How Waterboy/Herm, Mecha Man/Robert Robertson III, & Flambae/Chad whimper for you! Gn Reader~ nsfw // 1.4k words ⟢
• Waterboy
The room is dead silent. Well as silent as a plastic covered couch can be. “W-What di-did you say?” Herm’s face is fully red, looking seconds away from a heart attack.
“I said you are cute Hermy.” You deadpan. That makes him even more shaky. “Yeah uh yeah I thought that’s what you s-said…”
Herman swallows, water droplets run down his temple. “I-I t-think you mh you’re c-cute too.” He whispers your name and timidly tucks his head down.
You give him your sweetest smile, the one that melts him every time. “Could I kiss you Herm?” You ask looking into his wide baby blue eyes.
His mouth opens and closes in shock- “y-you wanna k-kiss me?” He looks around to make sure it’s just the two of you in the room.
You hold back a smicker and shake your head due to his disbelief. “Yeah I have for a while actually.” You mutter trying not to embarrass yourself. “It okay if you don’t wan-“
Herman cuts you off, “no no no, it's just… I-I don’t know, are you s-sure?” His eyes cast down while he fiddles with his slippery fingers.
A soft huff slips out your lips and gently you slide your hand on top of his. “Yeah I’m sure.” You move his hand to your face, and rub your thumb along the back of his clammy hand.
Herman looks ready to pass out. Even more so when your free hand touches the back of his head of soaked hair. He shudders from the feeling a small almost inaudible noise escapes his thin lips, causing him to flush even more.
“So you want that kiss Herm?” You tilt your head, looking at his well moisturized lips.
He nods his head, “mhm uh Y-yes-“ You pull him by the nape closer closing the distance.
Herm tenses wide eyed and shoulders hunched before relaxing into the kiss. He cups your cheek more fixed and leans more into you.
“Mmmh” Herman whimpers as you draw the air out of his lungs. Slowly pulling away from the kiss, droplets of water run down your chin.
“How was that huh?” You can't help the smug expression that is painted on your face.
With newfound confidence he gives you a quick peck on the lips. “It’s i-incredible, you are incredible aha-” He lets out an airy laugh, pauses, and straightens his posture.
His face and neck are so many different shades of pink and red… Is he about to boil?
“What’s up? You good?” Squinting you scan over him to see why he froze so suddenly, you look down and “oh.”
Herman covers his damp face in embarrassment, “I-I didn’t mean to do t-that.” He folds into himself even more, “I can’t c-control that I s-swear.”
You pull his hands away and shake your head, “It’s okay Herm, it’s natural- you’re a guy.” You pat his shoulder.
He gives you a shy smile as more water continues to run down his temple.
“So you want help with that waterboy?” You point at the large protrusion in his tight suit bottoms.
He trembles,”Y-yes please-” Your hands travel.
“hah- wait! Slow I’m s-sensitive.”
• Robert
Coming back to his poorly furnished apartment drunk was a mistake. A single dingy plastic lawn chair and about ten lamps were scattered around.
So of course you tripped on a lamp and fell on your side. “Ugh what the?! Why are there so many lamps?”
“Oh yeah I should’ve mentioned the lamps, sorry.”
You shrug and roll to your back, still on the floor. Robert walks over to where you are laying and sets a half drank whisky bottle between the two of you.
“Where is beef?” You ask, you expected to get kiss attacked by the chunky dog.
“Chase stole him; said something about it being easier to get ladies.” Robert huffs and takes a swig from the bottle.
“I believe it.” You chuckle, turning your head to get a good look at the man you are lying next to. “Have you ever thought about getting a bed? The floor is well… hard.”
Robert snorts, “Why'd you help me break it in?” He jests.
“Yeah I would.” You say shrugging, you glance straight into his swirly brown eyes.
He moves closer to you leaning on an elbow, “oh yeah?”
“Deadass Robert.” You sit up, now face to face.
He scooted closer, sealing the distance with a kiss.
“Mph-”
“You’re so eager Robert, who would’ve thought- rhm” His hand wraps lightly around your throat.
“Dont tease me.” He pulls you onto his lap, wrapping one arm around your waist and the other entangles in your hair. “I want to feel you- everything.”
You push your lips on his luring beautiful little gasps, noises you thought a man like Robert wouldn't dare to make. You grind hard on his lap and repeat the motion, moving your ass back and forth against the twitching tent in his pants.
“Don’t- ah don’t do that you're going to make me cum-” Robert tries to push your hips away from his pelvis, his face contorts and he squinches his eyes shut. “Uh please?”
You scoff at his pathetic excuse for a plea, “Is that a challenge?”
“No? No. Its not- I havent even got a feel of you and i'm about to splooge in my pants like some virgin.”
You smirk at the idea. His eyebrows furrow. “What are you- uh ah-” You rip his hand off your hips and pull his arms to press on your chest, trapping his wrists.
“W-what the fuck?”
His puppy dog eyes could seriously turn you into a puddle, hell you're sure your jeans are by now.
You resume your merciless grinding, digging yourself into his hardness.
“Seriously mhh-” He thrusts his hips jolting both of your bodies. “I can't hold it- can I at least be in you?!” He begs but it goes unheard
You shake your head in refusal, tightening your hold on his wrists, “Just let me know I can make you turn so pathetic first- then I'll let you have your way Robert.” You whisper in his scarred ear, making him shiver at the sensation.
He sucks in a breath of air- “kiss me.” He calls out your name breathily, “I'm so fuh-fucking close-”
You claim his mouth once more and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. “Mmph! Muh- Oh Fuh-”
Cumming hard, he painted the inside of his pants leaving a large wet patch that somehow stained your pants as well.
“Was that what you wanted? Happy now?” He teases breathless and flushed.
“I am very satisfied, Rob-” He pushed you on the hardwood floor, setting himself between your legs.
Oh how the tables have turned…
• Flambae
“FUCKKK you feel so good!” He slows his rhythm, thrusts becoming savory. His fluid movements are rolling moans right out of your tongue.
“You like that don’t you heh, my cock fits in you perfectly babe-“ He pushes your hips down on the mattress as he lays his solid body on top of yours.
“Ah~ hnn” Flambae ruts himself deeper, his pelvis hitting your ass, he wraps his arms around your shoulders as he quickens his pace, humping into your tightness.
He hilts his movements and squishes you even tighter, “hah- you feel me twitching in you?” He whispers in your ear. You can feel yourself heat up from how warm he is. All you can do is nod your head, words long forgotten.
He twitches again and it sends a fiery wave through your body, “Chad!“ your plea is cut off by his lips.
Sliding his tongue down your throat he resumes his relentless thrusts. “Mmph-“ He whimpers in your mouth. Moving an arm away from your shoulder he brings a hand down toward your stomach.
Smirking against your mouth he presses your belly where is dick is pressing your insides. It sends a hot sensation to the both of you. His eyes roll and his body laxes against yours pressing you harder into the mattress.
“Ohhh fuck babe I’m going to cum! I’m going to fill you so fucking much~” He humps and bites the nape of your neck covering your neck in love bites, “You taste so fucking good ah-“ Flambae stills, you feel his legs tighten around yours.
“Let me cum in you babe, ah now!” You nod and try hiding back your moans by biting his forearm wrapped around you.
“Ah! Fuck yes yes yessss- mmmah“ he fills you so full of his cum it starts leaking out with him still inside of you.
Flambae rests his face on yours, cheek to cheek. Still on top of you this buff hunk is squishing the hell and cum out of you-
“You are the fucking best babe-“ he smacks your ass and smooches your cheek.
You give him a squished smile and pause and give the air a sniff. “Uh something is burning…”
“Aw shit”
A/N: I have been gone too long (4 months sorry) Worst writers block I’ve ever experienced! I hope this makes up for the time I’ve been gone otherwise sorry I wrote this like a newborn :\
Leif, a gentle giant of pure orc blood, towers at over seven feet tall. His tannish-green skin glows warmly in the sunlight, he has a lean but soft physique. Despite his intimidating stature, his deep voice is a source of comfort to those around him, his presence calming, his nature well-known and trusted by all. Yet, there’s one undeniable issue that lingers, you.
