𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥.𝗖𝗢𝗠

religious!jason todd who prayed harder than he ever did before with a child's desperation in the warehouse where joker’s twisted games was claiming his life. when the crowbar came down, jason begged. when the bomb ticked, he begged. not for vengeance—but for rescue. for bruce, or god himself. screamed it inside his head, bargained with heaven—terrified not only of death but abandonment yet again.

when he realized he was left unanswered—something in him cracked, more fragile and foundational than bone. when the explosion came, his faith did not shatter that day. it simply…stopped. like a candle being snuffed out or a withering vine, and he died right alongside it.

religious!jason todd who resurrected and climbed out of his own grave with soil in his mouth, lungs burning, and a hole where his belief in goodness used to be. his heart, now filled with disappointment at being failed by his fathers.

religious!jason todd who trained over the years to become who he currently is. red hood. a different man now hardened and bitter. he tried to fill the void inside him with purpose. with changed beliefs. with blood.

whose crisis of faith became a crisis of identity.

he once believed that everyone deserved redemption. now he knows some people don't. that sometimes you have to be the sword instead of the shield, one person had to be willing to do the unthinkable. he kills so others won't die. he sins so others won't have to. protecting the innocent in ways batman never would. and every time he crosses another line with another death, he feels the ghost of that faithful boy still inside him staring in judgment.

religious!jason todd who met you on a night when he was fully prepared to die a second time and stay dead this time. battered and bleeding out in a grimy alleyway of gotham, vision swimming.

then you appeared, a mere civilian that knew nothing of the horrors he’d witnessed. not dramatic, not glowing—just steady, gentle, human. you touched him with careful hands and spoke to him like he wasn't a monster, fear swallowed for the sake of helping a stranger. like he wasn't some weapon walking around in a human shape. jason would later lie to himself, saying you were a coincidence. but in the moment he saw you, blurry and backlit by a streetlamp, he had a single thought; an angel came this time.

like something so pretty and soft—that he was afraid you might break if he so much as merely grazed you with his own calloused fingers that saw violence more than holding something precious.

religious!jason todd who has strained relationships and will always be reminded of the day he died—from dick, who tries too hard to fix things with optimism he can't stand. tim, the replacement who once carried the mantle he thinks should've stayed buried with him. damian, the son of his mentor in name and blood. someone so similar to him like magnets on the same pole. aligned with the same charge, intensity, and turmoil—so they repel even as they mirror one another. yet, damian was the living embodiment of everything jason had once wanted and never got from—bruce whom he admired and loathed with equal fire. the man whose silence and lack of action towards his killer hurt worse than the crowbar. the man who lives in the darkness, finds the helpless and brings them into the light, but couldn’t do it for him—because he didn’t know how.

he loved his family he really did, with grudging respect and recognition. but hated how complicated it was to navigate through them.

religious!jason todd who will always be emotionally stunted no matter what. he still clenches his jaw instead of confiding, still fights like he's trying to outrun hell, he still hasn’t thought of the lord, still keeps the batfamily at arm's length even when part of him wants to go home. but with you plaguing his mind after that night, all those edges soften, the armoured plated around his fractured heart shift just enough to let a little light in.

religious!jason todd who then wants to try to build something good with someone and keeps finding excuses to see you again. to make sure you’re staying out of trouble, always watching you in the shadows—protecting you. to have you check on more bruises that marred his body with that cute furrowed brow when you focused. to feel those soft hands on any inch of his skin again.

he tells himself it’s because you're useful or your apartment has good sightlines. which is half truthful because he finds himself slowly romancing you. 

religious!jason todd who has no clue how to court anyone—not in a real, vulnerable way. gruff, overthinking every word he’d utter to you. but he tries.

he buys you flowers and then panics when he’s lingering at your doorway, throwing them away in the trash bin just outside your apartment and goes back home to sulk. so he mails them to you instead of hand delivering it until he gathers the courage again. he rehearses compliments and then stutters through them. he gets flustered when you smile so sweetly at him. especially the time when he took off his helmet in front of you for the first time—almost choked on his saliva when you called him handsome and didn’t recoil at the sight of his scars. his heart hammers in his chest like he's fifteen again, like he's robin perched on a rooftop, scared of disappointing the world. like his youth wasn’t stolen.

you make him feel worthy. and jason can't decide if he should be alarmed or happy

yet he keeps coming back anyway to find out.

