and grabbed his hand, pinning it back to the mattress as you hover over him. You seem to fit against each other perfectly well, your large and tall body able to encage him that left Jason’s stomach fluttering. He’s taken a lot liking of the fact you’re bigger than him, considering he’s never been the smaller one when he was with others. It gives him a sense of shelter.

“p-please— pleaseplease- oh! cum— fuck… cum in me again!” Jason blabbered.

You can’t help but comply to his request, fastening your pace and drilling more into him. Incoherent sentences spill from his drooling mouth when he feels your cock pulse within his walls that signified your soon release. There’s a purpose in which you thrust your hips now — more sharp and angled yet a little sloppy, aimed to brush against his prostate and make him feel utterly good.

“Shit… Cummin’, doll.” You grunted right in his ear before shoving him on the mattress by the back of his nape and slamming all the way down on his already gaping hole.

Jason nearly screams, voice cracking, as his orgasm hits like a strong tide of wave at the same time you spilled thick layer of white semen into his fucked out guts. You ride out your orgasm by thrusting slowly a few times as Jason’s body violently shakes from the aftershock. He subconsciously whines in annoyance when some of your previous cum seems to overflow and replaced by your recent one, bucking his hips as if to use your big cock as a plug to keep them all in. His belly felt full from how much you’ve been filling him with your seed yet it still didn’t feel enough. Jason wanted more; he knew you weren’t going full on him yet.

You swiftly turned him around on his back without pulling out and kissed him roughly. Jason mewls into the kiss when the position makes you push more deeper into him, his hands immediately clasping at the back of his thick thighs to pull them up and make it easier for you to fuck.

“My cute little thing,” You murmured against his lips and bit the skin to draw blood, Jason’s hole squeezing down on you from both the pain and pet name. He greedily whimpers your name, holding onto you for life and yearning for more of you despite already receiving what he wants.

It was so fucking adorable and arousing to see him desperate for not just you, but your entire being as well, willing to welcome such darkness with open arms and tearful smile. You weren’t really a desirable person; so many people have thrown themselves at you for your conventionally attractive features and masculine body type that swoons hundreds yet cower away in fear and speak of you in disgrace when shown the demons living inside of you. No one could seem to look past your murderous, cold-blooded psychopathy — some have attempted to, which only resulted in your darkness growing bigger when they break their own promises. You weren’t meant to be loved. Your destiny was written in the stars and the Gods have cursed you with eternity of living in loneliness and madness without cure. You were meant to be feared, a lonely and violent soul that couldn’t be tamed, your sole purpose of existence being a destroyer; nothing more or less.

Jason, however, seems indifferent to your fate.

Instead of running away in disgust and fear at your acts of violence around the city, he was seeking for you. He’s seen what you’ve done, what you could do without feeling remorse, what monsters lie beneath your existence — and still, he graciously opens his heart (and legs) for you. There’s love and desire within his eyes where distaste should be, touch so soft and warm it baptizes your tainted skin. You’re soaked in blood yet Jason takes his time with you to clean them up. Born with thorns yet he willingly prickles his fingers on them.

You’re a danger everywhere you go, but to him, you were home.

It makes your heart clench; he’s broken the Gods curse and it costs him his freedom, because now he’s caught up in your webs. You wouldn’t let him go, like a snake that’s wrapped itself around its prey in a death grip.

Jason wanted to be yours. What better ways to fulfill his wish if not possessing his body, soul, and spirit?

“Sweet dumb thing,” You purred, hips thrusting slow and sensual, unable to forgive parts of his walls that weren’t touched by your cum. “Mine to fuck, ruin, or make love to. That’s right, yeah?”

Jason nods, moaning softly. Your hands now replaced where his were on the back of his thighs, bending him almost in half as you roll your hips to gently brush against every weak spot he has. The sudden shift in rhythm and atmosphere confuses Jason for a bit, his fogged mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand, but the intimacy strikes a further pleasure that was nearly mind-breaking. He’s been reduced to a moaning mess, blood, sweat, tears and cum coating his body.

“p-please,” Jason keened, like it felt agonizing to be loved ever so gently. “I— ah… I want- I want you,” He stuttered out between moans.

“You’re having me, aren’t you?” Replying, you nipped on his neck and sucked, leaving behind a purple bruise.

He nearly cries, shaking his head. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face, and you find yourself captivated by them. It was almost ethereal despite being one of human’s responses to most things imaginable; your victims always shed one or two accompanied by begs of mercy, but all you’ve ever thought of them was amusing. It’s been used as an escaping tactic from you before, which was never successful due to your lack of morality and sympathy towards your target. They were pathetic, but Jason was divine. Tears suited him— not tears of fear, but tears of pleasure and utopia.

Your focus snaps back on reality when Jason suddenly pulled you down by the nape and bit down hard on your shoulder. A pleasured groan leaves your lips at the pain, hips bucking, making him whimper.

“Jason—”

“Please,” He cuts you off and finally murmurs; “Wanna f-feel how… mhm-! how you actually love…”

It strikes something in your core. Despite your perfect skills of hiding your true nature and never being caught, Jason saw it right through you, how you were holding yourself back for his sake. Quite ironic to witness a cold-blooded killer care for someone enough to go soft, even though it looked like you were going rough on him, and it warmed Jason’s heart. But he was a greedy, fucked up human being who wanted all of you. It wouldn’t be enough until he knows he’s taken you fully.

An amused laughter erupts from your chest. Eyes darkening in lust, Jason feels one of your hands wrap around his throat warningly as the other pushed his torso flat down on the mattress. “You… You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, Todd.”

You pull all the way back before ramming in, making Jason let out a loud, choked up moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Your thrusts relentless and powerful, slamming against Jason’s body with an intensity that made his head spin, your hand holding his throat as a leverage. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer, something that seems to ignite a possessive feeling within you. Jason can’t help but mewl when your grip tightened on his arteries, throwing his head back to let you gain fully control.

The way he’s so obedient and putty in your hands despite knowing you can kill him if you truly meant to makes you love him even more, fucking him and taking away his ability to breathe wasn’t enough. Greediness turning overboard with the darkness and psychopathy that lies within your existence; you almost wanted to cut him open and crawl inside his guts so you could truly claim Jason, inside and out. You wanted to be more closer to him, see how far you can go without Jason pushing you away or getting disturbed.

Jason’s eyes widened when a cold metallic silver touched his cheek, seeing you holding your signature knife through blurred vision from his tears. However, he doesn’t flinch away like you expected him to, instead his walls squeezes down on your cock and his own twitched against his stomach. The unexpected reaction pulls a loud groan out of you, your hips bucking.

“Shit, Jay… You lettin’ me kill you or somethin’? Good fucking cunt just tightened on me,” You rasped, thrusting your cock against his prostate.

Jason gasps, his hands grabbing the mattress and holding it in a tight grip. It’s so shameful how turned on he was at the danger that lurked around you, his usually sharp instincts relinquished to be replaced by naiveté and stupidity for love. He must’ve gone insane; getting killed was one of his triggers because of his past yet his soul yielded nothing in retaliation to the possibility of your blade slicing through him. All of him seems to have come to love and trust you too much just because you’ve decapitated the beast his entire existence feared, which a part of him found utterly ridiculous and idiotic, but not enough to stop.

He wouldn’t stop himself from loving you — not when you’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

You lean in and ghost your lips over his as you dragged the knife on his torso, lightly scraping him. Jason’s breath quickens, his pupils blown wide in lust and need, anticipation seemingly running through his body as his moans turned into desperate whines.

“p-please…!” He chokes out a whisper, rolling his head to the side and whimpering when you snapped your hips warningly on his. “feels— fuck! feels g-good—! c-carve me… hngh! carve me u-up-! shit… make me fuckin’ bleed…! please,” Jason nearly cries for you.

Groaning out a curse, you reflexively bite down hard on the crook of his neck and push more of your cock inside him, causing a loud keen to erupt from Jason as he squirms and cums on his own stomach at the addictive sense of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

You licked the blood that seeped out from his skin, satisfied at the clear bite mark you’ve left visible before sensually grinding your hips. Jason whimpered quietly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“That’s it, doll. Let go, feel good. m’not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. It’ll all feel good,” Whispering sweet words, you slowly press the tip of the knife just above the v line of his hip and drag it down. Jason hissed at the prickle of pain and tensed up, but the pleasure of your cock stimulating his sensitive walls was too great that forced him to relax. “It’s alright, doll. Jus’ carving you up with my name, so you’ll be mine forever. Isn’t that what you want? Be fuckin’ mine?”

Jason moaned softly, nodding his head. Series of pleasepleaseplease blabber out of him accompanied by heavenly noises he’s been making since you started taking him apart, his brain too fucked out that forcibly twisted pain into pleasure as all he could think about was becoming yours. You, his savior, his God, claiming him by marking him up with your name. Jason feels like he could fucking squirt from just that thought alone.

His blood seeping out from the letters of your name arouses you to no end, your cock throbbing inside him while you continue to move, the darkness within you being thoroughly fed of its bloodthirsty hunger. This is the first time it doesn’t gnaw at your skin to drive your knife deeper, pull the guts out, and splatter redness everywhere; instead, it wanted to be gentle, as if Jason was a significant existence too precious to hurt even for the Devil. A proof that Jason was always meant to be yours, the only one who the monster inside you would rather love than kill.

Carving the last letter, you laughed breathlessly in satisfaction and stabbed the knife on the headboard before slamming your lips against his, devouring his pleasurable noises. Jason whines, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you impossibly closer, arching his back when you switched into a much faster and rougher pace.

“Cummin’, fuck!” You grunted, to which Jason wrapped his legs around your hips to make sure it stays in.

“I-in— in me… fuck- oh my god— please… please, cum in me. Make me full again, p-please…” He begs, clenching his walls around you to push you over the edge, his own orgasm nearing.

Seeing him covered in his own tears, sweat, blood and drool fills you with nothing but pure ecstasy knowing it’s all because of you. The most appealing, ravishing man being a slutty mess right beneath you, begging to be bred and full of your cum, does feed too much into your ego. No one can do anything to take you away from him now, because you’re wrapped around his fingers as much as he is around yours.

“Anythin’ for ya, doll.” You chuckled, thrusting a couple more times before shoving your twitching cock deep into his guts with a moan and releasing your load. Jason mewls, his hole throbbing and squeezing down on you as he throws his head back, tainting his abdomen once more.

Riding out both of your highs, you let out a raspy groan and kissed his lips again, Jason weakly reciprocating due to the overstimulation. His body trembled hard, mind almost shutting down from the exhaustion and too much euphoria. “So good, doll. Took me like a good fuckin’ boy. Fuckin’ amazing.” You praised.

Jason could still see darkness in your eyes, the murderous devil, but there’s a hint of happiness he didn’t recognize before. Love and adoration filled your expression despite the violence engraved in your soul, and Jason finds himself smiling against your lips lightheadedly.

He whispers your name like a forbidden secret, then a curse that completely binds you to him; “I love you.”

You could get used to this, you suppose. There’s nothing more poetic than violence meeting love — two opposites can’t coexist with each other, but perhaps it’ll be forced to. After all, the Devil in you decided he was an untouchable divinity no one shall ever harm, not even yourself, despite its never-ending monstrosity towards humanity.

“I love you too, my Jason.”

When Joker’s decapitated head on a makeshift spear turned up that night, stacked upright in front of Arkham Asylum with blood splattered across the ground in words ‘True Justice for the Tortured Souls’ and a bloody ghostface mask laid aside for everyone else to see, Jason knew he was now in safe hands.

People say, never make a deal with the devil.

They never said he couldn’t love one, did they?

© all rights reserved to hadesrise ──── stealing, plagiarizing, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Hands On

Dr Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: when innocent flirting and longing looks turn into hiding in the on call room. Porn with a lil plot

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, fingering, little bit of exhibitionism if you squint, fucking in the hospital, he talks her through it, age gap (yk the drill, reader is 35+, robby is 50), established relationship, brief mentions of reader having hair long enough to braid, mentions of Robby being taller

WC: 4.2k

A/N: yay! Finally some more Robby smutties! This was mostly just me being horny and too tired to write convoluted plot. I did get some requests so I’ll work on them as soon as I finish the semester. But for now I wanted to feed yall so you wouldn’t forget me. Enjoy :)

i want to note that this was inspired by this post by @abbotjack so some dialogue bits are inspired by their post. Also thank you to @wittyjasontodd for putting up with my insanity and for encouraging having a quickie with this old man in the middle of a shift <3

This was so agonizing. You didn’t know what demon possessed your soul or why you were so flustered and bothered. All fucking day, from the moment you woke up. In his bed, tangled up underneath his sheets. You didn't know if he was the cuddling type, but you woke up in his arms, on his chest, every time. And this time? You wanted to fucking stay there. All over him. You could feel it, crawling in your skin, perpetually warm even after you shrugged your hoodie off your shoulders like it had offended you. You were hyper aware of his presence at any given moment. If you heard his voice, your head was snapping in that direction. He came in to assist with a patient? You gravitated toward the side he was on to be as close to him as possible. You even got lucky a few times when he was hovering over you, standing behind you to look over your shoulder. It was subtle, always professional, but he would never stand this close to another resident unless he was doing the procedure himself. He could watch from a distance, but he didn’t, because he could tell. 

You were on hour five of your twelve hour shift when you managed to sneak into the doctors lounge to munch on a granola bar and attempt to down your lukewarm coffee. You sat for a collective two minutes when Robby came through the door. Suddenly your pulse spiked and you nearly choked at the sight of him. He was on his phone, typing something, black framed glasses sitting on his pretty nose. Your eye nearly twitched. Why you were having such visceral reactions to seeing your boyfriend today, you didn’t know. You offered him a smile nonetheless, slightly nudging your head at the empty chair next to you. The lounge was empty aside from you, anyway. 

“You hiding?” He shot you a look, a tiny eyebrow raise making you smile a bit. Yes, from you, you thought. You nodded slowly as you chewed on your bar. 

“Maybe.” You mumbled quietly, eyeing him as he leaned back on the chair, casually sliding down it until his knee was touching yours under the table. You jolted the slightest bit, blinking at him, but you otherwise didn’t comment. 

Robby was a very observant man. Call it age, call it wisdom, call it whatever, but it didn’t take him long to be able to read your body language like an open book he read for the sole purpose of his amusement. Your fluttering eyelashes, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, your opposite leg bouncing incessantly. The way you damn near shuddered every time he barely touched you. Whether it was a subtle hand on your lower back when he walked away from assisting with your patient, or your shoulder just barely touching his arm as you talked to him in the hallway. Or how you nearly kneed the table just now. You were aching for something you couldn’t have, and it was driving you to madness. 

“Me too, I saw Gloria in the hallway.” He shuddered, shaking his head aggressively, which made you let out a giggle. God, he loved all your sounds, every one. 

“Want it?” You offered the last bit of your granola bar as you sat in that familiar silence that was often shared between people who had already said everything needed to be said. You sat in silence a lot, you didn’t need to fill it with small talk, but today you were painfully aware of his presence, his warm brown eyes lingering on you every once in a while, his knee touching yours. A subtle act, nothing more than a gesture of affection. But today, god, it would be your breaking point. You quickly realized turning your head to look at him would be a mistake. 

“Uh-huh. Thank you.” He happily and graciously accepted your offering, one hand lifting his glasses off his face and set down on the table as he grabbed your bar with the other. It was the most normal thing he could ever do, he did it all the time, it wasn’t like he wore his glasses for everything. But the simple act as he so unbothered munched on your leftovers made you dig your nails into your palm. “You did really good on that car crash patient, by the way. Readjusting a hip dislocation and a sternum fracture is pretty damn impressive.” 

You nibbled on your bottom lip, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. It always took you aback when he so casually praised you, it always left you a flustered fucking mess. “Mmm, really?” 

“Mhmm, yeah.” He replied, nonchalant. He blinked at you slowly, big brown eyes swallowing you whole. You could hear your breath as he slowly leaned in, stopping when your shoulders touched. 

“Are you gonna kiss me right now?” You dared to ask, which made him slip the tiniest grin. 

“No. But you want me to, don’t you?” He was toying with your sanity, a straight face meeting your fragile demeanor. You knew he would never display such affections so openly where you could be seen. Yes, everyone in the ER was well aware of your relationship, but that didn't mean he would shove it in their faces. But that didn’t mean you didn't  wish he would just grab you by your hair and kiss you silly. “If you want something, you ask for it.”

“You are so evil for that, I hope you know that.” You sighed out, a little unevenly, not amused in the slightest. He let out a dry chuckle, head tilted at you.

“I'm not doing anything.” He shrugged, the slightest bit of amusement lacing his tongue, but his expression remained stoic, probably to tease you even more. You found no humor in this, and you kicked his knee with your own under the table. “Okay, ow.”

You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to berate him a little about the torture you have been enduring all day and that would continue to endure until you got home because how dare he not stay in bed with you like you begged him to that morning, but just as you were, the door of the lounge opened and Dana peaked her head inside. She shot you a suspicious look, but neither of you said anything. 

“Alright break time’s over. Langdon needs you in trauma one,” she shot Robby a knowing look, to which he simply sighed, choosing not to comment. And then she looked at you, “and you, you can take the auto versus pedestrian that’s coming.” 

So much for your little coffee break. You shot Robby a look that was a reminder that this conversation was not over and he would be hearing from you for the rest of your shift. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

You managed to compose yourself for the most part. Sure, you were a little amped up, a bit hot and bothered, your cheeks were a little flushed and your heart raced every time Robby was in the same room as you, but, you promised yourself you would finish your shift before you actually jumped his bones. And your plan has been working so far.

You were just leaving a patient’s room when you saw Robby, annoyance and a little irritation written all over his face.

“What happened to you?” You chuckled a little as he shot you a pointed look. You definitely noticed that his hoodie was gone and his scrubs were suspiciously a size too small for him. This was definitely not helping your issues today.

“Bleeding ulcer, apparently they failed to mention they had a cough when I was doing the exam. I had to change scrubs and now I have to try and get that blood off my hoodie.” He sighed out a groan, rubbing the back of his hair a little exasperated. You held in your laugh and simply gave him a sympathetic look. 

“I can try to wash it off when we get home.” You offered, knowing he hated throwing away hoodies when they got stained. He shot you a half smile and nodded. But you still couldn't overlook the way the sleeves were tight on his biceps, riding up more than normal, which revealed the slightest bit of his tattoos. And you definitely noticed the way they fit a little too short on his torso. “Couldn't find scrubs your size?”

“No, actually. All they had was medium. And of course, I didn’t bring a fucking spare today.” you could see how this predicament would be quite annoying, you, too, would be annoyed if your scrubs were too tight. But you were definitely enjoying this a little too much. Teasing him back was also a bonus.

“Don’t let Myrna catch you looking like this.” You snorted, bringing the back of your hand to cover your mouth. You had to bite down your lip to muffle your laugh at the glare he shot you. He tilted his head at you, eyes narrowed the slightest bit like he was plotting. 

“Don't start.” He warned you, voice low and leveled. You leaned your chin on your hand and shrugged. 

“No, really, it's a good look. Definitely one way to bring up your patient satisfaction scores. Whore yourself out a little bit. You’re definitely popular among a certain demographic.” You truly wanted to keep a straight face but the way he looked at you the more you teased him made you swallow a bit. Like he was considering whether or not to drag you by your arm somewhere. He found it so rich that you said that, like you weren't damn near fifteen years younger than him.

“Don’t you have patients? There’s plenty of people in the waiting room if you’re bored.” He said blankly, arms folded over his chest. You caught him subtly trying to fix his sleeve on his bicep and your eye nearly twitched, your lips curled up into the tiniest grin.

“Okay fine, Jesus. You're such a grumpy old man. You need a vacation or something.” You gave him one last jab as you started to walk away, but not before he shot you the sharpest glare, his jaw so tight you thought he would dislocate it.

“I swear to g—” you shrugged at him, blowing him a kiss over your shoulder as you all but ran away from his wrath. He chuckled dryly, shaking his head at himself as he plotted just how he was going to get back at you. It didn't take him long to devise a plan. With the one thing you were choosing to tease him about.

You balanced the ipad on one hand as you motioned around different points on the screen with each word you spoke. Mel stood beside you, she helped assist on your auto versus pedestrian case. She was always so sweet, so polite, she didn't mind your racing mouth or your chaotic explanations. 

“There’s a pretty substantial cranial fracture right here,” you pointed at the results from the head CT and X-ray you ordered. Your eyes sometimes wandered as you waited a few seconds for whoever it was you were on a case with to match your racing mind. Your eyes ultimately found your boyfriend sitting at his workstation, glasses sitting on his nose as he typed. Thank the lord you could multitask as well as you could. “I also saw some rib fractures on the left side, we should keep an eye out for pneumothorax and possible hemothorax.” 

Robby always noticed when you entered a room, he wasn't sure what it was, but he always knew where to look for you in a crowd. When he looked up from his computer, he saw you with Mel. You made brief eye contact as you spoke to Mel. it wasn't fully conscious, not entirely malicious, but it did work in his favor, perhaps. 

“What do we look for if there’s a possible pneumothorax?” You knew that she knew perfectly, but Robby always encouraged active teaching. You were listening, you truly were, until your eyes wandered again and you caught a glimpse of Robby stretching. Nothing strange about that, other than the fact that you caught in perfect view the way his scrubs rid up his stomach. You don't think anyone else cared nor noticed, but you went absolutely mental. Catching a glimpse of his thick happy trail was definitely the last straw holding your sanity together.

“Doctor…?” You heard Mel—sweet soul—say your name with a bit of concern. You swallowed a bit, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks and the racing of your stupid heart. You felt like a horny teenager. Is this what it has come to? Getting horny at the sight of your boyfriend's happy trail? Or was it the way he held his arms behind his head, further testing the strength of those scrubs? Fuck. You looked at her and gave her a strained smile. 

“Yeah, perfect. I have to go check on a patient, I’ll come get you in a bit to check on our patient, ‘kay? ‘Kay.”

An hour hadn't gone by when you realized you couldn’t take it anymore. You were hot and bothered, face flushed and warm to the touch. You were thanking the Gods that it seemed to have slowed down for now, nobody was grabbing you to assist on bleeding patients. You were waiting on some lab results. Which gave you even more time to think about how horny you were, as juvenile as it was. You were praying he would have mercy on you. You caught him walking out of a patient’s room, unbothered, blissfully unaware of your torment. Or maybe it was entirely conscious. You didn't know, or frankly, cared. You aggressively typed into your phone. He was pretty quick about answering, he almost never answered immediately.

Come. Here. 

Robby looked up from his phone, searching around the crowds of patients and staff, until his eyes landed on you. He tilted his head at you, curiosity in his eyes. He had the tiniest grin on his lips as he met you in the middle. He read your face with curiosity, amusement, even. Wide-eyes, fluttering eyelashes, bottom lip pulled between your teeth, god you looked a mess and he hadn't even touched you.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He tilted his head at you, leaning down a bit to your level. The pet name was definitely adding insult to injury. He never addressed you by anything other than your name at work. He truly wanted to drive you mad. And he had the audacity to even ask. You oughta beat him up just for that. 

“Shut up, just come.” You spoke in a hush, tone sharp and laced with frustration. You grabbed his wrist without saying another word, making sure that nobody was actually paying attention to what was happening. Robby said nothing as he allowed you to drag him, realizing where you were going where you turned the corner next to the lockers. 

You dragged him inside the empty on-call room. You let out the loudest, most exasperated sigh as soon as he shut the door behind him.

“Do you have any fucking idea the day I’ve had? I just—“ You stopped in the middle of the room, a short breath leaving your heavy chest, your eyes all but pleading. “I just want you, please?”

“Honey,” his voice was low, steady, almost like a warning, with a head tilt as you heard the soft click of the lock. “You know we don’t do that.” Quickies were absolutely not Robby’s thing. A quickie in the ER? Recipe for disaster.

“I know!—” You gritted your teeth at your volume, immediately biting down on your lip. God, you felt so pathetic. Robby met you in the middle, crowding your space, and for a second your brain short circuited at the way he looked down at you. “I know, I just need you right now. I need you inside me and I don’t think I can wait another six hours.”

Who was he to ever deny his sweet girlfriend anything when she asked so nicely?

“Hmm, yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raspy and baritone in your ear. You were this close to fainting. You felt dizzy, flustered and bothered, all at once. “You’re just needy today, hm?” You completely lost it when he grabbed your jaw, long fingers sprawled across your neck as he forced your head back to meet his lips. The moan that left your throat was so pathetic as he made you back up against the closest wall. 

His mouth just felt so good against yours, almost as good as his free hand finally touching your flushed skin. He didn’t waste any time, much to his dismay, but he had you at home anyway. This was about pure and raw release. He could make love to you in the warm embrace of your own bed, right now, he was okay with just fucking you. 

“You really want it, right here?” He spoke with the slightest bit of amusement laced with anticipation, he knew the answer, but he just wanted to hear it out of your pretty lips. Anticipation sat heavy on your chest, your breath heavy as he slipped his hand into your scrubs.

“Yes, yes, I want you to take me right here, please, please,” shame? You didn't know her. You would do and say anything to get what you so desperately needed. Robby was always so calculated, observant, with everything he did. He watched for your microexpressions, your little sighs and whimpers. They were always so gratifying to him. He took in the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his long fingers brushed your sensitive clit and easily slipped inside you.

“Fuck, you are so wet. Have you been like this all day?” There was a bit of humor in his tone, teasing as he fucked you with his fingers. You bit down on your lip, keeping your noises to a minimum as you bunched up the front of his scrubs around your hand. 

“Michael, please.” Words left you in a halt, breathless as your head fell forward against his chest. You wanted to hide how pathetic you looked, jaw hanging wide open, face flushed and glowing with a thin layer of sweat. But Robby loved looking at you, he loved memorizing the ruined fucking mess he made of you. His free hand found the back of your hair to force you to meet his eyes.

“Look at me just like that,” he wanted to focus you, ground you, remind you that it was him making you feel this way. His fingers left you empty, pulsing and throbbing. 

Out of breath, you watched as he dragged your scrubs down until they pooled by your feet, you unconsciously stepped out of one leg, but your panties were still on. You held your breath in your chest as he slowly pulled the soaked fabric to the side and a groan rumbled in his chest at the sight of your swollen clit and glistening thighs. Oh, that was all for him, and he was going to make good on that. He pulled his throbbing cock out of his scrubs fast, and while still keeping eye contact, you braced for what was about to come your way. Without a word, and still holding your panties to the side, he slides into you in one thrust that has you sliding up the wall. There was no, take it slow, or adjust to it. It was so sudden you gasped so loud you swore whoever walked by heard it.

“Uh-uh, quiet. I need you quiet, baby.” His hand was on your mouth, stifling your sweet little sounds as he drove into you. His other hand found your thigh and he was lifting your knee as high as it could go until only your heel was touching his shoulder. You wanted to fucking scream. “You wanted this, so now you take it, but you take it quietly.” 