You hate him, every interaction he’s exchanged with you has been sharper than a knife, colder than the snow. It saddens him with a frown etched into his face after every conversation.
He thinks you’re amazing, the way you handle a bow and arrow with ease, bringing the game back to the village you both reside in. Giving the town much food to eat, never having to worry about hunger.
He’s too big to use a bow Leif wishes he wasn’t, perhaps you would like him more if he wasn’t so big, if he could be more careful, he can’t help but run and bump into things.
He remembers how you grew to dislike him. He was relatively newer to the village, but he brought his talent of being a blacksmith with him, many of the townsfolk grew to enjoy his presence and his passion. Money grew as well causing even more townsfolk to welcome him.
You grew up as a hunter, your family passed doing just that, hunting. It was more than a pastime or sport for you. It was your livelihood, the bow your father gifted you before his great hunt was sacred to you.
Was… Leif the clutz he snapped it in pieces when he tripped over your crouched form that was hiding in a bush.
He nearly cried. He felt so bad and it didn’t help the situation when you threatened his life. From that day on you declared him as a foe and he wished nothing more than to make it up to you.
Once he made you a bow as a blacksmith he didn’t have a lot of experience with bow making but he put his best effort into creating it. You practically cursed his bloodline, and shoved the bow up his ass.
The worst of all that has happened between you, he loved you, Leif felt it deep within his heart when he laid his amber eyes on you. He sent prayer after prayer to you, devoting his mind, body, and soul to you.
Other women and some men in the town have tried to woo him but never succeeded, everyone could see clear as day how he felt, but they also saw how you felt. It was obvious he was going to have to work hard to win your love.
The sharp scrape of your window being pried open jolts you awake, followed by the muffled thud of it sliding shut.
“What the-” You mumble, blinking against the darkness as your heart pounds.
“It’s just me.” A gravelly voice cuts through the quiet, rough but familiar.
“Jason?” Your voice is raspy from sleep, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, sorry. Go back to sleep.” His rough touch is gentle as he brushes your hair out of your face.
A hum of satisfaction escapes your lips, and you flop back onto the mattress, already sinking back into the comfort of your pillow. The dim glow of the streetlights outside spills through the window, just enough to cast his shadow across your room. You watch as he moves with quiet efficiency, peeling off his gear, each piece hitting the floor with a dull thud.
The distant sound of the shower hums softly, lulling you further into the haze of sleep. You blink once, twice, and suddenly, his warmth is enveloping you. His body molds to yours, strong arms circling your waist, pulling you close as his thick legs tangle lazily with yours.
A sleepy yawn escapes as you press a soft kiss to the stubbled curve of his jaw, a soft grunt slipping from your lips as the roughness tickles your skin. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, exhaling a deep, contented sigh.
“Sleep good, Angel,” he mumbles against your skin, his breath warm and soothing.
“You too, Red,” you murmur, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his back.
As your eyes flutter shut, your heart beats in quiet harmony with his.
A/N: been enjoying ooey gooey fluff and decided to make some!
When two childhood friends “chill” // 18+ nsfw // fluff-angsty-SMUT // vanilla // breeding // lots of kisses //
Jason Todd x gn! Reader
“Jason, be serious.”
“…”
“Jason?”
“I am serious.”
A heavy silence hangs in the air. You exhale into a cough, arms crossed, mind scrambling for what to say.
He breaks the silence first.
“We’ve known each other forever. I trust you, y’know.”
You roll your eyes and scoff lightly.
“Oh yeah? So you ask me to take your virginity while we’re eating greasy diner burgers?” You shake your head, grabbing a fry and popping it into your mouth.
He sips his soda, eyes flicking over your face from across the couch.
“I’m twenty-two,” he says quietly. “I’ve died more times than I can count and… I’m still a virgin.” The last part barely leaves his lips, his gaze dropping to his half-eaten burger, embarrassment seeping through.
Your expression softens. You scoot to the edge of the couch, turning to face him.
“Jay, it’s not like our line of work leaves much time for… that kind of thing.”
He gives a small shrug.
“I guess. But it’s not like we haven’t done stuff like that before. Remember when we took each other’s first kiss at fourteen?”
You laugh at the memory, the sound light and nostalgic.
“God, we were so awkward.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, a fond smirk tugging at his lips. “It feels like we’ve come full circle.”
A beat…
“Can I kiss you?”
Your smile falters as heat rises to your cheeks. You gulp and nod, scooting closer.
“I’ve always been yours, Jas-”
He leans in and silences you with a kiss. His lips are a little chapped, but it’s no surprise- he’s never been the type to care. There’s a nervousness in him, something hesitant.
You wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
“Can I get on top?” you whisper, lips swollen and breathless.
Jason’s grip finds your hips as he guides you onto his lap. You can feel him already- eager, twitching beneath you.
Your hearts beat in a frantic rhythm as you claim his lips again. This time, he’s hungrier, almost desperate, like he’s trying to memorize you, consume you.
“I want to feel you,” he breathes, lifting your shirt and pulling it over your head. His eyes roam your bare chest, wide and reverent.
“Jason,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and tugging it off.
Your breath hitches when you see him fully. His scars, carved like stories across his chest and shoulders. Your fingers brush along them like tracing a map of everything he’s been through.
You almost flinch, almost retreat. But he grabs your hand before you can pull away.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Don’t do that. I trust you. Don’t be dumb.”
You shake your head, eyes shining. Instead of replying, you slide your hands into his hair, pulling him in for a kiss, slow, gentle, grounding. Your hands trail down to his back, nails grazing his skin.
Jason clutches you to him like he’s trying to fuse you into himself.
“Can I?”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
He eases you off his lap, undressing you carefully. Then comes his own clothing, layer by layer peeled away until he’s bare before you. Muscle and tension. He’s beautiful.
He stares down at you, taking in the sight he’s imagined for years. He’s trembling.
“I can’t wait any longer.”
“Have me, Jay,” you whisper.
He kneels between your spread legs, the flushed tip of his cock twitching. Sweat glistens at his temple. His breath is shallow.
You pull him closer, arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“Put it in, Jason~” you whisper against his ear, and it sends a shiver through him.
Eyebrows pinched, he lines himself up and slowly pushes into you. You arch into his chest, gasping at the stretch. The perfect, eye rolling pressure of him filling you.
“Jay- feels so good-” you moan into his shoulder as he begins to thrust, slow and careful.
He groans, jaw clenched.
“Fuck- you- you’re so wet.”
His forehead presses against yours as he picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. You cling to him, nails dragging down his back.
“I’m not gonna last,” he pants.
“It’s okay,” you whisper, lips brushing his cheek. “Come for me, Jay.”
His body shudders as he releases inside you, burying his face in your neck. His breath is ragged, arms wrapped around you like a lifeline.
“I love you,” he whispers into your skin, kissing just beneath your jaw.
“You have no idea, Jason,” you murmur back, arms wrapped around him like you never want to let go.
A/N: quick fic to get me out of the worst writers block of my life!!!
Leif is a big guy. Broad, towering, pure muscle and strength, so the sight of him sewing your ripped clothes after a rough hunt is always amusing.
A little needle held between his thick fingers looks almost invisible, humorously delicate compared to his size. But he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves doing things like this for you!
Fixing your gear, repairing your arrows, cooking you meals, giving you massages, washing your hair with care. Anything to lighten your load and keep your spirits high.
You tease him with a grin spread on your face you’d say something like, “Big guy doing little jobs,” but it only makes him smile.
He knows you’re grateful, and that alone makes his chest feel warm. Your praise, never ending and true, fills his belly with butterflies every time.