religious!jason todd who falls in love slowly its almost painful, then all at once. with the person of unshakable compassion, who saw past the anger and the pain of the man he was—with patience and understanding. who loved him back not in spite of his flaws, but because of them. you challenge him but never belittle him. you don't try to fix him, you don’t ask questions that he doesn’t want to hear, you simply sit with him and help him pick up whatever pieces he's willing to show that needed help.

you don’t care about the potential danger he drags to your doorsteps, nor the risks that come with dating the red hood. all you see is a man who may not have always been honest with himself, but is willing to be honest with you. and that is more admirable than anything else.

you remind him of the good he used to believe in. and that's when he realizes he's in trouble—because loving you feels like believing in god again, and he isn't sure he's ready for that kind of miracle.

religious!jason todd who thinks of your home as his now that he spends so many nights there instead of his own apartment. he thinks of you as his safe space. who has your head resting on his chest as you sleep, listening to those soft breaths leave your lips he got the pleasure of kissing many times already. reminding him that you're alive, that you're here with him and he holds onto you tighter to his frame with those muscular arms like you'll disappear. whose heart is pounding so hard and loud under your ear that he’s sure you can hear it in your sleep.

religious!jason todd who does something in that tender moment he hasn't done since he was a boy—he prays. not for forgiveness. not for salvation or an apology. he didn’t beg anyone to keep you tethered to him. he didn’t want to jinx it. but with quiet, reverent gratitude, he whispered a thank you to whatever higher power—god, fate, the universe. to whomever made the mistake of giving him someone like you. someone who made him believe in hope again.

just in case anyone up there actually listens this time.

“o-oh! again jase, do that a-again,” you pleaded desperately, nails digging into his chest—leaving faint red lines as your back arched, grounding your clit more persistently against him. his heart pounds erratically beneath your fingertips, matching the rhythm of your own racing pulse at the sheer vulgarity of the situation, the depravity of it all, only serving to turn you both on even more.

“yeah? you like this shit?” jason’s face was flushed as he continued to help you—a picture of a man lost in the throes of lust. the plane of his stomach flexes and dances for your sensitive cunt fluttering around nothing while his rigid cock remains throbbing in time with the tension of each contraction, leaking steadily now onto your skin—branding you.

“mhm! feels s’goooood.”

he was absolutely drunk on the heavenly visual just perched on top of him, taking in every filthy detail. his god damn angel of a girl, rutting onto him like some puppy in heat—he couldn’t handle it. the muscle in his jaw ticking in his cheek as his ears pick up the sound of your wet flesh squelching against him, mixing in with your sweet whimpers and the creaking of the bed from the force of your movements, using his body needily for your pleasure. “didn’t know my sweetheart was such a fuckin’ pervert.”

“stop acting like you hate this,” you huffed.

“never said i did.”

one hand slid up your side to grope and squeeze at the soft mound of your breast roughly, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. you whined, gazing down at him with hooded eyes at the duel sensation. he could feel your body starting to tremble, could hear the change in your breathing and high pitch of your little mewls—hurtling you towards your peak embarrassingly fast.

“that’s right, soak me.” he urged, his voice strained with the effort of holding back from thrusting his pelvis up, “i wanna feel you fuckin’ gush all over me, baby. give it to me.”

the crude vulgar words falling from his lips only heighten the intensity of the moment, pushing you closer to a climax that’ll for sure have you seeing stars.

“mngh—! you’re so nasty jay.”

“says the one humping my—“

“s-shut up.” you quickly press your palm over his mouth, stifling his amused grin. but the crinkle in his eyes gave him away as he mumbled a, “yes ma’am.”

in this moment you were lost in everything but the feel, taste, and scent of him surrounding you on all sides. the passion of your tangled limbs was so overwhelming, so all-consuming that water from your eyes streamed down your flushed face, glistening in the moonlight—everything just felt so fucking good.

and him seeing those crystalline tears tracing the delicate curves of your soft skin only inflamed his greed of lust further. he could feel it, hot and salty, dripping down onto his own scarred cheeks, branding him—making his heart clench in his chest and his length throb urgently inside your tight, slick heat—growing harder. if that was even possible.

witnessing and feeling your complete submission had jason consumed with a visceral hunger he never knew. unable to resist the temptation any longer—he tipped his head back, chiseled jaw titling up, and his breath ghosted over your dampened skin for the briefest second before the hot muscle of his tongue flicked out to catch a stray droplet. the moment the salty flavor touched his taste buds he groaned, a deep guttural sound that resounded through his chest. "mmph— fuuuuck. so damn good for me, baby." this was igniting a craving within him that could never be sated, drinking the essence of your emotions that settled deep in his gut and drew his balls up tight.

spurred on by the newfound fascination, he began to lap at the tracks of moisture that streaked your face, you shuddered above him at the duo sensation while he continued to fuck up into you, crushing you so close you could barely breathe.