His weight was pinning you against the wall as he drilled into you, his hand still covering your mouth. He could hear your little gasps, your high pitched moans each time his cock brushed up that one spot inside your walls that made your thighs shudder. His small sighs of exhaustion were right in your ear, a reminder that he, too, was trying desperately to hold himself together, and was failing by the second. 

“You were just so desperate for it. Wanted this so bad? Hm?” His conceding words were in your ear, raspy and out of breath. Your brain has completely turned off, there wasn't a single thought in that head of yours other than the feeling of his cock filling you exactly how you wanted. Deep strokes that have completely ruined you, broken your mind. Just how he liked it. His hand left your mouth just to make you answer him. “You can use your words.”

“Yes, god, yes, I couldn’t think about anything else.” Your voice was broken, desperate, completely overwhelmed with how good he was making you feel. This was the one thing in this world you didn't have to think about, he thought for you, he could take over and make you forget about the world around you and that drove you mental.

“You just wanted to be fucked like you deserved, trust me I know.” His words were sharp, like the way he drove into you. It wasn’t fast, but it was deep, intense and with purpose. He had no need to run in circles, he knew what he needed to do, and like with everything else he was infuriatingly good at, he did it with purpose. You, fucked. That was it. “I want you to feel me for the rest of your fucking shift. Remember what it feels to be just mine.” 

Just mine, he repeated, like a mantra. A reminder that he had to share you with everyone else in this fucking place. But when it was just the two of you? He could take over every little intricate part of your mind, of your body, all of it was just for him. And you let him. You begged him to. And for that? He would fuck you stupid every single time.

It felt like an eternity, it truly did. Every agonizing minute one closer to being caught or heard. Though you had to admit that only added to your purely animalistic arousal. Your trembling hands grabbed and pulled at whatever you could. You dug your nails into his torso under scrubs with one, holding him each time he rutted his hips against yours. Your forehead was leaning on his collarbone, and he didn't even bother to redirect you this time. You clutched his shoulder like vice and you were sobbing into his scrubs as your orgasm hit you way too soon for your liking. It was absolutely delirious, left you sputtering and absolutely wrecked. You were hoping your sounds didn't pass the door.

“Just like that, breathe through it.” His words only added to your delirium. His voice, his rough hands, his authoritative presence, it fucking wrecked you and you were afraid you would never be able to come back from it. You were ruined and only he could have you now. “Fuck, you’re going to kill me. You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”

His words grounded you. His voice. His hands cradling the back of your head as he fucked you through it. And he didn’t stop until he filled you, and when he did, it was with a breathy moan that got lost in your hair. He held you there until he felt your body collapse over his chest. Without saying a word he carried you to the makeshift bed everyone slept on when they were on call. He sat you down, amusement circling in his pretty brown eyes at the sight of you so cock-drunk. You half assed lifted your scrubs up your thighs but stopped when Robby grabbed your hand.

“Let me clean you first at least.” He chuckled quietly, to which you replied with a quiet oh. The neat braid your hair had stayed in for the past six hours was completely fucked, hairs sticking out everywhere. It was a lost cause. He was always so gentle when he cleaned you, so delicate and tender, a true juxtaposition of the predicament that led you here. “Next time? Wait until the end of our shift.” He wasn’t scolding you. It was more of a, we did something we weren't supposed to, tone.

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know what was wrong with me today.” You were a bit sheepish, shifting and grimacing each time he touched you. As your eyes were down, you caught a glimpse of the angry red marks forming just underneath his scrubs. Wide-eyed, you reached to lift his scrubs and winced at the red nail marks that covered his side and stomach. “Ohhh, wow, my nails aren't that long, are they?”

“Uh, yes, yes they are hun.” He replied, mostly unbothered. You should see the ones you left on his back when he didn't have a shirt, he thought. “I hope no one asks.” He finished his thought with an awkward smile and raised eyebrows. “Oh, and by the way, maybe get yourself together before going back out? You looked like you got fucked.”

The next six hours of your life were going to be the longest of your fucking life, for sure.

[szarina]

Idea: You give birth to your children and play the perfect wife until they’re old enough to go to school. When Zayne picked up the kids they couldn’t find you so Zayne added you were in your bedroom, but when he got there he found your dead body instead

Years later your children have a faint memory of you, and every time they asked their dad if he’ll Rr-marry he says no. One day as they went through their old things they found a journal or notes signed by you, in it were your true feelings of the marriage, how it came to be and how you were sorry for being a coward but you couldn’t take it anymore

❆ ₊⋆ content warnings. heavy angst + major character death + suicide + implied noncon + implied forced pregnancy.

❆ ₊⋆ notes. i was hoping for dark fluff with this series but you all keep sending me angsts. i ain't complaining though.

At the tender age of seven, Yue and Aurora lost their mother.

Too young to lose a mother and too old to understand what really happened. They only remember the blue and red of siren lights in the ambulance dancing at their front gate. Their father taking them to their own room — looking at them with eyes like he just failed them. He couldn't keep the mother of his children alive.

The funeral was silent as it can be. People passed out their condolences and grievances. Pity for the two children you left so early. Aurora was cradled at his father's arm. Aurora who looks exactly like you. Her mother's sorrow and joy. Yue stands besides his father. Holding his tiny little hand. They always say he looks like his father too.

Two halves of a soul carved from the flesh and blood of their parents.

You lost your life from a sudden illness. That's what they say but only the household of the Li residence knew what really happened. Yue has always been smarter and Aurora knew it too but they kept it silent cause no one bears the guilt of losing their mother more than their father.

He drove you to your own death.

You would rather take your life than spend another day with him despite the two reasons why you stayed alive for that short amount of time.

Seven. Seven is the perfect age for a child to lose their mother. They will remember you but as soon as you they grow older they will forget you. Too young for their little minds to grasp what made you die and every adults like your husband would say, “Mommy's in a better place.” and “She's watching over you.”

White lies. It didn't hurt anyone and keep the truth more bearable. You made sure of that. No one is to blame for your death but your own and even you planned it for a long time. A premeditated suicide. You made sure that at the last moments, your last days. Your children is loved even it breaks your heart you have to leave them.

You kissed them more. Hugged them tighter. Said I love you more than a thousand times in every chance you can get. Watch them sleep, admiring their innocent faces that even they were born out of unwanted circumstances — you loved them so much.

Choosing a date that won't make an impact in the day of your death. It wasn't also far from their birthdays. A normal day to passed away. It won't make a scratch or a dent. You made sure you'll die in a room where no one of the twins will look for you and you made it clean like you simply passed away. You wouldn't taint a day because of your selfishness and cowardice.

Your love wasn't enough for your children to keep you alive while you resented the man you used to love.

The years came in a blur. Your twins weren't children anymore. Teenagers they are but still grieving for their dead mother who haunts them with her presence in the halls and walls of the house. The garden whereas you tended is still alive. The flowers came into bloom again after a long bitter winter.

Their father was still their father without you. He knows he can't replace you and remained single and a widowed father in his days even the ghost of a former flame lingered. Waiting and wanting. But he extinguished that flame a long time ago.

They were whispers, masked as concern that he should take a wife again. If it wasn't for him, for the children. The twins would want a mother but he refused. He won't stain your memory and there will no be another woman for him. A wife. The mother to his children. He raised them as a single father.

Women swooned cause there's no more rather appealing than a handsome doctor who's singlehandedly raising his children after the death of their mother. Many wanted to replace you but they can't. The twins don't want it too, for they cry for their deceased mother in their sleep. Where your lullabies lingered in their dreams. Touch that still present. The kisses that they will always remember. You think they forgot but it stayed.

Seven years had passed and Yue comes home after finishing his applications for the university with Aurora tailing behind him. Aurora's older than him for a mere minutes but his sister possess the curiousity and wonder that even she's still sophomore on high school she couldn't care that her younger twin is already starting medical school at the age of fourteen. Aurora was still exploring what she wanted for herself.

Just like his dad, Yue cannot count how many times people have told him that. It was written on the stars they say. The second he came in the world looking like his father. Mannerisms and appearances alike. He wished he got your eyes. His mother's eyes but her older sister got the best of your features.

The house was silent. Zayne, their father was still at the hospital. Another overtime. They were used to it. Since you died, their father buried himself more in surgeries but not enough he's going to neglect his two children with you. They still deserved a father.

He was enough and that's fine. He didn't need more of him, Yue needed you more and Aurora too.

They visited their old room. The nursery untouched. The two cradle was still there with a addition of a new one. They were expecting a sibling too but it died with you too. A younger sister or a brother they will have if it wasn't for you leaving the world too soon. Leaving them together with their father that until this day still mourn for you.

Aurora was pulling the drawers one by one. Wanting to reminisce or a piece of their mother. Yue can see it that Aurora was the one who was the most shaken up when you died. When she understands that her mommy won't be coming back. Yue felt it too for he was alive with your touch. He lost a mother too.

His sister was rummaging their old stuff until she hit something hard beneath their baby clothes. A hidden compartment. Pulling the small handle, it revealed journals belonging to their late mother.

“Look, Yue. Mommy's journals.” His twin reaches for the journals olden with age but still intact. She gave him the other journal. Looking from the texture and the smell, it was a decade older, maybe before they were born.

Aurora got your much older journals. Starting when you were a teenager. A photograph was hidden in the pages. It was them from a stranger's first glance but it was not. It was you and their father. It was like looking at yourself but you know it's not you.

Yue caressed the leather cover of your journal. It was engraved with flowers and puppies. Your name written in cursive and Yue felt your touch at the cover, it feels like you were in the room again, hugging him. He missed you very much but it doesn't prepare for the secrets the pages are about to reveal.

The earliest entry were about your recovery from an accident that you miraculously survived. It contained how your emotionally distant fiancé, their father started to be more closer to you. Constantly hovering but you paid it no mind. He was a doctor and was doing his job.

As Yue flipped the pages, the pages contained the horror of being not able to breath. “I was going to leave him.” Then the details of not should be named and the inappropriateness that a fourteen year old should not see reveals in the ink of your words.

“I'm pregnant. With twins. I should hate it but they were living inside me. I cannot hate these two innocent souls that were born out of love from what their father understands. I'm afraid. What if I won't be a good mom? Zayne says he's going to be with me every step of my pregnancy but I'm terrified.”

His sister and him weren't born out of love. They were a result of a night where their mother was terrified and begging. They couldn't tell. Know it because you loved them very much. You didn't hold hatred in your eyes or resentment for him and his sister. You loved them very much the same you would have loved them if you wanted them.

Another page was flipped and Yue could tell you were crying while you wrote this. There are splotches of your tears staining the pages.

“I'm a mother now. I got two little angels. I named my eldest twin Aurora like the northern lights in The Arctic were Zayne once took me while I was recovering. Seeing the lights there made me think that Aurora deserves her name.”

Yue smiles at your handwriting. The softness in his face were visible but the truth of the reason they were here in the first place breaks his heart.

“I named my youngest, Yue. It means the moon. It was storming outside and after my little Yue was born, the moon was shining brightly. Yue who gave me the scare of my life. Yue didn't cry until he was in my arms like he was waiting for my permission to live. I cried that night, why would my baby want for my permission to live when I was waiting for him and his sister for me to love them both.”

He hears his older sister sniffling besides him. Your other journal was abandoned and he didn't realize she was beside him also reading the entries of their birth.

The final pages reveals the truth and they understand it now. You didn't die of illness. Their father made you kill yourself. There's the regrets and what ifs but you still took your own life.

“I'm a coward and a selfish mother. Who is in there right mind to leave their own children but it's not me. I'm too tired. I cannot live anymore. I tried to. Aurora and Yue was my reason to live but it's not enough. They're going to hate me and resent me for leaving them but I think it's better. I cannot breath and it's better for me to die early. They will understand and they will forget me.”

“I didn't regret killing myself. I have hugged and kissed Yue and Aurora many times more than I can count. I hope it's enough to last a lifetime. I only wished for them to be the best , no matter what path they'll take. I hope they won't be like me too.”

“Aurora, Yue. Mommy's sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.......”

The journal ended there. They look at the date. It was the day you died. The day where their father looked at them like the world ended. The world he created forced upon you, destroyed.

Yue closes the journal. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The same hazel green eyes, the dark hair and he was the younger version of his father. Yue thinks of you, his mother. You could have hated him but you didn't. Your heart was bigger and understanding. Forgiving too but you don't have the capacity to forgive yourself and you took your life as a punishment.

Aurora leans on his shoulder, silently crying. Clutching a photograph of you. Seven years. Seven years you waited. Yue felt numb. He doesn't know what to feel for his father for what he did to you.

He tucks the journal on his side. His only piece of you. Painful the pages are and he feels the anguish on them but there was still love on them.

His sister had fallen into exhaustion. He let her sleep before going outside, he sees his father.

“You didn't deserve her.”

Zayne looks at him. His face remains impassive as his old man.

“I know. You will understand it someday, Yue.”

They didn't need to speak another word to each other. Yue couldn't hate him more for he was starting to be like him too.

[starshipsofstarlord]

claimed | daryl dixon

summary. whilst in the company of the claimers, they take notice of you being the only woman upon them. you hadn’t felt safe prior to the prison being turned into a cascade of ruins, and their company only encompassed the paranoia that you felt. luckily, you weren’t alone, you had daryl. but will he help keep the claimers from arguing over of whom you belong to? (6.7k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), angst, mentions of death and violence, swearing, claiming a person, toxic men (the claimers, not daryl), harassment, some fluff and angst

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

A bed was something to be grateful for, there was no question about it. The firm yet malleable mattress felt like a cloud as you laid upon it, it was far better than the ground that you had been resting your head upon since the fall of the prison. “Claimed.” You barked to the claimers that you and Daryl had joined since losing Beth, ensuring that the bed was yours, and stupidly you felt prepared to fight for it.

“So it is.” Joe, the grey haired leader of the scavenging pack analysed, allowing his selfish eyes to scour over your splayed body for a second, until he trudged away, him and his miscreant followers going off to find their own sleeping arrangements for the eve. They were sick sons of bitches, and that one that went by the name of Len was a sleazy scoundrel, more so than the rest. Any chance that became opportune to begrudge you or Daryl with a punishment from the man in charge to him, he was willing to stick his neck out for it.

You hoped he died. Never had you wished the unkind deterrence of life of a person that wasn’t already infected and walking through the bloodthirsty vision of the afterlife since the Governor had struck against your people, and with wishful thinking and a whole lot of loss, including the emancipated prison that you had called your home for some time, that grubby, power hungry atrocity of a man was no longer alive. These claimers were no better, if they had charge of a citizenship likened to that of Woodbury, they would be stained with the same greedy fingers.

They wanted to take, rather than simply survive by any means necessary, as you had done, looting run down grocery shops and anywhere else that’d feed you for the day. It was pointless in mentioning Beth to them, it wasn’t in their souls to feel pity for her having disappeared, less aid you in locating her. And so you were stuck with the guilt and despair of being a witness to that car with the unknown driver whisk her to a destination that was incomprehensible.

You would find her, you tapped your temple with your knuckles in attempt to attain your attention span towards rest, which was difficult enough since most of the men that you were currently surrounded by were not trustworthy. The only one that was was Daryl. He had found you and brought you to the camp with the dormant rv in a time that felt long ago; the two of you had been hunting the same deer in the thick of the forest.

It ran before either one of you could shoot it down, at first you’d been pissed that he’d culled your walking menu, however he had found it in himself to offer to bring you back with him. Of course you were cautious of following a stranger in the woods, however you soon relaxed when you’d seen the residents that made up the makeshift community. There were families, mothers that were rightly protective of their children, a young boy and girl, one with a father and the other without. Daryl couldn’t have been so bad if his intentions were to bring the four legged herbivore back for them.

And he wasn’t, he could certainly been distant during his blistering moments, but you were glad that you weren’t by yourself in the aftermath of the prison’s attacked descent. A hand leant against the door frame you had yet to close to get some kind of privacy away from the grotesque excuses for humans, but as you stared straight ahead, you offered a small smile, it was all that you could muster up given everything that you had gone through and all that you had lost. It wasn’t a claimer, it was just Daryl who’d like you, put on the disguise of being one of them.

He looked disheveled, more so than usual, you could see it in his eyes that he was tired. His legs were probably aching too, you were experiencing the same sensation in your calves, and so you softly patted the mattress beside you, inviting your friend to join you. “Ain’t no beds left.” Daryl muttered, being quiet as he closed the door, stalking towards you with a weight of many things that put pressure on his shoulders. Of course you weren’t surprised, these men you were travelling with were selfish, and absolute jackasses, they’d offer him the floor to lay his head and that was it.

“There’s this one.” You offered, knowing that it couldn’t be that strange to share the bed considering you had previously slept side by side in the woods as an extra precaution due to the claimers. If you hadn’t, you dreaded that Len or one of the other greedy cronies would have tried something with you. And as a peace of mind for himself, Daryl had to make sure that you were safe, he couldn’t lose you too. That would be the last straw for him, your company and the diminishing hope that you would one day find the other members of your peculiarly arranged family was the only thing that was keeping him going.

“Thanks.” In your time living side by side, from the first camp to the prison, and then now in the middle of nowhere, somewhere along the way he had picked up on manners. And those manners were much appreciated as you drifted closer to your side of his bed so that he would have enough room to lay down with there still being some space between the both of you. The duvet was no doubt a little dusty, however you had each been covered in worse, such as walker guts and the insistent grime that living outdoors dawned on you. "Been tryna keep those creeps away from ya."

"They're quite persistent." You agreed with the nature of the claimers, turning to face him so that you were laid on your side and Daryl mirrored your actions, his large fingers digging into the pillow from the topic of conversation. It always riled him that Joe and his mindless cronies that acted like magpies eyed you as though you were a piece of meat. Sure, there had certainly been men at the prison that had cast attraction in your direction, however they would nevertheless treat you with the respect that you were a human being whom was surviving the tasking aftermath of the outbreak. "I'm scared D, I don't trust them."

Your voice was small, with fright hanging off of each syllable that you pronounced. Daryl had witnessed your fear in the past, such as in the imprisonment of the CDC when the impending self destruction was looming the large risk of death over your entire group. It was a no brainer that you had no intentions to die, albeit the likeness of some that had hopes to given the walking dead that had presumed certain demise over the planet and it’s inhabitants, you however were a fighter. You’d fight to your death if it gave you a chance, Daryl even had to drag you away from the falling prison.

When the Governor had attacked you had been adamant to protect the place that had become your home until the last breath, but the archer would not allow it. Now you could see that if you had remained at the sight of the carnage where the undead had earned free pass to roam through, you would be another victim of the cruel hand that the Governor had dealt the lot of you. It hadn't mattered to Phillip that those that had once been his people were consumed in the deadly result of his vengeful and violent actions, he never cared for any one of them; it was his fault and bloody hands that had lead to Andrea's faint hearted death.

"Me either." Daryl admitted, although it was an easy concept to realise considering that you had witnessed his distaste prominently since you had banded with him since the start of the apocalypse. You gulped, stupidly afraid of involving him in some of the details that you had heard whilst being in the company of the claimers. He would go ballistic from the truth that had weaselled its way around his peripheral, but the only route in which you could disintegrate the possibility of the plans that the crude men held in your direction was for you to confide in your overly protective friend.

"They were speaking the other day, when they thought we were chasing after that nest of rabbits." It was short of nothing new when it came to the brash men, they had their opinions and had enjoyment in sharing them to each of their own. The archer's eyes became awake and full of concentration as you spoke, shuffling closer to you as he reached for you hand. Daryl wasn't stupid, you wouldn't bring up anything that lacked importance, and the waver that staggered in your voice brought paranoia to his ears. "I'm the only woman here... And the topic of conversation was regarding who will claim me... I can't - I won't-"

A hand rushed to grasp your own, his avid temper rising as he realised what sick fucks they really were. They weren't considered gentleman, but at the end of the world their priorities sure were twisted. Tears slipped from your eyes as you attempted to continue, however there was no reason for you to, Daryl was already prepared to do whatever it took to keep you as safe as possible in the ragged state of the world. His form shot up, as his eyes darted around the room, before they landed upon your feeble frame again, his gaze softening at the sight of you.

"We can go. Get up an' leave. I ain't lettin' none of that shit happen to ya. I'll kill 'em before they even hav' a chance ter try." His tone was dangerous, laced with convicted agitation that bespoke that his threats were completely full of spite. Your head raised gently, as you ogled up at him with glossy eyes; nobody had dared to go to such lengths for you before, they’d never have ran from the bad in the old world with you, let alone be prepared to murder somebody for their triumphant disgrace. Your lips murmured the voice of nothing, wobbling uncomfortably as you attempted to verbalise your thoughts.

With conflict drawn knuckles, you grasped at your own knees that you had raised to be against your chest, rocking lightly as you let out a sigh of relief as Daryl refrained from pacing around the room - he knew that that stressed you out, he was assertive when it came to his realisations, and currently you were his priority, and it would kill him to bring you further distress. “I have an idea.” You croaked out, however you were quickly shut down. There was no need to be impulsive, Daryl thought, as he nervously raised his hand to your face to pat your strewn teardrops away with his thumb.

“Nah.” The tracker input his opinion, wishing to cocoon you in his protection. “We have ta go y/n/n, we hav’ ta.” He’d have to convince you, however you brushed his hand away, holding it between both of your palms, feeling every scar and crease that were sewn onto his fingers. “I can’t let anything’ happen to you, ya need to understan’ that peach.” With a piercing gaze of azure defiance, he shook his brunette head, still standing against your unspoken resolute.

“We can’t Daryl, we’ve experienced what it’s like out there.” A pang shot directly into your chest as inducing flashes of those that didn’t make it and the unknown destiny of others that had inhabited the prison shot in your vision. “I can’t lose you too, Beth’s already gone.” The lump in your throat felt unbearably heavy, the stern conjunction of terror and apprehension making it almost suffocating. “But the claimers can’t claim me… if you already have.”

“Y/n.” He had to talk some sense into you, to convert you away from this path that would only be a mistake. The scheme that you had conformed of the purpose of self preservation may have been to suffice the leering consumption of the claimers, and it angered him. You were no piece of fruit ripe for the picking, and if you were to call yourself his, then it would be of complete free will. You would want him for something more than to avoid being a trophy to one of those scoundrels, and it would mean more than your conveying control over your life.

"Daryl." His name left your lips, as you stared like a deer in headlights up at him, hand caressing the bare skin of his exposed arm which made pangs of electrical pulse fly through his stomach. "It's the smartest option that we have, unless we stumble across our friends. And I trust you more than anyone that I have ever met, please just do this for me. So that we can both breathe through this turmoil shit whilst we figure out a plan to get Beth back. We have nothing to go off to find her at the moment, but something might appear, and we have to be united for that, and if one of them claim me, they will never let me go... unless we kill them. And right now is not the time to have any more blood on our hands."

Even if you tried, the both of you would be severely outnumbered, and you had already escaped death one too many times. "Okay, okay." His tone was grave, full of surrender and failure, he had a habit to folding to you eventually, you were his weakness, and although he would have to traipse carefully, your stubborn streak repeatedly overpowered his. "Jus'- I um, I ain't jus' willin' to do this before I tell ya something." The time was now or never to reveal his feelings that he had hunkered down privately inside of himself, there never was a perfect moment to do so before, except maybe the prison. And when you thought you were safe and professed with security there, Daryl had convinced himself that you would reject him, and it would ruin any connection you shared.

There was no reason to hold back his emotions any longer, if it were to be his place to ‘claim’ you, his head ached as he built his mind up to one of the largest vindications of his life, that had the chance to have dire consequences. The implications could be hurtful, if you did not reciprocate the feelings that he was going to share with you, then the air would be unceasingly tense, and the last thing he wished for was to make you uncomfortable. He didn’t want you to see him as one of the men that were stalking you like a rabbit hopping from lurking danger, he was your friend, and if you recoiled from his love, then he hoped that you would still see him as your ally and comrade.

"You can tell me anything in the world Dar." With feathery touches that lingered in his heart, you wound your hand down his arm until you were holding his hand, with sweet tenderness. "I don't want to put any pressure on you, ever, so if you don't want to claim me that's okay too." Logically he was aware that your fail safe plan was the smartest, and he held in a complicated groan, he felt torn between running away from all of these problems or dealing with them, it was like a stand still that he was holding with himself. Daryl squeezed your hand, bringing the back of it to his lips so he could pledge a nervous skin on the thin flesh.

"Love yer, tha's wha' I wanted to say for so long." It was easier to rip the band aid off quick so that the mountainous sadness could wash over him as fast, his healing hopefully being a speedier process. But your reaction was not what he had anticipated, your gaze did not make him feel nauseous, rather it was contempt with a bright hue in your irises that sparkled with comfortability. Your lips twitched into a small yet powerful smile, which took his breath away for a few seconds, and he felt suddenly stupid for his expectation.

"I've been waiting to hear those words for a long time Dixon." You admitted aloud, rustling across the sheets until your body was brought closer to his own, your onyx pupils running across his mournful and tired face. "And I love you as well, how could I not?" He could think of a lot of ways, but it would burst the moment like a bubble if he were to begin listing them, and so he refrained, allowing you to continue on with your voice that was hushed so that the claimers couldn't listen in, but audible enough so that he could understand you. "I think I first realised it at the farm, I was in shock when Andrea shot you; I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kill her or kiss you. Obviously I did neither, but I wish I d-"

Your voice was drowned out from the pressure that Daryl placed on your lips with his own, he leant his head over, moving his mouth with languid motions, moaning lightly as you nibbled on his lower lip. You drove him crazy, and as calm as your company made him feel, he was getting worked up, and so he pulled away, raking a large hand through your locks as he kept his eyes closed for a moment until he slowly opened them, your face being the focus of his peripheral vision. To him you were a ray of all the things he had strove for in the events proceeding from the outbreak, you were the sun that scorched his skin during the day, and the whistling breeze that soothed said inflictions of the sun after it had rose beneath the moon.

He was the victim of love, he realised that now. And although you said those words back, he still felt like he was punching above his weight, as though he were reaching for the stars. "Don' wan' yer to think that's the only reason I sai' I love ya." You required no validation, if you had the will to go through with lovemaking with him, it would be your own choice, he didn’t want your decision to be swayed by the plight of feelings. “Need ya to want me like tha’ in yer own mind, we don’ have ta do nothin’.” He was perfectly fine with resting his head on the pillow and going to sleep beside you in the bed that you had offered to share with him, he had said his part and taken enough action to appease his internal instincts.

“I know it isn’t Daryl.” You admitted, and he knew that you never uttered around anything that was bothering you in the slightest, your straightforward attitude had at first intimidated him, hence the copious waiting time that it had taken him to confess. If you didn't love him, then you wouldn't have said it back. "And I do want all of you in every way, it doesn't have to be in that way, I could wait forever for you. I would if it came to it, I'd die for you if worse comes to worst." At the end of your heartfelt rant, Daryl winced, hating to hear those words leave your mouth. He had ensured your utmost survival from keeping an eye on you, even from afar, and he would not allow any living soul, or even a dead one to rid you from the earth.

