#Ominous shadows in the distance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cami040405 · 2 months ago

Note

Just saw that one gif of the couple in a haunted house where the guy pushes the girl in front of the “killer” and runs away, so said killer gives the girl his knife and she chases after her man. Could you write a similar scenario. Whether the killer hands reader their weapon, reader asks for it or just takes it, I just think it’s kinda funny. Reader’s boyfriend shoves her in front of the killer and books it so reader ends up with the slasher’s weapon and goes after her boyfriend herself. I’d like Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees please but if you wanna add anyone I certainly won’t stop you.

Slashers' Reaction when they See the Reader being Offered as Bait by Her Own Boyfriend.

Summary: When your cowardly boyfriend shoves you into the path of infamous slashers to save himself, you don’t scream—you get even. Each killer watches you take their weapon and chase down your backstabbing boyfriend with rage, sarcasm and style. Turns out, the real horror isn’t the killer... it’s dating a man with no spine.

Includes: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhes, Bo Sinclair, Charles Lee Ray, Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

A/N: I found this request very interesting, I certainly wouldn't let it go if it were me. Thank you for sending the request, I loved writing it and imagining the scene.

Michael Myers

You should’ve known something was off the second your boyfriend suggested the two of you “go for a walk through Haddonfield” at night.

“It’s Halloween,” you said.

“Exactly,” he replied, smug. “Let’s live a little.”

So you ended up strolling near Lampkin Lane, where the houses were quiet, the wind was sharp, and something was watching you. You turn the corner near the old, abandoned Myers house—the one that’s still cordoned off with faded “No Trespassing” signs and urban legends as thick as fog. The porch creaks in the distance. Somewhere, a swing sways on rusted chains, though there’s no breeze.

Your boyfriend chuckles nervously beside you.

“This is kinda spooky, huh?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, eyeing the dark windows. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

Suddenly, something shifts in the shadows. A figure steps into the orange glow of a flickering streetlamp at the end of the block.

Tall. Silent. White mask. Mechanic’s suit. Michael. Myers.

You freeze.

He’s far away—but not far enough.

Then your boyfriend, in a move so quick and selfish it would impress Olympic sprinters, screams like a banshee and SHOVES you toward the street—toward him.

“OH MY GOD! TAKE HER!” he shrieks. “TAKE HER, NOT ME!”

You stumble into the road, landing on your hands and knees.

“Are you KIDDING ME?!” you shout, spinning around to watch him full-on sprint in the opposite direction.

You can’t believe it. Your boyfriend just offered you to Michael freaking Myers like a sacrifice in sneakers.

You turn back.

Michael is still there. Watching. Still as a statue. His head tilts.

You meet his dark, unreadable eyes behind the mask.

“…I’m not with him anymore,” you mutter.

He slowly approaches. No words. Just the rhythmic sound of his boots crunching on leaves. He stops in front of you, towering and ominous, the chef’s knife in his gloved hand glinting under the moonlight.

You brace for the worst.

Then… Michael raises the knife—slowly—and flips it.

He holds it out to you. Handle first.

You blink. “Wait—are you… giving this to me?”

The silence is deafening.

You glance over your shoulder. You can still hear your ex-boyfriend screaming in the distance, fumbling with a chain-link fence and tripping like he’s in a bad horror movie.

You look back at Michael. His hand doesn’t waver.

“…Hell yes,” you mutter, and take the knife.

You get up. Your shoulders square. You’re no longer the girl who got shoved into danger.

You’re the danger.

“Thanks, Mikey,” you say, not expecting a response. But you swear—swear—his head tilts just a bit more. Like amusement. Then you take off, knife in hand, stalking your way through Haddonfield.

“HEY, JAMES!” you yell into the night. “I’M GONNA CARVE OUT THE WORD ‘COWARD’ ON YOUR BACK!”

From down the road, your ex screams. “WHY ARE YOU SIDING WITH THE KILLER?!”

You shout, “BECAUSE THE KILLER HAS MORE INTEGRITY THAN YOU!”

Michael watches from the shadows, the slightest movement betraying what might almost be a nod of approval.

For tonight, Haddonfield’s boogeyman takes a break.

You’ve got vengeance covered.

Jason Voorhees

You weren’t thrilled about this trip to Camp Crystal Lake in the first place. Your boyfriend had sold it as a “fun, spooky weekend getaway”—just you two, nature, and some “light ghost hunting” for his vlog.

You hadn’t signed up to get eaten alive by mosquitoes, much less the thought of possibly running into Jason freaking Voorhees. Still, you tried to enjoy it. The lake was beautiful in that eerie, mist-covered way. You even held his hand while walking the trails after sundown, lantern swinging in your grip, nerves humming with unease.

That’s when you heard it—a twig snapping, somewhere off the trail.

Your boyfriend froze, eyes wide. “D-did you hear that?”

You sighed, half-annoyed. “It’s probably a deer or—”

Crunch.

Another step. Heavy. Deliberate. Slow.

You both turned.

And there he was.

Jason Voorhees.

Towering. Silent. Mask glinting pale in the moonlight. A blood-stained machete gripped in his hand like an extension of his soul. You took a shocked step back. You weren’t even sure if you screamed. But your boyfriend?

He screamed louder than you’ve ever heard a grown man scream. Full panic mode. Then, without warning—

HE SHOVES YOU FORWARD.

“TAKE HER!” he shrieks, dead serious, and takes off running like a cartoon character on fast-forward.

You stumble, barely catching yourself before hitting the forest floor. Heart racing, hands trembling—you look up, expecting death.

Jason hasn’t moved.

He just stares at you.

You look back in the direction your boyfriend fled, the underbrush still shaking from his cowardice.

Then you turn back to Jason. And it clicks.

“...Did he seriously throw me to you like I’m a Scooby-Doo extra?”

Jason doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. But somehow, you know he gets it. The way his mask tilts slightly, just enough to read like confusion and maybe even a little pity—it’s almost comical.

You wipe some dirt off your pants. “You know what? Screw it. You’re not the scariest guy out here tonight.”

Jason just stands there. Then, slowly, he flips the machete in his hand and holds it out to you.

Handle first. No sound. No words. Just… an offer.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, grin.

“Oh... Oh, you’re my new best friend.”

You take it. It’s heavy—really heavy—but you’re running on pure adrenaline and RAGE now.

“Thank you, Mr. Voorhees,” you say, sincerely. “I’ll bring it back with blood on it.”

You spin around and stalk into the woods, machete dragging across the dirt, screaming your boyfriend’s name into the trees:

“YOU THREW ME TO JASON VORHEES, YOU SPINELESS TOAD?! YOU’D BETTER HOPE HE KILLS YOU FIRST!”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear a terrified voice yell, “OH GOD SHE HAS A MACHETE—JASON, STOP HER!”

Jason doesn’t move. He watches you vanish into the trees, his massive shoulders rising and falling once with what might—might—have been the ghost of a laugh.

He doesn’t need to lift a finger tonight.

You’ve got it covered.

Bo Sinclair

Ambrose wasn’t even supposed to be on the way. You’d both taken the detour after your boyfriend swore up and down it would be a "fun, spooky, abandoned town Instagram thing." Classic him. Anything for the views, right?

But now?

You’re standing in the middle of Main Street—surrounded by wax figures, everything dead silent—and you’re glaring at your boyfriend, who’s just realized the garage isn’t as empty as it looks.

Bo Sinclair steps out of the shadows, wiping his hands with a rag, eyes landing on you both like a lion sighting fresh meat.

"Well, well," he says, slow Southern drawl curling around his smirk. "Y’all lost or just dumb?"

You don’t even get a chance to answer.

Your boyfriend screams—like, actual scream—and grabs you by the shoulders.

“TAKE HER!” he shouts, shoving you toward Bo with both hands. You stumble, trip, and land at Bo’s feet.

Then the bastard runs. Full sprint. Down the road. No looking back.

You lie there for a second, stunned, blinking up at the sky.

Bo just blinks down at you, his expression blank for a beat.

Then his lips twitch.

Then he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, goddamn," he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "You see that? He tossed you like a sack o' potatoes!”

“Yeah,” you mutter, standing up and brushing off your clothes. “Believe me, I felt it.”

Bo whistles, still grinning. “Girl, he didn’t just throw you under the bus, he started the engine and reversed over you twice.”

You’re still glaring after your fleeing boyfriend’s back. The rage is setting in. Humiliation burning behind your eyes.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “He really left me to die.”

Bo wipes his eyes, watching you with interest now. “So what’re you gonna do, sweetheart? Scream? Cry? Run after ‘im?”

You inhale sharply, glance over at the tool bench behind Bo… and then look at the wrench in his hand. Your eyes narrow. Bo watches you eye it. Then, with the ease of someone offering a gift, he flips it around and holds it out handle-first.

“Tell ya what," he says with a grin. "You wanna clock him one? I won’t stop ya. Hell, I’ll even give you a five-minute head start before I come collect what’s left.”

You take the wrench.

It's heavy. Cold. Satisfying.

You grin wickedly. “I’m not gonna kill him.”

Bo lifts a brow. “No?”

“Just gonna remind him that if he’s gonna throw me to the wolves, he better hope they’re hungrier than I am.”

Bo gives a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Damn, girl.”

You start marching in the direction your boyfriend ran, full murder in your stride.

As you pass a wax figure of a man mid-scream, you mutter, “Better start running faster, Jason. I’ve got a wrench and no sense of mercy right now.”

Bo watches you go, still smiling, his arms folded.

“Gotta admit,” he says under his breath, “I kinda wanna see how that turns out.”

Charles Lee Ray (Chucky)

“Babe, this is not funny anymore,” you hiss, clutching your coat tighter against the biting wind. “We were supposed to be in Little Italy. Where the hell are we?”

Your boyfriend glances over his shoulder, jumping at every shadow. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he mutters. “Let’s just keep walking. There’s gotta be a main street nearby.”

A garbage can rattles.

You both freeze.

Then comes the sound of tiny footsteps… fast. Too fast.

And then you see it.

A doll. A little red-haired Good Guy doll. Just standing at the end of the alley.

“What the f—” you begin.

And then it moves. Fast, like a blur, and suddenly that high-pitched, gravelly voice cuts through the silence.

“Hi, I’m Chucky. Wanna die?”

The doll leaps toward you both.

Your boyfriend screams like a child at Chuck E. Cheese and, without a moment’s hesitation, grabs you by the arm and throws you in front of him like a ragdoll.

“TAKE HER!” he yells, already bolting down the alley like his soul’s on fire.

You land hard on your hip, scraping your palm against the concrete. “You son of a—!”

Chucky skids to a stop, blinking down at you as you sit there on the ground, stunned and seething.

“…Damn,” Chucky mutters, cocking his plastic head. “That guy really tossed you like yesterday’s trash. That’s cold.”

You slowly push yourself up, wiping blood off your palm. “You think?”

Chucky shrugs, then straightens up, switching the bloody knife in his tiny hand to a reverse grip. “Normally, this is the part where I stab you and laugh about it, but…”

He glances down the alley, where your boyfriend’s distant scream echoes into the night. “I think I just found someone I’d rather gut.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

There’s a pause. Then you step forward.

“…Let me see that.”

Chucky eyes you. “You wanna borrow my knife?”

“I insist.”

He grins wide, teeth sharp behind the plastic sheen of his face. “You’ve got style, sweetheart.”

He hands it over, hilt first. You feel the weight of it—smaller than you expected, but razor sharp and warm. You give it a test twirl, then glance down the alley where your dear boyfriend disappeared.

You take a deep breath, grit your teeth, and start walking.

“YOU CHOSE ME TO DIE, YOU LITTLE COWARD?” you bellow into the dark. “YOU USED ME AS A HUMAN SHIELD FOR A DOLL?!”

You break into a sprint, blade gleaming.

Behind you, Chucky watches with absolute delight.

“Y’know,” he says to no one in particular, lighting a cigarette, “I think I’m in love.”

Then he casually strolls after you, whistling.

Billy Loomis (Ghostface)

The old Macher house had been abandoned since Stu's party. Of course it had—the murders, the blood, the urban legends whispered through Woodsboro’s halls made sure of that. But your boyfriend had dared you to break in with him anyway.

"It’s just an old house," he said. "Nothing’s gonna happen."

You should’ve known something was off the moment the door creaked open by itself.

You wandered the trashed kitchen, cobwebs stringing across cabinets like decaying tinsel. Somewhere down the hallway, something thumped. You froze. He grabbed your arm.

Then the phone rang.

Not a cell phone. A landline. On the counter. Plugged into nothing.

You blinked. Your boyfriend picked it up, smirking like a frat boy on Halloween.

“Hello?” A pause. Then a voice, low, amused, just slightly familiar.

“Do you like scary movies?”

His face went white. “Wh—What? Who is this?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Nope,” he said, slamming the receiver down. “Nope nope nope nope—”

But it was too late. From the hallway, Ghostface stepped out.

Not a replica. Not a costume.

The Ghostface.

He held the knife low, that signature gliding gait stalking slowly forward.

Your boyfriend’s survival instincts kicked in—and unfortunately for you, those instincts said sacrifice your girlfriend.

“TAKE HER!” he shrieked, physically shoving you forward into Ghostface’s path, then booking it full-speed out the back door, limbs flailing like a Scooby-Doo reject.

You hit the ground with a grunt. Time froze. The killer stared down at you. His knife gleamed. But then—he tilted his head, like you were more interesting than expected.

The mask came off.

You gasped.

“Billy?”

Billy Loomis smirked down at you, all smugness and shadowed cheekbones.

"Hi, sweetheart."

You scrambled to your feet. “Are you KIDDING ME?!”

He nodded toward the door your boyfriend had just sprinted through like the coward he was.

“He really just did that,” Billy mused. “Didn’t even hesitate. Just… ‘here, kill my girlfriend, I gotta run.’” He mimicked your boyfriend’s scream with a chuckle. “Classic.”

You glared, chest heaving. “I’m going to kill him.”

Billy raised a brow. “You sure you need me to do it?”

There was a pause. A tense, burning one.

Then you lifted your hand, palm open.

Billy blinked.

“…Can I borrow the knife?”

Billy looked down at the weapon in his hand. Then at you. Then back to the hallway.

“You know what?” he said, almost tenderly. “You’ve earned this.”

He flipped the knife and offered it to you, handle-first. Your fingers curled around it. It was still warm from his grip.

“Thanks,” you growled, eyes blazing. “I’ll bring it back with blood.”

“You better,” he replied, stepping back and watching like a proud director. “Make it messy.”

You threw open the back door and stormed into the night, yelling after your now-regretful boyfriend:

“YOU LEFT ME TO DIE, YOU CHEAP-SHOE-WEARING, NO-LOYALTY-HAVING DOLLAR STORE SCREAM QUEEN!”

Somewhere in the trees, your boyfriend screamed again.

Billy leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms as he watched the carnage unfold in the distance.

He gave a small, satisfied smile.

“Damn,” he murmured. “I think I’m in love.”

Stu Macher (Ghostface)

It was supposed to be a fun night.

The local horror maze downtown had been canceled last minute, so your boyfriend had the brilliant idea to “break into the old abandoned farmhouse on the edge of Woodsboro,” which in hindsight was like asking to die in the first ten minutes of a horror movie.

“C’mon, babe,” he’d said, “It’s totally safe. We’ll be in and out. No psycho killers, promise.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed—because hey, what could go wrong?

The house creaked like it wanted to collapse on you. Dust curled off the stairs. Every door groaned like a warning. You were maybe two steps inside when a TV flickered to life in the corner of the room, showing a grainy VHS of old horror movie clips—then cut suddenly to live footage of you two standing right there in the house.

“What the hell—” you whispered.

That's when you heard it. The low, distorted voice from behind:

“Wanna play a game?”

You turned just in time to see Ghostface—tall, lanky, and looming—emerge from the hallway with a gleaming knife in hand.

And your boyfriend?

Your loving, caring, chivalrous boyfriend?

He screamed at a pitch only dogs could hear, shoved you toward the killer like a sandbag, and ran.

Not a glance back. Not a “run!” Just: “YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, BABE!”

You hit the floor hard, wind knocked out of you, staring after him.

Ghostface froze. There was a pause… and then a very familiar wheezy laugh behind the mask.

“Oh my god,” the killer wheezed, pulling the mask off with a flourish. “Did that dude just yeet you at me?!”

You blinked.

“Stu?!”

“Sup!” he said, waving with the knife still in hand. “Didn’t know it was you, swear. Thought I was doing the old ‘boo and stab’ tonight. But wow, your man just offered you up like a Happy Meal.”

You sat up, groaning. “He shoved me so hard I almost blacked out.”

Stu held his stomach, doubled over in laughter. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—he was like ‘TAKE HER, OH MIGHTY KNIFE DEMON, SHE’S THE SACRIFICE.’”

You rubbed your temple. “I should stab him.”

He froze, then lit up. “Wait. Wait. You should! Here—” he spun the knife in his hand and offered it, handle-first. “Go get him, tiger.”

You hesitated.

Stu leaned in, grinning. “You know you want to.”

“…You know what? Screw it.”

You snatched the knife, stood, and dusted yourself off.

“I’m gonna murder him. With my words. Maybe the knife. TBD.”

Stu made an exaggerated swoon motion. “Oh my god. You’re so hot right now.”

You stormed out the front door with purpose, knife in hand. “I SEE YOU HIDING BEHIND THE TRASHCAN, JEREMY! DON’T THINK I WON’T DUMP YOU WITH A KNIFE IN MY HAND!”

From behind, Stu followed casually with the Ghostface mask hanging off one hand and a big grin on his face.

“If you stab him, I’m definitely taking you to prom.”

897 notes · View notes

tpwrtrmnky · 7 months ago

Text

invaders

[ID: Thirteen panel comic with crudely drawn stick people divided across four images.

Panel 1: A blue person with pointy ears on top of their square head watches two grayscale stick people argue.

Grayscale 1: "Hah, you fool! Nobody actually thinks they're blue, we're just being polite because they look blue enough!"

Grayscale 2: "You admit it openly! You admit the lies of chroma ideology, greenie!"

Grayscale 1: "Owned again! I am not green!"

Panel 2: A reddish-orange person talks to another grayscale person while Blue watches dejectedly.

Reddish-orange: "I mean back in my day we were content with just getting to be primary colors, but now that they're also asking for us to be treated like fully worthwhile people rather than freaks? I think the chromatic movement's gone too far."

Grayscale: "Wow! A reasonable one!"

R.O.: "Yeah I'm one of the good ones. Will you respect me for it?"

Grayscale: "Haha no, but I'll exploit you as long as you're useful to me!"

Panel 3: A grayscale person approaches blue from behind.

Grayscale: "Hey why do you have to go all the way to being an entire blue dog person? Can't you just be a normal person who pees outside?"

Blue, in narration: "And so, on that day, I finally accepted that it was time to leave."

Panel 4: The blue dogperson is now in a more deliberately rendered room with beige walls, kneeling and wearing sunglasses. An orange dogperson is laying on the floor next to them.

Blue: "I… We only wanted to be left alone. But even this place isn't safe from them anymore."

Orange: "Why is it so bad to have to deal with people who disagree with us?"

Panel 5: Blue looks dejectedly, with dramatic shadows across their face.

Blue: "This is why you've yet to earn our trust, Orangepup Dogsaturated. You fail to distinguish between legitimate debate and thinly veiled harassment."

Panel 6: The Most Illiterate Person Alive, a grayscale stick person riddled with still-bleeding bullet wounds, looms ominously at the outskirts of a nearby forest.

Blue, narrating: "As for that thing… Far from a person with legitimate views to debate, I have doubts regarding whether it is even a person."

Illiterate: "I am… the most… ill…itt…er…ate….. person…. alive….."

Panel 7: The most illiterate person alive leans down, breathing heavily. The dialogue is just "h" over and over.

Panel 8: Indoors, a hot pink person with fluffy fur is talking into a walkie-talkie, and an onyx-colored person is aiming a sniper rifle out the window.

Hot Pink: "Comrades! There's movement again! They're up to something!"

Panel 9: The most illiterate person alive leans back, screaming: "Holy fucking shitfuck"

Panel 10: A dramatic zoom out shows more of the forest as the most illiterate person alive screams: "I can't fucking believe these dogpeople want to make everywhere a public bathroom!"

Panel 11: A view of the dog people's barn from within the dark depths of the woods, where grayscale people are lurking. The most illiterate person alive is continuing to scream: "They hate supply chains for lifesaving medicine! They want to force everyone to be green and worship Barxism!"

Panel 12: A view of the sky with a mountain in the distance. A large number of voices with increasing frequency and intensity say "Holy shit" over and over.

Panel 13: Out of the woods a swarm of grayscale people emerge, using a variety of creative approaches to movement, screaming:

"I have some concerns!" "Would you like to debate this issue?" "You need a healthy debate climate!" "You should hear out opposing viewpoints!" "Stop censoring me"

The comic ends at this and you are left questioning what the fuck that was.

End ID.]

Start - Previous - Next

Anarcho-Caninism arc navigation:

Previous - Next

#pills that make you green #ptmyg #cw blood

1K notes · View notes

sunni-stuff · 8 months ago

Text

Three days had passed since Jellybean, your rescued stray, vanished. Though an outdoor enthusiast at heart, she'd never missed a meal. Now, your phone tracker beeped, signaling proximity. The crafty runt had escaped, but you were closing in. Jellybean's street-smart ways usually brought her home, yet this time felt different. As you followed the signal, hope and worry battled within.

You traveled alone as none of the townspeople were brave enough to help with your search. The mere mention of the North Woods shook them to the core, earning your request swift declines and slammed doors in your face. Whispers and rumors follow you with every interaction

Secluded and untraceable, his cabin lies tucked away, invisible to prying eyes.

Rumors swirl of his territorial fury. Trespassers beware—this hunter stalks from afar. His domain is unforgiving, and his presence is a constant threat. The lucky ones spot the warning sign; others never see him coming.

Even the butcher, renowned for his toughness, said no, unwilling to even hear you out.

“There’s a man in the woods,” he said, voice unwavering. “You’d be smart to forget the idea.”

The boom of the door closing makes you flinch, jumping back a bit. A man in the woods? Surely not.

Even more absurd than some creep in the woods was the thought that the big, bad butcher was scared of him. This was a man who walked you home at night, who sneered at men and pulled you close to his side when you became uncomfortable. You knew him for a long time and you’d never seen him so much as flinch, but suddenly he was all squinted eyes and hushed tones at the thought of even stepping a foot off the beaten path. It couldn't be true, right?

Well, there was only one way to prove him wrong, and it was the only way you were gonna get Jellybean back. You’re going in that forest, urban myth or not.

Shadows lengthen as you exit your truck. The door closes with a hollow thud. The townsfolk's warnings replay in your mind, urging caution. You scan the area, heart racing. Drooping leaves cast an ominous veil over the forest. The murky depths seem to whisper, both alluring and forbidding.

Anxiety grips you as you take a step further. "Bean?" You whisper, voice trembling.

Silence answers. Twigs crack underfoot, and each snap creates an ominous echo. You cringe, the sounds amplifying your unease. Yet you press on, searching the quiet forest.

Minutes stretch like hours as you quietly call Bean's name, doing your best not to attract any unwanted attention, as the woods loom, hiding unknown dangers. Glancing down, your phone shows her location, unchanged, since she first wandered off. Jellybean's absence at this late hour is unsettling. She never stayed out of the house this long, and not so still, either. You can't help but think the worst, deciding to hurry closer to her, praying to find her safe.

Venturing deeper, the terrain grew wilder. Massive leaves parted, revealing fallen trunks and tilted trees. The more you looked around, the more it became clear that the uncharted wilderness wasn't made for humans.

There was no possible way.

The forest gave little leeway to those travelings through its domain. Predators strayed barely out of sight, lurking in hopes you'd be their next meal. A howl in the distance has you on edge, skin crawling, the feeling of being watched running anxious edges.

"Just keep walking. It'll be okay. The tracker says she's near." You reassured yourself under quite murmurs, trying to will your heart calm.

Then it appeared without warning.

A wolf lurches from the woodland gloom, baring his jagged canines, poised and ready to pounce. He circles you in a slow, menacing loop, foam pooling from his parted jaws. His eyes blaze with a frenzied gleam, wild and driven by something beyond hunger. Some dark, unseen force propels him, and you feel it tightening around you.

You turn and run.

Run as fast as your legs can carry you, tearing through the thick underbrush. Foliage slaps your arms and face, and the weeds clutch at your ankles like skeletal fingers desperate to drag you down. You ignore the stinging scratches, the pounding in your chest. If you fall, if you falter for even a second—you know it’s over.

Run.

The untamed beast snaps its jaws inches behind you, hot breath searing your calves, each bite narrowly missing as he hounds you with ruthless, single-minded determination. You crash through a thicket, branches clawing at your arms, tearing through your clothes, until you stumble onto a barely visible trail where weak shafts of light seep through gaps in the trees.

There’s no time to think. No time to process the sting of cuts or the burn in your lungs, nothing beyond the raw, primal instinct to get the hell away from the rabid creature on your heels.

Then you see it.

A cabin.

Really, a dilapidated shack, its sagging roof overrun with twisting vines, looms before you, barely held together by rotting beams and splintered boards. The whole structure looks one hard gust away from collapse, yet it’s the only shelter in sight. You don’t hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, and charge toward the door.

In your frantic rush, you miss the glint of watching eyes, shining like dark coals from the shadows behind, tracking your every move.

You burst inside, slamming the door shut with a desperate shove, then lean your back against it. Your chest heaves, each ragged breath scraping your lungs as you struggle to catch your breath, the weight of dread pressing down on you even harder than the beast’s pursuit.

The aroma of simmering soup wafted through the air, warmth enveloping you. A cozy scene unfolded: a bubbling pot atop a wooden stove, a modest desk tucked away, and a solitary lantern casting a soft glow. The space exuded an unexpected warmth, soft light pooling over worn furniture and the faint scent of old wood calming your frayed nerves. Your pulse slowed as the familiar coziness settled around you. Then, a gentle brush against your leg pulled you from the haze of adrenaline.

You glanced down—and there she was. Jellybean, her eyes wide and radiant, a few telltale crumbs clinging to her brown fur from some long-forgotten snack.

A rush of tenderness overtook the fading remnants of panic. You reached down, catching the elusive little troublemaker as she gave an indignant squirm. “You little—” The half-hearted scold fizzled, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming need to hold her close. “How—How did you end up here, huh?”

Holding Jellybean close, you feel the weight of your situation settling over you—a stranger in a cabin far from familiar ground, with the last of the sunlight slipping away, trapping you inside until dawn. Outside was darkness thick and impenetrable, the forest itself a living maze you dared not attempt at night.

“Shit,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly might stir something in the shadows.

Slowly, you move deeper into the space, eyes sweeping over the bare walls and spartan furniture. There’s something unnervingly sterile about the place—no photos, no knickknacks. Not a trace of personality or life. Who would live here? The rumors of some reclusive figure haunting these woods flash through your mind.

No. You shake your head, brushing off the thought. This was probably just some hunter’s shack. Or a place someone from town stayed now and then, just a shelter, nothing more.

Your foot presses down on a loose floorboard, and a loud creak echoes through the stillness. You freeze, heartbeat stuttering. Jellybean’s ears twitch, but she remains calm. Before you can step back, a low groan seeps from somewhere within the cabin, rolling through the floorboards, shivering up your spine.

Your grip tightens on Jellybean, and you hold your breath, listening.

“I-Is anyone there…?” Your voice barely steady. The words hover in the silence, as though the shadows themselves are holding their breath, waiting.

Then, clear as day, you hear it.

“Help… me…”

The voice is thin and broken, barely more than a whisper. Instinct screams at you to ignore it, to sit tight until morning. But something tugs at you. The sound is weak, desperate—human. The cabin feels suddenly smaller, its walls pressing in, urging you to run.

“Please… someone help me…"

A shiver races down your spine. Curse your altruism. You clutch Jellybean tighter, swallowing back the fear rising in your throat.

“U-uh, where…?” The question slips out before you can think, shaky and uncertain.

Silence stretches taut, pressing against your ears. Then, faint and low, a whining sound rises from beneath the floorboards, almost like a wounded animal. Every instinct screams at you to turn back, to stay safe. But you find yourself edging closer to the noise, heart hammering against your ribs.

Your gaze lands on a small, almost-hidden door near the far wall—the entrance to a cellar.

The pleas are louder here, wavering but persistent, each whisper curling up from the depths. “Help… please…”

You should walk away. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. But, against every sliver of common sense, your hand reaches out, fingers trembling as they brush over the handle.

It turns with a rusty groan, and you pull the door open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into shadow. At the bottom, you catch the flicker of ember light, glowing faintly as if from a dying fire.

The cellar stretches out before you, a vast, dimly lit space far larger than should exist beneath such a modest shack. Shadows cling to the walls, the only light casting a faint, sickly orange glow that barely cuts through the murk. You step cautiously, heart-pounding, but then you glance to your right—and freeze.

The scene hits you with a nauseating force. Men hang suspended from thick meat hooks, bodies bruised and broken, some barely clinging to life, others unmoving, their faces blank and eyes empty. Their battered forms twist slightly in the air, like grotesque puppets left to dangle and rot. You swallow hard, stomach twisting as bile rises in your throat.

But then the horror deepens—recognition dawns. One face after another, familiar, each one seared into memory. The delivery driver who refused to take no for an answer, the lawyer from the pub whose relentless advances wore you down, the pizza guy who loitered outside your job, watching, waiting. All here. Hung like slabs of meat in this nightmarish cellar.

Your mind spins, the details piecing together in a sickening realization. The butcher. He’d warned them off, told you they wouldn’t bother you anymore. But this? This was something beyond any threat, beyond any punishment you’d ever imagined.

How? How had they ended up here? How did any of this exist beneath an unassuming cabin in the middle of the woods?

You weren’t supposed to see this. This was something that should have remained buried, hidden in the depths where secrets go to rot. The enormity of it presses down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

But then, one of them stirs. The pizza guy, his head lolling weakly to the side, lifts his face. His eyes, clouded and bloodshot, light up with recognition—a desperate spark of life in his hollow gaze. “Help! Please, before he comes back!” he rasps, voice cracking.

He.

The word rings in your mind, cold and jagged. He? Who could do this? Who would do this?

Your voice trembles as the question slips out, a thin whisper in the oppressive silence. “W—who… who are you talking about?”

The cellar door slams shut behind you, the echo reverberating off the cold stone walls, trapping you in the silence that follows. Heavy, methodical footsteps descend the rotting stairs, each step creaking beneath his weight. His breathing is deep, ragged, each inhale and exhale marking his slow, purposeful approach.

Don’t turn around.

