You Give Love a Bad Name

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Based on an open request by midnight-music13 on tumblr: “Darkiplier x reader where the reader is so in love with him, they can’t see that he’s just using and manipulating them. He acts like he cares for her and loves her dearly, but it’s all a show, that they can’t see.”

The title is taken from the song by Bon Jovi. Aside from it being about a girl who’s leading the (male) singer on, it actually fits my version of Dark pretty damn well. Seriously, go listen to it. 🙂

Also? I posted this gif (made by off-brand-darkiplier) to go with the fic:

Unf. I swear that Neck Thing (TM) should be illegal.


You try to dry your eyes. Dark has been gone for a long time this time; it’s not that you don’t trust him, but you’re so lonely right now that it actually hurts. You’re longing for the touch of his cool hand, the way he whispers in that guttural yet sonorous tone that lulls you into a sense of bliss. It’s a beautiful feeling when he’s there… but you never knew love could also hurt like this.

He’s like a drug, and you crave him with a desperation bordering on psychosis. And yet, it feels completely… right, somehow.

There’s a sizzling crack in the air, followed by a groan like a tree falling after being struck by lightning. And then he’s there, standing before you, in all his haughty, foreboding glory. Your eyes light up at the sight of him – the inky black hair, the neatly pressed suit and tie, the carefully trimmed beard, and the imposing posture. When he looks upon you, you think you see the harsh onyx of his eyes soften.

He’s not a good man. You know this, but the heart wants what it wants. And he seems different around you than he is with others. That should count for something, right?

“I missed you,” you tell him.

His expression is the barest hint of a smile. “And I you,” he replies. He steps forward, and pulls you against him. “Allow me to make up for lost time.” He strokes your face with a gentle hand, then presses his lips against yours. You instantaneously melt at the contact, throwing your arms around him.

As he lifts you, carrying you to the bed, you inhale his scent. It’s musky but ethereal somehow, as if he’s not entirely here. As if he’s some beautiful dream you imagined for yourself. The faint hint of sweet sulfur like an unstruck match clings to him, though the cedarwood and jasmine in his aftershave help mask that distinctive – and yes, characteristically demonic – smell.

As he lays you down on the bed, you gently pull him by his tie into another kiss. This lights the banked fire in him, and he begins to rip off your clothes in great haste. The very air around you increases in its pressure, though the ringing typical of the aura around him is dulled to a softer droning note.

A snap of the fingers, and his suit is gone. The muscles in his now-bare shoulders tense as he steadily works his way down your body, tracing a burning path with his cool lips. He knows every freckle, every curve, every inch of your skin… and he can make you come apart at the seams with one glance. His abyssal stare is possessive as he watches you buck and tremble under the ministrations of his wicked tongue.

You’re almost about to come, when he turns you onto your stomach. You vaguely wonder why he prefers this position, and wish you could look him in the eyes while he’s inside you. His thrusts are smooth but forceful; the motions of a man confident in his skill at lovemaking. His cold cock buried deep in your core only seems to increase your burning lust.

He braces one arm along your shoulders, pinning you against the mattress, as his other hand props him up so you don’t bear the brunt of his body mass in addition to your own. You can do nothing but moan and swear underneath him, trying desperately to counter his thrusts with a rough, rhythmless few of your own. To let him know how much you need this.

His voice is a basso profundo growl as he says your name, then commands you to come for him. The sensation of soaring, then falling inundates you, and you sag bonelessly against the mattress as he continues to thrust… and eventually he finds his own release with an inhuman snarl. Though the exertion has not worn on him, he nonetheless lays beside you and gives you the faintest of smiles.

“I love you,” you whisper tiredly, floating on a cloud of satiation.

“I know.”

Your heart plummets momentarily. Why did you expect him to say it back? That’s simply not his way. But you maintain your grasp on the afterglow and rest your head against his shoulder. There’s a strange moment of waiting before he finally loops his strong arms around you.

“Rest, my sweet,” he tells you.

“Will you be here when I wake in the morning?”

Your heart silently breaks when he says, “No. There are… things I have to do.”

You sigh and nod, your hair brushing lightly against his flesh. “I figured,” you mumble.

“Never fret, my sweet. I will always return to you.”

“I know. It’s just… so hard when you’re gone.”

“That only means you are truly devoted to me,” he replies. “And I shall always come back to reward your patience.”

You’re fighting sleep now, but failing. You close your eyes as he combs his fingers through your hair… and, for one brief moment, you chastise yourself for falling in love with such a powerful, demonic entity.

After all, he’s a Hellgod. Do you really think there’d be a happy ending for you?

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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.