"jayyyy,” a breathy, needy whine escaped your drooling lips with a hiccuping sob at the intimate gestures, unable to do anything but take what he gives. “unghh— jason . . i can't!"

"don't tap out on me yet, need to make you come again," he murmured against you as his teeth followed the journey of his tongue until he reached the delicate apple of your cheek. there, he paused, his strong gaze locking with yours for a searing, heart-stopping moment. and with a soft almost tender snarl, his teeth sank into the tender skin, marking you in a unique way to leave a reminder that you were his. it was an action that held a thousand unspoken words, a declaration of possession that bordered on infatuation.

but even as he lost himself in the heat of the moment, a part of him recoiled with a flicker of fear and doubt creeping into his mind like clockwork whenever it came to you. the sheer unshakable faith and trust you placed him as you surrender yourself so utterly without reservation was a gift he felt he didn't deserve.

not with the demons that constantly plagued his mind, the darkness that followed him like a shadow no matter where he went. he was afraid that if he let himself feel it, all of it—the love—he would destroy it, destroy you. his past had already taken so much from him, had already left him so broken and scarred that he couldn't bear the thought of tainting you. a treasure he was afraid he'd fracture with the slightest touch from his own shattered soul.

for you, he hoped that with time he could truly let himself be more vulnerable and open in return. the last thing he wanted was to shatter the beautiful trust you had in him. and in your arms he yearns the chance to be more, to be something worthy of what you offered so freely.

so he held you unbelievably closer—fucking you harder, faster, as if he could somehow mold you into his skin and bind you to his side for eternity. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and committing it to memory like it were the last time. and he prayed to a god he wasn't sure he believed in that nothing would take away the one good thing in his life, not even his own darkness.

"t-too much mmngh— 's too much!" you gasped out, your words tumbling out in a euphoric jumble as your nails bite into his shoulders. you couldn't tell if you were incoherently babbling about the mind-numbing euphoria that threatened to wreck you, or the overpowering, heart-wrenching emotions that filled every fiber of your being until you thought you might burst. or perhaps it was both, an intoxicating cocktail of physical rapture and emotional fervor that left you drunk on the intensity of it all. all because of him. "ngh— jason i love y—"

"shhhh, j-just haah— take it . . take it. have all of me." he was drowning in you, and he was taking you with him into the depths of his own personal hell and heaven. a place where the lines between pleasure and pain—of love and lust blurred into a single line. where two people who needed each other like the very air they breathed, were bounded together by a force that neither could control nor deny, even if it’ll potentially hurt in the end. "i need you.”

You shouldn’t have taken that promotion.

Most who clocked in at the Umbrella Corporation each day believed they were part of something great. A global leader in pharmaceuticals. A pioneer in innovative technology. From the pristine labs to the polished offices, everything gleamed with promise. People were proud to work there. Why wouldn't they be? It was one of the hardest and top companies—if you got in, you were automatically the shit. But behind the glass and steel, behind the smiling faces in white coats, and glossy corporate brochures—a monstrous reality lingered beneath the surface.

Few knew the truth.

Only a handful of high-ranking executives, select scientists, and doctors were ever given access to the company’s real purpose—its illegal experiments and horrifying bioweapons research. The rest? They were kept in the dark by design.

Every division, every department, every facility was tightly compartmentalized—a fancy term for making sure no one saw too much. And if they did? Well let’s say they weren't really ever seen again under the pretense of being ‘laid off’. One sector didn't know what the next was doing. Even other branches of the company were kept isolated. It was all intentional to not have anyone see the full picture and air it out to the public. If an employee heard whispers, stray mentions of military involvement, or strange shipments—they simply brushed them off. It was easier that way. Safer. 

You were no different.

Too absorbed in your own ambitions, you failed to notice the hidden truths unfolding around you while working alongside one of the many head scientists. He specifically handpicked you for his latest project, praising your skills and assets, insisting they were essential to this new ‘beneficial immunity booster’ he was making.

Naturally, you couldn’t turn down the opportunity of a lifetime—after all, those long nights of studying and sacrificing your sanity were for moments like this, and his approval only deepened your resolve to stay by his side. 