You’re a team, after all. You care for him just as much. He’s even started teaching you how to work at his forge. How to hold a hammer, strike the anvil, shape metal with fire and force.
Watching you wield a hammer nearly as big as your arm, fiercely determined, is endlessly entertaining for both of you. And it’s a great way to let out some frustration.
Win-win.
Same when it comes to intimacy.
Leif is a pleaser through and through. He lives for the sound of your breathless moans, the way your fingers tangle in his long, thick, locked hair as you pull him down into a sharp kiss. The way you tug on his tusks just to whisper something sinful in his pointed ear.
He adores the way your body desires for him, how your smaller frame quivers beneath his as he eases into you, slowly, deeply, passionately
. The way your nails rake down his back, urging him closer, seeking more.
The way his name falls from your lips when you finally come undone around him for the first time, gods, it ruins him in the best way.
And every moment, every sound, every touch, pulls him deeper in love with you.
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0.9k words // Nsfw (ish) // gets caught // takes pictures and videos without reader knowing // angsttt // crying // reader is flabbergasted // Yan just wants a hug // :‹
He’s shy.
God, he’s so shy.
He lurks in the shadows, always in the back, always tucked away somewhere dark where no one ever has to look at him.
Moping. Frowning. Whining.
Drowning in some pathetic pool of self-pity because he’s never strong enough to speak up, never brave enough to be seen.
The tears that fall at night, soaking into his pillow.
The red, angry marks on his palms from clenching his fists too hard all day just to stay silent.
The dark, heavy circles under his dulling eyes, carved there from hours and hours staring into camera lenses instead of facing the real world.
The sick, pale skin from hiding inside all the time, too scared to breathe the same air as everyone else.
The only time anyone notices him is through the college paper. His photos.
They always say he has a good eye for beauty.
Funny.
Because there’s only one thing he actually thinks is beautiful.
You.
You’re the only thing he’s ever had eyes for.
And thankfully, he’s good at hiding, because it lets him watch you all day.
Trailing behind you, camera always in hand like it’s his lifeline.
Snapping pictures of you when you smile, when you frown, when you just exist.
The things he does in secret
Sneaking into your dorm just to collapse on your bed, face buried in your pillow, greedy for the scent you leave behind.
Stealing your shirts when you’re not looking, clutching them to his chest and wearing them in the secret privacy of his own room- where every wall is completely covered in different pictures of you. He wants to be completely surrounded by you.
The tiny cameras he’s hidden in your pencil sharpener, your toothbrush charger, unnoticeable desperate pieces of himself clinging to you.
He sees everything.
Every soft moment when you think no one’s looking.
Every time you let your guard down.
Every inch of your beautiful, ethereal, breathtaking body.
And each time, it makes him ache. Makes him starve for you.
You are his sanctuary.
You are the only place that feels right.
You just don’t know it yet.
He wants so badly for you to look at him.
To want him.
To pull him into your arms and never, ever let go.
But you don’t see him.
You never do.
And he’s too much of a coward to step into the light.
He knows it.
He hates it.
Still, he wishes anyway.
Wishes on everything he can find. Full moons, four-leaf clovers, shooting stars, coins tossed into wishing wells, begging the universe for you to notice him.
To need him.
Until then, he’ll stay hidden.
Just him, his camera, and his stupid, pathetic, breaking heart.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Watching you.
“Please come to me, my light,” he whispers into your pillow, voice cracking as he sobs.
“Please.”
“What are you doing in my room?…”
He stiffens, heart dropping,“I-” His voice dies in his throat.
You’re staring at him like you don’t even recognize him.
Like he’s something wrong.
“What the hell are you doing in my room?” your voice cracks with something between confusion and fear.
You take a step back, away from him.
And it cuts him deep.
He launches forward without thinking, still clutching your shirt, still smelling like you, desperation pouring off him in waves.
“Please- please don’t, don’t look at me like that,” he stammers, reaching out like he could pull you back to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I swear! I just- I just love you!” He cries.
You shake your head, overwhelmed, confused.
You feel sick.
You remember the missing clothes, the little things that had been moved, the uneasy feeling of being watched, followed…
The pieces click into place like a knife twisting in your gut.
“You…”
You can barely breathe.
“You’ve been stalking me?”
He whimpers at the word.
Like it physically hurt him.
“N-no not like that-” he pleads, voice breaking. “I was just- watching over you, I was not stalking you, I swear!”
You step back again, faster this time.
Your stomach turns.
You can’t think straight.
“I don’t even know you,” you choke out, anger sparking through your fear. “You- you’re sick!”
The words hit him hard.
He collapses to his knees, crawling after you without thinking, grabbing onto the hem of your pants with shaking hands.
“No, please, please don’t say that,” he sobs, tears pouring freely now. “I’m not sick, I know you! I’m yours- I’m yours, I’ll do anything!”
You try to pry him off, but he clings harder, wrapping his arms around your legs, burying his face against you like a terrified child.
He’s trembling so violently you can barely keep your balance.
“I need you,” he gasps out. “I need you. Please don’t push me away! Please don’t hate me! Please!-“
His fingers dig into you, like if he just holds tight enough, you won’t be able to fight him off.
You’re frozen. You don’t know what to do. You’re furious. You’re scared.
But he’s clinging to you like a lifeline.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he whimpers. “I just wanted to be close to you, I just wanted- I just wanted you to see me!”
His voice breaks into a raw, guttural sob.
“Please don’t push me away,” he cries. “Please. Please. I’ll die without you-“
You shove at him weaker than before, but he just clutches harder, like he’s trying to melt into you, like letting go would make you vanish.
“Let go of me!” you finally shout, voice hoarse and eyebrows pinched anger and confusion.
But he doesn’t.
He just cries harder.
Mumbling apologies into your tear-stained pants, swearing he’d be good, he’ll do better, he’ll fix this, he’ll do anything, anything, just don’t let go of him.
A/N: This is a lil different than my usual Yan I write. I wanted to try something from the horny violent obsession that I typically write for Yan’s. Hope you like it :D
sfw (lil spicy) 18+ // it’s ominous if you look closely // virgin adrenaline junkie plug x chill reader // crack fic?? // 2k words
He knew exactly what he wanted: to get laid. For real this time. Not in a dream. Not in a fantasy. Not with a pillow. Not thinking about-
Look, he’s not winning any awards. He’s kind of an idiot. A walking red flag with a Mohawk that looks like it lost a fight with a weed whacker. His mom barely tolerates him, and yeah- he sells shrooms out of his car. But like, the chill kind. He’s not Pablo Escobar, he’s more like… Pablo Mid.
Violent? Only if you steal his vape. Hot? In a “if you squint and maybe have a concussion” sort of way. He thinks he’s a sex god, but the truth? The guy’s freshly 21 and still hasn’t seen a boob in the wild.
But tonight? Oh, tonight’s the night. He’s at some rager his “client” invited him to because nothing says “ladies man” like showing up to a party with a fanny pack full of fungi. He’s ready. Horny. Slightly sweaty.
And if, by some divine miracle, someone decides to pity bang him? Well… they’d better be too drunk to notice he finishes faster than a microwave burrito.
It’s not like he doesn’t get hit on. Some of the girls he sells to have offered to screw him instead of paying, but he always tells them to fuck off- usually right before threatening to light their hairsprayed heads on fire.
He’s minding his own business at the party. Not that anyone’s dumb enough to bother him. The permanent scowl glued to his face does the heavy lifting. He’s leaning on the fence, stewing in his own awkwardness, already questioning this so-called “plan.”
Then he sees you.
He’s seen you many times before. Hell, you’ve bummed booze off him more than once. You’re quiet. Or maybe just nonchalant. Whatever it is, people call you a hard-ass. Intimidating? Definitely. Hot? Oh yeah. Hot-hot.
The kind of hot that makes him stand up straighter. Adjust his hoodie. Forget, briefly, that he hasn’t washed his hair in three days.