Your body locks up, instinct screaming to flee, but your legs refuse to move. You clutch Jellybean tightly to your chest, but suddenly, she squirms, thrashing in your arms in a way she never has before. Confusion twists through your terror—Jellybean has always clung to you, never trying to escape. What was she doing?

With a leap, she slips from your grasp, landing soundlessly on the floor. She pads past you, moving behind you, and the silence is filled with soft, delighted purring.

You don’t want to look. You hold still, desperately hoping that if you don’t move, you’ll disappear, fade into the shadows. But you can feel him standing just behind you, the weight of his presence pressing down like a storm cloud.

And then, a voice. Familiar. Deep, smooth, and thick with a British lilt, edged with something that both chills and soothes you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a note of affection clear in his tone as he addresses Jellybean.

Recognition strikes you like a blow. That voice—you’ve heard it a thousand times. The same voice that always offered a warm “good evening” when he walked you home at night. The same voice that laughed as he handed Jellybean her treats at the butcher shop. The same voice that warned you, with a peculiar intensity, to avoid these woods.

The butcher.

---

A/N: I don't usually do long writing stuff... but I've had this one in the drafts for too long and wanted it out. I kind of like how it turned out but I can def improve!

#call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #sunshine-sunni

1K notes · View notes

jaythes1mp · 9 months ago

Text

Shallow

Yandere Batfam x Merfolk Reader ♧romantic♣︎

Aquaman, Aqualad, Mera, and any other underwater hero’s and creatures don’t exist in this.

||-→ I tried to make each pov a different style of writing ||

There was something so captivatingly beautiful about observing the humans from below the surface, as they went about their daily lives, traversing the Metro-Narrows Bridge. The elders had always warned you to keep your distance from the world above, but you couldn't resist sneaking glances at the peculiar, moving metal boxes zooming across the streets, or the striking figures donning vibrant spandex who soared through the skies at night.

The bridge, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, cast an ethereal light across the water of the river. This sight, enhanced by the night, would always catch your attention, especially when they appeared. Moving in and out of the shadows, darting around or simply standing on the railing, lost in their own worlds.

You had grown fond of observing them as they soared through the night sky, reminiscent of the graceful movements of swans. Their elegance was effortless, seemingly defying gravity as they traversed the air. It was in those moments, watching the sky people glide past, that you were struck by the rawness of their beauty.

You never dared to come too close to the surface during the day, the haunting tales from your pod serving as a constant reminder of the horrors that existed above the water. But the night was a different story; it’s when you were more willing to take risks. The darkness provided the perfect cover, shrouding you in obscurity as the humans slept.

Though you supposed that the real reason you continued to venture up to the surface was because it was the time that they emerged, gliding through the air and gracefully traversing the buildings. Their shadows, illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, seemed to dance in perfect harmony with the night. Always seeming to captivate your attention in a way that no underwater creatures could.

However, on this particular night, you noticed something out of the ordinary. One of the usually lively land creatures was sluggish and listless, moving with none of the fluid grace that you had come to admire. A deep crimson liquid seeped through the fabric of his suit, spattering across the spandex and staining it a dark, ominous hue.

You cautiously approached the surface, swimming closer than you had ever dared to before. Slowly, you emerged, peering just above the water's edge.

You couldn’t see the human clearly, obscured as he was by the sizable drop between the bridge and the water below, but the scent he carried was undeniable. There was something utterly alluring about his aroma. It was a stark contrast to the familiar scents of salt and oil you were used to underwater. You haven't come across anything even remotely similar to it before.

The land dweller was undeniably beautiful.

A loud crash shattered the silence, jolting your attention back to reality. Your gills flared out in alarm, and in your surprise, the soft bioluminescent glow of your tail dimmed down, a natural response to the potential threat.

You backed away, submerging yourself down into the safety that the depths of the water provided. Your gaze fixating on the figure in the distance, decorated in his familiarly vibrant red and yellow attire. This one hastily making his way to the blue-clad human's side, concern decorated across his face, his actions imbued with urgency. Mask torn from his face.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your back from the scene unfolding above, releasing a flurry of bubbles that rose to the surface. Your pods stern warnings echoing in your mind, a constant reminder of the dangers that lay in the world above.

You make it no more than fifteen feet before a thunderous splash shatters the silence, the seawaters ripples rolling across your skin and triggering an involuntary shiver, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your tail instinctively sprung into action, propelling you back with a rapid, powerful flick.

With a sudden movement, your arms encircled the man's sinking frame, securing a firm grip on his sides. Your eyes widening in shock at the contact, your webbed fingers digging into his flesh, anchoring him in place.

For a moment, you paused, studying him. Your eyes absorbing every little detail. From the man's soft, almost spongy flesh under your touch, how soft and almost squishy his land dwelling arms were, how they seemed to just give way to the touch of your webbed fingers. Then to the way the baby blue suit of his that clung to him, was torn and tattered, ripping away underwater. Your gaze lingering on the deep red liquid seeping out of his torso, staining his skin and leaving a trail of ominous scarlet. And then, your gaze travelled to the two bizarre, elongated limbs extending from his waist. A stark contrast to the streamlined grace of your own tail.

His lips parted, releasing a stream of bubbles, each one ascending to the surface before vanishing from sight. You watched as his body suddenly went limp in your arms, reminding you of the dire situation you had inadvertently involved yourself in. With a powerful flick of your tail, you swiftly propelled yourself to the surface, bringing him up so that he could breathe. Your gills flared out, working overtime to filter oxygen from the water while you waited, your hearts hammering in your chest.

When the human made no attempt to improve, limp and unresponsive, you couldn't suppress the deep hiss that escaped from the back of your throat. Your grip tightening around his frame, your tail coiled tighter around his legs, an attempt to stabilise and bring some form of response from him. Your eyes grew large in desperation as you shook him back and forth, each movement growing more frantic with the passing seconds.

You directed your attention to the deep red liquid that was oozing out of his abdomen, its thick, almost oily consistency spreading out in little waves around you in the water. Coming out in shallow pulses. You tilted your head slightly, noting that the fluid's flow didn't seem natural. It felt wrong, a gut feeling of sorts. You hastily reached for the pouch tethered to your hip, pulling out a woven bundle of seaweed and a salve prepared by the elders of your pod.

You delicately began to layer the salve over the gaping wound, taking care to press the woven seaweed into the lesion. The salve, a rich green and purple, had a cooling effect as it made contact with the human's skin. A crucial aspect due to its high iodine content, which helps to close the large gash. As the ointment came into contact with the blood, it began to congeal and bind the tissue together, halting the bleeding.

However, you were acutely aware of the human, who remained unresponsive. His chest, which should've been rising and falling with each inhale, lay still. A sudden panic clutched at your hearts, threatening to overwhelm you. You weren't sure what the proper human anatomy was, but it was abundantly clear that he needed to breathe.

You placed a webbed hand on his chest, the flesh there surprisingly firm. You pushed down, then up again, attempting to mimic the breathing motions you had seen him and others do. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pleaded for him to respond, a silent mantra running through your head. With urgency, you placed a firm grip on the back of his neck, tilting his head back, the gills on your neck flaring out to pull in as much oxygen as they could. Your tail coiling tightly around his waist to keep him afloat.

Despite the pressure you exerted, there was no response from him. His chest remained still, no signs of life. Your breath hitched at the sight, a sense of desperate desperation washing over you. You were frantically trying to keep his head tilted back while the water was washing over his face, the cool liquid creating small ripples that mirrored the urgency of the moment. His body remained motionless, unresponsive to your frantic attempts. You could feel the pressure building in your own chest, your gills working overtime to extract oxygen.

In a final, desperate attempt, you lean in closer, positioning yourself to allow your webbed fingers to forcibly pry open his parted lips. You took in a deep breath and expelled it through the opening, pushing every ounce of air you could manage into his unresponsive lungs.

You repeated the action multiple times, exerting every ounce of effort to force air into his trachea. Each breath, heavy and laboured. You finally pulled back, allowing yourself a moment of respite. Your breaths came out ragged and sharp, a stark contrast to the steady, undisturbed water around you.

As he remains unresponsive, his body frighteningly limp, your body goes slack, a wave of disappointment washing over you. Reluctantly, you release your grip on him and let him go, his body now floating eerily close to yours. You close your eyes tight, trying to swallow the lump in your throat that was rapidly forming.

You flinch at the sudden and unexpected contact, your eyes fluttering open. An alarmed hiss escaped once again through your lips, more out of surprise than anything else. Just as you were about to submerge yourself underwater, a firm hand grasped your shoulder, its grip strong and unwavering.

"Y-you're...alive.", you stuttered out, a mixture of disbelief and awe laced in your raspy voice. The hand on your shoulder felt firm and real, a stark contrast to the nightmarish scenario you had just been a part of.

“Nightwing?” Red Robin's voice cuts through the quiet night, bouncing off the empty alleyways. Frustrated, he takes off his comms, readjusting them to try again for the sixth time in the last ten minutes.

"Dick, come in," he practically growls out, tapping on his device with a little more force than necessary.

“Where the hell are you?” he mutters, staring up at the tall buildings. Dick’s always late, but this was getting ridiculous. With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms as he waits.

A low, familiar voice crackles on the other end of the comms. “Stalker.”

Tim rolls his eyes, recognising the voice immediately. It was too late in the night to put up with him. “Jason.” he sighs, “What do you want. Have you heard from Dick?”

“Not a word.” The response is curt, and the annoyance in Jason’s voice is obvious. He rarely joined in their patrols, preferring to stick to his own methods of dealing with things.

Tim lets out a frustrated huff, tapping his fingers impatiently against his arm. Of course Dick would pick now to go radio silent.

He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment to let out a frustrated groan. He was stressed enough as it is, none of this was helping.

“You’re patrolling the Narrows?” Jason’s voice breaks through Tim’s thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He looks around, taking in the surroundings with a frown. The Narrows was never a good place to be alone.

“Yeah.” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the shadows. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know, Dick’s nowhere to be seen. In or out of uniform.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and Tim can practically hear the smirk in Jason’s voice.

“Need backup?” he offers, amusement clear in his tone. The elder boy mocking him.

Tim scowls, shaking his head even if he knew Jason couldn’t see him. “No.” he replies curtly. “I’m not a child, I can handle this myself.”

“Sure, kid.” Jason’s response is just as dismissive. “I’ll come check on you in a bit anyway. Make sure you haven’t gotten your ass kicked.”

Tim’s scowl deepens at Jason’s reply, not appreciating the offer of help — or the nickname. “I don’t need a babysitter.” he grumbles. “I’m going to find Dick, and I don’t need your help.”

There’s a pause, and Tim can practically hear the eye roll from Jason. “Whatever you say, Replacement. I’ll be there soon.”

“No—” Before Tim can protest, the comms go silent. Damn it, Jason.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, biting at the inside of his cheek. The last person he needed to see right now was Jason. The last time he’d come face to face with the man, things didn’t go so well.

Tim grits his teeth and pushes himself off of the wall. He had better things to do than get into a fight with his older brother. Like finding his other older brother.

With a huff, Tim starts walking, making his way through the narrow alleys of the Narrows. It’s quiet, eerily so, and his instincts are on high alert.

Everything feels off. The air is still, and he can’t shake the feeling of being watched. His breath stutters in his chest, but he pushes the feeling down. He had work to do.

“Dick?” he calls out, his headset’s blinking green light signalling the message going through. He glances around cautiously as he moves. “Nightwing, come in. Can you hear me?”

There’s no response, and Tim tries again. Nothing but static. His shoulders tense, the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t like Dick. The man was always on top of communication.

Tim continues forward, his footsteps quick and light. He keeps his eyes scanning the shadows around him, but the silence is deafening. Where the hell is he?

A muffled crunch breaks the silence, and the boy freezes, his breath hitching. It was faint, coming from somewhere off the alley in front of him. His heart rate quickens, and he carefully shifts on his feet, trying to pinpoint the source.

There was something across the street. Someone.

Tim squints, his eyes trying to make out what it was. It was too dark to tell. Damn it, why can’t Dick be here to deal with this..

He’s too used to working in a team, having the security of someone else there to watch his back. The someone’s in question usually being Batman or Nightwing.

He steels himself, slipping into a fighting stance and taking slow steps forward. He can’t let his guard down, not now.

As he moves, the shape across the street shifts. It’s still far away, but from the size and height, he could tell it was definitely a figure.

His comms device beeps, startling the boy and nearly causing him to stumble. He quickly scrabbles to check it, hoping for some sort of answer or communication.

“Red.” Jason’s voice comes through, static breaking up some of the message. The device was clearly reaching a limit. “Can you hear me? Dick’s in trouble.” The voice, as crackling as it was over the broken comms, sounded dishevelled and panted. Jason rarely called for help.

With a final glance at the figure across the street, Tim’s eyes flicker back down to the comms in his hand. Jason found him.

“Where are you?” he asks, not wasting a second as he sets off at a sprint. He didn’t care what kind of trouble Nightwing had gotten into, he just needed to get there.

“Don’t worry about me. Get to Metro-Narrows Bridge.”

The urgency in Jason’s voice has Tim’s heartbeat racing. He doesn’t question it, just continues sprinting. He knew the bridge, and knew it was far.

“...” he grits his teeth. “I’m on my way.”

Tim hits the wall with a pained gasp, eyes squeezed shut as he doubles over coughing at the impact. His vision swims. Shit.

He lets out a sharp gasp, the breath knocked out of him as he’s smashed against the hard bricks. The pain doesn’t have time to register, as his mind is sent into a panicked frenzy.

He sucks in a low breath, trying to clear his head and figure out what the hell just happened. There’s a shuffle of feet, and the distinct sound of metal being unsheathed.

The attack was too precise, too sudden. He grunts, trying to push himself back away from the wall, but a large hand keeps him pinned.

His head finally stops swirling, and he can focus on the large figure in front of him. Not good.

He’s a towering wall of a man, arms bigger than Tim’s head. He’s muscular, clearly built like a brawler. The metal that had unsheathed was a knife, the sharp, gleaming blade being held firmly in the man’s large hand.

“No more running.” the man growls, his other hand still keeping Tim pinned against the wall.

Tim glared up at him.

He’s been in situations similar to this before. He’s fought and won against opponents bigger than him, more experienced than him. He needed to stay calm, and assess the situation.

With a pained grunt, he pushes against the man’s arm, struggling to break free. The man just leans closer, his breath hot in Tim’s face.

The smell of smoke and old alcohol fills Tim’s nose, making him want to retch as the man sneers at him. “Struggle all you want, kid.” he drawls. “You’re coming with me one way or another..” Tim clenches his jaw.

He analyses the situation quickly. His equipment was in his belt, but pinned tight against the wall left him with very little mobility. He had to find a way to get away swiftly, before the man could do him any serious harm.

Tim’s mind races, trying to work out a way to get himself out of this. He’s too close quarters to the man, and any attempt to get away would lead to him getting a knife in his gut.

The man’s grip tightens, making him gasp as the knife is held closer to his skin. His eyes darted around, searching for anything useful. He would have to time this right. “Stop squirmin.’” The man’s gruff voice rang out.

Tim ignores him, grunting as he struggles against the hand pinning him. There had to be something he could use to—

A gleam of something metal catches his eye, and he glances down, spotting a metal pipe sticking out of an open garbage bin. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough.

Tim takes in a shallow breath, his mind racing for a second. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, trying to keep the man talking and distracted.

“Don’t try any shit, sidekick.” He tightened his hold on the boy, using his other hand to get out a walkie-talkie from the pouch on his chest.

Sidekick? Tim’s teeth gritted, a spark of anger flaring up in the back of his mind. He wasn’t just a sidekick.

Tim’s eyes glance down again at the pipe, trying to calculate his next move. He watched as the man brought the walkie-talkie up to his mouth, his heart rate increasing as he prepared to act.

“I got a bird out here,” the man grunted into the device, keeping his eyes fixed on Tim. “Found him in the-“

He barely had time to react before Tim acted. With a sudden burst of strength, he jerks forward, wrenching himself free from the man’s grip. He immediately drops down, grabbing the metal pipe and brandishing it like a weapon. Flinging it into the man’s hand that held the radio. The impact caused him to drop it, as he let out a cry of pain, stumbling back.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He quickly used the momentary opening of shock and pain to his advantage, striking the man hard in the stomach with the pipe. The man grunted, his hand instinctively going to where he’d been hit.

He wasn’t about to give the thug any time to recover. He brought up a leg and kicked out fast, nailing him hard in the knee. The man yelled out again, staggering back.

He raged, stumbling forward and landing one hard punch against Tim’s face.

The younger boy’s head snapped to the side from the hit, the force of it knocking his mask askew, cracking and splitting as he reeled back. His vision swims from the impact, but he can taste the distinct taste of blood in his mouth.

He stumbled back, bringing a hand up to his face and cursing, blood seeping down his face.

His head hurt. A lot. That one hit had left him dizzy, and his cheek stung like hell.

The pain is enough to clear his mind though, and he refocuses on the man in front of him. His lip is split, and his cheek feels like it’s on fire. His mask hangs half off of his face.

Tim grits his teeth, glaring at the man with a new found fire in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let some random thug take him out.

The perpetrator lets out a huff, spitting out a glob of blood onto the floor next to him. An ugly sneer plastered his face, and he stepped forward, reaching down for the knife that had been discarded on the ground. “You little shit.” he spat. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

His eyes flickered down to the knife held flimsily in his hand. He needed to get out of this. The man was bigger and definitely stronger, but obviously nowhere near as experienced as Tim was. He’s surprised that the thug had even managed to get in a decent hit to his face.

His mind is too preoccupied, caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts, and he fails to notice the man’s approach until the moment he's already upon him. The thug's fury makes him careless and ill-prepared, the sound of his stumbling footsteps betraying his presence due to the injury on his knee.

Tim quickly raises his arm instinctively, attempting to shield himself as the man’s towering frame comes charging at him. He’s tackled to the ground in a single swift move, the impact crushing his ribs against the concrete floor.

His back hits the ground, the air getting knocked out of him for the second time that night. The man’s weight pinned him to the ground, the air leaving his lungs in a loud gasp as he struggled.

The man had the knife clutched in his hand, the gleam of the blade reflecting the lights of the city as it was raised up, aimed to strike.

Drake nearly sneered at the sight. He’s an amateur. Over confident in himself and relying solely on force.

Tim’s eyes darkened, his glare locked on the man above him. He was not going to be defeated by some two-bit mugger.

He kicked out at the man, aiming for his still injured knee. The man grunted as he took the kick, shifting off balance for just a second.

It was enough of an opening for Tim to react. He pushed up on the man, using the momentum to roll them both over, switching their positions and taking the top. He wasted no time in smashing the man’s head against the ground, knocking him out stone cold. Blood pooling down against the pavement.

He paused, breathing heavily as he stared down at the man. His lip stung as blood still trickled down his face, the adrenaline in his system beginning to wear off.

Tim sat there for a moment, letting out a hiss of pain as he lifted a hand and gently touched his split lip. He gingerly moved his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he felt the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his face.

Dick was still in trouble. That was the thought at the front of his mind, the reason he was out here and why he had to get to that bridge.

With a wince, Tim pushed himself up, staggering for a moment as a wave of nausea passed over him. He was pretty sure he’d developed a minor concussion from being thrown into the wall.

Everything ached, and his body was screaming at him to just stay down. He ignored it. Nightwing was his priority.

He swayed for a moment, his vision going white around the edges as his head spun, before he managed to stay standing and start moving again.

He didn’t think, he just ran.

He’s still panting as his feet hit the concrete, his body protesting the movement. The nausea from his concussion was becoming very real, and he had to stop to take a deep breath to steady himself.

Fuck, he was going to throw up, wasn’t he?

Tim bit his tongue and started running again, forcing himself to push on and ignore the pain. He had to keep moving.

The cold, night air hurt his lungs, but he didn’t stop. Not even as the pain from the beating began to make itself known with each hard footstep against the concrete. He had to get to the bridge.

He kept going at a brutal pace, ignoring how his vision swam and how every breath he took just made him feel like he needed to puke.

He’s not sure how long he had ran, his mind focused entirely on just moving. One foot in front of the other, he just kept going.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed the bridge in the distance. His eyes widening, watching Dick stagger back against the railings edge.

Tim stumbled for a moment, but pushed himself back up, keeping himself moving forward. He could barely see straight, but nothing else mattered. Nightwing’s tall and dark silhouette was leant against the night light of the bridge. Even from a distance, he could see the blood on Dicks skin, staining the side of his face, his suit’s front ripped open, a large gash in his abdomen pooling out onto the ground.

Tim’s speed quickens, every muscle in his body crying in protest but he continues on. All he could focus on was the sight of Nightwing. In the low light, he could see Dick’s shoulders moving with each heavy breath, looking seconds away from collapsing.

In a desperate attempt to save his mentor, Tim lunges forward and grabs onto Dick's arm. However, the fabric of the torn and damaged suit simply tears further under the force, causing Dick to slip free from Tim's grasp and fall into the dark, ominous water below.

"NO—!" The cry escapes Tim's mouth in a choked rush, the sound filled with anguish and fear. With a desperate burst of energy, he lunges forward, his hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to cling to Dick's suit, to anything that would keep him from falling.

But it was too late. He was too late.

His heart hammers frantically against his chest as he gazes down into the dark depths below, his eyes wide and searching desperately for even a glimpse of Dick in the river's deep murky water.

His breath hitches, a silent sob wracking his frame as he slumps over the edge of the bridge, his hands shaking as he brings them up to his face. His blood-slick fingers thread through his hair, his eyes wide as they stay fixed on the dark water where Dick had fallen.

The sound of a vehicle approaching in the distance catches his ears, but he doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't turn to see who it is or check to see if it's a threat. He just keeps staring down into the water, the sound of the river below the only thing he can hear over his panicked breathing.

Jason came to a crashing halt at the side of the bridge, the panicked urgency in his voice clear. He stumbled off his bike, nearly falling as he yelled out.

"Where is he--” His hollow eyes darted around at their surroundings. "WHERE IS HE?!"

Dick.

Tim's eyes widened as Nightwing's head broke the surface of the water, his body floating limp against the current. He's alive.

His shoulders tense as he quickly scrambles to his feet, his body protesting in pain with each movement.

The relief he feels is quickly drowned out, however, as he notices the large bioluminescent tail wrapped around his older brother's lower half, keeping him from crashing with the harsh currents.

Jason quickly approached the bridges railing, his heavy boots thudding loudly against the concrete, his heart racing thunderously against his chest, deep sapphire eyes following Tim's wide gaze down into the water. As he saw the sight in front of him, his eyes widened in disbelief.

He gripped the rough stone ledge, leaning over to get a better look at his brother. "What the fuck is that?" The older boys voice cuts through the ringing in Drake's ears.

Tim couldn't respond, his eyes glued on the large tail, his jaw slack. He took in the sight of the long powerful appendage wrapped around his brother's waist. It was beautiful. The long black scales seemed to glow a soft purple even in the dim moon’s light, as if the creature attached was glowing itself. The bioluminescence was something that one could only describe as ethereal.

Tim's heart raced as he took a step closer to the edge of the bridge, his eyes darting around, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. He couldn't believe his eyes. Neither of them could.

Tim's mind reeled, trying to comprehend what they were seeing. His heart was pounding, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to process the situation. He knew that he should be scared. His mouth was dry, his tongue felt heavy and thick as he finally managed to speak, his voice low and shaky. "I..I don't know." He croaked.

A ragged breath escaped his lips as the sea creature met his gaze.

He was frozen as he locked eyes with the creature. His mouth went dry, everything around him seemed to disappear into the background. The only thing he could focus on was the deep piercing eyes peering up from the darkness of the river.

Everything about the creature was attractive – its long shimmering scales, bioluminescent glow, and even the large dorsal fin along its spine.

The flutter of the creature's gills when its eyes met theirs didn’t go unnoticed by the brothers. Jason's lips parted into as much of a smirk as it could given the situation.

The Mer's features slowly disappeared under the surface, as it made a sudden exit. Both of the boys' eyes flicked towards the water, but the sudden gasping from their elder brother drew their attention away once more.

Dick was struggling, coughing up water as he attempted to pull himself up and out of the water. His large hand was grasping desperately to the creature's shoulder, as he pulled himself up.

Tim's heart leapt into his throat as he watched Dick gasping for air, his body shivering as he struggled to grapple himself out of the water. He was so focused on his older brother's struggles that he almost missed the flicker of glowing purple as the creature’s tail disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Tim moved forward to help Dick, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to see Jason with a grimace on his face.

"What are we going to do?" Tim asked, his voice filled with worry.

Their conversation was cut short, however, as Dick's coughing subsided, replaced by a strangled gasp for air, his eyes wide and frantic.

"I'm fine," he rasped, his hands trembling as he tried to pull himself up onto the bridge, his body shaking violently. His sharp ocean eyes focused on the crushed seaweed-looking salve used to treat his wounds.

Tim was about to respond when they heard a shuffling from the water, the faint sound of something scratching against the concrete. Tim's gaze snapped down to the water, his heart starting to pound against his chest.

Jason had already stepped back and drawn his weapon, his eyes fixed on a spot in the water a few feet below them. The sound of sloshing water echoed around them again, the dim light from the moon making it difficult to see anything except the faint bioluminescence.

And then, you were gone.

This is the result of the poll -> link.

Don’t judge my random fighting scene with Tim I was trying something out🦖🦖

All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged!

I rewrote everything, so I apologise that this took so long to come out💚

2K notes · View notes

floralpools · 1 year ago

Note

Hi love, you have an amazing imagination, and I love your writing style. I was wondering if you could maybe do some more with Wolverine. I'm in that x men stage again. And I loved you last piece of work on him. Maybe you could do a continuation of it or think of something completely new. Anyway, dont feel pressured ❤️

A/N: ur actually so sweet, thank uu! I'm also rlly shocked but appreciative of all the love Professor Howlett received, so u don't even have to ask twice for more, it's my pleasure ;)

Divided Attention

Professor Howlett II

Part one

Warnings: minors dni, Smut, fluff, language, jealousy, (legal) age gap, oral, f!receiving, semi-public

Pairing: Logan x Student (Mutant) reader

Summary: Things were going well with you and Logan, until he suddenly put distance between you both, acting strangely. On top of that, you catch him threatening one of your fellow classmates and have no choice, but to face your issues, head-on.

Word count: 2.6k

…

Any small moment together, Logan and I chased. The little highs we could derive from our busy schedules, we eagerly pursued.

From a quickie in the janitor's closet, a make-out session after class, or a passionate sleepover, Logan consumed every inch of my life. He was consuming every bit of my mind, and slowly, there was an ominous trepidation trailing behind him like a shadow.

The more I saw him, the greedier I became. Desperate to see and feel more of him—beyond the surface. So, it was no surprise, that I soon desired something more from our casual relationship.

With graduation just around the corner, I was almost home free. Free to outwardly tell him what I yearned for.

But the concern that racked my brain constantly, that trepidation, was whether he wanted the same.

As I was getting to know him, it was clear there were parts of him I had yet to discover, parts he seemed reluctant to reveal. Sometimes he would be open, close by my side. The next second, he would shut down.

What made matters worse, was that recently, he hadn't sought me out. It's felt as though he's no longer hungry for those small moments, that I still very much craved.

Now I'm on edge and have no clue what he's thinking, or what he thinks of us.

...

The day started like any other. I went to each class, exhausted and disinterested, till that afternoon. Something caught my eye, and the eyes of the school's populace: Logan pinning a male student to the wall of the vast, oak wood hallway.

They speak in hushed tones to one another, and the boy looks beyond frightened, while Logan looks ready to tear his head from his scrawny neck.

It takes only a moment for my alarm to pass, and for me to note, that this boy sits next to me in history.

A sharp intake of breath hitches in my throat.

His name's Mikey, and he has been a nuisance to Logan from the get-go, long before our intimate affair. Labelled as the class clown, Mikey uses his obnoxious voice and meddling powers to disturb Logan's lessons, daily. To top it off, Mikey consistently bothers me, mimicking what I say, and staring at my profile, for far too long.

Just when Logan dips his head closer to Mikey, perhaps to rip out his jugular, like the predator he is, Scott interjects.

"Logan! Drop him!" When Scott's unnerved voice orders Logan, my eyes snap to Mikey's feet, which are spraddled in the air, dangling for dear life.

I guess a few days apart made me forget just how strong he is. Maybe he's just too gentle with me to remember.

As his feet slowly lower to the floor, gasps and murmurs flood the halls, and my head frantically shoots around, surprised by the crowd of avid onlookers.

Eyes anxiously surveying the students, I hone in on Logan again, flinching when seeing his pupils, already fixed on me.

He releases Mikey immediately, retracting from him while Scott grabs his bicep, heatedly whispering into his ear, and Mikey scrambles away.

Logan's eyes shy from mine and my mouth gaps. He almost looks, embarrassed. 'Huh?'

Soon, other teachers arrive to intervene, shooing students from the crime scene.

So, aimlessly wandering outside, into the courtyard, hoping to clear my head, I think back on our classes together. Every time Mikey acted up, Logan seemingly couldn’t care less, looking more spent overall, than unsettled by his brazen jokes.

It was kind of funny, seeing Mikey quaking in his boots at the older male. It was only yesterday, that he spoke to me with such forwardness, and to Logan with such rudeness, carrying that typical smug expression -it was nice to see it wiped clean.

I laugh to myself, disbelieving what just transpired. I can only imagine what errand Professor Xavier will make Logan do to atone, or what bonding exercise he and Mikey may perform...

While I trudge down the stone steps, onto the vivid green field, I spot the devil himself, Mikey. He sits under the shade of a grand willow tree, dome hung between his bent knees.

Feeling rather empathetic, I stroll towards him, stopping in front of his feet. Evidently noticing my bright attire, his head pops up, and his dewy eyes widen.

"You alright?" I ask warily and his bottom lip trembles. He sniffs once, toughening up before responding, "I'm good." I nod, then look at the endless landscape to my right. "Whatever you did must've really been something, Mr. Howlett's rarely that peeved."

"You're telling me," he huffs sarcastically, sounding pained. Shifting, I sit beside him, maintaining some space. "If you don't mind me asking, what was that about?" Mikey pauses, thinking hard.

"No clue," he mumbles pitifully. I gawk at him, brows creasing. He peers at me and copies my appearance. "I'm not lying," he exclaims defensively. "There's no way," I retort, scoffing.

"If you don't fucking believe me, why ask," Mikey spits, mumbling "bitch" as he shoots to stomp off.

Suspiring, my crown gingerly falls onto the tree's trunk. Finding comfort in its rugged bark, I calmly savour the crisp air.