You never noticed the signs, the inconsistencies. The silence that followed certain questions. But looking back, it was always there. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it.

Like wondering why he had you shred those bulky files—strictly telling you to not glance at them, how he dismissed certain samples despite your instinct telling you those chemicals shouldn’t be mixed together, or why he insisted you leave the room whenever he had a private meeting with members of the U.B.C.S. Bulky, muscle-clad soldiers, armed and menacing. You once met some of their eyes—an unspoken challenge that left you paralyzed where you stood. They had that kind of stare that promised they could maul you apart without even breaking a sweat. Just the thought alone was enough to keep your lips sealed.

The scientist was more experienced, you told yourself. He knew what he was doing, he had the upper hand. While you were just the lead scientist and had no reason to question his practices.

That is, until you met her—the woman in the form-fitting crimson dress, radiating an effortless allure. A beauty so striking that it seemed to steal the breath in your lungs. From the sleek cut of her dark short hair, to the elegant lines of her frame, and the smoky eyeshadow that accentuated her eyes—she was without a doubt, perfection incarnate. Except, there was nothing captivating with how she’s pressing her black tail pistol against your temple.

"Don't scream,” she commanded, her voice stern and steady despite the urgency of the situation. “Don’t do anything funny, understand? I need those,” the cold pressure of the metal against your skin briefly lifted as she swept the muzzle toward the vials you were in the process of synthesizing.

“T-this is for our people—“ you stammered out pathetically, trying to protest as you trembled under her piercing gaze. She barely suppressed a scoff, as if your words were little more than a feeble excuse. 

Manipulated. Brainwashed.

Though, she’s no saint either. 

Without a word she continues to hold eye contact, a stare that forces you to surrender the samples, palms trembling and slick with cold sweat. Her grip on the gun loosens slightly as she takes the vials from you, her leather glove of her free hand brushing yours before securing the glass bottles in a metal suitcase. “You're new here, aren't you? Don't you know what they're doing with these?" She studies your wide-eyed, uncomprehending expression with the flustered reaction and sighs when you shake your head.

"No, of course you don't. You're just an innocent pawn in their game." Deciding to take a chance, Ada lowers the gun completely and steps closer, her voice dropping to a more intimate, almost conspiratorial tone, “I can show you the truth if you help me, and in return I’ll help you survive.”

Survive what? You didn’t have time to ask before she’s speaking again.

“I need your access and knowledge to get more of what I need,” she explains, her tone more cajoling than threatening now. “I’m sure a smart girl like you can catch my drift of the consequences, if you refuse.”

And you reluctantly comply of course, partly driven by the lingering fear of having a gun to your head again just like a second ago. You weren’t stupid enough to say no to an agent who seemed to know more about what was going on here, carrying a weapon no less.

She doesn’t know why she’s doing this. Could’ve easily put a bullet between your eyes and took those little vials filled with a liquid that can ruin thousands of lives. But because of your nervous stammering and helplessness, she can't help but notice your innocent, guileless nature. Those oversized frames perched on your nose, the soft exhaustion etched in the dark circles underneath those pretty eyes—proof of your countless effort, thinking you were doing right by the city. Cute, she almost wants to say aloud, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. It's refreshing compared to the cutthroat ambition she usually encounters at Umbrella.

In the next two days that followed, you then understood what she meant by everything. Raccoon city, your home—your life, had fallen into chaos. Whatever that was in your department leaked through the labs and into the streets. The very ones that you remember growing up on now crawled with horrors you couldn’t even fathom. People had become something else entirely—flesh eating abominations, their humanity stripped away, leaving only an insatiable hunger behind. Their skin tore like rotting wood, peeling in wet red ribbons to reveal bone glistening beneath. Their eyes once full of life were now clouded and vacant with a feral persistence that made your blood run cold.

And the stench…god the stench was unbearable, a rancid cocktail of decay and copper that clung inside your lungs and wouldn’t let go.

Yet, despite all this, you learned her name—Ada, to be unaffected by it all. She moved through the nightmare with a calm, unshaken grace, as if this hell was something she’d seen a hundred times before. In just 48 hours, she’d save your life more times than you could count on your trembling fingers with ease, leading you through the burning streets and sneaking into Umbrella’s hidden labs with a skill that spoke of years of experience with her firing and combat abilities. She claimed to be doing all this for humanity, that if you helped her get more samples of the T-virus, her team can reverse engineer a vaccine. And you believed her—blindly, stupidly, just like with your supervisors. Being played like a fiddle all over again.