He watches you from across the yard, casually checking you out on the down-low. You’re wearing sweats and an oversized T-shirt- like, comically oversized.
“Can’t see shit,” he mutters, taking a long, dramatic hit off his vape like it’ll calm the injustice.
Who the hell shows up to a party in pajamas? Who does that? Like what?
And why does it still kinda work?
You catch him eyeballing you from across the yard, his stare not nearly as subtle as he thinks. You scowl, leaning toward one of your friends.
“Why is our drug dealer staring at me?” you mutter.
They shrug, already swaying back into the music, leaving you alone with your suspicion.
You sigh. “Better not think I owe him money.”
With a groan and a deep breath, you march toward him, each step louder in your head than it needs to be. He notices. Of course he does. His posture straightens immediately, like he just got called up in class. There’s a smirk threatening to crawl onto his face, and you want to punch it off already.
“Why are you staring at me?” you ask, arms crossed, voice clipped. “Last time I checked, I paid-”
He cuts you off, silently offering his vape, eyes holding that usual half-smirk, half-dumbass look.
“Chill.”
You roll your eyes, lean on the same section of fence he’s parked at, and take a hit.
“Ugh. Gross flavor,” you mutter, scrunching your face as you hand the vape back. He shrugs like he knew that already.
A pause settles between you as you both watch the chaos unfold, people grinding and stumbling across your friend’s backyard like drunk moths circling a bonfire. Music’s loud. Vibes are messy.
“You bored?” he asks, trying-and failing-to soften his usual scowl.
You shrug. “I hate parties,” you admit, voice low, almost tired. Then you glance at him, your expression more wide now, curious.
“Are you?”
He glances down at his shoes, scowling like they personally offended him. Then he looks back up at you, at your dull, tired eyes.
“Wanna go do something?” he asks, voice low and weirdly serious.
You raise an eyebrow, head tilted. “Like what?”
That smirk-slow and stupid-creeps across his face. “Get slushies?”
You narrow your eyes. “Is that slang for something? ’Cause if it is- no.”
“No, dipshit,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The gas station a couple blocks down. They’ve got a sick-ass slushie machine. You in or not?”
You stare at him for a second, like you’re waiting for the punchline. Then, you shrug. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
His grin spreads wider as he jerks his head toward his car. For a second, you swear he grows devil horns.
The second you slide into the passenger seat, he announces, “Seatbelt. I only drive fast.”
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
“That was fast?” you deadpan, stepping out of the car like you just survived a near-death experience. He’d blown through every stop sign like they were mere suggestions.
“Hah. You’re funny,” he mocks, hitting his vape before slamming his door shut.
You follow him inside. He makes a beeline for the machine like it’s sacred.
“Behold,” he says, flicking the glass like it owes him money. “Six flavors. One giant-ass machine.”
He watches the red slush swirl like he’s seeing art.
He grabs a big cup and starts filling it with the red slush, “what flavor you gonna get?”
You hum and flicker at the little menu sticker the machine has. “Cola. Never had it before.” You shrug and fill your cup.
He licks his lips and tilts his head toward you like you just said something profound. “Good choice,” he mutters.
You both fill your Frankenstein-sized cups and, of course, he sneaks you out without paying, casually flipping off the ceiling camera.
As you slide into the passenger seat, he grins and clinks his cup against yours.
“To crime,” he declares. “That dumb oaf at the counter never notices.”
You take a sip, letting the icy cola burn your throat a little. “What’s your name anyway? Everyone calls you Red or Plug.”
He barks out a laugh and shoots you a grin that’s 50% chaotic energy, 50% ‘I may or may not have set something on fire once.’
“They’re too scared to ask. I punched the last guy who did.”
You stare at him, deadpan, brain whispering oh no.
“Nahhh,” he waves it off, smirking like an absolute menace. “Just fuckin’ with you. It’s Jared.”
“Oh,” you reply, because what the hell else do you say after that?
He slurps obnoxiously from his cup. “But like… if you want to keep calling me Red, that’s cool too. Makes me sound dangerous.” He grins mischievously.
“Yeah, I own a pit bull. Kinda dangerous,” you mock, mimicking his tone with a smirk as you tilt your head back, eyes drifting up through the car’s dusty skylight.
There’s a pause. He’s still watching you, mouth agape, probably thinking of something dumb to say.
“You got any plans tonight?” you ask, casual but calculated.
He raises an eyebrow, slurping his drink like a gremlin.
You grin. “’Cause I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that huh?” His face turns sinister.
“Wanna get out of the parking lot and chill somewhere?”
His eyes widen for half a second. I know what “chill” means, he tells himself proudly, like he just passed a pop quiz. “Hell yeah, I know just the spot.”
Before you can ask what that means, he’s firing up the car like he’s in Fast & Furious: Dumbass Edition. It feels less like a casual drive and more like you’ve been strapped into a carnival ride operated by someone who definitely failed driver’s ed.
Anticipation practically buzzes off him as he pulls into a driveway and cuts the engine. Home sweet home- or rather, his parents’ house.
He practically drags you through the front door and down into the basement like he’s showing off a dragon hoard.
The space looks like a punk and a nerd got drunk and redecorated during a full moon. Band posters and tattered tapestries cover the walls. Black clothes are everywhere. The bed’s got plaid sheets and like, five hoodies crumpled on it. A pleather loveseat- held together with duct tape and denial sits across from a flat-screen hooked up to an ancient Xbox.
And in the corner? A little table cluttered with rolling papers, a dead lighter, and enough weed crumbs to season a burrito.
He’s pacing a little now, pretending he’s looking for something-his vape, maybe, or his self-control. Truth is, his brain’s screaming be cool, be cool, BE COOL, while his hands are clammy and he feels like he might explode from sheer horniness and panic.
You sit on the edge of the duct-taped loveseat, sipping the last of your slushie like it’s wine. You don’t say much, just watching him stumble around his own cave like he’s never been here before.
“Nice room,” you say finally, glancing at a crooked Rob Zombie poster held up with thumbtacks and hope.
He turns to you with a dumb grin. “Yeah, thanks. It’s, uh… lived-in.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You good?”
He immediately, violently, nods his head. “Yeah. Pfft. Totally chill. Like, so chill I’m… freezing.”
You laugh-actually laugh-and pat the couch beside you. “Come sit down, Red.”
He sits down. It’s awkward. His knee bumps yours and he jolts like he touched a live wire.
You both go quiet for a second. The slushies sweat on the table. The room hums with punk posters and low, buzzing nerves.
“I like you,” you say, voice low but direct. “If more people saw this version of you… you’d probably be more popular.”
He groans like that’s the worst possible fate. “Nah, that shit’s boring. I just want cash.”
You lean in slightly, a sly smile curling on your lips. “Do you want my cash?”
He throws his head back against the couch with a grunt. “No,” he mutters. “You’re cool. And I like you too, so…”
You smirk, brushing your fingers lightly across his knee. “Got a soft side, huh?”
Your hand lingers, and for once, he doesn’t flinch. He turns his head toward you, your faces now just inches apart.
“I wanna kiss you,” he says, staring right at your lips, voice a little hoarse.
You raise a brow. “What’re you telling me for?”
Then no more waiting. He closes the gap and kisses you. It’s not neat or practiced. It’s messy, a little desperate, and somehow perfect.
He groans into the kiss, one hand finding the back of your neck, holding you there like he can’t believe this is real. His heart’s hammering. Your cheeks are flushed. The air feels different now, thick with something new, something real.
You break the kiss “So… you ever done this before?”
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “… this?” He cringes.
You stare. He stares back.
“You’re a virgin, huh?”
He dies inside. “…Technically.”
You don’t tease him. You just nod. “Me too, technically.”
He blinks. “Wait, what? So you’re not gonna like… laugh? Or call me Baby Boy, or something?”
You snort. “Do you want me to?”
“…Kinda?”