I close my eyes, for what feels like a few minutes until a fierce call of my name grips my consciousness. Eyelids cracking open, my vision focuses on Mr. Howlett himself, standing in all his glory, glaring down at me with a brooding look.

"If it isn't the man of the hour," I giggle humourlessly, straightening my spine, but choosing not to stand and seem intimidated, like he evidently wishes me to be.

"You have a nice chat?" Logan questions with an irked tone, obviously remarking on my 'chat' with Mikey. 'Was he watching us?'

I tilt my head defiantly. "I'm not picking sides," I raise both hands in surrender, smiling from ear to ear. His eye faintly twitches, and I nearly gulp. He grumbles incomprehensible nonsense, then chooses to stay relatively quiet, which is unlike him.

"Do you have something to say? Or are you just gonna stand there?" I inquire venomously.

Clearly dispising my attitude, he concentrates on my face, scowling. His features have rage written all over them, but I refuse to bow out of this impending feud.

He grumbles under his breath again, and I break.

"Speak up!" I shout, swiftly bringing my gaze to our surroundings, making sure we're alone -which is something Logan clearly isn't worried about.

"What the fuck do you two have to talk about?" He just about growls and I tense, stunned. My face contorts with perplexity. "Me and Mikey?" I question, and his eyebrows nearly conjoin in response. "Not much, just discussing you're outburst," heaving, I continue, "though he didn't have much to say on the topic," sighing, "you?"

His nostrils flare slightly, and I do my best to appear composed. "What else have you talked about?" He grunts, and I roll my eyes, rising to my feet, bored with our conversation. "What's it to you?" I ask rhetorically, internally referring to the distance he'd been building between us.

Moving elsewhere, I roughly brush past his shoulder. He doesn't immediately reply, but trails after me as I march further into the courtyard.

"The fuck you on about?" Logan vulgarly rumbles, and I forget to speak.

My pace then staggers when he delicately wraps his digits over my forearm, tugging me, almost cautiously, backward.

Square to him, I discern his thumb tracing my skin lightly, before finally looking at him. He examines his finger as it sweeps across my flesh. "Logan?" I carefully utter, and his eyes stay glued to where our bodies meet.

"Why do you talk to him," he pauses, snarling with emphasis on 'talk,' yet again. Then he murmurs, "-When you have me?" He’s so quiet, that the words are barely audible. My features instantly soften. “Are you,” I hesitate, “Jealous?”

When he doesn’t answer, I gasp so loud, that my palm slaps over my mouth. He looks around, avoiding eye contact as I grasp the situation. “Did you threaten Mikey 'cause he yaps to me in class?”

Logan scorned the very idea of jealousy, cruising his head in a circle, to showcase his exasperation. I smirk uncontrollably and he snits. "Don't flatter yourself Princess," he remarks blatantly. My smirk only expands. "I can't believe you," I laugh hysterically and he motions like he's going to walk away, but he stays put, and I know I've won.

"Don't pull that face," he complains, gesturing to my proud look.

"What face?" I ask, playing naive, faintly swinging my body side to side. "Just stop talking to him, he's a bad influence," he grunts, peering off to the horizon. I giggle, "Or what? Do you intend to beat every boy who speaks to me?" I counter, and he struggles to fight a smile.

"What if I do," Logan more or less declares.

Shaking my head, "You've got some nerve," I huff, "seeing as you've been avoiding me lately."

"I haven't been avoiding you-"

I interrupt, "Oh yes, you have," playfully punching his gut with a grin, which drops the second my knuckles practically grow a heartbeat. "Ow," I breathe and at last, he laughs.

When Logan's laugh dims, he looks almost sullen. "Didn't think you'd notice," he mumbles and I quirk my chin in confusion. "You seem preoccupied." Gapping at him once more, he rolls his eyes, showing his teeth. "Don't gimme that damn look girl," he heaves, "you're young and, and-"

"And what?"

"Attractive," he sighs heavily, "you don't need an old man weighing you down."

I still, catching his genuine displeasure and defeat. It's like he's disappointed I may seek romance from someone else, but accepts it regardless, for my sake, my happiness.

My heart thumps irregularly and I feel like jumping his bones. I release a lengthy sigh, with a smile twinkling. His brow rises questioningly, seeming anxious about a reaction to his masked insecurity.

"What?" He bites.

"I'm relieved," his confusion visibly progresses. "I thought you were tired of me." As his mouth opens, to probably insult my intelligence, I cut in. "I wanna go steady with you, if that wasn't obvious already." My smile grows sheepish, then taunting, "I like you Lo, and clearly you must love me."

Like he's been holding his breath, a loud puff of air escapes his chapped lips, and I shamelessly watch as he wets them.

"You've gotta be the strangest girl I've ever met," he utters with a smirk forming, and I return one, interpreting his words as a declaration of love.

"Woman," I correct, then babble jokingly, "refined Lady." He confidently strides closer. "Mistress-"

The air leaves my lungs as his solid arms devour me, squeezing tightly.

"You best realize what you're committing to," Logan comments, lightly lifting strands of my hair with his fingertips, to kiss my neck. "That means, no more talking to boys," he grunts, humour coaxing his tone. "Especially ones so far out of your league," he pulls his head back, to peer at my expectant face, "It's not even funny," he finishes with a grin.

I laugh, unable to contain my joy, quickly hiding my wild smile in his chest. A pleased hum rumbles in tune with his heavy breathing, and I listen to his heartbeat's fairly, rapid pace.

For a while, we stay present in each other's arms, with fulfillment and ease consuming our beings, synchronously. Logan's fingers drift across my lower back, leisurely tracing my curves.

"I like you, so much," I whisper airly because the words couldn't be repressed, and had escaped. His hands gradually slow to a halt, till he abruptly draws back. He looks at me, with such intense seriousness, that I shudder.

Then, he pulls away entirely, taking my hand in his larger one, to drag me deeper into the field -into the overgrown areas, looted with massive trees and bushes.

"Logan?" My whisper transforms into a squeak when I'm hauled behind various, untrimmed hedges. His palms grope my hips, stilling me before he drops to his knees. I ogle his smug face as it bores into me, before he wrestles with my pink, low-waisted, jean shorts, impatiently dragging them down my plump thighs. He mumbles, "Ridiculous" when his eyeline levels with my purple, close-to-sheer underwear.

Like my shorts, he yanks them down to my ankles, then swiftly encloses his mouth over my cunt, swiping the folds with his tongue. I throw the back of my hand over my incoming yelp, biting down to muffle it.

"Is this you tryna to deflect admitting you really like me?" I joke meekly as my mouth parts from my hand, but I quickly chomp down again, when he licks me, with a long flick of his tongue. I gasp and whimper, using my spare hand to claw at his scalp for leverage, as he hungrily laps my pussy, sucking on its nub.

A tremor racks my insides, eliciting spasms while he builds up a powerful, but excruciatingly relaxed pace. His bulky digits move to relentlessly rub my clit, applying a rhythmic pressure that makes me sob.

Logan shushes me, mouth still buried in my folds. The buzz of his voice sends shivers through my core, and the strength of his action grows, acknowledging my imminent finish.

“Eyes on me,” Logan basically growls, before diving back into my cunt.

I muffle a cry of his name with a fist now, biting my knuckles. Then, I look from the heavens, back down to the one hand I still have, clenching his silky locks.

My knees begin to buckle and his sizeable palms relocate to support my hips, with his fingertips bordering my ass, kneading it. "I'm close," I gasp, barely audible through my hand. He hums again, and when it elicits another shiver, and shake of my frame, I tumble over his back, wrecked by my climax.

Now hunched over him, with my hands splayed down his torso, I tremble furiously, coming down from my high. I can't help but whine when Logan continuously licks me. He tastes every inch of me like I'm the meal of a lifetime, like I'm oxygen itself.

"Enough," I choke, as my arousal becomes too much. His response is simply plunging further into me, to lick all the way from my ass, to clit.

Steam floods my stomach, lighting me on fire. A raging flame consumes my very being, and I relish in how dirty and dangerous this encounter is -in public on his knees for me, Logan made it known that I'm his, and he let me know, that he couldn't care less who heard us, because I was his.

"You're disturbed," I breathe, and his chuckle resonates louder when he separates from my damp skin. "You love it," he states with a smirk and an arch of his brow. He then runs his tongue over his soaked lips, and I bite back a groan, sighing, "I do."

Lifting, moving my palms to his shoulders, I capture his top lip, sucking on it as a thank you. I grin, and as if he can hear my jest coming from a mile away, he scoffs and turns to hide his smirk.

"And you must lovveee me," I repeat my earlier comment with even more enthusiasm, and he shakes his head.

He rises and I do the same. Logan then goes in for a kiss to shut me up, but just as he does, I catch his mumble of "I do."

I gasp into his mouth, eyelids stretching.

My lids briskly flutter shut when he deepens the kiss, dipping my figure, rather romantically, and we both smile.

2K notes · View notes

elixirfromthestars · 9 months ago

Text

Kiss It All Better

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Your boyfriend Peter hasn't contacted you in days, but one stormy night in a dark alley would change that.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning(s): none really / fluff / sprinkles of angst / if you squint you could maybe see some hurt + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: Another bingo request down!! I promise I am doing my best to get through these. As always I appreciate everyone's patience and support!! ❤️ Thank you for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤️❤️

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

A flash of white light illuminates the narrow alleyway you are walking through. A loud rumble follows, practically shaking the concrete beneath your feet. The storm would start any second now and you would most likely get caught in it if you didn’t make it home soon. Your pace quickens as you begin to make haste.

Getting caught in the rain would only worsen your mood.

Your footsteps echo and bounce off the alley walls. The wet concrete smell mingles with something sour making your nose scrunch up. You hold the strap of your bag tight against your chest, a small comfort in the night. The dark clouds in the sky hide the moon from your view, causing only a few street lights to vaguely cascade their glow onto your path. The shadows cling to the brick walls around you making your surroundings more ominous than they really were.

This was a bad idea. You know this—anyone would know this—it was common sense. You shouldn’t be walking down a New York alleyway alone at midnight. However, you had little to no choice with no cabs in sight and no rideshare vehicles available. You’d have to make the journey on foot if you wanted to make it home before the storm worsened.

Your apartment was only a few blocks away from your job, and you already had an established route you took back and forth. It was a longer route—more scenic—and on nicer days you enjoyed strolling along it accompanied by your favorite tunes. However, on nights like this when the sky decides to descend a tempest upon the earth—you prefer to take a risk with this shortcut.

A few droplets falling on your head turn into streaks and then a pour—catching you off guard. You didn’t think the ferocity of the water would pick up so quickly. You hurried over to take refuge underneath the slight coverage of the fire escapes lining the brick wall to your right. The cold metal frame above did little to shield you as droplets fell from it onto your head. Nevertheless, this would have to do until you could determine your next move.

You could run the rest of the way home and hope you didn’t slip in the rain—or you could give the rain a few minutes to die down and then run—the idea of waiting brought an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You dreaded having to be out here longer than you needed to be.

Would it really be safer to run though?

As much as you didn’t want to wait you decided it would be better than falling face-first into a grimy puddle. You shifted on your feet, the soles of your shoes squeaking against the pavement, your body shivering as the water soaked through your thin jacket. Each second seemingly stretches out endlessly as you watch the rain crash and splatter against the ground.

You took out your phone to check the weather app. Your hand resting perpendicular to your forehead as a makeshift shield to protect your phone from the rain. Droplets still fell on your phone anyway and with the way the water clung to your hair and eyelashes—your vision was more than obstructed.

So much so that you didn’t notice when a shadow loomed over you.

“Hey beautiful,” a voice directly next to your left spoke, startling you. A gasp left your lips as fast as your heart sped up. You jump back from the source of the voice, creating as much distance as you can without slipping into the full force of the storm. You turn to see who it belongs to, your phone tightly gripped in your hand.

When your eyes met the white ones on the red mask, your body immediately relaxed from its frozen state. A breath of relief escaping you that sounded more like a choked laugh.

“Baby, I swear I didn’t mean to scare you!” Peter sounded apologetic while laughing all the same at your reaction. He was hanging upside down by a thick string of web when he lowered down to be at eye level with you. Small streams of water cascade down his superhero suit, pooling at your feet.

You scoff still a little shaken, “You thought sneaking up on me wasn’t going to scare me?” You put your phone back in the pocket of your jacket, hand on your hip as you try to follow your boyfriend’s logic.

You can’t see Peter’s face, but you know him well enough to know the awkward boyish grin he must be dawning under that mask. “Well…I didn’t think it would scare you that much…” his tone was sheepish and yet just as you assumed, you could see the outline of his smile through the mask.

You look at him shaking your head, playfully rolling your eyes. Whatever annoyance you felt melted away at his presence. Your heart now beating at its normal rhythm. However, his presence also reminded you of his absence this week. Peter hadn’t contacted you in days, and while you were doing your best to be understanding, it still hurt.

“Nice of you to drop by. Haven’t spoken to you in like,” you count the days on your hand to emphasize the number,“five days. Seems you forgot all about me,” you cross your arms, a resentful look overtaking your features.

Peter scratches the back of his neck, stumbling over his words. He almost loses balance, his left hand quickly returning to where it was before, holding onto the web with both hands. You frown, unsure as to why he needs both hands to keep steady. Worry overcomes you when the thought of him being in a fight before he caught you here crosses your mind.

“About that. . . I’m really sorry, Y/n. I promise I didn’t mean to disappear like that without warning. The city’s been hectic all week! Criminals are popping up left and right and I’ve been tracking down this mobster ring—it’s been too much to handle. I couldn’t keep up. And I–” he stops himself to get a good look at you, “I’ve missed you so much,” Peter finishes off his remorseful rambling with a sincere statement.

He has missed you. More than you’ll ever know. He’s barely eaten, slept, or cared for himself. Neglecting his own needs to make sure the city was safe. Because to him as long as the city was safe so were you—and that meant the world to him. Yet, in keeping his attention on the city he lost sight of where he wanted to be the most—with you.

The sentiment was mutual. While the city needed Spiderman, you needed Peter.

Even though he does his best to hide it, you pick up the tiredness in his voice. The way even upside down you can see how his shoulders sag, his overall posture droopy. You notice the way he slowly sways where he hangs, not making much effort to stay in place. You assume he’s done little to take care of himself these past few days. That combined with potentially getting into some sort of tussle moments before arriving—it’s no wonder he struggled earlier to keep his balance with one arm.

Your gaze softens, stepping closer to him, the rain long forgotten. “ I get it, Peter. I do. I’ve missed you too. You know I’ll never hold being Spiderman against you, but you need to talk to me. Keep me in the loop. Let me know you're okay. I was upset you hadn’t contacted me, but more than anything I was worried. I was afraid something had happened to you,” you say your voice laced with concern. In his absence, you constantly checked news channels to make sure no one had reported Spiderman getting severely injured or worse.

You avoided all week thinking about the worst-case scenarios.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I promise never to do it again. I know I have to get better at communicating. I just don’t like worrying you. All week I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was on my way to your place when I saw you here in the rain. You really shouldn’t be walking alone at this hour,” Peter’s tone goes from repentant to firm by the end. Hating the thought of you putting yourself in a risky situation.

You gave him a look as if to say now is not the time to be scolding me. He sighs, reluctantly conceding in hopes of bringing this conversation up at a later time. Right now he wants to do anything to make it up to you. Anything that could sweeten up his apology.

“I know I messed up, but I think I know something that could make this all better,” he says an idea popping into his head.

“What?”

“How about a kiss?”

You laugh softly at his suggestion, not being able to stay mad at him for long.“I think that could help. Although, I’ve never kissed someone while they were upside down before,” you mention with amusement. Tilting your head to look at him sideways. You wonder how he’s able to stay like that for so long without getting dizzy.

“Well now’s your chance, baby. I’ll need a little help with the mask though,” he says as you close the distance between you. You happily oblige his request, lowering the mask off of his face. A fond smile appears on your face when your eyes meet his brown ones. The warmth and color inviting you in like a hot cup of coffee—a solace you sought in the cold rain. They pull you in until your lips meet his, your hands holding his face gently.

You both melt into the kiss. Rain droplets joining in, but neither of you mind. In this moment it's solely you two and the feelings for one another catching up after days of longing. How either of you could have gone so long without this—without each other—neither of you knew.

Maybe five days isn’t long for others, but because Peter risks his life on a daily basis, every moment spent with him means the world to you.

You pull away to catch your breath, “I think that definitely helped,” you say softly. Peter beams at you, swinging his body so that in a swift motion he’s gone from his upside-down position to upright—standing before you. He reaches out and pulls you into a tight embrace. Holding you close and planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I love you so much. I promise to fully make it up to you,” he says in a loving tone. You shake your head lightly, “Peter, having you here is enough. You really don’t have to–” he doesn’t let you finish. “Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. Let’s get you home and into some dry clothes. I’m staying with you tonight. I want to hold you all night and in the morning I’ll make you breakfast in bed,” he proposes in soft whispers as his forehead rests against yours.

“You know I can’t say no to that.”

“Good. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyway.”

Your laughter mixes with his own at his playful tone. He holds you more securely against him as he prepares to take you both back to your apartment. You weren’t keen on swinging across the sky like he was—especially in this weather—but knowing you would soon be cuddled under warm covers with him would make it all worth it.

You would weather any storm for him, as he would for you—always.

#peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x y/n #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #the amazing spider man #peter parker #peter parker oneshot

1K notes · View notes

blueberrisdove-sideblog · 4 months ago

Text

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ .༯ RUINED BY WAR ?! 🐋

𓂃 ࣪⋆˚ ༘ Paring : God of war Mydei x Goddess of Peace fem!reader

𓂃 ࣪⋆˚ ༘ Warnings : nsfw/smut, vaginal, c*m play, holding orgasm, semi-public s*x, hair pulling, cow-girl, multiple (three) rounds, dark content?, implied dubcon, size kink. mydei is a huge perv here. [GOD OF WAR SERIES] ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

𓂃 ࣪⋆˚ ༘ synopsis : In a world divided between war and peace, you, the Goddess of Peace, find yourself drawn to the one being who defies everything you stand for—Mydei, the ruthless God of War. His touch is rough, his presence overwhelming, and yet, when you're in his grasp, resistance crumbles like ruins beneath a battlefield. He should be your greatest enemy, but in the dark, when his hands claim you. And as he takes you, possessive, unrelenting, you realize that even peace was meant to surrender.

𓂃 ࣪⋆˚ ༘ note : very quick fic also not proof-read & lazy writing. also mydei calls u “mine”. I HAD THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR AGES, I was too scared to post it.

In a realm where war and peace existed in a fragile balance, you were revered as the Goddess of Peace, a beacon of serenity in a world rife with conflict. Yet, despite your divine status, you felt an undeniable pull toward the one being who represented everything you opposed—the ruthless God of War, Mydei. His very presence ignited a tempest within you, a clash of desires that threatened to unravel the peace you fought so hard to maintain.

Tonight, under the glow of the moonlight, you found yourself in the ruins of an ancient temple, the remnants of a battlefield surrounding you. Mydei awaited you there, a powerful figure shrouded in shadows. His golden armor gleamed ominously, framing his muscular physique. As you approached, your heart raced, anticipation flooding your senses.

It was a dangerous pull, an attraction you had no business entertaining—but that only made it more irresistible. You should have fought it, should have turned away, but the thrill of being hunted, of knowing you were just one misstep away from falling into his hands, set your pulse racing. Every time your paths crossed, the air crackled with tension, heavy with something unspoken yet undeniable. And when he finally caught you—fingers twisting into your hair, yanking you closer—resistance melted into something far sweeter than surrender.

“Look who graced me with her presence,” he purred, a wicked grin curling at the corners of his lips. “The Goddess of Peace, all alone. Have you come to plead for mercy, or perhaps to indulge in a more… thrilling escapade?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms defiantly. “I’m not here to beg, Mydei. You’re not the only one who enjoys a little chaos now and then.” Your tone was bratty, a challenge thrown at his feet, and you could see the flicker of excitement in his eyes.

“Oh, is that so?” His smirk widened, and he stepped closer, closing the distance between you. “Perhaps I should teach you a lesson about what happens when you provoke a god.”

Before you could respond, Mydei’s hands shot out, grasping your waist and pulling you against him. His touch was rough, igniting a fire within you. “You think you can handle what I have to offer?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine.

“Maybe I can handle you better than you think,” you shot back, the bravado in your voice masking the thrill of—fear that coursed through you. You reveled in the challenge, knowing it only fueled his desire.

With a swift movement, he spun you around, pinning you against the cool stone wall of the temple. The sudden shift made your breath hitch, and you gasped as he captured your wrists above your head, his strength overwhelming. “You’re going to learn that I always get what I want,” he hissed, leaning closer to graze his lips against your neck.

His kisses sent electricity coursing through your body, and your heart raced with exhilaration and danger. “You don’t own me,” you protested, but the defiance in your words was half-hearted. The way his body pressed against yours, the heat radiating from him, made it hard to maintain your composure.

“Ah, but I do,” he replied, his grip tightening in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat. “You’ve always been drawn to danger, haven’t you? Let’s see how well you can handle this.”

With that, he pushed his hips against yours, and you could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against you, a promise of the raw pleasure that awaited. A thrill of excitement shot through you, and you bit your lip, suppressing a moan.

“Show me what you’ve got, War God,” you taunted, challenging him as you ground your hips against him. “I can take it.”

Mydei’s eyes darkened with lust, and he growled low in his throat. “You’re a brat,” he said, shaking his head with a hint of amusement. “I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

With a swift motion, he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he thrust into you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming—your moans echoed in the temple, mingling with the sounds of the night. “That’s it, Goddess. Let go,” he urged, his voice a gravelly whisper as he claimed you.

You felt every inch of him sliding deep inside, stretching you deliciously, and you gasped, arching your back against the stone. “More, Mydei,” you breathed, relishing the dominance he exerted over you. “I want all of you.”

“Such a greedy little thing,” he mused, his thrusts becoming harder, each one sending shockwaves through your body. His hands roamed your curves, fingers digging into your hips as he took control, but you wouldn’t let him have all the power. You arched your back, grinding against him, trying to take the lead.

“Do you really think you can handle this?” he challenged, thrusting deeper, making you gasp. “You’re just a sweet little Goddess, but I’m a god of war. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Maybe I like danger,” you replied, your voice dripping with mischief. “Maybe I want to see how far you’ll go.”

He responded with a harsh thrust that had you gasping, your walls tightening around him as pleasure surged. “You’re going to regret this,” he warned, but you could see the glint of excitement in his eyes.

As he picked up the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, and you moaned louder, feeling the tension coiling in your core. “Please, don’t stop!” you begged, wanting him to push you to the edge, to shatter the peace you’d fought to uphold.

“Not yet,” he replied, his voice low and possessive. “I want to see you lose control. I want to see you begging for release.”

With each powerful thrust, he drove you closer to the brink, a mix of pleasure and pain coursing through your veins. His hands were everywhere, gripping your thighs, pulling your hair, leaving you breathless and wanting more. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then take me,” you urged, your body writhing against his as you chased your climax. “M—Make me yours.”

Mydei’s growl echoed through the temple, primal and raw, as he pushed you over the edge, sending you spiraling into ecstasy. “That’s it, come for me,” he commanded, and you obeyed, waves of pleasure crashing over you as your body convulsed around him.

As you rode the waves of your orgasm, your body trembling with the intensity, Mydei followed suit. With a deep groan, he filled you completely, his body pressed against yours as he marked you as his own. His grip on you tightened possessively, pulling you closer as he buried his cock deep inside of your pussy, claiming you with every thrust. “You belong to me,” he breathed, voice rough and filled with a dark, consuming passion. His hands moved with a newfound urgency, holding you in place as he drove deeper, making sure you felt every inch of him, every part of his claim over you.

Breathing heavily, you both collapsed against the wall, panting in the aftermath of your passion. You felt a rush of exhilaration and vulnerability, your heart racing in the wake of what you had just shared.

“Even the Goddess of Peace can’t resist the pull of chaos,” Mydei murmured, his hands gently stroking your hair. “Next time, I’ll make you beg even harder.”

You smirked, meeting his gaze with defiance. “Bring it on, War God. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

As the moon hung high in the night sky, the aftermath of your first union left you breathless, your body still trembling from the pleasure that had consumed you. Mydei’s powerful frame pressed against you, his body still radiating heat, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he had claimed you. The feel of his cock still buried deep inside your pussy had you on the edge, each pulse sending waves of raw pleasure through you. Even as you caught your breath, the familiar stirrings of desire began to rise again, an undeniable heat igniting deep within your core, hungry for more of him.

“Do you think you can handle more, Goddess?” Mydei challenged, his voice a low growl as he caught your gaze, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. “Because I’m far from done with you.”

You smirked, that familiar defiance bubbling to the surface. “I can take anything you throw at me, Mydei. Show me what you’ve got.”

With a swift, dominating motion, he grasped your waist again, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around him, craving the feel of him inside you once more. This time, there was no gentleness in his approach—he slammed you back against the wall, the stone cold and unforgiving, contrasting with the heat building between your bodies.

“Hold on tight,” he growled, the promise of what was to come sending shivers down your spine. Without warning, he plunged into you again, and the force of his thrusts sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body. Your clit brushed against him with every powerful stroke, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you.

“Gods, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunted, your voice dripping with challenge as you pushed back against him, desperate for more. You reveled in the way he filled you, stretching you beyond what you thought possible.

Mydei’s eyes darkened with lust, a primal hunger overtaking him. “You’re going to regret that,” he growled, picking up the pace, his thrusts becoming more ferocious. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the temple as you both lost yourselves in the moment.

His hands gripped your thighs, roughly pushing them apart further, giving him deeper access. You could feel every inch of him, the head of his cock brushing against your sensitive walls, each movement drawing out moans from your lips. Your cheeks flushed a rosy pink, your doe eyes wide with need and submission, gazing up at him as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. Every thrust sent another wave of pleasure coursing through you, your body trembling beneath him, unable to escape the depths of desire he had awakened inside you.

“Do you like that, Goddess?” he asked, a smirk on his lips. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“More, Mydei! I need more!” you gasped, the pleasure building with each savage thrust, your body responding eagerly to his dominance. You could feel your clit pulsing, desperate for attention, a constant throb that only intensified with every motion. You began to roll your hips against him, grinding harder, seeking that sweet friction that would push you over the edge again. Your breath came in ragged gasps, eyes wild with need as you begged for more, willing to do anything to feel that release tearing through you once again.

“Such a needy little thing,” he teased, pulling back slightly before slamming into you again, harder this time. The impact made your body quiver, a rush of pleasure flooding you as he found that sweet spot deep inside. “You want to come again, don’t you?”

“Y—Yes! Please!” you cried out, feeling your body tighten around him. You wanted everything he had to offer, wanted to feel him claim you again. “D—Don’t stop! Just like that!”

Mydei's grip on your thighs tightened as he plunged into you, the sound of your bodies joining filling the air. The sheer intensity of his thrusts left you breathless, the way he filled you was a perfect blend of pleasure and pain. He was relentless, driving you higher, pushing you toward that precipice once more.

“God, you’re beautiful when you’re desperate,” he growled, his eyes locked on your bouncing tits, your body reacting to every thrust. “I could watch you like this forever.”

You felt yourself getting closer, the coil of pleasure tightening with each stroke. “I’m so close, M—Mydei! Please!”

He responded with a fierce thrust, the sensation sending you spiraling. “Come for me, Goddess. Let me see you lose control.”

With a cry of ecstasy, you surrendered completely, the pleasure crashing over you in a tidal wave. Your body quaked around him as your orgasm surged through every nerve, the sound of your moans echoing in the temple as you clung to him, desperate for release.

Mydei followed you, the sight of your climax pushing him over the edge as he filled you again, his cock throbbing inside you, warmth flooding you completely. “Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine.”

As you both came down from the high, gasping for breath, Mydei still held you tightly against him, his cock softening but still buried deep inside you. The warmth and closeness made you feel alive, electric, a mix of dominance and vulnerability swirling around you.

“Round two, and you still managed to surprise me,” he said, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “But I’m not done yet. You wanted chaos, and I’m going to give it to you.”

Your heart raced at the promise in his words, knowing this night was far from over. You couldn’t wait to see just how deep he could take you, and you were more than ready to surrender to it.

The air was thick with the remnants of your shared ecstasy, your bodies still entwined as you caught your breath. The moonlight poured in through the crumbling stones of the ancient temple, illuminating the raw hunger in Mydei's eyes. He wasn’t done with you yet, and the thought sent a fresh thrill of anticipation through your veins.

“You still think you can handle me?” he asked, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he pulled back, his cock slipping from your warmth. The absence of him left you aching, a void that yearned to be filled again.

“Please, Mydei. I can take whatever you have for me,” you replied, your voice sultry and teasing, the bratty edge returning. You could feel the power shift in the air, the tension palpable as you dared him to push your limits.

“Good,” he growled, grabbing your thighs and hoisting you up, your back pressed against the cool stone. “Because I’m going to make you beg for it this time.”

He positioned you so that your legs were wrapped around his waist, and with one swift motion, he plunged back inside, filling you to the hilt. You gasped, the sensation igniting your senses all over again. “That’s it, Goddess,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “You’re going to take every inch of me.”

“Fuck, Mydei!” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to thrust. Each movement was deliberate, powerful, designed to push you to the edge of pleasure and back. He was relentless, driving deeper, his cock brushing against all the right spots, coaxing you closer and closer to bliss.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he commanded, his breath hot against your skin. “Beg for it.”

“I—I want it so bad,” you panted, urgency lacing your words. “I need you, God of war. Please, don’t hold back. I want to feel you everywhere.”

The title sent a spark of approval through his gaze, and he responded by increasing the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the temple. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, each thrust punctuated with the weight of his dominance. “You’re going to be mine tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mydei! I’m yours! Use me!” you cried, your body arching against him, craving more of his raw, possessive energy. You felt that familiar pressure building in your core, the sweet, impending release beckoning you.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now let’s see how well you can take it.” With renewed vigor, he thrust into you harder, pushing you against the stone, every thrust sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you.

“Please, let me come!” you begged, your body quivering with need. “I want to feel you fill me!”

“Not yet,” he growled, his grip tightening on your thighs as he shifted his angle, hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. “I want to see you desperate for it. I want to see you beg for my cum.”

You could feel the tension in your body reaching its peak, the heat pooling in your core, and you desperately sought that release. “Please, Mydei! I need your cum! I want it inside me!”

“Such a needy little goddess,” he teased, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Fine, but only if you can take it.”

With that, he thrust harder, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure built like a raging storm, and you could barely hold on, your body begging for the release you craved.