You begged her to leave the city with you, to just run before the dead swarmed every last inch of the concrete. But Ada always had her own agenda unbeknownst to you. She used you—because of your knowledge, because you were a scientist in over your head, because you were a rare opportunity to push her mission forward. And maybe—just maybe—because the infamous Ada Wong found something strangely appealing about the clumsy fucking fool at her side.

She knew exactly how to get under your skin—removing seeds of doubt to keep you going, all while cloaking her manipulation with flattery. Her words were crafted to ease your fears of the infected outside, stroke your ego, and nudge you—ever so gently, toward something more.

“You’re smarter than most of the drones in this place,” she had murmured once, watching you work—delicate hands steady as you combined volatile samples in sterile glassware. Or, “I can see you have a brilliant mind...too bad it’s wasted on Umbrella’s nefarious schemes,” as you sifted through layers of encrypted files on a terminal you weren’t supposed to access.

Not once did she leave your side. She watched your back with the vigilance of a hawk, unwavering—and you didn’t bother to run away, not with seeing what she was capable of doing. Even after you’ve both survived and observed as the city crumbled beneath the fire of a nuclear missile to contain the shared trauma from spreading worldwide, you stuck together like glue. What began as an espionage under the guise to get a virus for the hands of her employer—far worse than your company to do god knows what with it, and kill you right after, evolved into protecting you until the very end. With every step, every close call, she found herself increasingly drawn to your selfless nature.

Maybe it was something she’d been missing in her life—a sense of purpose, a glimpse of goodness, or maybe she simply…wanted to do right by you. Honor what you’d endured together, what you’ve done for her without question. An unspoken bond she couldn't walk away from. 

She wanted to give you more—comfort, safety, something real after the chaos. The idea of letting you go, of watching you drift beyond her reach became unbearable. You were her light in a world gone to hell.

And you traded one devil for another.

So when you said you had nowhere else to go, that Racoon city was the only place you’d ever known and you needed a fulfilling purpose especially after the events of seeing all that death and violence, she established a whole new identity for you. 

You played right into her hands.

Knowing that Umbrella’s reach extends far and wide, she didn't risk anything. She ensured that any surviving people from the company couldn't track down the stray scientist that somehow lived without any military skills. With her resources and playing up your eagerness for a fresh start, she set you up with a respectable job in a legitimate biotech or research institution, finally using your scientific expertise to contribute to ethical research rather than destroying humanity like she was doing. She’d even secure a safe place for you to live, likely a modest but comfortable apartment in a quiet unassuming neighborhood without drawing attention. But truth be told, she was keeping you close to her.

The two of you didn't live together by any means but she’d visit you whenever her hands weren't full. As a mercenary,  Ada couldn't afford to be in one place for long. Her life had always been a blur of constantly moving from location to location, picking up different missions out of the country, always chasing the next high-risk contract. She’d cheat death like it was just any other day, because it was just any other day. The only difference being you—now in her orbit, giving her something to look forward to when resting. That pretty face and soft smile that ogled her as if she were the most interesting thing, like you wanted to dissect the enigma in front of you with a past so complicated you couldn’t comprehend.

It was a familiar routine, how she sought you out rather than spending her free time alone. Your relationship with Ada had come to be complex, tumultuous, and quickly turned into an unhealthy dynamic. The bond was a dance of absence and presence, a tango of tangled limbs and messy kisses that fell into place naturally. It all just kind of happened, her touch lingered—over time it grew bolder, and you couldn’t seem to pull away the day she brought you pleasure beyond understanding. A fleeting embrace, a desperate reminder of life amidst the hollow echoes of her disappearances. Too blind of her growing obsession to claim you all to herself.

You never ask about her work, the secrets she harbors, don't question the scars that mark her skin, as it would shatter the fragile illusion of the strange relationship that binds you both; it's what she liked most about you. A love, if you can even call it that, forged and tempered by the ashes of the dead in your previous life only to find solace in each other's arms, a safety net woven from the threads of that shared nightmare.

When she came back battered and bruised, you simply patched her up silently, without prying. And when she’d drop off things for you to test in a lab—some blood work or strange specimens from one of her jobs—you didn't hesitate to help, even if you didn't fully understand what it was, even if it were hypocritical of her and went against the new life she wanted you to live. You couldn't bring yourself to face the truth of your reality, about the woman you'd come to strangely care for as mysterious and quiet as she is. She wasn’t any different than the people you’d once escaped, her double life built on lies and manipulation, a web of flattery to keep you tied to her, to keep you from seeing the dark side of who she really was.