Death was not in the books for you, unless the prospect of such a sentence was after you grew withered and old, full of wisdom and fond memories. “Don’ say tha’.” It was a command, albeit one that he wouldn’t physically force you to follow, however it was simultaneously a promise. He would not allow anything to happen to you, not in a million years, and if the only way to prevent any violence from condemning your life upon a noosed risk was by claiming you, then he simply could not reject the compromise. “Ya ain’ dying’ girl, not on my watch.” His eyes traced your the sweet harmony that your facial features composed, brushing the rough edge of his palm across your jawline, causing a wispy breath to escape your more than kissable lips.

It still felt surreal that his body had built up the courageous nerves to kiss you, and he was almost kicking himself for never having done it sooner. “Okay.” You agreed, all too aware that the fluid expense of death could not be decided by the mere human race, but you would try your best to live as many days as you could realistically manage just for him. Daryl was worth attempting the impossible for, he had proven as much through his countless loyal acts, and the fact that he never landed blame upon anybody with moments that could not be reversed. He’d never even been slightly pissed that Andrea had whisked a bullet across his temple, leaving a dangerous graze onto the vulnerable flesh. He still had a faint mark from the bullet engrained gash, and you ran the pads of your fingers across the light skinned line, realising how lucky you remained to still have him beside you.

“An’ don’ worry ‘bout the claimers,” it was difficult not to you thought in a solitary mental notes, cautious of how they would leer in whichever direction you surpassed, “I’ll do it. I’ll claim ya. Jus’ wanna ask yer to be mine first…” His way of asking you to be his partner was not traditional in the slightest, it was very Daryl like, and that made you smile. Your eyes were glazed with the reflection of love, claimed by the contortion of in the moment simply being a woman that felt for a man, and he was the suspect in question for being the thief that had silently stolen your heart and the arteries connected to it. You were like a love strung puppet, your arms noosed around his neck as you held the fixated archer closer, the tip of your noses crossing heartfelt paths in an affectionate notion.

“I already am Dar.” The simple yet confirming statement was the truth, you had reserved your amorous emotions for him alone, and there was nobody else who could capture your attention in such a way like he had. “I think I knew deep down that I did prior to me having the realisation of it.” As you spoke in a sultry tone that was hushed to give more definition to your words, your lips impulsively brushed against his own, until you licked inside of his mouth to explore it again. “So take me, claim me, anything. I just want to be close to you Dar.” To feel his lips coincide against the pressure of your own was still not enough, you rotated so that you were sprawled on your back, Daryl instinctively climbing upon you like a wolf that had began to feast on a vulnerable sheep that had already accepted its fate.

Hearing that you were his was a chronically inducing statement, it felt like he had injected a strong dose of adrenaline into his cordial veins, refracting an affect to take a masculine toll over his body. He had grown endearingly hard for you in his slack trousers, confined by the material that tightly hugged his aroused bulge, his balls felt as though they were being squeezed, driving him to impractical insanity. His torso rotated above you as he devoured your lips, his scuffed palm claiming it’s placement around your face. You had to breathe through your nose, as your eyes were screwed shut, your brows inclined in a distance closer together as your mouth attempted to keep up with the pace that Daryl had installed.

You felt strangely complete, having found a purpose to keep moving forwards in the hardships that were hurled sullenly in your direction. The two of you were alive, and almost strangely you had never felt so alive in your life beforehand, until those amorous words had left Daryl’s lips. No, not that he would claim you, but he loved you. It coiled your heart in tendrils of tender affection, to know that not only were your emotions most definitely reciprocated, but that he would do anything that was required to protect you. In the past, prior to the falling of the world, men had always sought power and held a regarded possessiveness upon anything that they wished, there were some profusely sick bastards out there.

And the pack of claimers were no exception, they’d seen you handle yourself and kill the walking dead with finesse and they still saw you as some sort of object. But you were a person, with shattered feelings and a stubbornness motivation to keep on striding onwards despite all that you had lost. There was a small inkling of a chance that not all of them had possibly have been such atrocious people in advance to the outbreak, though that was a heavy doubt. They acted depraved, and whilst they could physically take anything they saw fit without laws obstructing their greed, that did not mean that you were ripe for the picking. If they had been good men once, they certainly weren’t any more, not like Daryl.

“Ya alrigh’?” The question startled you from your trickling thoughts, grounding you in reality where you were overshadowed in the best way by Daryl’s body, and you reached your hands out, bringing them to his cheeks. You would be fine, his face told you as much without saying anything in regard to your troubles at all. He would be fine. Instead of replying in a verbal manner, you pulled him back down, causing his body to melt into one organism within your own. He sunk into your grip, loving how you tousled his messy locks between your fingers, wrapping your legs around his waist only with the intent to pull him closer.

He could practically quiver, you were both a weakness and a strength to him, there was not a single thing that he would not do in order to keep you alive, and rather than just keeping you breathing, he was making you feel impossibly safe, despite the masses of threats that you faced on the daily; there were obviously the saviours whose eyes roamed despicably over your silhouette, there was the threat of being parched and starved on the road, and of course the walkers that had stalked you both day and night.

All of that was forgotten for a moment of relaxation, as you began unbuttoning Daryl’s shirt, having already discarded the vest that bore angel wings on the back. Daryl almost wanted to object, for the significant scars that were forever painted on his flesh distorted his frame, though that impulse was swallowed down. Time was of the essence as it always was, and he wished not to waste a singular second of it that he had with you. It would be a sin, and whilst he usually did not care for the religious shit, he had to admit that this was rising to be a holy event in his life.

With him helping you, his shirt was tossed carelessly across the room, your own following soon after. There was no dignity held in your need to have your bare flesh entangled with Daryl’s, the hunger to be with him was too strong to restrain yourself. The kiss was messy, a furious sliding of tongues alongside each other, but you couldn’t care, you needed him in ways that you had never needed anything else. His hands scathed the flesh of your back, reaching for the clasp of your bra, though he staggered upon some difficulty in undoing it, so you granted him aid, easily releasing the fabric from its embrace around your form, slipping the straps from your arms and discarding it also.

“Fuck.” Daryl cursed aloud, pulling away from your lips to take in the sight of you half bare to his naked eyes. His hands grasped your waist in a gentle manner, as he regarded you with both admiration and loving lust that reigned his gaze. He was definitely in love. “Yer so beaut’ful.” His head dipped, littering a smattering of kisses along your bare chest, his chapped lips contrasting against the softness of your skin, until he finally got to your left nipple, taking the peak into his mouth, suckling gently causing you to arch your back. This instance had been long awaited, and it had been worth every agonising second of being without his touch. It was more sensual than you had ever expected, exceeding each dream that had occurred in your resting mind.

Your hands braced against the back of his head, gently combing through his hair, as you become wantonly lost in him… something that you had always wanted. “D.” There was an insistent impatience within your voice that made him look up. You were ready to surpass the foreplay and get straight to the main course, but Daryl knew that you deserved better than that. He had acknowledged you, though you refrained from reminding him of the urgency that was boiling in your veins as he began to kiss his way down your stomach, licking at your flesh as he descended.

He made your legs shake in their own spiral of suspense as he slowly dragged down the layers that conformed your lower half from your sights, deadly slow in fact. He was teasing you, leaving you on a jagged edge of screaming from the perilous waiting to be touched, although you couldn’t. You had to remain quiet to sustain a lack of suspicion from the saviours, the last thing you wanted was a singular one of the depraved men walking in, they’d most likely enjoy watching, which was a foul truth that tainted your mouth with disgust. “So pretty.” The scruff that outlined Daryl’s jaw scuffed at your thighs as his hands spread your legs, leaving you intimately vulnerable to his eyes.

This felt like this was the weakest that the man that you loved had ever seen you, despite the gruelling circumstances that you had faced in union, and the injuries that you had each endured that lathered you with the fear of death. You were exposed, and you whimpered at his sentimental statement, pressing your lips together as you watched him lean closer to your cunt. His breathing was laboured, he too needing this as much as you did. He inhaled your womanly scent, memorising it for a second before he leaned in to taste you, a light, restricted groan tumbling from his lips. A sharp inhale of air penetrated your lungs as you held it in, your hands still in his hair as he kissed your lower lips affectionately, spreading them so that he could suckle at your bud.

As he did, you felt his wide fingertips tracing your entrance, and then he slipped one inside of you, both his fingers and mouth bringing you to ecstasy. You just needed a little more and then you could reach that peak that ascended you into bliss, and Daryl seemed aware of that fact to, adding another digit within your walls as he reached inside of you deeper, angling his fingers so that they toyed with that heavenly spot that made you see stars. Daryl rode you through your orgasm, his pace slowed until he pulled away, bringing his cum coated fingers to his own lips, tasting your essence as though he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Ya taste so good.” Daryl confirmed your suspicions, leaning over you so that he could kiss you again, and you tasted yourself on his lips, making you hum in delight against his mouth. There was so much you wanted to say to him, so many thoughts you needed to share, but you dared not think about speaking them - if the claimers heard, then it would endanger your people if they were still out there, having survive the ruin that your home had succumbed to. As you leant away from the kiss, you reached your hand up to trace every line on his face, each warping of his skin that had battled the world long before it had ended. If he was the last thing that you would ever see, then you would die as happy as you could.

“I love you.” You reminded him, knowing that he hadn’t been told that enough in his life, and he repeated your words with a delicate softness that contrasted heavily with the subjected hardness that was pressing against your thigh. He kissed you again as, leaning down as he stood, removing his pants and undergarments to shed himself into full exposure, making you gasp as he clambered atop of you, his body weight pressing into you. It was almost serene, and it would have been if you knew that this blanket of safety would last, however you doubted it considering the companions that had taken you into their midsts. This was the solace that you had sought prior to the outbreak - Daryl. You weren’t willing to let him go any time soon.

Your fingernails dug with a bite into the flesh of his scarred shoulders as he sank into you, his length slowly sliding within your walls until you felt almost unbearable full. He grunted in his own abyss of pleasure, staring at you with eyes filled with love that you had long awaited to be the bearer of, and he leant back, only to thrust back between the apex of your thighs again. He was heaven and bliss rolled into the contrasting, angelic frame of the handsome archer. His movements claimed you with a reverent passion, your flesh pressing tightly against one another as you had the impulse to call out his name, but rather than uttering it loudly for everyone in the house to hear, you whispered it into his ear, like a mantra that you never wanted to stop repeating.

Their eyes continued to fixate upon you, as if you were prey, an animal for the killing and skinning. Len was the worst of them, he licked his disgusting lips with a feverish hunger, like an addict concentrating upon his next hit. It wouldn’t be you, you were secure in that as he traipsed towards you, his toxic demeanour making you wrinkle your nose in dismay. You didn’t like him one bit, any of them in fact. But you had to do what it took to survive, and for the time being it was forcing yourself to be in their presence until you could find a safe locale far away from their greedy hands, hopefully by then having found your friends, or at least the ones that were still living.

“Y/N.” Your name sounded like poison as it left his lips, and you held in your grimace, wishing not to cause more trouble than the group already inebriated like air, pausing your footfalls as you turned your stiff attention towards him. Joe stopped too, watching intently as his follower stalked towards you, grabbing your arm. His grip was too firm to pull away from without causing a fight, and the last thing you wanted was to provoke further bloodshed, despite your feral side wishing to kill him for simply laying a hand upon you. You clenched your jaw, nostrils flaring, as the air around you wafted a breeze.

The trees danced as in applause for the sickly balls that Len had grown since your presence within the claimers, and you resented nature for conforming to the scene. “Let me go.” It was an order, one that fell deafeningly short on the man’s ear, as his putrid grip only tightened, and you were sure that there would be fingertip bruises looming beyond the sleeves of your jacket. You tried to pull back, but it only made you strangle out a small cry of pain, Len selfishly not relenting. Joe cleared his cigarette smoked throat, as if telling him to back off without voicing the threatening tone that billowed in his eyes, clearly wanting to see where this went. Without much else to do, you kicked at his legs, foot landing upon his shin causing him to curse.

“I’m already claimed you fucking bastard.” Joe seemed unsurprised by your words, having witnessed Daryl to slink into the room that you had claimed for yourself. He was gladdened by the fact that Daryl was within the tree line, seeking out a rabbit or some other animal that would contend as supper, otherwise there would be another event to fuel the clear hatred that Daryl and Len regarded one another with. The leader was amused, watching you kick once more at Len until he finally backed off, the bone on his leg no doubt being sensitive from the feel of your boots pummelling it. He knew there’d be trouble allowing a woman within their ranks, and as much as he had the impulse to swoop in and proclaim that he had claimed you, he was far too entertained, and rules were rules, set by his example.

“Yeah?” Len’s teeth were on show as if he were prepared to growl at you from the tenderness and pain you had reigned onto his left limb. “By who?” He retorted, his eyes having gone wild and crazed from the retaliation that you had openly handed him. His gaze seared against your form, trailing down your body as if he were trying to find a name etched into your flesh. The bristle of bushes made his head dart to the side, ready to see a walker stumbling out from the shrouded clearing, but it was only Daryl. There was a rabbit attained to its holding at his waist, the animal helpless and dead, having been struck by a bolt that ended its life and creating a patch of blood upon its fawn brindled side.

“I claimed her. She’s mine.” Daryl had heard most of the interaction, unaware when Len had grabbed you, otherwise he would have revealed himself sooner, the last thing he wanted was for you to be harmed. He stalked closer, pulling you into his side, noticing how tense you were, and that you had your arm held out in flatulent pain. “She’s mine. I claim her.” He repeated, glad that you had fought back. He hadn’t initially wanted to leave you to hunt, but Joe had told him to do exactly that, he spat on the ground towards Len, physically showing his distaste for the man. You were not something to be claimed, you were a human being, one that he cared about, one that he loved. But he and you both would keep the charade up until you could get away, and hopefully return to the people that you belonged with.

It was going to be a gruelling journey onwards with these folks, with Len hissing in jealous spite, but you had each other; that would get you through this, you reminded yourself. You could still feel Daryl’s amorous kisses upon your skin, and it brought you a wave of comfort. Joe cleared his throat, diverting the attention of his men and you and Daryl towards him. “You heard that.” The grey haired man stated with control bordering his voice. “She is claimed.” They all knew what that meant, and they would have to respect the procedure that had you claimed as they would with any other object. Daryl’s hand touched your waist, and that look that he gave you alone was enough to give you something to fight for.

[bullet-prooflove]

Dumb Bitch: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Takes place the day before:

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby has a shitty day, he just wants to be whereever you are and usually that's the pool.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

The reason Robby gets into a fistfight at the pool is because he hip checks ‘Charles, not Charlie’ into said pool. He’s had eyes on the fucker the entire swim season, watching him, watching you. He’s not a jealous man by nature, you’re an attractive woman who spends the majority of her time in a swimsuit, he’d drive himself crazy if he was.

However since he found out about the baby there’s a protectiveness in him that surges to the surface whenever he senses a threat and ‘Charles not Charlie’ is definitely a threat.

It’s the way looks at you with fuck me eyes, his hand straying into his pocket everytime you bend over in those sports shorts of yours. The fact he makes a point of getting your attention at the end of every swimming lesson, his hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the other parents under the guise of checking in on his son’s progress.

The thing is Robby knows he’s seen the ring because he can hear his voice bouncing around the pool room as he attempts to hit on you.

“You’re too pretty to be tied down like that.” Charles tells you as he lingers at the edge of the water, his hand coming to rest on your waist, thumb smoothing far too fucking close to where the baby resides. “I could give you the ride of your life-”

Robby hip checks him before you can break his fingers. It’s not even that hard, just a nudge that ‘could be’ accidental but it sends him careening into the pool spluttering and cursing up a storm.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He snarls as he comes hurtling out, his finger jabbing into Robby’s chest.

“The husband.” Robby responds, squaring up to him. “And the father.”

Charles head pivots towards you as he lets out a malicious laugh.

“You let him knock you up?” He exclaims, his gaze coming to rest on your abdomen. “You really are a dumb bitch-”

It’s then that Robby coldcocks him, sending tumbling back into the pool.

“Fuck.” You mutter, shimmying out of the shorts when you realise Charle’s unconscious. “I can’t believe I’ve gotta rescue the asshole that just called me a dumb bitch.”

You’re in the water before Robby can say another word, making one of those absolutely perfect dives. He’d be turned on if he wasn’t already so pissed off at the turn this situation had taken. He helps you get Charles back onto the tiles before checking him over for breathing sounds. He barely has his hands on him before the other man rouses, slapping at Robby like when two kids are fighting.  

“What the hell happened?” He mutters as he gets himself into a sitting position.

“You fucked around and found out.” You tell him, arms crossed over his chest  as he touches his tender eye. “You’re lucky I don’t call your wife about how much of a sleaze you are. Now go, your kids waiting for you.”

“But I’m soaking wet and my seats are freaking leather!”

“Not my problem Chuck.” You say jabbing your finger towards the locker room. “Now leave before my husband decides he wants round two.”

Robby gives him a dark look before he raises to his feet with as much dignity as he can muster, trapsing towards the exit. There’s silence between the two of you as you watch him go, the swing door closing behind him.

“I know you can handle your shit.” Robby says, his palms coming to rest on your hips, framing the space where the baby resides. “But he  put hands on you and that’s not ok.”

“The baby makes you a little more protective doesn’t it?” You murmur and he inclines his head in agreement. “I kinda like it.”

You bite your lip and it sends a rush of blood down to Robby’s dick.

“I should probably get out of this wet bathing suit.” You say, your fingers entwining with his before you tug him towards the empty office. “You wanna help?”

“Yea.” He says, scooping up the gym bag with your dry clothes in. “I certainly do.”

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[todorokies]

WHEN THE LIGHTS ARE LOW - logan howlett

contents 𝝑𝑒 : fem!reader, nsfw, cockwarming, some fluff & angst (?) got mixed up in this, implied legal age-gap, grumpy old man logan (written with ‘logan 2017’ in mind but he isn’t sick), intimacy scares logan but he tries, 1.1k words

a/n 𝝑𝑒 : this is possibly ooc this is my first time writing for him please go easy on me! ,,,, inspired by the song ‘when the lights are low’ by the paragons

“read to me, please?”

the air in the quite spacious room suddenly turned chilled as life around seemed to come to a halt. the eccentric buzzing of traffic seemingly stilled allowing cicadas and woodland birds to make their presence known.

fireflies tangoing into the darkened night jiving the streets alongside citizens peacefully making their way back to their residences.

it’s unlikely for a friday night to be uneventful for logan. a usual run through of the crazed day would be servicing important higher ups in his limousine, taking them to a glamorous black-tie event or a rowdy group of middle aged ladies celebrating a bride-to-be’s last night of freedom.

it was also unlikely for the said man to be in your bedroom after the hours of eight, conversing with you as the pads of his calloused fingertips ghosted over the satin silk that graced upon your body.

his tensed furrowed eyebrows relaxed for once, as he willingly leaves his on edge and guarded demeanour at your porch.

you don’t know how he was able to get the night off and frankly, you aren’t too eager to find out. rather using your energy to melt in his presence and eventually molding into one as his hazel half lidded eyes cautiously watches you straddle him then ease yourself on his semi hard cock.

his eyes immediately screwed shut followed by a throaty low groan once you bottom out, sitting completely still, your pelvises touching one another. your eyes softly flutter at the pleasurable ache as your hands found refuge around his neck and into the brushy hairs on his nape.

your question rings through his ears like a faint echo. with a quirked eyebrow, he lifts his head off the antique bed frame to face you, sharply examining your features.

“you can’t be serious?” he exasperatedly huffed out closing his eyes again and leaned back against the headboard.

you narrowed your eyes at him, “i’m dead serious. why else would you bring your glasses if you knew you had zero intentions of doing any reading?”

he doesn’t miss a beat, “i keep 'em on me at all times.” his voice is flat, not showcasing any emotion to give you more material.

you sigh, your lips pursed into a thin line while glancing at logan’s salt and pepper tufts of hair, allowing silence to fall amongst the two of you, not willing to continue the small squabble for a rather nonsensical request on your end.

that’s until you hear him scoff and mutter under his breath, “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

with a sharply slow roll of your hips you clamp down onto him, feeling his cockhead prods at your spongy spot. he loudly hisses through his teeth due to the sudden sensation, panting slightly as his fist balls up the sheets.

“you should be glad i haven’t hidden them yet, you old fuck,” you coyly beam.

logan’s brows knitted together as he shakily exhaled a deep breath to maintain —what’s left of— his composure, eyes stuck on your figure. great, you’re mocking him now, but he did have it coming he supposes.

his next movements are calculated, hesitant and uncertain as he reaches for your waist. yes, he has touched you before from head to toe, but there is always a sick gutted feeling of his that you’ll easily wither away in his arms leaving his dread to consume his soul once again.

his grip on your waist is loose, a mere nudge from a ghost, until you cuff your own hands over his to reassure his grip on you, his gaze softens.

“what do you want from me tonight?” his voice comes out as a honey dipped whisper, not what you were expecting as a rebuttal. it throws you off course, breath hitching before lightly nibbling on your bottom lip.

what exactly do you want from him tonight? when you received his sudden call five minutes before his arrival your nerves were over the moon. despite being in a relationship with logan for many months now, he always gave you an unorthodox reason to be nervous.

logan is intense. from how he carries himself to his appearance, his gaze all the way down to his speech patterns, the venom he spits out to his enemies or how he loves and cares for others so deeply; flesh, bones and all.

his love intimidates you —which is ironic in the sense that he could say the same exact thing about you— so truthfully, you don’t know what you want from him. only to be close enough to touch him, smell him, and to strip away his clothes to feel his skin onto yours.

but you choose not to say any of this, “shouldn’t i be asking you that?”

he dryly chuckles. the type of chuckle that reverberates against your own body from close proximity. you always loved when he laughed.

“i suppose you’re right, i am your guest after all.”

his larger hands begin to caress your waist, rubbing small circles with his thumb, “why do you want me to read to you?” genuine curiosity is laced in his tone. he stares up at you patiently awaiting for your answer and you now feel like a deer caught in headlights.

his undivided attention makes you shift against him causing the both of you to softly groan then you shrug, because you truly don’t know why yourself.

“i thought it would be a nice thing for us to do.” you nervously start to pick at the skin that surrounds your nails.

he simply hums in acknowledgment and soon captures your hands in his to stop you from fidgeting, “next time, bub, i just want to enjoy this at the moment.”

you break out into an earnest smile, your hands soon snaking its way out of his grasp to place them back on the base of his neck, his hands soon moves to your waist with much more confidence this time around.

“sooo, does this mean you’ll take another day off to visit me again?” your big doe eyes lit up at the possibility of spending another quiet friday night with logan by your side.

he feigns irritation, “who said i took the day off? i just didn’t have anything better to do.”

you playfully shove his shoulder before passionately locking lips with him. he’s tentative to your reactions as he bores his entire life force into you, a match has been light in the pit of his stomach as you both explored each other’s mouths.

he grunts. wanting more, craving more until you pull away, a small string of saliva follows before separating.

“well, next time when you have nothing better to do you’ll just have to read me pride and prejudice.”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[mingumis]

waves of you | kmg

you're called to the ocean, like a sailor to a siren's song. kim mingyu's soul is made of the same stuff as yours.

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader genres/themes: slow burn, pining, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, eventual fluff (suggestive bonus at the end!) tw: brief mentions of mental health and medication, unhealthy coping mechanisms a/n: my first fic ever posted! pls let me know if this is any good,, wc: 7.4k

You were born on an island, and although growing up, you rarely visited the beach once a year, in adulthood, something about the ocean calls you back to it and eases your nerves. The salt in the air that you taste with each breath, the fine sand hot between your toes, the waves that lap at your ankles, everything is familiar and puts your soul at peace. 

It’s what enabled you to become friends with Mingyu, you think, because he’s also inevitably led to the coasts and the sands and the water. Because otherwise, the popular, well-loved sports junkie that he is would never have even looked your way back in freshman year, you tell yourself. 

“Oh, how beautiful,” your friend, Yujin, breathes out a gasp as the car rounds the corner and turns onto a road that overlooks the beach that you’re headed towards. Minghao, her boyfriend and the current driver of the car, takes a peek and hums in agreement. It rouses you from your half-asleep daze, and you sit up a little to crane your neck to the side to look out the window. 

She’s right. The cabin that your group of friends has rented for the weekend sits cozily along a row of other identical lodgings, dotting a beautiful shoreline that meets the eastern sea. The sunrises are gorgeous, Yujin had insisted, and that had been enough to convince you to come along. Of course, the mention of Kim Mingyu’s presence on the trip hadn’t been omitted either. The view, further solidifying the reality of this upcoming weekend, and the recollection of the conversation sends a flutter of anticipation in your stomach, which you try your best to swallow away. 

Once Minghao pulls into the designated parking stalls for the campgrounds, you’re pulling at your belt buckle and all but scrambling out of the backseat. Instantly, you take a lungful of the salty air, feet surging forward and leading you towards the water. You barely hear and acknowledge Yujin’s amused murmur, “There she goes again.” 

As you near the beach, you crouch to pull your sneakers and socks off, planting your bare feet into the sand and breathing a quiet sigh of relief. You almost feel instantly healed from the headache of work and life. There’s a few remaining minutes of the sun left, so a few stragglers saunter along the beach still. A family with two squealing children, a couple quietly sharing a blanket around their shoulders, and a singular, tall silhouette that you would recognize anywhere in the world. 

Almost as if he’s been expecting you, the man turns his head over his shoulders at the same time that you distinguish him. The grin that splits Mingyu’s face takes your breath away, more than the purple and orange and blue of the twilight sky overhead. 

“Hey,” he calls your name with a wave to accompany it, his own shoes dangling from his other hand. “About time you guys showed up!” He’s in a white linen cardigan, sleeves pulled up to his elbows, and his jean cuffs are folded up to his ankles neatly. A pair of sunglasses hang from the vee of his collar, and his hair is wind tossed and salt ruffled. He looks every part a resident of this sleepy, seaside town. 

You will your racing heart to calm as you take each footstep towards him carefully and intentionally, so as not to rush and trip. Once you get close enough to see the moles on his nose, cheeks, and forehead that you love so much, you return his smile easily. 

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

Mingyu just agrees and laughs. 

When the sun finally disappears behind the mountains to the west, the two of you can’t linger any longer, especially as the wind picks up with a bite. Mingyu lets you take the lead as you trudge through the cold sand, barely satisfied with the glimpse of the ocean. 

You enter the house first, kicking your shoes clean outside, and immediately, a warm body crashes into you forcefully and nearly knocks you clear off of your feet. Thankfully, you’re held upright by a sturdy surface behind you, as you grasp at your chest, where your heart lurches in surprise. 