“Now, come for me!” Mydei commanded, his voice dark and demanding, sending a shiver down your spine. With one final, brutal thrust, he drove deep inside you, pushing you over the edge. Your body erupted in a tidal wave of pleasure, the intense sensation crashing over you like a wave, drowning you in pure ecstasy. Your pussy clenched around him, your back arching as your orgasm tore through you, shaking you to your core. You cried out, gasping for air, completely consumed by the pleasure he had given you, unable to stop the flood of sensations that flooded your body.

“Fuck! Yes!” you screamed, the pleasure washing over you as you felt his warmth spill inside you, filling you completely.

“Good girl,” he groaned, his thrusts slowing as he filled you, claiming you entirely. The sensations mingled—his heat, the remnants of your orgasm, and the thrill of being utterly at his mercy.

You both collapsed against the stone, panting for breath, bodies entwined as the moonlight wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

Tag list : @lov3-ly , @shenstings , @sereinz , @mydeilvr , @ylimeprive , @ereinn , @over-active-daydreamer , @nekochansaysnyaa , @nezupost , @feixiaoswife , @prettyihwa , @angel-of-requiem , @mr-crawlings-wife , @sunnywrites101 .

#blueberrisdove #mydei hsr #honkai star rail mydei #mydei smut #mydeimos #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #mydei x you #mydei x y/n #hsr x female reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #cw : dubcon

1K notes · View notes

hisfavegirl · 5 months ago

Text

Obsession's Edge - Maegor Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : He was a man of war, a conqueror forged in battle and bloodshed. But tonight, as he stood before you, his eyes held something else—something more dangerous than rage. Expectation. You knew what he meant. Your fate had been decided long before this moment. You were to be the last. The final wife. The one who would give him what he desired most. A son. A legacy.

Word Count : 8k

Maegor Targaryen Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The scene unfolds in the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, where tension clings to the air like a heavy shroud. You stand at the edge of the grand chamber, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as your eyes rest on the imposing figure of your brother, Maegor. His towering frame radiates power, and the infamous Blackfyre sword in his hand glints ominously in the flickering torchlight.

Once again, Maegor’s guards carry the lifeless body of his latest wife, his fifth attempt at securing a son and heir. The sight is as grim as it is familiar. The bloodstains on her pale dress speak of another failed birth, another sacrifice in Maegor’s unrelenting quest for a legacy.

Your stomach churns as you glance at your mother, Visenya, who stands by the hearth. She holds Maegor’s infant daughter—another girl—in her arms. Her face is a mask of cold indifference, her piercing gaze fixed on her son. The child wails softly, but Visenya pays her no mind, cradling the babe as if she were holding a mere object, not flesh and blood.

You take a hesitant step forward. “Brother,” you begin, your voice steady but cautious. “How much longer will this… madness continue? The gods—”

“The gods have cursed me!” Maegor growls, his voice echoing through the chamber. His knuckles whiten as he grips Blackfyre tighter. “They deny me a son, but I will not be denied. I am the blood of the dragon. I will have an heir.”

“And how many more must die for you to prove that?” you ask softly, though your words are like daggers. Your heart aches at the scene before you, but you know better than to openly defy him. Maegor’s wrath is as legendary as his strength.

His dark eyes meet yours, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something— frustration, desperation. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar coldness. “You speak of things you do not understand,” he snaps, his tone brooking no argument.

Visenya finally breaks her silence. “Enough,” she says, her voice calm but commanding. “This is not the time to quarrel. There is work to be done.”

You glance at your mother, noting the faint lines of weariness on her face. Even Visenya Targaryen, the indomitable matriarch, cannot entirely mask the strain of watching her son spiral further into darkness.

Maegor steps closer to you, his imposing presence casting a long shadow over your smaller frame. “Do not speak to me of curses or consequences,” he hisses. “You do not bear the weight of a throne, sister. You do not understand the price of power.”

Your throat tightens, but you hold your ground. “And you do not understand the price of the lives you destroy,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, silence stretches between you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. Then, without another word, Maegor turns on his heel and storms out of the chamber, the echo of his boots fading into the distance.

Visenya approaches you, the infant still cradled in her arms. Her expression softens slightly as she looks at you. “Do not provoke him,” she says quietly. “It will do no good.”

“And neither will enabling him,” you counter, though your tone lacks the fire of before.

She sighs, a rare sign of weariness. “We are Targaryens. We endure. We survive. That is what matters.”

As she walks away, the child’s cries growing fainter, you’re left alone in the chamber. The weight of your family’s legacy presses down on you, and you can’t help but wonder: How many more will suffer before the madness ends?

The corridors of the Red Keep were eerily silent as you made your way back to your chambers. The events of the night weighed heavily on your mind. You tried to banish the thoughts of your mother and Maegor, of the infant girl whose cries still echoed faintly in your ears. You didn’t want to think about what would become of the child—or what decisions your family might make under the cover of darkness.

Entering your chamber, you let out a soft sigh and closed the heavy wooden door behind you, shutting out the world beyond. The flickering light of the fireplace cast long shadows across the room, offering a small semblance of warmth in the cold, unforgiving keep.

You approached the dressing table and began to undo the clasps of your gown. Your hands moved mechanically, your mind still racing with questions you dared not voice. Was it truly the gods who cursed your brother, or was this all a punishment of his own making?

The silk of your gown slipped from your shoulders and pooled around your feet. You exchanged it for a simpler nightgown, one that offered comfort over extravagance. The soft fabric brushed against your skin as you pulled it over your head, and for a moment, you felt a sense of relief, however fleeting.

But before you could settle in, a quiet sound behind you made you freeze—a faint shuffling, as if someone was in the room. Your heart quickened, and you turned sharply, eyes scanning the dimly lit space. Then, you saw it: the hidden door in the far corner of your chamber, one you hadn’t even known existed until recently, creaked open.

From the shadows emerged Maegor, his imposing figure casting a long shadow on the stone floor. He stepped into the room with a purposeful stride, his expression unreadable, though his eyes were intense. He had shed his armor, but Blackfyre was still strapped to his side, a constant reminder of who he was.

“Brother,” you said cautiously, your voice low. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he closed the hidden door behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. His gaze swept over you, taking in your disheveled appearance and the soft fabric of your nightgown.

“You shouldn’t leave yourself so unguarded,” he said finally, his tone matter-of-fact but carrying an edge.

You frowned. “I am in my own chambers. Do you expect an assassin to crawl out of the shadows?”

“In this keep?” he said with a dry chuckle. “You’d be a fool to think yourself safe, even here.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you tried not to show it. “Why are you here, Maegor? Did you come to discuss safety, or is there something else on your mind?”

He moved closer, his heavy boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. “Do you think me a monster?” he asked abruptly, his voice low but sharp.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, searching for the right words. “I think…” you began slowly, “that you’ve done monstrous things. But I also think the weight of the crown has hardened you more than it should.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked away, as if considering your words. Then he turned back to you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“I do what must be done,” he said firmly, though there was a flicker of something—doubt, perhaps—in his voice. “Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I take pleasure in burying wife after wife, child after child?”

“I don’t know what you feel,” you admitted softly. “You don’t let anyone see that part of you.”

He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating. “And what would it change if they did? Would it bring me a son? Would it silence the whispers of weakness?”

“No,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “But it might remind people that you’re still human. That you still bleed like the rest of us.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he studied you for a long moment. Then, without warning, he reached out and cupped your face in his hand. The gesture was almost tender, a stark contrast to the coldness you had come to associate with him.

“You’re different,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You see me, not just the crown. Not just the king.”

“Because I’m your sister,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “And because I know there’s still something good in you, no matter how deeply you’ve buried it.”

For a moment, it looked as though he might say something more. But instead, he released you and stepped back, the moment of vulnerability passing as quickly as it had come.

“Get some rest,” he said, his tone colder now, though there was a hint of softness beneath it. “Tomorrow will bring more battles, as it always does.”

You took a deep breath and turned toward Maegor before he could step back into the hidden passage.

“Stay,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence.

He turned to look at you, his sharp features shadowed in the dim candlelight. “It’s late,” he replied curtly, his tone clipped. “You should rest. So should I.”

“I’m asking you to stay with me,” you said, stepping closer. Your voice was steady, though your heart was racing. “You’re my brother, Maegor. I don’t mind your company, and you need the rest just as much as I do.”

He hesitated, his piercing eyes narrowing slightly. “I am not in the habit of seeking comfort,” he said gruffly, though the way his hand lingered on the hilt of Blackfyre betrayed some inner conflict.

“You don’t have to seek it,” you replied gently, moving closer until you stood directly in front of him. “I’m offering it to you.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. The air between you was tense, and you could see the walls he kept around himself, the ones he refused to let anyone breach. But then, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.

“Fine,” he muttered, as though he was doing you a favor. “But don’t think this will become a habit.”

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Of course not.”

As he stood there, unmoving, you reached for the heavy belt that secured Blackfyre at his hip. Your fingers brushed against his as you began to unfasten it, and for a moment, his hand lingered before he let you take over. Carefully, you slid the belt free and placed it on the small table near your bed.

“You don’t always have to carry it, you know,” you said, glancing back at him as you gestured to Blackfyre.

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “I do,” he replied simply. “It’s who I am.”

“You’re more than that sword, Maegor,” you said, your tone soft but firm. “Even if you don’t believe it.”

You paused, your breath hitching as Maegor’s words hung in the air.

“Perhaps the reason my wives have failed me,” he said, his voice low and almost thoughtful, “is because they are not of the blood of the dragon. But you…”

He let the statement linger, and you turned your head to look at him. His piercing gaze met yours, unflinching, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Maegor,” you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “You can’t mean that.”

“Why not?” he replied, his tone unwavering. He leaned closer, his hand sliding to your arm and pulling you gently into his embrace. “You are of the blood of Old Valyria, born to the same fire and blood that flows through my veins. If anyone could give me a son—a true heir—it would be you.”

Your mind raced, his words sinking in. You had always known that your mother, had plans for you—plans tied to your brother’s throne. She had often spoken of uniting the bloodlines to strengthen House Targaryen. But hearing Maegor speak of it so plainly, so deliberately, made your chest tighten.

“That’s why Mother promised me to you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his hand moving to gently cradle the side of your face. “She sees what I see,” he said, his voice softer now. “The strength in you. The fire.”

You tried to look away, but he held you there, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Do you think I want this, Maegor?” you asked, your tone laced with a mixture of uncertainty and defiance.

“I think,” he began, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke, “that it is not about what we want, but what we must do—for the house, for the throne, and for the bloodline.”

You shivered as his words sank in, and though you wanted to push him away, his warmth was oddly comforting. He tightened his hold on you, his strength both intimidating and reassuring.

“You could give me what no one else has,” he whispered against your ear, his voice sending a chill down your spine. “A son. An heir. You could ensure the strength of our house for generations to come.”

“Maegor…” you started, but your words faltered as his hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer.

“Think about it,” he said, his tone still calm but laced with something darker, something possessive. “It is your destiny. You were meant for me.”

You felt your resolve waver, torn between the weight of his words and the emotions swirling within you. You had grown up knowing your place in the family, knowing what was expected of you. But this… this was more than you had ever anticipated.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly.

“You can,” he said firmly, his lips brushing against your forehead. “And you will. Together, we will be unstoppable.”

For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace, your mind a storm of doubt and confusion. Whether it was fate or folly, you couldn’t yet say. But in that moment, as his arms tightened around you and his whispers filled the silence, it felt as though you had no choice at all.

You stood frozen as Maegor’s words hung in the air, the mention of your mother, making your chest tighten. You did respect her—more than anyone. She was the guiding force of your life, her word as close to law as the Seven themselves. Refusing her was unthinkable. Maegor knew this, and the faint smirk on his face revealed he was fully aware of how deeply her influence bound you.

Maegor stepped closer, his fingers tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You will not refuse me,” he murmured, though there was no real question in his voice. “You would not dare defy mother’s wishes.” he murmured, his voice low and confident.

You glanced at him, lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. He was right. You could already hear your mother’s voice in your head, her arguments laid out plainly, reminding you of duty and legacy.

Maegor stepped closer, his imposing frame towering over you. “You’ve always followed her commands,” he continued, his voice softening but losing none of its authority. “You’ve never failed her before. And this? This is what she wants.”

Your silence made him chuckle—a rare, low sound that startled you. He was so often stoic, cold even, but now there was something different in him. Something almost… warm.

He raised a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You think too much,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Just let it happen.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. It was not the demanding kiss you might have expected from him—it was slow, careful, and deliberate, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. His hands cupped your face, holding you gently but firmly, ensuring you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

You froze, unsure of what to do. But as the kiss deepened, you felt yourself melting into it despite the swirl of thoughts in your mind. The warmth of his lips, the way his touch seemed to steady your trembling form—it was disarming.

When he finally pulled back, his violet eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of rejection. But you remained silent, your breath uneven, your cheeks flushed.

“You see,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your jawline. “It feels… right. Doesn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, unable to deny the strange pull you felt toward him. He had always been a part of your life, a figure of strength and dominance. And now, as he stood before you, so certain and unyielding, it was as if the world itself had conspired to place you in his arms.

“What if I’m not enough?” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “What if I fail you, too?”

His expression softened, his hands moving to your shoulders. “You won’t,” he said firmly. “You are of the blood of the dragon. My equal. My match. Together, we’ll do what no one else has.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his words sank in. There was no escaping this—no denying what your mother had already decided for you, what Maegor had clearly longed for.

As he leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours in a way that made your knees weak, you realized that this was no longer just about duty or tradition. This was about Maegor’s unwavering belief in you, his determination to claim you as his own. And for the first time, you wondered if perhaps you didn’t mind being claimed.

Maegor’s hands gripped your waist as he effortlessly lifted you, settling you onto his lap as if you weighed nothing. The strength in his touch was undeniable, and yet there was something careful about the way he held you, as though you were the most precious thing he’d ever claimed.

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in the thick, silver strands of his hair. He pulled you closer, his lips pressing firmly against yours, deepening the kiss with an intensity that left you breathless. His confidence was overwhelming, but it was also intoxicating, pulling you further into his orbit.

You hesitated for only a moment before giving in, letting yourself lean into the kiss. When your lips finally began to move against his, Maegor let out a low hum of approval. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice low and laced with amusement. “There she is,” he murmured, his smirk unmistakable. “I knew you wouldn’t resist me for long.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the weight of them sinking into your chest. He leaned in again, his lips ghosting over your jawline, trailing down to the curve of your neck. You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, his tongue quickly soothing the spot he’d bitten.

“Maegor…” you whispered, unsure whether it was meant as a plea or a protest.

He chuckled against your neck, his hands roaming over the curve of your hips. “Say my name again,” he commanded softly, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

You hesitated, but when he nipped at your skin again, a quiet, breathless “Maegor” escaped your lips. He growled in approval, his grip on you tightening as he kissed his way back to your lips.

“You’re mine,” he said against your mouth, his tone firm and unyielding. “Do you understand that?”

You nodded, your mind spinning as his words and actions consumed you. His hands moved back to your waist, holding you steady as he pressed you closer to him.

“You’re the only one who can give me what I want,” he continued, his lips brushing against yours with every word. “A son. A true heir. And I’ll make sure of it.”

His words should have frightened you, but instead, they filled you with a strange sense of purpose—a feeling that you belonged here, with him. When his lips met yours again, you found yourself kissing him back with a fervor that matched his own, your hands tightening in his hair as the room around you seemed to fade away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’ll see. This is where you were always meant to be—by my side, as my queen.”

And for the first time, you didn’t feel the urge to argue. Instead, you leaned into him, letting his words wash over you as you surrendered to the fire that burned between you.

Maegor’s hands were rough as they slid up your back, pulling your nightgown up and over your head in one swift motion. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his touch. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, his lips curling into a smirk before he leaned in to claim your lips once more.

This time, his kiss was hungrier, more demanding, as if he was staking his claim all over again. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers threading through his hair and pulling lightly, earning a low growl from deep in his chest.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with warning and amusement.

You smirked in return, rolling your hips slightly against his lap. The way his body reacted to you—his sharp intake of breath, the way his grip on your hips tightened—only emboldened you further. “Maybe I like the flames,” you whispered, your tone teasing as you brushed your lips against his again.

His laughter was low and dangerous, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Careful,” he said, his voice a soft growl. “You keep pushing me, and I won’t be able to hold back.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” you replied, your tone filled with challenge.

That was all the permission he needed. With a swift motion, he shifted, pinning you beneath him on the bed. His hands framed your face as he kissed you deeply, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he said as he pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “But don’t think I’ll stop once I start. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

You gasped as his lips found your neck, trailing heated kisses along your skin. His hands explored your body with a mixture of gentleness and possession, leaving no doubt in your mind that he meant every word he said.

“Maegor…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you arched beneath him.

Hearing his name from your lips only seemed to spur him on. His lips curled into a smirk against your skin as he moved lower, his hands sliding to grip your hips. “Say it again,” he commanded softly, his voice filled with raw desire.

“Maegor,” you repeated, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He growled in satisfaction, his grip tightening as he began to guide your movements against him. The fire in his eyes was unmistakable as he watched your every reaction, his own control slipping with every passing moment.

“You wanted this,” he said, his tone low and dangerous as he leaned closer. “And now you’re going to take everything I give you.”

And as his words sank in, you realized there was no going back—not that you wanted to. You surrendered to him completely, letting him pull you deeper into the flames as the night stretched on.

Maegor’s eyes burned with intensity as he discarded his trousers, his movements deliberate and unhurried. You couldn’t help but smirk, shifting your hips slightly to tease him. The way his jaw tightened and his nostrils flared only encouraged you further, knowing you were testing the limits of his control.

“You think this is a game?” he asked, his voice low and rough as he stepped closer.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Why, brother, I have no idea what you mean.”

He growled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’ll regret that,” he said, his tone a dangerous promise.

Before you could respond, his hands were on your hips, pulling you toward him with a force that made you gasp. In one swift, decisive motion, he buried himself within you, tearing a cry from your lips as pain and pleasure collided.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you struggled to adjust. “Maegor!” you cried out, your voice trembling.

He laughed softly, the sound dark and laced with satisfaction. “Does it hurt, little dragon?” he murmured, brushing his lips against your ear. “Good. You’ll remember this moment every time you think you can defy me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as your body stretched to accommodate him, the sensation overwhelming and unfamiliar. “You’re… you’re too much,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grab your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll take all of me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You were made for this—for me.”

You whimpered as he began to move, each thrust sending a new wave of sensation through your body. The initial pain began to fade, replaced by a heat that spread through your veins like wildfire.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice filled with both admiration and possession. “So beautiful, even when you’re trembling beneath me.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but you couldn’t deny the way they made your heart race. Despite his roughness, there was a strange sense of care in the way he touched you, as though he was staking his claim but also ensuring you wouldn’t break beneath him.

As the rhythm of his movements increased, your cries turned into soft moans, your body slowly surrendering to the intensity of the moment. “Maegor…” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with need.

He smirked, leaning down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss. “That’s it,” he murmured against your mouth. “Say my name again.”

“Maegor,” you repeated, your voice louder this time, filled with both pain and pleasure.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he thrust deeper. “You’ll learn to love this,” he said, his tone both commanding and soothing. “And soon, you’ll crave it as much as I do.”

You could only nod, your body and mind completely consumed by him. In that moment, there was nothing else—just the two of you, bound together in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

Maegor’s heavy, calloused hands pinned your wrists above your head, his grip firm but not painful. His towering form loomed over you, his silver hair falling into his face as he gazed down at you with a mixture of triumph and hunger. You had always been the one to tease, the one to provoke—but now, under him, you were at his mercy.

“You’ve always been so bold,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “Always looking for my attention, always testing me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words turned into a gasp as his hips moved, a sharp thrust that left you breathless. Your body arched instinctively, pressing closer to him as he continued his relentless pace.

“Look at you now,” he said, his tone laced with dark amusement. “So quiet. Has the little dragon finally met her match?”

Your cheeks burned at his teasing, but you couldn’t form a coherent reply. Every movement, every thrust, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making it impossible to think clearly.

“Maegor…” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

He smirked, leaning down until his face was just inches from yours. “Say it louder,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

“Maegor,” you repeated, your voice cracking as he drove deeper, his movements precise and unyielding.

“That’s better,” he said, his smirk widening. “You look beautiful like this, you know. Completely mine.”

You tried to squirm beneath him, your body desperate for some sort of release, but his strength kept you firmly in place. His hands tightened around your wrists as he held them above your head, his grip a reminder of just how powerless you were in his grasp.

“You’ve always thought you were in control,” he continued, his voice low and dangerous. “But here, like this, you belong to me.”

His words sent a thrill through you, even as you tried to deny the effect they had on you. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

Maegor chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “And yet, you can’t get enough of me.”

Before you could respond, he shifted his weight slightly, angling his hips in a way that had you crying out his name again. The sound only seemed to spur him on, his movements becoming rougher, more deliberate.

“You drive me mad,” he admitted, his voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths. “But I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

His free hand trailed down your side, his fingers brushing over your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Every inch of you,” he said, his voice filled with a dark promise. “Every sound you make, every breath you take—it’s all mine.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not when your body was betraying you so completely. Instead, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, letting Maegor claim you in every way he desired. And as his laughter echoed in your ears, you knew there would be no going back.

Maegor’s relentless pace left your mind spinning, every sharp thrust erasing any coherent thought from your head. The world around you blurred, and all that remained was the man above you—his weight, his heat, and the overwhelming power of his movements.

“Maegor…” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you clung to him, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

“Say it louder,” he demanded, his tone a deep growl as his piercing gaze locked onto yours. His face was a mix of smug satisfaction and raw intensity, his silver hair damp with sweat as it clung to his forehead.

You cried out his name again, louder this time, unable to stop yourself as he buried himself deeper, the force of his thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs. Maegor grinned, his lips curling into a dark smirk as he watched you unravel beneath him.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice thick with pride and something darker. “Completely at my mercy. Does it drive you mad, little dragon? Knowing that no one else could ever ruin you like this?”

Your only response was a strangled moan as your body arched into his, seeking more of him despite the overwhelming intensity. Maegor leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “You’re mine, now and always. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and surrender.

“That’s right,” he purred, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. His hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you in place as he drove into you with even more force, drawing another scream from your lips.

“You feel so perfect,” he said, his tone softening just slightly, though the fire in his eyes never dimmed. “Like you were made for me. Tell me, little dragon—do you feel it too? That you were meant to be mine?”

You nodded frantically, unable to find the words as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. Maegor chuckled darkly at your helplessness, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. “Lost in me, lost to me.”

As you cried out again, your body clinging to his in desperation, Maegor groaned, the sound low and primal as he felt your walls tighten around him. His pace faltered for just a moment before he drove into you one last time, his head falling to your shoulder as he growled your name.

The room was filled with the sounds of your labored breathing as the two of you came down from the heights of your passion. Maegor didn’t pull away immediately, instead leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his touch surprisingly tender after the intensity of his movements.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, his voice soft but firm, as if sealing a promise. Maegor smirked, his confidence returning as he gazed down at you. “I’ve made my claim on you, little dragon. Don’t ever forget that.”

As you lay in his arms, your body still trembling from his touch, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of inevitability. You were his now, completely and utterly, and there was no going back.

Maegor’s strong hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you in place as he lifted you with ease and settled you on his lap. You gasped, your hands bracing against his broad shoulders for support, but before you could utter a word, his deep, commanding voice interrupted.

“If I am to have a son, little dragon,” he growled, his violet eyes dark and blazing with determination, “then I will not stop now.”

Your lips parted to protest, but the words never left your mouth. In one swift motion, Maegor thrust himself upward, pulling your hips down to meet him. The intensity of the movement made your head fall back as a loud cry escaped your lips. The sensation of him so deep, so overwhelming, was too much for your trembling body to process.

“Maegor!” you screamed, clutching onto his shoulders for dear life as he began to move, his pace relentless and unyielding.

“You can take it,” he said, his tone almost mocking, though there was an edge of possessiveness in his voice that sent shivers through you. “You were made for this—made for me.”

Your breathing came in short, desperate gasps as he guided your movements, his hands firmly holding your waist as he controlled the rhythm. The combination of his strength and the sheer intensity of his movements left you unable to do anything but follow his lead.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. When you didn’t respond, too lost in the sensation, he reached up and tilted your chin toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I said, look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his piercing violet stare. The raw hunger in his expression made your heart race even faster.

“There you are,” he murmured, his tone softening ever so slightly. “I want to see that pretty face of yours when I give you what we both know you want.”

You whimpered in response, your hands gripping his shoulders even tighter as he pulled you down onto him again, deeper than before. The new angle sent shockwaves through your body, and you couldn’t stop the loud moan that escaped your lips.

“To much?” he asked, his smirk returning as he studied your reaction. “Or is it exactly what you need?”

“Maegor…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you struggled to catch your breath.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear. “Say my name, little dragon. Say it so the gods themselves hear you.”

You obeyed, crying out his name over and over as he continued to guide your movements, his strength and determination leaving you completely at his mercy. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve as if claiming you all over again.

“You’re perfect,” he growled, his lips trailing down your neck. “Perfect for me. Perfect to bear my sons.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t hold back the way your body responded to him. Maegor chuckled darkly, clearly pleased by the effect he had on you.

As he quickened his pace, his movements became even more demanding, pushing you closer to the edge. Your cries grew louder, filling the room as he drove you higher and higher.

“Give it to me,” he commanded, his voice thick with need. “Give me everything.”

And with one final, powerful thrust, you shattered in his arms, your body trembling uncontrollably as waves of pleasure washed over you. Maegor followed shortly after, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried himself as deep as he could, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

As the two of you came down from the intensity of the moment, Maegor’s hold on you remained firm, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath.

“You’ll give me a son,” he murmured, his tone resolute. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement, one he believed with every fiber of his being.

You nodded weakly, still trembling in his arms as you leaned against his chest, too overwhelmed to respond with words. Maegor smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple as he tightened his embrace.

“This is only the beginning,” he promised, his voice filled with dark determination.

Maegor didn’t give you a moment to recover. His strength was overwhelming as he lifted you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs firmly, and carried you to the sturdy table in the center of the room. Before you could fully register what was happening, he placed you down with precision, positioning you exactly how he wanted.

“Did you think I was done with you, little dragon?” he asked, his voice a low, teasing growl.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a sharp gasp as he buried himself inside you again in one swift, forceful motion. Your hands instinctively reached out, grasping the edges of the table for support as he set a punishing pace, his movements quick and unrelenting.

“Maegor!” you cried out, your voice echoing in the chamber, but your pleas only seemed to spur him on.

“Louder,” he demanded, his tone thick with authority. “Let everyone in the Keep know who you belong to.”

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he leaned over you, his large frame completely dominating yours. The table creaked beneath the force of his movements, but you didn’t care. Your body burned, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

Suddenly, Maegor’s hands gripped your waist, lifting you slightly before pushing you to lie flat against the table. Your gaze shifted, and that’s when you saw it—the large mirror across the room, perfectly angled to reflect the two of you.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson as you took in the sight. Your disheveled hair, your trembling body, and Maegor’s powerful figure towering over you, his muscles flexing with every movement. His face was a mixture of focus and satisfaction, his violet eyes locking with yours in the mirror.

“Look at us,” he said, his voice rough yet filled with pride. “See what we are.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed by the rawness of the moment. Your arms reached out, wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer, hiding your face in his shoulder to escape the intensity of your own reflection.

“Oh no, little dragon,” he murmured, chuckling darkly as he lifted your chin with one hand, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. “Don’t look away. Watch how perfectly you take me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the way your body reacted, arching into him as he continued his relentless pace. His free hand traveled to your hip, gripping it tightly as he adjusted the angle, drawing out even louder cries from you.

“Maegor, please…” you whispered, though you weren’t sure what you were begging for.

“Please what?” he asked, his tone mocking yet filled with hunger. “Tell me what you want.”

“I-I can’t,” you stammered, your voice trembling as he pushed you further and further toward your limit.

“You can,” he countered, his lips brushing against your ear. “You will.”

Your body trembled beneath him, your mind clouded with nothing but him—his touch, his voice, his presence. The sight of the two of you in the mirror only added to the overwhelming sensation, and you felt yourself nearing the edge once again.

“Say it,” Maegor demanded, his voice a low growl as he drove you closer and closer to the brink.

“I’m yours,” you finally gasped, your voice breaking as the words spilled from your lips. “I’m yours, Maegor.”

A triumphant smirk spread across his face as he slammed into you one final time, sending you spiraling over the edge. Your cries filled the room, your body shaking uncontrollably as you clung to him, your nails digging into his skin.

Maegor followed moments later, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself as deep as possible, a guttural groan escaping his lips. His forehead pressed against yours as he caught his breath, his hands gently stroking your sides as you lay sprawled on the table beneath him.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “Always.”

You nodded weakly, your body too exhausted to respond with words. Maegor smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“And I’m not done with you yet,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye as he lifted you once more, carrying you back toward the bed.

Maegor showed no mercy as he pressed your trembling body into the mattress, his large hands gripping your hips tightly while his movements remained unrelenting. You were sprawled out beneath him, barely able to catch your breath as he continued his punishing pace.

"Maegor… please…" you whispered weakly, your voice muffled by the soft fabric of the bedding.

"Please, what?" he asked with a mocking laugh, his tone dark and teasing as he leaned over you. His weight pressed you further into the bed, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

You knew he didn’t expect a reply—he already knew the answer. The smirk on his face widened as he felt you unconsciously arch your back, your body betraying you as it sought more of him despite the overwhelming sensations.

"That's what I thought," he growled, one hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer, making his thrusts even deeper. "You’re mine, little dragon. You’ll take everything I give you."

You could only whimper in response, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your mind spiraled into a haze of pleasure and exhaustion. Every inch of your body felt consumed by him—by his strength, his dominance, and the sheer heat of his touch.

When you tried to lift your head, Maegor’s hand came to rest on the back of it, guiding you to stay down. "No, stay just like this," he ordered, his voice softer now but still firm. "You look perfect beneath me."

"Maegor…" you whispered again, your voice breaking as you tried to form coherent words.

"Say it," he demanded, his tone sharp yet filled with desire. "Say you're mine."

"I’m yours," you gasped, the words tumbling out without hesitation.

His deep chuckle rumbled through the room, and he rewarded your surrender with a sharp thrust that made you cry out his name. "That’s right," he murmured, his voice filled with pride. "You’ll never belong to anyone else."

Despite your exhaustion, you couldn’t help but shiver at the possessiveness in his tone. He leaned down further, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as his pace quickened once again.

"Look at you," Maegor muttered, his voice filled with admiration as his hands slid over your trembling form. "So beautiful. So perfect. You were made for me, weren’t you?"

You couldn’t respond—your voice was lost to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. All you could do was grip the sheets tighter, your body giving in completely to his relentless claim.