You tried walking away once, key word—tried. To build something that didn't revolve around her erratic existence. But it was futile. And even if you were successful in slipping away unnoticed, you knew—deep down, she’d track you down. With her knowledge and reach, nowhere would be far enough.

You remembered that day vividly as you packed that apartment up, her words were cold but you can tell she was panicked with the subtle shift in her usual calculating movements as she followed you around the space. Her fingers twitching by the gun sheathed in its holster on her hip, seconds away of threatening you in a way that would tether you to her by fear rather than willingly. "How can you leave me after everything we've been through? I saved your life, and now you're just going to throw it away? Is that how you repay me for my love, for my devotion to keeping you safe?" 

The guilt gnawed at you in quiet, relentless waves, each thought circling back to the same truth—you didn’t have anyone else. Not really. All you had was Ada, fragile and fleeting as that might be, and the weight of that made it impossible to turn away. So you stayed, clinging to all she can give like it was the only thing keeping you to the world, even when every instinct screamed that you should run. You threw yourself into your work, trying to fill the long hours and even longer nights. You tell yourself that you're happy, that you're content. Each time she disappears, a part of you wonders if this is it, if she's finally gone for good. But there's always that part of you, that quiet voice in the back of your mind, wondering where she is, if she's safe, if she's thinking of you when she’s gone. 

Then, days turn to weeks or sometimes months and she's back again.  

Every reunion is a whirlwind of pent-up passion and desperation, Ada's absences makes each embrace feel like a lifeline, a hopeless confirmation that you both are still alive and whole. Her kisses are hungry, almost violent in their intensity, as if she's trying to devour you, to consume every inch of you and make you a part of her. 

You know this dance by heart, the frantic need to reaffirm, to reconnect. It's the only way she knows how to express the fear, the constant dread that eats away at her when she's gone. The fear of losing you, of coming back to find you've moved on, or worse, that you've been taken from her. You lose yourselves in twisting limbs and racing hearts, your bodies moving together in a frenzied rhythm that's half lovemaking, half battle. Ada's hands map out every contour of your body, as if committing you to memory, ensuring that she doesn't forget a single detail. Her touch is electric, setting your nerves alight and leaving you trembling and aching for more.

She peels off your clothes with shaking hands, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps against your neck. "I need to feel you," she whispers, her voice rough with emotion and longing. "I need to know you're real, that you're still mine." You give yourself over to her time and time again, to the heat of her skin and the strength of her touch. You just couldn’t help it. You let her take you, claim you, remind you that you belong to her, just as she belongs to you. It's a primal, almost violent act of love, born out of the trauma you both share and the unspoken truth that you need each other to survive. 

Ada is a giver when it comes to you, her mouth an instrument of pure pleasure as it maps every contour of your bare skin. She'd have you dissolving against the mattress, her head nestled between your thighs, lost in the heat and the scent and the taste of your most secret place, reserved solely for her. She made sure of it when isolating you. Lips, soft and eager, would find your sensitive clit, suckling gently, then with growing fervor, as her clever tongue delved deep to lap up your honeyed essence. She'd drink down every last drop, savoring your cries of ecstasy, your body shaking and shuddering with the force of your release. She gives of herself completely, her pleasure drawn from yours, her desire to worship and satisfy you all-consuming.

She always ends it off by saying things along the lines of, “only I get to see, touch, and taste you like this.” It’s low, right against your lips like a promise and a warning all at once. And before you can breathe, she seals it with a kiss that’s hard, unyielding, and final. The kind that doesn’t need questions to follow. Like she’s branding the words into your skin, like the taste of her is supposed to remind you; there’s no escape, there’s no one else here but me.

In those moments, you have to pretend that everything is okay, that you have a normal life together. You can imagine what it would be like to wake up next to her every day, to share your future, past, and everything in between. But you can't ignore the familiar empty feeling growing in your chest as the mirage is always shattered by the harsh light of dawn where her side of the bed falls cold without her warmth. Gone to a world where she does things, sees things, that she can never tell you about, where you can't follow her into. Things that keep her up at night, staring at the ceiling, her mind awhirl with dark thoughts and even darker deeds.

You’re left with the phantom feeling of her touch as you wait. Only for the process to repeat, and you'll do it all over again until it fully consumes either of you dangerously, where you'd have to pry yourself away or get killed in the process of staying. Whether that be physically, or mentally.

© 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works. thank you <3.