You roll your eyes, tug him in by the collar of his hoodie, and kiss him slow, surprisingly soft for how stupidly he carries himself. His hands hover like he’s not sure where they’re allowed to go. You guide them to your hips.
And just like that, the vibe shifts.
He stops thinking. He’s in it. With you. For real.
“Fuck your so hot-“
“Take your pants off, Red.”
And yeah, he fumbles and finishes faster than he wants to.
But you don’t laugh.
You just smirk, pull his hoodie off, and say, “Round two’s your redemption arc.”
And he thinks, Holy shit. I do love them.
…But he won’t say that until at least three more gas station slushies and a played off panic attack later…and maybe after he figures out if you’d kill someone for him too…maybe.
A/N: This was fun! Sorry I’ve been mia been kinda sick. Hoping to write more of this crazy guy! ❤︎ divider by bernardsbendystraws
The man before you hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking out to lap up the streak of blood trailing down your temple- the result of a crash he caused.
The resemblance is uncanny. He looks just like Invincible, but something is off. The yellow and black costume, the unkempt scruff, the way his eyes seem darker, hungrier. Maybe you never noticed on TV, or maybe he wasn’t meant to be seen like this. Up close, he’s terrifying.
He tilts his head, studying the tremble in your gaze. “Why do you look so confused? It’s me, sweet.” His grip tightens. His voice is softer now, but not in a way that soothes. “Still sweet,” he murmurs, as if he’s reminding himself. Then, quieter, a murmur, “A little more savory than her, though.”
Your stomach turns.
“What the hell are you talking about?” You thrash, desperate to break free, but his fingers only sink deeper into your skin.
He just smiles.
“Very different, too. She was a quiet, weak little thing, cowering at every move I made.” His grip tightens as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “And here you are, fighting me.” He chuckles, low and amused. “Cute.”
Your teeth grind together as you suck in a sharp breath, ready to spit venom, to scream, to do something-
But he silences you with a bloodstained finger pressed against your lips.
“Shhh.” His voice is almost tender. Almost.
His gaze drags over your face, hungry, starved. “It’s been so long since I saw you. I couldn’t help myself, you know?” He exhales like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s remembering something intoxicating. “You were the best dessert I ever had.” His lips curve, eyes dark with something twisted.
“I couldn’t stop.” His thumb brushes your chin, smearing warmth across your skin. “Just thinking about you makes me feel starved.”
“That won’t happen again, though.” His smirk deepens, eyes glinting with something dark. “It was too quiet without you. And I have needs, y’know.”
“What the f-” Your voice shakes, but the fury in your chest burns hotter. “Let me go! You’re insane!” You shove at him with everything you have, but he barely moves, only letting out an amused huff.
Annoyed, he shifts, pressing closer, caging your body against his. The air around you thickens, suffocating.
“Wow,” he murmurs, his head tilting like he’s listening to something. “Your heart’s beating so fast.” A slow grin creeps across his face.
His fingers curl tight around your wrist, feeling the pulse hammering beneath your skin.
“What is it?” He leans in, voices a whisper against your ear.
“Are you scared of me too?”
He leans in, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhales deeply.
“You smell just like her.” His voice is almost a groan, laced with something sickeningly pleased.
Your mind rings in panic.
“I’m taking you with me,” he murmurs, his grip unrelenting. “You’ll learn to like it.” A careless shrug, like this is all so simple. So inevitable.
Then his eyes flick down, raking over the torn fabric of your shirt, lingering too long.
“Look at you… new and improved.” His lips curl, dark amusement dancing in his gaze.
“Yeah,” he breathes, voice thick with certainty.
“I like you more already.”
Doom fills you, heavy and suffocating, sinking into your bones like a death sentence.
Your breath shudders, shallow and uneven. Every nerve in your body screams for you to run, to fight, but his grip is iron, his presence is overwhelming.
He watches you, his smirk widening as if he feels the fear rolling off you.
“There it is,” he murmurs, pleased. “That feeling. I missed this.”
A shiver crawls down your spine.
You try to move, anything, but he only presses closer, his warmth suffocating, his strength inescapable.
“You can feel it too, can’t you?” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin. “That sinking, twisting, crushing feeling.”
His fingers trail up your arm, slow, deliberate, pressing just enough to feel the pulse beneath your skin. The heat of your blood, the fragile rhythm, it fascinates him.
“You’re mine, and I’m not letting go this time.”
He leans down again, his tongue dragging slowly along the side of your face, lapping up the fresh blood seeping from the gash. Another satisfied hum rumbles in his chest.
“You taste so good.”
His scruff scrapes against your skin, a cruel irritation that only adds to the violation.
“God damn it, stop-”
Before you can finish, his hand snaps around your throat, cutting off the rest of your words. Your eyes go wide as his grip tightens, his gaze sharpening into something cold and dangerous.
“Maybe I won’t appreciate that loud mouth after all,” he sighs, almost disappointed.
His dark eyes lock onto yours, drinking in the way you struggle beneath him. Then his gaze flickers lower, settling on your bloodstained lips. A smirk tugs at his mouth. He tilts his head, mockingly thoughtful- before crashing down, stealing the air from your lungs in a brutal, controlling kiss.
It hurts.
His teeth sink into your lips, claiming, devouring, you swear you can feel his jaw pressing into yours, an unrelenting force that demands everything. The taste of blood, coppery and warm, spreads between you.
When he finally pulls back, he lingers, his breath still ghosting over your skin. And then he sees it-
A beautiful sight.
Your lips, swollen and trembling, your chin slick with fresh blood. His work. His.
A slow and sharp shiver runs up his spine, like the edge of a blade dragging against bare flesh. Want. Hunger. Lust. It coils inside him, tightening, suffocating, consuming.
His thumb reaches out, smearing the crimson across your lips, his touch almost loving.
“You wear it so well,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and insatiable. He brings his finger to his mouth for a taste.
You tremble, your body instinctively curling in on itself, trying to shrink away, to disappear.
But he doesn’t let you.
“Uh uh uh,” he tuts, shaking his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t hide from me.”
His grin stretches wider, wicked and hungry.
“I’m going to savor you.”
His thumb drags along your bloody lips, his touch almost gentle, mockingly so. Then, he presses it into your mouth, testing, teasing.
“Every. Last. Piece”
A/N: Felt like writing for one of my favorite cannibals! I really wanted to lean into the whole “people eater Mark” thing •𐃷•
The sharp scrape of your window being pried open jolts you awake, followed by the muffled thud of it sliding shut.
“What the-” You mumble, blinking against the darkness as your heart pounds.
“It’s just me.” A gravelly voice cuts through the quiet, rough but familiar.
“Jason?” Your voice is raspy from sleep, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, sorry. Go back to sleep.” His rough touch is gentle as he brushes your hair out of your face.
A hum of satisfaction escapes your lips, and you flop back onto the mattress, already sinking back into the comfort of your pillow. The dim glow of the streetlights outside spills through the window, just enough to cast his shadow across your room. You watch as he moves with quiet efficiency, peeling off his gear, each piece hitting the floor with a dull thud.
The distant sound of the shower hums softly, lulling you further into the haze of sleep. You blink once, twice, and suddenly, his warmth is enveloping you. His body molds to yours, strong arms circling your waist, pulling you close as his thick legs tangle lazily with yours.
A sleepy yawn escapes as you press a soft kiss to the stubbled curve of his jaw, a soft grunt slipping from your lips as the roughness tickles your skin. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, exhaling a deep, contented sigh.
“Sleep good, Angel,” he mumbles against your skin, his breath warm and soothing.
“You too, Red,” you murmur, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his back.
As your eyes flutter shut, your heart beats in quiet harmony with his.
A/N: been enjoying ooey gooey fluff and decided to make some!
The sun hangs high, its golden light spilling over your skin, making you glow as if it was made just for you. Your eyes shimmer, reflecting the glimmering water at your feet, a universe of stars hidden in their depths.