When he finally reached his peak, his grip on your hips tightened, and he buried himself as deeply as possible to make sure that he's seed go deep in you, a guttural groan escaping his lips. The sheer intensity of the moment left you breathless, your body trembling as he collapsed beside you, his arm draped possessively over your waist.

"You’ll never escape me, little dragon," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with a promise. "Not now. Not ever."

You closed your eyes, your heart racing as you felt the warmth of his presence beside you. Despite everything, you couldn’t deny the way your body craved his touch, the way his words seemed to root themselves deep within your soul.

Maegor shifted his weight, rolling your trembling body to face him. His piercing gaze roamed over you—your flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, and quivering form. A smirk spread across his lips, a dark chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.

"Look at you," he said, his voice filled with both amusement and satisfaction. "Utterly spent, yet still so beautiful."

You tried to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you met his gaze. "Maegor…" you whispered, your voice barely audible, a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours with surprising tenderness. "You’re perfect like this," he murmured, his hand trailing down your side, sending shivers through your already sensitive body. "Made for me. And only me."

Just as you thought he would let you rest, he pulled back slightly, his smirk fading as his sharp eyes traveled lower. His expression darkened when he saw the evidence of his release dripping from your swollen cunt. A low growl escaped his throat, filled with frustration and possessiveness.

"No," he muttered, almost to himself. "I won’t have that."

Before you could process his words, he pressed you down firmly against the bed, his hands gripping your thighs to spread you open. You gasped, weakly reaching for him, but he didn’t give you a moment to protest.

"Maegor, wait—"

He didn’t. With a deliberate, forceful motion, he pushed his fingers inside you, his touch firm yet calculated. You cried out softly, your body jerking at the sudden intrusion.

"Be still," he ordered, his voice low but commanding. "I won’t have what’s mine dripping away so easily."

Your head fell back against the pillows, your body arching instinctively as he worked with a steady rhythm, pushing his release back into you. The sensation was overwhelming, sending a mix of pleasure and overstimulation coursing through your nerves.

"Maegor, I can’t…" you whimpered, your voice trailing off into a broken sob.

He leaned closer, his face hovering just above yours as his free hand cupped your cheek. "You can," he whispered, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the fire burning in his eyes. "And you will. You’ll take all of me, no matter how many times it takes."

Your breath hitched as his movements became slower, more deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. "You’ll give me a son," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "I’ll make sure of it."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Maegor leaned in to kiss it away, his lips lingering on your skin. "Don’t cry, little dragon," he said softly, his voice almost tender. "This is what you were meant for. To carry my blood. To give me what no other could."

His words, though harsh, carried an undeniable weight. You felt the heat of his possessiveness searing into your very being, leaving you no room to escape his claim.

When he finally pulled back, satisfied, he gathered your trembling form into his arms, holding you close. His hand rested protectively over your stomach, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You’ll see," he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of certainty. "You’ll give me the legacy I deserve. And you’ll be the queen by my side when I do."

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you could only nod weakly, the gravity of his words settling deep within you as sleep began to overtake your tired body.

Tag List : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry

#hotd imagine #hotd #hotd one shot #hotd x reader #hotd smut #maegor targaryen #maegor x reader #king maegor #maegor smut #maegor the cruel #house targaryen #house of the dragon

626 notes · View notes

inhuman-obey-me · 3 days ago

Note

do you remember the ask you did for the brothers about mc catching them doing something demonic?? could you do that but with the side characters?

Hi hello this is WAY overdue and I am so sorry it's taken this long to get around to it if you're even still around!! But yes, definitely wanted to do a version with the side characters for this. These...got much longer than the previous ones, so please take that as an apology for taking years to get to this.

Previous post referenced can be found here!

[Mod Cosmos]

MC accidentally catching the Side Characters being Demonic or Violent

content warning: blood, gore, implied body horror

Note: As before, this is from the perspective of an MC that might just not want to necessarily see all this

DIAVOLO

You were staying the night at the Demon Lord's Castle, exhausted after a long day running around with Diavolo. Despite your exhaustion, you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night — and notice that the Demon Prince is no longer resting beside you. Wondering where he's gone and figuring he must have had something to do, you try and fall back asleep, but to no avail. After some tossing and turning, you decide to get up and take a walk to the garden, hoping that its usual tranquility will help bring back the slumber that now escapes you.

On your way, you hear a distant crash, like glass shattering against stone. Remembering the many stories of how haunted the castle was, a chill creeps down your spine. You know its better to leave it be (just go to the garden, you tell yourself) but your curiosity gets the better of you, as it always does. With careful steps, you make your way down the hall from where you heard the crash, the portraits on the wall watching your every move with morbid glee. Every cell in your body is screaming for you to turn back, and you almost do — until you hear a hysterical laugh swiftly cut off by an agonized yell. A muffled voice soon follows, and you recognize it well.

"Your mistake, like all your predecessors, is mistaking my tolerance for weakness." Diavolo's voice becomes clear as you creep towards an archway, and your heart leaps into your throat at the scene before you. Blood stains the walls, a demon you don't recognize made further unrecognizable by the disfigurement of his flesh, as if it was melting from his bones. "A pity it had to come to this, Guthor. I'll send my regards to your little association." The mockery in the prince's voice is rare to hear, and in a flash the other demon is reduced to nothing but cinders.

"—MC?" Your startled at the sound of your name, and before you can blink you find yourself staring into worried golden eyes. "What are you doing here?! You should be asleep." His four wings fully unfurl, as if to block your view of the gruesome remains. "I…I apologize that you witnessed that." He cups your chin, taking in your unsettled expression. "I'll answer any questions you have, but let's first return to my room, shall we? I'll get you whatever you need."

BARBATOS

Your whole body vibrates as bass, drums, and discordant guitar riffs pour out the speakers at Tartarus Hall, a metal show well underway. It's not the usual environment one would find Barbatos, but you jumped at the chance to accompany him to the show when he cautiously offered. It delighted you to see him outside of the stiffness of his day-to-day duties, and although he still doesn't seem to break too much from his usual statuesque nature, you can certainly tell he's more relaxed.

Eventually deciding to take a break from the rowdy crowd, the two of you make your way to the bar for some much needed refreshments. As Barbatos hands you a drink, you notice something grabs his attention — and an ominous shadow falls over his features. Positioning you safely in a corner by the bar, Barbatos gives you a small smile.

"I'm going to use the restroom, so please stay here until I get back."

You nod and wait patiently, enjoying the music from a distance while sipping your drink, wondering what it was that really captured his attention. After a while, you find yourself with an empty glass and still no Barbatos in sight, so you decide you'll make a quick trip to the restroom yourself. After asking the bartender to let your demon companion know of your whereabouts if he gets back before you do, you make your way through the crowd and down a narrow hall lit with neon signs — and that's when you start to hear it. Screams.

At first, you wonder if its just from the vocalist on stage, but it sounds far closer to you than from the speakers. With a gulp, you cautiously turn a corner and can soon make out a familiar voice, muffled behind a door that isn't quite closed all the way. Peering in, you see Barbatos towering over another, a sharp object in his hand glistening with blood. You stomach twists. "I wish I could have more time with you, but I must return to someone far more important." He sighs, ignoring the other's pleas for mercy. "All you traitors sing the same."

In an instant, the other demon is dead on the floor. Before you can even move to take a step back, you find yourself face-to-face with Barbatos, a gasp leaving your lips as his tail captures your waist and pulls you away from the scene and back to the neon corridor.

"You can't help yourself, can you, dear?" Barbatos scolds, though his gaze softens as he checks you over. "I apologize for leaving you for so long, and for having to witness that. Let's go enjoy the rest of the show for now, shall we?"

SIMEON

It had been some time since your last visit to the human world, so Simeon had decided to gift you with a surprise trip — just the two of you, enjoying all that this coastal city had to offer. There was also a local festival in full swing, which meant dragging Simeon stall to stall to try a variety of food and play some games. You both eventually take a break away from all the festivities to enjoy the sunset, the last rays of the daylight disappearing into the horizon as waves crash on rocks below. You turn to smile at Simeon, but notice that something feels…off. In fact, you had sensed a feeling of tension from him since an encounter earlier that day with a less-than-friendly stranger.

"Simeon? Are you okay? You're not still thinking about that guy, are you?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Whatever darkness his eyes held a moment ago disappears, his gaze gentle as he looks to you. "Just a little tired, not to worry. Why don't you go look at some souvenirs," he motions to a cute store a few steps away, "…to bring back for the others, and I'll go fetch us some coffee?"

You agree, though can't quite shake off your concern. Watching from the corner of your eye, you see Simeon wander off before turning into an alley. Leaving the souvenir shopping behind, you decide to follow the angel to see what he's really up to. It's quieter in this part of town, and even quieter in the alley with no cafe in sight. You hear a dull thud and quickly follow the noise, peeking around a corner down another alley — only to freeze at what you saw.

It's a dead-end, and a man is backed up against the brick wall, holding a knife out towards Simeon as if in self-defense. You recognize the man as the one who had harassed you earlier, nearly bruising your arm when he tried to drag you off somewhere. You had managed to shake him off and thought that was the end of it, but Simeon clearly had other ideas.

An ethereal glow emanates from the angel, your eyes beginning to sting as your vision becomes slightly warped. The man opens his mouth as if to scream, but no sound comes out, and he drops his knife to the floor. "You are lucky I am only giving you a warning," Simeon's voice seems to echo, his hand now splayed out across the other's chest. "Reflect on your actions and repent, or next time you won't be so lucky."

A flash of light momentarily blinds you, causing you to stumble back. As you regain a sense of your surroundings, you find your face cupped by gentle hands and your gaze met with bewildered celestial eyes.

"MC! I…I'm sorry. That man continued to follow us throughout the day and was intent on hurting you." His voice is full of worry, his fingers flitting across your body to ensure that you were okay. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Is he—?" You begin to ask.

"He'll be fine, just…terrified for quite some time." Simeon clears his throat, his features showing relief once he's confirmed you're not harmed. "Let's go get something to eat, okay? Whatever you want."

SOLOMON

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind, filled with various events and obligations that had kept you away from your sorcerer studies with Solomon. Far overdue for a lesson, you were finally getting together tonight to practice a few new complicated spells. You decide to stop by the market to pick up a few snacks, texting Solomon to ask if there's anything he wants. A few minutes pass and he fails to respond, so you give him a quick call, assuming he's probably not paying attention to his DDD.

No answer. You sigh and decide to just get what you know he likes before making your way to Purgatory Hall. Taking the more scenic route, you leisurely walk through one of your favorite parks, going over some of the spells in your head — but your mind begins to wander as you notice that Solomon still hasn't returned your texts or call, even though he should be expecting you later. He was usually quick to respond, especially when it came to his "favorite apprentice", as he so often said. He's probably just deep in one of his books or experiments, you assure yourself, but the slight sense of unease forming in your stomach won't go away.

Then, you sense it. A faint warmth on your hand coming from the sorcerer's ring that Solomon had gifted you. He had recently imbued a spell on both your ring and his to let you know when the other was close, but you still were no where near Purgatory Hall. Rather, the ring was pulling you towards another path that went into the forest.

"Stop, stop! I'm sorry, okay?!" You eventually hear a coarse voice, so you quietly hide behind a tree and peer around to see what's going on, eyes widening at what you find. A demon seems to be brutally bound to the floor, blood seeping from his eyes and mouth as he looks up and pleads to the sorcerer who put him in such a position.

"Coming to your senses after you tried to take away mine?" Solomon answers in a mocking and cold tone. "You should have known better than to try your tricks on me, Pinen." He takes a few steps towards the demon, squatting down to get more to his level. "And," his voice is dangerously low and furious, "…you should have thought twice before trying to threaten my apprentice. Have fun getting out of this one."

The demon opens his mouth to scream, but you blink and he's gone. You blink again and find Solomon before you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders and worry in his eyes, a shadow of guilt on his features. Of course, he must have sensed you were nearby.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get caught up in this." He glances down and scoops up the bag that you must have dropped at some point. "I'll explain what happened and what I did once we're out of here, okay?"

#obey me #obey me!#obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me writing #omswd #demons being demons #angels being terrifying #feel like these needed way more setup haha #ask and ye shall be answered #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos

355 notes · View notes

killerlookz · 1 month ago

Text

When Every Vein is Red Out of the Blue | Joost Klein

description: VAMPIRE!Joost Klein x innocent!f!reader Your roommate, Joost, was weird, there was something strange... something just not right about him, which is why you'd kept him at a distance, refusing to make eye contact, or engage in conversation, choosing to ignore the way he drew you to him, how he'd take over your thoughts... but when a storm brings a power outage to your building, you find yourself closer to him than you ever could have imagined.

warnings: 18+ NSFW, MDNI reiterating once again this is VAMPIRE! joost, of blood/blood drinking, heavy religious themes (reader is implied catholic), blasphemy, innocence/corruption kink, fingering, unprotected PiV sex, reader is a crybaby so slight dacryphilia, lots of angst. minor plot note that doesn't really come up, but perhaps may be important for later but this fic takes place in the late 90s

and of course: RPF, while highly fictionalized since joost is a vampire, i must still warn that this is STILL RPF, do not continue if you are uncomfortable with this, this fic has only been put in fic tags, so if you are here, YOU SEARCHED FOR IT

word count: 15.3k

This city is filthy. Littered with sin.

It's rainy, as it mostly always is, you figured the poor weather was a perpetual punishment for the city's wickedness. The rain brings with it fog, its thickness obscuring the view outside your bedroom window- it's nothing but a red haze, a reflection of the lights that lined the street. The area had left your living situation in less than ideal conditions- the persistent scent of sex and marijuana in the air, the chants and yells of rowdy tourists and perverts alike, gawking at the women in the windows that line the canal. Less than ideal, indeed, but a room was a room, and broke and in university you needed to live somewhere, even if you loathed the area. At least you had had a roof over your head.

You sit, perched on your window sill, watching as the fog rolls in. The rain beats down on the glass, and you're almost still surprised to still hear the chatter of people on the street. No rest for the wicked, you supposed, willing to brave the rain to indulge in their sin.

As much shame as it filled you with you had found yourself lately becoming curious about what had really been going on in the city streets below you. It made you feel dirty, tainted, thoughts of going out just for one night, just to see what it was like. Those sorts of thoughts troubled you, deeply- leaving you worried you would actually follow through on your curiosity and corrupt yourself.

The lights in your apartment flicker, startling you, a gasp falling from your lips as they shut off entirely. The storm, your power was out. You clench your jaw, finding yourself thankful, for once for the red lights outside your window, illuminating your room in the darkness. Though, it had brought with it an ominous glow, the faint red tint to your darkened apartment almost more scary than if you had been in pitch black.

You creep forward, wooden floorboards creaking beneath your feet with every cautious move. The sound makes you shiver- your body tensing, eager to get out into your living room as you grab the white prayer candle that sits on your bedside table.

You bite the insides of your cheeks, the whole scene was unsettling- the rain, the fog, the darkness, you find yourself peering over your shoulder, like you're in some sort of horror movie, unaware of who or what could be lurking in the shadows.

"Power's out?" The sudden voice startles you- you jump back slightly, jerking your head to the source of the voice. It would seem the only thing lurking in your apartment tonight was your creepy roommate. Not creepy in the way of him being a creep, but, spooky, something odd about him. Much like the rest of your living situation, this too was less than ideal, he had actually been the boyfriend of the girl you had initially moved in with, someone you had known through university who had also been looking for somewhere cheap to live- but when the two of them had broken up it was he who had stuck around in the apartment- much to your disappointment.

His name was Joost, a few years your senior- you knew he did music, though you've never heard it, and that he works at an internet cafe not far from here. You didn't know much about him outside of that, despite sharing an apartment together, and that had been the way you had intended to keep it. He freaked you out. Up at all hours of the night, yet you'd never seen him in the daytime, always bringing random people through to the apartment that you'd never see again- you presumed for sex, as he didn't seem to care much about the commotion you would often over hear, the gasping and moaning. Visually, too, you'd never seen anyone like him, tall, covered in tattoos, a strange haircut, a perpetual thick, dark ring around his eyes. His eyes, a pale blue- the most striking thing about him, there was almost a lifeless quality about them, one that sent shivers down your spine whenever he had looked at you.

You had tried your best to avoid him when you could, and it worked, for the most part, he practically locked himself in his room during the day, and at night he usually worked, or was out doing god only knows what. It was best that way, making sure you weren't around him for extended periods of time- much as the nightlife here had peaked your curiosity, Joost had too. His peculiarities intrigued you, feeling almost mesmerized whenever you had been around him. And when you weren't around him…you had found yourself thinking about him. The longer he was around, the more frequent your thoughts would become.

At first it was merely innocent, wondering what he did with his life, why he was so, for lack of a better word strange, but they would get worse. Your mere curiosity about Joost spiraling into almost obsession. Slowly your thoughts becoming lustful, staying up late, ear pressed against your bedroom wall listening in on he and whoever he had brought home for the night. It wasn't right, no, not the way your hands would roam your body as you listened, finding their way between your thighs, gently brushing over the fabric of your pajamas- though, it would never go much further than that, not as the realization of what you had been doing began to hit. You'd wind up utterly disgusted with yourself, tears welling in your eyes as you curled up in your bed, guilt swallowing you whole.

"Did I scare you?" He laughs, there's something mocking in his tone as he relaxes back into the couch, obviously much more comfortable in the darkness than you, "Sorry." He lets out another cold chuckle.

"Didn't think you were home." Your voice is meek, eyes falling to the ground, heart still racing from the startle.

"Don't sound so disappointed."

"I'm not," You mumble, your eyes flick up slightly, allowing yourself to catch another glimpse of him, before quickly averting your gaze once again.

"Lady of such few words," He starts, "You know, I'm starting to think that you don't like me…"

"That's not true." You continue to ease your way into the living room, it's more well-lit than your bedroom, large, curtainless windows letting in more light from the street. You'd much prefer being out here, but Joost's presence fills you with unease.

"Why so short with me then?"

"Sorry." You apologize, eager to just light your candle and get back to your room now.

"You're even quieter than usual," He muses, "Scared of the dark?"

"A little," You admit, clutching the white candle between your two hands, fingernails digging into the soft wax.

"Oh no," You can't tell if his sympathy is feigned or not, "Why don't you let me keep you company then?"

"No, it's ok. I'm fine." Your words are fast, short, like you're rushing to get them off your tongue. Afraid of what being around Joost for any extended period of time will do to you- already feeling as if his mere presence has corrupted your mind.

"Please?" … Is he begging?… "Come sit with me."

"Okay," You whisper, nodding slowly as you walk over to the couch. Your steps are cautious, heart pounding in your chest, wishing you could just resist him, it was so easy, beckoning you towards him with just a simple please.

You sit just about as far as you possibly could from Joost, on the opposite side of the couch, pressing yourself to its arm. You stare straight in front of you, soaking in the way the room fills with thick unease.

"You want to light that?"

"Huh?" You nearly gasp, head snapping in Joost's direction.

"The candle." He points to your lap.

"Oh-uh, could you?" You look down at the white candle, it's misshapen from use, little crescent moon shapes litter its sides from where you had dug your fingernails into it.

"Of course," He smiles, a glimmer of something in his eyes, you can't quite put your finger on it- it's almost devious, yet you can't help but smile back, like he's drawing you towards him.

Joost lifts his hips off the couch slightly as he reaches for the back pocket of his jeans, the tight fitted tank top he wears rides up his stomach slightly, exposing a strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. You bite the insides of your cheeks, noticing the trail of blonde hairs that trail from just under his belly button to below the buckle of his belt. You blink a few times, attempting to avert your gaze. How pathetic, weak, tempted by such a measly amount of flesh.

He settles back onto the couch, lighter in hand,

"Are you there?" He chuckles. You shut your eyes for a moment, embarrassed at how he always seemed to notice the small intricacies of your behavior.

"Y-eah." Your voice breaking for a moment, quickly shoving the candle away from you, eager to just have Joost light it now.

"What's the hurry," Joost extends a hand to grab it from you, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches for the candle. They're like ice, the sudden sensation causing you to suck in a small gasp, "Is something wrong?*" He asks at your clear startle.

"You're so cold," You nearly whisper, shocked, horrified even. A sudden wave of concern overwhelms you, had something been wrong with him?

Your concern is merely met with a dry laugh, and a rhetorical, "You think so?" A small smirk appearing on his face as his hand climbs further up yours, fingers snaking around your wrist. You clutch the candle that still sits perched in your hand, your tight grip preventing your fingers from trembling in Joost's icy grip.

"A-are you okay? Are you sick?" Your face drops into a frown, your worry unwavering.

"Oh," He coos, his smirk still sticking to his lips, "You're too cute, I'm fine." He shakes his head, his grip suddenly loosening on your wrist, "Let me have this, hm?" As his other hand grabs the handle from your sturdy grasp. You remain in the same position even as the object is removed from your grip, your fingers remaining in the same position as your hand remains in front of you.

You can't help but continue to stare at Joost, eyes widening in bewilderment, he was a complete and utter mystery to you, an enigma. You didn't understand a thing about him, why he was the way he was, and why you found yourself so latched on to him. He seemed to intrigue you twice as much as he terrified you.

Your breath is shaky as you inhale

"Why are you so…"

"So…?" He trails off as his thumb flicks against the metallic wheel of his lighter, a small orange flame erupting, which he presses to the wick of the candle, "Cold?" He finishes.

"Yeah…" Exhale

"You really want to know?" He leans forward, placing the freshly lit candle onto the coffee table.

You nod, slowly, concerned about why he seemed so hesitant about telling you.

Joost's eyes dart around the room, cheeks hollowing as he bites the insides of them, giving the current conversation pause. Your breath feels stuck in your lungs, the tension suffocating. You figured this had probably been the longest you'd actually hung around Joost, usually doing your best to avoid him, god, you'd basically refuse to even make eye contact with him most of the time he was around.

"I don't know," He shakes his head, "I don't want to frighten you more than you already are."

"I'm not frightened!" You respond sharply, defensively, your voice raising what feels like a few octaves, as if you had something to prove.

"Oh no?" He raises an eyebrow, challenging your statement, "How come your heart is beating so fast?"

You place a hand to your chest, feeling the thumping of your heart beneath your palm, quick, unsteady, you are frightened, but it feels so pathetic hearing it out loud, Joost's near mockery setting you back into your most vulnerable state. Not just frightened, helpless.

"It is no-" You suddenly stop yourself, eyebrows furrowing, shaking your head, "How did you know how fast my heart is beating?" Your body grows stiff, what a peculiar thing for him to say.

"Lucky guess?" He shrugs, his words drawn out, like he isn't expecting you to believe him.

You feel yourself attempting to scoot away from Joost even further, as if you already aren't pushed into the arm of the couch. Silly girl, if you really wanted to get away, you'd get up and scurry back to your room now. Yet you stay put, that subconscious part of you that remains drawn to him weighing you down, keeping you right there on that couch.

Joost frowns, "I knew you were scared."

You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head, adamant that you were indeed not scared.

"You're being weird." Your bottom lip jutting out, forming a pout, "What is wrong with you?" It comes out with less genuine concern for Joost, and more unease than you were anticipating.

"I don't think you would believe me even if I told you," He chuckles, seemingly unaffected by your anxious state, "But I could show you…" A smirk suddenly reappearing on his lips, eyes looking as if they've suddenly glazed over.

You feel your jaw slack, as if you're about to say something, anything, but all you can do is nod, eager to know what all of this show from Joost had been about, what this mysterious thing was.

It was Joost who was moving now, shifting over slightly, inching closer to you, but not enough to close the gap between the two of you. You can feel your muscles tense, body trembling, even with the remaining space on the couch Joost had almost been too close for comfort. Yet your worst thoughts wished he'd come closer, close enough to touch. You bite down, hard enough for a dull ache to creep into your jaw, wishing to purge yourself of those urges.

"Give me your hand," Joost asks, you can tell it's more of a command than a request, even behind the softness of his voice. You don't even think to ask why, why he could possibly need you to give him your hand, you just do, arms uncrossing, muscles relaxing as he takes your hand into his, the coldness of his flesh still sending shivers down your spine, small little goosebumps littering your skin.

You stare as Joost raises your knuckles to his lips, was it not only a few minutes ago that you had sat down here under the mere presumption you'd keep each other company until the power came back on? How quickly you had let things move, you should pull your hand back, swat him away, not let him get any closer. His lips brush against your fingers before he presses a kiss just above your knuckles. You'd never been kissed before, not by a guy anyways.

Never in your life had you felt yourself so close to succumbing to temptation. The pressure of years worth of repression weighing heavy on you, the cracks in your immaculacy long been formed, you know it's only a matter of time before you crumble to pieces.

Though, perhaps this did not really count, Joost's actions seemed chaste enough, in stark contrast with the noises you had usually heard coming from his room at night. A slight smile on your face, no, this seemed too gentle, too sweet, this could not be you giving into temptation.

Yet you can't help but wonder what this all has to do with what Joost had been meaning to show you, what all this has to do with why as your hand rests in his it feels almost as if you're touching a corpse.

Joost's lower lip drags upwards against your fingers, it's almost startling the lack of warmth that emanates from him, expecting his breath to be hot on your skin, yet still, he's ice cold. Still holding onto you, Joost twists your hand, forcing your palm open, his lips now against your wrist.

Joost inhales, breathing deeply, chest rising slowly, before he exhales at an equally steady pace,

"You…" He starts, before inhaling again, eyes closing as a smile tugs at his lips, exhale, "Smell delicious."

You furrow your eyebrows, your intrigue in Joost unable to override your unease with the comment, though, you supposed it had just been an odd way of saying he liked your perfume.

"Th…ank you?" Your voice wavers slightly, the tension of the situation mingling with the discomfort Joost had often brought you, the strange mix of emotions paralyzing you. All you can do is watch as Joost presses a soft kiss to your wrist. He can surely feel the way your fingers tremble as he holds them in his own hand, and how the veins in your wrist throb with trepidation.

Joost looks up for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you had never quite seen.

"I'm sorry…" He starts, and at the two simple words you feel a pit forming in your stomach, as each second passes growing more anxious about what is to come next, "I'm sorry, I really don't want to scare you…. but you asked… and I just…don't think I can control myself."

It all feels so very strange, the way he speaks, is cryptic, like he's skirting around something, purposefully misleading you, leaving you out of the loop.

"Can't control yourself how-ahh!" A high pathetic yelp leaving your throat at the sharp, piercing sensation that enters your wrist, like nothing you had ever felt before. It's almost agonizing, eyes widening and filling with tears as you look down at Joost, teeth sinking into your skin.

If you pull your arm away he'll surely tear a chunk out of your flesh, his jaw clamped down tight, your eyes flick to your wrist, realizing he's broken more than just skin.

Your head tips back, chest rising as you suck in a sharp breath, eyes rolling backwards, your jaw tenses, you can't muster a sound, not even a scream as Joost's teeth dig into your wrist. Your body writhes, squirming uncontrollably, still careful not to make any sudden movements with your arm.

"Wh- what are you-" You manage to gasp out, breathy, guttural, sounds you've surely never made before- fitting, considering you've never experienced pain of this manner before, "Oh my god!" You're practically shrieking, you hope just this once the Lord will forgive you for using his name in vain, surely he'd understand the circumstances.

Suddenly- the pain ceases, or at the very least, eases. Your body trembles, tremors rocking you hard, yet if it wasn't for your nerves taking hold of you, you surely would have gone limp by now- your head fuzzy, you didn't even have to look down at your wrist to know you'd been losing blood. The wet, warmth that slid down to your hand was enough to alert you to the fact you were bleeding, how badly it was you were unsure of yet.

Slowly, you lift your head back up, your neck straining to maintain the weight.

You notice the way Joost looks up at you first, the sharp ache disappearing for a moment as your eyes meet his- wide, and icy blue. They're almost lifelike, but so mesmerizing in the ways that they are not, puzzled as you try to figure out what his gaze is missing, wondering how to make him whole.

Joost drops your wrist, limp, it falls to your lap, blood dripping onto the white fabric of your white, lacy nightgown. Your own injury seems so far from your mind however, not as you watch the crimson droplets slide down Joost's chin, his blood-stained lips curling into a smirk. He seems proud of himself, for goring you. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, not wanting to waste a drop of the bloody mess he's made of you.

Your teeth chatter, out of anxiety, and the lingering cold of his touch, you can still feel his icy fingers gripping into you even after he's let go.

It made so much sense now, the way Joost drew you to him, his strange behavior, why he only left the house at night, the noises you'd hear from his room, his coldness…

"The dead are meant to sleep until judgement… yet you walk among us…" You're thinking out loud more than you are talking to Joost, voice merely a whisper.

"You figured out what I am?" He finally speaks, voice low, sly. He's amused.

"Vampire."

"Very good," He nods slowly, he seems pleased but your own words echo in your ears at the accusation. Saying it out loud made it so real.

You look down into your lap, the sting of your wounds returning once your sights are set back onto the torn flesh of your wrist, the bleeding ceaseless, pooling on the white fabric below, staining- claiming the garment.

You can feel Joost's quiet satisfaction.

"You breathe… but you do not live" You shake your head, "There's no soul left in you… is there?" Your eyes widen at the realization. He's just wrong. Him. A perversion of everything you'd ever been taught, a body that lives on instead of a soul. "No soul." You repeat once again, bewildered as you shake your head, like that was the worst thing about this.

No life, no light, no redemption on the other side. You wonder about the man Joost was, who he could have been, You feel your eyes well up with tears, a quiet mourning for the Joost you never knew.

Selfishly- you're mourning for yourself too, the nights you'd stayed up, plagued with thoughts of him, delicate fingers inching closer and closer to bringing yourself to sin- it had been all for not. Your temptation now seemed almost unforgivable. Lust for a man was one thing, but lust for something so unholy, whose mere existence spat in the face of the life God had breathed from his very own nostrils into his creation. How could you repent?

Surely, you're mourning is for the purity of your soul, certainly, not for what could have been.

"No soul?" He asks. You nod. Just body, just impulse. "Who's to say?" He shrugs, "I still feel things…" He trails off for a moment before pausing, gaze meeting yours once again, forcing your breath to catch in your lungs over the intensity of his stare. It's haunting now, knowing the truth, knowing what was missing from behind those beautiful blue eyes, "… You feel them too, don't you?"

Your lips part, but words fail you, your mind a mess, the loss of blood doesn't help.

Joost picks your hand back up from your lap, your wrist limp in his grasp. He's careful not to stick his fingers near the open wounds, his icy palm simply holding your wrist.

"I know that it hurt you…" His voice grows softer, as if he's about to apologize for the carnage he caused, "Why didn't you tell me to stop?"