“Seokmin,” you hiss out, mid-complaint, but the man already apologizes at a million words per minute, arms looped around your shoulders. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Seokmin mumbles sheepishly, hugging you properly, as if it’s consolation for giving you the fright of a lifetime (it is). “I just missed you so much!” 

A quiet rumble of a laugh breaks you out of the moment, and it’s with mild horror that you realize that the surface that caught you from crashing to the floor is actually Mingyu’s broad, firm chest. With a jolt, you straighten up under Seokmin’s hold and shuffle farther into the hallway, leaving the two men behind and pretending to huff as you go. 

In the kitchen, Yujin and Minghao quietly tuck away the groceries and drinks into the fridge and freezer, and you study them for a moment, watching as they work effortlessly in tandem without saying a single word. Their movements come practiced and easy, through years of patience and work and fighting and loving. Despite the smile that curls onto your lips, you wonder cynically if you’ll ever find that sort of love for yourself. 

“Oh!” Yujin has turned to place something onto the kitchen counter and has caught sight of you lingering. “And how’s your estranged lover doing?” 

You snort out a laugh, broken from your reverie, just as Mingyu and Seokmin catch up to you and crowd around the counter. 

“You have a lover?” Seokmin gapes innocently, eyes bright with confusion. He turns to glance at Mingyu, who responds with a shrug and a nibble along his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, and his name is the ocean,” Yujin deadpans with a quick roll of her eyes. “Can’t get enough of him, really. Maybe that’s why she can’t seem to find a guy.” She bites playfully, knowingly shifting her gaze from you to Mingyu and back. 

You wince, “Ouch.” Pretend not to notice the way Seokmin offers you a sympathetic smile nor the sag of Mingyu’s shoulders. Instead, you plaster on the brightest grin you can manage and change the subject. 

“So, what’s for dinner?” 

–

You sit on the deck railing, half-ignoring and half-laughing at Yujin’s shrill warnings for you to be careful because if you fall and break your leg, nobody’s taking you to the ER. Behind you, Mingyu mans the grill, and Minghao sets the table up for dinner. Seokmin, bless his heart, sidles up behind you and mumbles sweetly that he’ll drive you, if it comes to it. You thank him with a grin, popping open your can of seltzer and knocking a mouthful back. 

The darkness that you stare into is dizzying, but there’s a certain calm that it brings. You swing your legs back and forth, balancing yourself on the wooden beam carefully, and sip away at the can, listening to the distant waves crash and break. 

“Doin’ alright?” 

The voice comes without warning, and you jump at its proximity which jostles you an inch forward, teetering a bit off balance. Before you have the chance to right yourself, an arm snakes around your waist, holding you back firmly. 

“Mingyu,” you breathe. “You scared me.” The motion has made your drink spill all over your hand and pants, and you pull a face, bringing your arm up to lick away at the stray droplets clinging to your skin. 

The man besides you giggles a little sheepishly, “Sorry. Dinner’s ready, but you seemed so peaceful and I didn’t want to bother you.” He pulls away once you twist around to come down from the rail, and you instantly mourn the loss of his warmth. 

Nonsense, you quickly admonish yourself. As smitten as you may be with the man, you have to remind yourself constantly that he’s been seeing another girl for almost the better part of a year now. The day that epiphany had come, through a careless slip of Wonwoo’s tongue, had gone over rough. You had spent an entire weekend moping on the couch, as Yujin and Minghao, Seokmin and Soonyoung, and Chan and Seungkwan took rotating shifts to make sure you didn’t fall apart completely and do anything stupid.

You know that you’re pathetic, pining after the only person you know who comes close to being perfect, but you’re anything but weak so you tried to take it in stride, laughing easily at jokes and eating all of the sweet treats that your friends brought you to cheer you up. It was only after you shut the door behind Seungkwan and Chan taking off for the night with lingering hugs and quiet murmurs of comfort that you allowed yourself to unravel, heaving through dry sobs that shook your entire body until the tears followed. 

You let yourself cry over Mingyu that one night and never again. 

Now, as you trail along back inside to the dinner table, eyes glued to the wide expanse of his back, you wish you could cry. Mingyu’s perfect, you’re realizing all over again, as if the distance and time away from him had made you forget. Perfect, but not meant for you. 

You gulp down the rest of your seltzer just as you sink into your designated chair to chase away the bitterness that pools in the back of your throat. Seokmin leans into you, bumping his shoulder against yours with a concerned furrow to his brow, but you wave him away with a smile. 

“Eat up,” you urge him, nodding towards the piles of barbequed meats that Mingyu has grilled. 

You quickly realize that the dining table, despite being long and wide enough to seat all five comfortably, is still too small because you can hear every word, giggle, grumble coming from Mingyu. It gets to the point where you’re just one more seltzer in, barely having nibbled on a short rib or two, and you’re all but sagging into Seokmin’s side, hanging off of every word that comes from Mingyu’s mouth as he recounts some funny story. 

At one of the punchlines, you squeak out a giggle, unable to hold it in, and the whole table turns to glance at you, which then makes the others laugh too. 

“Oh, man.” Mingyu grins, visibly pleased by the reaction to his story. “She’s gone.” 

You snort a puff of air out, mumbling, “M’right here!” Your friends laugh again, and Seokmin snakes his arm around your back to hold you up in your seat, snickering as he does. 

“Don’t remember you being such a lightweight,” he muses, chewing on his lip, before he dips his face close to yours to whisper. “You alright?” 

You merely smile, head bobbing once. He’s so warm and gentle besides you, and you’ve been so starved for touch like this that you all but melt into him. “Never been better.” 

By now, Minghao and Yujin have started up another one of their stories, and you listen along in a half-daze, eyes shut and cheek against Seokmin’s shoulder. 

You don’t see Mingyu’s gaze lingering on where you’re pressed into Seokmin. 

–

You wake before the sun, mouth dry as if you’ve eaten sand. Someone has carried you from the table to the room with the giant king-sized bed, tucked you into the sheets next to Yujin. Quietly, you slip out of bed, brush your teeth, and shower, and without even meaning to, your feet lead you out of the house, onto the shore. 

It’s still too early for the sunrise, and the sky yawns above you, navy blue and speckled with stars. You crane your neck back, mouthing out the few names that you know. Orion’s Belt, Canis Major, Sirius. Once you’ve exhausted the constellations that you know, you find a dry spot in the sand, sit with your legs folded and knees hugged to your chest. 

You finally let your guard down, breathing in through your nose, letting out a shuddering sigh through your teeth. Maybe this was a mistake, you ponder, running your fingers through the sand absently. It really is nice seeing your friends after so long, and the ocean welcomes you back home with open arms, but Mingyu’s presence, his beauty, his easy smiles leave the wound in your heart raw and open. Festering. 

Another few moments pass by lost in thought, until you pick up your head and notice that the sky has started to lighten overhead. Just then, a short whistle catches your attention, and when you turn, you suppose you’re not even surprised to find Mingyu crossing over the beach towards you. 

Your heart pulses and aches as you take him in. He’s in his checkered pajama pants still, a giant gray hoodie pulled on over his head. In the crook of his elbow are two water bottles, as if he knew you’d be here. Something about that thought unravels you even more. 

“You’re up early,” you mumble in greeting, nodding your appreciation when he hands you one of the bottles. 

Mingyu clicks his tongue and shrugs. “Wanted to see what the fuss about the sunrise was about. You?” He comes right beside you, planting himself into the sand and taking up the same position as you, elbows perched onto his knees. 

“Woke up dehydrated as fuck,” you say around a mouthful of water, grinning when he laughs. The man doesn’t say anything else, tilting his head up to watch as the sun begins its ascent. 

Despite the ache in your chest, it’s so easy to be Mingyu’s friend, to act like you don’t love him so much that you could die. It’s easy to sit here in silence with him, shoulder to shoulder, elbows brushing, pretending that the moment, and the world, belongs to the two of you. 

You zone out, concentrating on keeping your breath steady and thoughts reigned in. It isn’t until a tiny gasp catches in Mingyu’s throat that you’re looking away from the waves, first to him and then up above. Overhead, the sun has risen just enough to send a million colors across the sky. It’s a different palette from yesterday’s sunset, as orange and pink and blue swirl around each other. You stare, enraptured by the sight, and for a second, everything is perfect.

“Okay,” Mingyu says softly. “I get the hype now.” 

You glance at him, trace your gaze along the cheeky smile, the wonder in his eyes. Your heart squeezes, and you nod in agreement. 

Being here in this moment with him alone loosens your tongue, or maybe you’re still not completely sober because the words are escaping before you even have the thought to stop them. 

“Why did you come, Mingyu?” Your eyes widen in horror as you hear your own voice above the gentle push and pull of the waves, but it’s too late to take anything back now. 

The man blinks in surprise once, twice, leaning his cheek against a knee to fully look at you. “For the sunrise, silly.” 

No, you want to exclaim. Why did you come this weekend? Why did you come alone? But you’re a coward, and you always have been, so you swallow away the rest and hum in response. 

–

“Hey, Tiny. Come say hi.” 

If the rasp of Mingyu’s voice isn’t enough, that dumb, aggravating nickname that he insists on teasing you with sends your stomach tumbling. He peers over at you innocently as he sits on a stool at the kitchen counter, holding his phone in one hand, his chin in the other, elbow propped up. You cut him a glare, peeking at the screen that he turns to you to find Seungkwan and Chan’s faces peering back at you. 

“Oh!” You smile, pleasantly surprised. “Hi, Kwannie, Channie.” 

“Hi, Tiny,” comes their response in unison, Chan’s mouth quirking up into a smirk and Seungkwan’s eyes widening mockingly. Little shits. 

You scowl immediately, turning away with a sigh. “Sorry, I don’t talk to mean people.” 

Thankfully, Chan and Seungkwan know exactly when to indulge someone, and they paw at the screen, blasting the speakers out with incoherent shrieks of apology. You chuckle, dipping behind to put your face besides Mingyu’s. 

“Much better,” you nod. “Miss you guys.” 

Chan’s grin softens, and Seungkwan splutters at the sudden tenderness, lips jutting out into a pout. “Wish we could’ve come too,” he ends up murmuring, gaze swimming with affection. “It’s been a while since we all got together.” 

You chat with the two, and Mingyu interjects occasionally with his own quips until a notification drops from the top of his screen. His thumb swipes it away before you can fully make out the contact, but you do catch the purple heart emoji tagged after the end and your heart drops. You must freeze because Chan pauses in the midst of his sentence and his brow creases a little. 

Mingyu takes advantage of the lull in conversation to mumble out a quick excuse and apology, “Hey, guys, I gotta go make a call real quick. Can we call back later?” 

You both hurriedly say your goodbyes, before Mingyu’s pushing himself up and away from the kitchen counter without another word. Left alone, you hover for a few seconds, disappointed, before shuffling through the house to find your other friends. 

You’re not going to let your weekend getaway be ruined by something like this. 

And that’s how you find yourself, clinging to Seokmin’s shoulders as he marches deeper and deeper into the water. His arms hold strong, looped under your knees, and he just giggles, skin warm beneath your fingertips. Just ahead, Yujin teeters precariously atop Minghao’s shoulders, teeth flashing as she shrieks giddily. 

“You’re quiet,” Seokmin notes, tilting his head back to look at you. “Everything alright?” 

You just hold tighter, hiding your face away into his shoulder. It’d be so much easier to love Seokmin. You already do love him, for his infinite joy and compassion for others, for his positive, sunny presence. But it’s not the same, and it never would be the same. You hate yourself for these thoughts. 

“Is it Mingyu?” 

You frown and mumble his question away, “No, it’s just my dumb head thinking too much.” With a ruffle of his damp hair and a quick kiss to the cheek, you assure, “I’m okay. Thanks for worrying about me.” 

Seokmin merely shies away at the touch, cackling bashfully. He drops his voice to a whisper, “Let’s go dunk those two.” Tightening his hold on you, he surges forward to the unsuspecting couple, and you lunge for Yujin, toppling her off of Minghao and into the sea, which sets off a round of screaming and splashing that makes you forget about everything. It’s hard to be lovesick when your friends are around, grabbing you by the waist to throw you into the water. 

–

I can see that you’re hurting. 

Your thumbs hover over the phone screen, eyes roving everywhere, anywhere, but that particular gray bubble in the message log with Lee Chan. Lee Chan, who’s so perceptive that he can read you like an open book through a fifteen minute video call. Lee Chan, who’s so in tune with his own emotions that he’s not afraid to call you out on your own. 

Breathing a defeated sigh, you type out a response. 

I’m doing alright, Channie. I’d rather see him and hurt than never see him again. 

His message back is instant: You’re torturing yourself. 

You dig a knuckle into a temple, easing the sharp jab that arises from the conversation. With another halfhearted attempt of reassuring Chan, you shut your phone off and pocket it, switching it out for the two pill bottles you’ve carried out with you. You continue what you were doing before Chan’s concern interrupted you, reaching for a mug in the cabinets and filling it with water. 

In the midst of shaking out a single pill from each bottle, a gentle voice quivers out from the hall, making you jump and tense. As your luck would have it, it’s Mingyu, forehead creasing as he looks from your face to the labeled orange prescription bottles to the tiny pills in your palm. He holds an empty glass, as if he’s also come out for a drink of water. His face, initially cautious and guarded, opens up, confused and worried and devastated. 

“Hey, Tiny,” he mumbles, padding closer and closer. “Everything alright?”

No, no, no, no. You had purposefully crept out of bed once the house settled into a prolonged silence, afraid that you'd run into one of the others. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, pinned by Mingyu’s searching gaze on you. 

When he gets close enough, you finally force yourself to move, hurriedly pocketing the bottles and tossing the pills into your mouth and swallowing them dry. In your panic, they get stuck halfway down your throat, and you have to gulp desperate mouthfuls of water down to dislodge them. Fuck, you’re making a mess of yourself. 

Pull yourself together, you chide before urging a smile onto your face. 

“Hey,” you murmur back, careful to keep your voice even. “I’m okay, just getting ready for bed. What are you doing up?” 

He mutters a quiet reply, “Was on a call.” Right. He’s been on and off his phone all afternoon and night, ever since he scrambled away from the kitchen counter earlier in the morning. He had missed out on the entire beach session, only joining in with the group briefly for dinner, wearing a permanent furrow to his brow. 

Despite your attempt at steering him away, Mingyu’s appraisal of your expression penetrates your soul, gaze slow and intentional. He doesn’t press, he never does, but his presence is firm and it’s clear that he’s not backing down without answers. 

You shut your eyes in defeat, breathing through a few moments of working up the courage to vocalize something you haven’t told any of your friends. Not even Seokmin or Chan. Because saying it out loud, telling someone else, means that it’s real, means that you’re acknowledging that you are weak after all, despite all of your bravado. 

As a last ditch attempt, you wince, “Do you have to know?” 

“Yes,” Mingyu insists. 

“Why?” 

A long silence stretches between the two of you. 

“Because you–” Mingyu cuts his words off abruptly, and when you glance up at him, his eyes widen imperceptibly, surprised. He hesitates, which is weird to see because Mingyu never dithers. He always, always barrels through things, whether he’s prepared for them or not. It’s one of the things you admire most about him, so when he falters, it’s your turn to give him a strange look. “Because I’m your friend,” he finally settles on, which makes your stomach sink in disappointment, “I’m worried about you, but you never let people worry about you, which frustrates me.” 

Your chest could have been torn, ribs pulled apart to bare your aching, bleeding heart, and it would probably feel the same as you do now as you speak, throwing the words out into the cold, midnight air hollowly. “I take antidepressants. Helps with my anxiety.” 

Mingyu exhales forcefully, as if his breath has been punched out from him. He moves automatically, reaching a hand up to cup your face, palm warm against your cheek. “How long?” 

His touch is searing, and you ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from tearing yourself away from him or running or throwing up. 

“Almost six months now.” 

The day after you cried over Mingyu, you had promptly scheduled yourself a slot into a therapist’s office, who had been recommended to you by Yujin. About four months of therapy alone had proven insufficient, and your therapist had suggested medication, which you had greedily, almost desperately, accepted. 

“Nobody else knows,” you start blabbing, stomach suddenly lurching with fear because now that one person knows, it’s only a matter of time before others do. Mingyu’s not a snitch, you know this somewhere deep inside your head, but maybe, just maybe, he’ll think that this is information that needs to be shared. 

“Hey,” he rasps, but you barely acknowledge it, thoughts racing and dipping deeper and deeper into the swirl of dread and misery that exists constantly inside your head. 

“Tiny.”

Only the slight irritation that spikes at the sound of the nickname rouses you from the spiral, and you return to the moment, frowning. Mingyu smiles, despite it all. 

“I won’t tell a soul.” 

He stays true to his word and doesn’t even bring it up the following morning, but he may as well be screaming at the top of his lungs that something is wrong, through his newfound devotion to hovering beside you at all times. You’ve been brushing past Yujin’s curious hums and dodging Minghao’s side eyeing all morning, but during lunch out at the beachside town, Mingyu pulls your salad away to manually cut the chicken breast into bite-sized pieces in front of everyone before handing the plate back over to you wordlessly. When Seokmin’s eyes appear to be bugging out of their sockets, you decide to intervene. 

You have to catch him by the elbow, pulling him aside momentarily as the others step into a gift shop to hiss, “Okay, you’re freaking everyone out.” 

Mingyu merely blinks his huge, guiltless eyes at you. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re hovering. Stop that. I’m depressed, not dying.” 

The man scratches at his neck sheepishly, swiveling his head from side to side to see if anyone has overheard. “Just trying to take care of you is all,” he shrugs. 

You sigh. This is exactly why you’d chosen not to tell your friends anything. “I appreciate it,” you say, poking a fingertip against his chest (pretending that you don’t notice the way his firm skin barely gives way beneath the pressure). “But please, at least try to be subtle about it?” 

Mingyu merely lets a grin split his face like an overjoyed puppy, as if he’s just glad you haven’t refused his special treatment. 

You turn away and into the gift shop, ignoring the way the tips of your ears burn red-hot. 

–

“So…” 

You groan loudly, lifting an elbow out of the jacuzzi water to tuck your face into the crook of it. 

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” Yujin protests as she quietly slips into the tub beside you, knees knocking against yours. She holds out a can of beer to you, which you politely refuse, having already had a moment of weakness on the first night. 

“But!” She continues, gaze burning fierce with curiosity. “I think everyone has caught onto you guys, so spill.” 

You blink owlishly, wondering what ideas your other friends have come up with. “Sorry to disappoint,” you say mildly, shrugging, “but nothing’s going on.” 

Yujin gasps, scandalized. “Then why is Mingyu trailing after you like a lovesick puppy?” 

Is that what it looks like? You want to laugh it off, but your friend’s words only lodge a tight knot in your throat that you can barely swallow around. 

“He is not.” 

“He totally is! Minghao told me that he saw you guys coming in together from the beach yesterday morning, so we assumed something happened then!” 

You watch, pained, as Yujin excitedly spins a theory, and you must look pathetic enough because her own expression falls. “What?” Her voice lowers into a concerned whisper, and she reaches for your hand beneath the surface of the water. 

“He’s definitely still with that girl.” You try not to sound bitter, squeezing at her fingers. “I saw her texting him, and they were calling the other day.” 

“Oh,” she calls your name sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.” 

You merely smile at her, wave away her concern. “Don’t be,” you insist, “It’s about time that I get over it anyway. I can’t keep living my life like this, right?” 

“Right,” she affirms. “I’m proud of you.” 

The two of you soak in the hot water for a few more minutes, chatting about everything and nothing at all, before Yujin complains about her wriggled fingertips. You’re just about covering up the jacuzzi, having sent your friend back inside the house ahead of you, when a patter of bare footsteps up the stairs to the deck from the beach catches your attention. 

Mingyu has just climbed up from a night swim with the boys, hair drenched and tousled, water still clinging to his tan skin, shorts pressed to his strong thighs. His eyes are bright when he catches sight of you, and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of your own stare and quickly cast your gaze away. 

“How’s the hot tub?” The man makes easy conversation, bending to pick up a towel from a stack that they’ve left conveniently on the deck. He roughly dries his hair, and you pointedly do not look at him as he does. 

“Insanely nice,” you breathe honestly, pulling your own towel tightly around your shoulders to keep yourself concealed. “You and the boys should try it out.” 

Mingyu hums in agreement, throwing his head over his shoulder to look towards the beach. Seokmin and Minghao are still chasing each other, kicking up sand as they go, voices pitched up in joy. “They don’t seem like they’ll be heading back anytime soon.” He shakes his head mirthfully. 

Your stupid heart betrays you, mere minutes after you just told Yujin that you’d start trying to get over him. Defeated for now, you’re opening your mouth to bid him goodnight, when Mingyu speaks first. 

“Listen,” he starts. Hesitates again. He crosses over the deck to tower right above you, standing so close that you can smell the salt on his skin. Mingyu reaches, hand resting heavy on your hip, and you’re beyond glad that your towel is wrapped tightly around your torso because if you felt his palm on your bare skin, you might have lost yourself completely. 

Your breath catches, and you don’t take another, afraid that any movement will break the moment. 

“I did some research,” Mingyu’s voice dips low, as if he’s sharing a secret with you. “Read somewhere that you shouldn’t mix alcohol and antidepressants, but you drank, didn’t you? The first night? That’s not good for your, Tiny.” 

You freeze. This is the type of person that Mingyu is, you remind yourself. Someone whose physical touch comes as a natural instinct. Someone who notices and remembers things. Someone who looks things up out of concern. 

The weight of his hand on your waist, the scent of his skin and the salt on it, the cloying uncertainty in his voice is all so dizzying that you might as well have been five drinks in now. He is your ruin, your undoing. So long as you are friends with him, you’ll never heal, you realize with dread. 

Frightened, you take a few steps back, unable to look at him anymore. You manage a strangled squeak to wish him good night, before you’re all but running away.

When the next morning comes, you feign being sick, which isn’t completely a lie, since the incessant throb in your head is enough to keep you in bed. Yujin fusses over you, suggesting to call Minghao in and make him drive the three of you back to the city to take you home. 

“No, no,” you insist, waving your hands up frantically. “It’s the last day that we’re here! Just enjoy yourselves without me. I think I just need to sleep in a little longer.” You even crack open your eyes to smile at her. 

Yujin, thankfully, tucks you beneath the comforter tightly, leaving you with a soft kiss on the forehead and a promise that she’ll bring you back something to eat. 

–

Mingyu’s very confused, and a little nervous, as his friends give him varying expressions of frustration and disbelief when he tells them that he broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago. Minghao holds his face in his hands, as if he doesn’t even want to look at him when he asks why. 

He twists his lips from left to right as he ponders the question. What he told his ex were assorted excuses of “I just don’t see us being a long term thing” or “I think I just have too much on my plate right now”, but after this weekend, he’s not so sure anymore. Mingyu cautiously offers, “I don’t think she was the one. She keeps texting and calling me, though. I shouldn’t respond, but I feel so bad.”

Yujin cuts a glare at him, looking like she’s all but ready to kill him with nothing but the spoon clutched in her hand. She’s evidently a few mimosas in, and she hisses, “Kim Mingyu, you dumb, idiotic moron!” 

He blinks in surprise. “Okay, you just called me stupid three different ways in one sentence.” 

Seokmin sighs from beside him, poking his fork into the puddle of yolk leftover from his eggs benedict. “Well, you are pretty dumb,” is what his best friend tells him. 

Mingyu pouts, a little hurt by the way his friends are treating him, especially when he just told them that he’s going through a breakup. “You guys are being mean,” he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tiny wouldn’t treat me like this.” 

At the sound of his nickname for you, everyone at the table looks at him, and now they’re all glaring at him. His poor little heart shrivels up in his chest, and Mingyu finally lets out a cry, “Can you guys just tell me what’s going on?” 

“You have no right.” Yujin slurs angrily, jabbing her spoon in his direction. “No right to treat my girl like that!” Her voice pitches up a bit too loudly at the end, which causes patrons at the surrounding tables to turn and look. Minghao reaches to clap a palm over her mouth, using his other hand to pull her into his side and calm her down. 

Seokmin, gentle soul that he is, softly mutters, “Have you ever considered that you might mean more than just a friend to her?” 

Mingyu’s mind goes blank, as he falters. A million thoughts run through his head at a million miles per hour. 

You’re the only one in the world who understands what it’s like to be led to the water by the ocean’s siren song. He doesn’t have to use words to explain what he feels to you, when he lets himself wander and finds himself skirting the edge of the beach, where the waves lap at his feet and pull away, leaving nothing but foam and bubbles. You’re the one who confided in him first, all those years ago, that you found the city too suffocating and heavy, that you were considering moving back to the island you were born on, despite your entire life being on the mainland. He had smiled and murmured that he wished he could do the same, and would want nothing more in life than to do that.

You, who he can always count on finding at the beach, as if magnetized to one another because your souls are made of the same stuff. 

Mingyu’s breathless because his friends are right. He is a dumb, idiotic moron. 

He runs back to the campgrounds ahead of his friends, all the way from town. He doesn’t bother checking your room or even going into the cabin because in his heart of hearts, he knows exactly where you are. Sure enough, he’s just coming up the small dune towards the shore when he catches sight of you, sitting with your knees tucked to your chest, head lolled to the side as you watch the water. 

He can only see your back from where you are, and you look so tiny. That’s why he had started calling you it in the first place, so fond of how little you are compared to him, how your nose would inevitably scrunch up in objection whenever you heard the name. 

Mingyu cannot believe how stupidly blind he’s been. 

–

You hear your name being called, but your heart limps along, immune to the sudden appearance of his voice. Tightening your arms around your bent legs, you wait until Mingyu comes by to sit beside you, just like that morning you watched the sunrise together. His back rises and falls rapidly, huffing as if he’s run all the way back from town. Even when his breath settles, he doesn’t say a word, as if waiting for you to speak first. 

You inhale shakily and then unload everything before you have the chance to doubt yourself. 

“I can’t be friends with you anymore, Mingyu.” 

The man soaks in the words, before he says plainly, “Okay. Because I can’t either.” He then leans forward, to crane his head and peer right into your face. Mingyu grins, bright as the sun. Your heart cleaves in two and you’re grasping at the remnants of your sanity to hold it together, and he’s smiling. 

“–The fuck?!” 

You bite your tongue to prevent hurling more expletives because this is certainly not the Kim Mingyu that you know and love. 

His smile only widens, and he’s suddenly talking, words spilling from his mouth and stumbling over his lisp, “I know, by the way. I know that you love me. I know that you’re trying hard to pretend that you’re fine, when you’re not. I know I’ve been so, so stupid, and I’m sorry for that.”

Mingyu reaches across the space that he’s politely left between the two of you, one hand coming to cup your cheek, the other sweeping your hair back from your face gently. He holds and looks at you so tenderly, as if he’s scared of shattering you, and for the first time ever, you feel seen. 

“What’s going on?” You manage to work out, but your voice comes out very small. 