Your damp hair clings in loose waves, wild from the salt and humidity, a halo of frizz that only makes you more breathtaking. You don’t seem to mind. Your smile never falters, soft and effortless, as the waves kiss your feet, pulling back just to return- just like I do.
The sun paints you with warmth, brushing your cheeks with a blush that makes my breath hitch. Your lips-plump, God, your lips. I wonder how they’d feel against mine, how they’d taste.
I want to be the reason your face flushes. I want to steal the breath from your lungs the way you steal mine without even trying.
I wish you’d turn to me, gaze deep into my eyes, and tell me what I already know, that we are meant to be, tangled together by fate itself.
But instead, I sit beside you, my fingers curled into the sand-dusted towel, letting the sun burn into my skin- all for the chance to be close to you.
All is fun and games until I give Luan babies, I just want to cuddle the wrid furred babies while my hobby is overloaded by the picture.
If I were an anon, I'd be Luan's wife. Since I am not bc I embrace being horny on main, I still reclamo the title.
I literally love you ♡ Mrs. Luan makes my brain bleed with inspiration. Anyways I gotchu Luan and fluffy babies ﾟ⋆｡˚‧. suggestive // pregnancy // 18+ // sfw // fluff⋆｡˚‧ no proof read!
Being with Luan has its challenges, and those challenges developed into things you love about him.
Love grew stronger and the next thing you knew you were pregnant. You grew the love the both of you created. Eventually having three fuzzy little babies.
Luan couldn’t have been more proud of you and happy that this is what his life had come to.
It filled him with joy to see you grow his young, birth, and raise the love he gave you.
Seeing you nurse, cuddle, play anything with these cute little creatures. He couldn’t wish for another life. You are more beautiful than ever, beyond perfection.
As the little ones grew they became more cuddly. It made sense if I wasn’t hot out it was freezing for moths…
He still remembers leaving the nest for the first time after the littles were born. He came back to see you all sleeping in a dog pile. It melted his heart.
Tenderly he brushed some hair out of your face and gave you a light smooch on your forehead.
Grabbing the camera he snapped pictures of you all in a sleep pile. The light flashing from the camera woke up his young. They all whined crawling towards their dada missing him.
The pictures were spewed all over the floor and would later be through the house by Luan who was overwhelmed by such tender love.
Leif, a gentle giant of pure orc blood, towers at over seven feet tall. His tannish-green skin glows warmly in the sunlight, he has a lean but soft physique. Despite his intimidating stature, his deep voice is a source of comfort to those around him, his presence calming, his nature well-known and trusted by all. Yet, there’s one undeniable issue that lingers, you.
You hate him, every interaction he’s exchanged with you has been sharper than a knife, colder than the snow. It saddens him with a frown etched into his face after every conversation.
He thinks you’re amazing, the way you handle a bow and arrow with ease, bringing the game back to the village you both reside in. Giving the town much food to eat, never having to worry about hunger.
He’s too big to use a bow Leif wishes he wasn’t, perhaps you would like him more if he wasn’t so big, if he could be more careful, he can’t help but run and bump into things.
He remembers how you grew to dislike him. He was relatively newer to the village, but he brought his talent of being a blacksmith with him, many of the townsfolk grew to enjoy his presence and his passion. Money grew as well causing even more townsfolk to welcome him.
You grew up as a hunter, your family passed doing just that, hunting. It was more than a pastime or sport for you. It was your livelihood, the bow your father gifted you before his great hunt was sacred to you.
Was… Leif the clutz he snapped it in pieces when he tripped over your crouched form that was hiding in a bush.
He nearly cried. He felt so bad and it didn’t help the situation when you threatened his life. From that day on you declared him as a foe and he wished nothing more than to make it up to you.
Once he made you a bow as a blacksmith he didn’t have a lot of experience with bow making but he put his best effort into creating it. You practically cursed his bloodline, and shoved the bow up his ass.
The worst of all that has happened between you, he loved you, Leif felt it deep within his heart when he laid his amber eyes on you. He sent prayer after prayer to you, devoting his mind, body, and soul to you.
Other women and some men in the town have tried to woo him but never succeeded, everyone could see clear as day how he felt, but they also saw how you felt. It was obvious he was going to have to work hard to win your love.
How Luan got his name. // nsfw // MDNI // scratching // breeding // cockwarming // no proof read // word count: 0.8k
“You like the moon?” you ask softly, pointing towards the glowing orb that casts a pale light, making the cold night air shimmer.
The creature beside you lets out a soft chirp, a high-pitched sound that seems to tell agreement.
You hum, taking in his ethereal form- tall, dark, and lean with sleek fur. His eyes, wide and the deepest shade of ruby, reflect the moonlight. He’s gorgeous.
“You’re kind of like the moon, ya know,” you murmur, your gaze trailing over him. “Lunar, dark, quiet… breathtaking.”
A shuddering breath escapes your lips as he steps closer, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you despite the chill in the air. He lowers his head so that it's above yours, warmth seeping into your skin.
He traces his clawed fingers along the curve of your neck to your cheek, it tickles making you giggle. Turning to face him fully, you rise on tiptoe and nuzzle into the soft, downy fur of his neck.
“You always feel so nice. You’re always so… magnificent.” You let out a quiet laugh. “just like the-.”
A sudden thought brightens your eyes. “Luna! That should be your name.”
He tilts his head, a deep, rumbling whine vibrating through his chest. He glances between you and the moon, a silent request for something that feels sincere.
“Okay, okay,” you soothe, rubbing your thumb gently against his cheek. “Something more personal, more… you.”
——
The next morning, you immerse yourself in your small, beloved library, pouring over historical texts and old-time lore. Mythology and folklore have always been a passion of yours. Page after page, book after book, until you stumble upon the literature “Luan Zhi”- beautiful, virtuous wings… also referred to the moon.
“Perfect!” you exclaim, feeling a rush of excitement. This name would suit him perfectly. You can’t wait to share it with him!
——
That evening, you find him perched in his usual spot. Your fingers brush over his wings, marveling at the blend of black and white fuzz that feels softer than silk.
“I found a name for you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s already watching you, those dark ruby eyes gleaming with curiosity.
He lets out a soft, encouraging chirp, urging you to continue. You can see the anticipation flicker in his gaze.
“Luan,” you say with a smile. “Wings of the moon… my Luan.”
His eyes widen, sparkling like diamonds as he absorbs the meaning. In one fluid motion, he pulls you against him, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His hold is tight, desperate, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.
A deep, resonant purr emanates from his chest as he breathes you in, his mind clouded with need. He’s intoxicated by the warmth of your scent, memories of being inside you flaring up with an almost painful intensity. His claws sink into your sides, drawing a soft yelp from your lips.
Luan pauses, concern flitting across his face as he checks if you’re unharmed. You nod, fingers threading through the thick fur at his nape. Your cheeks burn with arousal, a slick heat pooling between your thighs.
“Luan,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “I need you…”
His length, already hardening, presses insistently against you. Without hesitation, you peel away the fabric that separates your bodies, baring yourself to him. His fur spikes with arousal as he takes in the sight, his claws gently tracing over your wet folds, drawing out soft whimpers from your lips.
You’re grinding desperately against his touch, soaking his fingers with your slick. It’s too much for both of you; your desire has reached a high. With a trembling hand, you grasp his thick, curved shaft, guiding the pointed tip to your entrance. Slowly, you sink down onto him, the stretch of his girth drawing a moan from deep in your throat.
His claws dig into your hips, pulling you down onto his lap as he ruts up into you, the force making you gasp. Your chests are pressed flush together, your nails tangling in the plush fur at his neck. His thrusts are urgent, each one driving you higher, closer to the edge.
“I’m going to come- oh, gods, please, Luan, come inside me!” Your words are muffled against his fur as you clench around him, your climax crashing over you in a wave of bliss. He groans, a guttural sound, as he spills deep within you, his grip never wavering, holding you in place to fill you completely.