The simple four letter word hadn't even occurred to you, and perhaps you could blame it on the pain, the sheer agony that overtook you as his teeth tore into your flesh. But you knew what Joost had been getting at- you didn't want him to.

That thought terrifies you more than his fangs ever could, knowing if he asked you'd let him drink from you again and again.

You don't answer Joost, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting to what he already knows is true. You had already given up so much to him tonight, you needed to at least save something for yourself.

"Does it scare you?" He asks

Your head perks up at the question, confused. Lots of things scare you now, perhaps everything at this moment was frightening.

"Does what scare me?"

"That you still want it." His voice is low, teasing, "Want me."

Joost's fingers tighten around your already aching wrist, a sharp sting shooting up your arm as his fingertips graze over the bites he's left in your flesh. A moan escapes you, one you attempt to bite back, to hide that it is not entirely out of pain.

You wince, wanting nothing more than to curl up inside yourself and disappear. You're crumbling under the heavy weight of his gaze.

"You've bewitched me…" Your muttered words are nothing more than a faint accusation, a desire to blame the lapses in your piety in something other than yourself, "You did this."

"No," Joost shakes his head in earnest, "I'm a man of many talents…but mind control isn't one of them. Your thoughts are your own."

Your lip begins to quiver, the tears that had begun to well in your eyes ready to spill,

"They can't…" You whisper, "No," You blink as the small, wet, droplets finally leak down your cheek, looking up, staring into the dark of the apartment, "God, forgive me." You choke, your pleading weak as Joost remains in front of you, his mere presence slowly draining you of your desire to remain faithful.

You pull back your hand, yet the cool of his palm lingers. The candle Joost had lit flickers in your periphery, you glance toward it, the wax you'd prayed over so many times, rosary gripped tight between your fingers.

You'd lost it now, mind racing, prayer after prayer scrambles in your mind, fragments of pleas for protection, yet you cannot fully find the words.

"Why fight it?" Joost seems, almost fascinated by your state, his question raw, inquisitive.

"Because." Your face twists up as you spit the short word back at Joost, "I'm not like you."

"Like me?" He seems taken aback, almost offended, like this whole ordeal hasn't all been about how different he is than you.

"Yes, like you, a monster." Your eyes widen in terror, as it settles on your tongue, that's truly what he is. The type of creature great works of horror are written about, has been living amongst you.

"You think being human is all that makes you good?"

"Yes, Joost," His name feels oddly pleasant in your mouth, sweeter than you had expected, "Jo…" You have to stop yourself from saying it again, "My soul matters!"

"If your soul matters so much, then why do you deny what it so obviously wants?"

"I want…" You take in a deep breath, exhaling with equal force, a tingle of anger quivering beneath you, who is Joost to tell you what you want? "I want to be good. I want to be more than desire."

"So you do desire me?" A grin spreads across his lips, his teeth still marked with your blood, a stark reminder of who Joost was, and what he had done to you, making simple desire not-so-simple.

"I prayed for this feeling to pass," You whisper, "I begged for it to go away." You grit your teeth,

"And did it?"

"No," You concede, "B-but, that doesn't make it right."

"But it's real, stop denying it, it's you."

"I wish it wasn't." You shake your head, "I should be scared of you." Your voice breaks once more, tears continuing to slip down your cheeks, your head beginning to ache from the strain, "But I'm just so much more scared of myself… how finding out what you are has only made me want you more."

Joost's icy palm grazes your cheek, his thumb stretching out to wipe away a singular tear. You don't mean to, but you find yourself leaning into his touch, for as cold and as lifeless as it was, it was a comforting contrast to the heat of the moment.

"I know how it feels…" Joost sighs, continuing to brush the pad of his thumb to your cheek, "…to be afraid of yourself."

"Do you really know how to feel?" You ask in desperation, as if Joost's capability for feeling would make your predicament any more salvageable, as if falling for an undead creature of the night was made any more worthy of forgiveness merely because he could feel?

"I was once just a man."

"I wish I could have known him…" That feeling of grief returning, not for someone you lost but from someone you'll never know.

You picture him then, warm blooded, full of life. You imagine what the sun must look like in the reflection of his pale blue eyes, how they had probably made him sensitive to the light, even then- squinting, nose scrunched up with a sweet smile on his light pink lips, full of real color, not merely just stained with blood.

You wonder if that part of him is still inside, and if Joost mourns who he used to be too.

"I'm not so different now," He chuckles wryly, "Please, just let me show you."

You nod, barely a small trembling movement of permission. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, shaking your entire body. You feel it in your stomach, your throat, your fingertips as it pounds into you.

You know Joost can hear it too, its frantic rhythm calling to a more monstrous part of him. You can't help but think about how many hearts he must have had before yours, how many beat under his touch- in fear, in lust. Still, he listens as if your heartbeat is the only one he's ever known.

Joost leans forward, but before you even have a moment to catch what he's doing his lips are on yours, nearly stealing the breath from your lungs. It wasn't quite what you had imagined for your first kiss, certainly, a lot more blood than you had ever anticipated any kisses to be filled with. The bitter, metallic taste coats the inside of your mouth, you wished it had made you want to gag, to pull away, the stark reminder of what Joost is.

But you couldn't, the taste was enticing, for all of its tang, and unpleasantness, it was you, the very blood that kept you alive now being brought back to you.

You part your lips, both in surrender and in anxious curiosity- was this what Eve felt when she had tasted the forbidden fruit? The hunger, the unbearable need to know.

Joost's other hand finds its way to your waist, gripping at the soft, silky material of your slip, his tight grasp anchoring you to the couch, like you still may flee. But you won't, and you both know it.

Your lips struggle to find Joost's pace, the totality of the night working against you in keeping up with him. Yet you try, fearing if you pull away even for a moment, even just to catch your breath this will all disappear.

Joost's hand slips from your cheek down to your neck, cold fingers digging into the warm flesh just below your ear. You wonder if he feels the way your pulse throbs under his touch, if it brings out some sort of hunger within him. You can't but almost wish that it does, some sick desire within you that yearns to feel his teeth in you again, for you to be what sustains his life, at least for a little while. You need him to want you for more than just this.

You reach out a hand, placing your palm to his chest, feeling the thin fabric of his white tank top beneath you- you want to feel him really feel him, skin to skin.

"Are you still fighting me?" He asks, pulling away slightly, his bottom lip still dragging across yours, perhaps mistaking your gesture for a desire to create space between the two of you. You feel his breath on your face as he speaks from such close proximity, it's warm, it almost surprises you, half expecting his breath to be just as cold as his touch.

"I should be."

"But you aren't." Joost pulls back even farther, his lips no longer touching yours, "Look at me." His words aren't demanding, but out of a genuine desire to see the whole of your face, to take in the entirety of you.

You concede, eyes locking with his once more, a mutual desire heavy in the way the two of you gaze at each other- the longing is intense, as if Joost had been some long lost lover of yours that you had gone years without seeing, and not someone who had been practically a stranger to you.

He's more handsome than ever now, even with the dried, red stains that still hang around his lips, and disheveled hair, the moment only had made your attraction to him grow.

"Tell me you want this."

"Don't… don't make me say it." Your bottom lip pokes out, quivering as your muscles form a pout, no- once again, saying it made it real. It seemed much easier to beg for forgiveness when your sins were hypothetical, but now that the opportunity sat right in front of you…

"Yes," His voice is breathy, pathetic, almost begging, "I need to hear you say it. Need to know you want it. This could ruin you… I could ruin you."

You smile, tear streaked and trembling,

"You already have."

Joost smiles back, yet you can't quite tell if it's with pride or shame, perhaps a strange mixture of the two.

"Then why are you hesitating?" He asks, "I need to hear you say you want this."

Truthfully, you didn't know what this was- for him to feed on you again? To be turned?… Perhaps something more intimate? Did it really matter, you wanted all of the above, you wanted him.

"I want…" You inhale, holding the breath in your throat, letting it suffocate you for a moment before you finally speak, "You." Your final word shaky, filled with tension, like you've just confessed and you're waiting to receive your penance, "All of you."

Joost's expression softens into something painfully tender, "All of me?" He repeats, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Maybe not," You whisper, "But I want to find out."

Joost nods, wordlessly, rather reserving the moment to take you in, examine your state, how quickly he'd gotten you undone for him.

Not even the chill of Joost's touch can save you from the thick, humid tension that surrounds you, the only thing sharp enough to tear through it was Joost's teeth- knowing it was just a matter of time before he was sinking them into you again.

The thought sends a shock wave throughout your body, feeling a familiar tingling sensation down your legs, a warmth growing in your lower belly. It had been that same feeling that had plagued you so often late at night, the one that had you folding in on yourself, sobbing, begging for forgiveness.

But it seemed right now, now that your desire was something real, tangible, in front of you.

"Will it hurt?" Again, you're not quite sure what you're asking about, unsure of where Joost intends on leading the night- your utter inexperience with men, much less vampires, leaving you entirely in the dark on this.

"Will what hurt?" He raises an eyebrow, clearly needing clarification, "What do you want, hm?" He hums, and he's really asking, his voice low, mellow, ready to give you whatever it is you ask for.

But you don't want to say it, you don't want to ask- you wouldn't even know how to. All you knew was the deep pit that was settled in you, a hole that yearned to be filled, a craving that needed to be satisfied. You open your mouth, but the words elude you- it isn't a feeling you know how to articulate, and it feels so heavy, so wrong even if you could do so,

"I guess," You drop your gaze sinking down into your lap, it shouldn't be so hard, you'd already given everything else up tonight, why not this? A small laugh escapes you, finding humor in the awkward way your brain had found away to skirt around most of Joost's questions, "Well, I guess I was just hoping you wanted me for more than just a meal."

"Oh," He sighs, his thumb rubbing at the side of your neck, feeling the way your artery thumps below him, a sickly sweet smile on his face, like he's genuinely finding some sympathy for you, like there's something really beating in the dark cavity of his chest. "I should have known." He chuckles slightly- it's quick, dry, a small puff of air leaving his nostrils as he tilts his head, deepening his gaze towards you, "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

You grit your teeth, the small phrase feeling more like an accusation than a question. You aren't ashamed of that fact, no, before tonight you had intended to keep it that way. But the deep knowledge of your inexperience pains you in the face of Joost, who you're sure has done this time and time before. Jealousy, maybe.

Joost sees the tension in his face, his smile faltering, not entirely, but just enough to show something quieter, gentler- not that you notice.

"It's not such a bad thing, you know?" His hand slides up to your chin, fingers pushing up to get you to look at him, but even as your eyes meet his level, you avert your gaze, staring past him, out at the window that's opposite you, taking in the misty, red glow, "I'll try to be gentle," He pauses, "If that's what you want, I mean- Well, I'm hardly ever anyone's first."

You fixed your gaze, his words settling uncomfortably in your ears- a confirmation of how many times over he's done this before. You blink a few times, wondering if you should stay, for as much as you wanted him you couldn't stand the thought of this not meaning anything, of you just being another fix.

"I didn't mean it like that," He says, softer now, "It's kind of sweet, you know? If you'll let me…"

You don't speak, deep i thought about what's to happen next,

"I know what I must look like to you," His hands slipping back down to your neck, thumb brushing over your pulse again, his touch feather light. He ducks his head slightly allowing you the chance to look down at him the other way around, to be something other than a predator, "That I'm careless… I am… I've fed, and fucked, and ruined and been ruined… But I need you to know I feel too."

His words echo, he feels too, still it's hard to believe, even for how many times tonight he's repeated it. You search his face for the detachment you'd feared, trying to grasp what he really is. But you don't find it, even in the depths of those lifeless blue eyes, there's something there, something that almost makes him feel human.

"I want to know what you feel." Your voice full of longing, desperate to know what this means to him- if it's all really worth turning your back on your faith for, if he's worth forsaking everything you'd ever believed in, "If it's something more than hunger."

"I couldn't put a name to it," Joost shakes his head, "Not hunger, it's a need far deeper, less primal- I-" He stops for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows, you watch as he seems to attempt to decipher his feelings in real time, waiting with baited breath for what he says next, "This feeling… it reminds me of who I used to be."

Your eyes widen, intrigued, desperate to bring whatever life was still left in Joost to the surface, anxious that feeling within him will flee once the moment passes.

"I'm worried," You sigh, voice small, "That this is just a fleeting feeling," You bite the inside of your cheeks, unsure of how to proceed, "What if, whatever happens tonight- what if I like it, what if I want it again?"

Joost had done little more but kiss you tonight, yet still, you could feel what was beginning to burn inside you. If you had been so willing to give everything up for him, you needed him to do the same, to relinquish any desires he'd have for anyone that wasn't you. Never wanting him to spill the blood of another again, only you, you craved the feeling of being his.

"Isn't that the best part of being with a vampire?" Joost asks, his lips curling into a rigid smile, "That you can have me forever."

You swallow down Joost's words, the weight of forever sinking straight into your stomach. Forever, you know it's as much a curse as it is a gift.

"Will that be enough?" You ask, timid, "Me, forever?"

Joost's lips remain upright, still bent into a smile,

"There's only one way to find out…" He trails off, hand falling from your neck, his palm traces down your arm, you shiver, hoping one day you'll get used to the cool of his touch. Your skin pebbled with small goosebumps under where he's touched, hairs standing on end, his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, "Can I bring you somewhere more comfortable? To your room?"

You nod, slowly, allowing him to get up and lead you out of the living room. The apartment is silent, save for the creak of the floorboards beneath your anxious steps, and the heavy patter of the rain outside.

You're so caught up in what's to come next you've hardly realized you've reached your room until Joost is stopping, just before the threshold. You know by stepping in you're sealing your fate, that you'll be damning yourself by welcoming him in.

Your jaw clenches as you take the first step into the darkness of your bedroom, the streetlights outside providing enough light to just barely make out the surface of things.

You turn back at Joost, who's still standing just outside the door frame,

"I thought vampires only needed to be welcomed inside someone's home," Your statement is said half in earnest, curious about what Joost's affliction actually entailed, what rules he was bound by and what was merely a product of Hollywood's imagination.

"I don't usually wait for an invitation… but now it feels wrong not to."

"Please," You sigh, your hand still in his, digging your fingers into the valleys between his knuckles, pulling at his arm, a beg for him to join you in your room.

Wordlessly- Joost complies, stepping through the threshold, closing the door behind him. The thunk of the door echoes in your ears, signaling to you there was really no turning back now, and that the night had really only just begun.

It's like the temperature of the room shifts with him- colder now. But it only makes you all the more eager, to feel more than just his presence.

"Lay down with me?" You ask, meek, unsure of how to go about these sorts of things, but you know you want to get to your bed and to share that space with Joost.

Joost tilts his head in the direction of your bed, beckoning you to walk over, your hand still clasped over his.

As you near the edge of your bed, Joost slips his hands from yours, to reach for your waist instead, guiding you down to sit with him, the mattress giving slightly under the weight- creaking softly.

Joost hums, the sound low in his throat, as he begins to lower himself beside you, the bed once again shifting under the length of his body. You follow his movements, his hand still pressed to your waist to guide you with him. You lay at your side, head propped up on your flimsy pillows, facing him.

What little light seeps from the windows is just enough for you to make out Joost's features, but you can hardly take a moment to marvel at him, distracted by the way your lips ache, puffy and throbbing, eager to feel him on them again.

"Please, can I kiss you again," Your voice is hoarse, ready to plead for the opportunity.

Joost's grip tightens on your waist, pulling your hip closer to him,

"Oh," He smirks, his voice low and even, a stark contrast to the nerves in yours, "You don't even have to ask, come here." He finally pulls you to him, your hip connecting with the thick leather of his belt.

It's quick- the way his lips stick to yours, finding a perfect rhythm. Each kiss is deliberate, savoring the way the space between your lips close, as if it will be your last. That vague metallic taste remains on Joost's tongue- and for a split moment you're struck worth worry, that you'll grow to enjoy its bitterness, even as a mere mortal, on account of the way it reminds you of Joost.

Joost's fingertips dig further into the slippery silk fabric of your nightgown, pressing further into your flesh, massaging gently as he rocks you back and forth in the kiss. You push yourself into his touch, hips steadily gyrating, almost instinctively.

Joost's teeth catch your lower lip, giving it a slight pinch before returning to the kiss. A small, high pitched whimper escapes your mouth between movements at the twinge, and you can feel Joost smile into the kiss at your reaction.

Your hand snakes up his side, finally getting to really feel Joost under your touch. You want your hands all over him, for no surface of his flesh to go unscathed by your fingertips. You grip onto his shoulder, fingernails digging deep into his bicep, surely leaving little indents as you crane your neck to deepen the kiss.

Your movements begin to become sloppy, each kiss less deliberate and more hungry, tongue escaping your lips, just as eager to consume as he is. You almost don't realize how cold he is under your touch, and for a moment he seems just as alive as you are.

Joost shifts slightly, rolling you with him so your back fully hits the mattress, his body hovering over yours. He holds himself above you, forcing you to stare up at him once again. He's much more intimidating like this, as if that was even possible. He stares down at you, eyes still striking even in the dark of the room, his hunger apparent in his glassy gaze, eyes trained on your body, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

But even as Joost is damn close to feeding on you again, you can't help but feel like you need this just as much as him, that you'd let him feed on you again and again- desperate for you and you alone to satiate his hunger.

"So impolite of me," Joost's voice soft as silk as that familiar smile creeps onto his face, "Sunk my teeth into you and I never even told you…" He shakes his head, pausing for a moment, "How beautiful I think you are."

Even as Joost is ice cold, you feel yourself growing hot, the mixture of the intensity of the moment, Joost's sharp gaze, and sweet words are enough to make you feel like you are burning up. You let your lips curl upwards, reveling in his compliments as he continues.

"Really," His voice earnest, eyes staring deep into yours, "Beautiful, like nothing I've ever seen."

You almost want to turn away, to avert your gaze and cower into the pillow as the blood rushes to your cheeks, a small giggle leaving your lips, a testament to your shyness in the situation. You'd never been called beautiful in such a way before, sure, platonic compliments from friends, or cheesy remarks from family- but not like this.

Not in the way where you wanted him to see more of you, ready to bare it all just so you can hear that word again.

Joost's weight shifts as he leans down to kiss you again. Once more, his movements beginning, tender and slow. You kiss him back with equal tenderness, legs parting so he can better fit between him, his weight shifting to his knees. Your thighs stretch to either side of him, knees bending, cradling his hips, the fabric of your nightgown lifts up, pooling at your upper thighs. At the side of your head Joost holds the rest of his weight on his forearm, using his freehand to trace down the freshly exposed skin of your leg.

At first his hand remains on the outer part of your thigh, brushing back and forth, a shiver coursing through you as goosebumps litter your skin. Joost allows you a moment to get used to the chill of his touch before his hand slowly rolls down to your knee, thumb tucking in at the back of your leg, gently guiding it down more, spreading your legs further.

It's a move so small, but you can't help but gasp, messing up the rhythm of the kiss as you try to catch your escaped breath.

Joost's hand begins to trace further up your leg, and you feel a twitch in between your thighs. The sensation almost makes you gasp again, your back arching into the feeling- you'd never come so close to experiencing something like this, your nerves now exposed to something entirely new, the pulsing between your legs is almost entirely foreign. It's almost like an ache, something that desperately needs tending to.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, your body tensing with each slight move Joost's hand makes upwards,

"Tell me again that you want this," Joost suddenly breaks away from this kiss, his voice breathy- the coolness of his demeanor slipping for just a moment, revealing his utter desperation.

"Yes, please" You inhale, the pitch of your voice raising, you arch your back again, the control your body seems to have over you is startling. Your whole life you'd worked to not just deny, but overcome your flesh, but now you were held captive by it, your every move controlled by instinct and pure carnal desire, "Please," You mewl, "I want this, I want you. All of you."

Joost hums, gently nuzzling his nose against yours, lips just barely brushing against each other, his breath is cold as he exhales,

"Okay, needy girl," You can't quite tell if he's mocking you, but it's true, you are needy for him, "I'm gonna hold you to that." By now he's holding the innermost part of your thigh, right where it connects to your hip, fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear.

He's yet to resume kissing you, the only audible sound in the room are your trembling breaths, chest heaving as deep as it can, your breath surely hot on Joost's face. It's pathetic really, but you can't help yourself, far too caught up in the moment to attempt to collect yourself, or at the very least pretend to.

Joost's head suddenly dips, his lips now at your jaw, pecking lightly before beginning to place, slow, languid kisses to the bone. Your body curves into his touch, back raising off the mattress, chest raising to his. You throw your arms around Joost's back, desperate to keep him close to you, fingertips once again digging into the skin exposed by the back of his tank top.

The pace of your breathing only intensifies as Joost's lips trail down lower, leaving your jaw and beginning to suck at the throbbing artery in your neck. You tip your head to the side, allowing him greater access to you, welcoming whatever was to happen next.

It almost surprises you how well Joost can pace himself, so close to what he desires more than anything- the very thing that keeps him alive, and yet he denies himself again and again as his teeth don't even do as much as graze your neck, with kiss after kiss. That same restraint cannot be said for you, squirming beneath Joost, each kiss from his lips, or lick from his tongue only making you more, and more desperate, hips bucking in an attempt to get Joost to move his hand. Yet he doesn't budge.

At the same time you begin to feel Joost's hips pressing into you, yet from his position kneeled between your legs you can't feel much, the mere sensation of his fingertips brushing against the edge of the fabric of your underwear utterly overwhelming your senses.

Joost nuzzles his face into your neck, his cheek rubbing against you,

"You're just so warm," He sighs, "So full of life, I almost feel bad to take that from you, and fill you with anything else."

"No," You huff, "Take- take it I'm yours." You don't stutter out of anxiety but out of the way your desire begins to consume you, your brain becoming fuzzy as the only thing you can think about is him.

"Trust me," Joost purrs before pressing a quick peck to the inside of your neck, "I will."

Immediately, a breathy, high mewl escapes your throat as Joost's hand finally moves, a single finger brushing over the crotch of your underwear. The single touch, as Joost grazes your core sends a sharp, intense pang through you, your body twitching.

"Wooow," Joost muses, "You've really never been touched like this at all, have you?"

You cannot muster up a verbal reply, you only thrash your head back and forth against the pillow, bumping into his cheek a few times, signaling a no.

"Yeah," Joost breathes out, "Maybe you'll be too sensitive then… maybe I shouldn't-"

"No. Nono- I'm, please, I'm fine." The thought of this stopping now, of Joost slipping through your hands, it's all too much to bear, and all you can do is babble mindlessly, begging him to keep going.

Joost chuckles, his short laughter- dry.

"Kidding, of course," You can all but hear the smirk in his voice, "That would be evil of me. No, I wouldn't do that to you." Joost places a thumb to the soft, cotton fabric of your panties, tapping right above your clit, each short movement sending jolts down your legs, you can't even get out a sigh of relief, breath getting caught in your throat.

His tapping turns to long, gentle circles, at a pace, even for your inexperience feels agonizingly slow. Still, all you can do is grip into the back of his shoulders, savoring every drawn out touch, Joost's fingers every once and awhile tracing down the crotch of your underwear, before returning. With your head tipped back on the pillow, and your jaw slacked open, short breaths and little whimpers leave your mouth.

Perhaps Joost was right about your sensitivity, legs beginning to tremble around him despite him still only touching above fabric. Maybe you wouldn't be able to handle the real thing. But you have to try.

"More," You rasp out, anxious to take things further, "Please, more." You couldn't believe yourself, it was like someone had completely taken over your body, someone you didn't recognize. But it was you, you who was begging for sin, to indulge in this wickedness with someone who strayed so far from the divine.

"What do you want?" Joost asks, voice low, a certain liquidity to it, "This?" His finger slips into your underwear, pulling them to the side, the sudden rush of air in contact with wet skin sending a chill through you, making you feel all the more exposed. Your legs almost instinctively snap shut at the feeling of Joost's cold finger brushing between your slick, a slight yelp leaving your lips, a feeling unlike anything you ever felt before, forcing your eyes to screw shut. "Hey!" Joost chastises as your knees bump his side, a result of your legs attempting to close, "I know," He sighs, "But if you can't keep your legs open I can't go any further."

Slowly, your legs begin to part again as you nod, knees returning back to their original position. Joost continues to run a single finger up and down your folds, his motions still slow, on the brink of teasing. Nevertheless, it's enough for you to get some sensation out of, your eyes remaining shut tight as your face switches between screwing up tight, or your jaw almost becoming entirely unhinged.

Your small, soft, whines begin to build into something louder, more reactive as Joost's movements become less and less lazy and more deliberate. Nudging you with the side of his face, he knocks your head to the side, giving himself access- once again, to your neck. He returns his lips to you, laying his tongue flat against a throbbing artery before he presses a wet kiss to the same spot. The feeling of having Joost in two places at once is almost too much, but he seems to pay no mind to your squirming, almost mindlessly continuing on with what he's been doing.

You feel Joost's hand slip from where it had been, his palm suddenly pressing against your clit. He takes a moment to find where he wants to be, still preoccupied with his head in your neck. You feel a finger beginning to spread your folds, another sliding towards your entrance, circling for a moment before beginning to slip in.

The sensation is nothing like you've felt before, it's only a finger, yet the stretch is noticeable, foreign- not what you had been expecting it to be. You wince, at the sensation, Joost suddenly stopping.

"Shit-" He mutters against your neck, before pressing another kiss just below your ear, "Please, please sweetie, relax," He breathes, the simple pet name sweetie ringing in your ear, like you were something to him- you are something to him, "It will be uncomfortable if you keep being so tense."

"Oh- uh" You mumble, unsure of how to suddenly just loosen up, years of being taught to fear and prolong this very moment, were hitting you all at once. Every single echo of priests, or Sunday school teachers drilling it into you that this was meant to be saved for marriage, that it shouldn't be done out of pleasure but purely for the sake of having children rattles down the corridors of your mind. Your eyes begin to well up with tears, guilt beginning to creep back into your body.

With a sniffle, tears are beginning to spill out of your eyes, and no longer are your fingertips digging into Joost's shoulders, but you've fully wrapped your arms around him, pulling him even closer to you, his weight collapsing onto your chest.

Joost stops kissing you for a moment, clearly caught off guard for your sudden, seeming need for, a more wholesome form of affection. His hand falls from between your thighs, sliding up your leg to rest on your hip now.

"You're okay," He assures, "Let me sit up, mkay?*"

You nod, letting go of your grip on him, his free hand making your pillow dip as he uses it to prop himself back up. Resting on his shins, Joost still sits between your legs, looking down at you. You can hardly look up at him through your tear-stained eyes, for as guilty as you felt about betraying your faith, you had still felt all the more guilty for Joost having to deal with it- to make him bear the brunt of your anxieties.

"My poor crybaby," A smile pulling at his mouth, half mocking, half affectionate. He outstretches his hand, brushing your cheek with his thumb, far too affectionate for him to be genuinely mocking you, "What happened, huh?"

"Nothing," You sniffle, turning to lay your head on the side, so you don't have to look at him, "Just give me a second- it's just all so new-" You nuzzle your head against the pillow, attempting to dry your tears, "I don't want to stop… but it's just…" You move your head once again, looking back up at him, "I'm scared." You whisper, barely able to muster the confession out.

Joost nods, as if he could possibly understand. He tilts his head, lips slightly parted,

"You've been so good your whole life, haven't you?" his voice low, but above a whisper, "Scared of stepping out of line now, with me?"

You swallow hard, throat growing tight- his words cutting straight through the noise in your mind. You nod. Exactly

Joost brushes his palm against your upper thigh, rubbing affectionately, betraying the darker look in his eyes,

"You want this though, don't you?"

Once again, you nod.

"Good," He murmurs, "That's good." It isn't so much of a praise as it is approval, "Let's try again then, hm? Something different this time."

You smile slightly, blinking away the remaining tears in your eyes.

"Sit up, pretty."

You oblige, firmly planing your hands on either side of you, rising up from your spot on the bed. Joost's palm returns to your cheek after you sit up, thumb dragging down your bottom lip, an almost cruel smile on his face.

"How about you take the lead for a little bit…" He suggests, and this puzzles you- you, take the lead? As if you had any clue what you were doing.

Joost must notice your face, the way your eyebrows furrow, eyelids squinting as if you can't figure out what to do next.

"Just…" He starts, "I think you'll feel better if things start on your terms, tell me what you want, sweetie, anything."

You blink for a moment, eyes wide, like there isn't a single thought behind them. Oh but there was, your mind reeling, looking for the right thing to say,

"Anything," He repeats again, his smile softening to something more reassuring, "No shame."

"Um…" You start, "Okay," You sigh, "Well, I think I'll feel more comfortable, if we're both undressed."

"I think so too…" Joost nods, slowly, measured, "Do you want to undress me, or should I?"

You pause for a moment, but you don't really need to think about it,

"C-can I?" Your voice is meek, as if Joost hadn't emphasized there was no shame, as if he hadn't just asked if you wanted to do this.

"That's what I hoped you'd say."

Joost gets off the bed, the mattress shifting slightly as his weight lifts from it, moving to stand in front of you. He's so much taller now, his crotch just below eye-level as you move to swing your legs over the side of the bed.

"I'm all yours." Joost smirks.

You take a moment to look Joost up and down, before reaching your hands out with trepidation. Your arms in front of you, your eyes suddenly return to your wrist, almost forgetting the wound Joost had left on it, a not so subtle reminder of who he really was, what you were really dealing with. Yet it doesn't make you hesitate, not as your fingertips settle on the waistband of his jeans, feeling the rough denim beneath them for a moment before tracing down to the large metal buckle of his belt.

It's too dark to make out the design on it, but you let yourself feel its bumps and grooves, pausing for a moment, deciding how to make your move. You slide your thumb under the buckle, twisting your uninjured wrist to slowly pull the leather from the loops of his jeans. You then place the palm of your other hand against the metal buckle, steadying yourself, wincing as you apply pressure against your injured wrist. Still- you continue, tugging at the end of Joost's belt to fully free it from his jeans.

It startles you slightly, once the buckle hits the hard wood of your floor, body twitching at the high pitched sound. It calls you back to the moment, what you were doing, thumbing the button on his jeans. You don't bother to look up at Joost as you fumble with the small, circular metal, you can already feel his eyes searing into the top of your head, and you fear you'll crumble entirely under the weight of his gaze.

Finally, once the button is undone you can un-zipper his jeans, you anchor your opposite hand to his upper thigh as you tug at the zipper, sliding down its length with very little force. You hear Joost inhale deeply as your fingers brush over his crotch, feeling him beginning to stiffen under your light touch.

Once Joost's zipper is undone you finally manage to look up at Joost, eyes searching for permission to carry on, despite already knowing you had it. Still, even as Joost suggested that you take the lead you still felt like you needed him to guide you, desiring his approval at every step of this process.