“I broke up with her months ago,” Mingyu says, as if that explains everything. “She didn’t understand who I was. But you…” A thumb delicately brushes over your cheekbone to catch a tear, and only then do you realize that you’re crying. The man’s smile crumples, and he dips to press his lips onto the top of your head, mumbling into your hair, “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

You gasp for a breath, forcefully trying to swallow away the sobs. All day, as you tossed and turned in bed alone, you had been working yourself up towards ending your friendship with Mingyu once and for all, to protect whatever pieces of your heart were left. 

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you warble, finally holding onto him, fingers tightening around his shirt like it’s a lifeline. 

Mingyu chortles, and it rumbles throughout his entire body. 

“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.” 

–

“Um. What is that?” 

Chan’s voice comes through, shrill and scandalized, from the other end of the line, and you can see the cogs turning in his head, as you quickly move to turn the collar of your shirt up and cover the burgeoning mark that Mingyu’s teeth have left on your skin. When Chan leaves the screen momentarily to frantically call Seungkwan over, you whip your head around to glare at Mingyu, who lounges in the armchair beside you lazily, a pleased grin curling onto his lips. 

“I’m never hearing the end of this,” you mutter, just as Seungkwan enters the frame. 

“What’s this about a hickey I’m hearing?” Seungkwan clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “What kind of low-grade, classless loser did you bring home with you?” 

At that, Mingyu jolts up, straight as an arrow, brows furrowing. He starts whining his complaints as he comes over to your side. 

You watch with amusement as the recognition of the voice registers in Seungkwan’s eyes first, then Chan’s. Then, Mingyu peeps his face into the camera. It’s actually quite comical, the way Chan and Seungkwan both slap their hands over their mouths, eyes stretching wide. 

“What the–”

“–actual fuck?!” 

You snicker a little, cheeks flushing as you catch sight of the little window on the phone screen that mirrors back your face pressed against Mingyu’s. He must notice it too because he catches your eye through the screen and leans in to smile against your mouth. A cacophony of groans and gags come from Chan and Seungkwan, but your heart swells, tight with love and affection. 

bonus:

“Can’t believe I got called a ‘low-grade, classless loser’,” Mingyu mutters, laving his tongue over the mark on your throat. “Could a loser do this?” His voice drops low and raspy, deep inside of his chest, as his hands dip beneath your shirt and his fingers leave sinful trails along your stomach. As soon as Seungkwan and Chan had hung up the call, Mingyu had immediately pulled you onto the armchair, pinning you into the seat with his weight, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of your thighs. 

You squirm, throwing your head back against the armchair in an attempt to create some space, but Mingyu just follows. His hooded gaze burns bright with affection, with desire, as he peers up at you. 

Good lord, those eyes of his. 

“H-Hey,” you stutter out when you feel the drag of his teeth against your clavicle, the sharp bite of his pointy canines. “Hey,” you repeat, pressing your hands firmly against his shoulders to push him back. “We never talked about the emoji.” 

Mingyu’s half-listening, you can tell. He pretends that he’s looking at you, but he can barely meet your eyes, gaze dipping lower to your lips and then your throat. A tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth, just before he’s trying to lean back in. 

You scowl, threading your fingers through the soft hair at the back of his skull and tugging to pin him in place. Head forced back, Mingyu finally focuses, chest heaving. A soft whine catches in his throat and the tips of his ears flare bright red, and you would find it endearing if you weren’t trying to get answers. 

“Baby,” he purrs. “That was so hot.” 

“Down, boy.” You roll your eyes, loosening your grip on his hair. “The emoji. Explain it.” 

“What emoji?”

“The heart emoji, next to your ex’s name in your phone.” 

Mingyu pulls his brows together in thought, before he nibbles at his bottom lip sheepishly. “Okay, you’re not gonna like the answer.” 

Your stomach turns uneasily, but you shrug anyway. “Tell me.”

The man sighs. “She’s the one who put it there in the first place, and I honestly, swear on my life, forgot that it was there. But she’s since been blocked and deleted!”

You narrow your eyes, contemplating his words. “Hm,” you say, watching Mingyu squirm under your scrutiny. 

“Can I show you what you’re saved as in my contacts? Maybe it’ll make up for it.” 

You nod, waiting as he taps at his phone to pull it up. When he turns the screen around to show you, and your gaze focuses on “the littlest tiny” with five blue hearts next to it, you can’t decide if you should kick him or kiss him. 

Balking at your silence and lack of reaction, Mingyu pushes himself off of the chair to fall to his knees at your feet. He clasps his hands together and places them in your lap, eyes wide and shining with remorse. “I’m sorry,” he whines pitifully. “It was a joke, I promise!” 

You regard him coolly, thoroughly enjoying the way his bottom lip quivers into a pout. Before you can stop yourself, you’re pressing a thumb against the seam of his mouth, watching with acute interest as it parts and his tongue, warm and soft, peeks out to meet the pad of your finger. The image sends your stomach tumbling. 

“I love you,” Mingyu mumbles, extending an olive branch. “Only you, baby.” 

You bite. “Prove it.” 

You barely catch the glimpse of the smirk curling across Mingyu’s lips, before his strong arms lift you up and out of the armchair, into his chest, and towards your bedroom. 

[gremlingottoosilly]

Demon! Konig X Nun! Reader

The reader was awakened in the middle of the night by a strange noise outside the church, encountered a stranger in the rain, because of her kindness and innocence she gave the stranger shelter from the rain overnight and was raped.

There is a devil at your door, and he is absolutely fascinated. One of the easiest way to infiltrate a temple - to get someone dumb enough to accept a stranger into the house of god, someone naive or greedy enough to try and shake him for all the kindness they gave out. You were dumb - naive, really. Even if he wasn't a demon, he is still a huge man standing outside of a church in the night's rain. You're just a lonely nun, left to take care of the further part of the temple while the rest of the church resided in other, more important buildings. You're still just one woman in the night, far enough from people who could hear your screams. Konig couldn't even wait for his usual seduction - he tried to, of course, always like to sway a soul in a natural way. Show a bit more skin, get you a glimpse of pleasure that sin can provide. You're far too innocent for this - you listen to his stories of wild parties and debauchery while pouring him a warm drink and bring him a change of clothes, something, so he won't have to stay in his soaked cloak and a mask. You listen to him carefully, surprise evident in your eyes - and you promise him that you will pray for his adventures once it's all over. A usual young nun, especially as pretty as you, could be swayed with warm words and some wild promises - but you kindly refused. You let him graze the softness of your lisp with his hands and still remained undefeated. Konig is...intrigued. Fascinated. Which is why he decided, that your soul is too pure for his usual seduction. Oh no, you deserve to be the finest treat on his plate - you deserve to unravel on his tongue and be devoured like the final meal of a prisoner on death row. You deserve to be pushed into the abandoned, old altar - you tries to clean it before, but it was useless - and your nun garments lifted. You cried and whimpered, trying to push him away, but he only squeezed your throat in that delicious way that made you dizzy. You could have sworn you saw him growing horns and claws - but it might be just the lack of air in your pretty throat. You whimper as he tears your innocence with his lust - as he fills you up, now not a bride of god, but a woman, unraveling under him. He smirks into the bite marks of your neck and laughs as you're trying to pray that all of this would be a dream. He leaves the cross hanging on your tits, and it strikes him with a little wave of heat every time he bounces your lush body off his cock just right. He likes the feeling, that tiny tingle - like that useless god of yours can actually do something. Oh no, kleine engel, you are going to hell with him - and he will make sure to respect at least one of the heavenly wows as he makes you his wife.

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 052 - Lovesick! Fae King! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ TW: stalking, obsession, gaslighting(?), gore, body horror, blasphemy, BLOOD, the act of burning people alive, arson, yandere/lovesick Jinwoo au ]‼️

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Then Let This World Set Ablaze ] ¡! ❞

You really don't know how it happened, one day you were strolling blissfully in the forest behind your cottage and now you were suddenly acquainted with the fae king who was in charge of the underworld

In your world that was run by a bunch of swindling and bastard gods with their minions of divine creatures who praise even their most horrendous crimes; lives an eternal fae king of the dead who never wanes in power.

From the heavens, the lands, the seas and the afterlife— The Fae King of the undead was someone no one could touch. Not even the greater demons and the father of all creation could dare face this man.

Well, they did once upon a time.

And the world was plunged into eternal darkness with humans being shielded by the same king everyone had despised. Humans now realized that those they worship had little to no regard to them as they started a devastating ragnarok just for the sake of pride and royalty.

In the end? 80% of the gods who started the war fell beneath the fae lord's feet and reincarnated into ghastly undead soldiers made of shadowy wisps wicked beyond one could ever imagine.

Since then, Jinwoo had become someone the common folk and even demons worship. Does he care? No. He just wants to live his long and take care of his family in his kingdom where no one can get in or out.

Not even the 9th class mages could even locate where it is.

Maybe there are but never lived to tell the tale and probably suffering eternal punishment in his army of the undead where even gods aren't spared from.

Until you.

Yes, you.

Just a simple girl who lives out in the cottage living life as happily as she can away from the big city.

The foolish and small you who doesn't even have a pinch of divine power nor exceptional mana flowing within your blood.

Somehow, the same you who is nothing more than just one of the many soul the resides in this vast world— Stumbled upon the kingdom of the Fae King of the Eternal Night.

Word of tongue say this place would be barren and dry with rot here and there. The nauseating scent of death would flow here and there that it would lead you mad.

But all of those were lies.

Instead you had found youself in a tranquil land where all sorts of flowers glow beneath your feet as a guiding trail. When you followed the gentle lights that guided you in this ethereal land where the stars shine brighter than you've ever seen— You would find yourself in front of the same king that all beings fear and submit you.

Yet why is he so beautiful?

You should be afraid.

And yet you find yourself entranced by this man who brought the mightiest being of earth to their knees.

Cascading and silky long black locks that falls so prettily as if it's made from the finest of fine silk, loose and almost open black robes that seem to glimmer softly as if it's made with a blanket of stars, a face so sculpted so perfectly it's impossible to not say this man must have been a sculpture made with hands of a divine artists whose touch only brings perfection— And oh those eyes.

Those enchanting silver eyes of death that seem to pull you into an abyss you're willing to drown yourself into.

This divine being in front of you,... Is he truly the same man who has powers so great that he can eradicate all living being with a wave of his hand whenever he pleases?

You find yourself incapable to believe that, no way, this man is too beautiful for all that wickedness.

And so that was the day you have somehow stumbled upon the kingdom of the eternal night and earned the favor of it's benevolent ruler.

꒰ ... ꒱

Contrary to what the ancient texts and the priests say about Jinwoo's cold temperment— He's actually surprisingly decent and quite normal.

Maybe even more gentle than the local men of your village who are nothing more than burly men who only care about their muscles and beer and getting laid in the dead of night.

Jinwoo is extremely easy to talk to and seems to take pleasure in showing you around his kingdom which is full of life despite being a place where the personification of death presides in.

No, in fact, this place is far more beautiful than the major cities you have seen in your small lifespan as a living being.

His soldiers who are the most fiercest of all would turn into somewhat into a group of puppies the moment they see their master passing by. Of course, the undead creatures were skeptical of you at first but quickly grew warm as soon as they realized that their 'father' is quite fond of you.

A few of them are even asking if you could play with them— To which Jinwoo strictly says no to their dismay.

You really think nothing of all this, don't you?

After all, the fae king is treating you so warmly.

You really aren't thinking of it, don't you?

You foolish, naive child.

꒰ ... ꒱

Jinwoo had his eye on you for the longest time ever since you had moved into the meek village. You are nothing more than a puny and naive human who wants to live a good life and the village welcomed you.

You were given the abandoned cottage deep in the forest but not too far from the village, they even volunteered to repair the decrepit place to which you can't possibly thank them enough for.

Such generous humans for someone as sweet and cute as you.

Yes.

Cute.

An emotion that the fae king couldn't quite describe at first since he grew used to the absence of emotions because of his birth as the one who will succeed the late Ashborn as the new kingdom of the eternal night kingdom and the new monarch that will lead the army of the dead.

His duty? To uphold peace and make sure all living beings stay in their place and never go out of line.

Should they do so then it'll be immediate death as well as being added to the immortal army to prevent them from reincarnating and repeating the same mistakes.

He grew as a normal child of the elven kingdom. But as his powers grew— His emotions disappeared one by one until he is nothing more than that for a vessel of war.

Jinwoo is more than thankful enough for his beloved family who resides with him in the kingdom. He shaped this barren place for them to live in and do what they desire.

A medicinal lab for his little sister who studies healing magic, a garden for his mother to tend to any time, and a smithy for his father to busy himself to and craft weapons for fun, or maybe just his small way of helping his kind son who unfortunately has to carry the burden of the world on his shoulders.

Truly, he can't be thankful enough.

Even if he cannot feel the same level of affections he has for them the way he used to when he was but a small elven child who wished nothing more than protect and love them.

But then you came.

A fascinating and adorable human that he has a weird connection to.

He was drawn to you.

Jinwoo can never know where these foreign feelings stem from, all he knew is that he is completely entranced by you and you only.

What is it that he feels?

He wanted to watch you.

He wanted to imprison you.

He wanted to see you smile.

He wanted to see you cry miserably.

He wanted to ruin you.

But he also wanted to cherish you.

Jinwoo cant quite put a finger on it. Regardless, he was satsified on just watching you for now since he can't exactly interfere with anyone else's life since he wants to be left alone too.

But then you stumbled upon his kingdom by accident because one of his foolish children forgot to close the dimension that leads back to his domain.

He could punish them, but he decided against it since he is quite thankful of the unexpected arrangement.

He just has to tighten the security and indulge in you.

Jinwoo is aware that humans can express quite a lot since his sister is very much like that.

But you bewitch him in a way he cant really describe.

He loved to watch the way the flowers would dance and caress your gentle skin when the wind blows. He loved the way your clothes wrinkle around your perfect body that he just itched to hold. He loved to hear your sweet voice ringing in his ears when you ask him trivial and downright ridiculous questions just to satisfy your musings.

But he, the king of this land, was the fool that indulged in all your whims.

He can't really resist you, how could he?

Jinwoo has no will to fight whatever is stirring within him in the presence of the precious you.

It was to the point that he becomes extremely obsessed with you without him realizing, he wanted to know more.

Human curiosity is the reason why the species has thrived so far depsite being one of the lower life forms whose sole purpose is to play puppets for the pathetic beings higher than their measly mortal beings, right?

That means Jinwoo can also be curious too.

No matter how twisted it can be.

It should be fine.

꒰ ... ꒱

Oh how foolish can he be too, huh?

Your frequent trips to his kingdom resulted in the villagers rioting against you with the holy church charging you with meddling forbidden witchcraft.

Somehow those old bastards in the town managed to convince everyone that you are doing something heinous when in reality you were just accompanying Jinwoo on a daily basis.

And so they dragged you to the stakes, tied you on a pole and did their blasted rituals gaslighting themselves that what they're doing as it is for the world and the will of the lord that you die by fire.

"Ignite her," A booming, thundering voice ruptures through the maddeneds howls and cackles of the villagers and priests gathered around your sorry figure praying to whatever fucking god they believe in. "I dare you"

"You!" A bishop raises his finger at the stranger, his action full of vigor and pride. "How dare you interrupt this holy ceremony dedicated to our benevolent ghod Anakkhis?"

"Hah?" The heretic scoffs, finding the whole idea ridiculous. "You're talking about that god? That fool that wept at my feet for mercy? You have some thick skin for thinking that someone like me will cower over a measly insect like that?"

"You—" The bishop gasps, completely taken aback at how bold he was. "Restrain him! That filthy thing dares to speak blasphemy of the great one! Burn him alongside that wench!"

"That wench?" Jinwoo clicks his tongue, his eyes turning into an even stronger color of blazing purple as priests and ordinary humans charged at him. "You've given me more reason on why I should murder the lot of you. For daring to call my woman a wench and burning her for a sin that was never there."

With a snap of his fingers, head would explode one by one and the screams of onlookers would fill the air that was once filled with laughter and mirth.

Cold and unfeeling Purple eyes look straight at you, each step that he makes accompanied with the falling corpses.

You dare not look at Jinwoo's gaze, after all, the air is too suffocating. You can barely even take a full breath, everytime you try to it feels like your lungs will suffocate.

And the screams, god those tortured screams.

How dare you ever doubt that he is the absolute being that has put the world on a chokehold?

By the time the priests have realized who Jinwoo was, it was far too late now since he immediately had their heads bursting.

When he reached you, his blackened hand gently lifts your face to meet his maddened and cold gaze.

How is he still so hauntingly beautiful despite the blood splatters on his divine face?

How can wrath look so gorgeous and ethereal on someone like him?

You can see the vein popping on his jaw as he unfastened the ropes and picked you up, allowing your sorry form to weep on his shoulder.

"Please, stop it!' You beg, not wanting to hear more of the torturous screams. "I'll do anything, just please stop it"

"Anything?" Jinwoo tilts his head, musing at your sobbing.

"Anything." You choke up, holding tighter onto him to show your sincerity. "Please, please stop it"

"Then you shall be my wife" Jinwoo simply says as presses his lips on your pretty little head. "Humans have a saying ti'll death do us apart. But you have no need for that."

"After all, your husband is death itself."

He is both hell and heaven depending on which side you choose to take. He is the absolute being that brings everything to it's knees. The madman who has succesfully put the world into the palm of his hand.

The village that once welcomed you with warm and loving arms starts to disappear from the distance as it billows a cloud of smoke from cindering and brilliant violet flames that defies everything natural.

It was a warning to the gods and all other living beings

,... That the Fae King of the Eternal Night Kingdom, the Shadow Monarch of the Immortal Army— Is alive and well.

It is a way to announce that he still stands as the most powerful being with an omniscient view of this wretched earth and will return should they step out of line again.

May it be humans or their worshippers, no one will be spared from the bloodbath and carnage he will bring should his wrath ever be incurred.

And, you.

You, the foolish and naive child of the land—

Is the salvation that will prevent this world from dancing in violet flames so long as you remain in his hold. Forever captive to his obsession.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Whoever may i write for I will always return to my beloved Jinwoo heheh><!! I love him dearly and can never stop loving him try as I might xD!! Next fic are hsr men again so look forward to it. For now, a self-indulgent au is here that I will be making a bot for tomorrow too so heheh:3!!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[readerforexiao]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐒 | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Sylus x Fem!Reader | married + parent au, romance, fluff, light angst | tw: pregnancy, childbirth trauma, post partum, first time parents, mental health struggles, insecurites, anxiety, underlined depression, panic attack, reference to trauma and loss, implied violence + death, somewhat lore compliant | wc: 4k

⌗ A/n: this is only the beginning. The groundwork has been laid and now i can focus on the family dynamic </3. To my dearest friend who helped me whenever I got stuck, I'm immensely grateful🌹

⌗ “I would do it all again. Choose the wait of a century…” he said between kisses, each peck a declaration that you understood the meaning behind every tender touch and every whispered promise sealed in the air. “Take my last breath as if it were my greatest honour. Because I am yours. All of me…"

On the day you appeared as real as the nightmares that haunted him, your fingers felt smaller than his and rougher than he remembered. Your gaze had lost its affection and stretched before him like a frayed horizon— becoming an unravelled boundary between the warmth he knew and the unknown beyond.

Where there had been a luminous depth like the pale glow of moonlight brushing over still midnight waters— lay a turbulent sea withdrawn and untouchable that even the sense of belonging he once felt had slipped away in the last light of dusk fading into the distance.

It shook him from his thoughts and back into a reality he could not escape.

A reunion, he’d called it when the bullet pierced his chest the blood stained his shirt. A test, a reawakening, he led himself to believe when the tendrils of his evol began their slow work of regeneration. Sylus knew desperation had driven him and not mere calculation.

In all selfishness, he wanted to lay his darkness bare before you because he could not stand the idea of your ignorance while he remembered it all, those empty memories in place of where he once resided.

Sylus was but a child broken by betrayals, a man defined by those scars, and shaped by the ominous hands of fate. His aggression and impatience were the results of more than mere habits; they became ingrained parts of his nature.

Cold and unyielding became of his features; red eyes marked by the devil’s touch, a name both feared and revered. But then you crossed the chasm of his fractured soul, pressing your hands into open wounds and putting your nose where it did not belong with a promise of forever. And he could still hear the manic laughter that echoed at your naivety.

Was it a challenge or a taunt in the way you pushed his buttons? Or had he simply lost his mind, finding himself helplessly drawn under your influence?

It was maddening how in every life you drove him from a man who’d never known love to a fool at your feet. And so, seeing you wander into the N109 zone like a lost kitten searching for its owner, the familiarity broke him.

In a moment of reckless clarity, his heart made the decision that handed you a weapon and certainly his demand was a cruel form of intimacy, it wasn’t the love he wanted to show, but it was the only way he thought would reach across the gulf between you.

The echo of the shot dissolved into silence, and he searched your face, his sanity splintered, the tether fraying and refusing to connect. It hadn’t worked. Of course not. How foolish, how desperately pathetic to hope otherwise.

Yet he tried again… for his heart ached for you. But each time he reached for the past he was met with resistance, caught in a relentless cycle.

He chased the memory of you to his end, time and time again, watching as you flashed those bright eyes at another, laughter and tender touches shared with someone warmer. You were cared for and shown how to live in this life by someone who knew how to protect you beneath the stars. Much like another had monitored your heart and anticipated your needs, just as he had done.

It made his attempts feel insignificant.

But Sylus did not relinquish you even then, nor did he dare to ruin your happiest moments for he knew he would always be yours, and with patience, you would be his.

You saved him, after all.

It was that single resolve to keep wanting you that brought him to this moment, cradling his new-born daughter close to his chest, marvelling at how impossibly light she was in his hands, how easily they could break her.

He couldn’t believe it— after all the mistakes he made and the things he ruined, this was his life now, even though he hardly felt worthy of it.

She was a miracle, blessed with eyes parallel to his own, deeply doused in red— a colour he once loathed for its synergy with blood, but here it was soft and untainted in her eyes as they fluttered open and peered up at him.

His feet were spellbound and lodged between the crevices of the earth by her existence, that alone granted him all he thought beyond his reach.

Merely days that she’d been in this world and already had she turned his life upside down.

“Awake already, little one?” He whispered, it had barely fifteen minutes since she drifted off.

A smile crept onto his face as he fell back into the rhythm of soothing her fussing. Sylus glanced at the untouched cot in front him, cold and empty, as he held the infant it was intended for. He mused, knowing that it would remain that way for many more nights.

He pivoted on his heels and walked around the room with her. She was entirely dependant on him, he realized, as he adjusted her over his shoulder, being careful with her neck and the amount of movement he made. Though it wasn’t in the way others before her had been; not in the way you were.

As he strolled around the room, his consciousness meandered through the landscape of this existence, a world steeped in complex relationships where dependence often came with strings attached.

He considered the people who worked under him at Onychinus, each cloaked in their own shadows, driven by desperation of sorts.

Most had sold their souls and traded their humanity for survival or power, engaging in incomprehensible acts to prove their worth.

To each their own, their choice to wallow in the filth beneath him. But even as they cowered in fear at his feet, there still lingered a pride and expectation— a desire for something in return.

Their loyalty was a currency exchanged for blood-stained bills and the hollow promise of protection. And even someone as powerful as him needed their willing hands, for he could not accomplish everything by himself.

He recalled a meeting with an operative, a sharp-witted woman who approached him with a proposal, eyes gleaming with ambition. “I need your backing on this, Sylus. In return, I can secure a major supply route,” she had said, her tone confident.

Despite his annoyance, he complied, aware her loyalty hinged on the favours he could grant her, a waltz of give and take that left no room for trust. For now, he needed her; she had yet to prove her worth in his plans.

Then there was Orion, a man large and sturdy in appearance, though his bulging stomach gave him a rounded look. Greedy at heart, he was nonetheless useful for his keen eye for anything of value, which meant Sylus would keep him around until he no longer served that purpose.

Perhaps these relationships weren’t the best examples to use as they only highlighted his dependence on them rather than theirs on him. But that was far from the truth.

He knew these people leached off him; they would be nowhere without his support. They depended on his money, power, and influence. If he chose to assert himself then they would be quickly reminded of who held their leashes.

It was different when it came to you. Your need of him was honest, not just a need for survival or security but something deeper. His presence grounded you and his strength fortified you.

In a time of unrelenting chaos, his support was a solace. It was a reliance that transcended mere necessity; it was built on trust and intimacy, a bond that flourished in the shadows of his empire.

What he gave, he received in kind. The love he showered, returned tenfold.

Still, you were able to stand on your own two feet without him. It wasn’t the same for his daughter who stared up at him seemingly captivated by his presence just as he was by hers.

With her, it was nothing of the kind. There were no ulterior motives, no agendas, no expectations— she just needed him. Not as Sylus, the leader of Onychinus— a cold-blooded monster— or as a sacrifice, but simply as her father. It was a stark contrast to the world outside, a world where trust was a rare commodity and relationships were transactional.

He welcomed the feeling of being needed by someone like her.

“What?” He grinned with a brow raised in playful questioning as he laid her in the center of his bed, watching her tiny form melt into the blankets.

Her features wrinkled in response to the shift in surroundings and it was a strange sensation to see her there in the middle, occupying the space where he would lay with you entangled.

She drew him in the same way you did. Suddenly, his heart pounded against the confines of its cage, swelling with a mix of pride and protectiveness, but it also raced with an emotion he found hard to perceive.

“You are everything I am not” The words coursed between them in secrecy, barely more than a whisper in a tone absent of the conviction and poise it usually had, softened alone by the rise and fall of her chest.

She was beautiful, held in the arms of a father who loved her.

He let his fingers trace her small hand, so delicate compared to his own scarred knuckles— hands hardened by the demands of survival, by years of a life he hadn’t chosen but had been thrust into, one of cold stares and distant voices, where warmth was something fought for, not given freely.

“But that doesn’t matter, because I will show you a world that won’t bruise you for breathing” he said, bringing his lips upon the dainty swell of her cheeks.

She would know laughter that wasn’t tainted with bitterness and shelter that didn’t feel like a cage. In his arms, she would know what it was like to be wanted, protected, and cherished in a way he had once only dreamed of.

“And you will be loved for simply existing.” He promised, prodding at the balance of existence.

For tonight and forever on, he made that vow to be her protector and her greatest source of strength. A promise made in sincerity on his life; on the heart given to you— the one he would use to love this child.

She would never find herself in the same situation as her mother, clinging to him amid the storm on the eve of a failed battle. Your head buried against his neck, your hands drenched in his blood and hooked onto his shirt, your beautiful face twisted in pain. The red receding from his one remaining eye, taking with it a promise unkept.

No, that was his tragedy, and never will it be hers. He would shield her from it all, lay the world in her hands if she so desired, and tear it apart all the same if it ever dared to harm her.

She stirred at his words as if she was answering him and Sylus didn’t know it was possible to fall in love all over again with someone other than you.

He let his gaze linger on her a moment longer, then looked up toward the door waiting for you to return.