Breathless, you collapse against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I love you, Luan,” you murmur softly, glazed eyes fluttering shut. His arms remain wrapped around you, keeping his softening length buried in you, possessive and gentle, as if he could keep you safe from the world forever.
And in this moment, in the quiet of the night beneath the watchful glow of the moon, you know he will never let you go.
A/N: Welp that’s Luan idk what else to do for him… anyways likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ᖭི༏ᖫྀ
He did everything right- he protected you, locked you in his home, the safest place. Yet there you stood, clinging to a vile creature as it drained the very life from your veins.
Word count: 3.1k
MDNI // NSFW // blood // death // crybaby men // cannibalism? // religious topics ⁽ʸᵒᵘ’ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʷᵃʳⁿᵉᵈ⁾
“NO!” Dallon tightened his grip on the sickle, his knuckles white with fury as he charged forward. His piercing blue eyes locked on the creature that had you pinned, its pale, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. You were slumped against the monster, your body lifeless in its clutches.
Tears blurred Dallon’s vision as he swung the sickle with a savage cry, embedding it deep in the devil’s neck. With a sickening crunch, he wrenched the blade, severing its head in a single, desperate motion.
No blood spilled- not from the beast, at least. But yours… yours stained the earth.
Four puncture wounds marred your neck, teeth marks that spelled doom.
Dallon dropped to his knees, gathering your body into his trembling arms. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You aren’t leaving me. Not yet.” He pressed a kiss to your clammy forehead, his lips trembling. “I won’t let you go.”
Back home, the room was a chaos of rituals, desperation made manifest. Dallon worked tirelessly, his mind a tempest of hope and dread. Holy water ran in rivulets down your still form, pooling on the floor. Crosses adorned every surface, crucifixes hung from your wrists and neck, garlic encircled the room, its sharp scent mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
“Everything will be as it was,” Dallon muttered, his voice unsteady as he poured the beast’s blood down your throat. It was a final, unholy attempt to tether you to life.
For two days, he prayed without rest, his knees bruised, his voice hoarse. He clasped your cold hand, his silver-ringed fingers trembling as he whispered fervent pleas. “Please, Lord, take the devil’s mark from them and bring them back to me. I beg of You.”
But the heavens remained silent.
On the third night, exhaustion finally claimed him. Dallon lay beside you, his body curled protectively around yours. He clung to you even as your skin turned colder, even as your veins darkened to an unnatural hue. His tears soaked the crook of your neck, a silent vigil of despair.
It was nearly dawn when a bit movement jolted him awake.
A twitch.
His heart leaped into his throat as he shot upright, clutching your hand. “You moved!” he cried, his voice thick with conviction. “My love, stay with me. Stay.” His hands flew to your chest, rubbing life into your still form.
Your chest rose and fell in a shallow, ragged breath. Then, with a guttural sigh, you turned your head toward him, your golden-ringed eyes opening for the first time.
Dallon recoiled. “No…” he whispered, shaking his head as if to banish a nightmare. “No, darling, it’s me. You’re still here. We can fix this.” His trembling hands poured holy water on you, expecting a reaction.
Nothing.
He staggered back, his legs giving out as he crumpled to the floor. “Why is it not working?” he sobbed, clawing at his hair. “What am I doing wrong?”
But your hand found his, your voice- a whisper of what it had once been- calling his name.
“Dallon… it’s me.”
Weeks passed. Though you breathed, your body defied life. You did not eat, yet you lived. The hollow gold of your eyes became a constant reminder of what he had failed to prevent. The church must not know, Dallon concluded. No one must ever find you.
In the quiet of the night, Dallon watched as you sat by the fire, your fingers trailing along the worn pages of a book you had once loved. Your pale skin reflected the flickering flames, your darkened veins a stark contrast to the warmth of the light.
He stood in the doorway, his heart pounding. You were still you. Weren’t you?
Dallon stepped away, retreating to the hidden room where his collection of weapons and relics lay. He traced a trembling hand over the hilt of a blade, his thoughts clouded with anguish.
“I won’t let them take you,” he muttered, his jaw tightening. “I won’t let them burn you.”
The church’s rules were clear- no abomination could be allowed to exist. But Dallon had no faith left in their mercy.
Behind him, a faint rustle drew his attention. He turned to find you standing there, your golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
“Dallon?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty. “What are you doing?”
He turned away, unable to meet your gaze, and began fiddling with a silver chain on the table. His hands shook as he spoke, his voice low and raw. “They’ll find out. Sooner or later, someone will come asking questions. I can’t let them take you, not after everything I’ve done to keep you here.”
You frowned, your head tilting slightly as you studied his hunched form. The weight he carried was palpable, but there was something else beneath his words- something darker, more desperate.
“Dallon,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched at the contact, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you moved closer, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. “What have you done?”
He laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that filled the cramped room. “What haven’t I done?” His shoulders sagged as he finally turned to face you, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. “I’ve betrayed the church. Lied to the people I’ve served my entire life. Killed to protect you. I’ve prayed every night for forgiveness, but heaven’s silent. And now…” His voice cracked, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup your face. “Now, I don’t even know if you’re still you.”
The words struck you like a blow, and you recoiled slightly, your golden-ringed eyes widening. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated, his lips parting as if to answer, but no words came. His gaze dropped to your hands- hands that had once been warm and full of life, now pale and cold, veins like dark threads beneath the surface. His fingers brushed against your cheek, lingering on the faint discoloration that crept across your skin.
“You’ve changed,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can feel it. You don’t breathe like you used to. You don’t dream. You don’t eat. It’s like…” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “It’s like you’re caught between two worlds. Not dead, but not alive either.”
You stepped back, his words cutting deeper than you expected. “I didn’t ask for this,” you said, your voice shaking. “I didn’t ask to come back. You made this choice for me.”
Dallon’s eyes widened, and he reached for you, but you backed away further, your arms wrapping around yourself. “You couldn’t let me go, could you?” you continued, your tone bitter. “You dragged me back from death, and now you’re afraid of what I’ve become. But I didn’t choose this, Dallon. You did.”
“I had to!” he snapped, his voice rising with desperation. “I couldn’t let you leave me. Not like that. I couldn’t live without you!”
His confession hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You stared at him, searching his face for something- remorse, understanding, an apology, but all you saw was his overwhelming grief.
“Maybe,” you said quietly, your voice like a fragile whisper, “you should have let me go.”
The words broke something inside him. He staggered back, his hands falling limply to his sides. “Don’t say that,” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “Please, don’t say that. I can fix this. I just need more time.”
“You can’t fix this,” you replied, your golden-ringed eyes narrowing. “You don’t even know what you’ve done. Do you?”
Before he could answer, a sudden noise echoed from outside the house- a faint creak, like a footstep on the porch. Both of you froze, the air in the room growing tense.
Dallon’s hand darted to a blade on the table, gripping it tightly as he moved toward the door. “Stay here,” he hissed, his voice low and urgent.
But something stirred within you, something primal and foreign. The scent of whoever- or whatever- was outside drifted in on the cold night air, sharp and tantalizing. It set your nerves alight, your senses sharpening to a terrifying degree.
“Dallon,” you said, your voice shakier, hungrier. He paused, looking back at you, and his eyes widened at the sight of your expression.
Your pupils had dilated, the golden rings around your irises glowing faintly in the dim light. “Don’t go,” you warned, though your tone held an edge of something darker.
Dallon hesitated, his grip on the blade tightening. “What’s out there?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
You licked your lips, your gaze fixed on the door as your pulse quickened. “I don’t know,” you said, a faint smile curling at the edges of your mouth. “But it smells… delicious.”
His eyes widen, and he freezes, unsure of what to do. He glances back at the door, then at you. “If it’s another hunter, we should answer. They’ll stay away for a while if we answer.”