Joost knocks his head back slightly, chin flicking upward to beckon you to go forward. You make a small nodding motion with your head as Joost affirms what you already knew what you should do. You push your thumbs into the waistband of Joost's jeans, fingers lightly brushing against the soft skin of his lower stomach as they hook into the thick fabric. Carefully, you begin to pull them down, careful to not catch his underwear as you do so, desiring to remove each piece of his clothing individually. You'd assumed his jeans must have been a size or two big, with the ease you were able to slide them down, even at his thighs. You finally let go once they reach his knees, dropping them so he can kick the pooled fabric to the side to be discarded along with his belt.

You trail your gaze up his legs, back to your eye line. You swallow, gaze remaining on his lower stomach, on the tuft of hair that sits just above the elastic of his underwear, avoiding your eyes making contact with the growing bulge that begins to strain against the tight fabric.

"Don't get shy on me again." Joost laughs, reaching forward to grab your arm, just below your shoulder, tugging slightly to lift it up. With the new leverage he slides his palm down the length of your arm before grabbing your wrist, moving it to stretch out your hand, "Right there," Joost sighs, placing your open palm to the fabric that clothes his cock, "Like that…" He holds his palm to the back of your hand, guiding you to rub his underwear-clad length.

Your thighs squeeze together, your guilt once again a passing thought as you feel the way Joost throbs under your touch.

"I thought I was taking the lead…" You bite your lip, eyes flicking up to Joost.

"Back-talking me already… " He shakes his head, clicking his tongue, "Well you looked like you needed some encouragement."

You nod, agreeing, it was exactly what you needed. Perhaps even more.

Your fingertips crawl to the elastic band of Joost's underwear, eager to hook into them.

Joost hums, calling your attention back up to him, watching him shake his head,

"Not yet,"

You bite the inside of your cheeks, attempting to hide your disappointment- but you didn't mind prolonging the night, still unsure if he means it when he says this will last beyond tonight.

"Think there's a little more to take off before we get there."

You nod, placing your hands back onto the bed, steadying yourself to help you stand up.

Despite your proximity, you must admit Joost has gotten less intimidating when you've realized the power you have over him too, the bulge poking into your lower stomach a testament to the fact that he needs you too.

Your fingertips find the hem of Joost's tank top, and you're eager to get it off of him, to have your hands splayed against his chest, to really feel him. You pull at the fabric, lifting it above his stomach, and he raises his arms for you, so you can pull it above his head, allowing Joost to do the extra work to pull it all the way up the length of his arms, too far up for you to reach.

He barely has time to toss his shirt with his other discarded clothes before your hands are on him, palm resting against his chest. He's hairier than you anticipated, the small amount of chest hair that poked from his tank top had not signaled to you the extent of it. Strangely enough- it humanized him, that and the small little moles that dotted his skin, taking you out of what you thought you knew about vampires- with their almost inhumanly pale, unblemished flesh, smooth as silk. Perhaps Joost physically had seemed perfect to you, but he still had the body of a man, not of something that wasn't of this mortal plane.

Your hand slides up from his chest, to his neck, fingers brushing over the tattoo that covers it. You think it's of a cartoon character, but you can't quite recognize it, your parents hadn't really allowed you to watch television growing up, firmly believing that they would rot your brain. You feel a twinge in your chest, remembering how it felt being younger, your alienation from other kids your age, unable to wear the clothes they wore, watch the movies they watched, or listen to the music they listened to. You couldn't quite put a name to the feeling back then, but you think you understand it now, as it still lives inside you, your otherness. Maybe that was part of the reason you had become so desperate for Joost tonight- he was an other too.

"Did this hurt?" You ask softly, continuing to trace the outline of Joost's tattoo, "The tattoo?"

"I guess so, yeah" You feel him shrug, "Nothing I couldn't take though."

"I like them," You smile, it's an innocent enough comment given the situation you had found yourself in, "They're one of the first things I noticed about you."

"One of?" Joost asks, almost challengingly, "What else have you noticed, hm?" He snakes an arm around your lower back, pulling you closer to him, bulge poking further into your lower tummy.

Your face grows hot, getting put on the spot like this,

"Your eyes, I guess," You rest your head on Joost's shoulder, "I've always struggled to maintain eye contact with you because of it."

"I get that a lot," He chuckles, "Even before I was turned, but that definitely made me creep people out more."

"Well," You sigh, "I don't think you creep me out anymore."

"No?" Joost raises an eyebrow, but you don't notice from where you lay against him, "Not even if I told you I can still smell the blood on your wrist… and how desperately I'm trying not to sink my teeth into you right now."

"No," You respond simply- but it isn't indifference, it's much sweeter, an affection for him, slowly unfurling inside of you- your long-buried desires now finally allowed to breathe.

Joost is silent for a moment, and you're sure all of your willingness has surprised him tonight, after all it has surely surprised you. His breath falters against your hair.

"You shouldn't say that so easily," He murmurs, but there's no real warning, it's something more weary, something tender, "You don't know what you're offering."

You nod against his collarbone, placing a small kiss to his exposed shoulder, "I would like to, though."

He exhales slowly, like he's trying to let something go, his hand pressing into the small of your back, keeping you to him as if you might change your mind.

"Well then," He starts, his hand trailing up your back, to the thin, flimsy strap of your nightgown, flicking it down your shoulder, and he continues with the other one, "May I?" He asks like he already knows the answers as two fingers slip into the neckline of the garment, ready slide it down.

You hesitate for a moment, before stepping back, nodding, allowing Joost to slip it off of you. Slowly, the silky fabric drips down your body, exposing your skin inch by inch. You gasp slightly as the nightgown falls from your chest, first exposing your breasts. You contemplate quickly grabbing the garment before Joost fully undresses you, pulling it back up, covering yourself and cowering away from Joost- but you stay, exhaling deeply, ready for Joost to see all of you.

Joost guides the nightgown down your hips, before letting it slip down your thighs, and finally pooling at your feet. Carefully, you step out the small pile its made, gently kicking it off to the side.

Joost's hands immediately return to you, palms at your waist before they slide up to your chest. He feels cold as ever, your teeth chattering as he explores parts of you nobody else has ever laid their eyes on. Joost palms your breasts with both hands, squeezing the supple flesh before letting go, his fingers one side slipping down to your nipple, gently pinching its pebbled surface.

It's a strange feeling, like nothing you've ever felt before, you tip your head back slightly, jaw slacking as a small moan escapes your lips at the jolt that runs through you.

You feel Joost's eyes as they stare deep into you, the heat of his gaze offsetting the pure ice of his touch.

Joost pulls back, just enough to look at you, his breath catching in his throat, eyes wide with awe, like he's never seen something so human.

"Oh my God," he murmurs, almost to himself, like the words slipped out before he could stop them.

You blink, a flutter of nerves curling in your chest, a brief pause, a ghost of old instinct still haunting you. You almost flinch at the casual invocation, the wrongness of hearing "God" like that, so bare, so breathless, but it passes quickly, swallowed by the way he's still looking at you.

Joost's hand comes up, thumb brushing over your cheek, eyes wide, like he can't quite believe you're real. His jaw tightens, like he wants to speak, you expect something smooth, something teasing, a gentle mockery of how you've so easily allowed him to get away with saying the Lord's name in vain. But when Joost finally speaks his voice is hoarse, uneven.

"You're… so beautiful" He says, and it sounds almost like it's something that cost him to admit. He sounds like he's unraveling, losing control over each passing second. "I was going to take my time," he shakes his head, "Make you nervous, make you squirm." His hand slips down to the waistband of your underwear, two fingers gently pulling at the elastic, "But I-I don't think I can control myself," He stutters, "I'm starving for you." He says low, ducking his head to rest against your neck.

"Then don't." You sigh, "I think I'm ready now." You nod.

"Please forgive my lack of restraint when this is through."

Joost mumbles, and you don't have a chance to respond before his hands rest against your shoulders, pushing you back onto the bed. His sudden fierceness knocking the breath from your lungs as you attempt to get into a more comfortable position, crawling backwards to fully lay against the mattress, arms splayed out above you, knees raised.

It isn't long before Joost is on top of you, hovering over you, arms steadying himself on either side of you, pure hunger in his eyes, reminding you that you are his next meal. He lowers himself slightly, lips colliding with yours. There's no build up to it, it's pure hot, wet desire. His teeth scrape against yours, making your body shiver, a sign of the recklessness with which he kisses you.

His kisses almost suffocate you, his breath heavy in your face, lips exploring you with a fervor you have yet to experience from him. You arch your back into him, your crotch grazing against him, granting you a feeling that was now growing familiar.

"Shit," He breathes out, pulling away from this kiss, "I can't do any more of this teasing shit, fuck" He pushes himself up from his position above you, and he's standing up again.

You blink a few times as you look up at him, swallowing thickly as you anticipate what's to come. Your body trembles, watching anxiously as he taps your knee,

"Come, on put your legs down," His hand trailing up your thigh, sticking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, practically ripping at the fabric, "Let me take these off."

You oblige with a simple hum, biting down on your tongue until you nearly taste blood as the fabric slides down your thighs, leaving you entirely bare. You almost instinctively close your legs, your utter nudity leaving you vulnerable, feeling like you needed to shelter yourself. But you don't, you let him take you in as you bend your knees for him, betraying your initial reactions, and putting yourself on display.

Joost lets out a low groan at the sight, a smile of content settling on his face at how ready and willing you are for him. Joost soon pokes his thumbs into the elastic of his underwear, quickly, pulling them down.

You bite the inside of your cheeks as his length springs from the confines of the tight fabric, your body tenses, knowing what's to come next. You watch intently, propping yourself up on your forearms as Joost slides his palm up and down the shaft, his teeth gritting as he prepares himself for you.

Soon, he returns to his position above you, almost lunging at you, like you really are his prey. You fall back, body too shaken to continue to hold yourself up, head hitting the mattress.

"You're really going to have to relax for me this time," Joost's voice is suddenly a lot more serious, a lot more commanding, and you shut your eyes tight, taking a deep breath in, ready to obey. With your eyes shut you get no warning for the unexpected feeling of his tip brushing through your slick folds, the squelching sound of wet skin filling the room. You turn your head to the side, as if to look away, suddenly embarrassed by the realization that sound is you.

"Perfect," Joost mewls, lowering his head once more as he continues to slip between your folds, not yet entering you, "So wet," He muses, "So eager, it will make this easy." On reflex, you push up into him, wanting to feel more than just the tip, grinding against his length, sighing at the way the bumps of the veins of his cock provide the perfect amount of friction.

Joost's lips find your neck once more, kissing you with need, so close to everything he wants.

"Okay," He sighs, "Just focus on this, on me kissing you, okay? Relax." You know he doesn't want to wait anymore, and neither do you, and all you can do is just oblige, and try to forget about everything else in this moment besides the soft, comforting feeling of his lips on your neck. They're plush, more gentle than they should be, each kiss deliberate, calculated. You keep your neck craned to the side opposite him, allowing Joost as much access to your neck as he needs.

Yet you're suddenly ripped from that feeling, an unfamiliar stretch between your legs, one that forces your eyes to screw shut, your hands flying to Joost's shoulders' fingertips ripping into his flesh to ground yourself at the feeling. It stings for a moment, feeling like you're being torn in two, before it suddenly stops, becoming nothing more than a dull throb as you open your eyes, realizing Joost had bottomed out into you.

He doesn't pull back quite yet, instead raising his head to get a good look at the expression on your face. It's a lazy smile, head dizzy from the new sensation, you've never felt so full, it's a satisfaction unknown to you. He seems proud, or maybe he's just altogether too excited to finally have plunged into you. It doesn't matter, the satisfaction you both feel clearly fills the room, shifting the mood, your senses suddenly heightened.

Joost begins to pull out, your eyes rolling back into your head, back arching as a long, high pitched whine leaves your mouth. Your hands trail down his back, fingernails not leaving his skin, surely leaving deep scratch marks in Joost's back.

He thrusts forward again, and your breath is taken from you once more, and you struggle to regain it as he finds his pace, surprisingly slow at first, allowing you to get used to his length.

"You're so warm," He sighs, pushing himself back into you, at a pace that is almost agonizingly slow. You get the feeling that Joost misses the warmth of being human, that this is exactly what he needed. His desire for your vitality was far beyond just his lust for blood, it was a longing for life.

"You are too," You say back simply, not meaning it in the sense of temperature, but in how he makes you feel.

"You shouldn't say things like that," He groans, eyes closing tight for a moment as he speeds up his pace, his voice hiccuping, "Make me feel like there's something human left in me."

"Maybe there is." You gasp. Even as a mortal, even you have never felt so alive, you've never been so aware of the blood in your veins, the sensation that sparks each nerve with Joost's thrusts.

"I told you I could still feel," He chokes out a laugh, voice raw.

You believe him now more than ever, especially at the, drawn out groans and grunts he lets out, head hanging once more as he's finally given into your softness.

"What do you feel?" He asks, "Do I make you feel closer to death as you make me feel closer to life?"

"No, no!" You suddenly squeal as Joost slams into you, struggling to maintain a train of thought, much less a coherent response to his question, "No… s'full… so alive," It isn't the full breadth of your thoughts, but it's close enough, unable to squeak out a full sentence under the pure pleasure that overtakes your senses.

You should feel guilty, push Joost off of you and run to confession, beg for repentance- wondering how you could ever even serve any penance for this. This was pure selfish, indulgent sin- your first taste of hedonism.

"Good," Joost says, sensing your new found lust for life had been forged from relinquishing your old ways, "You needed this didn't you, to be broken open? God, I'm so glad it was me."

"Me too," You agree, holding Joost tighter, fingernails settling into his back once more at the intensity of every sensation. Joost isn't holding back now, not with the way he rocks into you, not at a back breaking pace, but fast, and deep enough for you to know this is exactly how he wants it.

You're restraining the noises that almost force themselves out of you, what would be cries nothing more than mere high pitched whines. It's all too intense, everything, all the emotions, and the way Joost buries himself so deep within you awakens something you can't even fully understand, you're not in control of yourself anymore. Your body is shaking, squirming beneath him, you can't help yourself, your pleasure possessing you, a demon you never want to be exorcised out.

"It's okay," Joost says, sensing your restraint, "Let it all out, be as loud as you want angel."

Angel, an ironic nickname, as you felt far from it. Yet compared to Joost, he must have seen you like a saint, his own slice of heaven. Like he wasn't why you had so suddenly fallen from your path of righteousness, taking your innocence, your restraint. But worse, you had given it to him so willingly, despite the guilt clawing at the back of your mind, you could never leave, not when every part of your body screamed that this was where you were supposed to be.

The realization only adds to the overwhelming sensation, and with his beckoning you finally let everything out, a loud sob ripping through your throat as Joost continues to fuck into you, tears spilling down your cheeks. Once the tears start they don't stop, and you can't wipe them away, hot and relentless. Your throat tightens painfully, strangling every breath into a ragged gasp.

Your stomach tightens with each wave, drawing your knees further inward, your whole frame curling as if to protect yourself from the rawness of it all, but you can only move your legs so far with Joost between them.

The sound is strange, foreign to your ears, the mix of your sobs with moans of pure pleasure. It's intense, nothing like the shallow gasping and whimpering you had usually heard coming from Joost's room at night. You wondered if you had just been far more sensitive than them, or if he had just been fucking you so much better than he had ever bothered for anyone else. You hope it's the latter, you don't want him to see you as weak, as just an innocent thing to ruin without another care in the world, before he returns back to old habits. No, you want to be the best thing Joost has ever had, you want him to come back for more, to be the only one, forever.

Joost begins to kiss your neck again, movements becoming slopping, losing any pace, this groans vibrating against your skin.

"I need this," He mumbles to your flesh, before returning to your neck, his kisses becoming furious, lips sucking at your veins, pulling the skin. Your breath fails to find you, short, relentless stutters falling from your lips as your body begins to tense, shaking harder than before.

You feel like you're about to burst, far too full and overwhelmed. You screw your eyes tight, expecting to pop at any moment, the tension building inside of you, your voice becoming louder and louder, despite Joost's coldness you're hot, the simmering pressure inside you about to roll over into a boil.

The feeling is cut for a moment, but by relief, but with a sharp pang, a prick. Your head falls to the side as the ache in your neck spreads, slow and warm. Joost had finally done it, he'd bitten you.

You can't keep your legs up much longer as they begin to thrash beneath you, your entire body trembling at the feeling of all the ways Joost has buried himself deep inside you.

It wasn't just a bite- you'd been claimed, the final declaration of your ruin as his hands, his mouth tethered to your skin. Your blood burns in contrast to the coldness of everything else, your neck just as warm and wet now as your cunt, which Joost still mercilessly pounds himself into.

Every nerve in your body had been woken up, the bite wasn't just in your neck, it pulsed. Your breath caught, fingernails breaking the skin of Joost's back, the very pulse Joost feeds from pounds in your ears.

You feel yourself growing weak, limbs tingling from the loss of blood, tension leaving your body along with your strength. You lay there, like a rag doll, vision becoming spotty, without a thought in your head. You were losing blood faster than your heart could pump it out, your eyes beginning to roll back in your head, body on the brink of unconsciousness.

Surely Joost was able to feel it, the way you suddenly fell limp beneath him, your sobs and moans ceasing as you lost the strength to even make as little as a squeak.

Joost pulls himself from your neck, steadying himself on one forearm above you. You can make out some of him, as you begin to nod off, eyes fluttering, vision half blacked out and blurry. You notice the crimson that stains his lips, only able to make it out in the stark contrast it has against his pale skin.

Joost's palm hits the side of your cheek, it's not a slap, nowhere near hard enough to sting, but enough to call you too him, he repeats the gesture a few more times,

"Come on," He urges, "Come back to me, baby, you're almost there."

His voice is enough to help you retain some consciousness, it's something to hold on to.

Until eventually another sensation hits you, almost out of nowhere, your adrenaline kicking in, a near scream suddenly leaving your lips as your legs begin to quiver uncontrollably.

"That's right," Joost smirks, "There you are, oh" He coos, "You're there."

It's almost as intense as Joost's bite, the feeling that rips through you, your pussy fluttering, clenching around Joost. You shut your eyes tight as the hot wave of pleasure washes over you, your consciousness brought back to you.

You thrash against Joost, grinding onto his cock, like you somehow want him even deeper as you ride out the final seconds of your orgasm, not wanting the pleasure to cease.

And it doesn't not quite… but it becomes something so much more intense as Joost returns to your neck, lapping at the blood that still spills from the wound he's created. Your thighs ache, your quivering pussy so much more sensitive as you come down from your high. It's far too much, as the tears continue to spill from your eyes, and you want to shove Joost off of you, unable to take it.

But you can't, you don't- you don't really want to.

"Just a little longer," He assures, his breathless voice almost inaudible against the backdrop of your ceaseless whines.

HIs tongue drags up against your neck, savoring every drop he takes from you, the feeling makes you shutter.

A string of expletives fall from Joost's mouth, he's louder now, the loudest he's been all night, and you whine once more as he pulls out of you, the sudden emptiness feeling strange.

"Fuck," He mumbles once more before you feel the warmth of his release on your inner thigh, having been mere seconds away from cumming inside of you. It some how feels filthier like this, feeling the warmth drip down your thigh, so close to your spent cunt.

Joost collapses next to you with a heavy breath, and you immediately cling to him, everything finally hitting you at once. You wrap your legs around Joost, arms held around him even tighter as you begin to sob into his chest.

Your breath comes out shallow, stuttering. The pain in your neck twinges with each heartbeat, the echo of his teeth still there, sharp, yet impossibly gentle, like the act was sacred.

But there was nothing holy about what you had done.

"It's okay, angel," He attempts to comfort, hand splayed on your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin.

And there it was, angel, so innocent, as if your blood didn't stain his lips.

Your chest heaves with another sob, something ugly that tears through you. You press your forehead to Joost's chest, afraid of what you'll see there.

"What have I done," You breathe out.

Your mind reels, knowing how far gone you were now. This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this. The fragile pieces of who you thought you were shattering in every direction.

"Nothing you didn't want." Joost responds, so casually, so assured.

And it's because he's right, you did want it, and even now, as you lie here sobbing, you'd still do it all again.

#joost klein x reader #joost klein rpf #rpf #joost klein x f!reader #joost klein fanfic #joost klein fanfiction

287 notes · View notes

ebodebo · 15 days ago

Text

SUPERSTAR!

ˋ°•*⁀➷ PAIR: dick grayson x fem!popstar reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ WC: 1.9k+

ˋ°•*⁀➷ CONTAINS: fem!reader, angst, some fluff, dick being hurt, jealous dick, mentions of blood & cuts, & purposeful omission of tags to avoid spoilers.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hey... tbh this was the fastest thing i've written in a while, so, go me lmao also, if enough people want, i would totally be down to do a part two. also, also, shoutout to @delusionsofgrandeur13 for chatting with me about this concept and screaming with me hehe hopefully you all enjoy this!

Dick won't give up his crime fighting ways...

The gray clouds hung heavily over Gotham, dark and ominous, as rain poured down and thunder rumbled across the city, leaving behind a haze of humid dew.

In the blink of an eye, the previous sunny day had turned cold and rainy.

You are perched on your couch in your apartment, a soft blanket wrapped around you, providing warmth against the chill outside.

From your sofa, you glance out the window at the people scurrying beneath awnings and huddling in doorways, their jackets pulled tightly against the sudden cold.

The streets, usually alive with the sounds of conversations and city life, felt muted, the typical hustle and bustle subdued by the relentless downpour.

Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, its piercing sound cutting through the comforting ambiance—a grim reminder that trouble often lurked in the shadows of the city, even on the coziest of days.

You find yourself sinking into the couch, fully immersed in the movie you had popped on. Your eyes threaten to shut close as your head lulls back and forth softly.

Pulling the blanket tighter against you, you inhale a deep breath, leaning against the back of the couch, already lightly snoring before you hear it.

Just as you start to relax, a sudden thud from your fire escape outside jolts you back to full alertness. Your head whips around, your lips pressed together in a tense line as you strain to catch any further sounds.

When none come, you force yourself to settle back on the sofa, trying to push the unsettling noise out of your mind.

You close your eyes yet again, drifting off as soon as you lay your head back down. Your soft snores fill the room until you hear another noise, making you spring awake, your heart pounding in your chest.

You stand, agitated, ready for whatever comes next.

Tap.

The series of taps continues, with only a few seconds separating each one. You walk over to the window, reaching for a knife that you've left on the counter for slicing fruit.

Gripping it tightly, you round the corner of the island and stretch your neck to look outside, only to find your boyfriend lying on the cold, wet metal of the fire escape.

In a rush, you toss the knife into the sink; speed walk to the window, unlock it, and pull it open quickly. "Dick?" you call out, your eyes scanning the fresh cuts on his face, which are smeared with blood.

He lifts his head slightly, a lopsided grin appearing on his face. "Hey, baby," he replies hoarsely before dropping his head back down.

"Shit," you say roughly, quickly gripping him tightly and helping him through the window into the warmth of your apartment. You manage to get him inside and gently set him down on the vinyl floor.

"Did I wake you?" he rasps, wincing as he sits up.

"You always do," you reply, watching him reach for the first aid kit under the sink. "What the hell happened?" Your voice carries a hint of irritation.

"Ah, you know," he prompts, as if the answer were obvious. "Work."

You roll your eyes and let out a deep sigh as you carry the kit over to where he sits hunched over. "What happened this time? A knife fight? A toxin blast?" you ask, sounding tired as you soak some gauze in saline solution.

He gives a dry laugh. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Mhm," you respond, swiping the gauze across his cheek and making him wince slightly.

His eyebrows furrow in thought. "I know you're upset," he shrugs.

You nod in agreement while continuing to tend to his cut.

"Bruce needed me. Jason was being a hard-ass, and Tim was in Queens," he continued, his wide eyes focused on you as you tended to him. "I was the only one left."

"Okay," you nodded, applying a band-aid to his clean skin.

He let out a shallow breath, sagging his shoulders. "Gotham… she needed me."

"I need you," you said, your voice louder than intended as you tossed the used gauze on the ground, locking your eyes with Dick's surprised gaze. "And I don't mean Nightwing. I mean Dick Grayson—the real you. The only you I want." You tilted your head back, shaking it slightly.

His mouth hangs open. "I'm here now, sweetheart."

You shake your head, holding back a sniffle. "No. I want you to be here always, at least in the ways you can control. I want you to stay alive, Dick," you say, your love for him evident in every word.

"Baby, I'm okay. You fixed me," his voice begins to fill with desperation.

You huff, biting your tongue. "Gotham always takes you from me and spits you back up at my doorstep, bloodied and bruised," you start, glancing at his cheek. "What if next time you bleed out? What if you get too comfortable and slip up?" you continue, reaching to slide his suit off his shoulders to tend to his side. "What if you don't make it home next time?" Tears well in your eyes as you carefully sanitize the wound.

He doesn't even flinch at the sting, unable to comprehend what he's hearing. "I love you."

"You love Gotham more," you murmur, your voice tinged with a hint of hope as you patch up his wound. "I gave you an ultimatum, me or Gotham," you remind him, tears rolling down your cheeks. "And you chose, so I shouldn't be sad. But I had hoped…" Your eyes, brimming with tears, meet his, and his heart feels the weight of your unspoken words. "You would choose me."

His stomach drops at the sight of you, but he can't help feeling a surge of irritation. "Is this about someone else?" he almost spits, confused by this sudden wave of emotion.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you pull away from him. "What are you talking about?"

He licks his lips, his expression flat as he hesitates for a moment. Then he sniffs and reaches for his phone, wincing as he swipes it open. Turning the phone toward you, he shows you a tabloid from Gotham Times with an image of you at one of Gotham's high-end restaurants accompanied by an article that reads:

"Gotham's Elite in the Spotlight: Sources report that the acclaimed pop singer, a prominent figure in Gotham's social scene, has ended her relationship with Gotham's own Dick Grayson.

This news comes after she was spotted enjoying brunch at the upscale Tavern on the Green with up-and-coming actor Luke Fox, the son of Lucius Fox, a close friend of billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne and CEO of Wayne Enterprises."

You had grown accustomed to the constant scrutiny and speculation surrounding you, with keen eyes evaluating your every move, criticizing and amplifying every action.

What caught you off guard was Dick actually taking the tabloids seriously, let alone believing in their hypocrisies.

"Do you really think I would cheat on you?" you asked, looking up at him, your voice cracking with disbelief and hurt.

His narrowed eyes softened as he realized how ridiculous and unfair he was being. "I don't… I don't know why I said that," he admitted, turning his phone to look at its screen. "I…" he started, glancing back at your now tense expression.

"I was never with him, Dick. We had just met for brunch, which his publicist arranged, and the article failed to mention the other three people at the table. His agent thought it would be good for him to expand his horizons. Not that it matters, but we only talked about superficial shit," you sighed, clearly frustrated.

"Superficial shit?" he echoed your words.

"Yes!" you affirmed roughly, your anger simmering beneath the surface. "I thought you didn't give a shit about these tabloids!"

"I don't!" he insists, trying to convince you. "I just…" he trails off, shaking his head as he searches for the right words. "Sometimes they get to me," he admits, looking at you with pure honesty in his eyes. "I hate it, but… it's true." He takes a sharp breath.

You can't help but find his honesty refreshing. "I understand, Dick, but this is my life," you mumble. "There will always be some ridiculous article trying to portray me as some sleaze," you continue, shaking your head. "That's just how it is."

He nods in agreement, his disappointment evident. "Yeah, I guess it is," he says, the tension in the air thick.

You sink onto the cool floor, finding it grounding. Your mind briefly wanders as you stare at it, lost in thought.

"Can we just have one more night?" Dick mumbles, his bright blue eyes now a soft gray.

You look up at him. "Dick…"

"Just… please?" he pleads, his voice sincere. "One more night of normal? Then, I promise I'll let you do your pop-star thing and tour the world," he adds a hint of humor in his tone that makes you laugh.

"I'm not even on a world tour," you correct him, wiping a stray tear from your cheek as you chuckle.

"You will be," he assures you with his signature smile. "And I'll be cheering you on."

You sniffle, biting your lip. "You're a good guy, Dick."

"Would that opinion change if I kissed you?" he teases with a lopsided grin.

You let out a laugh before leaning in closer, pressing a kiss to his lips; the warmth of his touch spreads down your spine, sending shivers down your skin.

You pull away only slightly. "We should get some sleep."

"Not yet," he peers into your eyes, lips brushing against yours. "Let me soak you in."

The next morning, Dick wakes up before dawn breaks. He looks down and sees his arms wrapped around your waist as you snuggle into his chest. He smiles, but beneath that smile, a pang of disappointment lingers.

The night has long since ended, as has the normalcy he had come to rely on.

Thinking it would be easier for you, he decides to leave before you wake up. He gently eases his arms from around your waist and slips out of bed.

He tiptoes across the floor, careful not to wake you, and places a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on a spare white shirt he keeps in his drawer. He leaves the extra shirts behind for you.

He also leaves behind several of his sweatshirts and hoodies in your closet, just in case you get cold.

Stepping out quietly, he walks home through the cold Gotham air, the slight dew hanging heavy over the city, leaving him with a bittersweet feeling in his heart.

When he arrives at the Batcave, he finds Tim and Jason huddled around the Batcomputer. They both turn their heads to look at him as they hear his footsteps approaching.

Tim shakes his head, gesturing toward the computer. "Well, if it isn't Gotham's own charming socialite in the flesh, the Dick Grayson," he teases, nudging Jason, who laughs in response.

Dick lets out an irritated sigh and moves closer to see what's on the screen. There, a news article is blown up, and its headline reads:

"Gotham's hero, Nightwing, was seen sneaking into the pop star's apartment just days after her split with charming socialite and Wayne Enterprises executive Dick Grayson, amidst rumors of a blossoming relationship with actor Luke Fox, son of wealthy Wayne Enterprises CEO Lucius Fox."

Dick snapped his attention to the amused Tim and a serious Jason. "Don't worry about that," Dick muttered. "It won't be an issue anymore."

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE: how are we feeling? feigning for more?

173 notes · View notes

latrespada · 5 months ago

Text

ᯓ ✈︎ apple of his envy

You arrive home late, far past the promised dinner time, only to find Caleb soaking in a warm bath. As you approach, you notice his expression, even in sleep, is etched with a scowl of annoyance. Gently, you bend down to touch his cheek, but before you can, he pulls you into the bath with an unrelenting grip. His arms are tight around you, his voice thick with tension and a hint of desperation, as if he had feared you wouldn’t return, or worse, that you had chosen someone else over him. In the steamy embrace, he reminds you with unspoken intensity where you truly belong—by his side. Even if it means sinking together into a bath swirling with sensual, envious passion.

lads caleb x reader

warnings : semi-jealousy, bath sex, bathtub sex, possessive sex, angst and hurt/comfort

6.5k words

rated : m

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62700367

A/N: This was a bit tricky to write—I wanted to make the positioning clear, but bathtubs are surprisingly complicated! Also, I couldn’t help but notice how much you all enjoyed the dry-humping fic. I’m really happy you liked the last one.