It had taken some convincing, but he’d finally insisted you step out just for a brief reprieve after the whirlwind of the past few days. You agreed but reluctantly so, though he knew you hadn’t wandered far and you most likely were in a hurry to return.

Already, motherhood had taken root within you.

By the time you returned, showered and fed, you found yourself missing your husband and daughter even more.

You crossed the threshold, the soft orange glow of the lamps welcomed you and immediately you found Sylus standing over the bed with his back to you, the baby fussing in his arms.

Your whole world in one scene.

“I can feel your eyes on us, sweetie,” He announced, not even needing to turn around to sense your presence.

You wrapped your arms around his midsection and rested your head against his back, letting the rhythm of his breathing soothe you.

Out of nowhere, a knot tightened in your throat and Sylus as if sensing it, turned to envelop you tighter.

A whiff of black musk breached your nose, his signature scent evoked memories of late nights spent in each other’s company, of whispered confessions and last goodbyes.

Your body did not move in his hold, but your hands gripped his shirt for dear life.

You felt yourself begin to float, the ground beneath your feet dissolving. Then the memories of labour crept in from the edges, stirring the same deep unshakable pain. It clawed its way to the surface, latching onto your mind, the sensations as vivid and overwhelming as if it were happening all over again.

You shuddered at the recollection of your screams when you were urged to push, the buzzing they left behind still droning in your ears.

Beads of sweat formed on your skin and smeared, leaving behind faint marks on Sylus’ chest.

“Look at me,” he urged, guiding you to sit on the bed.

He sank onto his knees. A man who never lowered himself to anyone now knelt before you, his worry palpable in the way his thumb hurried in pursuit of your endless stream of tears.

You were in so much pain he could see it reflected in the quaking of your pupils and the tremor of your fingertips, he was reduced to nothing but an onlooker and his touch hesitant.

“That’s right, keep your eyes on me”

You followed his voice as he counted down your breaths.

“Sylus…” you whispered.

“I’m here,” he kissed your knuckles, the touch of his lips like a hot ember on your skin.

“I hoped that once she was here, everything would… piece together. But it’s not like that at all” You sucked in a breath, “Instead, I feel overwhelmed. Every time I see her little face, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not enough— that somehow, I’ve already failed, just like I have with everything else”

“I understand, but—”

“Her life depends on me,” you shook your head as you continued, urgency creeping into your tone. “She’s the one person I don’t want to let down”

“You’re not failing her. You’re here, and you’re trying. It’s—”

“It’s hard to see that when I feel like I’m drowning,” you interrupted, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if I can’t give her the life she deserves? What if I mess this up? What if my lack of understanding hurts her in the future, and she grows up feeling unloved or unsupported?”

Sylus stopped you, firm yet gentle in his approach. “Why do you punish yourself with such careless thoughts?”

He held your gaze, filled with admiration for your strength— so different from his own, as he often ran and hid from his battles.

“Let me remind you we’ve faced challenges before, you and I alone, long before we found each other, isn’t that right, Sweetie?” You nodded reluctantly, and he went on, “In all you’ve done so far, it hasn’t come naturally; it’s taken your time, blood, sweat, and tears, but didn’t the results yield something good? All things worth doing are hard, and you’ve done something incredible by bringing life into this world. It’s something that inevitably reshapes all you know into something unknown, so isn’t it okay to feel a little overwhelmed? We’re here, we’re present, and we’re willing to learn and that’s what matters most”

His sincerity cut through the rapid thudding in your head, quieting your tears to faint breaths.

There was validation in his words, even though you struggled to pinpoint your emotions or the kind of solace you sought because sometimes words just felt insufficient, especially when you knew they couldn’t bring about instant relief.

But even in the moments where nothing was said, Sylus was there—always there through it all, and perhaps that was why you believed everything he said despite the perturbation prancing inside you.

You inhaled shakily, closing your eyes to find a semblance of calm but the tears kept flowing and Sylus wiped them away each time. His hand came to rest on your stomach, the warmth from his palm seeping into your skin.

“You have me right here” The weight in his voice thicker than you’d ever heard before. A tremor slipped through, like he was holding back a flood with every syllable.

This was Sylus— your Sylus— who never allowed a tear to fall… until now.

A lone tear traced his cheek in defiance, his eyes tinged with red veins surrounding the crimson of his irises, as if daring him to show his vulnerability, and his head fell gently into your lap.

He pressed a kiss to your clothed thigh, lips lingering as if that one touch could steady him

He couldn’t let you see how affected he really was; couldn’t reveal that the weight of worry had been pressing on him just as heavily. For all his certainty, his strength, his fear wasn’t for himself.

"However you need me… because my love for you is all I have left to offer, as a man with nothing else to give" Sylus’s gaze flickered to yours, and you felt his breath catch as your fingers ran over the damp line on his cheek.

He raised himself, his nose brushing against yours as he tilted his head to connect his lips with yours. The subtle flavour of salt mingled on your tongues. Sylus felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for being alive. After everything that had happened, the stillness around you revealed that all you desired was his closeness more than ever.

Sylus pushed up onto his knees to deepen the kiss, tender and sweet with an undercurrent of urgency in his movement.

“I would do it all again. Choose the wait of a century… ” he said between kisses, each peck a declaration that you understood the meaning behind every tender touch and very whispered promise sealed in the air. “Take my last breath as if it were my greatest honour. Because I am yours. All of me…"

The rush of tears had now passed and you let the cradle song of contentment bathe you. Though fatigue tugged at your bones, hope flickered like a candle in the darkness. Your hearts pulsed in harmony, the burdens of worry lingering in the air, but never alone, he reminded you.

If Sylus was yours to love and hold, then you were his in sickness and in health. You belonged to each other, and if your souls were forever intertwined, then your daughter would be the embodiment of that shared love.

“She will be ours” you said breathlessly against his mouth and Sylus’ eyes, once the vivid red of fresh blood deepened to a dark almost infinite crimson, his eyelids heavy, pupils dilating.

“Ours…” He repeated, tasting the word as though it were new, something he wanted to savour.

He said it again, quieter this time, and the walls he so carefully constructed around himself, crumbled under the pressure of his emotions.

The sentiment set the mood thick, the way the flecks of gold marble enriched the lustreless grey walls; four corners that became the keeper of all your intimacy and your secrets, a witness to every unspoken thought and keen desire.

Now, they would also stand witness to the joy of your child as she grew, recording the moments of wonder, each giggle, every first step, and the murmur of her first words.

It would become her safety, her home, in the arms of those who loved her most.

You and Sylus found yourselves immersed in the soothing of your conscious when the sudden wail broke the tranquillity, causing him to pull back, his eyes wide with surprise.

The unexpected interruption jerked a laugh from your throat and in an instant, Sylus left your side and had the infant in his arms, a grin spread across his face while he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

He grabbed the nursing pillow from the cot on his way to you just as you settled against the pillows and pulled down your shirt to feed her.

“You know, I think she gets her appetite from you.” you giggled when she hungrily latched onto your nipple.

Sylus chuckled, watching his girls. “I’d like to think I’m a bit more civilized about it.”

You gaped at him before punching his leg, which caused a stir from the child who clearly disapproved.

“Sorry, sorry,” you quickly apologized, repositioning her to latch back on.

“A bit demanding too, aren’t you little one” he remarked, poking her cheek.

You glared at him. “You have something to say to me, honey?”

“Put the claws away, kitten. I only meant it as an observation” he said, his voice still low, though there was amusement in his tone.

“Careful, Sylus, or I might just take preference of your daughter over you" You quipped.

He scoffed as he climbed into bed beside you, “That’s a rather cruel thing to say. Shouldn’t you be happy she has one of your... traits?”

“Oh god…” You opened your mouth to retort, words catching on your lips, and whatever you meant to say dissolved in an instant as a thought took hold: what if she did inherit everything from her father and not just his beautiful eyes?

Your expression shifted, giving way to a contemplative silence.

“What is it?” He asked.

“She can have your looks, that’s fine, but as for your personality…”

He looked up from his daughter, breaking away from the sight of their adorably clashing eyes to fix you with an incredulous look. “What’s wrong with my personality?”

Did he really need to ask that?

“You’re difficult..”

Sylus clicked his tongue, “I’d prefer the term ‘tenacious and efficient,”

“Well I’d prefer the term ‘handful’”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

It wasn’t. Not particularly… you think?

With an all-too-familiar quirk of his lips hinting at amusement, you began to feel slightly annoyed— especially when your daughter’s insistent latch brought a sudden twinge of discomfort.

“It’s all fun and games until she turns out exactly like you” you muttered, half-jokingly.

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What did you expect, sweetie?”

“Right, because I was fully aware of the implications of breeding with a handful,” you teased.

“You know what I hear? Jealousy” He drawled.

“Jealousy? Really?” You narrowed your eyes.

His grin widened, “If she does turn out to be a little me, I wouldn’t mind adding another to balance things out… maybe one who takes after you.”

“Jeez, Sylus! It’s way too early for that.” You pushed his face away, laughter escaping your lips as your daughter, now full, drifted off with her tiny tongue still out, sleepily suckling at the air.

Both of you awe-struck at the sight before Sylus gathered her up and settled her across his chest while you nestled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder as your hand slipped over his, covering the one he kept protectively on her back.

After a moment, he spoke, “You know, no matter what she inherits from me, I’m grateful it’s you who brought her into this world. You’re the heart of our little family, and no matter what our future holds, I’ll always be here to support you”

By this point you were barely able to keep your eyes open, exhaustion pulling you toward sleep, but you heard him loud and clear.

“I’m lucky to have you,” you whispered back.

The last thing you remembered as Sylus’ kissing your forehead and pulling the blankets up to your chin.

“Sleep well, beloved"

All rights reserved | Copyright @readerforexiao 2024

Do not copy, steal, or repost to any other platform 🥀

[superhoeva]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 — 𝐜. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 (𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | um. no idea where this came from other than the fact that this guy seems horrible to me and i need to write about him. the fic that @ovaryacted inspired me to the max and it needs to be hung in the louvre fr. (in fact, go read that one first. you’ll thank me later.) also treat yourself to @abbotjack and her thoughts on charlie fingering you in a car. mind blowing. magical. also anything having to do with charlie written by @flofaiiry and @erwinsvow. i’m sent to another planet when i read they’re work. :)

warnings include dark elements, age gap (reader is 24ish, charlie is 49 smut), reader becomes his son’s gf (oops), dark!charlie reid (starting off easy-ish tho), possessiveness, you are the prey and charlie is the hunter, oral sex (m receiving), rough sex, (p in v), and drinking. this is not a story about good decisions. is this a new series? who the fuck knows… word count is an easy 0.9k <3

Charlie Reid saw you first. Sipping beer with a sour expression that told him you were only knocking it back in hopes of impressing those around you, and tucked nicely into a top that he’s certain you want people to see your nipples poking through.

Old enough to be here but young enough to miss that you probably shouldn’t have walked in through the door.

Not with him sitting at a seat near the back, lingering in the dim of weak bulbs. Stare poisoned with a heat that makes people the bad kind of weak. A hot that stalks and slithers into the deepest parts of anything, hooking with sharp teeth and only letting go when it's satisfied with a belly full of soul.

And on this night, Charlie’s fire is hungry for you.

He grabs another drink from the bar before heading for your booth, leaning at the counter and cutting his eyes over the glass of liquor to keep inspecting you. The liquid is swallowed down in three thick gulps and covers his insides in an agreeable, loosening smooth.

When his legs start to move again, it’s to take Charlie the long way around. Allows him the chance to circle you with sharp eyes and wide wings from high above, setting the hunt into motion.

Your body jerks with a short startle when Charlie appears next to you, hand squeezing the leather of the seat near you back as he lulls into your line of sight from behind. Your eyes flick upwards, staring at him just as he knew you would–blinking and unsure–and you don’t lift your study of the man when he plops into the place across from you with an easy sigh.

The silence passes thickly, loitering over the pair of you until Charlie exhales again. Leaning back, the man settles an easy arm atop the table, swirling the pad of his thumb along the top of his other fingers.

The weight of control, over the space and the conversation, slips a winning hand in his direction before he even has to say anything.

“That’s a nice blouse,” Charlie begins, peeking at the way your throat bobs with a tough swallow. “Almost as pretty as your eyes… this your first time here?”

Two months have passed since that night, and Charlie doesn’t let himself think about you very often. He pushes the sight of you from his visions, locking them behind a red door inside his mind and ignoring the way they scratch and scream at the wood—similar to the way you raked nails across his back and cried into his hand for him to keep going after the man had whisked you away to his empty residence.

Sometimes, the scenes win the war of distraction, however. Flooding him with the tale that ties together your single night together.

You weren’t three steps into Charlie’s house before he had slammed the two of you against one another, a single hand on each side of your head while he snogged you messily. His tongue was stronger than yours, twining into your mouth however he wanted it to. After, he fucked you the same way he worked…

…calculated to the highest degree. Always listening intently and storing things that didn’t matter now but might matter later; how loud you squeaked or fast you gasped when he fucked at this angle rather than that one. With a clamping grip that moved you how he liked. Choking you on his cock through the lens of his desires.

The first time he hit the back of your throat, you gave a wet choke and pulled away with an apology. Charlie interrupted it with a short pat to your cheek and bending peck to your lips.

“Don’t worry ‘bout any ‘a that now, okay? I like the mess… more for me to clean up after, huh?”

When he finally sheathed himself inside your dripping hole, the world collapsed around you and every thing became him.

All else foreign, you only saw Charlie.

Wicked snarls. Lines of age and worn. Freckles in the pattern of overlapped constellations. And eyes of a man who has seen so much bad that he’d become it.

When you came around him, wailing his name, it scorched your very being to his. Etched the workings of you into the marrow of his bones and affirmed your existence alongside his. His. That’s what you were, regardless if he never saw you again after that night.

Maybe that’s what makes this month's visit to his son’s place in West Loop so unexpectedly agonizing. You’re there, and haven’t looked at him since Liam rattled off your name and introduced you as his girlfriend. Tense with struggling breaths while the younger man is too clueless for his own good.

Liam. His only child. The Irish version of Ulliam, which means protector… warrior… helmet of will.

‘Bout a month and a half strong, Pop. Teaches kids down at Decatur, which is where we met actually. Was working on a little reno in the school's gym when I heard a parent getting testy with her. Backed her up and she took me out to dinner as a thank you.’

Charlie blinks with nothing behind his stare. It isn’t until he clears his throat with an outstretched hand that you finally look at him, all-knowing.

With a crushed chest you shake his hand, nearly collapsing when he smirks at you.

That’s too bad. ‘Cause I saw you first…

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart. Charlie.”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[tinysunshine]

━━━━━ ✧˖° 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑

‎ ‎ [ 𝗸𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝗸𝗮𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ] 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭/𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: priest/religious kink, spanking, punishment, oral sex, corruption kink, degradation, dirty talk, guided masturbation, light dom/sub, sex obviously

warnings and triggers: mentions of past sexual assault, abuse (not by klaus), blood play, literal blasphemy, death and violence, hint of stalking, this is more of a horror story than romance

word count: 12.7k

plot with porn, alternate universe. fic visual.

there’s a legend whispered among the people of your town, about a fallen angel named klaus, who resides in an abandoned gothic church, buried deep within the forest. it’s said that if a sinner is brave enough to make the journey, to admit their sins in a confessional to the supernatural entity and offer up a sacrifice of their blood, they would be absolved of all their sins.

when your name becomes disgraced in town and your parents turn their back on you, you’re out of options and decide to make the trek to the church in the forest. every sunday, you sit in the confessional booth, admit to your sins, while klaus orders you to do things for him so you can be forgiven. dirty things. sinful things. he tells you to come back every week until he deems your soul completely clean.

klaus might be supernatural, but he’s far from an angel. He feeds on the unlucky sinners dumb enough to take his legend for word, and with each passing week, each confessed sin, all the time you spend in god’s forgotten house of worship, worshipping the wrong vessel, you come to realize: that although god may have turned his back on you - at least he left you klaus.

“Why are you here?” He asks, and suddenly the fact that you’re staring into the eyes of a supernatural creature isn’t as scary as the fact that this creature is a man. A man is what got you into this mess, the reason you’re here.

He’s got no wings. No horns. No halo. He looks like the average man in your town, although much more handsome. It’s sort of a let down and a nice surprise all at the same time.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth opens and closes like you’re a fish out of water, and you must look ridiculous.

He grabs your chin suddenly, as if he can’t wait any longer to know the reason you’re here. You thought there’d be a confession booth for this, so you wouldn’t have to look into someone else’s eyes to admit the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

The worst thing you’ve ever done.

“Tell me why you’re here,” he orders, locking eyes with you - and you can’t stop it. It’s like you’re in a trance, and the words spill out. It feels natural, even though it’s not. It’s wrong, it’s scary, and you have no control over it.

“I’m here to be cleansed of my sins,” you say, words spilling out of your mouth like vomit, but the guilt that’s been festering for weeks goes away with the release of the words. You don’t understand how it’s happening, what sorcery you’re experiencing that’s letting you share so easily.

“What have you done, little sinner?” He asks, curiosity evident in his voice. You’re almost glad to be in this trance, because it proves something to you - that this ‘man’ is the legend you’ve been chasing, and as scary as it is, you’re going to come out of this situation pure again.

It’s all you want.

“I’ve lost my purity,” you say, and then he drops your chin and stops making eye contact. Stands back from you and looks you over, like he’s inspecting an object. Your entire body heats up, and a random headache comes on so strong that you shut your eyes for a second.

When you open them, he’s looking at your face again. He’s wearing a sinister smirk that only highlights how handsome he is, and you grab onto the cross on your neck, scared. It’s a nervous tick. You’d never guess that being under the scrutiny of an angel would feel so…sinful?

“Do you know what I am?” He asks, crossing his arms. His shirt is black and long sleeved, and in the dark lighting of the church it’s hard to see anything, but it’s like he glows. Skin pale, sculpted face. You nod.

“You’re an angel,” you reply simply, and he actually lets out a little laugh. You wonder why.

“Call me Klaus,” he says casually, and the change in his demeanor is confusing to you. He takes a step back and his eyes trail over your body one more time, from your feet up to your face, although his eyes linger on the cross necklace you’re still firmly grasping in your hand. You quickly let it go, and he chuckles lightly one more time.

“You’re going to be fun.” 

────

You walk into the church and head straight to the altar, palm throbbing in anticipation. There’s an offering dish waiting for you, the bowl gold and gleaming, and you swallow hard with anxiety. 

This is your third visit, and you know what to do. Step into the church and walk straight to the altar, where a bowl sits, ready for your offering. Klaus explained it to you during your first visit. Handed you a small pocket knife and told you to give him your blood. 

Your heart races just thinking about it, the sting of the blade, the way his face looked when he heard the drip of your life essence into the offering dish. His nostrils flared as you squeezed your palm, watching your blood slowly cover the bottom of the bowl. “Enough,” he snapped after a few more seconds, directing you to the confessional booth on the other side of the church. You didn’t look behind you as you followed his directions, but you could hear him drinking from the bowl. 

The light ding when he set it back down on the table. The moan it sounded like he made it when he was done drinking your offering. A shiver ran down your spine. 

You know the routine now. You walk into the church and to the table in the front of the room, the pocket knife waiting for you. You cut open your palm with your eyes closed - it hurts more than the first time because your skin is trying to heal itself, not given a chance to scab over, bright pink. You drop some blood into the dish, and make your way to the confessional booth. 

You don’t know where Klaus waits, but he’s always somewhere, because he always arrives at the confessional booth after you. You always hear him. 

Silent until he clears his throat, the sound of his chair screeching against the floor. “Little sinner,” he says, like he’s surprised you come back every single time. You don’t know why - you’re coming back until he says you’re clean. Your palm burns and you press it against your pants to stop the bleeding, letting out a hiss at the rough fabric of your jeans against it. 

“Forgive me, for I have sinned,” you say through clenched teeth. You swear you can hear him smirking on the other side of the booth, although you’re not sure why or how you’d know that. Why he would think any of this is funny. Maybe human pain is silly as an angel, when nobody or nothing can harm them. 

“Forgive you,” he says, humming like this is a casual conversation. Like he’s contemplating if you deserve forgiveness. “What have you done now?” 

You’re not sure how to answer that. “I’m still impure,” you start, speech rehearsed in your head. You try to get all of it out as quickly as possible, not wanting to carry the weight of all your wrongdoings. You wonder how any one else survives on this planet without sinning so horribly, because a week can’t even go by without you fucking up. 

You don’t let this thought hit you, but it’s definitely there. Ever since you stepped foot in this church, you can’t go a week, a day, an hour without thinking about Klaus and the possibility of a gleaming clean soul.

“I’ve upset my parents. Again. I’ve upset my…suitor.” You don’t want to go into details. Maybe if Klaus doesn’t ask, you won’t have to tell him all the ways you fucked up this week. 

That you didn’t remember to recite your prayers after a long day, that your shirt was too low cut and almost gave your mother a heart attack. That you fed yourself first before serving your brother, and that you’ve been ignoring Peter, your suitor’s, apologizes that are, in your father’s words, not necessary.

You don’t understand how he did the same thing as you and his reputation isn’t tarnished. Just yours, but you’re used to life being unfair. 

Klaus doesn’t answer for a second. You wonder if he wants you to continue. His reply is sudden and sharp. “Yes, well,” you hear him standing up, and you get ready to follow him, because it goes without saying that you’re supposed to go with him to the altar. “You shouldn’t be argumentative,” is his response. You want to say I’m not, but you don’t. You just nod, forgetting he can’t see you. 

“Yes,” you reply, voice caught in your throat. 

“Come,” he orders, and you know he means to meet him at the altar. He goes a different way than you, but you follow him all the same. When you get there, you lose your breath, take in what he’s wearing and sit down on the stairs of the stage while he makes sure your offering is in order. 

Klaus is in a short sleeve grey shirt, and when he lifts the bowl to his mouth to drink your blood, a few drops splatter on the material. You wince, because you know how hard blood stains are to take out - you look down at your jeans and know they’re probably done for, thanks to your bloody palm. 

Klaus finishes his drink and sets the bowl down, looks down at you from the step above with a poker face expression. “You’re still bleeding,” he comments, and you nod, thinking he’s going to offer you a bandage or something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks down the steps, past you, to the pew that’s right in front of you. He leans back in the seat and looks at you like you’re on stage to perform. 

“You said suitor,” Klaus says, and you furrow your brows, wondering why he’s honing in on that. He knows about Peter. But does he know something you don’t? Can he read your mind, find out about the truth of your unholiness? 

The thought makes your heart rate pick up, anxiety knotting in your gut. You feel like you’ll start sweating, wondering if the truth about what happened will come out. You’d rather have Klaus believe that you chose to debase yourself - not that you tempted someone into sex. That’s even worse, isn’t it? Being so sinful you’re not even aware of it. Like there’s so much bad in your body that it’s just seeping out of your pores. 

You grip your necklace in nervousness, and Klaus notices. He sits up, leans his hands on his knees, and fixes you with a look that makes you look away. You’re scared - of him, and of him doing that weird sorcery thing he did the first time you were here. 

“Take your clothes off,” he says instead, lighting your entire body on fire. You work up the courage to look at him, and you find yourself obeying. Standing up to kick your shoes off, your jeans, your shirt off too. When you’re left in your underwear and panties, you hear him let out a low whistle, the kind you hear whenever you walk around in town with one of the shirts your mother hates. 

You’re not sure why it doesn’t bother you when he makes the same noise as when other men do. Or why Klaus saying, “Beautiful, every inch,” makes you want to show him more, slip the straps of your bra down your shoulders and let him have a show. “So perfect, it’s a shame you’re a filthy sinner,” he’s smirking as he says it, but you don’t see the playfulness because you’re avoiding his eyes. 

“Stop,” he says suddenly, voice low, speeding over to you with a swiftness you know isn’t human. He grabs your hand that’s at your side, and as he does, his knuckles skim over your stomach. You feel your entire body scream with want. Lit up, like fireworks. You’ve never felt anything like it before. Have never met a man who’s gotten this reaction out of you. 

Although, you suppose, you’ve never been this close with a man in this state of undress - aside from Peter. But this feels different. 

“I can smell your blood from here,” he says, picking up your hand and looking it over. It looks disgusting, torn up and scabbing, fresh blood coming out of the half closed up wound - and it’s embarrassing that he can smell it. 

“Who told you to come here?” He finally asks, and you don’t know how to reply. You weren’t expecting that. “My father,” you answer honestly, confusion evident in your tone. Klaus nods, before pressing his thumb into the wound on your hand. You let out a cry, and you swear that for a second you see a dark satisfaction grace his face. 

“Father,” he murmurs, with more weight on his tongue than the word should carry. He’s silent, looking at you, gazing over your body while putting pressure on the wound. His gaze lingers a little too hard at the bruise on your hip, one that came from Peter the other day, shoving by you while you ran into him when buying groceries in town. He’s so rough since you refused to forgive him, always looking for excuses to be cruel to you. 

“Did your father give you that bruise?”

You don’t answer. You look away, once again afraid of the truth spilling out. Because you don’t know Klaus, or anything about him - but you’re frightened that he, someone heavenly, might deem you too imperfect if he knew the truth. You don’t want to answer. 

Klaus is impatient. When he lets go of your hand, he storms out of the room for a quick second, only to enter again with his own wrist all bloody. He grabs the back of your head before you even know what’s happening, and shoves his wrist in your mouth, tells you to suck. 

“You say you want to be cleansed,” he accuses, venom in his voice. “But you won’t talk. You won’t open up and tell the truth,” the taste of his blood in your mouth makes you want to puke, and you wonder if he’s trying to kill you or harm you. You can’t tell, but you cry out against him. It’s hard to breathe. 

“Withholding the truth is just as bad as the sin itself, you know.” He pulls his wrist away from your mouth and focuses on your reaction, but all you can do is look down at your hand. It tingles because the wound heals on its own, so fast you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re in front of a being that's literally magical. You almost start shaking. 

You wonder why he doesn’t just use sorcery again to get the truth out of you. But you begin to understand.

He wants you to stutter. To slip up with your words and make a fool of yourself, so that he’ll have an excuse to punish you. You recall what Klaus said the last time you were there - the more blood, the more pain, the more bruises - the cleaner the soul. You gulp at the reality that you’re about to hurt. 

Klaus sits on the steps of the stage and pulls you over his lap. He manhandles you like you weigh nothing, spanks your ass red and raw, grips your wrists and your hips and your thighs to keep you in place until they’re almost purple with bruises. “How’s this for purity?” He asks, fingers pressing into the cotton of your panties that covers your core. You’re aroused, and if he can smell your blood, you know that he can smell that. Your entire body heats up in shame.

Euphoria too. You’ll never understand how what Peter did to you makes you unholy, but this, with Klaus, somehow makes you pure again.

But with religion, you’ve learned to not ask questions. 