But you’re not listening. The hunger gnaws at you, a sharp, all-consuming ache that drowns out all reason. Your focus is razor-sharp on the door, where the scent of dinner lingers just beyond. “I’m so hungry…” you whisper, your voice raw and trembling. You hunch over, clutching at your stomach, desperation pouring from every word. “Please don’t let me starve, honey.”
Dallon looks at the door again, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. His hand slips into his pocket, fingers clutching the rosary he keeps there. He presses it to his lips, murmuring a prayer for forgiveness. His voice breaks. “I’ll take care of you, always. Just like we promised at the altar.” A tear slips down his cheek as he turns the knob.
He doesn’t look at you when he opens the door.
Your eyes lock on the old man standing outside- a traveler, a wanderer. You don’t see the worry etched on his face or the pack slung over his shoulder. You see prey.
You lunge.
There’s no hesitation, no thought, just the overwhelming need to feed. Your teeth sink into flesh, the man’s screams piercing the air before fading into a gurgling silence. Warmth floods your senses as his life drains away, his body crumpling beneath your hands. Blood coats your face, your hands, your clothes- so much blood.
Behind you, Dallon collapses to his knees, clutching his rosary like a lifeline. His whispered prayers blur with choked sobs, his tears staining the bloodied floor.
When the hunger finally subsides, clarity returns like a cruel slap. You look down at what remains of the man- torn, lifeless, unrecognizable. Shame and horror ripple through you, but they’re distant, muffled by the satiation humming through your veins. You chew the last bite mechanically, then rise and turn toward your husband.
Dallon is curled up on the floor, his shoulders shaking. He’s at war with himself- his faith, his promises, his love for you.
You kneel beside him, pulling him into your arms. He clings to you desperately, his grip so tight your back pops. His tears soak into your blood-caked skin, and the sound of his sobs breaks your heart all over again.
You rub his back, murmuring softly, “Shh, it’s okay, sweet. None of this is your fault. I’m so sorry.” You press a kiss to his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, rocking him as if you can soothe the storm raging inside him.
Eventually, his hold loosens. His red-rimmed eyes sweep over you- your tangled hair, the blood smeared across every inch of you. His gaze drifts to the doorway where the man had stood, and his frown deepens. The realization hits him like a blow: it wasn’t a hunter. It was just a traveler. An innocent soul.
The night fades into a fragile quiet.
The next morning is eerily still.
Dallon sleeps on the bloodstained floor where you held him. You rise before dawn, moving through the house in silence. Cleaning the mess is your burden to bear; he’s already carried enough. You bury the remains without ceremony, the weight of guilt pressing heavy on your chest.
By the time he stirs, the scent of breakfast wafts through the air. Bacon sizzles on the stove, its comforting aroma filling the kitchen.
He splashes cold water on his face and stares at his reflection in the mirror, willing himself to look presentable. When he finally steps into the kitchen, he’s met with a table set just for him: eggs, bacon, bread, and sliced tomatoes- his favorites.
A small, weary smile tugs at his lips.
You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek before sitting across from him. He looks at you, his smile faltering as he takes in the lingering streaks of blood on your skin, the faint shadows in your eyes.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
Then, softly, he says, “Thank you.”
And you nod, your heart breaking all over again.
The following week drifts by in silence- two broken hearts, each pulling him apart from the inside.
Dallon feels hollow, consumed by the ache of your absence. He craves your touch, longs for the warmth you once brought to his world. Now, that warmth is gone, replaced with a coldness that somehow still feels so tender.
He’s stopped praying. The prayers went unanswered for so long that he began questioning if there was ever anything to pray to at all.
What remains is the yearning, the weight of unshed tears. Most nights, he sits before the fireplace, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames, his eyes shut tight as if he could- hoping for your love to be unvarying.
“Dallon?” Your voice breaks the quiet. “What are you doing? It’s late.”
His eyes snap open, wide and tearful. When he sees you, his breath catches.
“I miss you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling as the tears finally fall.
Your hand rises instinctively, cupping his face, your thumb gently brushing the streaks of wetness from his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice heavy with regret. “I never wanted things to end up like this.”
You lean in, pressing the softest, most tender kiss to his lips, as though trying to pour all your sorrow and love into that single moment.
He looks at you, lips parted, words failing him. Awe fills his cerulean eyes.
“Let me take care of you this time,” you say softly, your arms wrapping around him. You run your thumbs across his back, soothing him with slow, tender movements.
For the first time in what feels like forever, Dallon breathes again.
Dallon nods, his gaze softening as you slide closer to him on the divan. Your fingers trail lightly across his shoulders, your lips brushing tender kisses along the curve of his neck.
He exhales a quiet hum of satisfaction, tilting his head slightly to give you more access. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, as his hand slips to the nape of your neck. Firmly, he pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a kiss that deepens with every passing second.
His weight shifts as he leans over you, his body pressing against yours. The heat between you grows, his touch igniting a fire in your skin.
“Dallon,” you whisper breathlessly, “I need you- I’ll make you feel goo-”
Your words are swallowed by another kiss, his lips demanding and consuming, silencing you in the most intoxicating way.
His desperation is unmistakable as you feel his arousal pressing firmly against you. With a tug, you lift your shirt, baring your chest to him. His reaction is immediate- his lips find your sensitive nipples, his mouth warm and eager as he sucks and teases, his hands kneading your soft skin. The sensation sends shivers through you, pulling moans from your lips as you melt beneath him.
Dallon pulls back just enough to smirk, his voice teasing. “I’ll make you feel so good.” He tugs his shirt over his head, his movements quick but deliberate, and sheds his pants and underwear in one fluid motion. His hardness stands proudly, already glistening with anticipation, twitching in time with his shallow breaths.
You match his pace, slipping out of your bottoms and meeting his gaze. The way he looks at you- full of adoration and desire- makes your heart flutter. “I love you too,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady as your eyes roam over him, silently asking for permission.
“You never have to ask,” he murmurs, his tone gentle yet commanding. “I’m yours.”
The words send a surge of confidence through you. Moving closer, you wrap your hand around his thick length, stroking him slowly, relishing the weight and warmth in your palm.
“Oh god- I need you,” Dallon groans, his head falling back, his hands gripping your shoulders to steady himself. “Please- more.”
You smirk at his plea, brushing a kiss to his hand as you murmur, “I’m all yours.”
Before you can react, he guides you both upright, pulling you into his lap. His hands settle firmly on your hips, his voice low and filled with longing. “Put it in?” he asks, the vulnerability in his tone making your heart ache in the best way.
With a nod, you oblige, aligning yourself with him. Slowly, you sink down, your body stretching to take him in. The moment he fills you, both of you let out deep, primal moans, the sensation overwhelming.
Dallon’s grip tightens as he begins to move, his hips meeting yours in a rhythm that sends sparks dancing across your skin. Each thrust is deliberate, each movement a testament to how desperately he needs you, how deeply he adores you.
“I’m close- can I fill you?” Dallon whispers, his breath hot against your ear, his pace steady.
“Do it- come inside me, Dallon,” you moan, your voice trembling with need. As he lets go, a warmth spreads through you, his release filling you completely. A wave of relief washes over you both, a reminder of the deep, unbreakable love you share.
He exhales shakily, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. “I made you feel good, didn’t I?” he asks, one eyebrow playfully arched, though his eyes hold a hint of vulnerability as he waits for your answer.
You smile softly, brushing a kiss to his chin. “Like you’ve ever had a bad performance,” you tease, your voice laced with affection. “Of course, you made me feel amazing.”
He chuckles, pulling you closer as you settle against his chest, your ear pressed to the steady, drumming rhythm of his heartbeat.
“Can we stay like this for a while?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.
Dallon looks down at you, his lips curving into a tender, tired smile. Softly, his arms tighten around you as the world fades.
“Anything for you.”
A/N: love y’all ‹𝟹 I got an idea in my head of a vampire/zombie thing where if you kill the vampire that turned you, you’d turn into a zombie kinda creature. Also put my religious trauma to its best use- a sad little horny vampire hunter (lol)
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