You exit West Garden Station and sprint toward home, your heart pounding with worry and a tinge of fear. Thoughts race through your mind, colliding in a cacophony of guilt and dread. You had promised to be home before dinner, but the day spiraled out of control. You meant to take a short break from your reports, but one thing led to another, and now it’s nearing midnight—four hours past when you were supposed to be home.

The air feels heavy, thunder rumbling ominously in the distance as the clouds above flash shades of purple. A storm is brewing, but it’s nothing compared to the one waiting for you at home. You know Caleb doesn’t mind when life gets in the way of plans, but failing to keep him updated? That’s what sets him off. You push your legs harder, running as though you can somehow outrun his disappointment.

You finally reach your apartment complex, breathless, your chest tightening as you fumble for your keys. Your trembling hands make quick work of unlocking the door, and you step inside, greeted by darkness. The faint aroma of red-braised tofu lingers in the air—a reminder of the dinner you missed. The silence is suffocating as you pull out your phone, using its flashlight to guide your way.

The living room is empty, with not a single light left on. The kitchen has been cleaned, and the only evidence of its earlier use is a faint warmth in the air. You move toward the bedroom, kicking off your boots, socks, hunter’s vest, and belt as you go. It’s eerily untouched, and the bed is still neatly made, save for a few wrinkles, as though someone had briefly sat there before moving on.

The bathroom door creaks slightly as you push it open, and your eyes fall on a shadowy figure reclining in the tub. Your hand searches for the light switch, and when you flick it on, the scene becomes clear. Caleb lies there, his head tilted back, a towel draped over his face. His arms rest along the sides of the tub, and his knees break the surface of the water. He looks like a marble statue, serene yet heavy with unspoken emotions.

“Light… off,” he mumbles, his voice low and flat.

“You want me to turn off the light?” you ask cautiously.

“Off,” he snaps, louder this time.

“Alright, alright,” you say, raising your hands in surrender. Turning off the light and stepping out into the hallway, your heart is still racing. After rummaging in the kitchen, you return with a candle and a lighter. The faint glow casts soft, flickering shadows on the tiled walls as you enter the bathroom again.

Caleb hasn’t moved, still draped in his dead-like pose, but the candlelight softens the edges of his silhouette. “I brought a candle,” you say gently, placing it on the counter. “Just to give you some lighting and mood for your relaxation.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, but you think you catch the faintest twitch of his lips—a subtle acknowledgment of your gesture.

“I’m not relaxed,” Caleb says, his voice low, etched with an almost threatening seriousness.

“Why are you in the bath then?” you ask softly, sitting on the edge of the tub, your concern growing with every second.

“I’m stressed… thought this would help. It’s what you do.”

“Stressed? Why’s that?” you ask, leaning forward to touch his cheek. But before your fingers can graze his skin, Caleb’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist and pulling you into the tub with him.

Water splashes everywhere as you struggle against his hold, your clothes heavy and clinging to your skin. Caleb’s grip is unyielding, his strength pinning you down. Finally, you push yourself free, shoving his shoulders with a force that makes his back hit the porcelain edge. “What the hell, Caleb?” you shout, water dripping from your soaked hair.

Caleb doesn’t react immediately. He sits there, his head tilted back, the towel still covering his face, ignoring your anger.

Grabbing the towel, you hit his face with it. “I said, what the—”

“I know what you said,” Caleb interrupts sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He pulls the towel off his face, his eyes locking onto yours with a raw intensity. “You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if you were coming back. You said you’d be here hours ago.” His voice wavers slightly as he sits up, his hands suddenly gripping your face, forcing your foreheads together. His breath is hot, his touch desperate. “I thought you’d finally left. That you didn’t need me anymore. Or maybe… maybe you found someone else too…” He stops, his words choking in his throat. Instead, he rubs his forehead against yours, the motion rough and unsettling.

“Stop it,” you groan, pushing him away.

He falls back slightly, his hand covering his face as if shielding himself from his own thoughts. “Were you with Zayne?” he asks, his voice quieter but laced with suspicion.

“No,” you answer firmly.

“Your colleague. Did he drag you into his work again? You know he shouldn’t need you for everything.”

“No,” you repeat, your patience wearing thin.

“Were you hired as some overnight bodyguard?”

“Enough,” you snap, your tone cutting through the room like a whip.

“Enough?” Caleb laughs bitterly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Am I not enough?”

You try to stand, to pull yourself out of the tub, but Caleb grabs you again, his hold growing tighter. He drags you back into the water, his desperation palpable.

“Caleb, I’m still freaking dressed!” you exclaim, trying to wrestle free.

“Am I not enough?” he repeats, his voice trembling, his eyes searching yours for answers you can’t give. “Answer me!”

“Caleb…” you groan, prying at his hands, but his grip doesn’t waver.

Then, without warning, he places a hand over your mouth and the other on your back, dipping you into the water. It’s not forceful, not meant to harm—there’s no malice in his actions. Instead, it feels like he’s trying to calm himself, to ground his spiraling emotions. He pulls you back up moments later, your hair slicked back, water streaming down your face as his half-lidded eyes bore into yours.

“I was waiting,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “And while I waited, I thought maybe I could distract myself. Played with myself. But every time I tried to think of you, to feel close to you… my mind kept drifting to the idea that you’d found another home.”

“Caleb, I was stuck at work,” you say softly, your voice trembling with sorrow.

“For that long?” he asks, his tone teetering between hurt and disbelief.

You don’t reply. There’s no excuse you can offer or words that would improve it.

“I thought you’d found someone else to hold,” he continues, his voice barely audible now. “Someone else to need. To cook for you.” He laughs bitterly, the sound hollow. Dropping his head onto your chest, he nuzzles into the exposed skin of your cleavage, his breath warm against your damp skin. “Am I really that replaceable?” he asks, his voice breaking, his vulnerability spilling out like the water around you.

As you press his head against your chest, cradling him, your head resting on his, there’s a quiet understanding in the shared silence. His arms snake around your thighs, shifting your legs to fit snugly against his lap, grounding you both in this moment.

“No, you’re not replaceable,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady. “But even if I tell you that, I know you won’t believe me just like that.” Your fingers stroke his damp hair as you ask, “What can I do to assure you?”

Caleb tilts his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an almost childlike vulnerability. “What’s the most important thing I need from you?” he asks, his tone imploring, as though willing you to understand without him saying it outright.

Your brows knit together as you hesitate. “To own me?” you offer, unsure, the words trembling out of your mouth.

He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head before leaning back, still keeping you anchored on his lap. His hands rest loosely on your hips, but his gaze is intense, flickering between the water and your face. He brushes his wet hair back, the strands sticking to his forehead, his usually sharp features softened by the dull ache in his eyes. You’re transfixed, your fingers instinctively tracing the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the swell of his lips. His mouth is slightly swollen, perhaps from his teeth pressing into it—whether out of frustration, longing, or anxiety, you can’t tell.

Caleb catches your hand, kissing it with surprising tenderness. “To feel you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing over your knuckles again. “To know you need me.” His voice is raw, the words carrying an unspoken weight.

He shifts beneath you, his legs spreading wider to adjust your position as he pulls you closer, to him. His hands are firm yet reverent. “Though this feeling isn’t the most important thing to me,” he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “it’s one I don’t mind… as long as your warmth is on me—and me only.”

You’re hyper-aware of his body beneath yours, the press of his erection evident even through the layers of damp fabric. The friction sends a jolt through you as you instinctively move, attempting to kneel, but your movements falter, slipping against the slick surface of the tub.

“Let me help you,” Caleb says softly, his hands steadying your waist. His fingers find the waistband of your soaked pants. “Stand up for me,” he coaxes, his voice gentle yet commanding.

You rise slowly, your gaze never leaving his as he unbuttons, unzips, and peels the fabric away with deliberate care. The water clings to your skin, droplets cascading down, some splashing onto Caleb’s face as he maintains unwavering eye contact. With a quiet determination, he slides your pants and underwear down your legs, his touch grazing your thighs. You lift one leg, then the other, stepping out of the discarded clothing, which lands with a wet thud on the bathroom floor.

Caleb’s hands trail up your legs, his fingers barely grazing your most sensitive areas before sliding beneath your blouse. His hands are warm despite the cool air, and they skim over your stomach before finding their way under your bra, cupping your breast with tenderness. His thumb brushes over your skin, igniting goosebumps in its wake.

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with emotion, “let me feel you in ways words can’t express.”

You drop to your knees, water sloshing over the tub’s edge, drenching the tiled floor in rippling streaks. Your fingers tremble as they grip the porcelain rim, your body leaning forward until your forehead rests against Caleb’s. His warm breath fans across your skin, mingling with the steamy heat from the bathwater. His hand lingers over the curve of your breast, his touch equal parts grounding and electrifying. Time seems to stop for a moment, the world outside the bathroom dissolving into the sound of rain tapping insistently against the windowpane.

Your hand wraps around his, gently tugging it free from beneath your soaked blouse and bra, guiding it upward until his calloused palm cradles your cheek. His thumb grazes your bottom lip, tracing it with a tender slowness that belies the tension between you. Your lips part under his touch, and before you can think better of it, he closes the gap, his mouth crashing against yours with unrestrained hunger. The kiss is messy, teeth grazing as his lips claim yours, an edge of desperation bleeding into every movement.

His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling it slightly before his tongue sweeps over the sting, soothing and coaxing. His hands slip to your back, the broad span of his palms pressing you against him, molding your bodies together. Your arms loop around his neck in a frantic embrace, pulling him so close it feels as though you might never let go. The friction of your lower halves grazing, ignites a fire that licks at every nerve ending, an ache building deep and insistent.

Caleb pulls away suddenly, leaving you breathless, his chest heaving as he struggles to regain control. His hands find your hips, pushing you back until your spine meets the cold, slick surface of the tub. You let out a soft gasp at the sudden chill, your legs laying open as though of their own accord, your knees resting against the tub’s edges. The candlelight flickers across his face, half glowing warm and golden, the other lost in the inky shadows cast by the storm outside. The duality of light and darkness mirrors the push and pull between the gentleness in his touch and the raw, carnal need in his gaze.

His eyes trail over you, lingering on the translucent fabric of your blouse clinging to your skin. The faint outline of your bra beneath it seems to taunt him, his jaw tightening as his restraint frays. Slowly, almost reverently, his lips find yours again, softer this time but no less intense. His hands move with a deliberate urgency, tracing the soaked fabric to the buttons that run down your front. With a sharp tug, they give way, scattering across the floor with muted clinks, the sound swallowed by the storm’s distant rumble.

The blouse slips from your shoulders, the wet fabric sticking briefly before it’s discarded to the water enveloping you. Caleb doesn’t stop, his hands finding the delicate straps of your bra. Frustration flashes in his eyes as his fingers fumble with the clasp, his impatience winning out. He hooks his fingers under the straps and pulls, the lace and elastic giving way with a sharp snap. The ruined garment joins the growing pile of discarded clothing, leaving your skin bare beneath his gaze.

His breath catches, and his eyes drink you in with a reverence that sends a shiver racing down your spine. He lowers himself onto you, his weight pressing you deeper into the curve of the tub. The contact is intoxicating, and his warmth bleeding into your skin as your legs near around his hips, anchoring him to you. The water churns around you, soap bubbles bursting and clinging to your bodies as you move together, the rhythm driven by a shared, unspoken need.

You grip his shoulders, your nails biting into his slick skin as his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw and down the curve of your neck. The storm outside roars louder, the thunder echoing through the room, but it’s distant compared to the pounding of your heart, the ragged sounds of your breaths mingling with his. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered moan feels like a fuse burning faster, drawing you closer to the edge of something neither of you can control.

"Caleb…" you breathe out, your voice trembling as his lips trail along your jawline, their warmth lingering before descending to your neck. His mouth moves with purpose, licking at your sensitive skin before returning to claim your lips. His tongue dances with yours, the intimacy deepening with every heated second.

Your fingers find their way into his damp hair, grasping at it as though it’s the only anchor you have. He pulls away briefly, his eyes dark with desire as he takes one of your hands. Without breaking eye contact, he brings two of your fingers to his mouth, his tongue swirling around them sensually. The heat of his mouth and the slickness of his saliva send shivers through you. After a few lingering seconds, he releases them, your fingers now glistening.

Without thinking, you bring them to your lips, smearing the saliva across them like a makeshift balm, feeling the moisture cool in the air. Your gaze flickers to him, your expression daring and full of intent. Slowly, you shift yourself over, moving with purpose. Your knees find ground on the porcelain base as you lean forward, your torso arched enticingly. Your free hand grips the edge of the tub tightly for support, while your hips tilt back, pressing your rear firmly against Caleb’s groin.

The anticipation is electric as you use the slickness of his saliva to guide your hand under you, seeking out your sweet spot. Meanwhile, Caleb teases at your entrance with the tip of his length, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

"Mmnh," you moan softly, biting your lip as the ache of desire builds.

For a moment, both of you hover in this space of mutual teasing, pushing each other closer to the edge without fully giving in. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your body’s response undeniable as you prepare yourself for him.

Finally, your hand pulls away from your sweet spot, and you grip the opposite side of the tub, bracing yourself. Caleb wastes no time, his hands steadying your hips as he slowly slides himself inside. The touch is perfect, the heat overwhelming, and a low grunt escapes his lips at the sensation of you enveloping him.

"Nnngh," you whimper, your head tilting forward as his hips begin to move. He starts slowly, almost experimentally, before gradually picking up speed. The rhythm of his movements becomes more deliberate, his body pressing against yours with every thrust.

Your soapy hands begin to slip against the tub’s edge, the lack of grip threatening to throw you off balance. Sensing your struggle, Caleb tilts over your back, his chest pressing against your back, his heat enveloping you entirely. His hands cover yours, his fingers slipping between to lock them in place, giving you the stability you need.

The two of you move together in perfect harmony, the water rippling and splashing around you, the air thick with the sounds of pleasure and desire. The combination of his touch and the feeling of him inside you drives you to the brink, your senses overwhelmed in the most intoxicating way.

With a grip that is almost trembling, Caleb pulls your hair to one side, his fingers threading through the damp strands, only to find their spot again on your hands. His breath is warm and unsteady against your ear. He exhales a low, shaky sound that makes your stomach twist. His lips brush your skin, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he lingers, his breathing heavier than before, like he’s trying to steady himself. Like he’s battling something in his head.

“You kept me waiting,” he whispers, the words coming out slower than usual, his voice laced with something quiet but raw. “I thought—” He stops himself, cutting off whatever thought had started to spill.

His lips press to the curve of your shoulder, his kisses softer than usual, more hesitant, like he’s savoring every inch of you, trying to remind himself you’re still here. His hips rock forward, slow and deliberate, and the movement forces your legs to spread wider, your back arching into him instinctively. But even as he moves, even as he drowns himself in you, there’s a tightness in the way he holds you.

You turn your head slightly, catching his gaze through your peripheral vision. His eyes are shadowed, darkened by more than just the dim candlelight. There’s something in them that makes your chest ache—something vulnerable, something afraid.

“It’s not like that,” you whisper, knowing exactly where his mind has taken him.

Caleb exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, his grip tightens around your hands. "You say that now," he mutters, pressing his forehead against the side of your head. "But people get tired. They move on. They find something— someone —better. More exciting. More… necessary ." His voice dips on that last word, almost like it pains him to say it aloud.

You turn your head fully this time, your nose brushing against his cheek, and he closes his eyes as if it’s too much to look at you right now.

“I don’t want to be left behind,” he admits, so quietly it’s almost swallowed by the rain hitting the window.

Your chest tightens, your throat suddenly thick with emotion. With both your hands still locked in his, you squeeze, trying to ground him, trying to reassure him in the only way he’ll let you. “You won’t be,” you whisper, and you mean it.

Caleb finally opens his eyes, searching yours as if testing the weight of your words.

"Prove it," he murmurs, his voice no longer commanding, no longer tainted with jealousy—just desperate. Just pleading. "Stay right here. Just… let me feel you.”

Letting go of your fingers, his arms envelop you in a way that feels both possessive and desperate. The heat of his breath fans over your neck as he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear before trailing down to your shoulder.

You can feel it in the way his fingers dig into your skin, in the way his body molds so perfectly against yours as he spoons you from behind. One hand cups your breast, kneading, his thumb rolling over your nipple, sending small shocks of pleasure down your spine. The other dips lower, fingertips teasing over your sweet spot, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that match the lazy, deep rhythm of his thrusts inside you.

A shiver runs through you, not just from the pleasure but from the way he’s holding you—as if he’s afraid to let go.

“Caleb…” you breathe, his name slipping from your lips like a plea, a prayer.

“Please…” his voice is hoarse, strained, “keep—” he groans, his thrusts stuttering slightly before he regains control, “keep saying my name.”

His movements are slow but insistent, his lips never leaving your skin, as if grounding himself in you, as if needing the reassurance that you’re still here.

You moan again, letting his name tumble from your lips like a mantra, and you feel his breath hitch against your neck. His grip on you tightens, his thrusts pushing just a little deeper, his fingers pressing just a little harder.

But then, you feel it—his hesitation.

The momentary pause in his rhythm, the way his lips linger on your skin like he wants to say something but can’t. It’s in the way his fingers tremble slightly against you, the way his breath falters, the way his arms tighten around you just a little too much.

Your heart clenches, the realization settling in.

He’s scared.

Not of losing you physically, no—that’s not the kind of fear that grips him. It’s something deeper. The thought of someone else replacing him, someone else becoming the one you turn to, the one you whisper your secrets to, the one whose name you say when you need comfort.

The one who matters to you.

You shift slightly, pressing your body even closer against him as if trying to reassure him without words. Your hand moves to cover the one he has on your chest, fingers intertwining, holding him there.

“I’m here,” you whisper, barely audible, but he hears it. You know he does because his body stills for just a second before he exhales, a deep, shaky breath against your skin.

And then, he moves again—faster now, rougher, his hands leaving your breast and sweet spot to grip your hip, holding you in place as he thrusts harder.

As if trying to prove something.

As if trying to remind you that it’s his name you say.

That it’s his touch you crave.

That it’s him . Only him .

As your remaining hand slips off the tub's edge, it instinctively reaches behind you, cradling Caleb's head against your shoulder with a tender yet unyielding grip. The other arm remains steadfast, covering the arm Caleb has wrapped around your chest, holding him close as the warmth of the water and the intensity of the moment envelop you both. Your body begins to rock back and forth, a gentle yet insistent motion that helps Caleb deepen his penetration, the sensation sending shivers down you.

Caleb's teeth sink into your shoulder, the bite hard enough to make you hiss, a sharp intake of breath that mingles with the sound of water splashing around you. It's as if the deepwater waves are engulfing you both, pulling you under with their relentless rhythm. As Caleb leans back onto his side of the bathtub, his arms release their hold on your body, only to wrap around your neck, pulling you into a tight, almost suffocating embrace.

You find yourself practically sitting on his lap, your body tilted back against his shoulder, his arms tightening around your neck like a vice. Your hands grasp the edge of the tub once more, and you begin to bounce up and down, the motion sending waves of pleasure through your body. Caleb's whimper of "Fuck…" is music to your ears, a testament to the intensity of the moment.

Your moans are stifled by the chokehold, but you manage to gasp out a few words, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. One of Caleb's arms releases its grip on your neck, only to find its way to your sweet spot once more, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You take control of the penetration, moving up and down with a frenzied intensity, while Caleb focuses on making you feel good, his other arm still wrapped tightly around your neck.

As he presses his lips against your ear, his breath hot and erratic, his words slurred with desire, "This is what I want," he groans. "I… want us to be one…" The sentiment sends a shiver down your spine, and you continue to bounce, going even faster, your body straining towards release.

Your words are barely intelligible, but Caleb finds your struggle seductive, "Ask again?" he whispers, his voice a low, husky growl.

You manage to gasp out a few words, "Tou…ch…me…" your saliva dripping from your lips as you point to your breasts, "Plea…se."

Caleb's arm releases the chokehold, massaging your breasts with a gentle yet insistent touch, sending you into a frenzy of pleasure. You turn your head, whispering sweet nothings into Caleb's ear, "Yours… Always yours…" The words seem to send him over the edge, and he sighs, his body relaxing into the moment.

As you continue to move, a final kiss lingers on Caleb’s lips before you shift forward, your hands plunging into the warm water, pressing against the smooth base of the tub. Your body arches instinctively, your back curving as if offering yourself to him, the motion a silent plea, a shared rhythm that neither of you can resist.

The water sways and splashes around you, cascading against the porcelain, a steady pulse in tune with your bodies. Your hips roll and press against his, the friction igniting every nerve between you. Caleb’s breath grows heavier, a low, husky whimper slipping from his lips as his fingers tighten around the tub’s edge.

You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of him—his head tilted back, his throat exposed, an image of surrender and control all at once. His eyes are barely open, dark lashes fluttering, yet within the narrow slits, a glimmer shines through. He’s watching you, devouring the way your body moves, the way your lips part as you stifle your sounds of pleasure.

There is something unspoken between you, something deeper than mere desire. It’s in the way his fingers twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for you again, in the way his breath hitches when you shift just right. The water, the heat, the tension—it all builds into something near unbearable, an intensity neither of you can escape.

You face forward again, and the sound of Caleb’s fingers tapping—no, clawing—at the tub’s edges fills the air, a silent display of restraint unraveling. The water ripples around you, heated waves splashing against your skin as you move with growing urgency, your hips rolling and pressing down in time with Caleb’s eager thrusts.

“Haa… ha…” you breathe, your voice breaking into the humid air, swallowed by the rising tension between you.

Then, a shift—your body twisting as you turn to face him, your legs spreading to straddle him completely. The moment your gaze locks onto his, you slow just enough to let him take in the sight of you. Your hands slide up your cheeks, fingers tangling into your damp hair, lifting it, teasing, as your hips begin to circle in slow, hypnotic rolls against his lap. Every movement is deliberate, each sway of your hips a silent dance meant for him alone.

Caleb watches, utterly mesmerized. His breath hitches, and his lips are slightly parted as if he is unable to find the words to describe what you’re doing to him. His fingers twitch at the edges of the tub before finally releasing their grip. Instead, his hands find your waist, strong fingers digging into your skin as he matches your rhythm. His own urgency is evident in the way he guides you—rougher, more desperate.

Your own hands glide down from your hair, trailing over your collarbone, down your chest, teasing, fondling, reveling in the sensation. Your damp strands of hair cling to your face, framing your half-lidded eyes, and through the veil of tangled locks, you see Caleb watching—spellbound, lost in you.

The water sloshes violently against the porcelain, the sound a mere backdrop to the intoxicating symphony of your mingled breaths and whispered gasps. Your fingers find the tub’s edge again, gripping for leverage as your movements become wilder, and faster. Caleb meets you with equal fervor, his hands holding you tighter, guiding you, urging you.

Your head tilts back, and your wet, unruly hair cascades over your shoulders, sticking to your skin in dark waves. The feeling builds, winding tightly inside you like a fire threatening to consume you both.

You lean back, letting the warm water envelop you, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes flutter shut, and your hands reach blindly through the rippling depths, searching for Caleb. The moment your fingers brush against his skin, he shifts, adjusting above you, the weight of his presence pressing closer.

Then, the pressure tightens—Caleb submerges, following you into the water’s embrace. The world above grows muted, distant, leaving only the sound of your racing heart and the rush of bubbles breaking between you. His lips find yours beneath the surface, soft yet insistent, melding against yours in an urgent kiss. His hands slide down your body, fingers finding your thigh and pulling you against him.

Even beneath the water, his movements are fluid, and precise—a rhythm that sends ripples through you both. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as your bodies move in perfect sync, the weightlessness making every sensation feel heightened, electric. The water shifts with your movements, a silent witness to your shared intensity.

Then, in one swift motion, Caleb lifts you, breaking the surface. The rush of air fills your lungs, but before you can fully recover, your back meets the cool porcelain with a forceful thud. The contrast of heat and cold, of water and open air, sends a jolt through your system.

Caleb towers over you, droplets streaming down his face, his breath heavy and erratic. His hands remain firm, one still gripping your thigh, the other braced against the tub. His body moves with reckless abandon, each motion deep, and relentless. Water sloshes over the edge, cascading onto the floor, forgotten.

His grunts mix with ragged breaths, his voice breaking through the sound of splashing water. Your gasps mirror his, the tension between you coiling tighter with every movement. Every sensation—his touch, his breath, the warmth of his body against yours—feels amplified, consuming.

His fingers tighten their hold, his pace unrelenting, pulling you both toward the inevitable, where words no longer matter—only feeling, only this.

Caleb shifts, guiding your legs over the edge of the tub, the cool porcelain a stark contrast against your heated skin. A shiver of anticipation courses through you, a delicious tension coiling in your stomach. His hands planted firmly on the tub’s rim, framing your face, caging you beneath him. You tilt your head back, searching his eyes—those dark, smoldering depths that drink you in like you’re something sacred.

Droplets of water fall from his damp hair, landing softly against your skin and trickling down like whispers of rain. The heat of his breath fans against your lips as he leans in closer, his voice hushed yet commanding.

“Look at you…” His tone is rich and reverent. “You’re breathtaking.”

Your breath hitches, your fingers tightening around his arms. Then his lips crash against yours—hungry, unyielding as if he’s trying to claim every unspoken word between you. The kiss deepens, tongues meeting in a slow, intoxicating dance. Your fingers weave into his wet hair, pulling him closer, savoring the taste of him—faint traces of warmth and something undeniably his.

Then, with one swift movement, he shifts, pressing deeper, and a strangled gasp slips from your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him. He swallows your moan, his own breath stuttering as he holds still for a moment as if grounding himself in the way you fit so perfectly beneath him.

Your nails press into his skin, trailing down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. Caleb’s forehead presses to yours, his voice a shaky whisper against your lips.

“Tell me…” His breath is ragged, his body taut with restraint. “Tell me you feel this too.”

Your voice is barely more than a whimper. “I feel everything…”

He groans, his grip tightening, his body responding with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. You arch into him, your breaths coming in gasps, your senses drowning in the heat, the sound of water sloshing around you, the deep timbre of his voice breaking between heavy breaths.

“Say my name,” Caleb murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing along your jaw, down to your pulse point, where his tongue flicks, teasing.

“Caleb…” You breathe it like a prayer.

His lips curve into a knowing smile, his eyes dark with something unspoken, something primal.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his hands gripping your waist, his movements deep, slow, deliberate. The way he looks at you—like you are the only thing in the world—sends warmth flooding through your chest.

“My world… my life,” your voice is soft, yet resolute, your fingertips tracing the contours of his damp skin. “It includes you.”

Caleb stills. A breath catches in his throat, his body rigid as your words sink in. For a moment, the possessiveness, and the urgency, all dissolve into nothing. What remains is something raw—something unguarded. His lips find yours again, but this time, the kiss is different. It’s not hungry. It’s not desperate. It’s deep, steady, a silent confession. A kiss of understanding, of devotion.

It’s a kiss of acceptance.

His hands, once gripping with unrelenting fervor, now hold you like you’re something fragile, something irreplaceable. He’s always claimed you as his, but now, in this moment, he understands—he is yours just as much. There is no fear of loss, no silent battle for reassurance. He is here. He is loved. And he finally believes it.

“I’m sorry…” His voice is breathless, a whisper against your lips, though his body continues to move—slow, as if savoring every second.

You respond with a soft hum, your body shuddering against him. The peak of your pleasure had passed moments ago, but you hold on, staying with him, letting him embrace this moment fully. Your forehead rests against his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin.

“Nngh…” His breath stutters, a quiet whimper slipping from his lips as his body tenses, shuddering against yours.

And then, release.

His grip tightens, his arms pulling you impossibly closer as he finally lets go, his breath heavy, tangled with yours. There is no rush to part, no need for words. Only the quiet rise and fall of your chests, the lingering warmth between you, and the unspoken promise sealed between your lips.

Caleb shifts, his movements slow and tender as he guides your bodies into a new position—his back resting against the cool porcelain while you lay against him, your body melting into his warmth. His arms encircle you, securing you against his chest, your head finding solace on his shoulder.

His breath is still uneven, lingering in the space between you, but he presses soft kisses along your shoulder as if grounding himself in your presence. Each press of his lips is a silent whisper, a quiet confession.

You reach for his right hand, tracing the calloused ridges of his fingers before gently opening his palm. Lifting it toward the window, you slide your hand beneath his, pressing your fingers together—lining them up, feeling the contrast, the fit. His fingers move first, locking with yours, holding tight. Then, without hesitation, he pulls your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of your hand with a reverence that makes your chest tighten.

A beat of silence.

“I…” His voice is quiet, as if the words have been sitting on his tongue for too long. “I love you.”

You don’t respond right away. Not because you don’t feel the same, but because the weight of his words lingers, filling the space between you like something sacred.

He exhales, then presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you,” he repeats, more certain this time.

You smile faintly, tilting your head against him. “I know.”

A short laugh escapes him, but then he grows serious again. His grip on your hand tightens, his lips hovering close to your ear.

“No… I love you a little more than you realize.”

The words settle deep in your chest, warmer than the water surrounding you. And in his hold, in the quiet of this moment, you believe him.

You don’t speak, but the way you squeeze his hand, the way your fingers stay laced between his, tells him everything.

The room is quiet now, save for the faint dripping of water from the edges of the tub, and the slow rise and fall of your breaths. Caleb lets out a deep sigh, his chin resting against your damp hair, his arms wrapped around you as if afraid to let go.

Outside the window, the world feels distant—lightening flickering, the candle casting a soft glow across the bathroom. But here, in this small, water-kissed space, nothing else matters.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, memorizing every dip and ridge of your skin. You tilt your head slightly, your lips barely grazing his jaw before whispering, “I know… and I love you, too.”

Caleb doesn’t speak, but you feel it—the way his arms tighten around you, the way his breath stutters for just a moment, as if those words unraveled something deep within him.

Neither of you move. There’s no need to.

Because here, at this moment, tangled in warmth, wrapped in whispered confessions and lingering touches—this is everything.

And neither of you would change a thing.

#caleb fic #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb #l&ds reader #lads caleb #lads fic #caleb x mc #caleb x you #lads mc #love and deepspace mc #lads #mc love and deepspace #love and deep space #lnds caleb

347 notes · View notes