This moment with Klaus tells you that you’re in the right place - because what kind of person gets turned on, feels arousal, when being punished? 

When he’s done beating your behind, he pulls up your panties and practically shoves you to your feet. You’re shaky as you stand and put your clothes on, tears falling down your cheeks. Less from the pain of the punishment - more for the pain in your soul. 

Klaus shakes his head, almost talking to himself. “It’s dark now. You should go. Come here again, next week.” You nod, and try not to show just how scared you are of walking home in the dark again. Whenever you leave the church, you practically run the whole way, wanting to get home fast, the sounds of all the animals at night absolutely terrifying to you.

You slip on your sweater, your other jacket (you learned your lesson after the first visit, how cold it gets), and your pants slowly, all while Klaus watches you for reasons you’re not sure of. You wonder, now that your body is bruised and hurting, if he’ll give you some of his blood again to heal you up. But he doesn’t. 

When he walks away, cold and cruel, you leave the church and begin to walk back home. You’re only halfway home, the moon as your only light, when you see it. 

A massive looking wolf halfway behind a tree, loud as it steps on crunchy leaves and twigs. You freeze, but to your relief, the wolf just walks the other direction. 

You consider yourself lucky, although the rest of the walk home, you swear you hear the sound of something following you. Maybe you’re just paranoid. You spend the rest of your walk home replaying how it felt to be over Klaus’ lap like that - how arousal pools deep in your belly at the feeling of pain. It’s different than when you’re hurt without expecting it. You knew the smacks were coming, and maybe, just maybe -

You can enjoy that you will be free of sin soon. How nice it feels, just to put yourself in Klaus’ hands and not worry about the future of your soul.

You make it home and sneak in through the window. Your parents know you left, but it’s not like they care. They just seem surprised to see you every morning when you join them for breakfast. Maybe because they can’t believe you’re taking this soul cleansing thing so seriously. You’re not sure.

You’re quiet as you change into your pajamas. As you look in the mirror and gaze, although with a wince, at your bruises - you realize that Klaus healed you of the bruise Peter made so he didn’t have to see anyone else’s harm on your body. 

So the mark of his pain would be the only thing on your skin.

You’re flush red at the thought and turn away from the mirror, walking to your bed. You’re just about to turn out the lights when you catch a glimpse of something moving outside your window. It’s a little ways away, but it’s clear what it is. 

The wolf from the forest followed you home.

When you shut off your lights, it walks away.

────

You stand in front of the altar, wondering where Klaus is. You wait for him to call you from a pew, to appear out of nowhere. Maybe he knows you’re expecting him now, know his little tricks, and is coming up with another one. You walk to the confessional booth, the church feeling unusually dark, but then again - you’re here at a later time than usual. 

You’re in the hall that leads to the confessional when you see Klaus. Only - 

He’s not waiting for you. 

Klaus stands against the wall, just a few feet away from the confessional booth. You only see the side of him, but you can tell that he’s smiling, the same kind of grin he gives you when he finally gets you to confess or beg him for some mercy. You think back to your last visit, when he had you over his knee, counting out loud as he spanked you for the sin of lying to one of your friends. For the sin of being impure. 

For the sin of getting aroused while he punished you. 

Something negative stirs in your chest at the thought of Klaus doing that to another woman like you. That he might use his corrective powers to make another woman pure again. To touch her body and look her over, to lick her blood from the offering bowl. 

Only now, you take yourself out of your thoughts and look down to Klaus’ feet. There’s a man on his knees, quietly sobbing, and you realize you know him. He’s a baker from your village, a man that has constantly picked fun at you for years. You remember times you were a few pennies short, or when he just wanted to fuck with you - would tell you he’ll give you bread for your family if you’d just flash him in the baking room. 

You wonder why he’s here. What he could’ve done worse than harassing women to show their breasts for bread. But it seems pretty bad. 

Something inside of you feels pleasure, at the fact that this man that you hate, who’s caused you so much discomfort, is actually hurting. You wonder what Klaus is going to do to him - if he’ll ever be granted salvation. Surely Klaus isn’t going to spank him? 

“Too late for redemption. Pathetic. Up,” Klaus says, voice much louder than necessary. The man stands on shaky legs and wipes his face. It happens so fast, you can hardly make sense of it. Klaus grabs the man by the shoulder and brings him close, lunges for his neck while the man screams. There’s a grotesque sound, one you’ve never heard before, but it’s predatory, the grip Klaus has on him. 

It all clicks, just as the wheels turning in your mind tell you that you need to go. You run, fast, out of the church.

Klaus drinks blood. He drinks your blood. He drinks blood from the neck of the people begging for his forgiveness. 

Panic surges through you as you run through the church. Klaus is not an angel, you realize, and your body breaks out in goosebumps as you run through the forest away from the church. 

The man thats’s been touching you, hurting you, drinking your blood - he’s no angel. He’s not from Heaven at all. 

Whatever Klaus Mikaelson is - it can’t be good. 

The moon makes the graveyard you’re running through look like sharp fucking teeth. You have a feeling that’s similar to the one you felt after the…incident. After your suitor touched you. The reason you’re here in the first place. Because it’s one thing if Klaus is an angel, but taking advantage of you the way he did? 

Why don’t you care more? 

He’s touched your body. He’s seen you naked. He’s -

Right behind you. 

You can feel him. He must’ve finished with the baker and is now following you. You want to keep running but your body freezes in fear. You stop, because he’s closing in. There’s no way you can outrun him, so you decide to hide instead. Make it to a tree and stop there. 

You try to control you breathing, because you’re really scared. Klaus never gave an inkling that he’d kill you, but there’s no way the other man survived that...feed. Maybe Klaus was just waiting for the right moment to hurt you, harm you. 

There’s a crack of something stepping on a twig. 

You close your eyes as he rounds the tree, but when your eyes open after a second it’s not Klaus. Unless…no. It’s a wolf - large, predatory, its eyes glowing in the night. 

You take off running, your mind reeling with the fact that it’s the same wolf you saw outside of your window weeks ago. You run until you hear the wolf growl, stupidly going in the opposite direction of your home, but as long as you get away from the wolf you’re fine. Maybe you can make it up a tree, hideout for the night -

But then you fall, over a log, your body shaking with fear and adrenaline. “Why are you following me?” You cry out. “I didn’t see anything, I,” you realize how dumb that sounds. You obviously saw something to act the way you just did. 

Slowly, the wolf walks towards you. Big, tawny paws, eyes so scary you shut yours. You wait for it to pounce but it never does. Instead, it stops a few feet in front of you. Looks at you, as if contemplating you. 

You look away, but the sound of bones cracking, the horrible sound of muscle rearranging, has you looking again. The wolf’s shape contorts, shrinking, morphing back into the angel you thought you knew. 

Klaus.

He looks normal again, although - he’s completely naked. You don’t know if your heart is racing from his perfect, naked body - the first fully naked man you’ve ever seen, or the fact that he’s no longer a wolf looking to kill you. 

"What are you?" you whisper, barely able to form the words. Klaus is just looking at you laying on the ground, cupping his…package like you haven’t felt it rubbing against you all the those times you were over his lap. 

But if he’s a wolf that means….he was the one following you home? 

“Not an angel, love. That much I’m sure,” he says, like this is funny. Like it’s a joke to you. He steps forward, eyes softening in a way that seems almost affectionate. It makes no sense to you.  

"I'm a hybrid," he answers, voice smooth.

“Hybrid?”

────

You stand at the entrance to the church again, trying to work up the courage to walk inside. It’s funny, how this time your hesitation is not because you’re scared - it’s because you feel pathetic.

Seeing Klaus as he truly is - not an angel - it should make you run. It should make you never come to this church again, should have you knocking on every door of your village at home, warning everyone of the danger that lives so close to home. You don’t know how long this legend has gone on, you don’t know how long Klaus has been making the perfect trap for the people of your village. Like easy food.

You know now, that Klaus doesn’t have the ability to heal your soul of anything. That the things you did with him - maybe they’re just as bad as the things Peter did to you. You wonder, if that’s the case - why it feels so different then.

After what happened with Peter…you felt ashamed. Wanted to cover your body up. Wanted to hide from the world. But being around Klaus - you kind of feel the opposite. Sometimes you even linger in your window, hoping he’s there in his wolf form, slipping your clothes off and taking too long to put on your pajama top, hoping he sees. You don’t know if he does.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Why the monster masquerading as a angel doesn’t have you screaming and locking yourself away in your room for good.

All you know, is that the guilt you felt the first day you came to this church, lessens every single time you see Klaus - and you don’t want that feeling to go away. So you’re here, at night, because you weren’t scared this time to walk here. The greatest threat in these forests has walked you home to ensure you safety before. Has had ample opportunity to kill you - and hasn’t.

You push open the church door. Even though you’re choosing to be here, you can’t help but feel like you’re walking into the mouth of the beast. You take a deep breath, pushing the door open, and step inside.

There, standing at the altar, is Klaus. His arms are crossed, and he’s looking right at you, which is different than the usual times you’ve arrived. Normally, Klaus lets you linger before making his presence known.

You’ve never been one interested danger - you’re a good girl through and through. Or, you were, before the incident. But there’s something about Klaus - something dangerous that calls to you in a way you don’t understand. Maybe it’s the fact that this legend being a sham opens up a world of other possibilities.

Maybe the world as you’ve always known it - a world with god - is a sham as well. You know that should make you scared, but all the thought does is send a crazy relief throughout your body.

You’re going to burn in hell.

But Klaus might be there.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, but there’s a meanness in it as well. His tone is an odd mix of surprise and something that could almost be considered a warning.

You step forward, ignoring the rush of anxiety in your chest, the voice that tells you to leave, dummy. But you don’t listen. You don’t want to.

“I wanted to come back,” you say, voice wavering only slightly.

Klaus exhales sharply, shaking his head and doing a laugh you can tell is one that comes from anger. “Why?” he repeats, his voice suddenly booming. “You know what I am. You saw me. And yet you come back, after all of that? Are you stupid, or just more naive than I took you for?”

You take another step. The pull toward him is like a magnetic force that’s impossible to run from. “I don’t care,” you say, though the words are barely audible. “I don’t care what you are. I just...please don’t make me leave.”

Fuck, why are you so pathetic? It’s embrassing, that you came back here. It’s embarrassing, that you hold onto this beast’s every word like gospel.

Why am I not scared? You scream to yourself. As you get closer, a little voice pipes in from the back of your head.

You are, it reminds you, and you like it.

You think that Klaus is going to ask you why. You think that he’s going to kick you out - although, judging by the way he looks at you, with irritation someone only has for something they don’t despise, you know that’s just your anxiety talking.

A sudden burst of confidence explodes in your chest, and you let it carry you. “I feel…light around you,” you try to explain. Klaus won’t even look at you. Whatever dynamic you two have is insane. It’s cold. There’s no warmness from him, and it’s not like you lead anything to even feel like a part of an equation. Klaus is on a pedestal, literally - and you like it that way. You can’t explain why, but you do.

And he might not be an angel, but he’s powerful enough for it to mean something. Supernatural - and maybe it’s not a gift from the heavens, but one from hell, but you’re not even sure if that matters. Magic is magic. Special is special.

And Klaus is the closest thing you’ve ever come to something extraordinary.

You’re standing by the altar now, on the opposite side from Klaus. He looks at you, with something like pity in his eyes. “Light. You know what that feeling is, don’t you?” he asks. You shake your head. “It’s adrenaline.” You’re still at a loss, not understanding what he means.

“You’re scared of me,” he clarifies.

“I want to, can I - can you,” you cannot believe you’re saying this. “Show me more. Please.” You grip your necklace again, a move that you swear makes Klaus almost roll his eyes, but then you think about what your teacher used to say - at least attitude means youn feel comfortable around me. You wonder if that’s how Klaus feels.

He probably thinks you’re so naive. You play into that.

You worry that he’s going to ask you to say more. Describe in detail what you want him to show you - and even though you’re feeling bold today, you’re not that bold.

He doesn’t.

“Have you ever made a man cum with your mouth?” He asks blunty, stepping around the altar and into your space. Your body heats up, your heart speeds up so fast you’re sure you’re going to pass out. He smells woodsy, warm, like the trees outside - and you wonder if that lingers from his wolf form, or is just what he smells like as a person. You breathe him in, feel his strong hands on your hips pushing you against the altar so you’re trapped.

All these weeks, and you haven’t seen his dick, haven’t felt him in a sexual way beyond the feeling of his hard bulge under your thighs when he has you over his lap, or his fingers teasing you about your wetness through your panties. Little touches, but you’ve memorized them. Think about them whenever you have the chance, to be honest.

You shake your head in response to his question.

Klaus lips curl into a dangerous smile. He’s so handsome, it’s unfair. Like the devil knew looks meant something in this world, and sent his prettiest soldier. “Present your offering to me,” he says, you furrow your brows, confused. Weren’t you just talking about giving head?

You look for the bowl, but Klaus grabs you gently by the chin and chuckles. He lets go. “Your mouth can be the offering today,” and fuck. He pushes you to your knees, and you go easy, looking up at him in all his glory.

He really is glorious. Sculpted abs, pale, perfect skin without an imperfection. It makes sense, if his blood that can heal is running through his veins. You’re a little jealous, of what that level of untouchable means.

“You’ve never done this,” he says, and you can’t tell if it’s a question or not. You nod, confirming. “Shame,” he says, “With lips like that it seems like the first thing a girl like you would learn.”

You blush. Again, you’re reminded about how weird it feels to enjoy what he’s saying - because when Peter talked to you like this, all you felt was disgust. But when Klaus says it, you know that wetness is probably pooling in your panties, your knees jello from how turned on, overwhelmed, you are in this situation.

You open your mouth and look up at him, and then Klaus unzips his pants. He’s hard already, and you can’t deny the thought that you’ve been thinking about this ever since you saw him naked in the forest. It’s primal almost, the strength of this man - it makes sense why you, someone weak and totally human, is on your knees in front of him.

You lick your lips, and Klaus wears that delicious smirk again. He pumps his hard cock in his hands a few times, before running the tip all over your lips. His precum wets them like lipgloss, and you wonder what’s got him so aroused since you just walked in.

Another sinner? A woman, that he plays with like a cat with a mouse? The thought makes jealousy and something in you stirs to be better than her. If she even exists.

But then you see his hands. You didn’t notice the blood at first, but his nails are stained red. It only takes a second for you to realize, and then you get it -

Klaus is hard because he killed someone before you arrived.

“Like what you see?” He asks, looking down at you. You widen your eyes, and he teases you by shoving his cock halfway in your mouth, and then pulling it away. His dick grazes the side of your cheek and he chuckles, and the way you feel on the ground is so utterly degraded.

But it’s controlled, if that makes sense. You know it’s happening. It doesn’t feel like you did, walking through your village with your clothes ripped up after dealing with Peter. It’s - safe? in a way.

Klaus takes a step back to look down at you, thumb and pointer finger running over the smooth head of his cock. He looks like he wants to moan at the feeling, but restrains himself, if only for a minute.

He fucks your mouth after that. Lets you suckle on his dick as he gently pushes it between your lips, so you get used to the feeling. Your mouth stretches, and when he hits the back of your throat you nearly panic.

Klaus grips your hair and reminds you to breathe. “That’s it, love,” he says, voice a coo - almost mocking. He cups your face when he gets a little rougher, slips his finger into the side of your mouth to stretch it even more. Like you’re a toy he’s playing with. He licks over his lips.

“Your eyes,” he murmurs, and you open them wider as he says that. “Like an angel.” It’s not a dirty comment - it’s actually kind of sweet, and that takes you off guard. You sputter around his cock because you forget to relax, and then Klaus lets go of your hair.

He leans against the altar and puts his hands on the back of his neck, arms bent at the elbow like he’s stretching. As you look up at him, gagging around his cock in your mouth, you notice that he’s standing in front of the cross on the wall. He’s a ways away from it, but in this position, it makes it look like he’s meant to be there. Perfectly in the center, his hands and arm position like wings on either side of his shoulder.

He said you look like an angel - but you could say the same about him.

────

“I’ve been too easy on you,” Klaus says the next week, when you’re sitting at the confessional booth. You don’t know why sometimes he chooses to have you talk in the booth all proper, and why sometimes he wants you somewhere else in the church. Nothing with Klaus makes sense - in fact, nothing about this situation makes sense.

And you’re not the only one who thinks so. Everyone in town has been acting weird around you. Avoiding you still, yes, but more so than usual. After your first visit with Klaus, when you came through the door early the next morning, your father literally jumped up from the kitchen table where your mother was serving breakfast. Spilled his coffee all over his newspaper and exclaimed, “What on earth are you - doing back so early?”

You didn’t answer. Just walked to your room and closed the door, ate after the rest of your family left the kitchen.

“Easy on me?” You ask, because you have no idea what Klaus means. Nothing he’s told you to do has been easy. You think about it now, squeezing your knees together as you sit on the other side of the booth from him. The spankings, the blowjob that ended in him cumming all over your necklace.

“Playing naive doesn’t make you holy again. Being meek doesn’t make you immune to sin. You need to learn that,” and for the first time, you actually laugh a little. Because what does Klaus actually know about sinning? He admitted the truth of what he was to you. He knows you come here not to be holy again - but to feel free.

“I know,” you reply, and it’s like something in him snaps. When he speaks again, his tone is mean.

“You know? Well, by all means, show me just how confident you are.” You’re confused. You don’t know what he means by that, and luckily, you don’t have to worry about, because he tells you.

“Tell me what you want. I can smell your arousal from here.”

Woah. That takes you off guard. It’s like your body is trained, to be aroused the minute you walk into this church. To crave the feeling of Klaus’ hands all over your body, to crave the feeling of the pain he brings. The feelings he brings out in you, although not right, are more holy and healing than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

It’s addicting, the feeling of slight freedom you get when you come here. Addicting and appealing enough that you’re able to ignore the different faces of god on the walls of the church as you walk inside.

“I don’t know what you mean, Klaus,” you say shyly, squeezing your thighs together for some relief. It’s warmer out today, so you’re wearing a skirt - maybe that’s why you’re so obvious. Klaus chuckles.

“You step foot in this church and immediately are turned on, little sinner. Practically cum all over yourself when I get close to you. You’re not the shy, inexperienced girl you were when you came in. At least  - your throat isn’t. Tell. Me. What. You. Want.”

He punctuates it for effect. Your mind begins reeling, but maybe super religious people are right - not being able to see his face, sitting in your own part of the confessional - it gives your confidence you wouldn’t have face to face.

“I want,” but he cuts you off again.

“Tell me what you think about when you’re under the covers of your bed at home,” he urges, voice low. He’s turned on too. “You really should turn your lamp off at night, by the way. Anyone from the window can see you through the mirror.”

And fuck.

Has he been - ?

“I imagine a mouth,” you admit, cheeks red. Looking down at your hands that you’re playing with in your lap.

“A mouth?” Klaus asks, clicking his tongue. “Or mine?”

“Yours.”

Klaus hums. He’s pleased with your answer.

“Tell me more.”

Your face burns. “I can’t, I, I’ve never done that before. Your…dick in my mouth made me think about what it’d be like…” you trail off.

It’s silent for a moment. You never expressed your desires before, and you feel fucking embrassed. But it’s also empowering. A little spark inside of you burning up the anxiety you always feel about your own needs. You rarely speak your truth. Maybe the shallowness of expressing your desires can be the catalyst for expressing yourself in other ways.

“You want me to lick your pussy, is that it?” Klaus asks, so vulgar you actually choke on some spit. You cough, and can’t see him but you know he’s smirking.

“Don’t be shy, little sinner. You are a sinner, aren’t you? Bad girls ask for what they want, isn’t that right? Haven’t you been raised to be good?” He’s not wrong. “So do the opposite of what you think you should do. Tell me how badly you want me to push that little skirt up and lick you to an orgasm. It’ll be better than your fingers.”

Oh my god. Like a dirty sermon, the words spill out of his mouth. But he’s right.

“I want,” you can’t get it out. Klaus sighs, frustrated.

“You say the words, and I’ll leave my side of the booth and drop to my knees in front of you. I’ve always wondered how you’d taste. Being the first to bring you to the brink of pleasure with my mouth - I’ll never forget it.”

You want this so bad. You sigh, bite your lip, squeeze you legs together again.

“Klaus, I. Please - will you lick me?” God, how fucking embarrassing. How fucking shameless. Your parents would literally dig their own graves if they ever knew you were saying this. You came home with ripped clothes and bruises all over your body after Peter tore your innocence from you even when you said no - and they hate you for it. Imagine how they’d feel now, looking at you begging a creature straight from hell to lick your cunt.

“Good girl,” Klaus says casually, and you feel proud. Nobody has ever said that to you before. You expect to hear the chair squeak, for him to move, to give you what you want now that you did what he said.

Instead, he’s still talking. “Lift up your dress and feel yourself over your panties, sweetheart,” he orders. You do what he says, fingers pressing hard over your pussy through your cotton underwear. It’s painful in a good way, and you’re wet. Probably have a wet spot.

“Tell me. How wet are you? Just from my voice, no?” He’s teasing. Such a cocky, confident bastard. But you nod, and then he reminds you. “Words. Can’t see you.”

“Yes,” you spit out. “Your voice. This place, I,” you rub yourself.

“Take the panties off and touch yourself. How you do at home, with your hands under your covers in your panties and your hand over your mouth.” You open your mouth to ask how he knows this, but you fall short. You do what he says, stand and up to take your panties off, wanting to hear another good girl. After a life without praise, you want that hit of it again.

You sit back down and flip your skirt up, rubbing your clit gently while little moans leave your mouth. “A finger inside. Have you done that? I want you to. For me.”

You’ve never done that. Never tired, but you do what Klaus says and slip a finger inside of yourself.  After so much time so pent up, you’re close already. Really. Just a few minutes rubbing your clit, that’s how backed up you are. Klaus must sense it. Because your pussy clenches around your measly finger like it’s hungry and then there’s a slam and he does that speed thing that lands him in front of you.

Your legs are vulgarly spread wide, and Klaus is on his knees in front of you. It feels wrong, him in a position of worship to someone like you. You almost want to tell him to get up, but you’re not that selfless. Not when his necklace hits your leg as he dives between your legs, his hands spreading your knees even further apart. He looks hungry - similar to how he looks when he drinks your blood from the dish.

“Shame you’re not on your cycle,” he says grossly. “That’d be an offering all in itself.”

Klaus licks between your legs and laps up your slick, his warm, skilled tongue feeling like what you imagine heaven feels like. He moves his tongue from your clit down to your aching core. You don’t know why it aches - have never had more than one person inside of you, but god do you want Klaus.

He makes you cum right there in that confessional booth. Three times. Once, on his tongue, and the next two with his fingers buried inside of you. He says you taste sweet, that you could convince a good man to take a deal of eternal damnation for a taste of you, that he’s never seen a pussy so perfect, and all you can do is whine and moan and call out to god.

Klaus pulls away when you do, handsome face covered in your wetness. Smelling like you. Your heart races as he licks his lips. “Call me Klaus.”

────

You stumble backward as Peter shoves you, his hand pressing sharply against your shoulder. The force of it catches you off guard, and you try to regain your balance, but the ground feels slippery beneath your feet. His laugh rings out, harsh and mocking, and you fall backwards, your hands scrambling for purchase. You can’t believe this is happening in town, with people around you watching this - not giving a shit. 

Your knees hit the pavement with a sickening scrape, the rough concrete cutting into your skin before you even have a chance to break your fall. A sharp sting bursts across your knee, one ten times worse than the feeling of the pocket knife you use for your offering. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that sting your eyes. The pain is immediate and raw, the kind of sting that burns and throbs all at once.

"Oops," Peter sneers, his voice dripping with amusement. He says he cares about you, that he still wants you, yet he can’t stop tormenting you whenever he sees you. Boys will be boys your mother keeps saying, but surely this can’t be what someone does when they want you? You start to cry, trying to sniffle back the tears. 

You glance up, gritting your teeth against the pain, and you meet his eyes. Peter’s smirk widens, and there's no apology in sight - only the cruel satisfaction of someone enjoying the sight of your discomfort. He was bad before the incident, but after it, he’s so much worse. You wish he’d just leave you alone. You can’t believe you ever thought he was handsome - that you were ever excited when he’d come pick you up, or take you out. He’s ugly to you now that you know who he is on the inside. 

"Get up," he snaps, his tone cold and dismissive as if this is some sort of game to him. You try to push yourself up, wincing as your scraped knee protests, but your legs feel unsteady, and there's a humiliated heat creeping up your neck.

"Come on, you're not gonna stay down there forever, are you? Oh, well - maybe you are. Spend enough time on your knees at that church, don’t you?" His voice drips with sarcasm. What he says stings more than the wound on your knee - because you’re only going to the church because of what he did to you. 

On the flip side, you only know Klaus because of him, so maybe things do happen for a reason.

You want to say something, to snap back at him, but the sting of the scrape and the weight of his presence presses down on you, leaving you feeling small, and it’s hard to muster the energy to fight back. He reaches down for your necklace, and for reasons you don’t understand, rips it off of you.

You look down until he waks away - you don’t want to let him see you cry.

────

“What happened to you?”

His voice makes you jump, and you almost stumble over a gravestone that’s half toppled over. You catch yourself and stand steady, but your heart is beating at an alarming rate at your surprise. This is the first time, in all the weeks you’ve been coming to repent, that Klaus is standing outside of the church. 

You’re almost to the front door, but not quite, about to open the door to the broken, barbed gate that was once a protection for the church, but now sits as a reminder of how long it’s been since this place of worship was properly used. Every time you walk past it, you feel something like sorrow in your chest, looking at the locks different couples throughout the years have clasped on the broken fence when it wasn’t so decrepit. 

They probably thought their love would last, you think, something like bile rising in your throat at the thought. It’s pathetic and sad, that anyone could ever think that love or another person could save them. That’s the angry, negative part of your brain. The other part of you, the one that wants to believe in good so bad you can almost taste traces of it when the moment is right - well, it can’t even make the locks romantic. Can’t even turn love that’s frozen in time into something sweet. 

Maybe the couples who put these locks on the fence are still together, your brain reasons, trying to think on the bright side, but your thoughts quickly tumble to the negative as they always do. It doesn’t really matter though, does it? Those couples, even if they stayed together, are dead now anyway. 

So much for a bright sunny day. 

You grip the gate with one hand and lean against it, hoping it doesn’t topple over - but you need something to support you to be in the presence of Klaus this close. He’s in a black, long sleeved shirt, a rosary around his neck, and he looks so angry you worry about your safety. 

“What?” You ask dumbly, so lost in his eyes and the symbol of devotion around the neck of such a monster you don’t even remember what he said when you first walked up to him. You swallow hard when he sighs, obviously irritated, before crouching down and pulling your knee high sock down to your ankle. 

You blush, at Klaus on the ground in front of you. His hair is almost golden where the sun hits it, hands strangely soft where they touch your skin. You think about a story your father used to tell you, about the devil; how he’s not a man with red horns and skin, but a beautiful angel that turned rotten. 

You think that’s accurate, looking down at Klaus. His beauty. When he looks up at you, still frustrated at your lack of response, you finally realize what he’s talking about. 

The white of your sock has a red stained circle where you knee is, some dirt covering it. Your exposed knee burns, now that you focus on it, from when you fell down. 

When you were pushed.

You try to push those thoughts out of your head, because you’re here now, and it’s time for you to repent and move past it all. Isn’t that what your father told you to do, after the fight you had with Peter again? Confess. Repent. Get over it. 

“What happened to you?” Klaus asks again, his patience wearing thin. You’re no vampire, er, hybrid, but you swear you can hear his breathing. Heavy, like he’s angry, like he’s upset, and then he locks his jaw and looks up at you and you realize what he’s really mad at. 

You really can’t go one day without fucking everything up, can you? You made Peter mad today, and now you’re making Klaus mad. Both have the ability to hurt you, one worse than the other. You feel unwanted tears start to burn in your eyes, and you wish more than anything that you’d had a chance to breathe and change your clothes after you fell into the trap that is Peter. 

“I fell,” you say meekly, hating yourself for being mousy, average, annoying. Quiet. So utterly ordinary and useless it makes you want to rip your skin off just to start fresh. Be someone, anyone, new. 

“You wouldn’t skin your knee this bad if you just fell. Someone pushed you,” Klaus replies, hand still on your thigh. You try to focus on that feeling, his hand steadying you, anything to keep you grounded so you don’t cry. It works a little bit, because you don’t even hear the concern in Klaus’ voice. “Tell me who pushed you.”

You shake your head and try to pull your leg out of his grasp. “I fell, Klaus, I swear,” you lie, and you hate yourself even more, if that’s possible. You feel bad, after the vulnerability you’ve shown Klaus before, that you’re acting like this now. Why should you protect Peter?  It’s so wrong. You’re just scared to admit how badly you fucked up today, how you made Peter mad again, when you’re supposed to be getting better. That’s what Klaus has been helping you with, hasn’t he? 

You’re such a failure. 

Klaus doesn’t reply. Instead, he leans forward and licks at the bloody wound on your leg. It’s disgusting, and you hold you breath, the feeling of his wet, warm tongue on the owie on your leg such a horrible sensation…

Until it’s not. 

He cleans off your knee with his mouth, in broad daylight, before standing up. He looks at you all disappointed, because he can see right through you. Knows you’re lying, knows you’re a screw up, and him looking at you with that expression is just too much. 

Your eyes water. You instinctively go to grip the cross on your neck, a nervous tick - only to be reminded that you’re not wearing your necklace. Klaus’ eyes follow the movement. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. 

Not like the amusement he usually has when he makes that noise. The fun he gets, out of making you confess. 

“Come, little sinner,” he orders, a hand on your shoulder to direct you past the run down gate, into the even more worse for wear church. You follow, doing your best not to stumble, wound on your leg still burning despite the way he licked it clean. 

You ignore the other burning you feel, always feel, around Klaus. In this church. Burning of your cheeks, burning of arousal in your core, burning with want in every inch of your body he touches and doesn’t. 

When you’re inside the church, Klaus leads you to the altar and orders you to strip and kneel. 

“But my knee,” you say before thinking it through, another sin for not just obeying. A woman is supposed to obey, you hear your mother’s voice in your head. 

God, you ask, and not as a curse - it’s a genuine plea. A genuine question. Why can I never do anything right? 

“When you tell me the truth about what happened to your knee, you’re free to go. Already got my offering,” he reminds you, referring to the blood he lapped up off of your knee. Klaus is sitting a few pews down to watch as you get your shoes off, pull your socks off, something dark in his eyes that you’re not sure is desire or frustration or something else entirely. 

He looks too beautiful to be watching you be so useless, the sun shining through the stained glass window casting his pale, handsome face in a mosaics of bright colors. What you wouldn’t give, to look like that. Painted by the sun itself. Instead you’re dreary, dumb, a punching bag who can never get anything fucking right. 

You do what Klaus says, get on your knees and stay there until you can’t take it anymore. It hurts, putting all your weight on the wound, but the position is uncomfortable anyway. And Klaus just watches, in the third pew from the stage, while you cry, trying to come up with the words to say what happened without admitting the whole truth to him.

I made Peter mad, you want to say. You want to cry out. I asked him to apologize for what he did to me, and I should’ve left it alone. That’s why he pushed me. Please, just clean my soul of this. 

Nothing comes out. 

Klaus sends you home an hour and a half later, knees bruised, cheeks wet with tears. He brushes them away roughly when he helps you stand, pulls your socks back up your knees and helps you out the door. 

“You waste my time when you lie to me,” he reminds, which you know. “How can I help you if you won’t tell me what what’s wrong?” You don’t hear the pleading in his voice. 

All you hear is how big of a disappointment you are.

────

“Here,” Klaus hands you a box just as you pick up the pocket knife from the altar. He comes out of nowhere, behind you, and you can’t help but think that he chose to make himself known that way so he could press himself against you. Your body burns where he touches you, and you find it funny that he put a nice looking box on the altar where you slit your hand open for him.

“A gift?” You ask. You can count on one hand, the number of gifts you’ve received. Your parents don’t belive in shit like that, but you’re excited nonetheless. You don’t wait to open it, and your surprise when you see what’s inside must show on your face. Klaus does a shy smile, an expression you’ve never seen him wear before.

It’s a necklace. Like the one Peter broke. It’s gold, heavy - the same material as your cross one. Only -

There’s no cross on this one.

Just a K.

For Klaus.

It’s a weird gift. You don’t know what to say to it, because Klaus expects you to wear this? An initial of his name? You’re not sure what’s happening here, only that you feel like this is…serious. Sensitive. What?

He must see your face again. But you don’t want to disappoint him. You grab the necklace and hand it to him, turning around and moving your hair out of the way so he can clip it on you. His hands linger, and then cup the sides of your throat. For a split second you wonder if he’s going to snap your neck, but he doesn’t.

“I want you to wear it, when you’re here,” he says, like an order he knows you’ll obey. “But if you ever wise up and choose to…get out of this town, you could probably sell it for a pretty penny.”

You furrow your brows and then to face him. “Leave? What else is there? More shitty towns?” Klaus looks at you like you’re crazy.

“You’ve got no idea what’s out there, do you?” You shake your head, confused. “It’s part of your appeal, little sinner, that naivety - but there’s so much more out there. Art. Music. Beautiful places, and cities. Places where men don’t,” he pauses, and your breath hitches. You wonder what he’s going to say. “Nevermind.”

“You talk like you’re going to leave,” you say, insecurity showing in your voice. Because you’re not sure what you and Klaus are. Aren’t stupid enough to even think that you’re something. But the thought of him leaving when he’s the only thing in your mind, the only decent thing in your life, is just too much to handle. What’s wrong with you? One man shows you a lick of kindness and suddenly you’re worshipping at his altar?

Klaus steps closer to you, grabs your waist. “I’m not leaving.”

You open your mouth but Klaus cuts you off. Looks at the necklace on your neck, his initial, like a brand. “I want to fuck you,” he says suddenly. Your body responds, you feel your nipples harden and your stomach tighten, turned on with just those few words.

You look down, shake your head. You want Klaus to fuck you - of course you do, but it doesn’t change the fact that the thought of sex makes you freeze up. You’ve done everything else, naughty things with Klaus, yet -

You can’t run from your past.

“Klaus,” you want to explain yourself. You’re ready this time, to tell him what happened to you. Why you come here. You want to share. “There was this man. My suitor. He pushed me and he hurt me and -“

“I’m not going to force you.”

You’re frozen after that. He knows. Even better, he seems to understand what happened to you by the hands of Peter, and he doesn’t seem to blame you.

Klaus bends to his knees and runs his hands down leg. It’s gentle, for no reason other than the fact that he wants to touch you.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, and he doesn’t say anything. Just kisses the scar on your knee, up your thigh, and then pulls your panties down your legs. He stands, gets his own pants off, and when he bends you over the altar and stuffs his cock inside of you, you realize that sex was never the issue at all.

Peter was.

“Beautiful girl,” Klaus murmurs. “You’ve got no idea the power you have.” He grabs your hand as he puts his weight on your back, using the altar to to support you while he fucks into you with slow thrusts. You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but instead he bites into it, takes his own offering while he claims your body. He feels so fucking good, stretching you out. Going slow, tender. You never imagined someone like Klaus would fuck you like he actually has a soul.

When you cum around his cock, you keep your eyes open, locked on the cross in front of you at the back of the room in the center of the wall.

“Klaus,” you call out like a prayer.

────

You walk into the forest with Peter, his friends trailing behind you - and you wish you hadn’t come. When he showed up at your place a few hours ago, your father and mother all but shoved you out the door with him. You don’t understand how or why they’re still pushing you into his arms, but you know they just want to get rid of you. It hurts. 

Their laughter echoes off the trees. They’re all drunk, except for you, and it’s insufferable. Peter keeps pulling on your wrist, trying to grab your hand, and eventually you won’t be able to fight him off.

His hand isn’t Klaus’. And you wish you weren’t such a pushover - wish you stood your ground and never let your parents tell you, a grown woman, what to do and with whom.  You don't want to be here. Not with Peter, and not close to the area where you walk through the forest to see Klaus. You don’t want those memories, the only thing positive in your life, tainted by Peter. 

You zone out, breathing in to try to calm down. If you just get through whatever campfire they want to go to, then you can go home. The air is thick with the smell of pine and earth, and for a moment, it almost feels peaceful. But then, Peter’s voice cuts through the calm, teasing.

Mean. 

“You really went to that church again this Sunday? This is a far walk from home,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. The others chuckle, and you feel your face heat up. He’s not asking because he cares. He’as asking to make fun of you.

You bite your lip, trying to ignore them. You’ve heard it before, the constant jabs, but it still stings every time.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” you reply, your voice a little sharper than you intended. You don't know where it comes from, when you’re shaking from being so bold. “It’s important to me.” You want to scarem that he's the reason you have to go, but you refrain. Because these days - he’s not. Not anymore. 

You hate him so fucking much. 

You should just run back home, but the only thing stopping you is the fact that Peter’s holding the only flashlight. You should have brought your own. 

Peter snorts. “Yeah, I get it. You want to be cleansed. You’re all about that holy stuff,” he mutters, and then one of his friends chimes in. “Weren’t so holy when you let Peter pop your cherry though, were you? 

His friends laugh again, and you can feel the heat rise in your face, but you try to hold it together. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of watching you cry.

You say nothing. Peter tries to wrap an arm around your shoulders, but you’re seething so hard you pull out of his grip. Stupid, maybe, because in retaliation, he shoves you, just a little too hard. 

Your feet slip on the uneven ground, and you lose your balance. It’s a rough part of the woods, and you twist your ankle. The world tilts as you fall back, your hands shooting out to catch yourself, but there’s nothing to stop you. You hit the dirt, your head on a rock, with a sickening thud, the breath knocked out of you.

For a moment, everything is still. Your heart races, panic spreading in your chest. Peter doesn’t move, just watches, face unreadable.

His friends are silent now, their laughter gone, replaced with something else. Something you can't quite read.

You slowly push yourself up, your hands shaking, dusting off your knees. But even as you rise, the hurt from the fall doesn’t compare to the sinking feeling in your stomach. This is more than just a push. You can’t stand up. You can’t move. Everything feels hazy, and then you hear the urgent voices of his friends. You’re not sure how you missed it before, but now, it’s undeniable. Something’s wrong. 

And then everything goes black.

────

You wake up on the hard, cold ground of the forest. Your head is aching something fierce - you’ve never experienced this level of pain before. The minute your eyes are fully open, you let out a cry, laying your head back down on the dirty grass underneath your body. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, covering your eyes with your arm. You breathe in, coughing immediately. You sit up with another cry, your body stiff and heavy feeling, every nerve on edge. 

That’s when you realize the smoke. There’s a fire at a distance, that much you can tell. You smell the charred odor, along with something earthy - but the scariest smell is the smell of something metallic. Sour. 

It’s blood. Coherent enough to look around now, you notice that even in the dark, it’s clear that wherever you’re lying is a crime scene. There’s blood everywhere - but strangely enough, not a lot on your clothes. You know you should stand, but you can’t bring yourself to. The air is too thick, too choking, and your head and your limbs just feel too heavy and  -

“You’re up. Fantastic,” you hear, along with the crunching of leaves that tells you someone is walking towards you. You know that voice anywhere, but you’re not sure why it’s here. 

Klaus. 

The last thing you remember is Peter, and his friends, and walking into the forest together for that stupid bonfire. So how are you here, with Klaus right now? How - what?

Klaus crouches down next to you. 

“There’s enough blood here for a baptization,” he says, voice a little too cheery for this eerie situation. You ignore him, even as he touches the back of your head, like he’s checking something. 

That’s when you realize - the back of your head is covered in blood, hair matted against your sclap. No wonder you’ve got a headache, but even scarier - with this much blood loss, how are you even awake? 

“What? Klaus, I,” he cuts you off. “You’ll feel better once you eat something, little sinner.” He stands up and walks away from you, and you watch him, heart beating too loud and too fast in your chest. You could gag at the smell around you, and your head pounds at every step Klaus takes. Why is it so fucking loud? Why are you feeling so much?

What happened?

Klaus returns with a bloody paper bag. You don’t understand. “What’s going on? Why are you here? Where’s Peter?” But you don’t finish again. Klaus shoves the bag at you, and you open it, a cream threatening to escape your throat when you see what's inside. 

“Now,” Klaus starts, crouching back down. “I would never force you to do anything, but in a few hours, you're going to be feeling worse than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. Hunger, like you’ve never known. I would suggest, love, that you take a bite out of the heart, just to keep your appetite at bay while we find you some clean clothes,” the immediate reaction in your body is to hurl. 

You want to throw the paper bag with a heart inside of it, but instead your own beats faster. It's like your veins throb, your stomach growls, so hungry for this organ that you can barely contain it. What the fuck is happening to you? And why is Klaus so calm? 

“Klaus, explain, please,” you look at him, noticing only now that he’s entirely drenched in blood. Up to his elbows almost, so thick it looks like he’s wearing gloves. Your head spins, making you dizzy, and you stand up because you don’t know what else to do. 

Klaus looks at you like you’re crazy. “That’s a heart. You’ve never seen one before?” As if you've seen an actual heart outside of a body before. You lean your back against a tree, your own heart about to leap out of your chest at the disgust you now feel for yourself - because that heart - why does it smell so good?

“Why?” you manage to get out, and Klaus actually laughs. He’s having fun, you realize. This is the first time in all you’ve known him, that Klaus is actually fucking smiling. 

“That suitor of yours. He pushed you, although I do wonder what you were doing in the woods with him and the others, without your necklace on,” you want to tell him that you keep your necklace somewhere safe, as to not draw suspicion from people in town. But he just keeps talking, on a high that only death can give him, apparently. 

“I tried at first to get him to cut his heart out of his own chest, but as you know - people don’t like to be forced to do things. Even him. So I did it for him. Kind of me, I know.”

Peter is dead. Klaus found you in the forest with him and he killed Peter and the others. 

But more than that - you can’t breathe. Can’t think. Klaus takes a step closer to you and places a bloody hand on your shoulder. You’re full on crying now. 

“Don’t cry,” Klaus says, as if that helps. “He deserved it. Think about what happened. What you last remember. After we were intimate, before you left - I fed you my blood to heal the wound on your hand,” and you remember that. So why does Klaus sound…desperate for you to understand? 

But then everything comes back, and it only takes a second for it to all come together. 

Peter - he pushed you. You had Klaus' blood in your system , and all the vampire facts he told you after you found out he was a hybrid came flooding back. Peter -

He killed you. You must’ve hit your head when you tumbled down the hill. And because Klaus’ blood was in your body you -

You turned. You're a -

“No,” you shout, pushing past Klaus. The fear in your body is enough to push past the pain and stand up. “I can’t be this. I’m going to hell, Klaus.” You've never felt an emotion this devastating. This is horrible. You’ve experienced self hatred before, but nothing quite like this. You have an eternity to accept this disgusting, disgusting truth. 

Klaus actually looks offended. But he doesn’t get it. How could he? You’ve been trying to be someone new, but the beliefs that have been drilled into your head since you were a child are strong. And you’re scared. 

You drop to your knees and plop on your ass, holding your legs to your chest. Klaus comes to you, but not to comfort you. To twist the knife deeper. 

“Look around,” he says, voice loud. You don't want to. To see what - blood, smoke? “You’re already in hell. Your father let that man around you. He told you to come to me. You don’t think he knew what I’d do to you?”

You don’t understand what he’s saying. Your father - ?

“He was hoping I’d kill you. Don’t you see?” You don’t know what to say to that. But it’s all clicking, and you’re going to be sick. Your father sent you here to die. It makes sense why he was surprised every time you came home. You cry even harder, body shaking with sobs. 

“But don’t worry. I took care of it. You’re holy now, you understand?. Safe. Untouchable.” You look in the direction of the smoke and realize it’s coming from your town. Did he - burn the town down? And maybe supernatural sense are even crazier than you thought, because you focus on the scent of char and pinpoint that the scent is coming off of Klaus’ fingertips. 

He grabs the paper bag and sits beside you. You shift away from him. This is too much. You can tell he’s upset by your reaction, but what did he expect? He moves closer to you. “Leave your faith and follow me, and I’ll show you things the Bible never taught you.” But he still drops something on your lap.

It’s your old cross necklace. All bloody. He must’ve got it from Peter. It’s a thought you’ll have to go back to later, to understand - Klaus, giving you back a piece of yourself. Even one he doesn’t agree with.

“I’m going to hell,” you repeat, frozen. You’re looking forward, unsure if you’re even blinking. You can’t process this. You will never, ever get over this. 

Klaus waits a moment, before he opens the bag and hands you the heart. It looks smaller than you imagined, but softer. The smell is so vile it’s good and your stomach rumbles. 

“Welcome to the club, little sinner,” he says, and without looking at him, you grab the heart and bite into it. 

Klaus grabs your free hand and gives it a squeeze.

this fic is a gift for @myklaus ♥︎ thank you for the yaps, the laughs, and the idea!

[chokifandom]

— the sun and moon

anaxa x f!reader, very worshippy, VERRRYY self indulgent like this is basically a self insert atp, reader is a painter, i use his full name so much it's actually disgusting, anaxagoras is an atheist

wc: 580

a/n: HAII haiii :3 first hyv post slinks away... it just had to be the man who freed me from my tumblr shadowban <3 terribly sorry bc this piece is so short but i haven’t written in a while and i’m very rusty so ! sorry to everyone who followed me for bllk LOLL i swr ill get back to it in a while..

kephale’s dawn shines on this city that is overlooked by cerces— the sun is gentle and the breeze leaves soft kisses on your skin, the air heavy with the thick scent of paint. a certain scholar is seated in front of you, an easel and a canvas separating the distance between you two. he observes the way your eyebrows knit together in concentration and follows the movements of your hands with his eye alone, not daring to move a single muscle.

“you are so cooperative, anaxagoras,” his name rolls on your tongue so smoothly; his breath hitches in his throat and he’s gone. it falls from your lips like a prayer and you would not hesitate to say it as many times as he asked it of you, and more. “thank you for being my muse.”

he would never forget the first time he acquainted himself with you. he had told you his name was anaxagoras, and you had called him exactly that— anaxagoras. you never shortened his name, not even once. this did not go unappreciated, but it also puzzled him. he wondered why you didn’t cut his name short for your convenience. “is your name not anaxagoras?” you asked, and he realised that day, that you would never reduce the identity of a being for something as irrelevant as convenience. after all, isn’t this what it is to love? the act of loving is to embrace and accept, something that takes a painstaking amount of effort, and yet you make it seem as easy as breathing.

and for this, anaxagoras comes to believe that a love as pure and simple as yours must be protected at all costs, and so he pours his devotion into you. he chooses to place his faith in you, because you are more real and tangible and more loving than the idea of god could ever be— because you inspire him to take pride in the universe that resides within his soul. with you, he feels no need to change something so integral to the core of his being.

many thought the two of you to be an… odd pair, to say the least— a painter akin to a free spirited bird, a lover of everything in this world, with a scholar, one so guarded and stand-offish, at that! they frequently threw looks of pity your way every time that you were seen with him, but you would simply laugh and wave them off. 

if anaxagoras didn’t know better, he would wholeheartedly believe that you were derived from the sun, its radiance bubbling over and spilling into your every step, every word, every laugh. and if you were the sun, then anaxagoras supposes that he would be the moon. he is blunt, defensive and contrarian with his logic, everything that you are not— and yet, your existences fit with each other’s like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. it is not despite, but as a result of this fact.

anaxagoras does not believe in the concept of fate. everything that has come to be in this world is a consequence of action by all the beings who have and will continue to exist in it, and that includes the unlikely relationship between you and him that had occurred against all odds. it is not a mere coincidence, but a series of wilful steps that have led up to this moment where you are putting down his likeness on the canvas.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Rose: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis @oklahomapeach @queensland-lover93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Saftey Rail - Abbot gets real with Robby when he finds him on the roof.

Baby, It's Gonna Be Alright - Robby wonders if he's fucked things up with you for good.

Exorcism (NSFW) - Robby and you finally find a way to be honest with one another.

There’s a rose taped to Robby’s locker.

Not a real one.

But one made of tangerine coloured paper, meticulously folded through origami. His fingers trace over the delicate petals before he carefully removes it, wrapping the tape around the stem so he doesn’t tear it.

The soft scent of the ocean clings to the paper, flooding his senses. There’s a light citrus element to it that he can only attribute to the woman in his life, the one he married last year on the beach.

It’s your wedding anniversary today and he’d taken a shift because you’d been away at lifeguard camp getting those last few hours signed off so that you can become a fully qualified assessor for the city.

He opens his locker, tucking the rose inside before checking his watch and frowning. He hadn’t expected you to be back in the city until later on tonight.

“Allegra still here?” He asks Dana as he returns to The Pitt, pumping the antibacterial dispense and spreading the gel over his hands.

“In the breakroom.” Dana says distractedly as she sorts through the files in front of her “I think she has a little something for you.”

“Colour me intrigued.” Robby murmurs as he grasps the door handle. The two of you aren’t supposed to be doing gifts until tonight and he’s wondering what’s led to this impromptu visit.

When he opens the door there you are sitting at the table, looking as stunning as ever. Your time at camp has given you a pretty glow that seems to radiate from you. It has Robby’s cock stirring in his scrubs because it’s been over a week since the two of you last laid eyes on each other and his body intimately remembers the fun you got into the morning before you left.

His gaze falls to the small silver gift box with the navy blue ribbon perched on the table front of you. You smile as you push it towards him and fuck, it feels like sunlight chasing away all those dark nights without you. “Happy anniversary.”

“I thought we were doing presents later.” He says, his lips brushing over your temple before he takes up residence in the  seat beside you.

“I couldn’t wait any longer.” You tell him as his fingertips tugging at the artfully crafted bow, unravelling it.

He lifts the lid on the box and his breath catches. His chest grows tight, an ache of emotion blossoming in the centre as he swallows hard against the lump in his throat. His eyes sting as he tries to blink away the salt that threatens to leak down his cheeks, his palm rubbing across his bearded jawline.

“Really?” He questions, his fingertips tracing over the tiniest set of yellow baby booties he’s ever laid eyes on. “This is really happening?”

“Yea Robby.” You say, taking his hand and pressing his palm to the space where his child resides. “You’re going to be a father.”

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[lavandulawrites]

Emerald Eyes

Yandere Sakamaki Laito x reader

Reposted from my other blog: @cutelittlechiroptera

Masterlist

Warnings: obsession, manipulation, imprisonment, Laito is kinda terrifying (?)

Word count: 750+

The living room was dark save from a few rays of pale moonlight that basket the furniture in a cold glow. It was empty and it felt haunted by past memories of lives you could never hope to fully understand. The antique sofa you were seated on was soft to the touch and rather comfortable. A soft dark green fleece blanket was draped over you in a cozy fashion that seemed foreign in the otherwise cold manor.

You let out a sigh as you let yourself sink further into the sofa in hopes of it swallowing you whole like the monster in the fairytale books you were so found of as a child. The trees swayed in the night wind and cast shadows over the walls. Phantom hands reached for you and you pressed your eyes shut in order to calm your nerves.

You could feel his presence before you had either heard or seen him. The shadowy hands stilled in the movements and it was as if the moon herself held her breath. You could feel his eyes boring into you as he picked your soul apart and peered into it invasively. Cold sweet coated your temples as your throat coiled together like a frightened snake. The real snake was, however the man who stood in the doorway.

Soft footsteps sounded against the dark hardwood floors accompanied by a sweet hum that sounded like a call from the devil himself. Your heartbeat quickened as it fought against your ribs in order to escape.

He stopped on the back of the sofa, just out of your sight. His humming continued to fill the air.

When you were brought to the mansion and had been forced to pick one of the vampires that resided within its four walls, you thought you had been wise and chosen the safest option. You thought he had been better than the lazy male chauvinist, the sadist who enjoyed to preform experiments on unwilling subjects, the hotheaded jock who thought everything was a competition, the maniac who’s emotions was unpredictable and the one with anger issues and pent up frustration. You had thought that the persevere nonchalant man was the best option. You soon had come to regret your decision as he subjected you to the worst thing you could possibly encounter in that damned mansion. That being his undying love.

You had been quickly swayed by his heartfelt compliments and honeyed manipulation. When you realised his feelings ran as deep as the deepest pits of hell, it was way too late. You were within his claws and he would never ever let you go. You had tried to escape him, but it had been futile. It was no exaggeration to call him the smartest one out of the Sakamaki brothers. His intelligence was truly frightening and you would soon learn that even his brothers feared his mind.

A cold hand rested on your shoulder in a clear warning on not to do anything stupid. You swallowed as his cold fingers caressed your skin gently. Soft lips pressed against the crown of your head in a gentle kiss.

“Are you sitting here all by yourself in the dark?” his sweet voice filled your ears as he leaned down by your ear. You still couldn’t see him, but you didn’t need to to know that he had a knowing smirk plastered on his handsome features.

Words died on your tongue as you raked your mind in order to come up with a fitting answer. Laito chuckled at your silence. “I suppose I should at least join you. That’s the least thing your future husband can do.”

The sofa dipped as he took a seat besides you. His thigh resting against yours as if he was afraid you would disappear if he moved away. His green eyes found yours and you were once again struck by his beauty. Despite how much you feared him, your heart couldn’t help but ache at his beauty and loving gaze. You often wondered if he had you under a spell, but you knew better.

A pale hand gently brushed away a strand of your hair as the red head let his eyes take in your very feature. He leaned in and breathed in the scent of your neck before he moved and placed a soft kiss to your cheek. This action stirred more terror in you than anything else possible could. This little action was a solid prof of his undying love and your inability of escaping him.